“I don’t know why he would. We told him everything we knew, which wasn’t a lot.” Meg turned to Seth. “Are you going back to the sawmill today?”
“Unless Jonas is tied up with the police. I can’t get started on Donald’s house until I know what lumber I’ve got to work with.”
“What kind of wood did they use in Colonial construction? I never thought to ask.”
“It depends on where you are, of course. Around here the original forests were pretty diverse: hemlock, beech, oak, birch, pine, hickory. When people settled in Granford in the eighteenth century, they used mainly pine, oak, and chestnut for timber frame construction, and other woods for fuel or fencing. Sometimes they used the trunks of whole trees—you’ve seen that in your basement and attic. It saved work, and why pretty up something most people would never see? How much do you know about the history of New England forests?”
Meg smiled at his enthusiasm. “I know something about apple trees, and that’s about it. Are you going to enlighten me?”
“I can give you the short version. First stage: natural forest when the settlers arrived, and they cut down most of it to make open fields for crops and to heat their homes. The peak deforestation took place in the mid-nineteenth century. Then in the second stage, people either moved to the cities where the jobs and money were or moved west for the same reasons, and the farms went back to nature again. That is, trees came back, but not always the same trees. Third stage: much of the state is now forest again—about three million acres, which is about sixty percent and puts it in the top ten in the country. Most of the forestland is privately held by people like Jonas. Most of the trees now are white pine, red maple, northern red oak, and hemlock.”
“Is there anything you don’t know?”
“Quantum physics,” he answered quickly. “How to knit. You want more?”
By now Meg was laughing. “No, that’s fine. What kind of wood do you need to repair Donald’s house?”
“Probably oak beams. For the clapboards, pine would be easiest, but it doesn’t last as well as cedar. Cedar grows around here, so it’s historically correct.”
Seth was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Meg got up to let in Art Preston, Granford’s chief of police. “Hey, Art. I can guess why you’re here. Want some coffee?”
“Hi Meg, Seth, Bree. Sure, I’ll take some coffee. Although I have to say I’m not happy that you two find a body in my town and you don’t even call me.”
“Sorry, Art,” Seth said. “I didn’t even consider not calling Detective Marcus for a suspicious, unattended death, so I guess I kind of skipped right over you. Of course, we’re hoping it was natural causes.”
“Fair enough. Did Marcus find out who it was?”
“He got an ID from the guy’s driver’s license,” Seth replied. “Name of David Clapp, from Easthampton. He used to work for Jonas Nash, but more recently he was working for the logging company that Nash uses. He was found on Nash’s land.”
“And before you ask,” Meg said, “we didn’t get close enough to see how he died. Although I think it’s safe to say that a tree didn’t fall on him. I probably would have noticed that. Sorry we left you out of the loop.”
“I’ll survive.” Art sighed histrionically. “At least I got a decent cup of coffee out of it. What were you two doing out there at all?”
“Looking for lumber for Donald Butterfield’s house,” Seth explained. “He’s asked me to handle the repairs.”
“I should have known. That kid who was driving—what an idiot. The car was totaled. He’s lucky he survived.”
“Is the boy going to be charged with anything?” Meg asked. “Was he drinking?”
“That’s what everybody assumed, but no, basically he was joyriding with some pals and things got out of hand. I’ve slapped him with a healthy fine, but since his folks said they’d pay for all damages, he probably won’t care. Kids!”
“Maybe he’s learned something?” Seth added hopefully. “Anyway, Donald wants the restoration to be historically correct, and to do it right I’ll need wide boards, which are getting harder and harder to find. Nash’s was the best bet.”
“Got it. Well, that’s all I wanted to know. How’s the orchard doing, Meg?”
“Too dry, or maybe dry at the wrong times. We’re having to irrigate, and that means hauling water and hoses around a lot.”
“Speaking of which, Meg,” Bree interrupted, “we’ve got work to do. And I asked Christopher to come by whenever he can and make sure we’ve got it right, and tell us if there’s anything else we need to be doing. Whatever we did right last year isn’t enough under this year’s conditions.”
“I haven’t seen Christopher for a while,” Meg said. Christopher Ramsdell was a charming agriculture professor at the nearby university, and long before Meg came along, he’d managed her orchard for years. He was still a mentor to Bree, who had studied with him, and now Meg also considered him a friend. “And I’ll be happy to have his advice. When will he be here?”
“He said maybe around lunchtime. He’s really busy these days, since not only is it peak agriculture season, but he’s involved with the construction of that new center, so he couldn’t be sure.”
“Well, he’ll know where to look for us.”
Seth stood up and carried his dishes to the sink. “I guess I’d better get moving, too. Walk you out, Art?”
Art drained his coffee and stood up. “Nice to see you, Meg, but I wish you’d stop finding corpses.”
Meg laughed. “Believe me, Art, so do I!”
They all left together, parting ways in the driveway—Art back to the center of town, Seth into his office at the end of the drive, and Meg and Bree up the hill to the orchard.
Meg knew she was lucky to have the natural spring that emerged halfway up the hill. Still, she and Bree were spending an awful lot of time hauling water around the orchard to reach all the trees, especially the vulnerable new ones they’d added in the spring. The new ones most needed water, in order to establish a strong root system, but they were also the farthest from the water source. It was an ongoing balancing act: under-watering would result in drought stress and poorer fruit quality; too much water and the roots would stop growing, and some essential nutrients would be leached out of the soil. Meg had to leave most of the calculations to Bree, since she wasn’t even sure what “drought stress” would look like. “Have you checked out permanent irrigation systems, Bree?” Meg said, panting, as she came up behind her manager.
“Of course I’ve looked at them,” she said testily. “Think I like all this watering? Drip irrigation for fifteen or twenty acres would set us back maybe fifteen thou just to purchase and install. You got that much sitting in your bank account? And that’s just to install it—using it would probably cost us a couple of thousand dollars a year, per acre, more for the high density planting of the new trees.”
“We could take out a loan,” Meg said dubiously. “We’ve already got the water source in place.”
“And we’ve already got a delivery system in place—us,” Bree shot back. “Look, I can do a cost-benefit analysis for you, if it’ll make you happy, but for most farmers they’re kind of guessing anyway. And you won’t see a return on your investment for a couple of years at best.”
Meg had to smile. “Listen to you! You’re taking me back to my financial analyst days in Boston. So you’re saying stick to what we’re doing now?”
“That’s about it. Why? You getting tired already?”
“I’ll manage. But you don’t mind if I pray for rain, do you?”
“Knock yourself out!”
They worked companionably for a few hours, and then Meg saw Christopher’s car pull into her driveway below. She waved and waited for him to climb the hill, because she knew he’d want to see the orchard. Thinking back, she realized he hadn’t visited since they planted the new section a couple of months earlier.
“Hey, Christopher! It’s great to see you!” Meg gave him
an enthusiastic hug when he arrived. Despite the fact that he was in his sixties, he didn’t seem to be the least winded from his climb.
“My apologies to have been away so long! This new DeBroCo research building on campus is eating up all my free time, especially atop my teaching and research responsibilities. But I’m delighted to have a chance to get out, and of course, to see you and Briona. How fares your orchard?”
“You’ll have to ask Bree—I seem to be the labor side. But I do have concerns about our water supply and our distribution system.”
“Then let’s walk together and discuss your issues.” They set off along the grassy alleys between rows of established apple trees. Meg could tell that Christopher was assessing their condition even as he expounded on the alternatives for irrigation. They had covered most of the acreage when he arrived at a final point. “Have you considered fertigation?”
Meg looked blank, and Bree volunteered, “You mean, like fertilizing at the same time we water? I’ve been reading about that.”
“Precisely. Of course, the original investment costs are high, although the long-term application costs are less.”
“That could be a problem,” Meg said, “although I like the sound of combining two tasks into one. But we’re kind of cash poor up front.”
“From what I’ve seen today, my dear, you’re managing well under the status quo. I know it’s hard work, but I think you can get a couple of harvests under your belt, if I may muddle a metaphor, before you have to decide whether to install a new system.”
Meg briefly contemplated another two years of hauling irrigation hoses around and resolved to take a hard look at the numbers. “The trees don’t look stressed yet, do they?”
“No, they’re fine so far, but I’m sure Bree is keeping a sharp eye on them.”
“Of course I am,” Bree said promptly.
“What about insects?” Meg asked. “We’ve been doing limited spraying. Isn’t there some new apple pest?”
“Are you referring to Epiphyas postvittana?”
Meg grinned at Christopher. “I don’t know—am I?”
“The light brown apple moth, native to Australia, now established in New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and Ireland. It has recently been found in California, but so far it is limited to that state. Rest assured I shall alert you should it venture farther eastward.”
“One less thing I have to worry about!” Meg said. “Speaking of insects, yesterday I saw one I’d never noticed before.” She could excuse herself for forgetting about that critter, since it had been only moments later she had become aware of the body—something she didn’t feel compelled to explain to Christopher. Still, it was large and memorable enough to have made an impression on her.
“Can you describe it?” Christopher asked.
“About two inches long, black and white—oh, and its antennae were as long as it was.”
Christopher’s cheerful expression faded rapidly. He pulled out his cell phone, tapped on the screen several times, then handed her the phone. “Is this what you saw?”
Meg took the phone and looked at the image he had called up. “Yes, that’s it. You know what it is?”
“I’m afraid I do. It looks like an Asian longhorned beetle, an invasive species that enjoys a wide range of hosts. There’s no known treatment, other than eradication.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Cutting down all infested and potential host trees in the area where it was found, and a wide margin beyond that. Surely you’ve read of the problems that have emerged with this pest in and around the city of Worcester?”
Meg shook her head. “I haven’t had a lot of time for reading the paper lately.”
“Oh, my dear, this has been going on for several years, even before your arrival in Granford. Already they’ve cut down something like twenty-five thousand trees in the central part of the state, and there’s no guarantee that it’s under control even now.”
“That sounds serious,” Meg said.
“I promise you, it is. Where did you come upon this insect?”
“In Jonas Nash’s forest plot on the north side of town, toward Amherst.”
“Where the dead man was found?” Christopher asked.
“How did you hear about that?” Meg asked with surprise.
“It was on the news. No one mentioned that you were there, my dear, only that a body had been discovered and that the police were investigating. So that is indeed the same place?”
“Yes, it is. In fact, the insect was only a few feet away.”
“I’m sorry that you were there, Meg. But now I’m afraid I shall need to speak with Jonas Nash,” Christopher said somberly.
5
Christopher, clearly troubled, had left without any further explanations. Before leaving he had shared the picture on his phone with Bree, whose reaction was nearly as quick as Christopher’s had been.
“Wow, that’s bad news! There haven’t been any other sightings around here, have there?” she had asked.
“Not yet, but there aren’t enough eyes to check every potential site,” Christopher had replied. “Meg, can you show me where you saw this?”
“Sure.” Unless it was still a crime scene, she amended to herself. “If you think it’s important. When would you like to go?”
Christopher tapped at his phone some more and pulled up a calendar. “Would tomorrow afternoon suit you?”
Meg looked at Bree, who shrugged and said, “It’s okay. We’re only watering every other day at the moment, and from what you’ve told me, that’s working for now.”
“I believe it is, my dear, although with no rain in sight I’d keep a close eye on your water levels,” Christopher said. Meg explained to him where the forest plot was, and they arranged to meet at the site, then said their good-byes.
After watching Christopher head down the hill, Meg turned to Bree. “Why are you and Christopher so concerned about this bug?”
“It could be nothing, but what you saw looks like an Asian longhorned beetle. It’s an invasive species, probably carried into this country through wooden packing crates at a variety of ports. It eats a whole lot of tree species, and the only way anyone has come up with to stop them is to cut down all the infested trees and grind them up. Left alone, they kill the tree in a couple of years, or at least seriously weaken it. What’s worse, while they’re big and easy to see out in the open, they usually spend most of their life cycle inside a tree, mainly up at the crown level, so they’re hard to spot. Most of the infested areas have been identified because one of the beetles showed up in an ornamental tree in someone’s suburban yard. Like Christopher said, Worcester’s been hit hard, and they’re still finding new outbreaks there and in the surrounding communities. They just cut down another ten thousand trees in Shrewsbury. It’s pretty likely that if there were more people looking, they’d find a lot more.”
“You’re certainly well informed.” Meg digested what Bree had told her. “So if it’s identified on the Nash property, what happens next?”
“Well, first there’s an official identification process—there’s a government office that does that. If it’s confirmed, then the USDA gets involved, and the UMass extension service. And then basically crews go out and chop down a whole lot of trees.”
“Which wouldn’t make Jonas Nash and his company very happy.”
“Exactly. And it would be a shame, because they’ve been good about maintaining their land responsibly. I read about them as a case study when I was at school.”
“Maybe it’s just a single beetle that flew in from somewhere else?”
Bree shook her head. “Those suckers don’t fly very far or very fast. So if you see one, there are probably others nearby.” She made a quick scan around her. “I think we’re pretty much done for the day. You have plans for tonight?”
“You mean with Seth? I don’t even know. Were you volunteering to cook dinner?” Meg ended hopefully.
“If you insist.” Bre
e gave an exaggerated sigh. “I guess it’s my turn.”
They ambled down the hill, and Bree peeled off for the kitchen door. Meg saw both Seth’s car and his van parked in the driveway, so she figured he was in his office, which was located in the old carpenter’s shop behind her house. She climbed the stairs up to his office space and rapped on the half-open door.
Seth looked up and smiled. “Hi. Have I missed a meal or something?”
Meg came in and dropped into a battered chair in front of his desk. “Not yet, unless you’re talking about lunch. Where’s Max?”
“I left him over at Mom’s—she’s got an old dog run there, from when we were kids. I’m working on adding one at my place, but it’s not finished yet.”
“Poor baby. Doesn’t he get lonely without you? Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something Christopher just told me.”
“Okay. Shoot.” Seth stretched and leaned back in his chair.
“Let me back up and start from the beginning. Remember when I sat down to get that rock out of my shoe yesterday?” Seth nodded, so Meg went on, “There was this big insect on the log. Yeah, I know, woods, nature, et cetera, but this was a big, showy one—black and white, with long antennae. Did you notice anything like that?”
He shook his head. “No, but I wasn’t looking, and then we got kind of distracted by the body. Why does it matter?”
“Because I described it to Christopher today, and he knew exactly what it was: something called an Asian longhorned beetle. From what he and Bree have told me, it’s a nasty pest.”
“And?”
“If there’s an infestation on Jonas’s land, I gather that kicks in a whole official process that goes all the way up to the federal government. And the only way to deal with the insect is to cut down all the trees it likes to eat.”
Seth’s expression turned serious. “Ah. I see the problem. If—it is still ‘if,’ isn’t it?—there is an infestation, then Jonas stands to lose a whole lot of trees.”
“Exactly.”
Seth thought for a moment, then said, “Jonas told me in confidence that the sawmill is losing money. He said he might even have to sell. So losing some of his lumber would hit him hard. What does Christopher say the next step should be?”
Golden Malicious Page 4
