Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery)

by Connolly, Sheila

  “I can imagine—or maybe I can’t, if you two are really watering an entire orchard more or less by hand.”

  “Hey, it could be worse—in the old days we’d be using a team of horses!” Both women laughed. “By the way, Seth and I were talking about getting together with you guys and your mother over the weekend—maybe a potluck cookout, so nobody would have to do too much? I live maybe two miles from Lydia, but I hardly ever see her.”

  “Me either. Not that she ever complains, even about not seeing the grandkids. I think it makes her happy, knowing we’re living lives we enjoy. And she’s still working, of course. I don’t think she has to, but she’s glad to have some structure to her days. Did you have a date in mind?”

  “I suppose you should have first pick, since you’ve got a real calendar with your guests, and other people to accommodate. Me, I just mind the apples, and they don’t care when I eat. Would Sunday night work for you?”

  “Can I look at the bookings and get back to you? But I think it’s clear.”

  “No rush. At least this year we seem to be able to count on nice weather. For socializing, at least. As a farmer I obviously have other concerns—it’s too hot and too dry, at the wrong time. I’m so glad we have that spring up the hill.”

  “No wonder the orchard has survived there as long as it has. You’re lucky. Is this officially a drought yet?”

  “I’m the wrong person to ask. Bree would know. She tells me we need to water, and we water.”

  “The forests are getting pretty dry around here.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of that, but you’re right. Seth and I went over to one of Nash’s properties, and he said it looked like it was well managed. You know, keeping the brush cleared out, which could reduce the risk of a fire. But I can’t imagine the manpower it would take to do that over a whole lot of acres of forest. And if your neighbor doesn’t, then your work is kind of wasted, isn’t it?”

  “Meg, there’s a good reason I live in a town. I have smoke detectors throughout the house, and I make sure I change the batteries every few months. These older houses burn easily, you know,” Rachel said.

  “This is cheery talk. Aren’t we supposed to be swapping recipes and gossiping about our neighbors, not talking about potentially deadly forest fires?”

  “Well, there is that recent death in Granford. Know of any interesting gossip there?”

  “Other than that I found the body?”

  Rachel stared at Meg to see if she was joking. “The paper didn’t mention anything about that. Fill me in!”

  “When we were at one of Nash’s woodlots, I stopped to get a pebble out of my shoe, and I smelled something unpleasant, and . . . you can fill in the blanks from there.”

  “I’m so sorry, Meg. That it had to be you, I mean. Of course, I’m sorry the guy was dead, too. Nobody we knew?”

  “Apparently someone named David Clapp, who used to work at the sawmill and then the logging company that Jonas Nash contracts some of his work out to. He was from Easthampton, not Granford, and that’s about all I know.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar. I’m almost afraid to ask, but was there anything suspicious about his death?”

  Meg shrugged. “Inconclusive, at least from what Art Preston said, and apparently Detective Marcus is not inclined to pursue it. The logger was in a place he had every right to be, so that wasn’t odd. Current theory is that he fell and hit his head.”

  “Poor guy. You never know what’s going to happen, do you?” Rachel looked away, staring across the road. “Speaking of the unexpected, there is one thing . . .”

  Meg’s mind immediately flew to disasters. Rachel had been diagnosed with some awful terminal disease. Or her husband Noah had. Or one of their children. Or maybe it was Lydia, who hadn’t had the nerve to break it to her.

  Rachel was watching her with a smile. “If you could see your face! You must be imagining the worst possible case.”

  “You mean I shouldn’t?” Meg said, already relieved.

  “No. Or at least, I don’t think so. I’m pregnant. Before you do that math, Chloe is twelve, and Matthew is ten.”

  “Wow. Congratulations! That is, if you’re happy?” Meg said.

  Rachel nodded. “I am. It’s just that I’m having trouble getting used to the idea. I thought all that stuff was behind us. It was, uh, kind of a surprise.”

  “But a good one, I hope,” Meg replied, surprised at her own vehemence. After all, it was a choice these days. “From what I’ve seen, you’re a great mother. Are there other problems? Your health? Finances? Noah can’t handle the idea?”

  “I’m fine. We can get by, and Noah is pleased—he comes from a big family. Mostly it’s that, well, you think you have your life planned out, and then something unexpected happens and it’s back to the drawing board.”

  “Who have you told?”

  “Noah, of course. Not the kids, not yet.”

  “Maybe Chloe’s old enough to figure it out for herself. What about Lydia?”

  Rachel shook her head. “I haven’t seen her lately, and I think that news like this is better said face-to-face if possible. A phone call seems so cold.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be happy for you. Seth doesn’t know?”

  “Not yet—I wasn’t planning to tell you either, at least not before Mom, but since you’re here . . .” Rachel looked down at her hands in her lap. “Meg, I think we’ve talked about this before, but it’s been a while and maybe things have changed. I guess I’m bringing this up now because, well . . . I know Seth always wanted kids, but I don’t know where things stand with you two, and when I tell him, I’m sure he’ll be happy for me, but it’s kind of like rubbing his nose in what he doesn’t have, if you know what I mean. But I don’t want this baby to put any pressure on you—either of you—to make any fast decisions. I don’t mind if you want to be the one to tell Seth, but you can do it in your own way. Are you okay with that?”

  Meg felt a little blindsided. But Rachel was right: she’d been too busy being happy for her friend to think about how it might affect her own situation. And, she realized, she wasn’t ready to think about that. There was too much happening with the orchard, too much she still had to learn if she hoped to make a living from it. Besides, Seth had never exactly “declared his intentions.” Maybe he was happy muddling along as they had been, spending time together, going home to their own houses. She hadn’t asked him. Should she?

  “Rachel . . . I don’t know what to say. Look, I’m really pleased that you thought you could confide in me, and I guess I understand what you’re trying to tell me. Seth and I . . . well, we really haven’t talked about a lot of things like that, and we’re not rushing into anything. More like taking the easiest path and drifting along. It really seems absurd in this day and age to wait for the guy to make the first move, but I’ve always kind of felt that this is his home ground and I’m kind of an interloper. It’s like he came with the package: I landed in Granford, and Seth was just there from the start. It’s kind of hard to sort out what I feel.”

  “May I remind you that my brother can be a little dense? And he doesn’t like to look for trouble. Or maybe he can’t take the idea of another rejection—when Nancy left him, he took it badly. I know he cares about you—I can see it every time you two are together. You can tell me to shut up if you want, but do you feel the same way?”

  “Yes, I do. I’m still sorting a lot of things out, but I guess we both have to face that we’re not getting any younger. God, how old that makes me sound to say that!” Meg straightened up in her chair and looked directly at Rachel. “Look, I really appreciate what you’ve said. And I am happy for you, honestly. If I can do anything to help, I will.”

  “I’ll ask, believe me. Enough said.” And the talk turned to lighter topics.

  It was after five when Meg tore herself away. All in all, she thought it had been a successful afternoon: she felt tidier, thanks to her haircut, and rested, although now she was weighted down by
Rachel’s news. It was happy news, but . . . she wasn’t ready to be in that place, not yet. Which wasn’t the same as saying never. She had always assumed that Seth would be a good father, and from what she’d seen of him with kids, or at least Rachel’s, he probably wanted children. Was he waiting for some signal from her? But to put the horse in front of the cart, she did want to be married before she had a child. Sure, lots of people didn’t bother with formal rituals these days, but she wasn’t one of them. Did she want to marry Seth? Maybe. Probably. Not exactly a resounding “yes!” Well, Meg, why not?

  Her mind skittered sideways, avoiding the question. No doubt they’d have to irrigate again tomorrow. The sky was cloudless, as it always seemed to be these days. The air was dry and still, oppressive even without any humidity. Was it going to rain anytime soon? She should ask Bree what forecasting services she relied on. Or Christopher. What would happen if this heat continued through the rest of the summer? Would she have any kind of apple crop at all?

  She arrived home at the same time Donald was dropping Seth off. Seth waited for her to park his van close to his office, and they met halfway between.

  “Your keys,” Meg said, holding them out. “If I stick them in my pocket I’ll forget about them. How’d it go with Donald?”

  “Good. We’ve mapped out a timeline that we’re both comfortable with. Hey, you look good. What’d you do?”

  Meg smiled. “I’m glad you noticed. I got my hair cut, for the first time since I don’t know when. Seems like another lifetime anyway. And then I went to have tea with your sister and show it off, since she was the one who recommended the stylist.”

  “Nice. It suits you. How’s Rachel?”

  “Good, I think. Not so many bookings, but she’s glad the kids can help with some of the chores. I told her we’d try to set up dinner with them and Lydia, and I suggested Sunday.” She pulled up short of mentioning Rachel’s unexpected news. Scared, Meg?

  “Oh, right, we talked about that, didn’t we? Half the time these days I feel like my brain is fried.”

  “I know what you mean. Did we make any plans for dinner tonight? Because I honestly can’t remember. I can’t even remember if there’s any food in the house.”

  “Think Nicky could fit us in at the restaurant on short notice? We could celebrate your haircut.”

  “We can ask. Come on in—I’ll find you something cold to drink, then give her a call.”

  Inside it wasn’t too hot. Luckily the kitchen lay on the east side of the house, so it cooled as the sun set. Lolly lay on the kitchen floor, too lethargic to move. Meg was tempted to lay down beside her. Instead she pulled a can of cat food out of a cupboard and handed it to Seth. “You feed Lolly, and I’ll make that call.”

  She walked toward the front of the house, cell phone to her ear. “Brian?” she said, when Nicky’s husband and co-owner of Granford’s newest and pretty much only restaurant Gran’s picked up. “It’s Meg Corey. I know it’s short notice, but do you have room for Seth and me tonight?”

  “Sure, things have been pretty quiet lately. I thought this was the part of the state where people came to get away, but I can’t find them.”

  “Problems?” Meg asked.

  “No, we’re okay. It’s just slow, but that gives Nicky time to experiment with recipes. Come on over whenever.”

  “Thanks, Brian. See you in a bit.”

  She returned to the kitchen to see that Seth had found the lemonade in the fridge. He was sitting at the kitchen table, an ice-filled glass in front of him, watching Lolly eat. “Bree left a note. She and Michael are going to see an air-conditioned movie.”

  “Smart woman.” Meg found herself a glass and filled it with ice, then poured lemonade over it. “Brian says we can come over anytime, and Nicky is experimenting. Sound good? But first I’m going to grab a shower, in case there are other guests downwind.”

  10

  Gran’s restaurant sat on a rise above Granford’s oblong town green. Meg loved to approach it in the winter months, when the golden light from inside the restaurant glowed through the dark, warm and welcoming. For summer, Nicky and Brian had hung lush baskets of blooming flowers in each bay of the wraparound porch, making it look cool and green. Small tables flanked by chairs were scattered around the porch; in the lingering heat they were currently unoccupied, but Meg knew that in pleasant weather people would bring their drinks out, to sit and admire the view of a typical New England town: the green ringed with maples, the steepled church on the right, the Victorian town hall on the left. Even though a state highway ran along one side of the green, there was little traffic. Where had everyone gone? Were they all at home, huddling around an air conditioner?

  Seth escorted her from the parking lot to the front door, a sweet gesture, but even his hand on her back felt too hot. At least the interior of the restaurant was air-conditioned, and the tables’ crisp white cloths, small twinkling candles, and nosegays of bright summer flowers reinforced the coolness.

  Brian approached as they entered. “Hey, guys, good to see you. Where do you want to sit?”

  They settled at a small table in the front overlooking the green, with Brian hovering. “Can I get you something cool to drink? Nicky’s come up with a concoction using local herbs—it’s very refreshing, and there’s just a bit of alcohol in it.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Seth said. “You, Meg?”

  “Sure. I love almost anything that Nicky comes up with. Some people talk about someone having an eye for art. Can we say that Nicky has a tongue for food, or is that kind of weird?”

  “I’m sure she’ll take the compliment in the spirit intended,” Brian said tactfully. “I’ll tell her you’re here.”

  When he left to fetch the drinks, Meg discreetly looked around the room. There were several other couples, some of whom Meg recognized. Not too bad for a weeknight, even if Brian had said it was slow. The restaurant had been operating less than a year, and it was making a name for itself, thanks largely to Nicky’s creative cooking. It had received some good local reviews, and word of mouth was doing its job. It wasn’t easy to compete in a restaurant market that included Northampton and Amherst, and Meg felt a glow of pride that she had helped to create this restaurant in Granford.

  Nicky herself delivered the drinks and plopped down into a chair to say hello. “Hey, you two—I don’t see much of you these days. How’re things?”

  Meg caught her up on the dry state of the orchard, and Seth told her about his new project at Donald Butterfield’s house. “How about you, Nicky? Is business holding up?” Meg asked.

  Nicky smiled. “You’ll have to ask Brian about the numbers, but I can’t complain. I know it seemed ridiculous to open a new restaurant in a lousy economy, but we took a chance that we’d find a good niche here, and it looks like we were right. It’s been slow but steady. Some people in Granford have cut back on their visits, even though we give a discount to our food providers, but they’ve been replaced by people from a little farther out in the area, and even some who’ve heard about us somewhere else. That plug on the news, where the restaurant appeared behind Seth’s buddy Sainsbury, helped. What’re his chances in the election?”

  Meg waited for Seth to answer, but when he didn’t, she jumped in. “We’ll just have to wait for the state primary. So, what do you recommend for dinner? Nothing heavy—it’s too hot.”

  “Not a problem. I’m doing a lot of lovely salads with an array of local lettuces, and I’m experimenting with frozen desserts. The suppliers are hurting, though, from the lack of rain. The beans are kind of stringy, and the tomatoes aren’t as large as they might be. At least the lettuce is coming in well.”

  “Surprise us, then,” Meg said with a smile.

  “Coming up,” Nicky said. “Oh, tell me what you think of the drink.”

  Meg took a small sip, and then a larger one. “It’s lovely. What’s in it?”

  Nicky smiled. “It’s modeled on an eighteenth-century New England ‘shrub’ recipe—
no, not the plant—it’s got fruit, sugar, infused vinegar, and some rum.”

  “Vinegar?” Meg said, raising one eyebrow.

  “Yes—the tartness is refreshing, and the sugar cuts the acidity. You infuse the vinegar with fruit, or even herbs and spices, and it keeps well.”

  “Okay, okay.” Meg laughed. “I’ll just stop by regularly for a glass or three. If Bree will let me.”

  When Nicky bustled off to the kitchen, Meg relaxed in her chair, then straightened up again. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep before dinner. “You look tired,” she told Seth, fighting a stab of guilt about her afternoon off.

  “It’s a good tired. Are you worried about water?”

  “I have to be worried. On the plus side, I have the spring. On the minus side, I don’t know much about it, since I kind of inherited it. What happens if it goes dry? Will there be any warning, or could it just stop one day? Can I get municipal water, and even if I can, can I afford to use it? Or do I have to rely on the rain gods to look after me?”

  Seth held up a hand. “Whoa, I didn’t mean to set you off. I can look into the municipal water side of things and find out about the cost, but you’d have to tell me how much you would be using, and I have no idea how you’d calculate that. You should ask Bree or even Christopher. And the town still may have to ration it. We’re already limiting things like watering lawns and washing cars, for the rest of the summer, unless things change. It may not be of much help to you.”

  “I know. Heck, I’m not facing anything that eight or ten generations of my ancestors didn’t. I could ask Gail Seldon about historical droughts, but that might depress me more. Some years the crops fail—that’s just reality.”

  “Well, you aren’t there yet,” Seth said firmly.

  “You really are an optimist,” Meg replied.

  He smiled. “I try. Beats the alternative. Aren’t you?”

  “Do you know, I’ve never really thought about it. I’m not afraid of trying new things, or of learning something, but I do like to have a plan, not just jumping in blind. I don’t assume everything will work out, even with planning, but I like to be prepared for all scenarios. So where does that put me on the scale?”