Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery) (21 page)

Miranda’s directions, while convoluted, proved accurate, and Meg and Lydia arrived at the lab space just as the class of about a dozen students was gathering. The skeleton lay on a well-lit table in the center of the room, neatly arrayed. Miranda spotted them and held up one finger.

“Okay, kids, listen up. I know we’ve talked about this skeleton before, but for the moment pretend you don’t know anything. I want you to take the next, say, fifteen minutes to write down everything you observe and what that tells you about the person. Then we’ll compare notes. The clock starts . . . now!”

The students jostled around the skeleton while Miranda made her way over to where Meg and Lydia stood. “Hi, Meg—good to see you again. And this is?” She turned to Lydia.

“I’m Lydia Chapin—Seth’s mother.”

“Oh, right, Seth—I saw him at the Historical Society site, didn’t I? And I keep hearing his name pop up—all good, I promise! Nice to meet you, Lydia. As you can see, our friend there cleaned up pretty good. Luckily the excavation stopped before much was damaged. How’s Jeffrey doing?”

“As well as can be expected. He wasn’t prepared for being part of a murder investigation, but then, whoever is?”

“I hear you. Hey, I’ve been held at gunpoint and accused of grave-robbing in my day, so I know something of what it feels like.”

“Wow!” Meg said. “I’d love to hear about all that sometime. But for the moment, can you tell us anything more about our man than you could the last time we talked?”

“Like I said on the phone, only bits and pieces, but they’re kind of interesting. I told you he was about sixty? I’m guessing he was in the ground awhile before the building went up over him, so that would put his birth date around 1700, maybe even before.”

“That early?”

“Oh, sure. Bone and dental analyses show that he was born in Africa but spent most of his life in this country, probably right around here.”

“You said he died of tuberculosis. Any other signs of disease or injury?”

“Nope. He was about as healthy as you could expect, for that time period. He was a physical laborer, based on the muscle attachment and bone wear, but he wasn’t overworked or starved, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You can really tell a lot from a pile of bones, can’t you?” Lydia commented.

“Absolutely, if you know what to look for. And modern technology makes it much easier. Look, I’m going to have to get back to my class and see what they’ve come up with. If you see Jeffrey, tell him I’d like to speak with him, would you? I think he’d be the best person to deal with the Granford history side—who the families were back then, what crops they raised, that kind of thing.”

“Really? You’ve got a class full of kids here!” Meg said.

“Sure, but they all want to be CSIs, not historians. They’re into the forensics, not the background.”

“I’m sure Jeffrey would be happy to work with you,” Meg said, then silently added,
once this other mess is cleared up
. “I’ll tell him to give you a call.”

“Thanks. Hey, you don’t have to be scared of our pal there. You can get closer.”

Meg looked at Lydia and they both grinned. “Shall we?” Meg asked.

“Oh, let’s!” Lydia replied.

But when they approached, it seemed only right to Meg to maintain a respectful distance from the remains before them. This had once been a man who had lived where she lived now, who had seen the same views, plowed the same fields, maybe picked fruit from the same orchards. Would Jeffrey or anyone be able to find more about him? Had he had a family? Were there descendants? How had he come to be buried where he was found? Would they ever know? Meg looked up to see Lydia bearing a somber expression as well.

“We should go,” Meg said quietly. She turned to wave at Miranda, and then she and Lydia left the room without speaking.

Outside the building, where the rain had slowed to a drizzle, Lydia said, “Well, that was interesting. I wonder if we’ll ever know who the man was.”

“I was thinking the same thing myself. I’ll speak to Jeffrey—maybe some historical research would be a good distraction for him. You ready to head home?”

“I am. Thanks for bringing me along, though.” They reached Lydia’s car and pointed themselves toward Granford. About halfway there, Lydia said, out of the blue, “Seth is happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. Part of it is his work, as you pointed out. But part of it is you.”

Meg could feel herself blushing. “I’m glad to know that. I can’t imagine my life without him now.”

“And that’s as it should be. I don’t care when or even if you get married, but I think you two do belong together. And I’ll stop with the mushy stuff now.”

The rain had ended by the time Lydia dropped her off at her house, and Meg watched her leave with a smile. Seth emerged from his office at the end of the driveway, just as she was leaving. “Nice lunch?”

“Very nice. I like your family. Oh, and Rachel came up with a new theory: she thinks Jeffrey could be protecting a damsel in distress. Or at least he believes that he is.”

“Could be, I guess. Although he hasn’t mentioned anything like a damsel, nor has one come forward.”

“Then he’s doing a good job of protecting, isn’t he?”

“Apparently so.”

“And we stopped by to see Miranda on campus, and to say hello to our skeleton.”

Seth laughed. “You took my mother to see a skeleton? You do have interesting ideas of entertainment. Anything new?”

“I’ll tell you over dinner.”

Inside they found Bree pottering around in the kitchen, and joined her in putting dinner together. An hour or so later Seth’s cell phone rang. He walked into the dining room to talk, but he was back quickly, with an odd expression on his face. “That was Howard Dillenberger, at the high school. He’s put a name to the girl he’d seen with Jeffrey: Emma Stebbins.”

It took a moment for the import of that to sink in for Meg. “You mean, as in Jake Stebbins?”

Seth nodded. “His sixteen-year-old daughter.”

“And Novaro was found behind Jake Stebbins’s feed shop. Tell me that’s a coincidence.”

“Unlikely.”

They stared at each other. “Oh, wow,” Meg said. “Rachel may have been right.”

“It looks like it.”

“Okay, guys, back up,” Bree broke in. “What’s going on? Who’s this Dillenberger guy?”

“Jeffrey’s history teacher. We talked with him yesterday and asked if he’d seen Jeffrey with any girls.”

“And what’s this ‘damsel in distress’ stuff?”

“Rachel used the term today at lunch. She wondered if maybe Jeffrey was protecting someone, a girl, out of some sense of honor. Misguided or otherwise.”

“Okay, but you two connected the dots from Novaro behind the feed store to the store owner’s daughter and immediately stuck Jeffrey in the middle of it? Come on!”

“That’s my first guess, and I may be way off base. Seth, what do we do now?” Meg asked.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Seth said. “Mr. Dillenberger could be wrong. It could be a coincidence that they were seen together. It could be a coincidence that Emma happens to be Jake’s daughter—I have no idea how many girls of the right age there are at the high school, or how many are Jeffrey’s type.”

“Yes, but . . .” Meg began, then stopped to think. “When we talked to Jake, he said his daughter works at the store, at least part-time, right? But Jake said his daughter was at home with him when he got the call about Novaro, didn’t he?”

“Actually, I’m not sure,” Seth admitted.

“Jeez, you guys,” Bree broke in. “Why don’t you just talk to Jeffrey?”

“Will he tell us the truth?” Meg said.

“About seeing Emma? Why not?” Seth replied.

“Because even if he was just yearning from afar, he might be embarrassed enough to lie about it—Rachel talked about that. And we still don’t have any connection between Novaro and Emma. So what do we do, Seth?”

Seth thought for a moment before answering. “I see two choices: we talk to Jake, and Emma, or we talk to Jeffrey. Who is more likely to tell us the truth? Because it sounds to me like neither one has been completely honest. Or maybe Jake is clueless about his daughter.”

“Or how about we talk to Art?” Meg asked.

“Why?” Seth said.

“Because we need to share what we know—or think we know—and I think we really need a law-enforcement perspective here. We need more information.”

“I get your point. Want me to call him?”

“Please.”

When he went into the next room to make the call, Meg turned to Bree. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“What do you want me to say? You and Seth are playing detective so you can help your new buddy Jeffrey.”

She’s angry
, Meg thought. “Bree, what’s wrong?”

Bree took a deep breath. “I’m stuck in the middle again. I’m Jamaican, but I’m American. I work with the pickers, and they’re great guys, but Novaro was a slacker. His own uncle didn’t know what to do about him. What do you want me to say?”

Meg spread her hands helplessly. “Bree, I’m just trying to help Jeffrey, because I think he needs help. I don’t have any other agenda. Like I said, if he’s guilty, he’ll pay for it.”

Bree sighed. “Yeah, I know. I just wish somebody would figure this thing out so we can move on.”

Seth returned. “Art said he could swing by later in the evening. So we should eat, right?”

“Yes, we should. Did you know that to become an Eagle Scout, boys are now required to earn a cooking merit badge?” Meg said sweetly.

“I’ll take that as a hint,” Seth said. “Let me take a look in the refrigerator.”

*   *   *

Art rapped at
the back door just as they were finishing up a dinner consisting largely of leftovers. “Am I interrupting?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Meg said.

“I brought cookies,” he added, holding up a white bag.

“Then we love you. Coffee?”

“Nah,” Art said as he walked in. “It might keep me awake—that’d be a shame, right?”

“Hey, Art,” Seth greeted him. “Thanks for coming. Sit down.”

“Do you need me?” Bree asked.

“Yes, we do,” Meg said quickly. “You can offer some insights that we might not have.”

Art settled himself in a chair and snagged one of the cookies. “Okay, what do you want from me?”

“Art, we need to talk about what happened to Novaro Miller,” Meg said simply.

“Yeah, that’s what Seth said on the phone. Sainsbury put you up to this?”

“No. I met Jeffrey through the excavation of the Historical Society building. I didn’t know who he was. Rick asked us to help before everything blew up. But you know all that, right?”

Seth spoke for the first time. “Art, we don’t have an ax to grind. We like Jeffrey, but if he’s involved in this, we aren’t going to look the other way. And we aren’t going to lie to Rick Sainsbury. I have to say, the more we learn, the more things don’t add up. Look, why don’t you tell us what you can about what you know?”

“You mean what crumbs Detective Marcus throws my way?” Art sighed, and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Last Friday night, Jeffrey Green called 911 to report that he had found an unknown young man behind Stebbins’s feed store, unconscious and bleeding from a head wound. Green requested an ambulance and administered basic first aid. The victim had no ID on him. He was taken to Holyoke Hospital, where he was declared dead.

“Meg here helped figure out who the victim was—one Novaro Miller, an eighteen-year-old Jamaican national who came over on an agricultural visa obtained for him by his uncle Hector Dixon, one of her former employees. Shortly after his arrival in the U.S., Miller blew off the job his uncle had gotten for him and his whereabouts were unknown until he was found at the feed store. Miller apparently drove himself to the store, in a car lacking in registration or valid license plates, which the police impounded. Inside the car, they found Miller’s fingerprints and a number of empty beer cans. His uncle knew nothing about any car.”

“Did the police talk to Jake Stebbins?” Seth asked.

Art swiveled toward Seth. “Of course they did. Jake’s a good guy. Runs an honest business, knows most of his customers by name. His wife died of lung cancer a couple of years ago—really nice lady. One kid, a daughter named Emma, at the high school. The worst thing I can remember Jake ever doing is leaving his car parked on the street during a snow emergency. Do you really suspect him of having any part in this? Besides, he told me he closed up at the regular time, and he was at home with his daughter eating dinner when he got the call about the trouble at the store.”

Meg and Seth exchanged a look, and then Meg said, “There has to be a reason why Novaro was found behind the feed store. Why there? Why behind it, out of sight from the road or anything else? You have any ideas about that?”

“Not a clue,” Art replied. “As far as I can tell, nobody here in town knew him. He could have been involved in something illegal, but there’s no evidence.”

Meg said, suddenly, “You know, I’ve never seen a picture of Novaro. Do you have one, Art?”

“Right here in the file. I kinda figured you might want to know what’s in it, even though I shouldn’t be showing it to you. But it was taken when we found him, so it’s not pretty.”

“That’s all right.” Meg held out her hand and took the picture from Art, turning it around to look at the face. Then she looked harder: something was not right. “Art, are you sure this is the right photo? Novaro was Jamaican. This man is light-skinned.”

Bree looked over Meg’s shoulder and snorted involuntarily. Meg looked at her, and saw Bree’s expression seesawing between amusement and frustration. “What?”

“You never heard about skin bleaching?” When Meg shook her head in bewilderment, Bree explained. “A lot of the poorer kids in Jamaica are into it. You know that old nonsense that light skin is better than dark skin? Bunch of idiots—it’s not safe. Anyway, looks like that’s what Novaro was into.”

Meg thought again about that day a week earlier on the green. “Damn,” she whispered to herself.

All eyes turned to her. “What?” Seth said.

“Art, I told you about how at the green, on Friday, I was there when Jeffrey drove up. And as soon as he stopped, another car pulled in behind him, and a guy his own age got out. They started arguing, and then there was a girl who got out of the second car and seemed to be trying to stop them. I couldn’t hear anything, and I couldn’t see them well from that distance. But the second guy had light skin. When you identified the kid at the feed store as black, I never put the two together. I only told you because I wanted you to know that Jeffrey apparently had issues with someone in town. When I asked him about it, he said some guy had been hassling the girl at school, but since they drove off together, I didn’t think anything more about it.”

“And now you’re thinking that was Novaro Miller?” Art asked

“I’m saying it could have been.”

“Let me get this straight,” Art said, his tone sharper than before. “Last Friday you saw Jeffrey Green and another boy arguing on the green in town, and there was a girl in the mix. Novaro Miller was killed later that same day, and it was Jeffrey Green who found him.”

Meg felt like a fool. “Yes. I’m sorry, Art. I did tell you about it on Monday.”

Art sighed again. “You did. And I didn’t see the connection either, and then I got distracted by another police call. You got any more bombshells for me?”

“I’m afraid so, Art,” Seth said reluctantly. “We talked to one of Jeffrey’s teachers at the high school, and he said he thinks Jeffrey was seeing Emma Stebbins.”

Art stared at him. “Oh, crap. When did you hear this?”

“Just this afternoon. And, no, I don’t know anything more, and we haven’t asked Jeffrey about it.”

“Where’s Jeffrey now?”

“He and his father are staying at my place up the hill. Want me to call ahead?”

“No, I want to go over there and talk to them.” Art morphed into his official role as police chief. “Will you all promise not to attempt to contact Jeffrey Green or his father before I get there and talk to them?”

“Of course, Art,” Seth answered. “We know what’s at stake. Do what you have to do.”

“Thanks.” Art left without any pleasantries.

“I’m sorry,” Meg said, to no one in particular. What had Jeffrey really done?

They hadn’t heard from Art by the time they went to bed.