Red Delicious Death (10 page)

Mrs. Goldthwaite waved imperiously at the pair of dirt-filled planters flanking the door of the store. “Over there, if you will.”

Meg deposited them as directed. “Is this a town beautification project?” She went back to the car and reached in for another pair.

Caroline Goldthwaite sniffed. “Hardly. The town can’t afford such things. I had hoped to persuade the shopkeeper to volunteer to do this, but apparently he isn’t interested. The church has managed to find the time. I also contributed the flowers in front of the Historical Society.”

Meg pulled out a flat of lush purple petunias and carried it over to the steps. “This will look lovely—and it’s a great idea, since so many people pass through here, particularly in summer.”

“I do want Granford to put its best foot forward, so to speak,” Mrs. Goldthwaite said primly. “I suppose there’s no point in asking
those
people to participate,” she added, nodding toward the restaurant building at the top of the hill.

“Why? Have they told you they’re not staying?” Meg felt a spurt of concern—wouldn’t Nicky and Brian have shared that with her and Seth first? Or maybe it was wishful thinking on Mrs. Goldthwaite’s part? At the meeting Meg had attended she had seemed to disapprove of the whole idea of the restaurant, sight unseen.

“No, nor have I had a conversation with them about their plans. I believe Seth Chapin has spent considerable time with them. But what with the trouble they’ve had lately . . .” Mrs. Goldthwaite appeared reluctant to be more specific.

Meg bristled at defining Sam’s death in Granford as mere “trouble.” “You mean what happened to Sam Anderson. Well, I for one hope that they’ll be staying. I like Nicky and Brian, and I think Granford can use the business.”

Mrs. Goldthwaite stiffened. “You are entitled to your opinion, just as I am entitled to disagree with you. Thank you for your help, but I think I can manage from here.” Mrs. Goldthwaite turned her back on Meg and rummaged in her trunk for her gardening tools.

I’ve been dismissed
, Meg thought incredulously. But there was no point in prolonging the conversation, so she got back in her car and headed up the hill.

Still fuming from her uncomfortable encounter with Caroline Goldthwaite, Meg pulled into the restaurant parking lot. The presence of the Chapin van indicated that Seth had already arrived. She knocked at the front door and was greeted by a distant “Come on in, it’s open!”

She found Brian, Nicky, and Seth in the kitchen. It looked almost finished, all the new appliances in place, gleaming softly. Now there was a long worktable in the middle of the room, and some chairs, their seats still wrapped in plastic. Meg and Seth looked briefly at each other as they settled around the table. Meg wasn’t sure what was coming, but she was surprised by how much the outcome mattered to her—and that she really wanted them to stay.

Nicky had lost some of her sparkle; even her dark curls seemed limper. She greeted Meg in a subdued tone. “Thanks for coming on short notice. I wanted to talk to you both, since you’ve been part of this from the beginning. Sit, please.” Nicky took a deep breath. “Brian and I have decided we want to stay in Granford. Sam was part of our plans from the beginning, and we’re really going to miss him, but I think he would have wanted us to go ahead, rather than just shut down and mourn for him. Besides, we’ve already sunk most of our money into this, and if we pull out, we won’t be able to start over. Right, Brian?”

Brian nodded. “It sounds kind of crass to put it that way, but it’s true. Sam wanted this to work, and we’ve got to try.”

Meg smiled with relief. “I’m glad. I think this town needs you. And you know Seth and I will do whatever we can to help.”

That finally brought an answering smile from Nicky. “Thank you, Meg. Don’t think we won’t call on you. And Seth—I don’t know what we would have done without you. Look, there are some things we need to work out. Would you like some coffee? I made brownies.”

They all waited silently while Nicky filled and distributed sturdy white mugs, and laid a platter of brownies on the table. Nicky sat down and waited a moment before speaking, and Meg wondered if she saw a gleam of tears. Then she looked up and plastered on a brave smile. “Eat and drink, please. We can talk while you do. Here’s the deal: most of the structural stuff is done, right, Seth?”

Seth nodded, his mouth full of chocolate.

“I think we’re going to have to hold off on the decorating a bit. We can always revisit that later, but for now we’re going to keep it simple.”

Seth swallowed, then said, “I don’t think that’s a problem. It’s a great building—let it speak for itself.”

“Thanks, Seth. Okay, second problem: we need to find a sous chef to replace Sam, because we need to start working together, make sure our cooking styles are in synch. I was thinking about contacting the cooking school in Providence—I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d like a shot at getting in on the ground floor.”

Seth helped himself to another brownie. “Have you thought about looking locally?”

Nicky looked blank. “We don’t know anybody around here, and we don’t have a lot of time to interview. Do you mean at the university? Or did you have any ideas?”

“One. There’s an older woman I know, with plenty of experience. Want me to get in touch with her?”

Nicky still looked uncertain. “I guess so. But is it going to be a problem, what with Sam’s death and all? I mean, maybe people would feel funny about working where . . .” She trailed off.

“I don’t think so,” Seth said firmly. He hesitated a moment before asking, “I don’t mean to pry, but are you okay financially? Did Sam have money in the business?”

“No. Most of it’s coming from me,” Nicky replied. When Brian started to protest, Nicky went on, “Wedding present—to both of us. I want to be able to pay Daddy back eventually, and we’re both willing to work hard to make that happen. I know you probably think we’re a pair of starry-eyed dilettantes who’ll bail out at the first sign of trouble, but we’ve been thinking about this, planning it, for years, and I—we—don’t want to give up now.”

“Good for you!” Meg said.

Nicky rewarded her with a smile. “Thank you, Meg. Seth, I’ll be happy to talk to your friend, but no promises. Okay, next problem: staffing.”

“I don’t think you’ll have problem there,” Seth said. “Plenty of people looking for jobs around here. You planning on lunch and dinner?” Nicky and Brian nodded. “If you can offer flexible shifts, you’ll have a broader pool—you know, students, mothers with kids in school during the day.”

“Bree said she might know some people,” Meg volunteered.

Nicky nodded. “Great. And we’ll offer what benefits we can, which may not be much, at least in the beginning. Okay, last problem, and it’s a big one: food. Sam was looking into local suppliers, but he wasn’t the greatest record keeper, and I’m not sure who he talked to, or what terms he might have suggested. So we’re kind of restarting from scratch. I know he got in touch with the local farmers’ collective, so maybe that’s a good place to start.”

“I don’t know what I’ve got coming along, but I told Sam I’d be happy to sell you whatever apples you need—at a reasonable rate.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” Seth said. “Why don’t you talk to the selectmen, formally? I mean, it’s just the three of us, but it could be important that the town know what you’re doing, and that you make them part of the process. Come to one of the open meetings, which the public attends. We can get the word out. And the meetings are broadcast on local cable, so even more people would see you.”

“Well, sure, I guess,” Nicky said. “What would they—you?—want to know?”

“Just what you’ve told us so far—that you’re here to stay, that you’ll need ongoing help with staffing and supplies. We can help, and we will.”

Nicky looked at Brian and grabbed his hand. “See, Brian? I knew we were right. We can make this work. Seth, when do you meet?”

“Tuesday nights. How about coming to next week’s meeting?”

Nicky and Brian agreed enthusiastically, and then Brian and Seth wandered off to look at construction details, leaving Nicky and Meg at the table with the depleted tray of brownies. Meg nodded toward it. “Those are terrific. Is that the kind of thing you plan to serve?”

Nicky looked shocked. “Oh, no—that’s just comfort food. I want something more elegant for the restaurant. Not fancy—but more refined, you know? Subtle. We’re still working on the menu. We want to keep it simple, with a limited number of dishes, based on what’s available locally. Would you eat in a place like that?”

“Of course,” Meg said promptly. She couldn’t speak for the rest of the town, but she’d be waiting at the door on opening night. “Listen, Nicky . . .” She hesitated, unsure how to broach the subject. “So I, um, heard that Sam was . . . gay?”

“Yeah,” Nicky said, her brow wrinkling. “So? Is that a problem?”

“Not for me, no. But have you considered that it might be a motive in his death?”

Nicky stared at her, uncomprehending, and Meg realized that the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “Nicky,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “have the state police told you that Sam was murdered?”

Nicky nodded, looking miserable. “Yeah, and they asked who might have wanted him dead. I told them I didn’t have the slightest idea. Sam was the sweetest, happiest person I know. Why would anyone want to hurt him?”

“I assume Brian knew. He was okay with it?”

“With what? That Sam was gay? Sure, he knew, but we didn’t talk about it much. He was cool with it.”

“Do the state police know he was gay?” Meg asked. If they did any investigation at all of Sam’s background, no doubt they would find out about Sam’s orientation.

Nicky looked blank. “I don’t think it came up. I know I didn’t mention it—I didn’t think it mattered. Maybe if they check with his friends in Boston, they’ll find out, but they haven’t asked us anything.”

“He was new around here. Maybe he stumbled into something he didn’t expect.”

Nicky bristled. “He wasn’t stupid, Meg. And he wasn’t sleazy either. He didn’t just pick up random guys, if that’s what you’re asking. Are you telling me that there are a bunch of bigots around here?”

“No offense intended, Nicky. And no—as far as I’ve seen, people in Granford are pretty much ‘live and let live.’ But the police have to consider it. There’s an active gay scene in Northampton, and Sam might have misread it.”

“No way I would believe that. I mean, Sam had an ex-boyfriend back in Boston. They’d broken up, but they parted on good terms, and he was going to come visit once things were more settled. I think Sam was still getting over him. Besides, we were pretty busy—when would he have found time?”

“Well, let’s hope that it’s not an issue,” Meg said firmly. She thought it was definitely time to change the subject. “So tell me, what kind of menus are you planning?”

Nicky perked up immediately at the thought of talking about food. “You’ve heard of the locavore movement?”

“Sam mentioned it to me once, but I haven’t had much time to look into it. What’s your take on it?”

Nicky all but bounced in her seat with enthusiasm. “It sounds surprisingly simple when you describe it, but in this country we’ve put so much distance between the food we eat and where it comes from. You ever look at the labels at the supermarket? I mean, really—blueberries from Mexico, lamb from New Zealand? Maybe that’s the way economics works, although I can’t believe that it’s really cheaper to grow something that far away and ship it halfway around the world. But worse, you lose flavor, freshness. And the local farmers suffer, because they can’t compete with the big international firms. So they give up farming and do something else.”

Meg laughed. “I told Sam he should talk to Christopher Ramsdell—he’s a professor at UMass, and he’s kept my orchard going for years now. He feels much the same way about apples. And you’re saying it applies to a lot of other crops?”

Nicky nodded vigorously. “And meat, too. We’ve all been sucked into this corporate mentality about food production—bigger is better, more efficient. And don’t think that consumers aren’t guilty, too. People expect to find fresh fruits and vegetables in stores year-round now, like it’s a right. They’re completely disconnected to what’s in season.”

Meg held up her hands in surrender. “Hey, you don’t have to convince me. But how do you translate that into a menu? Don’t people expect to find their favorite dishes at a restaurant every time they come? How do you tell them, sorry, that’s not in season right now?”

“You have to educate your patrons, too. I don’t think it’s hard; just give them some fresh food—I mean,
really
fresh—and they should see the difference. And if they don’t, then we don’t want them.”

Meg wondered how long they’d stay in business if they blew off patrons who wanted a simple and predictable meal, but she had to admire Nicky’s eagerness. She certainly hoped Nicky was right, that their guests would recognize and appreciate the difference.

“Sam told me he was handling the suppliers?”

“Yes. You know how a restaurant works?”

“Not really. At least, not the behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“You have to have some basic division of labor—you can’t have everyone flying off and doing whatever they feel like. Me, I cook. That’s what I want to do, and that’s what I do best. Sam was a good cook, but he didn’t have as much experience as I do. The sous chef does a lot of the prep work—you know, making stocks, chopping stuff. And in his case, shopping. Brian will handle the front—talking to people, bookings—and he does the budgeting and planning. We made a good team, because we each have our strengths.” Nicky’s face fell again. “It’s not going to be easy, fitting someone new in. But we have to. Brian and I can’t handle it all ourselves.”

“Let’s wait and see if Seth’s friend works out, before you panic,” Meg said.

“He sure knows a lot of people around here, doesn’t he?” Nicky said wistfully.