Seeds of Deception (21 page)

“But what does this person want?”

“I don't know. But let's say that he didn't know he wanted it until very recently. That's why his planning was sloppy. Of course, he expected both you and Arthur to be away, but if he'd known that, he could have gone into this
house and your office at any time earlier. Therefore something changed and he had to act quickly, which didn't work out so well.”

“What's your point, Meg?”

“Who knew you both would be gone? Did you tell anyone that Enrique would be looking after your house?”

“No, I didn't see any need to. People in the neighborhood are used to seeing him here, so they wouldn't be alarmed. Meg—”

Meg held up one hand. “I'm not done yet. Who has keys to both your house and your office?”

“Arthur has both. Enrique had the house key. A couple of neighbors do, too. As for the office keys, only building management as far as I know, in addition to Arthur and me. And Miriam, obviously, since she works for us, but we gave her the time off, too. We're not the first occupants of that suite, so there could be others floating around. Maybe that break-in was a mistake, and whoever it was, was looking for a former tenant.”

“After five years? And that wouldn't explain the break-in here.”

“Meg, do you have a theory? Or are you just throwing facts around and hoping they land in some kind of pattern?”

“Door number two,” Meg said, ruefully. “Something's very wrong here, but I don't know enough to make things fit. But can you understand that I can't just walk away until we know something more?”

“I suppose. But I reserve the right to throw you out in the near future. Go home and be happy with Seth—I can cope with whatever this is.”

“Soon, Daddy, I promise.”

“You came up late last night,” Seth said, rolling over in bed to face Meg.

“I'm sorry—my father and I were talking and I lost track of time. You were asleep when I came upstairs. Weren't you?”

“Yes, I was.”

“I'm sorry. Not exactly a romantic honeymoon, is it? I know this wasn't exactly what we'd hoped for—well, except for the first part, which was nice. But I'll be the first to admit that camping out at my parents' house doesn't fit anyone's description of a good time. You are far too understanding. I don't think it would make much difference in figuring this out if you dragged me out of the house by my hair and threw me in the car.”

“You can actually picture me doing that?” Seth said in mock horror.

“No, not exactly. But a girl can dream, can't she?”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Are there any sounds of breakfast-making coming from the kitchen?”

“Not that I've noticed. Why?”

“I have an idea about how we can pass the time . . .”

An hour later they meandered down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Elizabeth was just putting the coffee on. “Good morning, Meg, Seth. Did you have a nice chat with your father, Meg?”

“Yes, we did, after you kind of forced us into it. I'm embarrassed about how little I know about what Daddy was doing when I was growing up.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Good heavens, don't apologize, Meg! Children aren't supposed to be interested in what grown-ups do. They have their own lives. If you had paid attention, what do you think it would have changed? Would you be a lawyer now, rather than a farmer?”

Meg filled a cup of coffee for herself, then held up the pot toward Seth. He nodded, so she filled a second cup, then joined him at the banquette. “Probably not. Maybe I never felt sure enough of myself to even picture myself telling people what to do, or even defending people. Working with numbers seemed safer.”

“But you manage a crew now, don't you?” Elizabeth joined them at the table.

“With Bree's help, yes. I'm still learning. And of course, I'm older now, and I've hit a few speed bumps along the way, so my perspective has changed.”
And maybe I really have gained a bit more self-confidence.

“What about you, Seth?” Elizabeth turned to him. “Your father was a single contractor, right? And you've followed in his footsteps?”

Meg waited to see how he would answer that. She had never met his father, and knew of him only through Seth and his mother Lydia. Her general impression was that Stephen Chapin had been a rather irascible man who didn't play well with others. Seth was nothing like that, and seemed to be universally well liked, at least within Granford.

“Elizabeth, I took over my father's business out of necessity, when he died, but I found I do enjoy being my own boss, especially now that I get to work with old houses. I hire subcontractors as needed, but I have plenty of people I work with. I certainly don't try to do everything myself.”

A phone rang, startling everyone. Elizabeth listened for a moment, and then they could hear Phillip's voice coming from the other end of the house, and she relaxed again.
Was she expecting more bad news?
Meg wondered.

A couple of minutes later, Phillip came into the kitchen. “You'll never guess who that was.”

“So we won't try,” Elizabeth said. “Nothing bad, I hope?”

Phillip poured himself some coffee, finishing off the pot, and Elizabeth rose to make another. When Phillip sat in the place she had vacated, he said, “That was the hotel in Amherst. They've identified the person who hit our car.”

“How?” Meg asked. “I thought they didn't have cameras, and there were no witnesses.”

“Yes to the first, but as for the second, the hotel sent out a discreet e-mail to all the guests on the parking-lot side of the building that night, asking if anyone had noticed
anything out of the ordinary. They received an answer yesterday. Someone had heard the crash and looked out the window, and there was enough light in the lot to enable him to identify the make and model of the car, and that it was a local license plate.”

“Why did they wait so long to report it?” Meg demanded.

“They were traveling themselves, and not checking their e-mails regularly. But there's more. As luck would have it, a car matching that description was stopped that same night by the Amherst police and the driver was arrested for operating under the influence. His car was damaged. They only just put the pieces together and realized it was the same vehicle.”

Meg wasn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved. “So it looks like the incident in Amherst isn't related to what happened here in Montclair?”

“So it would appear. Are you disappointed, Meg? I know you've been having a fine time weaving your own theories.” Phillip looked surprisingly cheerful. “Pancakes, everyone?” He didn't wait for an answer but stood up and started rummaging in the kitchen cupboards for the ingredients.

Elizabeth sat down again and shook her head, smiling. “It won't do you any good to say no,” she said in a stage whisper. “He loves his pancakes.”

Breakfast was a relaxed meal, uninterrupted by any more phone calls. There was nothing to be done about insurance claims or murder investigations. Did Phillip think that by eliminating one support for her logic about the crimes, the rest would simply disintegrate? Meg wondered. The other two pieces were far more serious—and
in one case, deadly. But she was reluctant to spoil the cheerful mood in the kitchen.

After breakfast Meg and Seth cleaned up—her father had always been a messy cook, and that hadn't changed. “So the fender bender in Amherst had nothing to do with what happened to Enrique. Or it did, but not by anyone's plan,” Meg said, scrubbing the griddle.

“Yes,” Seth said, as he dried a plate and added it to the stack on the counter.

But Meg couldn't let it go. “My father said that he and my mother had intended to stay in Massachusetts a few days longer last week, until the problem with his car happened. He was
not
expected to be here last week, by whoever killed Enrique.”

“All right,” Seth said cautiously. “You're assuming they didn't expect to find Enrique here either?”

“Whoever it was may not have known about Enrique.” Meg turned off the water and faced Seth. “But whoever it was—this person who
wasn't
in the parking lot in Amherst—if he knew my parents and Arthur would be gone, he could have searched the house and the office at any time. Why'd he wait so long?”

Seth shook his head. “Meg, I can't tell you that. How many people knew your father would be gone?”

“Arthur, of course, but he was supposed to be gone for the same period. The secretary, Miriam. Anyone my mother might have told. If it was summer I'd say a golf buddy, but I don't think anyone's playing this time of year. Or maybe I should say, my father is not among the manic few who insist on playing year-round. Do you know, there are some people who actually get orange balls so they can play in snow?”

“No, I did not know that, and I'm sure my life was just fine without that factoid. I do not play golf. I have no intention of playing golf at any future time in my life. Can I discard that bit of information?”

Meg swatted his arm. “Fine, laugh at me. All in all I doubt they'd have told many people. It's not like the good old days when the comings and goings of the upper crust would have been reported in the local newspaper's society column.”

Seth came closer and laid his hands on Meg's shoulders. “Let it go, Meg,” he said gently. “Your father can figure this out without your help. Why don't we find something more pleasant to do?”

She grinned at him. “We already did that this morning. You'll need to come up with something else.”

“All right. Jigsaw puzzles? Your mother and I already combed through your childhood pictures—and I warn you, she's promised to send me copies of some of the more compromising ones. Ah, I know! Yearbooks. You have a high school yearbook here somewhere?”

Meg shut her eyes momentarily. “Have you ever seen a yearbook that makes anybody look good? But, yes, my mother loves to save things like that. It's either in the room we're in or in the office upstairs.”

“Let's go find it,” Seth said firmly. Meg followed him up the stairs.

It took no more than five minutes of searching—Elizabeth might have a sentimental streak, but she was nothing like a hoarder, and kept her possessions in good order. Meg was the one who found it. “Here it is.” Seth reached for it, but she pulled it back quickly. “Do you
promise not to laugh? And to never share it with anyone you know?”

“Hey, you can look at mine any time you like.”

“It's not the same thing,” Meg retorted. “The hairstyles when I was in high school were not kind to girls. You probably looked exactly like you do now.”

“A few pounds lighter, but I get your point.” He raised his right hand. “I promise that whatever we find in that yearbook will not be used against you in a court of law—or anywhere else. Now can I see it?”

“I guess,” Meg said with a sigh. They settled themselves comfortably in the window seat, nestled against each other. “I assume you want to see my individual portrait photo first?”

“Of course. Show me.”

Grudgingly Meg took the book and paged through it until she came to the seniors page with the
C
s. “There,” she pointed.

“Ah,” Seth said, and pulled the book toward him. “Cute.”

“Would you have gone out with me then?”

“Meg, I didn't go out with anyone back then. I might have hung out with a group of pals that happened to include girls, but that was about it. Besides, I didn't have a lot of spare time, since working for my father kept me busy.”

“Poor baby. So there was no girl you worshiped from afar?”

“Nope. I figured it was hopeless. I was smart, but my father was a plumber. I didn't really fit in with any particular group.”

Meg thought briefly about asking when and how Seth
and his wife—correction,
first
wife—had connected, but decided it might spoil the mood. Wow, she was a second wife. She'd never thought about that. Seth had never brought it up, exactly, but Meg guessed that he was the type who had imagined he'd be married to only one woman. Meg had met the ex, Nancy, briefly, and had trouble picturing them together.

Meg reclaimed the yearbook and turned back a page. “Here's Joe Caffarelli. His haircut is a hoot, isn't it? I guess he's lost a bit of hair since.”

“So do we all,” Seth said.

They held the book between them and leafed through it. Meg pointed out favorite teachers, the few clubs and activities she'd taken part in (mainly for college application purposes), and various candid shots, which turned out to be mainly of cheerleaders and football stars. The whole thing made Meg feel sad—it seemed so long ago now. They'd all been so full of hope and plans back then. How many of those plans had come to pass? Her life certainly didn't match what she had expected then. College, yes. First job, check. But now? Things had taken an unexpected turn.

“Wait a sec,” she said, as Seth turned another page. “Go back to the other page.”

Seth did, then looked at her. “What?”

What had caught her eye . . . “There, in the junior hockey team—Miriam Caffarelli.”

Seth didn't speak for a moment. “Were there many Caffarellis in your school?”

“No, just Joe's family. I'd guess this is his younger sister.”

“And her name is Miriam?”

“So it seems. I didn't know her then. Heck, I barely knew Joe, and only because he was in my class. And Miriam is such an old-fashioned name—I'd guess that she probably went by some nickname, like Mims or Miri.”

“And you're thinking . . .”

“You know what I'm thinking,” Meg said flatly. “We have to show this to my father.” She stood up, grabbing the yearbook from Seth as she went, holding the place with her finger. “Come on.”

They found Phillip in the study on the same floor. He looked up when they entered. “Hello again, darling. Did you have any plans for the day? Or were you thinking of hitting the road?”

“Neither, just yet. Can I show you something?”

“Of course. What is it?”

Meg laid the yearbook, open to the page she had held, on the desk in front of her father. Then she pointed to the one picture of the hockey team. “See anyone familiar?”

Her father looked at the page, bewildered, and then he focused more intently. “This Miriam Caffarelli here—you're guessing she's my secretary?”

“What do you think?”

He turned his attention back to the photo. “It's possible. My Miriam's got a different last name—Miriam Del Monte.”

“She could easily be married.”