Rotten to the Core

by Sheila Connolly

  Bree did not look convinced. “I’ll think about it.” She hesitated before going on. “So you don’t think I’m an idiot because I was involved with him?”

  Luckily Bree didn’t know about Meg’s track record with relationships. “Of course not. And I don’t for a minute think you had anything to do with his death. Was that why you ran out of here yesterday?”

  “Kind of. I wanted to think about the whole thing before I tried to explain it to you.”

  “Well, I’m glad you told me. Now I’ll know what to say if someone asks me about your connection with him. And I think you should be proud that you saw through Jason’s BS and you ended it.”

  Bree brightened. “Thanks, I guess. Look, I’ve got to get back to campus, but I can come back tomorrow and bring you some stuff to read on pesticides. That okay?”

  “Fine. My schedule’s clear. And do think about talking to the detective, will you? It always looks better to give the police information than to wait until they come asking for it.”

  “Maybe. But let me do it my own way, okay?” Bree did not appear convinced. “See you tomorrow.”

  9

  After Bree left, Meg wondered what she was supposed to do next. She hadn’t realized that there were political agendas in orchard management: organic, chemical, or somewhere in between. Now that she knew about GreenGrow, she should find out more about them before they showed up on her doorstep demanding . . . what? Vengeance for their fallen comrade? A guarantee that she would eschew all toxic substances and produce only wormy, shriveled apples? Or was she being unfair to them? Meg decided the first thing she should do would be to collect some useful information. If Jason had been so outspoken, surely there was some record online. Any half-respectable organization with a public ax to grind should have a website, shouldn’t it?

  But before she had time to boot up her computer, Seth rapped on her back door, looking anything but cheerful, and she quailed inwardly. She wasn’t sure she was prepared to deal with yet another crisis. “Hi. You coming in?”

  He stepped in, then turned to face her. “We may have a problem,” he said without preamble. “Can we sit?”

  “Sure.” She took a seat, and so did he. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been clearing out the barn in fits and starts. I haven’t really had the time to do it all at once, and there are generations of junk piled up in there.”

  “I know. That’s why I’ve stayed out of it. Did you find something?”

  He sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. When you said Art thought Jason might have been poisoned, I didn’t put two and two together until after I’d left. And I still don’t know if this is important. Anyway, last week I stumbled across an industrial-size container of pesticide stuck in a corner. I can’t say how long it had been there, but it was way past its expiration date.”

  “Something used in the orchard? But why is that a problem?” Meg asked.

  “Somebody probably used it, years ago. Not Christopher—it’s got to predate his work with the orchard. But it’s a toxic substance, past its expiration date, and improperly stored, so I got rid of it. What do you know about disposal of hazardous wastes?” When Meg looked blank, he went on. “It’s usually handled by the local community government. As selectman, I set up a program for Granford about two years ago. The town posts a list of what substances they’ll accept. You’ve got to have somebody monitoring it, checking IDs, because you don’t want everyone in the state dumping their nasty stuff on you. Anyway, that’s the drill. I knew the stuff I found in the barn was potentially toxic, and I couldn’t in good conscience leave it sitting in your barn, so I figured I should turn it in. And I did, last Friday.”

  “But that was before Jason died, right? Seth, what are you trying to tell me?”

  “I don’t know that this has anything to do with Miller’s death, but if he was poisoned by something, and there was a toxic substance here on the property, it’s not a stretch to connect the two things. And Marcus will probably blow it all out of proportion.”

  Meg’s mind went into overdrive. “When you found the container, did it look as though it had been disturbed any time recently?”

  Seth shook his head. “I couldn’t say. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention.”

  “And you took it away the same day?”

  “I did. In any case, it’s gone now.”

  Meg smiled wryly. “If Marcus asks, I never knew it was there. As far as I recall I never saw the stuff. And you know as well as I do what a mess that barn is.”

  Seth smiled in response. “I do indeed.” Then his expression sobered. “Let me ask you this—who has access to the barn, other than me?”

  “Currently? I’ve got a key, and it’s hanging right there by the door. I gave Bree one, but not until yesterday. Christopher might have a key, since he’s been using this site for years. And who knows how many assistants he’s had in that time? But to tell the truth, just about anyone who really wanted to could get into the barn with a butter knife. It’s not exactly secure.”

  “I agree. But someone would have to have a reason to break in. Not just kids snooping around. You and I have been around a lot lately, coming and going, which limits the opportunities.”

  “Could some earlier tenant have left the stuff?”

  “Maybe. But they wouldn’t have any reason to use commercial-grade pesticide, would they?”

  “I doubt it. So what are we saying? It was there, for who knows how long. It’s been gone since last week. And a whole lot of people could have known about it. It’s going to be hard to make the connection with Jason’s death—and we still don’t know how he died.”

  Seth rubbed his hands over his face. He looked tired. “I know. I agree with you. But I don’t like the coincidence, and I feel as though I should say something to Marcus about it. Just in case. Especially since there’s a public record that I got rid of it, and I’m sure he’d like to find that was evidence of something.”

  Meg almost laughed. She’d just lectured Bree on acting responsibly and talking to the detective, but this time it was different. She knew Marcus disliked Seth even more than he disliked Meg, for reasons that went back years, and the last murder investigation had done little to change that. No doubt he would seize upon this information and try to twist it somehow. She felt a brief flash of guilt. Ignorance was no excuse: it was her barn now, and she had a moral and legal obligation to know what was in it and to see that it was maintained—or, in this case, disposed of—properly.

  “What?” Seth asked.

  “What what?” she replied, stalling.

  “You’re worried about something.”

  “It’s that obvious? I was just thinking about Bree. She stopped by this afternoon to explain why she bolted last night. It turns out she and Jason dated a couple of years ago. I told her she ought to tell Detective Marcus about it before someone else does, but I don’t know if she will. The thing is, I don’t really know her. I can’t absolutely, positively say she’s not involved somehow. Not that I believe she could or would have done it.” But I’ve been wrong before . . .

  “Slow down and take a deep breath,” Seth said, not unkindly. “Right now there’s a lot we don’t know, starting with how, why, and where Jason Miller died. If it’s any comfort, I have trouble imagining Bree as a killer, based on what I’ve seen of her. But let’s not go asking for trouble, okay? Let’s see what the authorities come up with.”

  “Then can I panic?” Meg answered lightly. Still, he had a point. There was no reason to assume the worst—yet. “So, are you going to talk to Marcus?”

  “Maybe I’ll talk to Art first, get a law-enforcement perspective. Sounds like I’m stalling, doesn’t it?” Seth managed an unconvincing smile.

  “I know how you feel. But look at it this way: if you report it officially, the ME can look for that specific pesticide, and maybe he can eliminate it as a cause of death and we won’t have to worry about it anymore. And even if it is the same stuff, won’t a lot of people
around here have some on hand?”

  He brightened. “Probably—I know it’s still in use. I’m sorry I had to dump this on you, Meg, but I just thought you should know, in case it comes back to bite us.”

  “Thank you, I guess. Better than getting blindsided down the line. But I’m sure you did the correct thing in disposing of it, and you had no reason at the time to think it was suspicious. And maybe that’ll be the end of it. By the way, what was it?”

  “The generic name is methidathion. Why?”

  “I could do some research, find out where this falls in the spectrum of pesticides. Maybe it’s not all that toxic and you’d have to consume five pounds for it to have any effect on you. I mean, humans are a whole lot bigger than bugs, aren’t they?”

  “Maybe, but I won’t assume anything. This just gets better and better, doesn’t it?” Seth stood up. “I’d better be going. I’ll see if I can talk to Art tonight and maybe swing by Northampton tomorrow, if need be.”

  “I guess I’ll take your suggestion and hope for the best, at least until we know more. You want me to ask Christopher if he knows anything about the pesticide in the barn? He’s supposed to be here tomorrow.”

  “You might as well. Bye now.”

  Seth let himself out, and Meg remained at the kitchen table, staring into space. She was disturbed by the presence of poison in her barn, and by the man who might have died of poison not far away. Were the two connected? If not, it was a peculiar coincidence. And then there was Bree . . . Meg wanted to believe Bree wasn’t involved, but her connection to Jason was yet another disturbing coincidence. And Meg didn’t trust coincidences.

  10

  It was nearly ten Friday morning when Meg saw Christopher’s UMass van turn into her orchard, and by the time she’d pulled on her rubber boots and her jacket and headed up the slope to intercept him, he had already moved into the midst of the trees with his gaggle of students and was in full lecture mode. When he noticed her approach, he smiled and waved without interrupting his spiel, and Meg came close enough to listen. After a few minutes, he waved the students off, and they scattered in pairs through the trees, looking for something. Christopher watched them critically for a moment, then turned to Meg.

  “How are you, my dear? Any further fallout from your unpleasant discovery?”

  Involuntarily Meg glanced at the low profile of the springhouse. “Nothing on what happened to Jason, but there’s something else that might be related I need to ask you about.”

  He studied her face for a moment. “Something the students don’t need to hear?”

  “It doesn’t concern them, if that’s what you mean. You use some pesticides on this orchard, right?”

  “Yes, of course. Are you concerned about what we’ve been using? Whether it’s safe?”

  Meg hadn’t even considered that aspect. Would something sprayed on the orchard drift down to the house? Once again she felt the weight of her ignorance. “It wasn’t that, although maybe you’re telling me I should worry about that angle. No, this is about something Seth found in the barn when he was clearing it out. A container of pesticide—methidathion, he said. He guessed it had been there for a while, but he thought it was too old, so he disposed of it. Properly, of course,” Meg rushed to add. “But he was worried . . . we still don’t know how Jason died. Seth put two and two together and didn’t like what he came up with. I said I’d ask you if it’s something you might have left here. You’ve been using this orchard for quite a while, right?”

  Christopher looked troubled. “Close to twenty years now. That particular chemical has been around since the 1960s, long before we came to an agreement for the use of this orchard. I am fairly sure we haven’t used it recently—it’s fairly toxic, although it has a short half-life after application, and is reasonably kind to the environment. But it’s not my pesticide of choice. In any event, generally we bring all our materials and equipment with us when we treat your orchard. What’s more, since there was a certain amount of turnover among the tenants here, I was reluctant to leave anything at all in the barn, much less something hazardous. And I never would have used an out-of-date formulation—that would be unprofessional and irresponsible.” He hesitated a moment before asking, “Do I take it that you suspect that might have been used by or against Jason?”

  “Christopher, I don’t know enough even to guess. But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you pulled together a list of the chemicals you have been using here, how they’re handled, stuff like that. In case Marcus wants it.”

  “Of course. I keep that material on file.” Christopher cast an eye over his scattered class and apparently satisfied, turned again to Meg. “Is there any hope that it will be cleared up quickly?”

  “I have no idea. They did the autopsy fast, but it’ll take a while for the toxicology results. It did occur to me that if we suggested a few possible toxins, it might speed up the process. But I’m kind of scared of pointing the ME in any direction.”

  Christopher glanced again at his scattered students. “You’d asked if there would be any, uh, recognition of Jason’s passing at the university. I’ve arranged for an informal get-together, a kind of wake, perhaps, at five this evening, if you wish to attend. I don’t expect a large gathering. He was not a popular young man. On the other hand, I have made it known that there will be refreshments, and that usually guarantees some attendance.”

  Meg was torn. “Would it be too weird if I did? My only connection with Jason was finding his body. But I would like to pay my respects and meet people who knew him. Maybe it would help me figure out who might have wanted him dead. Has there been any talk within the department?”

  Christopher shook his head. “Sad to say, the overriding response is one of relief.” He looked away and gestured toward his scattered flock, gathering them in. “So I’ll see you later, Meg?”

  “I’ll be there.” She turned and went back down the hill toward the house. But rather than going inside, she walked around the perimeter to the side by the driveway, looking critically at the house as she went. Painting the trim was definitely on her to-do list but still on hold for warmer weather. She had to get the driveway paved since the installation of her septic tank had chewed across it. Meg was cheered to see a few green shoots emerging from the beds around the house. She hadn’t been here in the spring before, so she had no idea what was planted, and this was the first sign of life she had seen.

  The sun was warm on her face, the air smelled of damp leaves, and she wasn’t ready to tackle her list of chores. Instead she sat down on the broad granite slab that formed her back stoop, outside the kitchen. She leaned back on her arms and contemplated the view of the Great Meadow beyond the barn. Yes, there was a hint of green among the trees on the far side. Spring was coming—and with it a whole host of activities in the orchard, about which she still knew very little. She had to sit down with Bree and go over the schedule. From now on she was going to make sure she knew what was happening on her own property.

  A flicker of movement near the barn caught her eye, and she turned to find a cat sauntering toward her across the muddy drive.

  “Hello,” Meg said tentatively. “Where’d you come from?”

  The cat gave her a lazy look, then jumped up to the low step, sat down, and began a leisurely bath. Meg took stock of her new companion: a brown tabby with white vest and paws, fairly young looking. Clean, so most likely not an outdoor cat, but no collar. Unafraid of her, so probably a cat who was used to people. Male or female? She couldn’t guess. Meg reached out a tentative hand. The cat contemplated it for a moment, then stood up and butted its head against it. Cautiously Meg scratched behind the cat’s ears, which the cat accepted for a moment, and then, formal greetings completed, sat down and resumed her bath.

  Meg smiled and looked back toward the meadow. This was nice. It actually felt homey. Should she leave some food out for the cat? It didn’t look starved—it must belong to someone not far away. Would leaving food out keep the cat around? Di
d she want to keep the cat around? She’d never even considered a pet, since the apartments she’d lived in in Boston had not allowed them. But this was the country, wasn’t it? And Meg was willing to bet that there were mice in the house, although she hadn’t looked too closely. Maybe a cat was a good idea. If not this cat, then some cat. Something to think about.

  Obscurely cheered, Meg stood up and went inside. The cat didn’t budge.

  After taking inventory of the paltry contents of her refrigerator and freezer, Meg decided to run a few errands. She made the rounds of the stores outside of town, then stopped at the small pharmacy that served as a general store on the green in downtown Granford for a few odds and ends. As she emerged from her car door, she heard someone call her name.

  “Meg? Over here! Got a minute?” Gail Selden, head of the Granford Historical Society, was waving at her from across the green.

  Meg checked quickly for traffic—nonexistent—then crossed over to the historical society’s dilapidated building. “Hi, Gail. What’s up?” She hoped, fleetingly, that Gail wouldn’t want to pump her for information about the body in the orchard.

  “Were you serious when you said you’d help us out with cataloging?”

  Aha. Meg had volunteered to input information into a standardized database from the endless files that the understaffed society owned. “Sure. What do you need?”

  “Wonderful! I hoped you’d say that, because I brought a couple of boxes with me. They’re a real mess, just thrown together, but I picked stuff I thought might have information about the Warren farm, just to give you a little incentive. You can learn the data-entry ropes and learn about your home at the same time. Sound good?”

  “I’d love to see the files, and I should have time, at least in the evenings. You said you could teach me how to catalog?”

  “Piece of cake! I can show you what we’ve done so far.” Gail grinned. “And there’s no deadline—this stuff has been waiting for decades, so you can work on it when you want. You’re a lifesaver! You have no idea how it bugs me, having all this wonderful historical material and not being able to make it available. You wouldn’t want to do a little fund-raising for us, would you?”