A Killer Crop (5 page)

Elizabeth looked at her hands, folded in her lap. “It’s so easy to misinterpret, as I’m sure that detective has done.”

Misinterpret what? Having an affair? Being found out? Or was there something worse? And what would be worse? Meg took pity on her mother. “Why don’t you tell me about how you knew Daniel, when you first met.”

“I told you, your father and I knew Daniel when we were all living in Cambridge,” she began. “He and your father were in graduate school, and I was working at a string of temporary jobs while waiting for Phillip to finish. I’ve told you this before, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” Meg said cautiously, not wanting to derail the story.

“Daniel was getting his PhD in English literature, and your father was getting his law degree. I forget how we all met—probably some grad-student party, where everybody brought a bottle of cheap wine and a bag of chips. That was all we could afford in those days, but we did have fun. Of course, nobody bothered to talk to me, because I wasn’t a student like them. My undergraduate degree didn’t count for much, and besides, I was a woman.”

Meg couldn’t contain herself. “And that made a difference then? What about the whole feminist thing?”

Elizabeth smiled ruefully. “We talked about it a lot, but face it—the men were still in charge. I’m not sure that’s changed yet. In any event, I was dating your father, and we met Daniel, and the three of us all hit it off. We spent a lot of time together for a couple of years, before your father and I married. Daniel was unattached for a long time, although I never understood why—he was an attractive man, and interesting, and funny. But no woman ever stuck for long, and I think he was lonely.”

“He’s married now?” Meg asked. Or was, until this past weekend.

“Yes. To his second wife. We went to his first wedding—that was a few years after we’d left Cambridge, and we were still in touch, though we hardly knew the woman he married. I read in your father’s alumni magazine of his second marriage, but I never knew her at all.”

“So?” Meg prompted.

“We drifted apart. I’m sure you’ve seen the same thing in your own life, since college. Your father and I married, we had you, he changed jobs a few times, moving up the ladder. A very ordinary story.”

Meg looked surreptitiously at the clock—it was getting late, and she wanted desperately to fall into bed. At the same time, she hated to interrupt her mother’s story.

“So why did Daniel call you?” she prompted.

Elizabeth looked directly at her daughter for the first time. “It was out of the blue. I hadn’t had even a card from him since, oh, I don’t remember when. Years. I knew he was teaching somewhere, but I couldn’t have said where. Your father was away, and I was relishing the freedom—you know, no meals to worry about, and I could stay up half the night reading without bothering him. When Daniel called, he said he wanted to catch up, and could we get together? I asked, when, and he said, how about now?”

It sounded plausible enough to Meg—barely.

“I told him your father was out of town for a few days and perhaps we could defer it until we were both available,” Elizabeth went on. “Daniel said he was disappointed, but why didn’t I come on my own? He was insistent, and I didn’t see why I shouldn’t. So I agreed.”

Why the urgency, after all these years? Meg wondered. “So you drove up. Why didn’t you call me?”

Elizabeth looked away. “I’m not really sure. Daniel and I had left things kind of open-ended, and I didn’t know how much time we would want to spend together. So I kept my options open, you could say.”

Something wasn’t right here. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Margaret!” Her mother stood up and began pacing. “You have no right to ask me—your mother!—a question like that!”

“You haven’t answered me.”

“No, I did not! Nor did I come up here with the intention of . . . doing that. I just wanted to see an old friend, period.”

Was she telling the truth? Meg had no idea. “Mother, listen—Daniel Weston is dead. You were with him shortly before he died. Is there anything—
anything
—that you know that might be a factor in his death?”

“No! We had a delightful time catching up. He was a perfect gentleman. He inquired about your father. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and no, he didn’t invite me to his house or follow me to my hotel room, and we did not sleep together. How can you think such a thing?”

“With difficulty,” Meg said. She hauled herself to her feet. “Mother, I’m sure we have more to say, but I’m tired and tomorrow will be another long day. But you have to recognize that Detective Marcus is not going to let this go until he figures out what happened, and he’s got you in his sights. So if you’re hiding something, please don’t. I’m going to go to bed, and I’ll see you in the morning.” Meg turned toward the stairs.

“Meg, there’s nothing to tell!” Elizabeth threw at her retreating back.

She stopped and turned back to look at her mother. “Then there’s no problem, is there? Good night.”

Despite the emotional confrontation with her mother, Meg had no trouble sleeping. She had more trouble rousing herself the next morning, but she was determined to pull her weight in the orchard. In a way her mother had been right: technically, she didn’t
have
to do the manual work. But she really didn’t think she was cut out to sit back and act as overseer, and besides, she wanted to understand all parts of the business, even the sweaty, messy ones. Plus, an extra set of hands was always needed. Oops—she had forgotten to do the laundry. She found a clean T-shirt in a drawer and shook out the dusty jeans she had worn the day before and pulled them on.

When she opened the door to her bedroom, she stopped for a moment, listening. Meg could hear Bree in the bathroom down the hall. The door to the guest room across the hall was open, and the room was empty, so her mother must have gone downstairs already. Elizabeth had always been an early riser. Squaring her shoulders, Meg marched down the stairs, opening the front door to assess the weather and let some cool air into the house, then went to the kitchen. Her mother was seated at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in front of her. It took Meg a moment to realize that the dirty dishes from the night before had vanished, save for a neat stack gleaming in the dish drainer. In fact, all the counters were clean and clear, more so than they had been for a couple of weeks—since the harvest started.

“Good morning,” Meg said cautiously as she helped herself to coffee.

“Good morning, dear.”

Meg sat down. “Thank you for cleaning up the kitchen.”

“You know I hate a messy kitchen. But I’m sure you haven’t had time to pay much attention to such things lately.”

Was that a dig? “No, I haven’t. I’ve had a lot to learn in a short time, and I’m still playing catch-up.”

Her mother looked out the window, at the blue sky that promised another clear day, ideal for harvesting. “Meg, I thought it over last night, and I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to remain in this house.”

“What?” Meg was startled.

“Margaret, I hadn’t realized how busy you are. I’m sorry if I didn’t appreciate that before. But if you’re so distracted, we won’t have any real time together. And if your nerves are so frayed, things may be said that will be regretted later.”

Meg took a moment to parse that statement. Trust her mother to put it in as oblique a way as humanly possible. And also to put Meg in the wrong—too busy to spend time with her mother, too tactless to hold a civil conversation with her. “I’m sorry if I said things that disturbed you, Mother, but you have to realize that when the police are involved, there is no such thing as privacy. I’m just asking the same kind of questions that the detective will, sooner or later.”

Elizabeth looked dismayed. “I thought that detective said that Daniel had a heart attack. That shouldn’t be too complicated.”

“No, but heart attacks can be brought on by any number of things, not all of them natural.”

Elizabeth laid her hand over her heart, as if in sympathy for Daniel. “How terrible. Daniel seemed so vibrant, so excited. I mean, he was just past sixty!” She straightened in her chair. “All the more reason I should remove myself. I don’t want to bring any part of this down on you. And I think I need some time to think things through.”

Now, what could she mean by that? Meg wondered. “I think that Detective Marcus wanted you to stay around, at least for a few days. Where will you go?”

“Margaret, I’m a grown woman. I’m perfectly capable of finding a place to stay. Although that lovely hotel in Northampton was a bit steep in price.”

“Mother, it’s prime tourist season around here—the trees are turning, and all the college kids are coming back to school with their parents after the summer break. It might not be as easy as you think.” Meg thought for a moment, and was struck by what she felt was a brilliant solution: Seth’s sister, Rachel Dickinson. “I have a friend in Amherst who runs a bed-and-breakfast.”

“Won’t she be booked as well?”

“Let me see if she can squeeze you in. How long should I tell her you’ll be staying?”

“I suppose through the rest of the week. Is it a nice place?” Elizabeth asked.

“Very nice—I’ve stayed there myself. Let me give her a call now.”

Meg grabbed the handset from her land line phone and retreated to the front parlor, away from her mother. She checked her watch before dialing: 7:30 a.m. Early, but Rachel had kids to get off to school, not to mention breakfasts to prepare for her guests, so she’d be up. Meg hit the speed-dial button.

Rachel answered on the second ring, sounding breathless. “Hi, Meg. What’s up?”

“I won’t keep you long—I know things must be crazy. I’ve got a problem: my mother is in town, and she’s in a snit and has decided she doesn’t want to stay with me because I’m too busy working to spend time with her. Is there any possible way you can take her for a few days?”

“Oh, Meg—we’re kind of packed to the rafters, but so is everyone else in the valley. You can’t patch things up?”

“Not quickly. Look, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. An Amherst professor named Daniel Weston, an old friend of my mother’s, was found dead of heart attack. My mother had come up to visit him a couple of days ago.”

That bit of news stunned Rachel into silence, if briefly. “Oh, my. Were they . . . ?”

“I don’t know, and she won’t say. But our friend Detective Marcus has asked her to stay around for a few days, so I can’t just send her home to New Jersey.”

“I see your problem. Huh. Well, let me check my bookings and see what I can juggle. I’ll find a way.”

“Bless you. But, um, I haven’t exactly told her about me and Seth. I mean, she met him when she arrived, but she doesn’t know ...”

“I get it. So I shouldn’t tell her I’m his sister, right? But you know, that could be a good thing. Maybe I can talk about how great he is, and she won’t know that I know . . . you know what I mean. But don’t worry, I’ll keep my mouth shut about the two of you.”

“Thanks, Rachel, and I owe you big-time. Can I send her over later today?”

“Let me clear out the breakfast crowd and clean up the rooms. Say, after ten?”

“Great. And let me know if you pick up any interesting tidbits around town about the professor, will you?”

“Daniel Weston, right? Sure. I’ll see if anyone in Amherst is buzzing. See you soon!” Rachel hung up.

Meg returned triumphantly to the kitchen. “All set. You can go over after ten.”

Bree came bounding down the back stairs and started to fill a carry-mug with coffee. “Morning, Mrs. Corey. Meg, you about ready? We need to use all the good weather we can.”

“Do you actually pick all the apples by hand?” Elizabeth asked.

“We do,” Bree responded promptly. “This place really isn’t big enough to justify a mechanical harvester, and besides, they’re harder on the apples. So we handpick, then take them down to the barn and sort them, then deliver them to markets or hold them for a few days.”

“My word, I had no idea,” Elizabeth replied.

“Most people don’t,” Bree said. “They just go to the store and buy them. Meg, I’m going to go on up the hill. Join me as soon as you can, okay? Bye, Mrs. Corey.” Bree grabbed a couple of store-bought donuts and her mug and went out the back door, the screen slamming behind her.

“Then I’d better let you go,” Elizabeth said.

“Mother, at least let me show you around, tell you what I’ve done since I got here,” Meg protested.

“If you’re sure you can spare the time, I would be happy to see the property.”

Meg drained her coffee mug. “Let’s go.” When her mother arose, and carefully placed her mug in the kitchen sink, Meg led the way to the front of the house.

“How much do you remember, from the times you’ve been here before?” Meg began.

“Very little, I’m afraid. I certainly wasn’t looking at the architecture at the time. My general impression was that it was a nice, typical colonial house, and that back up the line somewhere an ancestor had build it, or bought it, and his descendants had lived in it ever since.”