Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery)

by Connolly, Sheila

  He wanted children; he’d been up-front about that. She had always tabled that discussion in her own mind, too, mainly because there had been no one in her life that she could imagine having children with. She wasn’t the type of woman who would have a baby on her own, although she had to admire the women who did—the ones who knew their own minds and just went for it, despite all the challenges. But having children with Seth? That was a whole different matter. She’d seen him with Rachel’s kids and he was great—sincerely engaged with them, not just going through the motions. For the first time, she could visualize a fuller life for herself, with Seth, with a family, with work that she loved, with a place in the community . . .

  As if reading her mind, Seth stirred and pulled her closer. “You’re thinking again.”

  “Hey, at least now I’m thinking about you.”

  “That’s progress. Bree said you could play hooky today, right?”

  “She did. Do you think she approves?”

  “Of us? Mushy, romantic Bree? Got me. Does it matter?”

  “Not really, but it helps if I’m going to keep working with her—I don’t want you two sniping at each other over who gets more of my time and attention.”

  “We can share.” Another warm, fuzzy interval followed.

  “We should go talk to your mother,” Meg finally said. “She’ll be happy, won’t she?”

  “Of course she will. She likes you. You like her, right?”

  “I do. She’s got her head on straight.” In spite of Lydia’s own less-than-perfect marriage, Meg reminded herself. But Seth wasn’t his father, and he’d emerged from that troubled household a good man. “Should we ask her over for dinner? She’s home today, right? I have a vague recollection that this is Saturday.”

  “I think so. Your call, as long as we do it together. I’m surprised Donald hasn’t called this morning.”

  “It’s Saturday!” Meg protested.

  “That doesn’t seem to matter to Donald. Especially since as far as he’s concerned, I skipped work yesterday.”

  “Maybe Bree turned the phone off. Have you checked yours lately?”

  “Battery’s dead.”

  “Ah, blessed peace.” Suddenly energized, Meg swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Let’s go talk to your mother in person. We can walk over in the rain.”

  Seth smiled. “Romantic but soggy. All right.” Then he added, “Art wanted to talk again later.”

  “So let’s invite your mom and them all to dinner,” Meg replied.

  “Deal.”

  Meg dressed quickly, then went downstairs to call Christopher, who was pleased to accept the invitation, while Seth called Art on the landline.

  “Art says his wife won’t be back until tomorrow and he’d love another free meal,” Seth reported after hanging up. “Nothing else new. He’ll be here at five. Let’s find Max and go up the hill.”

  Meg found a rain slicker covered with dust—she hadn’t worn it for weeks. Max was sitting outside on a long lead, under the roof of the connecting space, and jumped up eagerly, his tail wagging furiously, when he saw Seth. “His loyalties are certainly clear,” Meg said, as dog and master exchanged enthusiastic greetings. “Good thing, too.”

  Seth gathered up Max’s leash, and together they walked up the hill, angling northward. Meg turned her face to the sky, relishing the feel of the rain, oblivious to her soaked hair. They stopped when they came to the newly planted section of orchard that bridged their properties. Meg regarded it critically.

  “Problems?” Seth asked.

  “Like I’d know? Their leaves are green, mostly, and the trees are still standing. That’s about the extent of my expertise. Bree tells me I should be worrying about their root systems this year. At this moment I don’t feel like worrying about anything.”

  “I second that.” Seth pulled her close, joining her in contemplation of the orchard. “Do you want me to give this land to you outright?”

  “I do not! We have a business agreement, remember? I don’t know if this is a community property state or whatever, but I want to keep business and personal separate. Unless you want me poking around in your business, commenting on how much you paid for your last miter saw, and couldn’t you buy your supplies in bulk and get a better rate?”

  “Point taken!” Seth held up his hands in surrender. “But you’ll agree that this is ours?”

  “This orchard? Yes, it is—our first joint effort. Sappy, aren’t we? Standing here in the rain admiring a bunch of spindly little trees?”

  “But happy, right?”

  “Oh yes. Very. Let’s go see your mother before we get distracted again.”

  They were both thoroughly soaked by the time they reached Lydia’s back door. She pulled it open and said, “What on earth? Come in, come in, you two. Whatever possessed you . . .” Then she took a closer look at them, holding hands and beaming foolishly. “No, you didn’t? You did! I don’t know who to hug first—Seth for finally figuring things out, or you, Meg, for saying yes. I’m assuming it was yes?”

  “Of course it was. I’ll take a hug.”

  It didn’t take much persuading. “I’m so happy for you both,” Lydia whispered to Meg as she held her. Then she stepped back and said to her son, “Do you know how many times I wanted to give you a kick in the butt? You may be my offspring, but I have no idea what you were waiting for. Come in and dry off.”

  “Actually we just came over to invite you to dinner, but we wanted you to know before the news went viral.”

  “Who else have . . . No, I don’t want to know. Thank you. I’d love to be there. I’ll even bring champagne. What time?”

  “Say, six? I don’t think we’ll be grilling outside tonight, with this weather.”

  “And isn’t that welcome news? All right, six, with bells on. Have you told Rachel?”

  “No, not yet,” Seth answered.

  “Can I do it?” Lydia asked eagerly. “Or would you rather?”

  “You look like you’re going to burst if you don’t tell someone. You go ahead,” Seth said.

  “And tell her ‘thank you’ from me,” Meg added. When Lydia looked confused, she said, “She’ll understand.”

  They made their farewells, and Meg and Seth, with a dripping, frisking Max, turned toward Meg’s house. “Now you have to tell your parents,” Seth reminded Meg.

  “I’ll call as soon as I get back. This is all my mother’s fault, you know—she’s the one who sent me here. Or maybe she was just channeling all our ancestors who lived here—they seem to want me to stay. Should we go thank them, too?”

  “Mother first. The others can wait. They aren’t going anywhere.”

  “True. Look at the time! Art and Christopher will be showing up in a couple of hours and I have no idea if I have any food to offer them.”

  “We’ll improvise,” Seth said calmly. “It’s not the food, it’s the company.”

  “Easy for you to say . . . I think I froze something, and I’ve still got plenty of vegetables . . .”

  Meg managed to scrounge together a lasagna from what she had among her supplies, including a batch of fresh tomatoes that demanded to be used sooner rather than later. Bree volunteered to go out and buy bread, and she came back not only with the bread but also carrying a cake. Seth set the table in the dining room, complete with candles to offset the overcast sky outside, where it was still raining lightly.

  When Art and Christopher arrived within minutes of each other, Meg convened a brief meeting around the kitchen table. Meg led off. “Art, do you know anything more?”

  He shook his head. “If you’re asking if we’ve found Gabe Aubuchon, no. Look, if I asked my people to do a search, they’d want to know why. So I went back into the woods myself and found the building, or what’s left of it—looks like a propane tank exploded, so right now it’s mostly splinters and ashes. I doubt that anyone could identify whatever was going on in there. If anyone finds it, I can say it might have been a meth lab. Which means y
ou, Meg, are the only person who really knows what was in there, because you saw it. I won’t count Seth, because he wasn’t exactly paying attention. As for Gabe Aubuchon? As I said, no sign of him. But there was another road in, and he did have a car registered in his name, which I found abandoned halfway to Amherst.”

  “So he’s gone? Art . . .”—Meg hesitated before putting the most important question into words—“are you willing to just let him go?”

  Art looked at Seth for a long moment before answering. “I think I am.”

  “Christopher,” Meg went on, “does anything change if he’s found and he tells the state agency about his role in the insect infestation?”

  “Not really. However they came to be here, the insects are here now, and the procedures would be the same. There is no way to stop the process.”

  “So Gabe’s actions would have no bearing on what they do?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “What about you? Do you have any liability, if what he did is discovered?”

  “My lab may come under scrutiny as a potential source for the insects—they can do DNA analyses now and match the ones they found in Granford with the ones that have been distributed legally. I hope it doesn’t come to that, and it seems unlikely—we’re close enough to Worcester to make this infestation credible. I would not be comfortable making an effort to deflect such an investigation, because that would compound the problem, but if it does not arise, I won’t say anything.”

  “How will you explain his sudden disappearance from the lab?”

  Christopher shook his head. “I will profess to be clueless about his whereabouts, which is no less than the truth.”

  “I am truly sorry to put you in this position, Christopher,” Meg said, then turned to Seth.

  “And you?” She knew his answer, but it was important that the others hear it, too.

  “I don’t plan to press charges. Gabe could have let me die, and he didn’t. He could have killed you, too, Meg. He made the choice not to. I think we have enough—what do you call it? Plausible deniability—to say nothing.”

  Meg nodded. “I feel like I owe him, for both of us. So we all agree? Let Gabe Aubuchon go on his way, without taking any official action?” Meg scanned the faces around the table. “You realize we’re probably breaking a few laws by doing this.”

  “I’ll take the heat, if it comes to that,” Art said. “But I don’t think it will.”

  Meg looked past them to where Bree was standing. “Bree, if you go along with us, that makes you an accomplice. Are you okay with that?”

  Bree shrugged. “I’d say it’s for the greater good, as long as none of you guys gets in trouble for it. If you do, I’m going to pretend I’m real stupid and didn’t know a thing.”

  “Then we’re done. Thank you all.”

  Lydia timed her arrival perfectly, pulling in a few minutes later, clutching two bottles of chilled champagne. She was welcomed warmly. “I take it you all know the news?”

  “You mean about Meg and Seth?” Art asked. “Heck, we had an office pool going about how long it would take him to ask.”

  “You did not!” Meg protested.

  “Maybe.” Art winked at her.

  “Small-town living,” Meg muttered to herself. Louder she said, “Food’s ready—we just need to get it to the table in the dining room.”

  • • •

  Meg looked around her candlelit dining room, filled with happy people. She and Seth sat at one end, simultaneously hosts and guests of honor; they were holding hands under the table. Bree had agreed to deal with serving and clearing, with as much grace as she could muster. Meg’s phone call with her parents had gone well, with Elizabeth Corey promising to visit soon and to not interfere with Meg’s necessary harvest activities, which was as much as Meg could hope for.

  Gabe Aubuchon had been pardoned, at least within their inner circle. It felt right, and whatever the legalities, she would always be grateful to him.

  It was a perfect evening . . . until someone started pounding at the screen door in the kitchen. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  It sounded suspiciously like Donald Butterfield. “You want me to get rid of him?” Bree offered.

  Seth stood up. “Let me take care of it.” He strode off to the kitchen, and Meg could hear the rumble of voices, Seth’s lower, Donald’s querulous. How would Seth manage to explain his conspicuous absence the last couple of days?

  Meg was surprised to see him return quickly—with Donald in tow. “I told Donald that he was welcome to join our celebration. Will someone please find him a glass?”

  Donald looked both mortified and touched to be included. “I’m sorry to barge in . . . I had no idea . . . I completely understand now . . .” He paused when Bree thrust a glass of champagne into his hand. Donald took a deep breath and straightened his back. “My heartfelt congratulations to Meg and Seth. May their union endure as long as the houses that shelter them.”

  Recipes

  Raspberry Shrub

  The drink called “shrub” has a long history. In the Colonial era in America it was a soft drink, also known as “drinking vinegar,” because it included vinegar that had been steeped with fruit or herbs for up to several days. (Vinegar is actually less acidic than lemon juice—and a lot easier to obtain in Colonial America.) Strained and sweetened, it would be reduced to a syrup and added to water or carbonated water. The sugar in the fruit plus the added sugar smooth out the acidity of the vinegar.

  At her restaurant Gran’s in Granford, Nicky Czarnecki has been experimenting with a version that can be served with or without alcohol. Either way, it’s a cool drink for a hot evening.

  Here is a simple recipe from a half-century ago: 5 quarts ripe raspberries 1 quart mild vinegar (any kind) Sugar (to taste)

  Crush the berries and add the vinegar. Let it stand for 24 hours, then strain. Measure the liquid and add one-half pound of sugar for each quart of juice. Heat to just boiling then put in jars or bottles.

  When ready to serve, dilute this with three parts cold water to one part syrup, and serve in tall glasses with plenty of ice.

  Of course you may add white rum or brandy, and you may vary the fruits depending on what is ripe.

  Here’s a more modern recipe: Select very ripe fruit. Chop or mash it, then weigh it. In a bowl, combine equal parts of the fruit and sugar, and cover. Let the mixture sit for anywhere from a few hours to a few days, while the sugar draws all the liquid from the fruit. Then add an equal amount of vinegar and stir. Strain it and bottle it. It is ready to use right away, but it will also age well.

  Spatchcocked Chicken

  If you’ve never heard the term, “spatchcocked” means flattened. Remove the backbone and the breastbone from your whole chicken, then press it flat so you can cook it on the grill or broil it. Flattening it will make it cook more evenly.

  If you’re grilling the chicken outside, it will definitely benefit from a marinade. This one is simple and tasty.

  The thinly peeled rind of 2 lemons 2–3 thin slices fresh ginger 2 tablespoons soy sauce

  4 tablespoons olive oil

  1 teaspoon sesame oil

  2–4 cloves garlic (pressed or finely minced) Thyme (fresh if possible)

  Freshly ground pepper

  If you love to julienne, make slivers of the lemon peel and the ginger. If you’re in a hurry, grate the ginger and even the lemon rind. Use fresh thyme if you have it, but dried is fine too.

  Mix everything together and massage the chicken with it. If you don’t want your hands to smell like garlic and sesame oil for the rest of the day, wear latex gloves or paint the marinade on with a brush.

  And grill away!

  Puffed Apple Pancake

  Sometimes this recipe is called “Apple Dutch Baby” but Dutch baby is usually more like a flat pancake. In contrast, this one puffs up and the top becomes crisp. It resembles Toad in the Hole, a savory pub dish with sausages in England, but this recipe is sweet.


  Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

  APPLES:

  2 tablespoons salted butter 3 medium cooking apples (like Cortlands), peeled, cored, and sliced thickly 2 tablespoons sugar

  Melt the butter in a 9” cast-iron skillet, then add the apples and sauté on medium-high heat until they begin to brown just a bit. Sprinkle the sugar over them and continue cooking for a couple more minutes. (If the mixture looks too soupy, drain some of the liquid off so the batter won’t become soggy.) When the apples are just about ready, make the batter.

  BATTER:

  1 cup whole milk

  2 eggs

  1 cup white flour

  2 tablespoons sugar

  1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon salt 2 tablespoons vanilla extract 1 tablespoon melted butter Combine all the ingredients in a blender or food processor, then blend for a minute (a full minute—this is important, so time it), right before you’re ready to bake.

  While the apples are still over the heat on the stove, pour the batter over them (the batter should sizzle around the edges) and immediately place the skillet into the preheated oven. Bake for 30 minutes. If all goes well, the batter will puff up and turn golden and crisp.

  This is a dish that should be served as quickly as possible, while it’s still warm, maybe with a sprinkle of powdered sugar.