Rotten to the Core

by Sheila Connolly

  Michael began speaking again, and Meg brought her focus back to him. “We at GreenGrow want to continue Jason’s work in eliminating toxic chemicals in our food, and to that end we have been working on developing a number of new programs to spread our ideas to the public.” He went on to detail the updated newsletter they planned to distribute, the expansion of their website, the collaboration in the summer with the Pioneer Valley association that sponsored various farmers markets throughout the region. All good ideas, Meg thought, and she sat up straighter and paid closer attention. Occasionally she shifted her glance to the other members of the GreenGrow group. They appeared generally enthusiastic, though Daphne still looked sullen, as she had at the wake.

  After another ten or fifteen minutes, Michael wrapped up his presentation. “We’d be delighted if you would all stay a bit longer and join us in some refreshments.” He smiled. “We like to say they’re our best advertising. All made from locally grown, pesticide-free ingredients. And please ask us questions about anything you like.” He ducked his head shyly, still smiling, and a few people clapped in a haphazard way before standing up and stretching. The majority moved toward the front of the room, where Meg saw a table that until now had been concealed by the GreenGrow members. The surge of people suggested that either they were very hungry or the products, natural or otherwise, were very good. Meg decided to investigate more closely.

  She was filling a small plate with an interesting if eclectic sampling of cookies, cakes, and cheeses when Michael came up beside her. “I’m glad you could come, Meg. What did you think?”

  “I thought you handled that very well. And I’m impressed with what you’ve put together. I’ll take a look at the website. Has it gone live yet?”

  “In a couple of days. Jason didn’t think that kind of thing was important, so it’s something I’ve been working on in my spare time.”

  “It seems to me a website is an excellent way to draw attention to your efforts, and to reach a wider audience.” She bit into a cracker she had slathered with what she hoped was goat cheese. “Wow, this is good. It’s local?”

  Michael nodded. “Yes. The cheese comes from a farm about five miles from here. We’re not ready to compete with the artisanal cheese makers in Vermont, but we’re getting there.”

  “What else do you promote here?”

  “Honey, of course. Lots of fruits and vegetables, later in the season. Various milk products from cattle that haven’t been dosed with antibiotics or chemical-laced feeds—all grass-fed. Eggs from free-range chickens. I can give you some more literature, if you’re really interested.”

  “I’d like to know more about all of this,” Meg answered, surprised to find that she really meant it.

  Michael looked away from her and raised a hand to someone across the room. “Excuse me, but I need to talk to him—he’s from the local paper. Why don’t you talk to some of our other members?”

  “I will.” Meg refilled her plate, then wandered over to Daphne, who hovered near the edge of a group of people without really being part of it. “Daphne, right? I met you at the university.”

  Reluctantly Daphne peeled herself away from the group. “Yeah. And you’re the woman who owns the place where Jason was found.”

  “Yes. Meg Corey. Did you know him well?”

  Daphne drew herself up. “I was his girlfriend.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” The words sounded lame even to Meg, but she had nothing better to say. Better to fall back on platitudes, since Daphne looked as though she would take offense at almost anything that Meg offered. “He sounds like he was a very committed man.”

  “He was. He really cared about natural foods and keeping our crops pure. Not like some of these people here.” Daphne uttered the last sentence in a low voice, and Meg wondered if she was supposed to hear. So there was dissent in the ranks?

  Daphne was on a roll. “The chemical establishment wants to make money off of the farmers, get them hooked on spraying or whatever, and keep them hooked. And when the pests become resistant to one form of chemical, guess what? There’s the chemical company with something newer and better. And probably more expensive. Do you have any idea how much chemical treatments add to the cost of the food you eat? Do you?”

  “No, I don’t. I never gave it much thought until I ended up with my orchard,” Meg admitted.

  Michael, having finished his conversation with the local reporter, came up beside Daphne and laid a hand on her arm. “Daphne, you don’t have to be too hard on her. I said I’d give her our materials, and she’s willing to look at them.”

  Daphne gave him a sidelong glance laden with venom. “Yeah, right. She’s working with Ramsdell at the university, isn’t she?”

  “He’s been managing the orchard for years,” Meg said. “I haven’t heard any complaints. Do you have a problem with him?”

  Michael answered, cutting off Daphne before she could protest. “Actually he’s one of the more responsible scientists in this area. At least he doesn’t dismiss GreenGrow out of hand. And he tried to help Jason.”

  “Help?” Daphne sputtered. “He told Jason his thesis research was sloppy and he’d have to redo all his analyses. And then he turns around and tells him that he’s out of time. You call that help?”

  “Daphne, I don’t think he put it quite that strongly. He said he thought some of the analyses were a little superficial and Jason should look them over more critically. And he was only following university guidelines, as far as timing. Jason just wasn’t very focused on the academic side of things.”

  Poor Michael looked uncomfortable airing Jason’s dirty academic laundry in front of Meg, but he couldn’t stem Daphne’s tide of hostility. “And why should he have been, with an advisor like Ramsdell? Holds himself up as Mr. High and Mighty, let’s all find a middle path and use chemicals responsibly, blah, blah, blah. All the time he’s been sucking up to the chemical industry.”

  “Daphne!” Michael’s voice had taken on an edge. “I think you’re making far too much of that.”

  Daphne turned to face Michael. “What? I saw him with that guy Kurtz, the big man at DeBroCo. And they looked pretty friendly to me.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Chemical companies come around all the time, looking for new opportunities. DeBroCo’s been funding scholarships and research at the university for years. Ramsdell is probably on his regular call list.”

  “Michael, you are so naïve! Just wait—there’s going to be a big announcement any day now, and then you’ll see how he’s pulled the wool over your eyes. You and a lot of other people!”

  “Daphne, that’s enough! This is not the time or the place to discuss this.” He held Daphne’s gaze for a moment, and finally she turned away from him to address Meg. “You—ask Ramsdell about the money DeBroCo is throwing at the university. He’s going to come out of this smelling like a rose, and GreenGrow’s going to get screwed. Again.” She turned on her heel and stalked away.

  Michael shook his head. “Sorry about that. She’s upset about Jason’s death. And I think his attitude was kind of contagious, and now she’s seeing conspiracies everywhere.”

  Meg felt sorry for Michael, having to deal with such histrionics. “I can understand that. But what was she talking about?”

  Michael shrugged. “We don’t have all the details, but the rumors are that the university has been negotiating something big with DeBroCo Pharmaceuticals, and it’s likely to be announced any time now.”

  “And Christopher has something to do with this?”

  “Looks like it. I don’t know much, only what I hear. Why don’t you ask him?”

  And then report back to you? Not likely. “I’ll be interested to hear what he has to say,” Meg replied noncommittally. But she did wonder if there was any truth to the rumors, or if GreenGrow was just seeing evil pesticide promoters under every rock. What was the saying? Even paranoid people were right sometimes? Not that there was any reason for Christopher to have tol
d her about university plans, public or private, confirmed or anticipated. But she knew that he was worried about his own future—he had told her as much when it had looked as though her orchard was destined to be paved over for parking for a planned minimall in her backyard. Even though that threat had been quashed, she knew that funding was always an issue within a university, and that popularity of disciplines and departments waxed and waned. But would Christopher sell out to corporate interests? It seemed out of character for him.

  Michael seemed eager to talk to the rest of the dwindling crowd. Meg waved him off. “Michael, thanks for inviting me to the meeting, and for the information. You’ve given me a lot to think about. You make a good case for the organic viewpoint.”

  “Thanks.” He hesitated. “Jason was a good guy and he really cared, but he was pretty pushy, and I think it put some people off. I try to present a more balanced and practical approach. But he did a lot for GreenGrow.” The last statement sounded perfunctory to Meg’s ears.

  “I’m sure he did. And I hope that the police figure out what happened to him.”

  “So do I, Meg. Thanks for coming.”

  Meg watched him work the rest of the small crowd. He did seem at ease, and he was clearly knowledgeable. He might make a good leader, out from Jason’s shadow.

  As Meg drove home in the dark, she wondered, Why is it that everything I look into turns out to make everything else more complicated? Did she now have to add Christopher to the list of those who might have wanted Jason dead?

  17

  Wednesday morning after breakfast, Meg climbed up the hill to the orchard, hoping to find Christopher there. She was in luck: he was there, and even better, he wasn’t accompanied by his students. He waved when he saw her, and she approached him with an uncomfortable mix of anxiety and hope. Surely the rumors she’d heard at the GreenGrow meeting were only that.

  “Good morning, my dear!” Christopher said warmly.

  “It looks as though the buds are forming well. It shouldn’t be long now until we start to see some color.”

  “Green tip, right?” Meg said. “Listen, can I talk to you about something?”

  “Of course. Is this about Bree?”

  “No, we’re fine. This is about you, and your department.”

  “Oh dear, that sounds serious. Perhaps we should go inside?”

  “No, I’d rather walk, if that’s all right with you.”

  “If you prefer.” As Meg set off down the cleared space between two rows of apple trees, Christopher fell into step alongside her. “Is something troubling you?”

  Meg fumbled to begin, then decided to work her way around to her real concern. “Christopher, you told me you use some pesticides in managing this orchard?”

  “Yes, I do, judiciously.”

  “How do you get them? Can any ordinary citizen go online and buy whatever they want?”

  Christopher paused to seize a low-hanging branch, examining the buds on it. “Of course a person such as yourself may go to any garden center and buy and store small amounts of any number of pesticides and herbicides, for home use. For agricultural use, on a larger scale, there is a paper trail. Moreover, handlers—anyone who mixes, loads, or applies pesticides—are given formal safety training. Pesticides must be clearly labeled and identified as toxic. When they are applied in the field, clear warnings must be posted.”

  “So the short answer is, there are lots of regulations in place for large-scale use?”

  “I think it would be accurate to say that. Not that they are always followed precisely, but I have always maintained strict standards, personally and to protect my students.” Christopher stopped walking, forcing Meg to stop as well. “Meg, I’m happy to answer your questions, but I have a feeling you’re leading up to something. Why are you asking? Is this about Jason’s death?”

  Meg met his gaze. “Yes, it is. Look, I told you about the pesticide that was found in the barn, right?”

  “You did. Methidathion. I checked my records, and we haven’t used it on this site for several years. Particularly after we started having troubles with bees dying off.”

  “Could the container in the barn have been left over from then?”

  “Meg, I would say with some degree of assurance that any chemicals found in your barn did not belong to the university. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “In part. Do you still have any methidathion at the university?”

  Christopher shook his head. “I can’t say definitively. It has other applications than in orchards, and other faculty members may be using it. And the amount required to kill a single person would probably not be significant. Let me ask you a question: have the authorities determined that methidathion was the cause of death?”

  “If they have, they haven’t told me, but that’s no surprise. All I know for sure is that the authorities believe Jason was poisoned, but I don’t know if they’ve narrowed down which poison or how he took it. I’m just trying to understand how someone would go about getting hold of a poison.” Meg decided to try another tack. “Can you think of any reason why Jason would have been here? I mean, I’d never met him, never had any contact with him. Why here, why now?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that, my dear. The department’s involvement with this orchard is well known and has been going on for years. Perhaps he hoped he could persuade you to adopt his philosophy rather than mine. I’m sorry if I have in any way dragged you into something unpleasant, but I confess I have no idea how that could have come about.”

  “I know. Listen, Christopher . . .” Meg wondered whether bringing up what she had heard from Michael and Daphne was worth it, but she might as well get it all out into the open now. “I went to a GreenGrow meeting in Amherst last night,” she began.

  “Ah. Has Michael taken the reins in hand?”

  “Yes, and he seems to be doing well. But we got to talking afterwards, and he mentioned something that bothered me.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Apparently some people believe that you are working with a major pesticide company. He and others saw you with one of their executives.”

  Meg hoped that Christopher would deny it. When he sighed and took his time answering, she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the March breeze sweeping over the hillside.

  At last he spoke. “Meg, I don’t wish to mislead you. Michael is no doubt referring to DeBroCo, which has sponsored various programs in the Life Sciences Department for years. If I recall, Bree has benefitted from their scholarship funding. Recently I have met with a representative of DeBroCo about something new, and no doubt some well-meaning member of GreenGrow saw us and misconstrued the situation. But I can’t say more at this time.”

  Meg wavered. She had known Christopher only a short time, but she would have said they were friends, and his evasiveness troubled her. Did he have something to hide?

  He was still talking. “Please don’t take this amiss, Meg. I can understand how this might look to you, and if it were only I who was involved, I would share the details in a moment. But there are others who have an interest, and I am not at liberty to speak for them. Let me assure you that this matter will be resolved shortly, and then I will be able to give you a full account.”

  She remained unconvinced, but what could she do? She had no reason to distrust Christopher, save for the gossip of a few people from GreenGrow, and she wasn’t sure whether she had any grounds to believe them.

  She summoned a smile. “Christopher, I’m sure you have good reasons for not telling me, and I look forward to a full account whenever you can speak freely.”

  “Thank you, my dear. I will not abuse your trust.” He glanced at his watch. “Heavens, I’ve overstayed. I have office hours in half an hour. You’ll excuse me if I run?”

  “Of course.”

  He lingered a moment longer. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Meg. This will all be cleared up soon. In the meantime, we should schedule some time to review your plans f
or the storage units. Bree mentioned them to me.”

  “Fine, Christopher. I’ll be here.” By then she was speaking to his retreating back, as he hurried toward his van.

  She had no more answers now than she had had earlier. Christopher had disavowed any knowledge of the pesticide from the barn, and she couldn’t prove or disprove anything. He had admitted that he was involved somehow with a pesticide purveyor, a fact that had set off alarm bells with the GreenGrow people. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation, but Christopher was not willing to share it with her. Things were getting murkier by the day.

  18

  Meg was in the middle of trying to put together something for lunch when Seth appeared in her driveway. She opened the kitchen door as he approached. “Hi, Seth. Come on in.”

  “Wow!” Seth had made it three feet inside the door and was now staring at the denuded floor. “When did you do this?”

  “Um, Monday? I wanted something to take my mind off . . . everything, and this is what happened. You approve?”

  “You’ve still got some work to do, but it looks great. You are planning to leave it bare?” he added anxiously.

  “I think so. Seems a shame to cover it up again, now that I’ve put so much work into cleaning it off, and the wood looks nice. Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Did you drop by to chat or was there another reason?”

  “Actually, I stopped by to ask if you’ve done anything about a tractor.”