Rotten to the Core (9 page)

Christopher looked troubled. “Close to twenty years now. That particular chemical has been around since the 1960s, long before we came to an agreement for the use of this orchard. I am fairly sure we haven’t used it recently—it’s fairly toxic, although it has a short half-life after application, and is reasonably kind to the environment. But it’s not my pesticide of choice. In any event, generally we bring all our materials and equipment with us when we treat your orchard. What’s more, since there was a certain amount of turnover among the tenants here, I was reluctant to leave anything at all in the barn, much less something hazardous. And I never would have used an out-of-date formulation—that would be unprofessional and irresponsible.” He hesitated a moment before asking, “Do I take it that you suspect that might have been used by or against Jason?”

“Christopher, I don’t know enough even to guess. But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you pulled together a list of the chemicals you have been using here, how they’re handled, stuff like that. In case Marcus wants it.”

“Of course. I keep that material on file.” Christopher cast an eye over his scattered class and apparently satisfied, turned again to Meg. “Is there any hope that it will be cleared up quickly?”

“I have no idea. They did the autopsy fast, but it’ll take a while for the toxicology results. It did occur to me that if we suggested a few possible toxins, it might speed up the process. But I’m kind of scared of pointing the ME in any direction.”

Christopher glanced again at his scattered students. “You’d asked if there would be any, uh, recognition of Jason’s passing at the university. I’ve arranged for an informal get-together, a kind of wake, perhaps, at five this evening, if you wish to attend. I don’t expect a large gathering. He was not a popular young man. On the other hand, I have made it known that there will be refreshments, and that usually guarantees some attendance.”

Meg was torn. “Would it be too weird if I did? My only connection with Jason was finding his body. But I would like to pay my respects and meet people who knew him. Maybe it would help me figure out who might have wanted him dead. Has there been any talk within the department?”

Christopher shook his head. “Sad to say, the overriding response is one of relief.” He looked away and gestured toward his scattered flock, gathering them in. “So I’ll see you later, Meg?”

“I’ll be there.” She turned and went back down the hill toward the house. But rather than going inside, she walked around the perimeter to the side by the driveway, looking critically at the house as she went. Painting the trim was definitely on her to-do list but still on hold for warmer weather. She had to get the driveway paved since the installation of her septic tank had chewed across it. Meg was cheered to see a few green shoots emerging from the beds around the house. She hadn’t been here in the spring before, so she had no idea what was planted, and this was the first sign of life she had seen.

The sun was warm on her face, the air smelled of damp leaves, and she wasn’t ready to tackle her list of chores. Instead she sat down on the broad granite slab that formed her back stoop, outside the kitchen. She leaned back on her arms and contemplated the view of the Great Meadow beyond the barn. Yes, there was a hint of green among the trees on the far side. Spring was coming—and with it a whole host of activities in the orchard, about which she still knew very little. She had to sit down with Bree and go over the schedule. From now on she was going to make sure she knew what was happening on her own property.

A flicker of movement near the barn caught her eye, and she turned to find a cat sauntering toward her across the muddy drive.

“Hello,” Meg said tentatively. “Where’d you come from?”

The cat gave her a lazy look, then jumped up to the low step, sat down, and began a leisurely bath. Meg took stock of her new companion: a brown tabby with white vest and paws, fairly young looking. Clean, so most likely not an outdoor cat, but no collar. Unafraid of her, so probably a cat who was used to people. Male or female? She couldn’t guess. Meg reached out a tentative hand. The cat contemplated it for a moment, then stood up and butted its head against it. Cautiously Meg scratched behind the cat’s ears, which the cat accepted for a moment, and then, formal greetings completed, sat down and resumed her bath.

Meg smiled and looked back toward the meadow. This was nice. It actually felt homey. Should she leave some food out for the cat? It didn’t look starved—it must belong to someone not far away. Would leaving food out keep the cat around? Did she
want
to keep the cat around? She’d never even considered a pet, since the apartments she’d lived in in Boston had not allowed them. But this was the country, wasn’t it? And Meg was willing to bet that there were mice in the house, although she hadn’t looked too closely. Maybe a cat was a good idea. If not this cat, then some cat. Something to think about.

Obscurely cheered, Meg stood up and went inside. The cat didn’t budge.

 

 

After taking inventory of the paltry contents of her refrigerator and freezer, Meg decided to run a few errands. She made the rounds of the stores outside of town, then stopped at the small pharmacy that served as a general store on the green in downtown Granford for a few odds and ends. As she emerged from her car door, she heard someone call her name.

“Meg? Over here! Got a minute?” Gail Selden, head of the Granford Historical Society, was waving at her from across the green.

Meg checked quickly for traffic—nonexistent—then crossed over to the historical society’s dilapidated building. “Hi, Gail. What’s up?” She hoped, fleetingly, that Gail wouldn’t want to pump her for information about the body in the orchard.

“Were you serious when you said you’d help us out with cataloging?”

Aha.
Meg
had
volunteered to input information into a standardized database from the endless files that the understaffed society owned. “Sure. What do you need?”

“Wonderful! I hoped you’d say that, because I brought a couple of boxes with me. They’re a real mess, just thrown together, but I picked stuff I thought might have information about the Warren farm, just to give you a little incentive. You can learn the data-entry ropes and learn about your home at the same time. Sound good?”

“I’d love to see the files, and I should have time, at least in the evenings. You said you could teach me how to catalog?”

“Piece of cake! I can show you what we’ve done so far.” Gail grinned. “And there’s no deadline—this stuff has been waiting for decades, so you can work on it when you want. You’re a lifesaver! You have no idea how it bugs me, having all this wonderful historical material and not being able to make it available. You wouldn’t want to do a little fund-raising for us, would you?”

Meg laughed. “Why don’t you ask Seth? Nobody seems to be able to say no to him.”

“I have. I think it’s on his to-do list but behind a lot of other stuff, like paying for police salaries and ambulance service and school supplies.”

“Well, I’m happy to help.”

Gail cocked her head at Meg. “You have room in your trunk for a couple of file boxes?”

Gail helped Meg load four bulging boxes, papers sprouting from the loose lids, into the backseat of her car. As she drove home, Meg realized she was looking forward to delving into Granford’s history. From what little she had seen, the jumbled papers and artifacts would probably tell her much more about her adopted town than reading any dry written summary.

Back at the house, she unloaded and stowed her groceries, then returned to the car for the file boxes, which she carried into the dining room. She fought the urge to dig into them immediately. If she was going to present herself at the university, she ought to clean up and get moving. The files had waited this long, and they could probably wait another day or two.

 

 

The parking lots at the university began to clear out at the end of the day, and Meg had no trouble finding a convenient parking space. She had forgotten to ask Christopher where the ad hoc event was to be held, so she checked his office, and finding it empty, followed the sound of muted conversation down the hall to a large classroom, where a mix of faculty members and students huddled in awkward clumps. The desk at the front of the room had been cleared and was spread with a couple of supermarket deli trays of cheese and cold cuts, plus a few bottles of inexpensive wine and soft drinks. The attendees were clustered around the food and held glasses of wine or soda while juggling paper plates of food.

Christopher noticed her hovering in the doorway and beckoned her over. “Welcome, my dear. I’m glad you could make it. Have you met my colleague John Finkel?”

Meg extended her hand. “No, I don’t believe so. I’m not actually enrolled here—I’m just auditing a class, trying to get a handle on orchard management.”

Finkel glanced quickly at Christopher, who leaned toward him to say quietly, “Yes, that was the place.”

Finkel’s face showed an odd mix of curiosity and sympathy. “Meg, is it? Sorry to hear about . . . that you . . .” He stopped, apparently struggling for an appropriate phrase.

Meg took pity on him. “That I found Jason? I didn’t know him, you know.”

“Oh, yes, right, well . . .” Finkel looked around desperately. “I should go talk to . . . excuse me.” He retreated quickly to the other side of the room.

Christopher had watched the exchange with a glint of humor in his eye. When Finkel was out of earshot, he said to Meg, “Peculiar situation, don’t you agree? Not covered by any etiquette books, if such things still exist. ‘Proper condolences for those who discover corpses.’ In any event, I’m glad to see a few faces here. Jason deserves some recognition for his contributions to this department.”

She had to admire Christopher’s diplomatic phrasing. “Christopher, will there be any . . . well, for want of a better word, eulogies?”

“I had thought I would say a few words. Let’s wait a bit and see if anyone else arrives.”

“Is there anyone else I should meet?” Meg asked. Most of the crowd appeared to be hungry graduate students, attracted, as Christopher had predicted, by the lure of free food and drink.

“I think, perhaps . . . Ah!”

At the sound of his exclamation, Meg followed his gaze to the door. There were two newcomers: a tall young man in his late twenties who needed a haircut, and a frumpy woman a few years younger, both wearing what Meg defined as grubby student clothes. Both seemed unsure of their welcome.

Christopher, playing the good host, went toward them to welcome them, and Meg drifted along behind him. “Michael, I’m glad you came. And Daphne, is it?” Michael reached out to shake Christopher’s hand, and Daphne mumbled something. She looked as though she would rather be anywhere else, and hung on to Michael’s arm, radiating hostility.

Christopher turned to Meg. “Meg, this is Michael Fisher. He was a colleague of Jason’s at GreenGrow. Perhaps I’ve mentioned the group?” Christopher all but winked at her. “And Daphne? I’m afraid I don’t know your last name.”

“Lydon. Daphne Lydon.” Daphne jammed her hands in her pockets, her shoulders slumping.

Meg stepped forward. “Why, yes, Christopher, I think you did. Michael, Daphne, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m very interested in the concepts behind organic farming. I’ve just taken over an orchard in Granford, and I have a lot to learn. Christopher has been helping me, but I gather that the philosophy behind the organic approach is somewhat different?” She stopped, trying to look sincere and eager for enlightenment.

Christopher laid a hand on her arm. “You’ll have to excuse me. I need to have a word with Professor Delgado,” he said and then retreated discreetly, leaving Meg with Michael and Daphne.

An awkward silence fell. “How did you know Jason? Was that through GreenGrow?” Meg ventured.

“Yeah,” was Michael’s reply. “We go back a ways.”

“Were you a student here?”

He nodded without volunteering anything more.

Meg was beginning to feel frustrated by Michael’s unwillingness to hold up his end of the conversation. “I understand he was very committed to organic farming.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Michael was not going to make this easy for her. “Tell me about GreenGrow, then,” she asked. “What do you do?”

He brightened slightly. “We work to eliminate the use of harmful chemicals that are destroying the earth and all its creatures.”

To Meg’s ear it sounded like a canned response, but she didn’t want to judge too quickly. “How do you go about that? Do you have pamphlets I could look at? Or maybe you hold public meetings of some sort that I could attend?”

Michael looked uncomfortable. “Well, uh, things are kind of unsettled now, after Jason . . . Maybe we could set up a time, and I could give you our info packet. Maybe go over it with you.”

“I’d really like that,” Meg said. “I’m still very new to all this, and I can use all the help I can get. There’s so much to think about. I didn’t have any idea!” She knew she sounded like a babbling idiot, but Michael appeared oblivious to the falseness of her tone. Not so Daphne, apparently; the girl was staring at her speculatively, and the expression on her face wasn’t exactly friendly.

“Do you want to set up a time now?” Meg hurried on. “I’m on campus a couple of days a week, for classes, or I could meet you somewhere here in Amherst. Maybe lunch? Tomorrow?”

Maybe it was the idea of another free meal, but Meg’s offer spurred Michael into something resembling enthusiasm and he nodded.

“Good! My treat,” she added, in case he had any doubts. “Where would you like to meet?”

“Um . . . you know the place across from the bookstore?”

“On the way to Emily Dickinson’s house? Sure.” Emily Dickinson’s home, a block or so from the center of Amherst, was one of the town’s most treasured landmarks, and even newcomer Meg knew where to find it. The restaurant was small and shabby, but Meg seemed to remember good sandwiches and coffee there.