“Two for two. Go on.”
She took another couple of steps forward, peering into the bays. “Now that one mystifies me.”
Seth came closer and looked at the dusty cylindrical object on the floor. “That, ma’am, is a chicken fountain.”
Meg’s mouth twitched. “A what?”
“It’s to provide water for your chickens. You fill the top part with water, and it trickles out the holes around the bottom, see? And your chicks can’t fall in and drown in it, because it’s not deep enough.”
“What’s this thing?” Meg picked up a long pole with a rusty tangle of wires on one end.
“For shame, woman. It’s an apple picker.”
“Oh.” Once Seth had said it, it made sense. How long was it going to take her to get the hang of this? “If you say so.” She crossed over toward the other side of the main area, and a flash of white caught her eye. “What on earth . . . bones?”
Seth came up beside her. “Yes. Animal—that’s a cow’s skull there. It’s a fact of farm life, you know. And they might have kept them to use as fertilizer—bone meal.”
“Good heavens!” At least they were animal and not human. “Can we get rid of them? I think they’re creepy.”
“Not a problem. Now, let me show you what I think we can do in here.”
As they ambled toward the front of the building, Meg asked, “How much space is this controlled-whatever chamber going to take up?”
“Depends on the size of your crop—we’d better ask Christopher about that. I’m guessing we could build out the one or two bays closest to the doors, use the framing that’s already there, add appropriate insulation . . .”
Meg listened with one ear to what Seth was saying. She could barely follow, but she was warmed by his enthusiasm. When he pursued something, he did it wholeheartedly. His attitude was so unlike that of the bankers she had known in Boston, who made a point of playing it cool about almost everything. Seth’s openness was appealing, and Meg was pretty sure that his eagerness to help with this project went beyond the chance to get some nice work space for his own business.
“Thanks, Seth. I appreciate all that you’re doing here.” She drifted toward the door. “Oh, and can you show me where that pesticide was when you found it?” In case Marcus comes asking.
His cheerful expression faded. “Right. It was in the corner, here.” He led her over to a dim corner and pointed at the floor near the front wall. “I wish I’d been paying more attention. I swiped off the dust on the front, found out what it was, and figured I’d better take it into town. I didn’t notice whether it had been opened any time lately. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t full, but that’s all I know.”
“The dust wasn’t disturbed? There weren’t any dribbles on the floor?”
“I wasn’t looking. You can see how dark it is in here, even during the day. I know I made sure it hadn’t leaked. I had no idea at the time that it would be important.”
“You didn’t have any reason to think so.” Meg considered for a moment. “Have you ever noticed any tampering with the locks? Or, heck, how many doors are there to this building?”
Seth smiled ruefully. “Too many. The padlock up front here is mostly for show. The other doors are a joke, and there’s a broken pane on one of them. And before you ask, no, I don’t know how long it’s been broken. Could have been a week, could have been years.”
“We make lousy detectives, don’t we?”
“Hey, Meg, don’t beat yourself up about this. Nobody would expect you to have done a complete inventory of your outbuildings in the middle of winter, when you weren’t even using them.”
“I suppose.” Still unconvinced, Meg was turning to leave when she heard something metallic fall, somewhere at the other end of the barn. “Did you hear that?”
Seth nodded. “Could be a bird.”
“Or rats?” Meg’s stomach clenched at the idea.
“Nothing for them to eat here—the place hasn’t been used in ages. Ah, here’s the culprit.” Seth pointed to a cat, wandering down the central aisle in their direction, tail waving.
Meg recognized her. “She—or he?—stopped by to say hello the other day.”
The cat was now rubbing against Seth’s legs, and he squatted down to scratch its head. “I’d say she, and only a couple years old.”
“She’s not a stray, is she?”
“I don’t think so. I think I’ve seen her around before— there was a family over the hill, moved out a couple of weeks ago. Maybe they didn’t want to take her along.”
“That’s awful, to just leave her like that. Especially if she’s an indoor cat.”
“I agree, but it does happen. Have you been feeding her?”
“Not yet. Should I?”
Seth straightened up. “Depends on whether you want a cat. Do you?”
Meg looked at the tabby sitting in front of her, completely at ease. The tabby looked back. “You know, I think I do.” As if on cue, the cat stood up and walked over to Meg and began stropping her head against Meg’s legs, purring. “She’s a smart one, isn’t she? Knows just who to suck up to.”
“Obviously you’re an easy mark. Listen, if you do decide to keep her, I know a good vet—you should check on her shots, spaying, that kind of thing.”
“Good idea. Seth, is there anybody you don’t know around here?”
He grinned. “Hey, I’d better be going. And looks like you’re going to need to buy some cat food.”
“Thanks for coming by, Seth. What’s the next step?”
“I’ll talk to Christopher, get a better idea about the size of your storage area. And, if you don’t mind, I thought I’d get the office and shop space built out first. You won’t need the storage until late summer anyway, right?”
“That’s what I understand.”
They left the barn, followed by the cat. After Seth pulled away, Meg shivered. The sun was sinking fast. She looked down at the cat waiting patiently by her feet. “Okay, lady, I guess it’s time to go inside. Can you handle tuna? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve got a can of that. I’ll deal with cat food tomorrow, all right?”
The cat stared up at her with green eyes “Do you have a name?” The cat didn’t answer but strolled ahead of Meg, climbed the granite stoop, then turned back to look expectantly at her. Meg, you really are losing it. You’re talking to a cat . . . Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “All right, I’m coming.” When Meg opened the door, the cat darted inside.
13
Meg’s sleep was troubled by a vague sense of unease: there were too many loose ends, too many hints, too many unexplained coincidences surrounding Jason’s death. The pesticide in the barn that nobody had known about—or had they? Poison in the barn, poison in Jason: were they the same? Bree and Jason: she said it had ended, but should Meg trust her word? How much did she really know about Bree? And what had Michael been hinting about Christopher at lunch? Christopher was supposed to be one of the good guys. Why would he have had any reason to eliminate Jason? Wouldn’t denying him his degree be enough to get rid of him?
Reluctantly Meg got out of bed and dragged on some clothes. It wasn’t until she reached the kitchen downstairs that she remembered the cat, who was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor and waiting with admirable patience for . . . blast, for food, of course. Which Meg didn’t have yet.
“Hi, cat. Did you have a good night?” Meg had fixed up an impromptu litter box using shredded newspaper and hoped fervently that the cat had put it to good use. Although based on what she’d found while removing crumbling shag carpet from several rooms in the house, Meg knew that various pets had left their calling cards in the past. “I’ll go to the store today and stock up. In the meantime . . .” Meg opened the refrigerator and rummaged through her sparse leftovers. “Aha! How about some chicken breast?”
The cat’s green stare was now fixed on the plate in Meg’s hand, and her nose twitched.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” As Meg shre
dded meat from the bones, she sorted through her tasks for the day. Market, obviously, for cat food, and after that, the local home store. She needed more paint stripper and probably some gardening tools: now that spring was coming on strong, she should clear out her flower beds and figure out what might be growing. At the very least there was plenty of pruning to be done. Maybe somewhere in the barn there were tools, but she didn’t feel like venturing back into the place alone to hunt for them, and most likely they were rusted into inert relics by now. She had some reading to do for her next class, but that could wait until after dark. As long as the weather held, she should work on those chores that required daylight. She set the plate of chicken on the floor, and the cat dove in as if she hadn’t eaten in days, even though Meg knew full well that she had scarfed down a can of tuna the night before. If she had been an indoor cat before, no doubt she’d had a hard time of it foraging on her own.
Meg was startled to hear a rapping at the kitchen door and looked up to see Bree. She hurried to let her in. “Hi! I was wondering what had happened to you. Is everything all right?”
Bree stalked in, managing to look both defiant and sheepish. “Yeah, sure. Sorry. I was trying to work some stuff out. Who’s this?”
Meg followed her glance to the cat, who was still eating eagerly, untroubled—or undistracted—by the arrival of a stranger. “That’s, uh, a cat.”
Bree snorted. “Yeah, I figured that part out—I took animal physiology. Is she yours?”
“I don’t know. I found her in the barn yesterday. Seth said she might have belonged to some people who moved away. Do you have any problem with cats? Allergies or something? And you think she’s a she?”
Bree hunkered down and waited politely for the cat to finish eating. The cat then sauntered over to Bree and sniffed her outstretched hand before rubbing her head on it.
“I like cats. And yes, she’s female. She have a name?” Meg shrugged. “Not that I know of. I’m working on it. Can I get you some breakfast or something?”
“Coffee, if you’ve got it.”
“Coming up. I fed the cat first, so I haven’t had breakfast.” Meg stole a glance at the girl. She figured that she might as well put breakfast together and let Bree talk when she was ready.
Five minutes later Meg set plates with scrambled eggs and toast on the table, added the coffeepot, and sat down. “Dig in.”
“Thanks.” Bree stalled for a few more minutes by eating her eggs, but finally she sighed and put down her fork. “I talked with that Marcus guy.”
“About Jason?”
Bree nodded. “I told him we’d been together for a while, but it had been over for a long time.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much. I couldn’t tell if he already knew about it.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t like to share much.”
Bree gave Meg a sharp glance. “You know him?”
“Better than I’d like but not very well. There was a murder here at the beginning of the year. Maybe you heard about it? Anyway, Detective Marcus would have been happy to blame me. To be fair, there were some good reasons to, but I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“You don’t like him,” Bree said bluntly.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s the chief investigator. He has to investigate. But you know, I get the feeling nobody liked Jason much. And that includes his so-called friends.”
Bree took a large bite of toast and swallowed before answering. “The GreenGrow bunch, you mean?”
Meg decided not to mention Christopher’s guarded comments. Technically Bree was still a student, and it might not be appropriate to know what her faculty advisor was thinking. “Yes, and maybe some of his colleagues at the university as well. I didn’t see you at the wake on Friday.”
“You went? I thought it would be hypocritical for me to show up. I wasn’t about to mourn for the guy.”
“Fair enough. Look, Bree, you knew Jason, and you know about the organic groups around here. Would any of them have reason to want him dead? Was he really important enough to kill? Or was he just plain obnoxious? Not that that’s enough of a reason to kill anyone, but sometimes it’s tempting.”
That comment brought a lopsided smile from Bree. She helped herself to more coffee, clearly more relaxed. “Nobody’s said it’s murder yet. But, yeah, I can think of some people . . .” Her smile faded, and she leaned forward, both elbows on the table, cradling her coffee mug. “Okay, here’s the thing. A few years ago, Jason was kind of the wonder boy of the department, right? Smart, charming, funny. Kind of superfocused, but not in your face, if you know what I mean. But then he started to change. I guess that’s about the time I met him. He got more and more extreme. He’d started up GreenGrow with a buddy of his—”
“Michael Fisher. I had lunch with him.”
Bree looked startled, but she continued on with what she had been saying. “Well, for a while it went really well, but then Jason started trying to push a harder line, and that turned some people off and they dropped out. But he wasn’t willing to compromise. I remember one argument—” Bree stopped abruptly.
“Bree, if you’re worried about implicating someone, you don’t have to tell me,” Meg said.
“It’s not that, exactly. Maybe I got it wrong. But once, when we were at the GreenGrow offices, Jason and Michael really got into it. Michael’s a good guy, and he’s better at handling publicity stuff than Jason ever was, only Jason wouldn’t admit it. They disagreed about a lot of things.”
“But this was two years ago, right?” Meg asked. “And both Jason and Michael stayed with GreenGrow?”
“They worked it out. Sometimes Jason listened to Michael. And Michael didn’t really like being the public face, so he was happy to let Jason do that kind of stuff. At least until lately.”
“What changed?”
“I haven’t been involved with GreenGrow for a while, you know? But I heard things from other people. Jason just seemed to be getting more and more out there. Like he was on a crusade.”
Meg nodded. “I think I see what you’re saying.” She thought for a moment before adding, “You think he was unstable?”
Bree considered. “I hadn’t thought of that. You mean, like he was flipping out?” She finished her second piece of toast before going on. “You think the detective ought to know that? Maybe Jason went to health services or something, and there’s a file on him. Although I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t admit he had that kind of problem. He was always right and the rest of the world was wrong, you know?”
Briefly Meg weighed the option of presenting Marcus with this piece of insight—and rejected it. “Jason might have been overzealous, but that’s not necessarily a sign of mental illness. Which leaves us with Jason being annoying, and that’s not usually enough reason to kill someone.”
“You didn’t know Jason,” Bree muttered darkly.
“No, I didn’t. One more thing: do you think he was suicidal?”
Bree snorted. “Jason? No way. He had all the answers, and everyone who disagreed with him was just plain stupid. To kill himself would be to admit that he was wrong and they were right, and he wasn’t about to do that.”
Meg wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disturbed: if it wasn’t suicide, then Jason must have been murdered. “Listen, Bree . . .” Meg hesitated, unsure of how to phrase her next question. “Are we all right? I mean, you and me, and the job and all?”
Bree looked startled. “What? You having second thoughts?”
“No! I just wondered if you were. I mean, finding a body here, someone you knew . . . That could make some people uncomfortable.”
“I can handle it. I mean, sure, I’m sorry he’s dead, I guess, and I wish it had been someone else, someone I didn’t know, or he’d been found somewhere else, or . . . You know what I mean. But I still want to work for you. If you want me.”
“I do,” Meg replied firmly.
“Thanks. I can finish moving in soon—it’s just as easy to
commute to classes from here, and the dorms are so noisy, it’s hard to get much done.”
“That’s fine with me. By the way, Seth was here yesterday, and he said he’d talked to you about building the apple storage chamber in the barn.”
“Yeah, we talked about it. Nice having a plumber to work with—he knows what I’m saying.”
“He’ll probably be doing a lot of the construction work himself, or at least supervising it. You haven’t seen the inside of the barn, have you?”
“Nope, not yet. We need to do a walk-through.”
The cat had stationed herself halfway between Meg and Bree, clearly hoping for some fallout from breakfast but not exactly begging.
“Any idea for a name?”
“What? Oh, you mean the cat?” Bree studied the cat for a moment. “Lavinia.”
“Why?”
“Emily Dickinson’s sister. Lived at home, never married. Liked cats, a lot.”
Meg laughed. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve lived in Amherst for four years, and I took an English class. She was called Vinnie for short.”
Meg regarded the cat. “Vinnie?” The cat stood up, stretched, and left the room. Meg turned back to Bree. “Was that a yes or a no?”
“You’ve never had a cat, have you?”
“No. My mother had allergies.”
“I’m guessing no. Vinnie sounds like a guy’s name anyway. What else you got?”
“Lavvie? No, that’s not even a name. How about Lolly?”
“Give it a try.”
“Lolly?” Meg called out tentatively. No sign of the cat.
“Yo, Lolly!” Bree said loudly, and the cat reappeared in the doorway. “Guess that works.” She stood up and then knelt to give the cat a head rub. “Hi, Lolly-cat.” Then she turned back to Meg. “Hey, why don’t we take a look at that barn again? I want to know what kind of space I’m working with.”
Meg followed her outside and led the way to the barn. She opened the padlock, then hauled back the door. Seth had moved it easily; Meg hadn’t realized how heavy it was. She let Bree enter first, watching her: was she deliberately avoiding looking at the corner where the pesticide had been? Meg, you’re getting paranoid.
Rotten to the Core Page 9
