Rotten to the Core (35 page)

And Daphne had to be all right, Meg thought selfishly—otherwise she’d never know what had been going on. Somehow she wrestled her down the hill, lurching and stumbling. Art pulled into the driveway just as she reached it.

He jumped out of the car. “What’s going on?”

“She took the same damn stuff. I don’t know how much or when. Get her to the hospital and tell them that.”

Art wasted no time. “Right.” He shoved semicon scious Daphne into the backseat.

“I’ll call you when I know anything.” He started his car and pulled out in a spray of gravel, and then was gone, leaving Meg standing in the driveway, trembling. Poor obsessed Jason, poor foolish Daphne. What a mess.

When she got back to the house, she heard noise from the kitchen, and laughter. Meg followed the sounds.

When Bree spotted her, she said, “Hey, where’d you go? I checked your room but you weren’t there.”

Might as well get it out of the way.
“Daphne was up at the orchard.”

Bree turned off the water in the sink and turned to face her. “What? What happened?”

“I called Art, then I went up there to talk to her. She tried to kill herself—with the same pesticide.”

Michael took a step closer to Bree. “What the hell was she thinking? Why? What did she say?”

“Not much. She loved Jason, but she realized he was using her. So she was going to kill herself on the spot where he died. Art is taking her to the hospital.” Meg sat down heavily at the kitchen table. “Maybe it sounds callous, but I suppose we should eat something. Though I don’t feel like cooking, that’s for sure.”

“I could go get a pizza?” Michael offered, probably eager to get out of the way.

Meg considered. No nausea, no stomach pains—and she was suddenly very, very hungry. “Sounds good to me, Michael. That work for you, Bree?”

“Yeah, sure, fine.” Bree slammed pots in the sink with more force than was necessary.

“Great.” Michael grabbed his coat and was out the door before anyone could say anything else.

Bree rinsed the last pot and stacked it in the dish drainer, then turned to Meg. “So did Daphne kill Jason?”

“That’s my guess, although she didn’t say so outright. I wonder how long it would have taken Detective Marcus to figure it out.”

Bree snorted. “Try never. That man doesn’t get people at all.”

“You’re right about that. So, you and Michael are okay?”

“Looks like it. There’s no rush. If it works, it works. How about you?”

“Me?”

“You and Seth.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Meg, you wake up in a hospital bed after someone nearly kills you and the first thing you want to do is find Seth Chapin?”

“Well, he was hit harder by this stuff than the rest of us. I was worried.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever you say. You don’t have to talk about it with me.” Bree grinned.

Meg had to smile. “Fine. You mind your business, and I’ll mind mine. Except where they overlap. We’ve still got an orchard to run, right?”

“That we do.”

 

 

Art called as they were finishing the last of the pizza. “She’s going to be all right, but they want to keep her overnight. I persuaded Marcus that he could wait until morning to interview her. She wants you to be there.”

“Me?” Meg sputtered. “Why?”

“She didn’t explain. Can you come by about ten?”

“I guess. I really would like some answers.”

“So would we all. See you tomorrow.”

Tuesday morning Meg woke and wondered if maybe her life was finally going to go back to normal: no one trying to kill her, no outstanding murders, and no more bodies. Things with Bree were good, after a rocky start. She was learning to drive a tractor. She had a cat and a pair of goats. What more could she ask for?

As she was dressing, she heard Bree’s car start up, and Meg watched her leave from the window. It was going to take some getting used to, having a roommate again, much less one who worked for her. Still, maybe having Bree here would be a good thing. At least she’d have someone else around to assure that the cat—and the goats—got fed, and there would be a second set of eyes and hands to keep things on track. Meg still had no idea how time-consuming the orchard might be, but she was prepared to be very busy. And that was good.

She wandered downstairs, reveling in the silence, fed the cat, made herself some breakfast. The kitchen sparkled, thanks to Bree’s and Michael’s efforts, and the morning sun gleamed on the glossy golden boards of the floor. It looked great, even if she did say so herself. And she had christened it with a memorable party, even if the party hadn’t turned out quite the way she had expected. What was on the calendar for today? She had a class in the morning, and was woefully behind on the required reading, but that seemed kind of irrelevant at the moment. Murder was more important than academics.

She arrived at the hospital shortly before ten and spent a few minutes convincing the receptionist that, despite the fact that visiting hours hadn’t started, yes, her presence was required in Daphne Lydon’s room for an interview with a state police officer. When she finally made it, she was surprised to find not only Detective Marcus and Art but also Seth clustered in the hallway outside of Daphne’s room.

“Gentlemen? Seth, I thought you’d be home by now.” To her he still looked pale.

“They just turned me loose, and Art volunteered to give me a ride home. He thought I should hear this first.”

Meg noted smugly that Marcus didn’t look very happy. “Ms. Corey, Ms. Lydon insisted that you be here, or she wouldn’t say anything. I don’t want this to turn into a three-ring circus, so I hope you will all keep your mouths shut and let me conduct my interview.”

“I have no problem with that, Detective,” Meg said. “How is she?”

“Recovering nicely, or so I’m told. Let’s get started.”

They trooped into the room, with the detective in the lead. “Ms. Lydon, I am going to read you your rights and remind you that you have the right to have an attorney present.”

Daphne lay against a stack of pillows, but she didn’t look particularly ill. She did, however, look peevish. Meg thought irreverently that this was probably the most concentrated attention she had received in years and she probably wanted to draw it out and enjoy it for as long as possible.

Marcus recited the familiar words, while Daphne watched him, unblinking. When he was done she said, “Sure, fine. I get it. And I don’t want a lawyer. Can I start now?”

Meg stepped forward and claimed the sole guest chair, while Marcus checked a small recorder he had pulled from a pocket; Seth and Art leaned against the walls. Before Marcus could begin, Meg said, “Daphne, why did you want me here?”

“I feel kinda bad that you got mixed up in this. I mean, I didn’t even know you, and Jason didn’t, either. But he knew the orchard and he wanted to take it back.”

“Ms. Lydon,” Marcus broke in, “can you please state your full name and residence for the record?” Formalities completed, he asked, “Were you responsible for the death of Jason Miller?”

“Kinda. Look, can I tell this in my own words? It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Go ahead.”

“Jason had this brilliant idea that he was going to kill himself, like a political protest or something, you know? Like he’d done all he could with GreenGrow, and people still wouldn’t listen to him, and this chemical company was moving in on the university at the same time the university was throwing him out, see? So he was going to make a statement and get some attention, maybe some good press. Only he never meant to die. I was supposed to come along and find him and save him.”

Well, that was a new twist. Jason had trusted Daphne enough to help him stage a phony suicide? But obviously, something had gone wrong.

“Were you delayed?” Marcus asked.

Daphne glared at him for interrupting, but Meg thought she saw a glint of sly triumph in her expression. “No, I was not delayed. I was there, at his apartment, right on time. He had this suicide note written—ha, book was more like it, full of political stuff. And he mixed up some of this pesticide stuff and he drank it down, and then he checked the time and looked at me and said, ‘Let’s give it a couple of hours and then you can call for help, okay?’ So we waited, and he started getting nauseous and sweaty.” Daphne stopped.

“We found no note,” Marcus said grimly.

“Well, duh. I got rid of it—the printed copy, anyway. But he probably wrote it on the GreenGrow computer.”

Marcus sighed, almost imperceptibly. “And then what did you do?” he said.

“Nothing. Not. A. Thing. I watched him get sicker and sicker, and all I felt was empty. And then I figured, somebody would find him dead and they’d just think he’d killed himself. Which he did, right? I mean, he was the one who took the stuff.”

Meg was chilled by the image of Daphne watching Jason die, but she had to know: “Daphne, why was he in the orchard?”

“Figured you’d wonder about that. Well, he started getting kind of crazy, and loud, and he decided that to make his point, he ought to make it look like he picked the orchard to die in. So I went along with the idea.”

“He knew the property?”

“Sure. Professor Ramsdell’s been teaching classes out there for years, and Jason took one of them a while back.”

“Was that where he found the poison?” Marcus asked.

“Yup. He’d seen it there, one time, when he was snooping around, and he kind of helped himself to some. You never know when things like that will come in handy. Problem was, it turned out to be kind of unstable—which he found out the hard way. It acted a lot faster than he thought it would. Hurt more, too.” Daphne looked ghoul ishly pleased at that idea.

Meg felt a pang: so it
had
been the pesticide from her barn. Her carelessness was going to haunt her—she should have known what she had on her property.

“How did you transport him?” Marcus asked.

“His car. I can drive, you know—I just can’t afford a car.”

“But,” Meg interrupted again, “his car was found in Amherst. You just left him here and went home? Without telling anyone?”

Daphne settled herself more comfortably on her pillows. “Well, you know, I had plenty of time to think, sitting out there in the dark with him, waiting. Good thing he’d quieted down by then, or the whole neighborhood would have been awake. Anyway, I guess it was the first time I felt like I was in control, you know? I mean, it was always like, Daphne, do this. Daphne, come over when I want you. He never cared what
I
wanted. So now I had the power, and I started thinking: what did I care about GreenGrow or all this organic crap? I was only there because Jason cared. Okay, maybe his death would help them, but then I had a better idea. I figured I’d make it look like it was Bree’s fault.”

The men in the room looked blank, but Meg had an inkling of Daphne’s intentions. “Because she rejected Jason?”

“That was part of it. She didn’t want him, and he was really pissed about that. But then she started sniffing around Michael, and she started coming back to GreenGrow. Jason wasn’t too happy about that. Him and Michael, they started arguing a lot more. Everybody knew it. Why should Miss High-and-Mighty get everything she wants? And why did she have to horn in on the only thing I had? Jason and GreenGrow? So I thought, let’s see if the cops will think maybe she had something to do with it.”

Not a bad plan
, Meg thought. It might have worked, or the whole thing might have blown away for lack of evidence and Jason’s death would have gone down as unsolved. “Then why did you try to poison us last night?”

“Because you jerks just weren’t getting it! I mean, Jason had been dead for two weeks, and nobody had a clue! I figured I’d better give the police a shove in the right direction.”

“And you could have killed all of us, if that pesticide was as unstable as you say.”

“Yeah, well, sorry. I guess I didn’t plan it very well.”

“So when you saw that your plan had failed, you decided to kill yourself?” Marcus said.

“Yeah, I guess. I couldn’t think of anything better. I mean, I have no education, no money, the only guy I loved didn’t care about me, and now he’s dead. It just seemed like the easiest way out.”

Meg felt nauseated again, but this time it was due to the horror she felt at Daphne’s words. Daphne had watched someone she claimed to love die, and had let it happen; worse, she’d come close to killing more people, just because she was jealous of Bree. Poor Daphne—the killer.

Seth moved to her side. “Had enough?” he whispered in her ear.

Meg nodded. “Get me out of here.”

He turned to face Detective Marcus. “Do you need her for anything else?”

“I think we have enough.”

“Talk to you later, Art. Meg, let’s go home.”