Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery) (8 page)

Laurel shrugged as she draped a towel over Meg’s wet hair. “Well, it’s the middle of the day in the middle of the week, so it’s been slow. The economy hasn’t helped, and I guess a haircut is kind of a luxury these days, at least if you’ve got a family, so that’s one of the first things people give up. But we get by, and things are looking up. What’s it like, being a farmer, after life in Boston?”

“It’s been a real learning experience . . .”

They chatted happily while Laurel’s scissors were busy. When she was satisfied, she asked, “No goop?”

“No, it would just get messed up. Can I run my hands through it?” Meg asked.

“Hey, it’s your hair! Go for it.”

Meg looked at her reflection. She looked a lot tidier, and maybe even . . . younger? It felt short and might take getting used to, but it was a perfect summer cut. “Thanks, Laurel. I like it, and it feels a lot cooler. What do I owe you?”

Laurel named a price that was roughly half what Meg had been paying in Boston, and Meg added a solid twenty percent tip. “Be sure to come back when you want a trim. Should I book you for next February?” Laurel joked.

“I’ll try not to wait that long. Thanks again!”

Rachel was sitting in one of the white rockers on the wraparound porch of her ornate Victorian home, which she also ran as a B and B, when Meg pulled up. Rachel did a double take when Meg climbed out of the car. “Wow, you look great!”

“Does that mean I looked bad before?” Meg asked, smiling, as she climbed the steps.

“Of course not, but you look better now. How’ve you been?”

“Busy, of course. This year we’re doing a lot of watering in the orchard, since it’s been so dry. We didn’t need to do it last year, so this was kind of a surprise. Lots of lifting and hauling, because we have to fill our tank at the well and then drive around the whole orchard, and believe me, one tank doesn’t last long.” Meg dropped into a matching rocker. “No guests?”

“Not as many as in the past, and at the moment they’re either all out sightseeing, or they’re napping to recuperate from all their sightseeing. That’s fine with me. Thank heavens Noah has a full-time job and we don’t have to rely on the B and B income to survive, since it’s so unpredictable! And since the kids are out of school for the summer, it’s nice that they’re old enough to help out a little. We’re working up to washing dishes, or at least loading the dishwasher—they can handle that. I keep having to explain to them that nobody wants to see what’s left from the last meal on the plate.”

“I suppose if this were a hundred years ago, there’d be a batch of kids helping me out, too, collecting eggs, hanging out the laundry, picking apples.”

“That’s true. How’s Seth?”

“He’s good. Busy, while the weather’s good for construction, but he really loves the renovation part. I keep wondering if I should be jealous of the old wood. He’s really hands-on with it.” Oops—was that too much information?

Rachel laughed. “He’s always loved that kind of thing. He only went into the plumbing business because Dad was failing and we flat out needed the money, so I’m glad he gets to do what he loves now. He’s earned it.”

“Have you ever visited Nash’s Sawmill?” Meg asked.

“Not for a long time—I think we went there on a school trip, years ago. Is Jonas Nash still running it?”

“Yes. I just met him a couple of days ago. You remember him?”

“I sure do. I had a mad crush on him, years ago. He was sort of a romantic figure, you know? The brooding woodsman, in touch with the earth.”

“From what Seth tells me, now he’s a businessman running a family corporation,” Meg commented wryly.

“Well, life moves on for all of us. How’d you end up at the sawmill?”

“Seth needed some lumber for a new project, so I tagged along to see the place. He’s working on that house that got hit by a car.”

“Donald Butterfield’s house? I read about that in the paper. Seth thinks he can fix it?”

“Apparently it was pretty solidly built, so the damage was restricted to one part of it. But Seth says Donald is a stickler for authenticity, so he wanted to get the right boards from the sawmill. We were at the house this morning to check on the lumber delivery, and then there was a discussion about authentic nails, and then about glass . . .”

Rachel held up a hand to stop her. “I know how that goes! So you fled?”

“Kind of. But I realized I hadn’t seen you for a while, and I wanted to give myself a treat, so here I am.”

“I’m glad you came.” Rachel smiled at her. “Even though it’s probably for the cookies rather than my charming company.”

“A little of each. Bree doesn’t let me off the leash very often.”

“I can imagine—or maybe I can’t, if you two are really watering an entire orchard more or less by hand.”

“Hey, it could be worse—in the old days we’d be using a team of horses!” Both women laughed. “By the way, Seth and I were talking about getting together with you guys and your mother over the weekend—maybe a potluck cookout, so nobody would have to do too much? I live maybe two miles from Lydia, but I hardly ever see her.”

“Me either. Not that she ever complains, even about not seeing the grandkids. I think it makes her happy, knowing we’re living lives we enjoy. And she’s still working, of course. I don’t think she has to, but she’s glad to have some structure to her days. Did you have a date in mind?”

“I suppose you should have first pick, since you’ve got a real calendar with your guests, and other people to accommodate. Me, I just mind the apples, and they don’t care when I eat. Would Sunday night work for you?”

“Can I look at the bookings and get back to you? But I think it’s clear.”

“No rush. At least this year we seem to be able to count on nice weather. For socializing, at least. As a farmer I obviously have other concerns—it’s too hot and too dry, at the wrong time. I’m so glad we have that spring up the hill.”

“No wonder the orchard has survived there as long as it has. You’re lucky. Is this officially a drought yet?”

“I’m the wrong person to ask. Bree would know. She tells me we need to water, and we water.”

“The forests are getting pretty dry around here.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that, but you’re right. Seth and I went over to one of Nash’s properties, and he said it looked like it was well managed. You know, keeping the brush cleared out, which could reduce the risk of a fire. But I can’t imagine the manpower it would take to do that over a whole lot of acres of forest. And if your neighbor doesn’t, then your work is kind of wasted, isn’t it?”

“Meg, there’s a good reason I live in a town. I have smoke detectors throughout the house, and I make sure I change the batteries every few months. These older houses burn easily, you know,” Rachel said.

“This is cheery talk. Aren’t we supposed to be swapping recipes and gossiping about our neighbors, not talking about potentially deadly forest fires?”

“Well, there is that recent death in Granford. Know of any interesting gossip there?”

“Other than that I found the body?”

Rachel stared at Meg to see if she was joking. “The paper didn’t mention anything about that. Fill me in!”

“When we were at one of Nash’s woodlots, I stopped to get a pebble out of my shoe, and I smelled something unpleasant, and . . . you can fill in the blanks from there.”

“I’m so sorry, Meg. That it had to be you, I mean. Of course, I’m sorry the guy was dead, too. Nobody we knew?”

“Apparently someone named David Clapp, who used to work at the sawmill and then the logging company that Jonas Nash contracts some of his work out to. He was from Easthampton, not Granford, and that’s about all I know.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar. I’m almost afraid to ask, but was there anything suspicious about his death?”

Meg shrugged. “Inconclusive, at least from what Art Preston said, and apparently Detective Marcus is not inclined to pursue it. The logger was in a place he had every right to be, so that wasn’t odd. Current theory is that he fell and hit his head.”

“Poor guy. You never know what’s going to happen, do you?” Rachel looked away, staring across the road. “Speaking of the unexpected, there is one thing . . .”

Meg’s mind immediately flew to disasters. Rachel had been diagnosed with some awful terminal disease. Or her husband Noah had. Or one of their children. Or maybe it was Lydia, who hadn’t had the nerve to break it to her.

Rachel was watching her with a smile. “If you could see your face! You must be imagining the worst possible case.”

“You mean I shouldn’t?” Meg said, already relieved.

“No. Or at least, I don’t think so. I’m pregnant. Before you do that math, Chloe is twelve, and Matthew is ten.”

“Wow. Congratulations! That is, if you’re happy?” Meg said.

Rachel nodded. “I am. It’s just that I’m having trouble getting used to the idea. I thought all that stuff was behind us. It was, uh, kind of a surprise.”

“But a good one, I hope,” Meg replied, surprised at her own vehemence. After all, it was a choice these days. “From what I’ve seen, you’re a great mother. Are there other problems? Your health? Finances? Noah can’t handle the idea?”

“I’m fine. We can get by, and Noah is pleased—he comes from a big family. Mostly it’s that, well, you think you have your life planned out, and then something unexpected happens and it’s back to the drawing board.”

“Who have you told?”

“Noah, of course. Not the kids, not yet.”

“Maybe Chloe’s old enough to figure it out for herself. What about Lydia?”

Rachel shook her head. “I haven’t seen her lately, and I think that news like this is better said face-to-face if possible. A phone call seems so cold.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy for you. Seth doesn’t know?”

“Not yet—I wasn’t planning to tell you either, at least not before Mom, but since you’re here . . .” Rachel looked down at her hands in her lap. “Meg, I think we’ve talked about this before, but it’s been a while and maybe things have changed. I guess I’m bringing this up now because, well . . . I know Seth always wanted kids, but I don’t know where things stand with you two, and when I tell him, I’m sure he’ll be happy for me, but it’s kind of like rubbing his nose in what he doesn’t have, if you know what I mean. But I don’t want this baby to put any pressure on you—either of you—to make any fast decisions. I don’t mind if you want to be the one to tell Seth, but you can do it in your own way. Are you okay with that?”

Meg felt a little blindsided. But Rachel was right: she’d been too busy being happy for her friend to think about how it might affect her own situation. And, she realized, she wasn’t ready to think about that. There was too much happening with the orchard, too much she still had to learn if she hoped to make a living from it. Besides, Seth had never exactly “declared his intentions.” Maybe he was happy muddling along as they had been, spending time together, going home to their own houses. She hadn’t asked him. Should she?

“Rachel . . . I don’t know what to say. Look, I’m really pleased that you thought you could confide in me, and I guess I understand what you’re trying to tell me. Seth and I . . . well, we really haven’t talked about a lot of things like that, and we’re not rushing into anything. More like taking the easiest path and drifting along. It really seems absurd in this day and age to wait for the guy to make the first move, but I’ve always kind of felt that this is his home ground and I’m kind of an interloper. It’s like he came with the package: I landed in Granford, and Seth was just there from the start. It’s kind of hard to sort out what I feel.”

“May I remind you that my brother can be a little dense? And he doesn’t like to look for trouble. Or maybe he can’t take the idea of another rejection—when Nancy left him, he took it badly. I know he cares about you—I can see it every time you two are together. You can tell me to shut up if you want, but do you feel the same way?”

“Yes, I do. I’m still sorting a lot of things out, but I guess we both have to face that we’re not getting any younger. God, how old that makes me sound to say that!” Meg straightened up in her chair and looked directly at Rachel. “Look, I really appreciate what you’ve said. And I am happy for you, honestly. If I can do anything to help, I will.”

“I’ll ask, believe me. Enough said.” And the talk turned to lighter topics.

It was after five when Meg tore herself away. All in all, she thought it had been a successful afternoon: she felt tidier, thanks to her haircut, and rested, although now she was weighted down by Rachel’s news. It
was
happy news, but . . . she wasn’t ready to be in that place, not yet. Which wasn’t the same as saying never. She had always assumed that Seth would be a good father, and from what she’d seen of him with kids, or at least Rachel’s, he probably wanted children. Was he waiting for some signal from her? But to put the horse in front of the cart, she did want to be married before she had a child. Sure, lots of people didn’t bother with formal rituals these days, but she wasn’t one of them. Did she want to marry Seth? Maybe. Probably. Not exactly a resounding “yes!”
Well, Meg, why not?

Her mind skittered sideways, avoiding the question. No doubt they’d have to irrigate again tomorrow. The sky was cloudless, as it always seemed to be these days. The air was dry and still, oppressive even without any humidity. Was it going to rain anytime soon? She should ask Bree what forecasting services she relied on. Or Christopher. What would happen if this heat continued through the rest of the summer? Would she have any kind of apple crop at all?

She arrived home at the same time Donald was dropping Seth off. Seth waited for her to park his van close to his office, and they met halfway between.

“Your keys,” Meg said, holding them out. “If I stick them in my pocket I’ll forget about them. How’d it go with Donald?”

“Good. We’ve mapped out a timeline that we’re both comfortable with. Hey, you look good. What’d you do?”

Meg smiled. “I’m glad you noticed. I got my hair cut, for the first time since I don’t know when. Seems like another lifetime anyway. And then I went to have tea with your sister and show it off, since she was the one who recommended the stylist.”

“Nice. It suits you. How’s Rachel?”

“Good, I think. Not so many bookings, but she’s glad the kids can help with some of the chores. I told her we’d try to set up dinner with them and Lydia, and I suggested Sunday.” She pulled up short of mentioning Rachel’s unexpected news.
Scared, Meg?