Aspen Allegations - A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery

Chapter 15

I carefully cradled the Tupperware container of two dozen devilled eggs on my lap as Jason pulled to a stop before the low, white ranch house. The clock on the dashboard of his truck was just clicking to six p.m. – we were exactly on time. The evening was crisp and bright, with a quarter-moon crescent shining boldly through the night sky. Orion's belt was studded with its glistening trio of stars.

We walked the short path to the front steps, and the half-hearted bark of a dog sounded as we knocked at the door. There was a call of "come in!" but I found the knob wouldn't turn under my hand. There was bright, merry laughter from inside, and then the door pulled open. Meredith, Jason's talented lead singer, stood waiting, a green-print apron over her flowing skirt.

"There you are, welcome," she greeted. "I forgot to unlock the door!" Jason hefted the half-case of wine in his arms, moving to tuck it against one wall. The home was a study in comfortable formality. We had come into the elegant dining room, filled with a sturdy, dark-oak table set for ten. Gold-chased plateware, glass salad bowls, and jewel colored napkins adorned each setting. Behind the table stood a large curio cabinet, also of heavy, carved oak, featuring curved glass sides and a collection of sapphire-blue dishes.

Meredith's husband came out to greet us. He was nearly six feet tall, bordering on thin, his ebony-dark skin pointing to his Masai birth. He offered a wide smile as Jason introduced us.

Jason's eyes moved over the collection of pots simmering on the stove. "I hear your famous ribs will make an appearance tonight?"

Simel's smile widened. "Indeed," he agreed. We could hear a soccer game playing from the TV in the next room. Simel's fondness for the sport was almost legendary with the band, and I had half expected to find a TV set up in the dining room. He turned to the fridge, covered with photos of family members. "Would you like something to drink? A beer? Water?"

I shook my head. "Nothing yet, thanks."

There was a knock on the door, and others began to arrive. The rhythm guitarist was tall and slender, in his late forties, with a dark-haired wife he'd been with for nearly twenty years. The lead guitarist was shorter, more muscular, with a girlfriend whose cooking skills were top-notch. Last came the drummer, easy-going, smiling, with his girlfriend who had joined him only in the last month or two.

There was laughter and cheery conversation; I felt welcomed and drawn in by the merry group. Clearly they had been playing together for a while and were comfortable with each other. The two guitarists talked animatedly about how they had been taken advantage of by dentists who maintained a "drill, fill, and bill" focus in life. Apparently both had been pressured to have unnecessary dental work done in order to fund the dentists' children's passages through Harvard and Yale.

I could commiserate. Back ten years ago I had been required to switch dentists, and began using a new one out on Route 9 in Westboro. On my very first visit there he insisted that I had two cavities and needed a crown. This despite me having a cavity-free record for the previous decade. I was concerned at the time – perhaps my last dentist had been lax? Maybe he had been ignoring serious issues in my mouth? I let this new dentist do the work he recommended. However, I felt so uncomfortable with his atmosphere during the crownwork that I did not want to return. So I switched dentists again, to yet another one in Westboro that a friend of mine recommended. For the ten years I had been with him since that, I had never again had any cavities nor other dental work needed. It made me wonder if that one dentist on Route 9 had been of the "drill, fill, and bill" variety – and that my teeth had been quite fine as is.

Meredith announced that the food was ready and we moseyed around to the kitchen, waiting our turns to take portions from the fragrant-smelling containers. There was warm garlic bread with gently browned tops, freshly made meatballs simmering in a tomato sauce, the rose-colored ribs, and the rhythm guitarist had brought a large, white bowl of Caesar salad. Soon we were settled at the heavy table, three bottles of wine among a pair of silver candelabras.