Sour Apples (9 page)

He said without preamble, “Where’s Chapin?”

She studied him briefly: he looked worse today than he had yesterday. Not surprising—hearing that your wife had been murdered would hit anyone hard. She couldn’t begin to understand how he must feel. She realized why the old
platitudes were still useful: you couldn’t say nothing. “He isn’t here yet. I was sorry to hear about Joyce,” she said.

“Thanks. Did you know her well?”

“Unfortunately not—I only met her once. It’s too bad we didn’t have more of a chance to talk, since we probably face a lot of the same problems, as small farmers.”

Ethan sighed. “At least you can leave your apples alone now and then. Cows won’t wait.”

Of course, no wonder Ethan looked so drained. Meg realized that on top of his bereavement, he was also probably handling all the work at the dairy at the moment, now that there was no one to share it with. Even Meg knew that cows had to be milked daily, no matter what else was going on, like grieving. She returned to Ethan’s original question. “I don’t know what Seth’s schedule is today. Did you try his cell phone?”

“Yeah, but he’s not answering. He’s not at his house either. You expect him?”

“I don’t know—I don’t keep track of his business.” Poor Ethan, Meg thought. He really looked strung out, and she felt sorry for him. “Look, you want to come in and wait for a bit? Have some coffee, maybe?”

Ethan looked startled at the suggestion and then nodded. “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.” He came into the kitchen, bringing a faint whiff of cow manure with him.

Bree looked up, surprised that Meg had invited him in. “Meg, I’ll go out and set up the sprayer and haul it up to the orchard with the tractor. Don’t take too long, okay?”

“I’ll be up soon, don’t worry. You want something to eat?” she asked Ethan, who looked as though he hadn’t eaten a real meal in days, which could well be true.

“Don’t go to any trouble.” He sat heavily in a kitchen chair.

“No problem.” Meg boiled water for another pot of coffee, stalling while she tried to figure out what to say to Ethan, whose wife was newly dead, whose body he had
discovered, who police said had been murdered. A tragic accident was bad enough; murder was so much worse. When it was ready, Meg poured the coffee and found some blueberry muffins in the refrigerator, then sat down across from Ethan. “Have you always wanted to be a dairy farmer?”

He started crumbling a muffin. “No way. I used to be an engineer. Cows were Joyce’s thing. I mean, like ten generations of her family were Ohio dairy farmers. But she went to college and got a few ag degrees, then worked as a government inspector, on the other side of the fence. That’s what she was doing when we got married about five years ago. I didn’t realize that she really wanted to be hands-on about the whole dairy thing.” He rubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to erase his fatigue. “But I wanted her to be happy. And we were, I guess. I mean, it was fun at first, finding a good piece of property and putting together the herd. I like making cheese, but I don’t like dealing with the animals—all the mess and stink. And there’s no escaping their constant needs.”

“Are you going to stay on now?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know. All our savings are tied up in the farm. Joyce didn’t even have life insurance—we couldn’t afford it. Nobody’s going to want to buy the property or the herd, not now, not until we find out what was making the cows sick. So I’m stuck.”

“Is there anyone who can help you? Some family, maybe?”

He shook his head. “Nope. We’re both only children. Joyce has some cousins, but they’re not local. I don’t know what I’m going to do—except keep milking the damn cows.”

Meg’s heart went out to Ethan, trapped in a situation he hadn’t made and clearly didn’t want, with nowhere to turn. It made her feel lucky: at least she liked the apple trees. She wasn’t sure what to say next, but Ethan looked so down that
she thought it was only kind to keep him here a bit longer. Hadn’t Seth said Ethan didn’t have many friends in Granford? “How many head do you have?”

“About thirty who are currently producing. Mostly Ayrshires, but a few Guernseys because their milk is so high in butterfat. Their milk makes great cheese, really rich. And they’re generally nice cows. That’s why it was so odd…” He trailed off, shutting his eyes.

“I heard Joyce was milking a Guernsey when…” Meg couldn’t figure out how to finish her sentence.

But Ethan apparently understood. “When she died? Yes. But she was in with one of the sweetest, gentlest cows we had—Cyndi. Okay, Cyndi was young and maybe kind of nervous, but Joyce knew how to handle cows. She was careful, but she could also talk to them. She loved that cow. That’s why I can’t understand why…” He stopped, fumbling for words.

“I heard that you found her,” Meg said quietly. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful for you.”

Ethan nodded wordlessly. It took him a few moments before he could speak. “I feel so guilty. I was away for the night—I had to go pick up some equipment, and I was running late, so I asked her if she could handle the milking alone and she said sure, no problem. So I crashed overnight in some cheap motel. I came back early the next morning, and I could tell something was wrong even before I got out of the truck. The cows were milling around waiting to be milked. That’s when I found her, in the stall with Cyndi. I could tell she’d been in the middle of milking Cyndi, because the bucket was kicked over and had spilled, but Cyndi’s udder was really swollen. Sorry, that’s probably more than you want to know.”

“Seth mentioned that Joyce was taking special care with that one cow, milking her by hand,” Meg said.

“Yes. One of the reasons we bought the place was because it already had a great small milking setup, but Joyce
wanted to bring Cyndi along gently, because it was her first time. Get her used to the process. That’s why she was in the stall with her, doing it by hand. I could tell Joyce was gone, so I…kind of took a minute to say good-bye to her, and then I called 911. And then I started milking the cows, God help me.”

“You couldn’t do anything more for Joyce, and you couldn’t let the cows suffer, Ethan. There’s no reason you should feel guilty.” Meg noticed that all the muffins had disappeared. “You want something else? I can make you some bacon and eggs.”

“No, please don’t bother.”

Meg wondered how to phrase her next question tactfully, since the whole situation was painful to Ethan, but there were some details that bothered her. “Ethan, I heard that we know now that Joyce wasn’t killed by Cyndi. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary, out of place, when you went into the barn?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t looking for anything, of course. It’s always kind of a mess. I just saw that the cows hadn’t been milked, and then I found Joyce. I wasn’t really thinking straight after that.”

Meg wasn’t surprised: shock could blot out a lot. Time to shift gears and get Ethan away from the memories of how he’d found his wife. “I hear you lost a cow to lead poisoning?” Meg asked.

“Chapin told you about that?”

“I was here when Joyce came to talk to Seth about it. What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how much you know about cows, but they’re pretty sensitive to lead. And they’re not real bright. They’ve been known to drink old oil or lick grease off machinery or chew on old plumbing or batteries, all of which can contain lead. But Joyce and I went over that pasture with a fine-tooth comb before we let the herd out on it. There was no junked machinery, no dumped
batteries, no trash heaps with old building rubble. So unless somebody pitched an old car battery over the fence within the past couple of weeks, I have no idea how the cows could have taken in any lead. Which is why Joyce thought that maybe there was something in the soil. She sent off some soil samples, but I haven’t seen that report yet.”

Meg nodded. “And that’s why she wanted Seth to trace the history of that property, to see if there was an overlooked reason why it might be contaminated? That sounds reasonable. You know, if you need some help keeping up with the milking while you figure out what you want to do, you should get in touch with someone at UMass. They’ve got an animal sciences department, and I bet there are some students who’d like some real hands-on experience. Or talk to Andrea Bedortha, the vet in town here—she handles mostly small animals at the moment, but I know she’s worked with farm animals before and she might have some contacts. You don’t have to go it alone, Ethan.”

Ethan seemed to focus on Meg for the first time. “Thank you. Those are good ideas. Ever since I found Joyce, I’ve been in a fog, but you’re right—I need to do something for now, even if it’s not a long-term solution. I just haven’t been thinking straight.”

“Around here, neighbors help neighbors. I’ve been on the receiving end—sometime I’ll have to tell you about it—and I know it’s important. People want to help, you know.”

Just then, they both heard Seth’s truck pull into the driveway. Ethan stood up. “I’ll let you get to your work now, Meg. I know you’ve got things to do. I’ll just have a word with Chapin and be on my way.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. And you can always talk to me.”

“Thanks again, Meg.”

Meg escorted him to the door and watched as he headed toward Seth’s office. Poor Ethan. Poor Joyce. Ethan Truesdell seemed like a nice enough guy, but it was obvious his
heart wasn’t really in dairy farming. But as he’d pointed out, he was trapped. There was no way he could just walk away from it, not at the moment. And he was in that position because he’d loved his wife and wanted her to be happy—and now she was dead. What a mess.

And if Meg didn’t get up the hill soon, Bree might kill
her
.

Meg pulled off her respirator and stretched. The spraying had gone quickly and well, and they’d managed to finish it. Since she and Bree were using a nontoxic pesticide, the respirator wasn’t absolutely essential, but Meg didn’t want to take any chances when it came to inhaling any unnecessary chemicals. Besides, they had sprayed fifteen acres of trees, and that was a lot of pesticide, however harmless it was supposed to be.

As she surveyed her orchard, she was surprised by a nudge at the back of her knee and looked down to find Max, Seth’s Golden Retriever, watching her eagerly, his tongue lolling.

“Hi, Maxie-boy, what are you doing here?” she said, rubbing his silky ears. He responded by lying down and baring his belly to her, and she obliged by rubbing that as well. The love fest was interrupted by the arrival of Seth’s mother, Lydia, only slightly out of breath.

Meg straightened up. “Hi, Lydia. Why aren’t you at work?” Max was so excited by having two people to play
with that he kept dashing back and forth between them, wagging everything that would wag.

“I work only thirty hours a week, so I took today off to enjoy the spring weather. Seth thought Max wasn’t getting enough exercise, now that his work has picked up, so he left Max with me for the day. Of course, it could also have been a subtle hint that he thought I should get more exercise, too,” she said good-naturedly. “It’s good to see you, Meg. The orchard seems to be coming along well.”

“It is. We came through the winter with minimal damage, even with that big storm, and we’re ahead of schedule at the moment. I don’t think it will last, though—did Seth tell you about my plans?” Belatedly it occurred to Meg that perhaps Lydia should’ve been consulted about the arrangement. While Seth nominally owned the land, part of the larger Chapin family holdings included Lydia’s house.

“Expanding the orchard, you mean? I think it’s a great idea. Besides, trees are quiet neighbors, aren’t they?”

Meg felt relieved. “I’m glad you don’t have a problem with it. I know this land has been in your family for a long time.”

Lydia laughed. “I’m a Chapin by marriage only, and if you can put this corner to good use, I say do it. I’ve always loved orchards anyway. I wish I had more apple trees. I’ve got a couple of old ones, as you’ve probably seen—but I don’t even know what varieties they are.”

“Talk to Bree about it,” Meg said. “I bet she can identify them, and if they’re old or rare, maybe she can graft some cuttings on to our existing stock. And here she is.”

Bree came up to them. “Hi, Mrs. C. Did Meg tell you about our expansion?”

“We were just discussing it now, and I gave her my blessing to proceed, not that she needed it. So, how much space are you talking about?”

Bree cast a sidelong glance at Meg. “No more than three acres, depending on how the land lays out. I was thinking
that maybe we could walk it this afternoon, put in a few stakes, talk about how to space the trees, that kind of thing. That work for you, Meg?”

“Sure. But after lunch—I’m starving. Lydia, do you want to join us? It’s just going to be tuna fish sandwiches.”

“I’d love to, as long as you don’t mind if Max tags along.”

“Not a problem—we’re good buddies. Bree, are you going to take the sprayer back down to the barn now?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that. You make lunch and I’ll be in as soon as I’ve stowed it away.”

As they made their way down the hill toward Meg’s house, Lydia asked, “Are you enjoying things this year?”