Sour Apples (16 page)

Meg didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. While Gran’s prices were reasonable, dinner for four was still pricey on her limited budget, but she felt that it was her responsibility since she’d invited everyone. At the same time, having Lauren label their dinner a political meeting didn’t sit well with her. She’d made the offer out of friendship; Lauren had apparently seen it as a chance to cultivate Seth Chapin. In the end, though, she said, “Fine. Thank you. See you back at the house.”

Too lazy to move, Meg watched Lauren weave her way through the tables to the door to retrieve her car. Most of the other diners were long gone. Nicky peeked out the kitchen door and, seeing Meg alone, came out again and dropped into a chair at her table. “You all set, Meg?”

“I’m good. I’m just trying to gather energy to stand up and drive home. Great meal, Nicky. I’m so glad the restaurant is doing well—I love having a place to bring people.”

“Thank you, Meg. Brian and I love what we’re doing, and you have no idea what treats we’ve been discovering in local foods. It is a pity about Joyce, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. I’m sorry I never got a chance to spend any time with her. Did you know her well?”

“Not well, but we chatted when she delivered her cheeses. She was having a lot of fun experimenting with them, and the results were usually great. That’s one reason I know she was hoping to expand—she wanted to do more with the cheese side, which she said Ethan was more interested in, too. It’s even sadder that she was murdered—I couldn’t believe it when Brian told me it was in the paper. Have the police figured out anything yet?” Nicky asked.

“Not that I know of. So far nobody’s come up with a good reason why anyone would want her dead. Do you know if there were any other cheese makers around here who thought she would cut into their business?”

“Oh, Meg, you don’t really think that someone would kill Joyce over some artisanal cheese, do you? I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous. To answer your question, yes, there are a couple of other people around here who make and sell cheese, but for most of them it’s a hobby. The bigger farms sell direct to a cooperative, and the cheese products go out under their name. And even if Joyce’s cheese was incredible, people around here aren’t going to pay really high prices for it. So where’s the motive?”

“That’s what I keep asking myself, Nicky. What about Ethan? Did you know him?”

“Not as well as I knew Joyce. I visited the farm once—I thought it would be cool to meet the cows whose milk ended up on my tables here. Ethan was there, but we didn’t really talk. Joyce gave me a tour—and it was more than this city girl wanted to know! Cows sure are messy. I got the impression that the whole dairy thing was Joyce’s baby and Ethan just provided the labor. But don’t you dare tell me that you think Ethan poisoned the cows and killed his wife just to get out of working on the farm!”

“Well, it’s a possibility, even if it does seem kind of far-fetched. But that doesn’t always stop the police, especially if they really want to find someone to pin this on.” Meg shut her eyes for a moment. “I am so tired.”

“Been working hard?” Nicky asked sympathetically.

“Bree and I are expanding the orchard, and I’ve been trying to see something of Lauren while she’s here, and wondering why Seth doesn’t like Lauren’s candidate, and maybe a whole lot of other things. Heck, the orchard is the simplest part of all this.” Meg stood up slowly. “Thanks again for a great dinner, Nicky. I’d better get home before I fall asleep in the chair.”

“You drive safely now,” Nicky said, escorting Meg to the door and locking up behind her.

Meg had time to reflect on her conversation with Lauren as she drove back to her house. She found Lauren still up in the kitchen and made another attempt to smooth things over. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Warm milk? A shot of Scotch?”

Lauren smiled perfunctorily. “No, thanks. It’s been a long day, and I think I’ll just go to bed, if you don’t mind. Look, Meg, I’m sorry if I pushed too hard at dinner. I’m new to this game, and I really think that Rick’s got a good shot at winning this, so I tend to take it personally when someone doesn’t support him. I know Rick would like Seth on his side, but I’m not asking you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Are we okay?”

“Sure. I do hope things work out for you. And if you’re in the area again, you’re welcome to crash here.”

“Thanks, Meg.” Lauren hesitated a moment, then gave Meg a quick hug before she left the kitchen. Meg followed her up the stairs more slowly, still puzzled.

When Meg came downstairs the next morning, Lauren had already left, leaving a brief thank-you note behind on the kitchen table. Meg wondered if Rick Sainsbury had created a rift between them. She didn’t have many friends and didn’t want to lose any of them, but she and Lauren seemed to be going in different directions, and Meg was uneasy with the one that Lauren had chosen.

Bree was already in the kitchen, keeping an eagle eye on the weather. “There’s rain in the forecast, but I think we’ve got enough time to get the rest of the trees planted. I’m going to go out to the barn to start loading the trailer with the next batch.”

“I’ll be out as soon as I’ve had a cup of coffee and some food. I want to get this finished as much as you do.”

“It’ll happen—we’re making great progress. See you in a few,” Bree said, bustling out the door.

Meg poured a cup of coffee and found a muffin. She sat, staring into space while she sipped and munched, and was startled when the phone rang. She checked the clock on the
wall—not even nine o’clock, on a Saturday morning. Who could be calling? The readout on the phone showed a number she didn’t recognize immediately. “Hello?”

“Hi, Meg, sorry to call so early.” Despite her breathless tone, Meg recognized Gail Selden’s voice. “I found some of that historical information for you, and I wondered if I could come over later today to show you.”

“No rush, Gail. I can pick it up next week some time.”

“You don’t understand. I really,
really
want to get out of the house. I think I have a serious case of spring fever, and my sainted husband has actually agreed to keep an eye on the kids. Besides, I’ve never seen the inside of your house. Please?”

Meg laughed. “How can I say no to that? But you’ll have to take me and the house as they are. I’ll be out planting trees most of the day.”

“Not a problem. Believe me, I know mess, up close and personal. You want to say around four?”

“Sure, that’ll give us a couple of hours of light to explore my collection of antique dust bunnies.”

“Great! See you then!”

Meg loved Gail’s enthusiasm. She could understand her itchiness to get out of the house; it had been a long winter, and it felt good to breathe some fresh air. Speaking of which, if she didn’t get her butt out into that air and help plant, Bree would be thoroughly ticked off at her, and rightly so. Meg drained the last of her coffee, grabbed a jacket, and headed out the door and up the hill.

She and Bree quickly fell back into the rhythm of planting: settle tree in hole, shovel dirt, tamp, move on. Several more hours of hard work saw the last of the trees in their holes. Despite a new crop of blisters, Meg felt a real sense of accomplishment as she surveyed her domain.
Her
trees, or someday-trees—right now she could see right over the tops of them. She turned to Bree. “They look great, don’t they?”

Bree nodded. “Good work. By the way, how did dinner go last night?”

“The food was excellent, as usual, but the conversation was a little rocky.”

“What do you mean?” Bree asked, leaning on her shovel. Meg thought even she looked glad to take a break.

“Lauren wanted to talk about the campaign, but both Seth and Lydia kept shutting her down, and I’m not sure why. It was close to rude.”

“Huh. Maybe they don’t like to talk about politics? People can be touchy about it.”

“I know. But this just felt odd. I’ll see if I can get Seth to explain.”

“You seeing him tonight?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t make any plans, and he had to take his mother home last night, so we didn’t talk after dinner. Will you be around?”

“Nope. I’m headed for Amherst, so you’ll have the place to yourself. Or selves.”

Meg smiled, mainly at Bree’s assumption that she and Seth wanted some alone time. Which she did, and not just to talk. “Oh, by the way, Gail Selden is coming over in a bit. She has some information I asked her to research for me, and then she reminded me she hadn’t seen inside the house and asked if she could deliver it here in person. So if you want to take a shower, maybe you should get in and out before she arrives.”

“I don’t have to clean up my room, do I?”

“No, I told her she’d have to take us as we are. What she really wanted was an excuse to get out of her house, anyway.”

Bree drove the tractor and trailer down the hill, and Meg followed more slowly on foot. Food, then a shower, then maybe a token effort at cleaning up for Gail. As she came around the house she saw Seth pulling into the driveway and waited to greet him.

“Hey,” he said as he climbed out of his van.

“Hey yourself. You want to come over tonight? Bree’s going to be in Amherst.”

“Has Lauren left?” he said neutrally.

“Yes, the coast is clear. We’ll have the place all to ourselves, assuming I can pry Gail away from the wonders of an authentic and only slightly muddled Colonial.”

“Gail Selden?”

“Yes, she’s coming over in a bit. I asked her to look for any information she might have on historic orchards in Granford, and then I figured since I had her attention I should get some information about the early history of the Truesdell property. She reminded me that she’d never seen the inside of this house, so I told her to come ahead. Problem?”

“No, not at all. Gail’s good people. Are you trying to say that I’m not following up on Joyce’s request?”

“No, not at all!” Meg was quick to protest. “I just thought that she could come at the issue from the other end, and the town’s records might not go back very far or tell us anything that’s useful. How long does lead stay in the soil, do you know?”

Seth shook his head. “Sorry—you’re right, and it’s a good idea to cover all the bases. As for the lead, I don’t know but I can find out. Say hi to Gail for me. I’ve got another run to make to the box stores for supplies. I’ll stop by around six and we can think about plans then.”

“It’s a date,” Meg said, “or maybe it’s a date to make a date. I’ll see you later, then.”

Gail arrived promptly at four, and Meg was ready to greet her at the front door. “Hi,” Meg said. “Come on in.”

Gail barely looked at her, busy as she was with absorbing the period details of the house. “Granite slab for the stoop, nice,” she muttered, more to herself than to Meg. “Original wainscoting—good heavens, are those single boards? I wonder when the last time a tree that big was felled around here. Those were the days, huh?”

“Nice to see you, too, Gail. Would you like some tea?”

Gail looked abashed. “I’m sorry, was I being rude? It’s just that I love old houses, and you’ve got a real gem here.”

“I thought it was pretty typical for a house of its period,” Meg said, trying to draw her guest toward the kitchen, but Gail wouldn’t budge.

“You’re right, overall, but so many houses from this era have been ‘improved’”—Gail made air quotes—“that it’s hard to find one with most of its original features. Nice big rooms, big windows—the Warrens must have been important people, because glass was expensive in those days. It must have had a huge central chimney when it was built, but it looks like that’s been mucked around with since. I can tell that some of the woodwork’s been replaced, but not recently.”

Meg had to laugh at Gail’s excitement. “And I can tell you who the carpenter was. I can tell you who lived here from the start, more or less, but you still probably know more than I do about this house architecturally. And I think you’re right about the chimney—you can see the old foundation for it in the basement. Should we do the full tour while it’s still light, and then you can have that cup of tea?”

“Can I see the basement? And the attic? I almost never get to poke around the nooks and crannies of an old house, just the public parts.” Gail looked like a child at Christmas, and Meg didn’t have the heart to turn her down.

“Then let’s start with the attic. There are only a couple of bulbs up there and it’ll get dark fast.”

An hour later they were back in the kitchen. Meg brewed tea and offered some packaged cookies she’d been saving. “Not exactly elegant service, but I just planted a new orchard, and that’s my excuse.”

“You said you were expanding. That’s wonderful!” Gail sneaked a glance at the clock. “Shoot, we’d better make this quick or the kids’ll tear my husband to shreds. They’ve really got cabin fever, too, but it’s still too muddy for the
organized spring sports to kick in. So, here’s what I’ve got.” Gail pushed back her teacup and opened a file folder she had brought, drawing out a map. She pointed. “Joyce’s farm is up here, to the west of the Amherst road. You’ve probably been by it plenty without even noticing. It’s a nice piece of land, fairly level, and it’s got a great old barn. Always been a dairy barn, so Joyce and her husband didn’t have to do a lot with it when they bought the place. Of course, she knew what she wanted and did her homework before they went looking for a farm.”