A Gala Event (29 page)

“Sure, why not? Hi, Meg. Your man here was being kind of cryptic over the phone. I assume this isn't about what I'm wearing to the wedding?”

“Nothing so simple,” Meg said. “Please, sit.”

Once Art was supplied with coffee, he said, “Okay, shoot. Seth, what's up?”

“Can we keep this off the record, just between us, for now?” Seth asked.

Art looked bewildered, but he nodded.

Seth took a breath and launched into the story that Kevin had told them the night before, supplemented by what they
had learned from the insurance agent. By the time Seth was finished, Art's expression was grave. “You two are so much fun to hang out with,” he said. “I never know what you're going to come up with next. What is it you want me to do?”

“I don't know, Art,” Meg answered him. “Tell us if there is anything to be done, or if this is the end of it.”

“I assume you're thinking of official exoneration for Aaron? Not criminal charges against his brother or Patterson, for concealing evidence?”

“Is exoneration possible?”

Art rubbed his hands over his face. “I'm no expert, but my semieducated guess is no. It's a complicated process, and most of the cases don't work out. You may have some new evidence, but there's not a lot here that would be useful in court. Most of the cases that do succeed are based on conclusive new evidence, like DNA tests that weren't available at the original trial. Look, I don't want to burst your bubble, guys. I think Aaron Eastman has had a lousy deal all the way, but that doesn't mean the original trial was flawed.”

“What about Kevin Eastman?” Seth asked.

“What about him? Aaron was tried and convicted of the crime. Even if he could be exonerated, I don't know that anyone is going to want to try to prosecute Kevin, and I'm pretty sure the statute of limitations for arson ran out a long time ago. There's no physical evidence that Kevin was responsible for the fire, just the suspicion . . . and neither Kevin nor Aaron was thinking straight at the time. Heck, maybe dear old Dad had taken a fatal dose of something or other, and figured the insurance would provide for the kids if he and Mom were gone. Nobody looked for any kind of drugs in their systems. I'm sorry, but I think this is over. I know that's not what you want to hear. How did Aaron take the news?”

“Hard to say,” Seth said. “He seemed kind of numb when he left. At least his sister was with him.”

“What're you going to do now?” Art asked.

“Tell him that we've done all we can,” Meg said sadly. “He can pursue exoneration legally if he wants, but that's up to him, and he'll probably hear what you just told us. And I doubt he'd want to throw his brother under the bus at this late date. Nobody wins. But thanks for listening, Art.”

“Always glad to help. By the way, I thought I'd wash my best blue jeans for the big event. Will that do?”

“You're ahead of me, at least,” Meg said, summoning up a smile. “I haven't even figured out what I'm wearing. My mother's going to pitch a fit when she shows up and then probably drag me off to the nearest mall—I don't think the local boutiques will be up to her standards, but there's no time for serious shopping.”

“I'll be seeing you, then,” Art said. “Please don't dredge up any other crimes between now and the wedding, okay?”

“Deal,” said Seth.

Meg and Seth stood in the doorway as Art pulled away, then turned back to the kitchen. “So that's that,” Meg said, helping herself to the last of the coffee. “Poor Aaron. How's he supposed to find a job with this hanging over him?”

“I won't tell you it will be easy,” Seth said.

Then Meg went still. “I might have an idea . . .”

“What?”

She looked at Seth. “Rick Sainsbury. He owes us, right? I think this might be a good time to call in that favor.”

“Think he's even around, or still off celebrating his election win?”

“One way to find out. We have his home number, remember?”

Meg tracked down Rick Sainsbury's home number and made the call. She was surprised when he actually answered; she had expected him to be in Washington, reveling in his status as newly elected congressman, and where she'd have to wade through multiple layers of people who were trained to deflect people like her.

“Meg, how nice to hear from you!” he said with a measure of sincerity. “You haven't stumbled onto another crime, have you? That seems to be the usual way we come into contact.”

“No, or rather yes, but I think there's some good to come from it. Can we talk, face-to-face? I promise I won't take up much of your time.”

“Let me check my schedule.” There was a pause but without words, and Meg guessed that he was scrolling through his phone calendar. “I've got an appointment in Amherst at four. Could I swing by, say, three?”

“Perfect. Thank you, Rick.” Meg hung up to find Seth staring at her with an amused expression. “What?”

“I never thought I'd see you trading favors with a congressman,” Seth said. “You have hidden depths.”

“It's not for me, it's for Aaron, remember?” Meg reminded him. “And this should help balance the debt between us.”

“What do you plan to ask him?”

“I'm really not sure. We've already more or less decided that none of the legal channels would work, but maybe Rick will come up with some ideas. Especially if they make him look good.”

“Cynic,” Seth said, smiling. “But it's worth a try. Just remember, he can't unilaterally pardon Aaron, and I don't think he has close ties to the governor, who may be the only one who could. Do you want me there?”

“Much as I'd love to have your moral support, I guess I feel like this is my crusade. Do you mind sitting this one out?” Meg asked.

“Not really. I don't think my presence would help your chances. If you're sure it's okay.”

“It is, and thank you. Anyway, he won't be here until three, so do I have time to grout the bathroom? And clean up? I'd like to look respectable to greet my elected representative, or at least get the grout out of my hair.”

“I think we can manage that. I'll give you a quick and dirty grout lesson, and then I'll get to work on the powder room.”

Grouting proved less demanding than tiling, although no less messy, and Meg was downstairs, cleaned up, with a pot of coffee waiting, when Congressman Rick rang her doorbell in the front. She opened the door quickly. “Thanks for coming on such short notice, Rick. I can still call you Rick, right?”

“Of course. You've done a lot for me and my family, and if there's some way I can repay that, I'm listening.”

“Come on back to the kitchen, then, and I'll explain.”

Rick declined coffee, but listened attentively as Meg outlined the history of the Eastman fire and the subsequent trial, and what had come to light since. He didn't interrupt, but waited until Meg had finished before commenting.

“Good summary, Meg. I remember the fire, vaguely, and Aaron's arrest—he was only a few years older than me. But it took a while to come to trial, so I lost sight of what happened. I didn't realize that Aaron was out, or back in town, but I've only just come back myself. I hate to admit it, but I think Art Preston is right: there's not enough to reopen the trial. I can look into how Massachusetts handles pardons, or ask my staff to do it, but I wouldn't pin too many hopes on that.”

“I'd appreciate it if you could get the details, but I realize that any legal avenues are going to be complicated and slow. What I'm most concerned about now is what Aaron is supposed to do tomorrow, and next week, and next year. I mean, the man is past forty, and he's been in prison since he was a teenager. He has no money, no home, and his surviving family members can't offer much in the way of support. His only real asset at the moment is the computer skills he's learned in prison. To put it bluntly, he needs a job. Can you help with that?”

Rick smiled. “Maybe I can. Look, can I meet the guy, talk to him? You said he's working near here at the moment?”

“Yes,” Meg said. “If you're sticking around Granford over the Thanksgiving holiday, do you think you can squeeze in some time to get together with him?”

“I'll try, Meg, and I mean that—I'm not just blowing you off. You're trying to do a good thing here. But then, it's not the first time, is it?” An oblique reference to the occasions
she'd done a good turn for him—because it was the right thing to do, not because she was trying to curry favor.

She didn't respond directly to his comment. Instead she said, “Aaron needs help, and if you can provide that, he'll be grateful, and so will I. And if you can get some good press out of it, all the better.” She grinned wickedly at him.

“Point taken.” Rick glanced at his watch. “I'd better be going. I don't want to be late for my next appointment. But I will be in touch, I promise.” He stood up.

Meg did as well. “Is that a Rick promise, or a Congressman Sainsbury promise?” she asked.

“Both.”

As they turned toward the front door, the doorbell rang. “Now what?” Meg muttered to herself. She led the way to the door, and opened it to find her mother and father standing on the front stoop. “Mother? Dad? Was I expecting you today?”

“No, darling,” her mother answered, “And we're not staying long. Are we invited in?”

“Well, sure, of course.”

Once the Coreys were in the hall, they saw Rick, and Meg rushed to make introductions. “This is—” she began.

“Congressman Sainsbury,” her father interrupted. “I followed your campaign with interest, and not just because my daughter lives in your district. Which we do not, so we'll let you be on your way.”

“It's a pleasure to meet both of you, Mr. and Mrs. Corey. Your daughter and I share an interesting history, as she may have told you. But I am running late for a meeting, so I have to leave.”

“No problem,” Phillip Corey said, while Meg and her mother watched in amusement.

“I'll be in touch, Meg,” Rick said as he went out the door.

“Thanks, Rick,” Meg called out after him.

When the door shut behind him, Elizabeth Corey turned to Meg. “Well, that was interesting. How did you come to be on first-name terms with your new congressman?”

“I'll explain later,” Meg said. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here? I thought you weren't arriving until Tuesday.”

“We aren't, officially. But your father is treating me to a couple of days at a very nice resort north of here, and there was something I wanted to drop off for you.”

“Please, not wedding presents! I don't want any stuff, and that's why I didn't invite every family friend in the universe . . . although I hope you explained why.”

“I know, I know, dear, and no, it's nothing like that.” She turned to her husband. “Phillip, could you go get it?”

“Of course.”

When her father went out to retrieve the mysterious “it” from the car, Meg asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You told me you hadn't decided what you wanted to wear for the wedding, right?”

“Yes. Please don't tell me you've brought your wedding dress.” Meg quailed at the memory of that garment, which she'd seen now and then when she was growing up. She remembered lace and a lot of buttons.

“No, because I know quite well that's not your style. But did you know I saved my mother's outfit?”

Meg drew a blank. “Uh, no. Why?”

“I'm not sure you remember the story, but she and your grandfather married toward the end of World War Two. It was wartime, so they didn't have a big formal wedding. It was much more along the lines of what you're planning—a small event for family and close friends, in her parents' home. And she wore a very nice suit—it wasn't a traditional
white dress, but it was something of a splurge for her. I thought it might fit you.”

“Are we anywhere near the same size?” Meg asked.

Elizabeth smiled. “That's hard to say, but I brought it so we could find out. Ah, here's Phillip.”

Meg's father appeared, carrying a full-length garment bag that looked vintage. “Safe and sound, my dear.” He handed the bag to Meg.

Meg realized they were still standing in the front hall. “Good grief, I know you taught me better manners than this. Please, come all the way in. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Food?”

“Don't worry about us,” her father told her. “We've got another hour's drive ahead of us. Come on. I want to see this thing on you before we go.”

“Well, at least come to the dining room, where the light's better.” She led the way, holding high the garment bag. Elizabeth and Phillip sat, watching expectantly, so Meg had no choice but to go ahead and unveil the contents of the bag. She hung the hook of the hanger over a door and unzipped the bag.

Once revealed, Meg knew she had never seen it before. It was a dove-gray suit, clearly belonging to the 1940s, with a cinched waist. The slender skirt fell to midknee. It was made of a lovely light wool, and it appeared to be in pristine condition. “This is really nice,” Meg said, and meant it.

“Try on the jacket, will you?” her mother said. “We might as well know now whether it fits.”

Meg slipped the jacket off the hanger and slid her arms into it. She pulled the halves of the front together and found that the buttons met easily. The sleeves were long enough. But most important, it felt right. Not too fussy, but still nice—not to mention historical, from her own family.

“It's perfect,” her mother said quietly. “My mother would be happy if you'd wear it.”

“Thank you,” Meg said, fighting tears.

She looked up to see Seth standing in the kitchen doorway. “Sorry to interrupt. Hello, Elizabeth, Phillip—I didn't know you'd be here.” He turned to Meg. “All's well with Rick?”

“I think so.”

“You look great in that,” Seth added.

“Good enough for the wedding?” Meg asked.

“Definitely.”

Elizabeth stood up quickly. “Hello and good-bye, Seth—we've accomplished our mission here. We'll see you both next week.” She stepped in to give Meg a quick hug, and ran her hand fondly over the suit jacket Meg was still wearing. “It does become you, sweetheart.” Then she turned to her husband. “Come on, Phillip, we've miles to go before we sleep.”

Phillip, smiling, raised a farewell hand and followed Elizabeth out the door.

“Okay, what just happened here?” Seth asked.

“My mother swooped in and gave me my grandmother's wedding dress—er, suit. I wish all my problems could be resolved so easily. But I think Rick will help, and I asked him to see if he could find Aaron a job, at least for a while. Something a cut above fencing in alpacas.”

“Can you take off that jacket now?”

“Why? Do you hate it?”

“No, I think it's great. But I don't want to mess it up when I kiss you properly.”

“Oh.” Meg carefully removed the jacket, hung it back on its hanger, and turned and wrapped her arms around Seth's neck. “You mean, like this?”