A Killer Crop

by Sheila Connolly

  “So that’s your orchard manager? She seems so young.” Elizabeth tore small pieces from the muffin on her plate.

  “She’s smart, hardworking, and knows what she’s doing. More than I do, at least as far as apples are concerned. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  Elizabeth seemed to ignore Meg’s comments. “You said there’s only one bathroom?”

  “Yes. I’d love to add another one in a year or two, once I get the hang of this orchard thing and make some money.”

  “Are you short of money? I thought your former employer was generous when they released you.”

  “You mean when they booted me out? Yes, they were, by most industry standards. But I’ve had a lot of expenses getting started here, both with the house and with the facilities and equipment for the orchard. I have to watch my expenses, and a second bathroom is pretty far down the list at the moment. Besides, Bree and I manage just fine.”

  “Still, a second bath would greatly enhance the resale value.”

  Meg counted to ten silently. “Mother, I’m not planning to sell anytime soon, at least until I’ve seen if I can handle the orchard as a business. I told you that.”

  “Yes, you did, but I had hoped you would change your mind. Meg, you aren’t cut out to be a farmer! And all those years of education and experience . . . I’m sure you can find something more suitable, if you look.”

  “Mother, this is not exactly a good time to look for a job, certainly not in the financial sector. Besides, I happen to like what I’m doing. I’m learning a lot. It’s an honest profession with a long history. I like this place, and the people around here are great. What more should I want?”

  “A husband? Or do they call them life partners these days?”

  Why was it her mother always managed to push all her buttons? In the space of the last few minutes, Elizabeth had managed to disparage Meg’s home, her current profession, and her lack of romantic relationship.

  “You met Seth last night,” she began.

  “Oh, that man who brought you home?”

  “Yes. He’s a neighbor, and he lives over the hill. He’s using space in my outbuildings for his renovation business.”

  “He’s in construction?” Elizabeth’s eyebrow inched up a fraction.

  “Mother, you don’t have to say it like that. Actually, he was a plumber when I met him, but he’s wanted to branch out into restoring the old homes around here for a long time, and I offered him the use of my building for his business when his was demolished for the local shopping center.” She thought she’d save the news that he had also attended Amherst College, one of the most prestigious schools in the country—and that he loved what he did. Everything he did, which included serving as a town selectman and unofficial supreme facilitator for just about anything that needed to be done in Granford.

  “Ah,” Elizabeth said.

  Any further comment was forestalled by a knock at the front door—which was odd, because most people Meg knew came around to the kitchen door. She checked her watch: barely eight o’clock. Who would be coming by this early? “I’ll get that,” she tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the front of the house.

  She checked the peephole of her front door and was astounded to find Detective William Marcus of the state police standing on her doorstep. She opened the door quickly. “Good morning, Bill ...” At the expression on his face, she surmised that the camaraderie of the prior evening, when they had shared a table at the restaurant opening, had evaporated. “Detective Marcus. What brings you here so early? Everything okay over at the restaurant?” Nicky and Brian had had enough trouble getting their new business under way, and she didn’t want to see them suffer any setbacks now.

  “Meg.” He nodded once in reply. “Is your mother’s name Elizabeth Corey? Mrs. Phillip Corey?”

  “Yes,” Meg said, mystified. “Why do you ask?”

  “I need to talk to her on a matter of official business. Would you happen to know how to reach her? There’s no response on her cell phone.”

  “As a matter of fact, she’s sitting at my kitchen table at the moment. What’s this all about?”

  Detective Marcus relaxed almost imperceptibly. “I need to speak with her. Her phone number was the last one dialed by a dead man.”

  2

  For a moment Meg wondered if she’d heard Detective Marcus correctly. The “dead” part came through loud and clear. But where did her mother fit in? Why would anyone local have her mother’s phone number? Obviously, the simplest way to find out would be to ask her.

  “Come this way,” she told Marcus, who followed her toward the back of the house. When they entered the kitchen, Elizabeth looked up, mildly curious. “Mother,” Meg began, “this is Detective William Marcus of the state police, from Northampton. He’s asked to talk to you.”

  Meg watched her mother’s face carefully, but saw no more than slight confusion and gracious composure. “I can’t imagine why you would want to talk to me, but I’ll be perfectly happy to answer any of your questions. Please, sit down.” Elizabeth waved a hospitable hand toward an empty chair. “Meg, perhaps you could pour some more coffee?”

  Meg was silently amused at her mother’s automatic assumption of the role of hostess. She looked at Marcus, who nodded slightly. She took the pot, filled a new mug for him, then refilled hers and her mother’s before sitting down.

  “What would you like to know—Detective Marcus, is it?” Elizabeth asked.

  Marcus pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “You’re Mrs. Elizabeth Corey, correct?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth acknowledged.

  “And you and your husband, Phillip, live in Montclair, New Jersey?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “When did you arrive in Massachusetts?”

  “I drove up Saturday morning. I arrived in time for a late lunch.”

  Detective Marcus went on in a neutral tone of voice, “What was the purpose of your trip, Mrs. Corey?”

  “May I ask why you want to know?” Elizabeth parried.

  Marcus paused, choosing his words—or letting Elizabeth stew. “Your phone number was found in the recent-call list on a cell phone found in the pocket of a Daniel Weston, whose body was discovered early this morning in Amherst.”

  Meg watched with apprehension as the color drained from her mother’s face, but Elizabeth’s gaze never left Marcus’s face. “Daniel? He’s dead? Oh my God, what happened?”

  “I take it you knew Mr. Weston?”

  “I did. For more than half my life, in fact. How did he die?”

  Meg’s radar pricked up: Marcus wouldn’t be sitting in her kitchen now if this Daniel Weston had died a natural death. But where did her mother fit in the equation?

  “I’ll get to that in a moment. How were you acquainted with him?”

  “I’ve known him since he and my husband were in graduate school together.”

  “Have you seen him recently?”

  Elizabeth’s chin came up slightly. “Yes, Detective, I saw him this weekend.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Meg.

  “When and where was that?”

  “As I said, I arrived in the early afternoon on Saturday. Daniel and I shared a late lunch in Amherst.”

  “Was your husband with you, Mrs. Corey?”

  “No, Phillip is currently traveling with some friends. I’m not exactly sure how you could reach him—I believe he’s on a boat, although perhaps one of his friends has a cell phone with him. But the point of his trip was to get away from such things, so it may not be turned on.”

  “We’ll come back to that. You say you had lunch with Mr. Weston on Saturday. Then what?”

  “He showed me the Amherst campus, where he teaches. We drove around a bit after that. This is what the locals consider prime leaf-viewing season, isn’t it? The roads were rather crowded, I thought.”

  “Yes, there are quite a few tourists around. Where did you go after you went driving?”

  “He drove
me back to Northampton—I was staying at that lovely hotel in the center of town. We made plans to meet the next morning.”

  “You didn’t have dinner with him?”

  “No. He said he had a prior engagement, and in any case I was tired from the drive. I ate at the hotel, and went to bed early.”

  “Did you see him after that?”

  “Yes. He picked me up Sunday morning and we had a late brunch. Then he said he had to prepare for something—a class or a college event, he didn’t elaborate—and then he left. We came together again for dinner that night. He saw me back to my hotel afterward, and then he left. He had said he would call yesterday morning, Monday, but I never heard from him. Oh, God,” she whispered. “Was he dead by then?”

  Meg remained silent, but she was doing the math. What had her mother been doing all day yesterday, before she had appeared at the house? “When exactly did this Daniel Weston die, Detective?”

  Marcus seemed startled by Meg’s interruption. “His body was discovered yesterday morning, and he’d been dead a few hours. He died late Sunday night. What time did you finish dinner, Mrs. Corey?”

  “I’d say around nine.”

  “Did he mention any other plans for the evening?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No. I assumed he was going home.”

  “Do you know his wife?”

  “Patricia? No, we’ve never met. I knew his first wife slightly.”

  “How would you characterize your relationship with Mr. Weston?”

  “He and I were old friends. As was my husband.”

  “Had you seen him since your grad school days?”

  “Actually, no—or at least not for many years. We exchanged holiday cards, but I had little occasion to come up this way. I was quite surprised when I heard from him.”

  One of Marcus’s eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch. “He contacted you?”

  “Yes, he did, last week. He said he was curious about how I had changed, and he invited me to come visit. Since I hadn’t seen my daughter, Meg, since she moved here to Granford, I thought it was an ideal opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Oh, that’s a poor analogy, isn’t it? But my husband was away, I wanted to see what Meg had done with the house, and then there was this unexpected call from a long-lost friend in the same area. I had no other commitments, so I drove up.”

  Without telling me, Meg thought, but she refrained from voicing that. If Elizabeth was telling the truth, Marcus could no doubt verify her story quickly enough.

  If? Did she actually doubt her mother’s story? Whatever her other faults, Elizabeth Corey was scrupulously honest, with loved ones and strangers alike, sometimes to the point of insulting them. But there was something off about her mother’s attitude, not that Detective Marcus would necessarily notice. But Meg had.

  “You don’t work outside the home, Mrs. Corey?” Marcus pressed.

  “I’m somewhat retired.” When Marcus looked confused, she said, “I’m a freelance consultant to nonprofit organizations. I do some grant writing, organize direct mail campaigns, that sort of thing, for those organizations that cannot afford full-time staff. As you might guess, things are a bit slow at the moment, and I have no projects right now. So, if you’re asking, there was no reason why I couldn’t take time off on the spur of the moment.”

  “But you hadn’t made time before to see your daughter, who’s been here for, what, most of the year?”

  Meg wanted to see how her mother would respond to this question, since she’d asked herself the same thing.

  “I should have. I know she was going through a difficult time—losing her job, moving here, and then finding Chandler Hale the way she did. I’m sure you know about that?” Marcus gave a curt nod, and Elizabeth went on, “But, although it may reflect poorly on me, I wasn’t sure what comfort I could offer. I had every confidence that Meg could work her way through whatever problems she faced, and I thought I’d just be in the way.”

  Gee, thanks. Meg didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’d been suspected of murder, for God’s sake! She’d been stuck in a crumbling barn of a house, with no friends and no income—and her mother had been sure she could manage just fine? Which she had, with no help from her mother. But a little sympathy would have gone a long way. Of course, Elizabeth could’ve argued that Meg hadn’t even told her what was going on until after it was resolved, so maybe they could share the blame. And truth be told, she hadn’t ever picked up the phone and actually invited her mother to visit. Meg sighed involuntarily.

  “Did you have something to add, Margaret?” her mother asked, turning toward her.

  “No. But Mother’s right, Detective. We aren’t overly close, and the fact that she would be in the area without telling me isn’t particularly surprising. And she did arrive here last night.”

  “Huh,” Detective Marcus said. He turned back to Elizabeth. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Weston? Did he seem nervous? Worried?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “Not that I could tell. But bear in mind, Detective, I hadn’t seen the man for decades. All I can tell you is that we had a very pleasant time together.”

  Meg realized that they had ignored one important question. “Detective, I take it Daniel wasn’t found at home? Where was he found? His office?”

  Marcus hesitated, as if trying to decide how much to say. “He was found at a farm stand on the south end of Amherst.”

  Meg couldn’t restrain herself. “A farm stand? How did he die?” She was almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “An apparent heart attack. There were no signs of violence, but since it was an unattended death, there will be an autopsy to confirm that. Did he mention any health issues, Mrs. Corey? Or say that he was ill?”

  Elizabeth cocked her head. “Was he?”

  “Not according to his most recent physical, a couple of months ago. He was in good shape for a man of his age.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “We did joke about how well preserved we both were, after all these years. Surely his wife would know if he’d had a heart condition, though?”

  “We’re talking to her. What are your plans now?”

  “I thought I’d stay and visit with my daughter. Are you telling me that I shouldn’t leave town, if that’s the correct phrase?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d make yourself available if any further questions arise, but I’m sure your story will be corroborated.”

  Detective Marcus stood up, and handed Elizabeth a card. “You can reach me here if anything else occurs to you. Thank you for your time. Meg, will you see me out?”

  “Sure.” Meg stood and sent a confused glance at her mother, who remained in her seat, looking blank. She led the way back to the front door.

  On the stoop outside, Marcus turned to her. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Like what? I had no idea that my mother was anywhere near here until she appeared last night.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “About Daniel Weston?” Meg hesitated. Marcus might lack sensitivity, but he was an honest policeman, and there was little point in prevaricating with him. And if he sensed any inconsistencies in Elizabeth’s story or behavior, there was probably a good reason. “What are you asking? Do you think they were having an affair? I doubt it, but then I would, wouldn’t I? She’s my mother. She’s never mentioned him to me, to the best of my recollection, but I haven’t lived at home for years, and I don’t know why she would talk to me about old friends that she’d lost touch with. You can’t possibly think that my mother had anything to do with this man’s death, can you?”

  “I’m just taking care of loose ends. You have to admit our finding your mother’s name on Weston’s phone was a little unexpected.”

  He had a good point, Meg thought. Her local reputation was getting murkier by the day. Might as well face this head-on. “Detective, do you have any reason to believe that Daniel Weston was murdered?”

  “Based on the physical ev
idence we have? No, but the autopsy’s not done yet. He was found in an unlikely place, one that he had no connection to. I wanted to talk to your mother to establish a time line. She was apparently the last person to see or talk to him. Now we know that he died sometime after nine.”

  Had someone drawn him to that farm stand? “You said he was a college professor? Why would anyone want him dead?”

  “Meg, we’ve known about his death for barely twenty-four hours. We still have a lot of questions. You’ll let me know if your mother has anything to add to her story?”

  His use of the term “story” made it sound as though he didn’t believe Elizabeth. Truthfully, neither did Meg: her mother wouldn’t lie, but Meg was sure that she hadn’t told Marcus everything. But for once Meg intended to ask. “Of course.”

  Meg watched to make sure that his car had left her driveway before turning back and heading for the kitchen. She was interrupted by Bree’s disembodied voice. “Is he gone yet?”

  Meg looked up the stairwell. “Yes.”

  Bree rounded the corner and came down the stairs. “I do not like that man.”

  Meg shrugged. “He was reasonably polite. He’s just doing his job, you know. How much did you hear?”

  “Dead prof in Amherst, lots of mystery. And your mom knew the dead guy.”

  “Apparently she did. Are you heading up to the orchard?”

  “Yeah. Don’t take too long—we need all the hands we can get right now.”

  “I know. I’ll just see which way the wind is blowing with my mother. She didn’t tell me she was coming, and I have no idea what her plans are.”

  In the kitchen, Elizabeth was still at the table, her cold coffee sitting unfinished in front of her. She was staring at nothing in particular, but she roused herself when Meg entered the room. “Well, that was interesting.”

  “I take it you’ve never talked with the police before?” Meg asked. She wished she could say the same thing.

  “No, I’ve never had need to. Poor Daniel.”

  Meg sat down opposite her and struggled to contain her temper. “Mother, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”