“A lot of the pickers around here are Jamaican—that’s been true for years. Makes sense,” Seth commented.
“I didn’t make the connection with the pickers. Briona was born here, from what I can tell—since I’ll be paying her, I had to do the paperwork on her. And we’re still wrestling with what to do about health insurance—that’s one reason I threw in a free room, to save her money. Anyway, I think she believes she’s got a lot to prove, but she certainly knows more than I do—not that it would be hard—and we’ve got Christopher as a backup if we get stuck on something. It’ll be a new experience, at least. I’ve never done anything like this.”
A month ago she had been planning to look for a job in municipal finance while getting the house ready to sell, and it hadn’t been easy to wrap her head around the idea of not only keeping the house and living in it, but also managing an orchard and trying to make a profit at it. Scary stuff, but exciting. She realized now that maybe she had been naïve, but she was learning fast, auditing a course on orchard management at UMass and reading everything she could lay her hands on. Thank goodness Christopher had found Briona to help her.
Seth stood up, folding the napkin drawing neatly and putting it in his pocket. “You sure you’ll be all right alone tonight?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow, then.”
Meg watched as Seth took one more look at the barn, then climbed into his van and drove off. As he drove out of site, Meg carefully locked the back door and went to check the front door as well. Maybe the dead man in the orchard had nothing to do with her, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
4
Meg turned on all the lights downstairs. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the ghost of that poor man haunting her. After all, he’d been dead for a day or two without stopping by to bother her. And she refused to give in to an irrational fear of being alone. Still, she was new to living in the country, accustomed instead to city sounds—cars, horns, fire and police sirens. In Boston it was never really totally quiet. Here in Granford the silence was sometimes unnerving—although now, she realized, there was a new element: the peepers in the adjacent wetlands had awakened with the warmer weather and provided a shrill chorus. As for the “alone” part, she was used to that, although Briona’s arrival would change that to some extent.
The sound of a vehicle entering her still-unpaved driveway interrupted her increasingly gloomy thoughts, and when she looked out the dining room window she was absurdly pleased to see Seth’s sister Rachel climbing out of her van with a basket that looked heavy. Rachel seldom arrived without food, and Meg realized she was hungry. Rachel saw her watching and pointed toward the back door. Meg hurried to the kitchen to let her in.
Rachel entered the kitchen, dropped the basket on the floor, and flung her arms around Meg. “You poor baby. Seth told me about the body. Are you all right?”
“I think so. You didn’t need to come all the way over here just to check on me.”
Rachel finally released Meg. “Of course I did. I couldn’t stand the idea of you moping around here all by yourself. And I’ll bet you haven’t eaten anything. Right?”
“Guilty. But I was going to do something about that shortly. You didn’t have to—”
Rachel cut her off. “Shut up. That’s what friends do around here. Besides, the kids were arguing over homework, so I let Noah take over. And this is stuff I had made and stuck in the freezer for an occasion just like this. Point me to your microwave.”
“You stockpile food for murders?” Meg asked.
“You know what I mean.” Rachel unwrapped a casserole dish and pushed it into the microwave, studied the controls for a few seconds, then punched some buttons. “There. Now we’ve got a few minutes. And you look like you could use a drink. You have wine?”
“In the fridge,” Meg replied. “You don’t need to . . .”
Too late. Rachel had already found glasses, extricated the bottle from the refrigerator, and set them all on the table. “I’ll have one, and only one, since I’m driving. But you go right ahead. Sit!”
Meg sat. Rachel threw herself into a chair across from her. “Okay, what’s the story?”
Meg poured herself a glass of wine and sipped. It did taste good. She felt her shoulders loosening. “I went up to take a look around the orchard this afternoon, and there was a dead guy stuffed in the springhouse.”
“So he just wandered into your orchard and decided to drop dead?”
Meg shrugged. “I don’t know anything different. I’m in and out all the time, with errands and stuff, and, no, I didn’t notice any weirdness going on in my orchard. Is there any religion that makes sacrifices at the spring equinox?”
Rachel smiled. “I don’t know of any, but nothing would surprise me in this area. You have no idea what some folks get into. You have a name for him?”
“His ID said Jason Miller.”
“Jason Miller, Jason Miller . . . why does that sound familiar?” The microwave beeped, and Rachel bounced out of her chair, rotated the dish inside, then started it again. She leaned against the counter to face Meg. “Ah! Got it. He’s the front man for GreenGrow.”
“GreenGrow?”
“A group of organic farming zealots in Amherst. They seem to do a lot of protesting of one thing or another. Jason got the most face time. You haven’t heard of them?”
“I don’t think so, but I haven’t been around here that long. I wonder why he was here in my orchard.”
The microwave beeped again, and Rachel retrieved the casserole, set it on a pad on the table, then hunted down plates and silverware. Meg watched with amusement: Rachel had made herself right at home in Meg’s kitchen, just as her brother Seth had. Finally Rachel sat down and dished up, setting a laden plate in front of Meg. “There, eat. But you can keep talking. The big questions are, did he die here? And did he do it himself, or did someone else?”
Meg forked up some food, chewed, and swallowed before answering. “Hey, this is great. Anyway, the ME didn’t or couldn’t say. The body was found with his face underwater.”
Rachel looked stricken. “I’m sorry—is it too gross to talk about this while you’re eating? You can tell me to shut up if you want. So how’re Seth’s plans coming along?”
Meg was grateful that Rachel had changed the subject. “You mean for the barn? I’d say just fine, except they seem to change all the time. But he appears to be enjoying the process. Tell me, how upset is he about losing the old space? He doesn’t say much.”
“Seth doesn’t worry about the stuff he can’t change, and that’s history now. He’s really a glass-half-full type, you know? He’s happy that the town is going to get some new life. He’s excited about making this shift into renovation. And he loves to have new projects to work on. He’s got a lot of energy.”
“So I’ve noticed. You keep pretty busy yourself, with the kids and the B and B.”
“Maybe it just runs in the family. And you’d better get used to it, once the work in the orchard picks up. You came in at the slowest point, but just wait. You’ll see.”
“I suppose I will. And I should probably try to get as much done as possible with the house before I get really busy.”
“What’s your next project?”
“I’m still thinking it over. There’s a lot of woodwork that needs to be stripped, but I’m waiting until I can open the windows to tackle that so I don’t asphyxiate myself. And I don’t want to wallpaper until I get the stripping done, because I don’t know what the wood will look like and whether I’ll have to paint it again. And I’ve been thinking about doing the floor in here.”
Rachel looked down. “Not a bad idea. The stuff on it now has lived a hard life, and it was probably cheap to begin with. But they usually used glue that will outlive us all, so it won’t be easy to get it off.”
“Noted,” Meg answered.
Rachel checked her watch. “Well, I suppose I should get back and face the music. There are some cookies
and some muffins in the basket, too. I don’t know any problem that some good carbohydrates and sugar can’t improve.”
“Rachel, you’re a wonder, and I think I agree with you. Why don’t you leave the dishes and I’ll bring them back to you tomorrow? I’ve got a class in the morning anyway.”
“Deal. If I’m not around, just leave the stuff by the back door.”
Rachel grabbed her coat, and Meg held the door open for her. Watching her go, Meg marveled at her good luck: a neighbor like Seth, now a sort-of business partner, who came with a sister like Rachel.
Before she shut the door she stood listening for a moment. The peepers were still going strong, and Meg could discern a range of voices. Spring was almost here; her new life was going to get a lot busier very quickly.
5
Briona Stewart arrived just past three the next afternoon. When she rapped on the back door, Meg hurried to let her in. “Hi, Briona! Come on in. Have you got much stuff?” Meg looked past her to a dilapidated four-door sedan piled with boxes.
“Not much. I’ve still got the dorm room, but I brought over what I don’t need right now. Uh, thanks for letting me use the room.” The words came out reluctantly.
“Hey, with the pathetic salary I’m offering you, I’ll do whatever I can to sweeten the deal. Can I help you carry anything?”
Briona shrugged. “I can handle it.” Without waiting for an answer, she went back to the car. Meg watched her as she wrestled a box out of the backseat. She was stronger than her slight frame suggested, which probably wasn’t surprising, given what little Meg knew about the demands of any agricultural pursuit. She was also lovely—skin the color of butterscotch, long dark hair bunched up with a clip.
When Briona clomped back to the door lugging a box that appeared to be full of books, Meg stepped back to let her pass. “You know where you’re going?”
Briona nodded her head toward the ceiling. “The room over this one, right?”
“Yes. I forgot to tell you, there’s a back stairway. Here, let me show you.” Meg headed for the back end of the kitchen and opened a door to reveal a narrow staircase. “I’m not quite sure why it’s here, but at least you can come and go without worrying about disturbing me. And you can park in the shed, or whatever you call it here, once I clean out some of the junk.” Meg ended on a dubious note. She felt as though she had been clearing out stuff ever since she had arrived in January, but more always seemed to accumulate, and for the moment it was heaped in the open space: jumbles of trash, random construction materials, and plain old junk. “I’ll talk to Seth about it.”
Briona was halfway up the stairs with her box, but she tossed back over her shoulder, “Seth?”
“Seth Chapin. He’s a neighbor, and he’s renting part of the barn and the connecting link for his business, which is mostly plumbing now, but he wants to get into building restoration . . .” By the time Meg had finished her rambling sentence, Briona had disappeared up the stairs and was out of earshot. Meg trailed after her and caught up with her in the bedroom. “It’s not fancy, but it’s fairly private.”
“It’s fine,” Briona said.
“I’m sorry there’s only the one bath up here, but I was talking to Seth about putting in another one.”
“I said it’s fine,” Briona repeated. “I’ve been living in student housing for the last four years, and this is way better. Plenty of room.”
“Well, good. Listen, why don’t you shift the rest of your stuff, and then we can sit down and figure out a schedule, what we need to do next, that kind of thing?”
“Fine,” Briona said again, and went back down the stairs.
Not the friendliest person in the world, Meg reflected. Still, Meg wasn’t looking for a new best friend, just someone who could do whatever was needed to keep the orchard healthy and productive. Someone who possessed all the agricultural knowledge Meg lacked. Orchard management was not something you really learned from books, Meg had found quickly. Briona was her best hope for the moment, not to mention the only person she could afford until she figured out what she was doing.
When Briona had finished hauling boxes up the stairs, she came back to the kitchen and hovered uncertainly in the doorway. Meg gestured her into the room. “You want something to drink, Briona? Oh, and can you stay for dinner? I asked Seth to come over. I thought you two should get acquainted, since you’ll probably be crossing paths a lot. And he said he’d build the fruit storage areas I’ll need in the barn, and he could use your input on that.”
“I guess. You want to go up the hill now, and I can tell you what I’m thinking? And . . .” Briona hesitated.
“What?” Meg asked.
“Could you call me Bree? Briona is what my auntie calls me when she’s mad.”
Meg laughed. “Sure, no problem.” She checked the clock. Only a couple of hours of light left, and dinner was already simmering on the stove. “Okay, let’s go. But I warn you: you’ll probably just have to repeat most of what you tell me later. It’s all pretty new to me.”
“No problem.” Bree flashed a brief smile.
“Oh, before I forget, I had some keys made for you.” Meg handed her a clutch of keys on a chain. “This one’s the front door, this one’s the kitchen door, and this one’s the padlock to the barn. Although I think anybody could get in there with a rusty nail, so it’s probably more symbolic than practical.”
“Okay.” Bree pocketed the key ring.
Meg retrieved her coat, and they set off up the hill. Bree seemed more at ease outside, loping easily up the slope. At the top she stopped, waiting for Meg to catch up, and Meg could have sworn Bree looked on the rows of trees with a kind of proprietary pride. Meg could understand that, since she’d caught herself doing the same lately. At least Bree cared about her work.
“Okay, where do we start?” Meg asked.
Bree scanned the orchard, then launched into a check-list of tasks that stretched on and on, ticking them off on her ungloved fingers.
“Okay, now. The pruning’s done—Professor Ramsdell and his class took care of that. The dead stuff is gone—that’s good. Bloom’s still a ways off, but there’s some spraying that needs to be done before then. We’ll have to check what insects are emerging, keep an eye on them.”
Meg listened with half an ear. Right now she was more interested in getting a feel for her new employee’s personal and working style. So far she was impressed, at least by the latter. Bree talked a good line, and if Christopher had endorsed her, she must know her stuff.
They spent a productive hour walking from one end of the orchard to the other, and by the time they were done, the sun was sinking and there was a chill in the air. But Meg felt good. The more time she spent in the orchard, the more secure she became in her ownership of it. It was an odd feeling, possessing a large and living entity, especially one whose history stretched back more than two centuries, and though it sounded silly, Meg didn’t want to let the orchard down.
Still, the nonstop flow of Bree’s information was a little much to absorb all at once. “Can we call it a day now? Because I’ve got to process everything you’ve told me so far, and my toes are getting cold. Let’s head back down the hill,” Meg suggested.
“I guess,” Bree said, looking disappointed. Silently they set off toward the house.
Once they were back in the warm and steamy kitchen, Meg shucked off her coat and poked at the large pot of stew she had left on the stove. “You don’t have any, uh, eating restrictions?” Meg asked Bree, who was prowling around the kitchen studying things. Heaven forbid she should turn out to be a vegetarian.
“What? Oh, no, I eat about anything. That smells good.” She nodded toward the simmering pot.
“Thanks. I’m not used to cooking for more than just me, so I’m kind of making it up as I go. But it’s fun. I can’t believe how many new things I’m learning, and all at once. Like house renovation.”
“I like this place. It’s a good house. Strong.” Bree ran her hand over
a door molding.
“I hope so. It needs to be—it’s been pretty neglected for a while. I’ve got a list of things to do as long as my arm, and that doesn’t even include the orchard.”
“At least your trees haven’t been neglected—they’re in good shape. How old is the orchard, do you know?”
“Around 250 years, I think, in one form or another. It’s mentioned in the town records as early as 1760,” Meg said proudly. “The house was built by the Warren family, before the Revolution. In fact, Seth told me once that the intersection there used to be known as Warren’s Grove, until the nineteenth century. I’m related to the Warrens somehow—my mother could explain how, but I’ve never been interested in that kind of thing until recently. Anyway, as you probably know, Christopher’s been overseeing it for years.”
“Sure,” Bree nodded. “Orchards were a big part of life in the colonies. Back in the early days, every house had apples. Professor Ramsdell knows what he’s doing. You know anything about what’s been done with your apple crop?”
“Not really. I think the people here before—renters—just sold the whole crop to whoever asked first. A local co-op? Something like that.”
Bree nodded. “Yeah, I know some of those folks.” She hesitated a moment before asking, “Can I do anything to help with dinner?”
“I hate to ask you to peel potatoes, but that’s what comes next with the stew.”
“No, please, I’d rather be keeping busy. I’m . . . not real good with just talking.”
Meg smiled. Maybe Bree was shy. “Great. Here.” Meg handed her a bag of supermarket potatoes and a peeler. “Go for it.”
Bree took the peeler and wielded it as if she knew what to do with it, digging into the potatoes with enthusiasm. “Garbage disposal or septic?” she asked as the pile of peels mounted.
“Septic.” Meg grimaced. “I didn’t think college kids knew much about cooking. You said you lived in a dorm? Do they allow you to cook there?”
Rotten to the Core Page 3
