Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery) (9 page)

“Oh, right, we talked about that, didn’t we? Half the time these days I feel like my brain is fried.”

“I know what you mean. Did we make any plans for dinner tonight? Because I honestly can’t remember. I can’t even remember if there’s any food in the house.”

“Think Nicky could fit us in at the restaurant on short notice? We could celebrate your haircut.”

“We can ask. Come on in—I’ll find you something cold to drink, then give her a call.”

Inside it wasn’t too hot. Luckily the kitchen lay on the east side of the house, so it cooled as the sun set. Lolly lay on the kitchen floor, too lethargic to move. Meg was tempted to lay down beside her. Instead she pulled a can of cat food out of a cupboard and handed it to Seth. “You feed Lolly, and I’ll make that call.”

She walked toward the front of the house, cell phone to her ear. “Brian?” she said, when Nicky’s husband and co-owner of Granford’s newest and pretty much only restaurant Gran’s picked up. “It’s Meg Corey. I know it’s short notice, but do you have room for Seth and me tonight?”

“Sure, things have been pretty quiet lately. I thought this was the part of the state where people came to get away, but I can’t find them.”

“Problems?” Meg asked.

“No, we’re okay. It’s just slow, but that gives Nicky time to experiment with recipes. Come on over whenever.”

“Thanks, Brian. See you in a bit.”

She returned to the kitchen to see that Seth had found the lemonade in the fridge. He was sitting at the kitchen table, an ice-filled glass in front of him, watching Lolly eat. “Bree left a note. She and Michael are going to see an air-conditioned movie.”

“Smart woman.” Meg found herself a glass and filled it with ice, then poured lemonade over it. “Brian says we can come over anytime, and Nicky is experimenting. Sound good? But first I’m going to grab a shower, in case there are other guests downwind.”

Gran’s restaurant sat on a rise above Granford’s oblong town green. Meg loved to approach it in the winter months, when the golden light from inside the restaurant glowed through the dark, warm and welcoming. For summer, Nicky and Brian had hung lush baskets of blooming flowers in each bay of the wraparound porch, making it look cool and green. Small tables flanked by chairs were scattered around the porch; in the lingering heat they were currently unoccupied, but Meg knew that in pleasant weather people would bring their drinks out, to sit and admire the view of a typical New England town: the green ringed with maples, the steepled church on the right, the Victorian town hall on the left. Even though a state highway ran along one side of the green, there was little traffic. Where had everyone gone? Were they all at home, huddling around an air conditioner?

Seth escorted her from the parking lot to the front door, a sweet gesture, but even his hand on her back felt too hot. At least the interior of the restaurant was air-conditioned, and the tables’ crisp white cloths, small twinkling candles, and nosegays of bright summer flowers reinforced the coolness.

Brian approached as they entered. “Hey, guys, good to see you. Where do you want to sit?”

They settled at a small table in the front overlooking the green, with Brian hovering. “Can I get you something cool to drink? Nicky’s come up with a concoction using local herbs—it’s very refreshing, and there’s just a bit of alcohol in it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Seth said. “You, Meg?”

“Sure. I love almost anything that Nicky comes up with. Some people talk about someone having an eye for art. Can we say that Nicky has a tongue for food, or is that kind of weird?”

“I’m sure she’ll take the compliment in the spirit intended,” Brian said tactfully. “I’ll tell her you’re here.”

When he left to fetch the drinks, Meg discreetly looked around the room. There were several other couples, some of whom Meg recognized. Not too bad for a weeknight, even if Brian had said it was slow. The restaurant had been operating less than a year, and it was making a name for itself, thanks largely to Nicky’s creative cooking. It had received some good local reviews, and word of mouth was doing its job. It wasn’t easy to compete in a restaurant market that included Northampton and Amherst, and Meg felt a glow of pride that she had helped to create this restaurant in Granford.

Nicky herself delivered the drinks and plopped down into a chair to say hello. “Hey, you two—I don’t see much of you these days. How’re things?”

Meg caught her up on the dry state of the orchard, and Seth told her about his new project at Donald Butterfield’s house. “How about you, Nicky? Is business holding up?” Meg asked.

Nicky smiled. “You’ll have to ask Brian about the numbers, but I can’t complain. I know it seemed ridiculous to open a new restaurant in a lousy economy, but we took a chance that we’d find a good niche here, and it looks like we were right. It’s been slow but steady. Some people in Granford have cut back on their visits, even though we give a discount to our food providers, but they’ve been replaced by people from a little farther out in the area, and even some who’ve heard about us somewhere else. That plug on the news, where the restaurant appeared behind Seth’s buddy Sainsbury, helped. What’re his chances in the election?”

Meg waited for Seth to answer, but when he didn’t, she jumped in. “We’ll just have to wait for the state primary. So, what do you recommend for dinner? Nothing heavy—it’s too hot.”

“Not a problem. I’m doing a lot of lovely salads with an array of local lettuces, and I’m experimenting with frozen desserts. The suppliers are hurting, though, from the lack of rain. The beans are kind of stringy, and the tomatoes aren’t as large as they might be. At least the lettuce is coming in well.”

“Surprise us, then,” Meg said with a smile.

“Coming up,” Nicky said. “Oh, tell me what you think of the drink.”

Meg took a small sip, and then a larger one. “It’s lovely. What’s in it?”

Nicky smiled. “It’s modeled on an eighteenth-century New England ‘shrub’ recipe—no, not the plant—it’s got fruit, sugar, infused vinegar, and some rum.”

“Vinegar?” Meg said, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes—the tartness is refreshing, and the sugar cuts the acidity. You infuse the vinegar with fruit, or even herbs and spices, and it keeps well.”

“Okay, okay.” Meg laughed. “I’ll just stop by regularly for a glass or three. If Bree will let me.”

When Nicky bustled off to the kitchen, Meg relaxed in her chair, then straightened up again. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep before dinner. “You look tired,” she told Seth, fighting a stab of guilt about her afternoon off.

“It’s a good tired. Are you worried about water?”

“I have to be worried. On the plus side, I have the spring. On the minus side, I don’t know much about it, since I kind of inherited it. What happens if it goes dry? Will there be any warning, or could it just stop one day? Can I get municipal water, and even if I can, can I afford to use it? Or do I have to rely on the rain gods to look after me?”

Seth held up a hand. “Whoa, I didn’t mean to set you off. I can look into the municipal water side of things and find out about the cost, but you’d have to tell me how much you would be using, and I have no idea how you’d calculate that. You should ask Bree or even Christopher. And the town still may have to ration it. We’re already limiting things like watering lawns and washing cars, for the rest of the summer, unless things change. It may not be of much help to you.”

“I know. Heck, I’m not facing anything that eight or ten generations of my ancestors didn’t. I could ask Gail Seldon about historical droughts, but that might depress me more. Some years the crops fail—that’s just reality.”

“Well, you aren’t there yet,” Seth said firmly.

“You really are an optimist,” Meg replied.

He smiled. “I try. Beats the alternative. Aren’t you?”

“Do you know, I’ve never really thought about it. I’m not afraid of trying new things, or of learning something, but I do like to have a plan, not just jumping in blind. I don’t assume everything will work out, even with planning, but I like to be prepared for all scenarios. So where does that put me on the scale?”

“Firmly in the middle, I’d say. You’re probably more cautious than I am.”

“True. But I like your enthusiasm.” Seth was certainly more upbeat than Meg was, and his positive attitude drew people to him with their problems. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? “On a less cheerful topic, has anybody heard anything new about that dead man?”

Seth shook his head. “I touched base with Art briefly today. He still thinks Marcus is going to write it off as an accidental death. In the absence of any real evidence, he can’t prove otherwise.”

Meg sighed. “I suppose it makes sense, but it feels . . . unfinished, I guess.”

“There’s nothing for us to do,” Seth replied. “You don’t really want this death to be a murder, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I just don’t like unexplained deaths,” Meg said.

Nicky appeared with a tray full of colorful summer salads, house-made breads, cheeses, and sliced fruits, so talking stopped for a while. When the platter was bare, Meg leaned back, content. “This was exactly what I needed. Especially having someone else do all the peeling and slicing.”

“I agree,” Seth said. “Dessert, or are you ready to go home?”

“Home, I guess. I need to check in with Bree about the plan for tomorrow. You don’t happen to have any rain gods on your buddy list, do you?”

Seth smiled. “Sorry, no. You’re on your own there. Ready?” He tossed some bills on the table and stood up.

Walking outside, the heat felt like a slap in the face. It was fully dark, but the temperature hadn’t dropped more than a couple of degrees. Global warming? It wasn’t just highs and lows; it was extremes everywhere. Early snowstorms that ripped limbs off of trees because they were still covered with leaves. Torrential rains that dumped a foot of water in a day. There had even been a tornado that ripped through Brimfield and Monson, too close for comfort. What was next? A plague of locusts? Frogs falling from the sky? It all felt wrong.

“You’re quiet,” Seth commented as they made the short drive home.

“I’m thinking about apocalyptic disasters,” Meg replied.

“Indigestion?”

“No, just frustration. I may be doing what my local forebears did in the orchard, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t have to contend with such weird weather.”

They pulled into her driveway. Lights in the kitchen indicated that Bree was home and probably still up. “You coming in?” Meg asked.

“Sorry, but I’ve got some sketches to make before I go back over to Donald’s in the morning. Rain check?”

“Of course—but bring some rain with you, please. Are you driving the van home?”

“No, it’s loaded up and ready for tomorrow. I’ll walk—maybe it’ll be cooler that way.”

“Be safe,” Meg said. She watched him walk away until he disappeared into the darkness, then turned to go in the back door.

As she had suspected, Bree was sitting at the kitchen table with various farm catalogs and computer printouts spread out in front of her. She looked up when Meg walked in. “You alone?”

“You mean, is Seth here? No, he went home. Bree, do you have a problem with him being around?”

“No, not really. At least he cleans up after himself. I’m just trying to figure out where you two are going with this.”

First Rachel, and now Bree? Meg wasn’t sure how to answer her. “Why can’t we just go on the way we are?”

Bree shrugged. “If it works for the two of you. Look, I’m no expert. Michael and I see each other a couple of times a week, maybe, and we’re good with that. I’m not going to go all gooey and say he’s ‘The One’”—Bree made air quotes—“but you and Seth are different. Older.”

“Bree, we’re not exactly ancient. I’m less than ten years older than you.”

“Yeah, but you’re still different. Traditional. So’s Seth—he likes to do things by the book, even if the book was written in 1873. I think it’s kind of sweet.”

Meg wrestled with how to respond. Bree probably saw them more clearly than they saw themselves. And since she was living under Meg’s roof, she had a right to be interested. But Meg had no easy answers for her. “Uh, okay. Look, if we decide to make any changes, you’ll be the first to know. This is your home, and I owe you that.”

“No, this is
your
home, and I happen to live here. No offense, but I never assumed this was permanent. I mean, I like living here, and it’s convenient, but things can change and I’m cool with that.”

“Would you move in with Michael?”

“Not where he’s living now, that’s for sure. But I don’t think I feel the same way about him as you do about Seth.”

Which was how? Meg didn’t voice the question. She wasn’t conducting a survey, asking other people to define her relationship with Seth. Things were good the way they were—for now. Weren’t they?

She decided to change the subject. “How was the movie?”

“Cool. Thermodynamically, that is, not cinematically. That’s what counted.”

“What’s all this?” Meg asked, waving at all the papers on the table.

“The water pump for the spring is acting up, and I’m trying to see if there’s an easy fix, or if we should just give up on it and replace it if it’s way past its useful life.”

One more expense she didn’t need. “Does that mean we have to make a decision about the whole irrigation system, if we have to replace the pump?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. You should ask Christopher, or ask him to recommend somebody who can give you an opinion. And an estimate. I wish there was a better way to handle this, Meg, but we’ve been using the pump a lot this summer because it’s been so dry, and I think it’s just been too much for the poor thing. If we get more rain, we might be able to keep it going until next year.”

“So if we use it too much now, it might give out. But if we don’t, the crop will suffer, and even some of the trees.”

“That’s about it. Ain’t farming grand? You fix one thing, and something else blows up.”

“Sounds about right. Remind me again why we do this?”

“People gotta eat.”

The landline phone rang, and Meg recognized Christopher’s number. “Hi, Christopher. Were your ears burning? Bree and I were just talking about you. Why are you calling so late? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing that you need to worry yourself about, Meg, but I thought you’d like to know that the experts have found more small infestations by the Asian longhorned beetle in Granford, at Nash’s sawmill and the town park, and the identification for both is confirmed. You’ve been vindicated, although it’s not happy news for forest owners in the vicinity. I wondered if you’d like to tour our research facility here and see how we address the problem?”

“Sounds interesting—when were you thinking?”

“Tomorrow?”

Meg looked at Bree and mouthed, “Tomorrow?” Bree nodded and mouthed back, “Afternoon.”

Meg spoke into the phone again. “Bree gives me permission to come over in the afternoon. What time is good for you?”

“Say, two o’clock?”

“Great. And if you have a little spare time, there’s something else I’d like to talk with you about.”