Red Delicious Death (25 page)

“Might have. Big guy, youngish? I think so; he asked me about honey, was real curious about what I did. Shame, isn’t it? Kellogg runs a nice pig operation.”

How much ground had Sam covered in the short time he was here? Meg wondered. And how many people had he crossed paths with in his ramblings? Not many had come forward. Had the state police gone looking for them? “Where did you meet him?” Meg asked.

“Can’t remember. Like you said, I cover a lot of ground. Kellogg keeps a hive for his vegetable garden—he’s got maybe an acre planted, near the house. But a lot of other folks have hives, too.”

Bree shot a glance at Meg. “I need to take Meg through the orchard so we can check for damage. Good to see you again, Carl.”

“Likewise.” Carl pulled on his headgear and went back to examining the nearest hive.

Bree turned to Meg. “Let’s take it from the corner by the road.”

As they walked toward the road, Meg scanned the scene. The ground under the trees was littered with small branches and leaves and, yes, a number of green apples. It tore at her heart to see them, even as she realized that they represented only a small portion of the crop. Surely there were far more still hanging on the trees? “What should I be looking for?”

They walked the rows of trees, from one end to the other, and Meg was glad she had worn the boots. The grass was wet, beaded with rain and dew, and brilliant green. They startled a rabbit, who darted away toward the edge of the orchard. Unseen birds sang from the branches around them. Meg had to keep reminding herself that this was a damage assessment, not a stroll in the summer fields, but it was hard to focus.

“So what’s the overall verdict?” she asked.

“Like I said, you didn’t suffer much. Maybe ten percent, but we can hope that thinning makes the remaining apples bigger and better. All things willing.”

“Amen. I feel like we should creat some sort of shrine up here, and make offerings to the gods of agriculture.”

“The goddess—Ceres. Well, Saturn gets all the PR, but Ceres was nicer. There are probably more female gods than males, in any case—more nurturing, you know. Like Fauna—she had some good parties.”

“Let’s go with goddesses. After all, we women are the ones running this show, right?”

“You got it.”

“I told you I ran into Carl Frederickson once before, right? Do we need to worry about this hive problem?” Meg asked.

Bree nodded. “In a general way, yes. Colony collapse disorder is a real problem, all over. But for the moment, here, no. We can talk about that after harvest. Uh-oh.”

“What?” Meg followed Bree’s gaze, and saw Nicky’s car pull into her driveway. Nicky got out of the car and waved to Meg, who waved back. “You don’t much like Nicky, do you, Bree?”

Bree snorted. “She’s okay, if you like the sunshine type, but she pisses me off sometimes. I mean, Daddy buys her a restaurant? What’s that about? Me, I’ve had to work for everything I ever got.”

“I know what you mean, but I think she’s sincere—she doesn’t shove it in your face. And she’s had a rough time since she got here. Starting a marriage and a business at the same time, in an unfamiliar place, can’t be easy, and then one of her best friends—not to mention a colleague—gets killed right under her nose. So cut her a little slack, will you? You can hate her later, when things settle down.”

Bree looked contrite. “Sorry, I’m being petty. Look, I said I’d help her find staff for the place. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it does, and I’m sure she’ll thank you. Well, I guess I’d better go see what this is about. I hate to say it, but it usually isn’t good news.”

“I’ll try not to say ‘I told you so.’ See you later.”

When Meg reached the bottom of the hill, Nicky was still leaning against her car, looking upset. Meg sighed inwardly: she’d just dodged one bullet with the orchard, and she really didn’t want to try to fix Nicky’s most recent mess, whatever it was. “Hi, Nicky. What’s up?”

“Hi, Meg. I’m sorry. This is stupid—you probably have a million things to do. Heck,
I
have a million things to do. But I just had to get out of there.”

“Problems?”

“It’s Brian. He’s been acting really weird lately. I mean, he won’t tell me what he’s doing. He comes and goes. And he keeps staring at me when he thinks I won’t notice. But he won’t talk to me! I don’t know what I did . . .” Nicky looked like she was about to cry.

Meg rushed to forestall her. “Why don’t we go inside and get something to drink? And we can sit down and try to figure this out.”

Nicky obediently followed her into the kitchen. “I wonder if we’ll ever have a house like this,” she said wistfully, looking around the sunny kitchen. “I mean, not anytime soon. We can’t afford to live anywhere except over the restaurant, at least for the first year or two.”

Meg refrained from saying that Nicky had known that when they bought their place. And she could see that things might get kind of claustrophobic, living and working in the same place with your husband. “At least you’ve got a short commute,” she said lightly. “Iced tea?”

“Sure, that’s fine. I mean, I’m okay with the arrangement, for now. But I wonder if Brian is. Maybe he didn’t think things through very well, or maybe I just steamrolled him and he went along with what I wanted. And we’re both so busy, and so tired all the time. I thought this part of it would be fun. And . . .”

Meg set a glass in front of her and sat down. “Yes?”

“I miss Sam!” Nicky burst out. “I know it’s hard to explain, and it’s kind of odd, getting married and then having Sam move in with us right away. But we needed him. We were kind of like the Three Musketeers, you know? We all had different skills, but they meshed—we worked as a unit. And he was, like, my best friend. It would be one thing if he’d left, but he’s dead!” Nicky finally gave in to the tears she had been fighting, covering her face with her hands.

Meg wondered what she was supposed to do now. Maybe doing nothing would work: Nicky seemed to need to vent more than anything else, and maybe giving her the chance to do that, coupled with a sympathetic ear, would be enough. She had to keep in mind that Nicky hadn’t had a mother for quite a while. Did she have any other female friends? Not in Granford, certainly. So Meg resigned herself to playing surrogate mother and friend, rolled into one.

“It’s okay, Nicky. You’ve taken on a lot in a short time, even before Sam died. I think you deserve some time to let it all out. Heck, if you want to scream and throw things, that’s fine with me.”

Nicky sniffed and produced a watery smile. “Thanks, Meg. I keep trying to be cheerful and upbeat for Brian, and somehow that just makes him grumpier. I wish he’d talk to me. Sam and I used to talk about everything, and it really helped.”

“Nicky,” Meg said slowly, “do you think Brian was jealous of Sam?”

“Huh? But Sam and I, we weren’t that way. I mean, he was a friend.”

“I know, but maybe Brian had a problem with the fact that you two were so close. You could talk to Sam in a way that you didn’t talk to him, and maybe he felt left out. And he doesn’t know how to change that, even though Sam is dead, so he feels guilty about resenting a dead man. Could that make any sense?”

Nicky stared at her, and then her expression changed. “You don’t think . . . ? No, it’s not possible.”

“What?”

“That Brian had anything to do with Sam’s death? I mean, Brian’s not violent, or mean. But maybe they got into something and it just went wrong. Maybe they were both out there looking at pigs together. Maybe . . . Oh, I don’t know!” Nicky melted into tears again, this time with a hint of hysteria.

The scenario seemed unlikely to Meg, but nevertheless she asked gently, “Nicky, have you talked to Brian about this?”

Nicky looked up at her. “I can’t. I’ve tried, but half the time he’s not around, and when he is, we’re both so busy . . . or he just brushes me off. Meg, could you talk to him for me?”

Oh, hell.
She should have seen this coming. Now she was supposed to be a go-between? “Nicky, I don’t think that’s appropriate . . .”

Nicky grabbed her wrist. “No, Meg, please! Just talk to him, find out what’s bothering him. Maybe he’ll talk to you. He just clams up with me.”

Or maybe he’ll tell me I’m a busybody and to get the hell out and mind my own business. Which I should.
“All right, all right,” she gave in, “I’ll talk to him.”

“Will you go now?” Nicky asked. “He’s at the restaurant. That’s one reason I had to get out. He wouldn’t talk, but he kept watching me all the time with that droopy expression.”

Well, she might as well get it over with. “All right. You want to stay here? Bree’s around.”

“Okay. Thank you, Meg. I know it’s a lot to ask. But I’m afraid if I say the wrong thing, everything will blow up—us, the restaurant. I don’t want that to happen. I love Brian, and I really want this to work. So maybe he’ll talk to you, or at least he’ll be polite.”

You are going to owe me a
lot
of dinners, Nicky.
“Okay. If you see Bree, tell her where I went, will you?”

Nicky nodded. “Thank you, Meg. I really appreciate it.”

For once Meg wished the ride to town took longer. She didn’t want to talk to Brian. She didn’t want to put herself in the middle of a messy situation, and if it did all blow up, she’d probably get blamed for something—the failure of the restaurant, or maybe the marriage. Or both. She wasn’t good at this kind of thing; she was much happier ignoring personal crises until they either went away or resolved themselves. Not always for the better, she reminded herself. Well, she’d told Nicky she’d try, so here she was.

Meg parked and walked up to the front door and rapped. “Brian?” she called out.

“Back here. Hang on.”

Brian emerged from the back of the building, wiping his hands on a rag. “Oh, hi, Meg. Nicky’s not here.”

“I know. She’s at my place.”

“Huh?” Brian looked confused, and Meg wondered if he’d even realized that Nicky had left.

“She was upset. Actually, she was upset because she thinks
you’re
upset, and she doesn’t know what to ask you. Look, I’m sorry—I don’t usually mess with other people’s problems. But I know what it’s like to be a stranger in town, to not know anybody, and I want you to know that I’m here if you’re willing to talk about it. And if you’re not, you can throw me out and I’ll understand.”

Brian tucked the towel under his belt and rubbed his hands over his face. “What did she tell you?”

“She said that you were acting odd, and not talking to her. Listen, can we sit down, somewhere that people aren’t likely to walk in on us?”

“The kitchen, I guess.” Brian led the way, then pointed toward a stool. Meg pulled it toward the table and sat.

“Brian, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be in the middle of this—you two need to work this out between yourselves. But the fact that your friend was murdered makes it kind of public, and unfortunately I’ve had a little experience with that sort of situation since I arrived here. Nicky says you’re acting weird toward her, and it really upsets her, and she doesn’t know what to do. Look, I know I have no right to butt in here, but . . . did you have a problem with Sam?”

Brian stared at her. “So she sent you,” he said flatly. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I
was
jealous. Sam and Nicky . . . sometimes I felt shut out. It’s like they had their own language, their shorthand, and I couldn’t share it with them.” He shook his head. “Dumb, isn’t it? I mean, Nicky married me, not Sam. And I have to say he was a pretty decent guy. And a good cook. Okay, let’s cut to the chase. She’s actually wondering if I had something to do with Sam’s death? No. No way I would hurt him, or anybody else, for that matter.”

“Brian, I believe you, and I’m pretty sure Nicky doesn’t really think that. It’s very clear that she loves you; it’s just that you’re both overworked and under a lot of stress. But why is Sam dead?”

Brian stood up and paced around the kitchen. “I don’t know! I mean, if it had happened in Boston, I could almost understand it. Something random, like a mugging, a robbery—you kind of look out for it. But here? This place looks like something off a Christmas card. Why would anyone here want to kill him?”

“Can you think of
anything
that you haven’t already told the police?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, we were all coming and going. I wasn’t even sure where he was half the time, until he walked in carrying a bunch of something new. He was raised in a city, like Nicky. He didn’t go around oohing and aahing over pretty landscapes, but he appreciated artisanal products. He was getting to know the neighborhood, you know? He was like a kid in a candy shop, only he was hauling home vegetables. You see anything there that would tick someone off? Enough to kill him?”

“No, I don’t,” Meg agreed. “What about Derek?”