Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery)

by Connolly, Sheila

  “Exactly.”

  Seth thought for a moment, then said, “Jonas told me in confidence that the sawmill is losing money. He said he might even have to sell. So losing some of his lumber would hit him hard. What does Christopher say the next step should be?”

  “Well, there would have to be confirmation, for a start. He wants me to show him where I saw the beetle.”

  “Do you want me to come along?” Seth offered.

  Meg smiled at him. “No, you don’t have to. The thing is, I forgot to ask Christopher who should tell Jonas about this. I don’t think he will, until he has confirmed the sighting. But from what Bree said, I gather that if you see one beetle, there are probably a lot more hiding in the trees. Did you get a chance to talk with Jonas today?”

  Seth shook his head. “No, I was thinking about talking to him tomorrow. What time are you meeting Christopher?”

  “Mid-afternoon tomorrow, at the forest site.”

  “How about this: you and I can go to the sawmill before that and talk to Jonas, and then I’ll drive you over to the woodlot to meet Christopher.”

  “That sounds good to me. Are you coming by for dinner tonight? I think Bree’s cooking.”

  “No, I promised my mother I’d eat with her. Tomorrow night?”

  “That’s fine.”

  When Meg arrived at her kitchen, Bree was banging pots around and something smelled like onions and spices. Meg sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Why do you know so much about this beetle thing?” Meg asked.

  “Hey, I haven’t been out of school all that long. Christopher actually oversees some kind of research lab on campus, and I think I remember taking a tour of it once. But I was never much interested in the lab research side of things. Anyway, it’s my business to keep track of anything that might affect what we do here, isn’t it? This critter has set up housekeeping not all that far away.”

  “You mean in Worcester. But it doesn’t go after apple trees, does it?”

  “No, but you’ve got to look at the bigger ecological picture. Left uncontrolled, this thing can really change the makeup of our forests, and that affects all of us. Maybe it’ll take a while. Heck, maybe it’s already been here for a while and nobody happened to notice. But in the end, it can do a lot of damage.”

  “Christopher certainly took it seriously.”

  “Of course he did. It is serious. Something like this has to be reported officially. If he knew and didn’t act on it and somebody else found out, his professional credibility would be on the line.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, Seth and I are going to go over to the Nash sawmill tomorrow, and then I’ll go meet Christopher. I’ll show him where I found the insect and we’ll see what happens.”

  “Speaking of you and Seth, you two sure do spend a lot of time together these days. You planning to do anything official about it anytime soon?”

  Meg was surprised that Bree had even asked. “We haven’t discussed it. We both have our own lives, you know. We seem to be muddling along well enough.”

  “Hey, as long as it works for you. And before you ask, Michael and I are status quo, too, and happy with that. Quite the independent women, you and me, huh?”

  • • •

  Seth came by the next day after lunch. “Ready go to?”

  “I am. Listen, I’ve been thinking. It sounds as though Jonas has enough to worry about without dumping this possible beetle problem in his lap. Maybe we should wait until we know for sure what’s going on before we say anything. What if we don’t find any more? Does Christopher still have to report it? I mean, I saw one dead beetle, and it might not even be what we think it is. I didn’t stick it in my pocket or take a picture of it. I could have been wrong about it.”

  Seth laughed. “Meg, slow down. You don’t have to say anything. You did the right thing to report it to Christopher, but that’s where your responsibility ends. You show him the place, and either he finds more or he doesn’t, but he’s the one who has to take the next step.”

  “Fine. I’d be happy not to worry about it. So, how are you today? How’s Donald’s project going? How’s your mother?”

  “I’m fine, she’s fine, the world’s a great place. Donald is less than one hundred percent happy because he wants everything done yesterday, but I calmed him down. And you’re going to get to see how our ancestors cut the wood that went into building our houses.”

  “That part I’m looking forward to.”

  It didn’t take long to reach the sawmill, and as Meg stepped out of the car she inhaled the scent of freshly cut wood. Could someone who handled different woods regularly learn to distinguish each by scent? She could tell the odor of pine from most other woods, but her expertise stopped there. But why was the smell so appealing?

  Jonas came out to greet them. “Hey, Seth, Meg. Seth, you’re still looking for wood for Donald, right? I set aside some boards for you—you can take a look.”

  “Thanks. Donald’s been on my back about getting started. And if you have time, I promised that Meg could see how a real sawmill works.”

  Jonas smiled. “Of course. We’re really proud of the place.”

  “Good,” Meg said. “You can start by telling me how different this is from the way it used to be done.”

  “Actually, not very, and that’s been our choice. We get school groups coming by a few times a year, so they can see how it was done in the old days. Our machines are power driven, but there are people managing them all, not computers. Most mills are a lot more automated than this, but it makes no sense for an operation of this size.” Jonas smiled again. “I love to show this one off.”

  “And I’d love to see it, Jonas,” Meg said. “Lead me to it.”

  “All right!” Jonas pointed to a stack of logs at one end of the long building. “Here’s where we start. Those are mixed hardwoods, and they come from a variety of sites. They’re scaled and graded—you want the details?”

  “No, I think the general outline is enough for me,” Meg replied.

  “Got it. From there we strip the bark off and move the logs to the mill. First they go through the headsaw, which makes the round log into a square. The result is called the ‘cant.’” The stuff that’s cut away goes to a chipper, and the cants go to the cant deck, where they’re run through the resaw—that’s what actually cuts the boards.”

  Meg stared, fascinated. It was a noisy, messy process, but the basics were simple: logs went in one end and came out as boards on the other, all within one building—depositing coarse sawdust like snowdrifts on every surface.

  Jonas was still talking. “One reason I’ve got real people running things is because there are decisions about individual cants that a computer just can’t make, or not as well.” They walked farther down the line. “So, next is the edger, then the grader. The USDA has grading rules for logs, but at our end we have a trained grader who inspects the boards. He has to grade each board and decide whether it needs more trimming or edging. Only when he’s approved it does it go to the dry kilns. You have to dry the boards under controlled conditions for temperature, moisture, and air circulation. Had enough yet?”

  Meg smiled at him. “I’m overwhelmed. Is there more you have to do, before you can actually use the wood?”

  “That’s where I come in,” Seth said. “Depending on how I want to use it, I may need to surface-plane it, to smooth it off. And I do some of my own trimming, particularly for these old houses, where what’s there may be out of true, so I have to match up the boards. Speaking of which, let’s take a look at those boards. You coming, Meg?”

  “No, I think I’ll stay here and admire this process awhile longer. You won’t be long, will you?”

  “Fifteen minutes, tops.”

  Meg turned back to Jonas. “Thank you for the tour, Jonas. I’ll definitely look at the wood in my house in a different way from now on.”

  “Happy to share it with you, Meg,” Jonas said. “This way, Seth.”

  For a couple of
moments Meg watched them walking away: Seth compact, fair in complexion; Jonas taller and rangier and darker. But physical differences aside, both cared about the materials they were using and the history they were preserving, even sometimes in the face of common sense and expense. She could sympathize. No way would she repair her own house with modern plywood, even where no one would see. It would be like a bad graft, and she had the irrational feeling that her house would reject the unfamiliar patch. She found an upended stump and sat, watching the men who were operating the machines come and go. It didn’t take a large staff to run this operation; she’d counted fewer than ten men.

  Seth and Jonas came round the building maybe ten minutes later, still talking.

  “Can you deliver the larger pieces to Donald’s house?” Seth was asking.

  “Sure, no problem. Tomorrow?”

  “That’ll work. And when you’re there I can give you a sample of the clapboards, so you can match them. Bring an invoice along, will you? Cost isn’t a major issue on this project, but it’s nice to keep ahead of the paperwork.”

  Jonas laughed. “I hear you. Tomorrow, then.” He waved at Meg, then turned back to the sawmill.

  Meg stood up and brushed sawdust off her pants. “All set?”

  “We’re good. Let’s go meet Christopher.”

  6

  “Did you talk about . . .” Meg began, when they’d gotten into Seth’s van.

  “David Clapp?” Seth completed the question for her. “No. This was business, and you and I don’t know any more than we did. Shoot, I forgot to ask Art if he knew him.”

  “Clapp didn’t live in Granford. Why would Art have known him?”

  “Easthampton’s not far away. Granford plays Easthampton in various sports, so if Clapp had kids of the right age, he might have been around here a lot.”

  “Where are the sports fields?”

  “I think I told you—near the high school, of course, on the other side of town, and there are a couple in the town parks. Why?”

  “I’m just wondering how well David Clapp knew the town, that’s all.” Meg turned in her seat to face Seth. “Tell me, am I crazy to be wondering whether it’s no accident that that insect was found so close to the body?”

  Seth shook his head slightly. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “Well, if Clapp was a professional forester, he should have recognized the bug for what it was, right?”

  “Probably. So?”

  “If he found something like this, theoretically he’d have had to report it to someone, right? Look, I never knew him and I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but what if Clapp first decided to tell Jonas Nash about the bug he found, before he went to any officials? Say, to make the problem go away? Both Bree and Christopher have said that unless you really look for this thing, it’s hard to find. You said Jonas told you he’s having financial problems, right?”

  “Yes. He told me today he’s been talking to a few developers who have showed an interest in the property. Why do you ask?”

  “Because Clapp would know that Nash’s Sawmill was in financial trouble, since he had been let go, and that losing a bunch of trees would hurt them.”

  “I think I see where you’re going with this,” Seth said slowly. “So he might have told Jonas Nash that he was going to keep quiet about it, as a favor to a friend?”

  “Or in return for something. Like a bribe, or maybe his job back, or a good reference. Maybe he’s not happy working where he is and wants out.”

  “Meg, I think you’re building a house of cards. I don’t know anything about David Clapp’s character, but I’m not going to leap to the assumption that he’s a blackmailer. Or the implication that Jonas had a reason to kill him. I do know Jonas, and I’m not going to believe that. Besides, we still don’t know if Clapp’s death was even suspicious.”

  “Is Marcus going to tell us? Or Art? I’m just throwing out ideas. I don’t know any of these people personally. Did you tell Jonas where we were going?” Meg asked, as they rode toward the forest plot.

  “No. I thought we’d decided to hold off on that until we talked with Christopher,” Seth answered. “It could be a false alarm. What if he can’t find another one there?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I’m hoping for. If we don’t find another insect, I may look like an idiot, but only you and Christopher and Bree will know. If we do, Jonas may be in for a whole lot of trouble, and it’s not even his fault. I guess I’d rather find out I was hallucinating than that I set a massive government tree-cutting program in motion.”

  “One step at a time, Meg,” Seth countered.

  “I hope Detective Marcus has cleared the scene. I can’t imagine doing forensics out there in the open. How do you know which bits are important? How deep do you go? If you believe the television shows, someone can look at a maggot on a body and announce that the person was killed on Tuesday at 7:14 a.m. Is that really all it takes?”

  Seth smiled, watching the road ahead. “Why are you asking me? I’ve had just about exactly as much experience with this as you have. Besides, there are other factors in determining when David Clapp died. For example, if he had a family, they must know when he went missing. Or if he was working with a logging team, they might have noticed if he disappeared while they were there, or if he didn’t leave with them.”

  “True,” Meg admitted.

  “Here we are.” Seth entered the parking area they’d visited the day before yesterday.

  Christopher greeted them with his usual enthusiasm. “Ah, good, I see I’ve found the right place. Seth, nice to see you again. How is your charming mother?”

  “She’s fine. I hope you don’t mind me trailing along today.”

  “Of course not. The more eyes, the better. Meg, lead on!”

  “Of course. We take that path.” Meg led the way and stopped when she came to the rise with the log at the top. There was no sign of any police activity, save for the trampled appearance of the dead leaves and low vegetation, so the area was clearly no longer considered a crime scene. “That’s where I sat down.” She pointed.

  “And the insect was lying upon the log?” Christopher asked.

  “Yes. I could see that it was dead when I sat down, but I didn’t want to sit too close to it so I scooched down to the other end.”

  “You’re not alone in that, Meg. Many people are repelled by insects, and this one was particularly large, I assume?”

  “Well, it looked large to me. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have noticed it. I’m not usually squeamish about things like that.”

  Christopher’s attention had turned to the tree canopy, and he was talking to himself. “Mixed forest, both hardwoods and softwoods. A scattering of maples, right.” He turned back to Meg and Seth. “And you say that this has been logged regularly?”

  Seth answered. “I don’t know how often—you’d have to talk to Jonas Nash about that. By the way, I didn’t say anything about this to him. Didn’t want to worry him if it turned out to be nothing.”

  “Of course, of course,” Christopher said absently. He stepped carefully up the slight slope and stopped at the top, taking another 360-degree survey. Then he looked carefully at the log where Meg had sat, then on both sides of it, kneeling in the leaves. “I assume the state police have done whatever it is they do here. I don’t see the creature—no, wait.” He reached under the log and emerged with something in his hand. Then he stood up, brushed off his knees, and returned to where Meg and Seth were standing. “At the risk of making a poor joke, here is your corpse.”

  “And is it . . . ?” Meg asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Christopher replied.

  The three of them silently contemplated the dead insect lying on Christopher’s palm for several seconds.

  “It may have been brushed off and swept under the log by the investigators.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t collect it as evidence,” Meg said.

  “It seems un
likely. This beetle is not a flesh eater, but of course the investigators could not be expected to know that. Either they failed to see it or they dismissed it as unimportant,” Christopher said.

  “What happens now?” Seth asked.

  Christopher sighed. “There is a rather convoluted chain of events that must take place if we are to declare this an official problem. I’d like to take a few minutes to look for additional evidence—perhaps more insects, although the odds of finding another dead one are small, for the reasons I outlined. If they’re here, it’s more likely we’d see their exit holes in the trees themselves. As you noted, Meg, this is a large insect, so the holes where they emerge from the tree trunks are correspondingly large, perhaps a half-inch across, and perfectly circular. Let’s see if we can spot any of those. There are binoculars in my car, which may help.”

  “I can get those for you, if the car’s unlocked,” Seth said.

  “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”

  As Seth headed down the path to the parking area, Meg asked, “Bree filled me in a little, but I still feel ignorant. What more can you tell me about these beetles?”

  “I assume Bree explained to you the ecological impact?” When Meg nodded, Christopher went on, “That doesn’t begin to take into account the potential economic impact. Thus far, people have become aware of the ALB when the insects turn up in heavily populated urban or suburban areas, where they’re more of a nuisance that anything else. People don’t like to lose their shade trees in such settings. But there may be far more in our forests, where no one has yet looked for them. If the forests are affected, which I regret to say is quite likely, then we face a much bigger problem.”

  “Is there anything we can do about it?”

  “Despite the best efforts of a range of scientists over the past decade and more, the short answer is, not much. To date we have not found any chemical or biological method for controlling them, although the research is ongoing, even at the university here.”

  “Bree mentioned visiting a lab on campus.”

  “Yes, there is one, and I’m responsible for it. Of course, the ALB is not our only area of research. In any case, unfortunately, the only solution available to us at the moment is complete eradication, which means sacrificing a massive number of trees, which must be reduced to chips.”