Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery)

by Sheila Connolly

  “No, not exactly,” Bree replied slowly. “But keep it casual, you know? What were you thinking of?”

  “If the weather holds, how about we just have a barbecue? Grill something outside, use up the last of the summer veggies? That is, if you think we can spare the time, or everybody isn’t too exhausted at the end of the day.”

  “Could work, if we can do it this week. We’re kind of between varieties. Short notice okay with you?”

  “Sure, as long as I have time to buy food. Should Seth come, or should we keep it just us?”

  “You want them to get to know you, leave him out of it. He’s a good guy and all, but throwing him into the mix would change things. In my opinion.”

  “Got it.” Maybe. “Anyway, you want to ask if one day is better than another for them?”

  “Fine. Now finish your coffee—we’ve got to get up the hill.”

  Seth was already outside, loading up his van for the day’s round of projects, so Meg wandered out to say hello (or maybe it was good-bye). “Are you going to talk to Gail today?” she asked.

  “If I can find the time. I’ll double-check the permitting requirements, but I think she’s okay there, and I’ll get some bids from excavating companies—not that there are many who use the vacuum process and can be here on a tight schedule. Plus I have to find one or more contractors who can shore up the building and pour a foundation on that same tight schedule.”

  “Don’t drive yourself crazy,” Meg said. “After all, the Historical Society has muddled along for, what, thirty years now? They can wait another week. By the way, what exactly is your official role with them?”

  “General contractor, I guess. Which if I’m lucky won’t conflict with my official responsibilities to the town. I’m just overseeing it, lining up the subcontractors, things like that, so the society doesn’t have to hire someone else to do it. My main goal is to get the job done quickly and save the Historical Society as much money as possible, but still get it done right.”

  “You mean you’re not getting paid for this? It’s not like you don’t have enough else to do.”

  “Are you worried that I’m going to start mooching off of you? Look, I volunteered because I want to do this, for the town. It’s one of the oldest buildings in Granford, and I want to be sure this is done right. Don’t worry—it won’t take long.”

  Meg wasn’t sure she believed that last statement, but she didn’t doubt that Seth was serious about caring about the building. His Granford ancestors had probably attended religious services there, since they’d been among the town’s earliest settlers, after Seth’s great-great-times-whatever grandfather Samuel Chapin had finished the official survey for this part of Massachusetts. Come to think of it, her Warren ancestors had probably been there as well, in the adjoining pew or bench or whatever they used back then, so she should be interested, too. The real problem was that Seth had a tendency to bite off more than he could chew, and he had trouble saying no to anyone.

  “Anyway, we’ll see how it goes. I assume you’ll be up the hill in the orchard?” he said.

  “Of course. Dinner?”

  “I’ll let you know. Oh, by the way, I heard Rick Sainsbury will be coming through town. Or at least, he’ll be hitting Northampton and Amherst. The places where the money is.”

  Rick Sainsbury was a Granford native and former high school football hero who was also a newly minted candidate for a vacant congressional seat for the district that included Granford in the coming November election. Now he was trying to capitalize on his local connections for the election, which was no surprise. He wasn’t what Meg and Seth would call a friend of theirs, but it made sense to maintain a cordial relationship with the man who might be their next congressman.

  “Do you think he’s likely to drop in on us?” Meg asked.

  Seth laughed. “I doubt his campaign staff would let him, since he’s got kind of a compressed schedule until the election, but he might hit us up to volunteer for the campaign, or, heaven forbid, make a contribution.”

  “I think we’ve made all the contribution we need to,” Meg replied tartly. “Not that I have any money to spare. And I thought you didn’t feel warm and fuzzy enough about him to volunteer.”

  “Most likely I won’t, but I just wanted to alert you. He’s going to be around until the election. Granford looks so good on television.”

  “Gosh, maybe you should worry about starting a messy construction project right on the green, if he’s hoping to use it as a backdrop.”

  “If I know him, he’ll just parlay it into a sound bite about how we ‘treasure our local history.’ Of course, that might be good publicity for the Historical Society. Or maybe ‘providing jobs for local workers.’” Seth slammed shut the rear doors of the van. “Well, it hasn’t happened yet, and who knows if it will. I’ll try to make it back for dinner, and I’ll let you know if anything changes.” With that, he hopped into the driver’s seat and pulled out with a wave.

  Meg sighed. She gathered up her gear and headed up the hill to join Bree and the pickers.

  Hours later, Meg’s stomach was telling her it was well past lunchtime when she saw Gail Selden pull into her driveway. Again? Funny how someone who dealt with centuries of history could be so impatient.

  “Bree?” Meg called out. “Gail Selden just arrived. I’m going to go down and see what she needs, so I’ll take a break and get some lunch, okay?”

  “Sure, fine. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  Meg loped down the hill. It was only when she reached the driveway that she realized that Gail was not alone. Gail was leaning against her car, and next to her stood a kid who looked to be about fifteen—too old to be one of Gail’s kids, both of whom Meg had met anyway. This boy was unfamiliar to her, though. He was conspicuously neat (not that Meg had a lot to compare teenagers to these days; she didn’t see many of them in her line of work). He wore what she assumed was still the standard uniform for high school kids—T-shirt, jeans, and running shoes—but the items all looked very clean, almost new, and his hair was neatly cut.

  “Hi, Gail,” Meg called out.

  “Sorry to barge in on you like this, but I talked to Seth this morning and he said we could go ahead, and I’m just so excited. He’s so great! We couldn’t do this without him.” The words tumbled out of Gail’s mouth.

  “Hey, slow down, please. I’m glad it’s working out—it sounds interesting. Did you stop by to tell me that?”

  “No, it’s a bit more than that. Have you eaten? I brought sandwiches and stuff. Can we go inside and sit down?”

  “Of course. Come on in.” Meg led the way into the kitchen, noting that the boy politely held the door for the two of them first, and when they walked into the kitchen, she saw him catch sight of her cat, Lolly, sitting on top of the refrigerator, and go over to introduce himself by offering his hand for her to sniff before scratching behind her ears.

  “I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got all sorts of things,” Gail said as she went straight for the table in the center of the room and started laying out sandwiches and chips and napkins. “Oh, jeez, where are my manners? Meg, this lovely young man is Jeffrey Green. He’s a student at the high school in Granford. And he’s also a Boy Scout, which is why he came to talk to me.”

  Meg’s stomach was growling. “Welcome, Jeffrey. Let’s sit down and eat, and you can tell me why you’re here.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” The boy waited until both Meg and Gail were seated before sitting down himself. Who had taught him his manners? Meg hadn’t seen this kind of courtesy from a young person for quite a while.

  Talk of anything serious was deferred until after they’d all selected sandwiches. “You live here in Granford, Jeffrey?” Meg asked between bites.

  “Yes, over toward Belchertown. It’s kind of a new house—not like this one.”

  “By new he means post–Wo
rld War Two,” Gail tossed in, “which I guess is new by your and my standards.”

  “Only by a couple of hundred years, Jeffrey,” Meg said. “What brought you to Gail and the Historical Society?”

  Jeffrey glanced at Gail, who nodded her encouragement. “Uh, okay. You know Rick Sainsbury?”

  That wasn’t what she expected to hear. “Yes, as it happens I do.” Was Rick using teenagers to infiltrate local households and beg for money for his campaign?

  “He’s my uncle, my mother’s brother. Since he won in the primary, he’s been putting pressure on my family to be part of his campaign. My mom’s really into it—it’s her kind of thing. But I really suck—oh, sorry—I’m really bad at shaking hands and smiling at lots of people. I told my mom about six times and I guess she finally heard me, but then she started saying that I never did anything other than study, and I told her that I was in the Boy Scouts, and she said back that I didn’t do anything except show up for meetings . . .”

  He seemed to run out of steam, so Meg broke in gently. “I don’t like political campaigns much either. But I’m still not sure I understand what this has to do with the Historical Society.”

  Jeffrey took a deep breath. “I figured I’d better do something that she’d actually recognize. What do you know about Scouting?”

  “Not much. What should I know?”

  “Well, the Boy Scouts of America is a national organization, founded to promote good character, citizenship, and personal fitness.” The boy sounded as though he was reciting from a manual, Meg thought. “A lot of activities take place outdoors, like camping, and there are a lot of community service projects too, like litter cleanup in your town, or food collection. You can advance by earning merit badges. Since I was already in Scouts, my mother decided that I ought to try to make Eagle Scout before I went to college—said it would look good on my applications. I’m already a senior, so I’d need to get more badges soon. I would need twenty-one in all. There’s a whole list of them to choose from, but I wanted to do something that interested me, and I figured if I took part in the Historical Society project, I could use that for my archaeology badge. I really like history, and it’s also kind of a public project for the town.” By the time he’d reached the last part of his explanation, Jeffrey had begun to show some enthusiasm.

  “That sounds great,” Meg said, upwardly revising her estimation of Jeffrey’s age. If he was already a senior, he was probably closer to seventeen than fifteen. “I’m here because I’m curious, too, and I also like history.”

  “Let me fill in a bit,” Gail broke in. “Karen Green, Jeffrey’s mother, is on our board, and she’s helped out with a couple of projects. She’s been involved since we first started talking about our building renovations. I don’t know if we’ll see a contribution from her, not that it’s essential. Don’t worry, Jeffrey—I’m not going to make you nag your mother! But I think that may have planted a bee in her bonnet. Do you agree?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I said I was interested in archaeology, and she said right away that the Historical Society was going to be digging up its building, and maybe I should see if I could help. Of course, according to Scouting regulations there’s a lot more to it than just watching, like some research and some hands-on stuff, but I thought it sounded like a good idea. And it would make both of us happy.”

  “Jeffrey stopped in just after I’d talked to Seth,” Gail finished triumphantly. “And here we are. Is Seth around, Meg?”

  “I don’t know where he is at the moment—he’s all over the place these days. I’ll tell him what you and Jeffrey said, unless you’d rather tell him yourself. Do you know Seth Chapin, Jeffrey?”

  “Don’t think I’ve met him. He knows my uncle, though, right?”

  “They knew each other slightly in high school,” Meg told him. That was the simplest way to put it, and Jeffrey didn’t need to know more about the history between the two men. Meg wondered briefly whether encouraging Jeffrey to take part in the Historical Society project was somehow meant to pull Seth into Rick’s campaign—not that she suspected Jeffrey of any ulterior motives. She’d pass on to Seth that Rick’s nephew wanted to be part of the project, and they could work it out between them.

  “Anyway, I’ve already started some of the research,” Jeffrey said. “Gail told me that the building was actually the first meetinghouse for Granford, before they built the big church. Did you know that, Miss Corey?”

  “Seth just explained it to me recently.”

  Gail interrupted. “I’m sure you’ll find some even more interesting stuff when you start looking—I can help you with that. Like who the original church members were, and who contributed the land and helped build the building. Things like that.”

  “Thank you—that’s the kind of thing I’d like to do. There’s a genealogy badge, too, so maybe I could work on the two badges at the same time.”

  “Sounds like a plan!” Gail said. “Meg, we won’t keep you any longer. I know you have things to do. Tell Seth I stopped by. Come on, Jeffrey.”

  The boy stood up. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Corey.”

  Meg couldn’t remember the last time she’d been called “miss.” “Meg, please. I expect I’ll be seeing more of you.”

  She let the two out her kitchen door, then sat for a moment to finish her drink. She knew next to nothing about the Boy Scouts—but then, why would she? She had had no brothers. She herself had been a Girl Scout for a scant year before losing interest, mainly because the troop leader insisted on doing a lot of boring things she already knew how to do anyway. Well, there were the annual cookie sales—those she remembered. She still had a few favorite kinds.

  But Jeffrey seemed like a nice boy, and local history was an interesting pursuit. His participation might be a good thing all around—he’d get a badge or two, and maybe his mother would be pleased. Meg couldn’t remember meeting Rick’s sister when he’d last been in Granford, but now she wasn’t sure she wanted to; from what her son had said or hinted about her, she sounded kind of pushy. Meg had sensed a little resentment from Gail, too.

  Meg finished her drink, then went back to work. She spent the rest of the afternoon picking, and was back in the kitchen cooking dinner when Seth rolled in. He didn’t look exhausted for once. She greeted him with a kiss.

  “Do I smell food?” he asked, when he finally pulled away.

  “You do. I decided to make something for a change. You want a beer? Wine?”

  “No, I think I have to go over some invoices after dinner if I want to get paid anytime soon, so I should keep a clear head. You want to talk while you cook or should I leave you in peace?”

  “Hey, I can do two things at once. Sit, have some water.” He did both as Meg went on, “Gail Selden stopped in today.”

  Seth laughed. “Why am I not surprised? Was she looking for me?”

  “In part. She said you’d given her the green light, anyway. But there was something else—she brought a kid along with her. Do you know Jeffrey Green? Sweet boy, kind of a throwback to the fifties, very neat and polite. Anyway, he wants to do a Boy Scout merit badge in archaeology or history or something based on the Historical Society excavation.”

  “That sounds like a good idea, as long as he doesn’t get in the way.”

  “One more thing,” Meg said, keeping her eyes on the pan on the stove. “Rick Sainsbury is his uncle.”

  Seth tilted the chair back. “Oh ho! The plot thickens. Of course—Jeffrey’s mother must be Rick’s older sister Karen.”

  “Do you know her? Gail says she’s on the board of the Historical Society,” Meg asked.

  “I know who she is, but I can’t say I know her or her husband well. They’re a few years older than us, and we don’t really move in the same circles.”

  “Anyway, Jeffrey seems like a nice kid. I got the feeling he’s doing this badge because his mother wants him to
, although he seems honestly interested in the history of the place.”

  “So it probably has nothing to do with Rick or his campaign. Don’t worry about it, Meg. I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

  “I never doubted that.”

  Bree came in at that point. “Food?” she asked piteously. “When?”

  “Right now,” Meg said. “Go wash your hands and I’ll dish up.”

  Postdinner, Bree retired as soon as the dishes were done, before Meg remembered she hadn’t asked Bree if she’d talked to the pickers. “Seth, I’ll be right back. I have to go ask Bree about something.”

  “Don’t be long,” Seth said, “or I’ll fall asleep waiting.”

  “Two minutes.” Meg smiled. Then she turned and went quickly up the back stairs that led to Bree’s room over the kitchen. She rapped on the door, and after a few moments Bree opened it.

  “Problem?” Bree said.

  “No. I only wondered if you’d asked the pickers if they’d like to come to a cookout.”

  “I did,” Bree said, then stopped.

  “And?” Meg prompted.

  “They said okay. Sort of.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Meg asked.

  “They seemed kind of confused about why you’re doing this, but they’re happy to have a free meal and some relaxed time. I know it’s short notice, but is tomorrow night all right?”

  “Works for me, as long as there’s time to buy food. And what are we making?”

  “We?” Bree arched an eyebrow.

  “Yes, we. Unless you think they won’t eat anything I make? Really, I was going to keep it simple—barbecued chicken, the last of the corn, salad. You can add whatever you want.”

  “All right. I’ll get some stuff in the morning. We gonna do this out back?”

  “Yes, weather permitting.”

  “Okay. Was that all?”