One Bad Apple

by Sheila Connolly

Art rotated his neck to work out the kinks. “I’m pretty sure that if the detective checks his phone records, he’ll find a call to Cinda’s room just about then. Although Stephen probably came up with the idea of your septic tank.”

  “I wondered about that,” Meg said. “I mean, why did he think that a body wouldn’t clog up my plumbing?”

  “Seth, you want to take that one?”

  Seth laughed bitterly. “Told you he wasn’t a very good plumber. He knew you were the only one using the system, so the volume would be pretty low. I’ll bet he figured Chandler would rot, once the ground warmed up come spring, and nobody would be the wiser. As usual, he didn’t think it through.”

  Meg shivered involuntarily at the image of Chandler rotting away outside her kitchen window. “Art, will Cinda be charged with anything?”

  “That’s up to the DA. But I’m guessing he’ll find something. After all, she made him look like a fool, too.”

  Then Seth broke in. “Cinda and Stephen must have been seeing each other for a while, if Stephen was willing to go after Chandler for her.”

  “A few months, I gather. Not long after she arrived in town.”

  It took Meg a moment to do the math. “Wait a minute—you mean Cinda was sleeping with Stephen even before Chandler dropped her? What a …” Words failed her.

  “Yeah, you have to admire her planning,” Art said, with a barely suppressed smile.

  At least Cinda was off the Granford Grange project—if there even was a project anymore. Whatever penalty Cinda faced, Granford faced a larger one. Meg couldn’t think of anything else to say. She caught Seth’s eye and raised an eyebrow, and he nodded. “I guess we should be going,” he said.

  Art stood up. “I’ll let you know if I need anything from you, Seth. And, Meg? What you did at the meeting—that took guts. Maybe you didn’t have all the facts right, but you certainly blew things wide-open. Sorry if we gave you a hard time.” He extended his hand.

  Meg stood up, too, and took it. “You were doing your job, Chief. I knew the evidence was shaky, so I can’t blame you.”

  As they walked back to the lot, where Seth had left his van the night before, he was quiet. “You okay?” Meg asked.

  He jerked out of his reverie. “Sorry. As good as can be expected. Just trying to sort through what jobs I’ve got lined up, what I can handle on my own. I’m going to need to find some help with the business, and fast.”

  “Oh. Right.” The business was his livelihood, and his businesspartner was in jail. “I suppose I’d better get back to my to-do list.” After I take a long nap.

  “You’ve got a great house,” Seth said, almost wistfully. “You know, it seems a shame for it to pass out of the family, after all this time.”

  “I’m not sure I am family.”

  “The sisters left the place to your mother, right? That makes you family. Fact is, most of the people in Granford are related, if you go back far enough. You and I are probably related somehow. Look, Meg …” He fumbled for words. “I don’t know what your plans are, or were, or if they’ve changed. But I don’t want you to judge Granford on what’s happened in the last couple of weeks. If you give it a chance, you might like the place.”

  What was he saying? “Seth, with all that’s happened lately, I haven’t made up my mind about anything. And even you don’t know what’s going to happen with the town, now that it looks like the project may be dead. I’m sorry about that.”

  “We’ll manage. We’ve survived for over two hundred years, right?”

  Back at the house, after pushing the balky front door shut, Meg turned to survey her domain. The house was very quiet, a few dust motes dancing in the light from the windows. Her house. Her history—and now she had added an unexpected and unlikely new chapter. What would Lula and Nettie think about this turn of events?

  What are you going to do, Meg?

  The to-do list waited, and now she had to add getting her back-door lock replaced. But what was the point? She could pour more time and effort into the house, and increase the selling price by a few thousand dollars. But was it worth it?

  “Yes.”

  The word echoed in the room, and Meg was surprised to realize she’d said it out loud. It was worth it, not because it made the house an easier sell, but because the house deserved it. It deserved someone who cared about it, and who would care for it. It had suffered neglect and abuse over the past few decades, waiting patiently for someone to recognize its worth. Waiting for her.

  Meg sat down with a thump. How had that happened? When? Why?

  She recognized now that she had retreated to Granford with her tail between her legs, and Granford had… well, not precisely welcomed her, but had let her be. Living in a small town was different than living in Boston—here everyone knew who you were and knew your history. How would they react, now that she had made a public fool of herself and trashed their economic prospects? Seth seemed to think that they’d forgive her.

  And then there was Seth himself. He was no Chandler—thank heavens. Chandler had turned out to be the wrong choice, in so many ways. Maybe Seth wasn’t even interested in a relationship. But he had offered friendship, had made her feel welcome, and then had stood by her when things had looked bad.

  But what about her career? Or, if career was too grand a term, what the heck was she going to do to support herself? High school, college, MBA, one job, then another—she had always been focused, directed, determined. And look where that had landed her: no job, no relationships, no fixed home. Maybe it was time to reconsider her strategy.

  Maybe what she had thought was a temporary diversion had become something more. Did she want to stay, in the house, in the town? She was surprised to find that she did, in spite of all that had happened. Now all she had to do was figure out how to make that possible.

  She had a lot to think about.

  32

  In the end, the decision was easier than she had expected.

  Meg spent the next few days scraping, sanding, painting, and thinking. She sought out no one’s company, and, blessedly, nobody hounded her, as if they sensed she was in hibernation, something that required time and solitude.

  Rachel was the first to break Meg’s self-imposed exile. She showed up one afternoon at Meg’s front door.

  Meg pulled open the door—now planed into submission— with a smile. “Come on in. You want some coffee?”

  “Sure.” Rachel followed her, and in the kitchen held out a bag that smelled of cinnamon and apples. “Peace offering. More muffins.”

  Meg set a mug of coffee on the table in front of her. “Hey, you don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m the one who should be apologizing. Rachel, I’m sorry about Stephen. If I had known he was involved, from the beginning … well, I don’t know what I would have done. I started out just to clear my own name, and things kind of happened from there.”

  Rachel stared into the depths of her coffee. “I know. I just needed some time to get my head around it all.”

  “I can imagine. Listen, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “I think I want to stay in Granford.”

  “You mean, live here, in the Warren house?”

  Meg nodded. “I think so. But I don’t want to do that if the entire county is going to shun me. And I’m not sure I know the rules for small-town living. Do you think people are going to be willing to forgive and forget?” Are you willing?

  Rachel was silent for a few moments. “Have you talked to Seth?”

  “No. I figured he had enough to worry about.”

  “Ha.” Rachel laughed shortly, but she didn’t look as tense. “Sorry—that’s not your fault. There’s just a lot of stuff going on, with Stephen, and the plumbing business, and the town …”

  Rachel was looking out the kitchen window, unseeing. She didn’t speak for a while, but then she seemed to come to some sort of decision, and she turned to Meg. “I’m sorry, Meg. I know all this can’t have been easy
for you. It’s been difficult for all of us.”

  Meg waited for Rachel to continue.

  “We had one of those picture-perfect childhoods, you know? Mom and Dad, three kids, stable home life, supportive community. All the good stuff. But kids are different, and different kids react in different ways to the same environment. Seth—he’s the big brother, the leader. The responsible one. Smart, funny, nice—all-around good guy, you know? And you’ve probably heard that he took over the business when Dad couldn’t keep it up any longer, and he made it work, took on Stephen as a partner. Even though he had his doubts about Stephen, he did it. Family came first.

  “Me, I was the middle kid, the only girl. I worshiped Seth. I wasn’t as smart or as popular as he was, but he was always nice to me, looked out for me. We get along fine.

  “Stephen came along a few years later—Mom lost a baby between me and him. And things were different then—Mom and Dad were older, they knew Stephen was the last baby, there was a little more money. Okay, they spoiled him, but not much. Thing is, Stephen … heck, I’m not sure how to describe it. At school he was always in Seth’s shadow—you know how it goes, ‘Oh, you’re Seth Chapin’s little brother, eh?’ But he was never as good in classes or in sports or in anything else, really. And the folks never really pushed him, so he sort of drifted along. Somewhere along the way he developed this chip on his shoulder, like somebody owed him something, and it only got worse after Dad died and he had to work with Seth. Please, don’t get me wrong. I love both my brothers. It’s just, sometimes I have to work harder to like Stephen.”

  Meg nodded her encouragement, afraid to break the flow of Rachel’s words.

  Rachel went on. “I knew he was slacking off at the business, not that Seth complained. And I know he’s had … trouble with women. I don’t pry, but he’s been in and out of relationships most of his adult life. He tells us one story, and then I hear something different from somebody else. I guess if this smart, pretty woman from Boston showed up and came on to him, he might go along with just about anything. So Cinda used him. I buy that. But murder? I’m still having trouble with that idea, even though everything points that way.”

  Meg let go of a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “Rachel, I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to believe it either. To be fair, I don’t think he planned it. I think it’s just one of those awful, stupid things that happens. Stephen might not have gone to Northampton that night. Or he could have been too drunk to do anything, and Chandler would have called security at the hotel and had him thrown out. Any number of other possibilities. And I wish—I so wish—that I hadn’t been the one to drag all this into the open, and hurt you, and Seth.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I know. It’s not your fault. Hey, I’m just mad at the universe. It’s a whole new world, having a brother who’s been accused of murder.” She summoned up a smile. “So, look, if you’re staying around, how do you plan to support yourself? I mean, you’re not independently wealthy, are you?”

  “No way. Although my mother and I had agreed to share the proceeds on the house when it sold. Except if I don’t sell it, there goes that. But, I’ve been thinking … Rachel, what about the orchard?”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, if the development project isn’t going to go ahead, then it’s still mine, and I’m told it still produces a decent crop. Is that enough to live on?”

  Rachel considered this. “I really don’t know, but I won’t say no right off. Maybe. You own the house, so no rent or mortgage. But you’ve still got to pay your expenses, taxes, that kind of thing. Isn’t there someone at the university you could talk to?”

  “There is, and I plan to. But am I crazy to even think about it? I mean, I have a degree in finance, not agriculture.”

  “But you’re smart, and you can learn. If you want to. And you’re the only one who can decide that.”

  “What about the rest of Granford?”

  “Give them some credit, Meg—they aren’t stupid. Stephen was one of their own, and Cinda managed to lead him around by his ding-dong. You had nothing to do with that. And there are other things … No, I’ll let Seth talk to you about that. So I say, if you really want to try, go ahead. Give it a couple of years and see how it goes. If it doesn’t work out, you can always go back to Boston or go somewhere else.”

  “Rachel, I like the way you think.”

  Another knock on the door, this time the back one. Meg got up to let Seth in. “Come on in,” she said. “Have some coffee. Have a muffin—Rachel brought them.”

  “Thanks.” Seth carefully scraped the mud off his shoes before entering the kitchen. “Hi, Rachel.”

  “Were your ears burning, brother of mine? We were just talking about you. Oh, and the orchard. Meg’s thinking of working it commercially.”

  Seth helped himself to a mug of coffee and sat down. “Great idea. Of course, maybe it’s selfish of me to say so …” He and his sister exchanged a conspiratorial glance.

  “What?” Meg demanded.

  “Looks like the development project’s going to go forward, but on a more limited basis, without Puritan Bank. But their proposal got us thinking. In the long run, I’m not sure it would have passed a vote—the whole thing was too glitzy, too impersonal. Not a good fit for Granford. But it forced the town to take a hard look at some basic economic issues, and I think there’s a consensus now that we need to do something to generate revenue. I’ve been talking to people, and I think we could put together a more modest project, using local funders and developers. Wouldn’t pull in as much money, but it would help. And Puritan Bank’s already done all the analysis and proved it could work.”

  “That’s great! But, where would it go?”

  “Don’t worry—not on your orchard. But I’m willing to sell my land, and I’ve talked to the other owners along the highway, so I think we could put together a good parcel.”

  “Your land? But what about your business? Where would you go?”

  He shot another glance at Rachel. “That’s another thing I’ve been thinking about, now that Stephen’s pretty much out of the picture. You know it was my dad’s business, and I joined him out of college, took over when he died?”

  “Yes, Rachel told me. You don’t want to keep it going?”

  Seth smiled into his coffee cup. “To be honest, no. Not that plumbing isn’t a good and honest profession, and it pays well. But over the past few years, I’ve found that I’m less interested in that and more interested in restoring old houses.”

  “Ah. So that’s why you hang out at salvage places?”

  “Yup. So I’ve been thinking, instead of relocating the plumbing business, maybe I could make a lateral move into renovation. I’d need to hire some people to cover the stuff I don’t know, like finish carpentry, and I could still do the plumbing stuff, but the emphasis would be different.”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Meg said firmly.

  “I’m glad you think so, because I’ll need a new space, if our land’s gone. A place to work from and storage space for equipment, tools—and salvage. And you’ve got this barn, right?”

  It took Meg a moment to figure out what he meant. “You want to use my barn? You’d probably have to shore it up, and put in lighting and heat, but I could cut you a good deal if you wanted to take it over.”

  “You’d have to put up with me in your backyard, and a lot of coming and going. Could you handle that?”

  “I think so. And”—now that she’d started the ball rolling, ideas were popping into her head faster and faster—“I’ve been wondering how to support myself, if I’m really going to give this orchard thing a go. But if the town’s putting together a local development project, I can help with the financial side. For a fee, of course.” She grinned.

  Seth smiled back. “That would be good. We could use the help. So you’re okay with the barn thing?”

  “Definitely.” Meg raised her mug. “To a new and successful partnership.”

/>   Given the way her karma was working today, Meg was not surprised to see Christopher’s van pass by not long after Seth had left. The very person she needed to talk to, to put her plan in motion. She grabbed her coat and headed up the hill to intercept him.

  When she reached the ridge line, she waved to him. He turned and smiled, waiting for her to approach.

  “You’ve heard that the project fell through?”

  Christopher beamed. “I did. I must say I’m pleased, although I know the town may suffer for it.”

  Meg smiled. “Don’t worry—there are other plans afoot. But I wanted to talk to you about the orchard.”

  “Yes?”

  “Christopher, I’ve decided I don’t want to sell this place.” Wow, Meg thought, I’ve gone from thinking about it to stating it as a fact, in the space of a day. What would her mother say? “Which means, I think, that I’m going to need the income from the orchard. And I’m going to need some help running it, because I know next to nothing about orchard management.”

  “Dear lady, I think that’s a wonderful idea—as long as the university may continue to use it for research purposes?”

  “Of course—as long as what you do doesn’t hurt my crop.”

  “Then we’ll have no difficulty there. And, as for the management …”

  “Yes?” Meg prompted.

  “I think you would do well to hire an orchard manager.”

  “Christopher, I don’t know if I can pay anyone to do anything right now.”

  “The person I have in mind … well, it’s a complicated situation, but I think you might be able to work out some sort of arrangement with her—perhaps if you offered a living space, or a share of the profits. She’s a student of mine, but she’ll be graduating at the end of the school year, and she wants to stay in this area.”

  “Then let’s talk to her. I trust your judgment.”

  “Grand! Well, then, I look forward to a fruitful collaboration.”

  “Christopher, that’s a terrible pun, but I like the sentiment. So, where do we start?”

  “Well, let me introduce you to the rest of your trees, shall I?”