A Killer Crop

by Sheila Connolly

  Bree chose that moment to walk into the kitchen. “You’re selling?”

  “No, no,” Meg assured her. “Actually Mother was saying she was less inclined to sell, now that she’s gotten to know the place.”

  “It grows on you, huh?” Bree grinned.

  “It does. Breakfast, Bree?”

  Bree dropped into her seat. “Sure. Sounds good.”

  Elizabeth turned away toward the stove, but not before smiling and adding, “See, Meg? Somebody thinks breakfast matters.”

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Bree, what’re we picking today?”

  “I’m thinking the Empires and the Cortlands are ready.”

  “We’ve got a lot of those, do we?”

  “We do,” Bree replied. “They’ve got a long shelf life. You looking to finish early?”

  “Mother and I were planning to have dinner at the restaurant tonight. I’d like time to clean up.”

  “What, and you didn’t invite me?” Bree feigned indignation. “Well, as it happens, I made plans with Michael for tonight, so you’re off the hook anyway. You two go and do that mother-daughter bonding thing. Good food helps.”

  “Yes, boss,” Meg said.

  Elizabeth set full plates in front of Meg and Bree. “There you go!” she said. “All set. Do you think it’s too early to call Patricia?”

  “It’s, what, nine? I think that’s safe enough,” Meg said.

  “Then I’ll see if I can run over there sometime today.” Elizabeth picked up the handset of the phone and disappeared into the privacy of the dining room.

  Bree dug in with a healthy appetite. “You know,” she said between mouthfuls, “I could get used to this.”

  “What, someone fixing you breakfast every day?” Meg said, eating more slowly. “Don’t get any ideas, because I’m not volunteering. What we need is a housewife.”

  Bree gave a snort of laughter. “I hear you. Who could maybe dust and vacuum and do all that stuff, too.”

  “In your dreams. But it is nice, isn’t it?” They both ate in contented silence for a few minutes. Finally Meg said, “How much more picking do we have to go?”

  “The last apples should ripen by mid-November, but the peak period will be the next month or so. But this cast should be off long before that.”

  “You wait until the doctor tells you it can come off,” Meg said sternly. “I can handle my end of things. Is it going to rain today? It looks cloudy out there.”

  “Forecast says no. You won’t get off that easy,” Bree said.

  Elizabeth returned, looking troubled. “Patricia’s house was broken into last night.”

  “Oh, no!” Meg said. “I wonder if it’s connected with Daniel’s death? Somebody saw the announcement and figured a woman living alone might be vulnerable? What was taken?”

  “Not much, she said. A television, some small electronics, but no jewelry. But Daniel’s home office was trashed. The police already had his laptop, but maybe the thief was looking for something else?”

  Meg shook her head. “Poor Patricia. That sounds much more troubling. I guess there’s no point in your trying to check it out now?”

  “I don’t think so. Maybe after things have settled down a bit.”

  “Did she call the cops?” Bree asked.

  “Of course.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Last night sometime. Patricia was out with friends, and didn’t get home until midnight, and when she saw the mess, she called them immediately. Poor woman—she must be having a hard time right now, with all this happening at once.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Meg asked.

  “I doubt it. She must have some people in the area that she can call on for support. Anyway, I guess I’ll dig into the genealogy stuff today. “

  Bree stood up quickly. “Then let’s go, Meg, and let your mother get some work done.”

  Meg stood up more slowly, feeling far more than ten years Bree’s senior. “Lead the way.”

  As Meg was dumping yet another bag’s worth of apples—by her estimate, her seventieth—her cell phone rang. It was Seth.

  “Hey, we still on for tonight?” he asked.

  “If I survive another day of picking, we are. Shall we meet at the restaurant?”

  “Sure. Have you told your mother I’d be there?”

  Meg swallowed a spurt of guilt. “No.”

  There was a moment of silence from Seth’s end. “Okay. You sure you want me there?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. I’m sorry, Seth, but there just hasn’t been a good moment ...” Her voice trailed off.

  “We can work it out at dinner,” he replied neutrally.

  “Of course. And did you hear that there was a break-in at Daniel Weston’s house in Amherst?”

  “How did you hear about that?”

  “Mother called Daniel’s widow to see if they could get together today to look at his home office, and Patricia told her then.”

  “I see. Why are you interested?”

  “Well, doesn’t it seem kind of odd that it should happen now?”

  “Not necessarily. Some people prey on the bereaved.”

  “Yes, but isn’t that usually during the funeral, when they know the house will be empty? Patricia could easily have been there last night, but luckily she was out. And she told my mother that not much had been taken, but that Daniel’s office was trashed. Doesn’t it all seem a little strange to you?”

  “Don’t read too much into it, Meg. These things happen, even around here. Look, I’ve got to run. I’ll see you at seven . . . unless you change your mind.” He hung up before she could respond.

  As she approached the next tree, Meg promised herself that she’d do right by Seth tonight. Over a nice, civilized dinner. Finally. This was getting ridiculous.

  In the end, Seth scotched her plans by showing up early at her place—with Max on a leash. Meg had come back down the hill from the orchard in time to shower and change, and was in the kitchen chatting with Elizabeth until it was time to leave for dinner when he knocked at the back door.

  “Hi, Meg. Hi, Elizabeth. Look, is it all right if I leave Max here for now? Mom’s not home or I’d ask her, and I haven’t had time to dog-proof my place yet.”

  Meg wondered briefly—and unkindly—if Seth was just making up an excuse to force the issue. “Sure. You want to leave him in the kitchen here? I can shut Lolly in a different room. What with all that polyurethane, there’s not much he can do to the floor. Does he need food or anything?”

  “No, he’s good. I thought we could drive to the restaurant together.”

  Seth’s words hung in the air while Meg scrambled for an explanation. Elizabeth said, “So you’ll be joining us for dinner? Lovely. I’ve been looking forward to getting to know you. Meg, are we ready to go?”

  Blushing, Meg avoided her mother’s eyes. “Just let me get a coat. I’ll go out the front and meet you by the car. Don’t forget to latch all the doors if Max is in the kitchen.” She fled.

  At Gran’s they were greeted at the door by co-owner Brian, looking harried but happy. “Meg, Seth—great to see you.”

  “Something here smells wonderful!” Elizabeth said appreciatively.

  “My wife’s the chef—you met her on Saturday at the festival. I just keep doing everything else so she can do what she does best, which is cook. Let me show you to your table.”

  Brian proudly escorted them to a table in a quiet corner, and Meg was happy to see that the room was well filled, even though it was a Wednesday night. Better yet, all the diners looked happy. The room glowed with candlelight and discreetly placed indirect lighting, emphasizing the rough (and original) plaster and exposed brick. Meg felt herself begin to relax as Seth pulled out a chair for her mother, and Brian did the same for her.

  “Something to drink?” Brian asked.

  “A bottle of wine?” Seth looked at Elizabeth and Meg. They both nodded. “What’s on the menu tonight, Brian?”

  “You’re wond
ering what kind of wine to order? Why don’t you let us put together a meal for you and pick the wine to go with it?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Seth said.

  “Just as long as we can taste a variety of dishes, please,” Meg added.

  “Of course,” Brian said. “I’ll just be a minute.” He retreated toward the kitchen, leaving the three of them alone.

  “Well,” Meg began tentatively, and then realized that both of her companions were smiling at her. “What?”

  “Seth stopped by this afternoon while you were in the orchard,” Elizabeth began with a small smile.

  Meg shot an angry glance at Seth.

  “Margaret, don’t blame him. Did you really think I couldn’t see what was going on between you? I may be old, but I’m not dead—or stupid.”

  “Shoot,” Meg said. She could feel herself blushing again. “Okay, Seth and I are seeing each other. We have been for a while. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure what you’d think.”

  “Why on earth would I disapprove? Seth, you seem like a nice person, you’re gainfully employed, and it’s obvious that you care for Meg. I’m happy for you both. That is, if you’re happy about it, Meg?”

  Meg swallowed, and glanced briefly at Seth, who didn’t offer any help. “Yes, I am.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Well, then, Seth, I really would like to get to know you better, if you’re going to be part of Meg’s life.”

  “Thank you. And I hope I will be.”

  Much to Meg’s relief, Brian chose that moment to appear bearing two bottles of wine, white and red, and he and Seth engaged in a mock-serious ritual of tasting. She was glad for the respite, because she needed a moment to sort out her chaotic thoughts. Her mother liked Seth. She had been worried for no reason. But was her mother’s opinion the main sticking point, or did she herself harbor reservations about her relationship with Seth? And why? Because she didn’t trust herself? Or because she had doubts about Seth?

  Food appeared, one course following another, and it was all good, and between that and the wine, Meg could feel herself relaxing. Her mother made cheerful small talk and smoothed things over. This was exactly what Meg had imagined and hoped that the restaurant would be—a place with good food and good company. She felt proud that she had had a part in making it happen. The fact that her mother and her boyfriend were getting on like a house afire was just icing on the cake. Hmm . . . better slow up on the wine, since her metaphors were becoming increasingly muddled.

  Dessert and coffee appeared. “You’ve been quiet, Meg. Tired?” her mother asked.

  “A bit, but I’m enjoying the moment. I’m so glad that Nicky and Brian are doing well. She really can cook, can’t she?”

  “Indeed she can. I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a meal so much,” Elizabeth said. “Oh, by the way—we haven’t had a chance to talk about the genealogy, and I found something interesting today.”

  “What?”

  “We’re related to Emily Dickinson! Well, it’s not exactly a close relationship. More like distant cousins. But I was tickled to figure that out. Actually, there were quite a few Dickinsons living in Granford in the nineteenth century, and most of them are related to her in some degree, if you go back up the tree a bit. And to us, then, I guess.”

  “You’ll find that happens a lot around here,” Seth volunteered. “In fact, I think the Chapins and the Warrens are some kind of distant cousins, too. You look at the road signs in Granford, which were usually named because they led to someone’s farm, and most of those names are kin, too. It’s a small community—always has been.”

  “That’s so rare these days,” Elizabeth said, and Meg thought she could detect a wistful note in her mother’s voice. “My generation and our parents’ moved around so much, and it’s hard to create that kind of connection now. I must say I’m glad that Meg asked me to look into the family history. It has certainly been enlightening. Not to mention addictive.”

  Nicky emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked tired but happy, her dark curls damp with sweat and springing wildly around her head. “Hi, guys—great to see you here! Did you enjoy dinner?”

  “It was delightful,” Elizabeth answered. “I can see why Meg was so excited to help you get this started. How has business been since you opened?”

  “Booming! Oh, I know it’s barely been a week, and there’s a lot of curiosity because we’re new. But we’re trying to keep prices reasonable, and some people from Granford have been back. And we’ve got plenty of bookings for the next couple of weeks. Your idea of a cooperative was just brilliant, Meg. I don’t know how we can ever thank you!”

  “Just stay open, so I can keep eating meals like this. But I think you’ve got a winner here, Nicky.”

  “I think so, too. Well, I won’t keep you, and I’ve got to get back to the kitchen. Night, all!”

  “I wish I had half her energy,” Elizabeth murmured at Nicky’s retreating back.

  “I wish I did, too,” Meg agreed.

  “What did she mean by a cooperative?” Elizabeth asked.

  “She and her husband were running out of money just before the restaurant was about to open. I suggested that the local farmers could become shareholders of sorts—they’d provide the food up front, and they’d receive a share of the profits later. Everybody loved the idea, and the restaurant opened on time. In fact, a lot of the local growers have already eaten here more than once.”

  “What a wonderful idea!”

  “I’m glad it worked. Ready to head home? I think we’ve eaten everything on the table except the sugar.”

  The cool autumn air outside the restaurant felt wonderful, and Meg perked up a bit. One hurdle surmounted: Elizabeth knew about Seth, and everybody seemed happy. It was a relief, and while she was annoyed at Seth for forcing the issue, apparently he had been right to do so. They drove home in peaceful silence, but when Seth pulled into her driveway, he tensed. Meg followed his glance: her back door was hanging open.

  Oh, no—had she been robbed as well?

  “You two wait here,” Seth said, and climbed out of the car before they could say anything. He approached the back door cautiously, and Max came bounding up to him out of the darkness of the backyard. Seth snared him by the collar and kept a tight grip on the dog as he cautiously entered the kitchen.

  Meg relaxed slightly. “Maybe Max has learned to open doors? He’s smarter than he looks.”

  They waited for a few moments in tense silence until Seth reappeared. “Did Max let himself out?” Meg asked.

  Seth held on to Max, who was eager to greet the women. “I don’t think that was Max’s doing.”

  “What? Was it a break-in?”

  “That’s my guess, but I think Max scared whoever it was away. Nothing seems to be missing anyway.”

  Meg’s warm and fuzzy feeling from dinner evaporated. “So that makes two break-ins in twenty-four hours, here and at Daniel’s house. Do you think they’re connected?”

  “Oh, Meg, why would they be?” Elizabeth objected.

  Meg shrugged, suddenly tired. “I don’t know. I thought this was a pretty peaceful place, but now I have to wonder. Seth, should we call Art?”

  “I think we should talk to him, but maybe off-the-record, since nothing seems to be missing, although you’d better look around to be sure. But I agree with you, Meg—this is kind of an odd coincidence, and it can’t hurt to get his take on it. Maybe he knows of other incidents in the neighborhood.”

  “Can it wait until morning?” Meg asked. “If there’s no damage, and nothing’s missing, I’d rather just get some sleep. And I’m sure my head will be clearer in the morning.”

  “Good idea. I’ll give him a call when I get home and tell him to swing by on his way to the station in the morning. Does that work for you?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Meg, darling, I think I’ll make use of the facilities now so I won’t be in your way later. Good night, Seth—it was a love
ly evening. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.” Elizabeth vanished into the house, leaving Seth and Meg alone on the stoop.

  “Tactful, isn’t she?” Meg asked, leaning against him.

  “Your mother is a delightful woman, and yes, she is tactful. You had me expecting an ogre.”

  “Did I? I didn’t mean to. I seem to keep misjudging her. And you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “Meg, it’s never easy to deal with parents, and I don’t think we ever outgrow wanting to please them. Mom and I are close, but sometime I’ll have to fill you in on my father and me. Still, it’s clear that your mother loves you, and I like her, and I’d say that even if she weren’t your mother. I think I should go home now. I’ll stop by in the morning.”

  “Sounds good to me. Oh, one more thing.” Meg pulled him closer and kissed him thoroughly, then gave him a small shove. “Now you can go home. See you in the morning.” She turned and went inside as Seth called out, “Lock your doors!”

  20

  Meg found her mother in the kitchen when she came downstairs in the morning. “You’re up early,” she commented, helping herself to coffee.

  “I had some trouble sleeping. Weren’t you concerned about the break-in?”

  “I’m still not convinced that Max didn’t manage to push the door open on his own. In old houses like this, the doors and windows can be pretty loose, and maybe the latch didn’t catch.”

  “Or maybe whoever tried to break in wasn’t counting on finding Max waiting for him,” Elizabeth responded tartly.

  Meg took a harder look at her mother, who appeared a bit drawn. “But nothing was taken. And Max is a sweet puppy, who probably wouldn’t scare anyone.”

  “Maybe.” Elizabeth did not seem convinced. “Anyway, I thought since I was awake, I’d work on the family tree a bit more, but I can’t seem to find my notes. Have you seen them?”

  “Where were you working on them?”

  “In the dining room, on the table there. I gathered them up and stowed them with your laptop, but they aren’t there now. Maybe I’m just getting old and starting to forget things. Most of the material is in the computer anyway, so I can print it out again. I just don’t like feeling stupid.”