Red Delicious Death (26 page)

Brian snorted. “Derek’s a drama queen, but he couldn’t kill a spider.”

“So, from what you’ve said, and what we know,
nobody
had a motive to kill him,” Meg said.

“Somebody did,” Brian muttered bitterly.

They fell silent for a moment. Meg was pretty sure that whatever issues Brian had with Nicky, Sam wasn’t one of them. What else would it be? “Brian, Nicky says you haven’t been talking to her much lately. I know you’ve both been busy, but is there something more going on?”

Brian’s shoulders sagged. “We’re running out of money.”

Ah
. “How bad?”

“The nice chunk Nicky’s dad gave us as a wedding present made it possible to buy this place, and to fix it up. The stuff we’ve bought we paid for—the kitchen, the front of the house. In a couple of weeks we’re going to have this great space all fitted out and ready to go, but . . . well, we can’t afford to open.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s put it this way—we can either afford staff, serving empty plates, or we can fill the plates, but then we’ll have to do everything ourselves—prep, cook, serve, and clean up. It’s too much for two people to handle. I don’t even know if we can keep Edna on.”

“Nicky’s father can’t help out again?”

Brian shook his head. “Even if we could get up the nerve to ask him, he’s been pretty hard hit by the market slump. He’s tapped out.”

“Have you talked to any banks about a loan?”

“Sure. At least, I have. Nicky doesn’t know. That was our deal—she’d handle the cooking, I’d handle the management. And she’s been so upset about Sam’s death that I haven’t wanted to dump anything more on her. But the bank here more or less laughed at me, unfortunately. We have no capital, except what’s in the building, we have no financial track record, we’re starting up in a risky business in a depressed area. Heck,
I
wouldn’t lend money to me if I were a banker.”

“Is there anyone else you can ask? Family, friends, outside investors?”

“You’re kidding, right? Everybody’s hurting. I know, we were idiots to think we could start this up and make it work, just as the market went south.”

“And you feel like it’s your fault?” Meg prompted.

“Of course I do! I had it all mapped out, with spreadsheets and projections. A nice little business plan with color charts and everything. But nothing ever works out, right? Even with getting a decent deal on this place, and living here to save money, and buying half our equipment used, we’re still short.”

Meg could sympathize with their problems. They were young and hopeful—and they hadn’t allowed much margin of error for their start-up. Understandable, but didn’t make it easier for them to swallow. Meg sat, turning over in her mind what Brian had said. She had no money to lend even if she wanted to, and she couldn’t think of any friends or colleagues to tap. Brian had done the right things, and gotten the predictable answers. It must be awful to face failure before you even started. No wonder he hadn’t shared this with Nicky yet.

But there had to be some way out of this. Nicky and Brian had done so much, come so far. The place was lovely and ready to go. What could she do . . . ?

A vague idea started to take shape in her mind. “Brian, do you have to make any decisions right away? I mean, in the next few days?”

“Apart from deciding which one of our bills to pay with what we’ve got left? No. There aren’t any orders we can stop, or changes we can make now. Why?”

“I may have an idea, but I want to check a few things before I say anything. If you can wait a few days, I might be able to give you more. But right now, will you please talk to Nicky? I think she suspects something is seriously wrong, but she’s afraid to ask. You’re married, and you’re business partners—you need to let her know what’s going on.”

He sighed. “I know. Will you ask her to come back?”

“Soon as I get home.” Meg stood up. “Brian, you two can work through this. Maybe you’ll have to sacrifice this place, but you can move past it, if you love each other.” Meg realized what she said and almost gagged. If Nicky had appointed her as wise mother, her subconscious mind seemed to have taken it to heart and was now spouting platitudes.

But it seemed to be working: Brian looked more cheerful than he had when she arrived. “Thanks, Meg. I’m sorry you had to get into our dirty laundry, but I think you’re right.”

Back in her car, Meg pulled out her cell phone and called Seth. When he answered, she said, “Where are you?”

“Eric’s barn in Hadley. You miss me already?”

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling. I need to talk to you about something. Can we meet for lunch?”

“Sure. How about that diner by the tracks in Northampton?”

“Sounds good. Half an hour?”

“See you then.”

Meg started the car and realized she was smiling again. She pulled out of the driveway and headed for her own place.

Nicky and Bree were sitting at the kitchen table with plates in front of them when Meg came in. “Wow, something smells good!”

“Nicky’s been showing me how to make a frittata. We saved some for you,” Bree said.

“Thanks, but I’ve got a lunch date. And Nicky, you should go home and talk to Brian.”

“He’s not hiding some awful secret?”

“Nothing to do with Sam, if that’s what you’re asking. But you two have things you need to talk about. Go, now.”

“Thanks, Meg.” Nicky gave her a quick hug on her way out the door.

Bree sighed. “You could have waited until she did the dishes. Where’re you going?”

“Lunch with Seth, in Northampton.”

“Ah. Should I plan to be somewhere else this afternoon?”

“No.” Meg swatted her. “If you can believe it, this is actually a business lunch of sorts. I’ll fill you in later. I’m still working things out in my head.”

“Very mysterious. Well, you two have a nice time, and we can talk when you get back.”

As she drove to Northampton, Meg’s mind was occupied with trying to put her spur-of-the-moment idea into some sort of logical order. Seth was already waiting at the endearingly shabby diner when she walked in. When he saw her, he stood up and smiled.

“Hi,” she said as she slid into the booth. Suddenly she felt shy.

“Hi to you. Everything all right?” Seth asked a little anxiously.

Meg realized suddenly that she hadn’t made it clear on the phone that what she wanted to talk about had nothing to do with what had happened the night before, but Seth didn’t know that. “Oh, fine. Look, about last night . . .”

“Last night was great. Wasn’t it? You’re not having second thoughts?”

“About us? No, of course not.”

He laid a hand over hers on the table. “Good. I just didn’t want you to feel pressured. I know things could get awkward if it doesn’t work out, and you’re stuck with me in your backyard.”

“Seth, I’m happy. You’re great. We’re great.” She stopped, then burst out laughing. “This is ridiculous. Seth, last night was wonderful, and I hope there will be many more like it.”

“Okay,” Seth replied cautiously. The waitress appeared with tattered menus, and they ordered. “So what do we need to talk about?”

“This is just an idea I had, and it’s pretty sketchy, so hear me out. After you left this morning, Nicky came by all worked up because she thought Brian was holding something back from her. She asked me to go talk to Brian.”

“So you did, I assume?”

“I did.” Meg sighed. “How did I end up in the middle? Anyway, he told me that he was upset because they’ve more or less gone through all their money, and he didn’t know how to tell her. Brian said they had enough money either to open without food, or to buy supplies but not be able to pay for staff. And I thought we might be in a position to do something about the food.”

“How?”

“I’m pretty new in town, and I’m also pretty new to farming. I know my crop isn’t big enough to sell to major chains, so I’m going to be talking to smaller places. And that started me thinking. My impression is—and correct me if I’m wrong—that there are a lot of people in Granford who live on farms that their parents and grandparents used to farm for a living. But that’s not economically feasible anymore, so most of them have jobs somewhere else, and raise a small crop or a few head of livestock, more out of nostalgia than anything else. Jake Kellogg is a good example—when I met him, he says he raises pigs because his father raised pigs before him, but it’s not primarily for the income.”

“I’m with you so far, but how does this apply to the restaurant?” Seth was following intently.

Meg chose her words carefully. “Do you think it would be possible to round up enough of these small farmers to provide the food for the restaurant?”

“For free?”

“No, I don’t expect them to donate the food outright. But here’s the part I’m trying to work out: say they enter into some sort of partnership agreement with Nicky and Brian—becoming, in effect, minority shareholders in the restaurant? They provide what they raise, under a contract with the restaurant, but they wait to be paid until the restaurant is on its feet and can pay them back? Maybe with interest, or a share of the profits, like a co-op? Does this make any sense? Would people go for it?”

Seth sat back and stared over Meg’s head, thinking. He didn’t answer immediately, and finally he said, “I like it. I think you’re bang on about the people who are growing stuff around here—I can name quite a few off the top of my head. Some of them sell to farmers’ markets or to some of the restaurants in Amherst and Northampton, but they could just as easily sell to the Czarneckis’ restaurant, so they wouldn’t lose financially in the long run. But wouldn’t it be kind of feast or famine for the restaurant? Plenty of stuff from June to October, but what would they do over the winter?”

“I have no idea, but it’s something we can all talk about. I mean, people survived for generations on whatever they grew in their backyards. Based on what Nicky has talked about before, I think it’s more a question of making the case to the patrons—eat what’s in season, not what we’ve shipped in from New Zealand.”

“That makes sense, but it’s a marketing question. We’d have to work out how much of what products, timing, some sort of legal agreement format.”

Meg interrupted, “Should the town be involved?
Could
the town be involved, or should this be a private agreement?”

“Another good question.” Seth nodded. “I’d have to run it by the Board, and maybe town counsel.”

The waitress reappeared, slapped plates in front of them, sloshed coffee into cups. “Anything else?”

“Not right now,” Seth said. He waited until she had returned to the counter, then said, “Meg, I like the idea. I think it’s doable, but we’ll have to sit down with Nicky and Brian and see what they need and whether they’re interested, and if they’re willing to accept a partnership idea. And then we’d have to approach the local farmers and see if they want to participate in something like this, and what they’ve got to offer. I mean, you can’t plan a menu around three months of green beans and pumpkins.”

“Heck, I’ve seen more than that growing in Granford in the short time I’ve been here—I’m not worried about that. Can we go talk to Nicky and Brian after lunch?”

“Uh, sure. Is it that urgent?”

“Seth, they’re supposed to open in less than two months. They’ve got to know that they’ll be able to, and then we’ve got to talk to all the growers and get them on board, and then we’ve got to figure out a way to promote this—you know, this is a wonderful marketing idea, and maybe they can drum up some interest in the Boston food community—after all, Nicky and Brian must have some connections there—and—”

“Whoa, slow down! One step at a time.”

Meg took a deep breath and smiled at Seth. “Works for me.”

Meg followed Seth’s car back to Granford and the restaurant. She was warmed that he hadn’t dismissed her idea. She knew the concept needed some fine-tuning, but she believed the idea was sound. And her own orchard business would benefit, too, wouldn’t it? She would have a reason to talk to the other small farmers in town, to get to know them—that would be a big plus. And she was uniquely qualified to pull something like this together, based on her analytical background. Brian could give her cost and income projections, and maybe she could figure out where he’d gone wrong, or been overly optimistic. She could help to determine what he and Nicky could afford to pay for food, which in turn would give a ballpark estimate for the value of a partnership share, if it came to such a formal agreement. Maybe that wouldn’t even be necessary; maybe it could all be done with a handshake, with farmers extending credit along with goodwill. No, the restaurant was still an unknown quantity—a formal agreement would be a better idea. And she’d have to listen to what Seth and the farmers had to say, and see how interested they were. But the basic idea still sounded right. The rest was just detail. She hoped.