A Gala Event (6 page)

“That's why we have that clipping,” Gail volunteered, pointing at the frame on the table. “The fire is still considered a high point in Granford history. Gruesome, isn't it? I
mean, three people died and one went to prison, and all we remember is how big the fire was.”

Seth's cell phone rang. He checked the screen, then responded. “Art? What's going on?” He listened for a moment. “I'm at Meg's, and Gail is here with us.” He listened, nodding, the ended the call. “He's coming over.”

“Is Aaron . . . ?” Gail asked anxiously.

“He's holding his own. That's all Art told me.”

Meg cleaned up the trash on the kitchen table while they waited for Art. Gail kept checking her watch, no doubt worried about getting back to her family, who would probably be wondering where she was by now. What would Art need to say in person that he couldn't have told Seth over the phone? Aaron Eastman was still alive; that was good news. Was there bad news?

It took Art twenty minutes to reach Meg's house, and she waited at the door to let him in. “I hope you don't have anything bad to tell us,” Meg said anxiously.

“No. Actually, I wanted to talk to Gail. She still here?” he said.

“She is. Come on in. Coffee?”

“No, I'm good. Hi, Gail.”

“Art,” Gail said, looking nervous. “What's going on?”

Art sat heavily in the chair. “Your man is in fact Aaron Eastman, and he's got the documents to prove it. The
downside is, he's not in any shape to talk to us. Before you have kittens, his condition is stable and there's nothing life-threatening. He'd lost a lot of blood, he was dehydrated, and the docs are worried about infection. That thing you used on him probably wasn't exactly clean. So I'd be stupid to interview him in his present condition. Maybe by tomorrow.”

“Art, why's he out of prison?” Seth asked.

“He served his time—I checked. Nothing mysterious about that. You folks all know his story?” Art looked around the table.

“Seth just explained it to me, or at least the outline,” Meg told him. “What was he convicted of?”

“Arson and involuntary manslaughter.”

“How old was he in 1990, Art?” Meg asked.

“He was seventeen, but he was tried as an adult. Three people in his own family died because of him, plus the house was destroyed. The judge really threw the book at him with sentencing, because of the deaths, but Aaron was apparently a model prisoner and he just got out. Look, all this was before my time. I only know what my predecessor left in his records. Apparently the case for his being responsible for the fire is pretty clear, or at least enough to take to trial. But there's no evidence that he intended to kill anyone. Problem was, the kid was so stoned when it happened that he couldn't tell the police much of anything. Even when he sobered up, he drew a blank. No recollection of the event, period. His lawyer must have loved him.”

“So what's he doing in Granford now, Art?” Seth asked.

Art shrugged. “I don't know yet. He's not talking. Revisiting the scene of the crime? Nostalgia? He didn't have any better ideas? He had a little money in his pocket, but I couldn't tell you how he got here from Norfolk, which is where he was held, or where he's been staying since he got
out.” He leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “Look, Gail, the big question here is, do you want to press charges?”

Gail looked startled by the question. “For what?”

“Assault? Breaking and entering?”

Gail was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “Art, I left the front door unlocked, so he didn't break or enter anything. As for assault . . . I think I overreacted. I turned around, it was dark, and he startled me. I lashed out at him, and he fled. But at no time did he threaten me in any way. I never gave him a chance to say anything.”

“So the short answer is no, you're not pressing charges?”

“Yes, the answer is no,” Gail said firmly. “I feel terrible about what I did. And I want to apologize to him when he gets out of the hospital. How long do they want to keep him there?”

“Probably until tomorrow, unless they find something else they need to treat. I'd still like to talk to him before he vanishes into the woodwork, but he is free to go. You got any idea what he was doing at your place?”

Gail shook her head. “Not a one. You know the green, Art, and the buildings around it. There's the restaurant, the general store, and the Historical Society. Maybe the church. If he was looking for some human contact, those were his choices. He probably wouldn't go to the restaurant—too busy, too many people. He might have tried the church, if he was looking for a safe place to stay. I didn't see what direction he came from—he just showed up behind me. And I don't mean he was sneaking in like a thief—he was just quiet about it. That's all I know.”

“I guess I can ask him when I talk to him.” Art stood up. “Well, I'd better get back to business. I'll let you know if I learn anything else. But he's free to go wherever he likes.”

Seth stood up, too. “I'll see you out, Art.” The two men went out the kitchen door.

When Meg hadn't heard a car start up after a few minutes, she looked out the kitchen window to see the men apparently engaged in conversation—with an alpaca. Not Lulu—this one had darker fur. It looked surprisingly intelligent, as if it was closely following the men's conversation. Meg turned to Gail, still seated at the table. “Have you met our new neighbors?”

“No. Who are they?”

“More like, what are they? Come see.”

Gail came over and joined Meg at the window, then burst out laughing. “Is that an alpaca? That, I never expected to see in Granford. What's it doing here?”

“We have new human neighbors a mile or two away. Apparently their fences need some attention. This is the second one we've seen. They seem friendly enough. How do you know it's an alpaca? I didn't.”

“The kids watch nature shows. Besides, they're cute.” Gail looked at her watch again. “Shoot, I've got to go. Maybe Art can drop me back home. You think those two big, strong men can persuade the alpaca to get out of the way so he can move his car?”

“You can ask.”

Gail turned and gave Meg a quick hug. “Thanks for helping me out. I feel so stupid about the way I handled poor Aaron, and I'm going to tell him so. Talk later!”

Gail hurried out the back door, and as Meg looked on she approached Art, apparently asking for a ride. The alpaca responded to Gail's arrival with interest. Meg watched with amusement as the three of them tried to persuade the animal to move out of the driveway, but it took a while—it looked like the alpaca was having too much fun playing with the humans. Finally they succeeded, and Seth stood watch over it as Art and Gail left in Art's car. Then Seth pulled out his
phone and made a call, presumably to the owner of the alpaca. She decided she might as well join him.

“You know, this is better than television,” she said as she approached. “She looks so intelligent, almost like she was actually following your conversation. It is a she?”

“So says the owner. She'll be right over. This one is Phoebe.”

Meg turned to greet the alpaca. “Pleased to meet you, Phoebe. So you found a new hole in the fence?”

“That's what Patty thinks. Maybe I can help her out with fixing it. These quick patches don't seem to be doing the job.”

“May I remind you that you have about seventy-three other things on your plate? Fixing the neighbors' fence shouldn't leap to the top of the list.”

“I'm just trying to be a good neighbor. You remember what Robert Frost said, don't you?”

“You mean, ‘good fences make good neighbors'?” She sighed. “I probably can't stop you anyway. And I'd feel terrible if something happened to any of the alpacas. You want company while you wait?”

“No. There's no sense in two of us getting cold. I'll be in as soon as I've handed Phoebe over.”

“Thanks.” Meg retreated to the warmth of the kitchen. Now what? It was midafternoon. Bree didn't seem to need her. The ex-convict situation had been resolved, at least for the moment. Poor man: based on what little she had seen of him, admittedly under the worst circumstances, he hadn't looked evil. What kind of a person would set his own home on fire, knowing that his family was inside? It was unimaginable to her. Even if he'd taken God knew what kind of drugs . . . could those drugs override the innate person? Wipe out his sense of right and wrong? She didn't want to believe that, but she had extremely little direct experience with drugs, strong or weak.

And what had he been doing at the Historical Society the day before? Or in Granford at all? He couldn't have happy memories of the place. It was unlikely he knew anyone here anymore, or if he did, that they would speak to him. Gail had mentioned his brother and sister. Had they never returned to town after the deaths of their parents? Where were they now? Would they even speak to their brother, convicted in the deaths? Where could he go from here? Poor man.

Meg saw Patty Gardner's truck and trailer pull in, and Patty climbed down. When she spied Meg standing in the window, she waved. Meg waved back but made no move to join the party in the driveway. Patty and Seth conferred and apparently reached some kind of agreement. Then together they loaded Phoebe into the trailer, and Patty pulled away. Seth headed for the back door.

“What's the story this time?” she asked, once he had shut the door behind him.

“I'll go over in the morning to check out her fencing, and make some recommendations. This is their first venture in rearing animals, and they don't really know what they're doing. The former owners kept cattle in that field, and I'm guessing alpacas and cattle react differently to fencing. They need to get the right gauge for their needs.”

“And you know this how?”

“I don't have the answer, but I know people who do. Don't worry—I'm not going to take over, just point them in the right direction.”

“I'll hold you to that. What're you up to now?”

“I . . . don't know. You have some ideas?”

“I need to go grocery shopping, but I think I can handle that on my own. And Bree's going to be out tonight, if you recall.”

“Ah. Yes. And it's Saturday night. Maybe a bottle of wine is in order?”

“An excellent idea, sir. You can open the bottle while I cook.”

“An equitable distribution of labor, I believe.”

Meg laughed. “What has gotten into us? We sound like a bad imitation of some old English novel. I have to say, I don't know what to do with myself when I don't have sixteen things to do. It's been months since I had anything like leisure time, and I'm afraid to start something frivolous because I don't trust it to last.”

“‘All work and no play . . .'” Seth began.

“Yeah, yeah—what is it with you and quotations today?”

“I'm as giddy as you are, I guess. Not that I don't have things to do—my client list is just about the right size, which probably won't last. But nobody is clamoring for a renovation right this minute. Want to go wander through big-box stores and look at bathroom fixtures?”

“Wow, you do know how to charm a girl. And we can do the rest of the errands on the way back.”

“Deal,” Seth said happily. “I'll go walk Max. Too bad we can't take him with us.”

“I think the stores might have an issue with him. We can play with him later.”

While Seth took Max out to burn off some energy, and accomplish a few other things, Meg studied the sparse contents of her refrigerator. She needed just about everything, which was sad. How long would it take her to get used to the annual cycle of managing an orchard? Long stretches of frantic activity punctuated by erratic intervals of waiting for the next apples to ripen, all the while hoping for some rain but not too much rain, and please, gods, no hurricanes or tornadoes. And then the three dark winter months, when all she could do was worry about her trees and wonder how many she would have to replace. Could she
afford that new well pump this year? When should that be installed?

Luckily Seth operated on much the same schedule: crazy busy in the spring, summer, and fall, when everybody took one look at their homes during the longer days and wanted to fix things right away. It was possible for him to handle some projects in winter, but people didn't really want their houses torn up when they all were huddled inside trying to stay warm. So she and Seth should enjoy the downtime when they could, and do fun things. What was fun? She was having trouble remembering.

Planning a wedding was not on that list. Even a no-frills wedding. Maybe she was too old for all the fuss and feathers, but she didn't think she would have felt much different ten years earlier. A marriage ceremony was a milestone in contemporary culture, albeit possibly a waning tradition, but did it have to be so complicated? But maybe that was the point: it took a lot of work to make it happen, ergo it must mean something to people.

Meg and Seth spent a pleasant couple of hours scouting out plumbing supplies in the area. At least the company was pleasant, but Meg was overwhelmed by the variety of choices. She had to admit that she hadn't given much thought to the aesthetic qualities of bathrooms, certainly not her own, as long as everything worked. Seth did not press: this was an exploratory trip only, to give her something to think about.

“Have you seen anything you liked?” he asked, after the fifth store—or was it the sixth?