Rotten to the Core

by Sheila Connolly

  “What?” That was the last thing she expected to hear.

  “Bree said you were going to need something to haul your apples around.”

  “Oh, right. We didn’t find one buried in all that junk in the barn, did we?”

  “No. The sisters probably sold off whatever they could, since they weren’t using it.”

  “And left the rest to rust in the fields, apparently.” She had seen several rusted tangles of machinery scattered around the place.

  “That they did.” Seth was all but bouncing with repressed excitement. “But the good news is, my friend Eric’s got a line on a great used tractor, and he can get you a good price for it.”

  Meg recalled that Eric Putnam was a long-time friend of Seth’s; his day job was teaching at UMass, but he spent most of his free time prowling for antique salvage. Eric had sold Meg the antique clock that graced the space over her mantel. And Seth gladly took all of the antique plumbing fixtures Eric could find, for his growing plumbing and renovation business.

  “You know I don’t know squat about tractors. Or how to use one.” Meg still wasn’t sure what she would do with a tractor, of any age or condition.

  “You’re smart—you can learn. You interested?”

  “What, I have to decide right now?”

  “If you don’t want it, Eric will find someone else. But the seller’s in a hurry to get rid of it.”

  Seth looked so excited that Meg hated to disappoint him. “I guess. Where is this thing? Does it even run?”

  Seth waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about that. I can get it running and figure out what attachments you’ll need.”

  “Attachments? Wait a minute—I don’t even know how it works, and now you’re adding stuff to it?”

  “Just a way to move your apples from one place to another, and maybe something to mow between the trees. No big deal.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. When I was a kid, I used to pick up some spare change after school during harvest season, picking apples. I have a good idea what you’ll need. And I like machines. You want to go?”

  “Okay, okay. Where are we going?”

  “Williamsburg—it’s a small town north of here. Let me give Eric a call, let him know we’re coming.”

  Seth finished up his call in less than a minute. “He’s good to go. He thinks it hasn’t run for a while, but it’s in pretty good shape.”

  “Lead on. I just love having my nose rubbed in all the things I don’t know about farming.”

  “You’re learning fast.”

  “I’d better.”

  Seth was driving his car today rather than the plumbing van, and Meg settled herself in and buckled her seat belt. “Listen, I don’t want to get stampeded into a decision about a piece of major machinery without time to think about it.”

  “Hey, relax. We’ll let you know if it looks like a good machine for you, and if you want it, your handshake is good enough to hold it.”

  “That’s not the point. Everything I touch is expensive these days, and I want to be sure I’m spending my money wisely.”

  “What, you don’t trust my opinion, or Eric’s?”

  “I do, but I still want to pretend to be in charge of this. You big strong men will let me get a word in now and then, right?”

  “Of course we will.”

  They bantered easily during the drive, past Northampton and north, paralleling the Connecticut River until they arrived in Williamsburg. They drove past a cluster of shops and a restaurant, then climbed up a steep road to where a house and barn, in dire need of paint, clung to the hillside. Meg recognized Eric leaning against a battered pickup truck parked in front of the barn. He was talking to a fortyish woman in faded jeans and a more-faded sweatshirt.

  Meg climbed out of the car, watched by a pair of curious goats behind a rickety fence.

  “Hey, Seth, Meg. This is Florence Lucas.”

  The woman stepped forward and Meg shook her hand. Her grip was strong, her palm rough. “I’m taking my own name back—Florence Lusardi. Eric here says you need a tractor?”

  “That’s what people keep telling me. I just took over an orchard in Granford, and I’m kind of starting from scratch.” Meg was conscious of Florence’s cool stare, and she wondered if she looked as clueless as she felt.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No, I’m from Boston.”

  “Think farming is a cute hobby?”

  Meg immediately felt defensive. “No, I don’t. I realize it takes hard work, and I’m not just dabbling. I want to make this orchard economically viable, and to do that I need equipment. Eric said you had a tractor to sell?” Meg realized that the two men hadn’t said anything, and wondered if Seth was trying to suppress a smile.

  Florence finally softened and produced a smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to give you a hard time. But I hate these city types who come out here and buy a place, and then get fed up and leave again. Like my ex. He used to have a decent job in Springfield, and then a few years ago he ups and decides he wants to be a farmer. I told him he was crazy, but he didn’t listen to me. He went out and bought all this equipment, and he used it for a few months, and then, surprise, he lost interest. So, yes, I’ve got this tractor to unload. Want to see it?”

  “Sure. Does it run?”

  “Don’t know, really. I let my idiot husband worry about that. Come on.” Florence led the way into the dim recesses of the barn; the goats followed along the fence, bleating plaintively. Eric and Seth trailed behind, talking to each other.

  “You don’t need a tractor?” To Meg’s eyes, the barn was substantially newer than hers but possibly in worse condition. The wood planks had been slapped on carelessly and as they’d dried, gaps had opened between them, letting in both light and wind. Wisps of straw scurried across the cracked concrete floor.

  “I never needed it. My ex—Alvin—he saw this thing on eBay and thought it looked cool, and next thing I knew, it showed up here. Not much use on a place like this—pretty much all hill. He never did figure out how to hook up the snowplow. Which was the only part we really needed.”

  They reached a bay that held a lump shrouded by a blue plastic tarp. Florence grabbed one edge of the tarp and hauled it off, revealing a large green tractor. “There it is.”

  Eric and Seth surged forward, their eyes alight. They began walking around it, pointing and poking. Meg turned back to Florence. “Is it yours to sell now?”

  “Sure is. Alvin moved in with the receptionist at his dentist’s office in Hadley—he said he was having a root canal. Ha! If he wants anything, he can take me to court. Me, I’ve had it. I’m going to move to Springfield, where my daughter lives. Just as soon as I unload all this crap.” She waved vaguely around.

  Before Meg had to reply, Eric and Seth joined them. “Flo, it looks good. Can we start her up?”

  “Go for it. I can’t tell you how much gas there is.”

  Eric and Seth, like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, went back to the dusty machine and started looking at more dials and gauges.

  “You planning to run this orchard place all by yourself?” Florence’s question startled Meg.

  “That’s the idea.”

  “How big’s your place?”

  “Fifteen acres of established trees, another ten of wetlands, and an old house and barn,” Meg replied promptly.

  Florence eyed her critically. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. I’ve got plenty of relatives around here trying to keep their heads above water financially. And farming can be lonely and frustrating. A lot of people have just given up the past few years. Not enough money in it, and one bad turn can wipe out your profits.”

  Meg sighed. “That’s what people keep telling me. But I hate to give up before I’ve even started. Will you sell me the tractor?”

  “You want it, it’s yours. Who knows—maybe you’ll make this whole thing work.”

  “I hope so.”
Meg heard the roar of an engine, and the tractor jerked to life. She and Florence stepped back to let the tractor sputter past, and watched as it moved into the unpaved driveway. “They look like they’re having fun, don’t they?” Meg asked.

  “Sure do. Boys and their toys, huh?”

  “My thought exactly.”

  It was hard to make herself heard over the noise of the machine, so Meg contented herself with watching Eric take it through its paces, all the while with a huge grin on his face. Seth egged him on from the sidelines. After a few minutes, Eric shut off the motor and stepped down.

  “Seems good,” he said. “What’re you asking for it?”

  “Alvin paid five grand,” Florence said, “but I thought he got ripped off.” She shot a glance at Meg. “I’ll take two, and throw in the attachments.”

  “That’s a great price, Meg,” Eric said.

  Meg looked at Seth, who nodded. She sighed. “Okay, guys, if you say so. Florence, looks like I’ll take it. If you guys can figure out how to get it to Granford. And if you can teach me how to use the thing.”

  Seth grinned. “No problem. I know a guy with a flatbed. And I can show you how to work it. Bree may already know.”

  “We’ve got a deal,” Florence said.

  “Thanks, Florence,” Meg said. “You guys ready to go?”

  “Happy to be rid of it. Good luck, Meg—you’re gonna need it.”

  “I’m going to stick around and check out some of Florence’s other stuff,” Eric said. “Seth, swing by the barn sometime this weekend—I’ve got another load for you. Bye, Meg. Enjoy the tractor.”

  Once back in Seth’s car, Meg muttered, “Yeah, right, enjoy the tractor. What am I getting into?”

  “Meg, you need a tractor,” Seth said patiently, “and you’re getting a really good deal on this one. Hey, it’s a new skill—it’ll look good on your resume.”

  Meg laughed. “Yeah, right. ‘Municipal bond analyst, can operate heavy farm equipment.’ Damn, I just hate feeling ignorant all the time.”

  “The older tractors were well made and simple to operate—that’s how they’ve lasted this long. You can drive a car, so I’m sure you’ll catch on fast. You know, you really sound down. Is anything wrong?”

  “I talked to Christopher this morning, and it’s still bothering me.”

  “Why?”

  Meg proceeded to lay out the events of the GreenGrow meeting, the oblique comments from Michael and Daphne, and her talk with Christopher. “What I don’t understand is, if it’s all so innocent, why can’t he just tell me?” Meg turned in her seat to face him. “I’m so dependent on him to keep this orchard thing going, at least for a while, and that makes me uncomfortable, you know? But I guess what is really gnawing at me is the possibility that Christopher could be selling out to the pesticide interests, and that Jason somehow got in the way.”

  “Meg, are you saying that you think Christopher is a killer?”

  “No! I mean, I hope not. I like him. I trust him. But I’ve been wrong about people before.”

  “Look, he said he could tell you about this mysterious thing soon. Give it a few days and see what happens. And, remember, we still don’t know if anyone killed Jason.”

  “I haven’t found anybody who believes that Jason was the type to kill himself.”

  “Still, it’s not ruled out, either. And there’s nothing you can do about it right now, is there?”

  “I guess not. Besides, I have to learn to drive a tractor. That should distract me, right?”

  “Piece of cake.”

  Meg sat back, obscurely reassured. Maybe she was just feeling overwhelmed. She wanted to trust her instincts about Christopher. She was pleased that Seth had implied faith in her decisions—and in her ability to learn to drive a tractor. She could practice in the middle of a nice, flat, open field—how much trouble could she get into?

  19

  Meg’s Thursday class at the university seemed to drag on and on. She knew the notes she was taking covered a lot of things that she would need eventually, but right now it was hard to put the information into any context. A book could give you facts, but the smelly, messy, unpredictable reality was something you had to deal with personally. If she had known she was going to end up running an orchard in rural Massachusetts, she might have planned her undergraduate courses a bit differently. But how could she have known?

  When she emerged from the lecture hall, she spotted Daphne sitting on a bench in the hallway. When Daphne saw her, she jumped up quickly and approached Meg.

  “Hi, Meg,” she began with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “Can I talk to you? Can we go somewhere and maybe get a coffee? Unless you’ve got somewhere you have to be?”

  Meg didn’t, but neither did she really want to spend any time with this girl, who up until now had been nothing but rude to her. Still, somehow Daphne’s abrupt about-face intrigued her, as did the fact that apparently this chat was important enough for Daphne to have tracked her down. “Okay. Somewhere on campus?”

  “Could we go into town? I know this coffee shop.”

  “That’s fine. I have my car here—do you want a ride?”

  “Sure. I don’t have a car.”

  Meg led the way to the parking lot, still puzzling over what Daphne might have to say to her. Daphne made no effort at small talk, plodding along in her heavy shoes and shapeless coat. The poor girl definitely lacked social graces. Or maybe, Meg thought, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, she was mourning Jason.

  Daphne directed Meg to a restaurant near the middle of town—which turned out to be the same one where she had met Christopher for lunch. Amherst really was a small community. Meg ordered a large coffee, while Daphne asked for herbal tea, then quizzed the waitress about the ingredients of the pastries listed on the menu. After dithering for a few minutes, she finally settled on apple crisp, having been assured by the waitress that it was homemade and contained no artificial ingredients. Meg suspected the waitress would have said almost anything at that point just to escape Daphne’s whining.

  As they waited for their orders, Meg prompted Daphne. “You said you wanted to talk to me?”

  Daphne took a moment to struggle out of her bulky coat, then blew her nose on a paper napkin. “Yeah. Look, I think we kind of got off on the wrong foot. I mean, you were the one who found Jason.” She paused to sniff and swallow. “So I kind of held that against you. But Michael told me that I wasn’t being fair and that you really are interested in what GreenGrow is all about, so I thought I’d try to patch things up. If that’s okay.”

  Meg didn’t believe a word of it, but Daphne had piqued her curiosity. At least she could use this opportunity to find out more about Jason. “I can understand that. How long were you close to Jason?”

  Daphne sniffed again. “He was my boyfriend, for, like, two years. He brought me into GreenGrow. He was amazing!”

  “Tell me about him.” Meg sat back and prepared to listen to Daphne heap praise upon the dead. She was not disappointed. Daphne didn’t even stop when her food appeared, apart from requesting a new napkin. According to his adoring girlfriend, Jason had been a paragon of all possible virtues: smart, funny, idealistic, honest, hardworking, a true friend—the list went on and on. When Daphne finally started to repeat herself, Meg decided it was time to step in.

  “Daphne, he sounds like he was a wonderful man. I can see why you must be devastated by his death.”

  For a moment Daphne looked honestly bereft, and Meg felt a stab of pity. Sad, dumpy Daphne had apparently lost the only person who cared about her.

  “Yeah,” Daphne said, blotting her eyes on the clean napkin, then blowing her nose again. “I really loved him. It’s not the same without him.”

  “You’re a student here, too?”

  “Sort of. I mean, I was, full-time, you know. But lately I’ve been taking only a couple of courses a semester. There was so much to be done at GreenGrow, and I really wanted to help Jason.”

  “Were
you a science major?”

  “No, literature. But I’ve done a lot of temping, summers and stuff, so I knew how to run office equipment, get mailings out, that kind of thing.”

  “You must be very useful to GreenGrow.” Nothing like a willing slave to do all the unappealing work. “Are you a paid staff member?”

  “Oh, no. Michael and Jason were the only people who got paid, and they didn’t make much. Almost all the money they raised went back into business expenses, promotional materials—heck, even keeping the lights on at the office. The rest of us are volunteers. We’re involved because we care about organic farming.”

  “That’s really admirable.” Meg could say at least that much with sincerity. “So are you still working there?”

  “I guess. Michael’s a good guy, but it’s not going to be the same without Jason. He was really the spirit of the organization, if you know what I mean. I guess I’ll stick around and see how things play out. It’s too late in the term to add any classes now, so I might as well.”

  Time now to turn the tables. “Have you talked to the detective investigating this case? Since you were Jason’s girlfriend?”

  “That jerk? Yeah.”

  “What did he ask you?”

  “When did I last see Jason. Who were his other friends. What was his mood like. That kind of thing.”

  “When did you last see Jason, before . . . ?”

  “Before you found him? Two days earlier—Saturday night. I know it was then because GreenGrow has these staff meetings once a month, and because everybody’s so busy, working and all, we usually just get together for dinner and talk about stuff. We were all there—Jason, Michael, me, a bunch of the other regular volunteers. And that Bree person.” Daphne sniffed again, but this time she was angry.

  Bree had been there? She had never mentioned that. If anything, she had said—or was it only implied?—that she had avoided Jason and GreenGrow since they broke up two years ago. Why would Bree have gone to the dinner meeting? “What did you talk about?”

  “The usual. Money, and how to get more. How to get the word out better. Michael wanted to upgrade the website, but Jason thought that was a waste of time. He was more into direct action.”