A Late Frost

by Sheila Connolly

  Meg stared at him, then started laughing. “I keep forgetting you went to Amherst and you’re ‘eddicated.’ Yes, I do. What made you think of that?”

  “There’s a great line in it: ‘Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.’ I doubt that Donne was thinking of small-town New England, because this country barely existed when he was alive, but I think it applies to us here in Granford, on a smaller scale. Monica should not have died, but she did, and we’ve all lost something because we’re all part of this community.”

  Meg had to swallow a lump in her throat before she could answer. “I love you, Seth Chapin.”

  And then the cheesecake arrived and the moment passed. Finally, stuffed to the gills, Seth said, “Ready to go?”

  “Definitely. If I think about it, I’m exhausted. But I don’t think we have anything to eat for breakfast.”

  “How about I cadge a loaf of that bread from Nicky? I think we could handle French toast in the morning. I seem to remember a couple of eggs.”

  “You are brilliant. Go for it.”

  It was past nine when they finally stumbled into their kitchen, drunk on fatigue rather than alcohol. Even coffee with the cheesecake hadn’t helped. Max greeted them happily, tail wagging. “Poor dog,” Meg said. “We keep getting held up somewhere else.”

  “I’ll walk him. Why don’t you go on upstairs?”

  “Deal, but I won’t promise to be awake when you get back.”

  31

  Monday morning, Meg thought, without opening her eyes. Start of a new week. Creeping up on spring and apple blossoms. If she tried very hard, she could go back to sleep, or at least pull the covers over her head and pretend to sleep. She didn’t want to think about the day before and its revelations. She certainly didn’t want to talk to any official representatives of the law. She wanted to avoid being responsible for anything, especially those things that affected other people’s lives.

  It wasn’t going to work. She felt Seth’s weight settle on the bed, followed quickly by the scent of strong coffee. “No fair,” she said. “You’re bribing me to wake up.”

  “In a word, yes. Seems to be working.”

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “After eight. I promised you French toast, remember?”

  “And we’re all going to go out and play with the chicken coop. And no doubt our favorite police officers will descend upon us and complain about our interfering with their work.”

  “At ten,” Seth replied.

  Meg sat up. “Really? I didn’t hear a phone.”

  “Cell phone. But I think Art and Marcus are coming together, so it’s two-for-one.”

  “Oh joy. I guess I’d better grab a shower, then. You have my permission to start the French toast.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Seth disappeared quickly down the stairs, leaving the fragrant coffee behind. Did she have any clean clothes? She couldn’t remember the last time she had done laundry. Well, the guys would have to take her as she was: Meg Chapin (if that was her new name), slightly grubby crime fighter. She didn’t think anybody would pick up the movie option for that one, but the image it called up made her giggle.

  Downstairs she and Seth were just sopping up the last of the maple syrup from their plates when Art’s car pulled in, slightly ahead of ten o’clock. Seth let him in.

  “I’m early, I know,” he apologized as he walked in, “but I figured you might need backup.”

  “Who, us?” Meg said with mock innocence. “All we did was visit our neighbors and chat. It’s not our fault that our kindly honest faces convince people to spill all their secrets as soon as we walk in.”

  “No time to call in the cops, eh? Is there any more of that coffee?” Art asked, sitting down and stifling a grin.

  “Always,” Seth said, and filled a mug for him.

  “Seriously, are we in trouble?” Meg asked.

  “No, I can’t see why. You have a point, whether or not you intended it. You’re not a professional crime solver. You’re nice people who happen to live in the neighborhood. Most people find it easier to talk to someone who isn’t wearing a uniform and a badge.”

  “We didn’t go looking for information from anyone, you know,” Meg told him. “I really was being neighborly. Ginny’s had a hard time lately, so I thought I’d go over and give her a little support, and I wanted to be sure that someone was looking after Doug, after what I saw last time. I was worried about him. That was all.”

  “And you just happened to find out how Monica Whitman died. I don’t know whether you’re blessed or cursed with this particular ability.”

  “I’d gladly hand it over to you if I could. How’s Marcus taking it?”

  “I kept both of you out of it as much as possible. I said you dropped in on Douglas and found him in a disturbed state, and immediately called me for help. He just happened to explain all the pill business when I walked in.”

  “That’s close enough to the truth, Art,” Seth said. “Did you talk with the Morrises?”

  “Al and I took a walk through the orchard. Apparently he hasn’t come clean to Ginny yet, but he told me about his pill swap. Since it looks like it did no harm, and the state police have the evidence in hand if they choose to look for it, I think I’ll skip over that bit. It was Douglas’s extra pills that pushed Monica over the top. Poor man. From what I’ve read, the dosage for that stuff can be tricky.”

  A state police car pulled in behind Art’s car, and Detective William Marcus stepped out, smoothing his already-smooth suit. Seth was ready at the door to let him in. “Detective,” he said gravely.

  “Chapin,” Marcus replied. “Meg. Art.”

  This conversation is getting off to a great start, Meg thought. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Please. This visit is only semiofficial. I want to make sure that the facts I have are accurate.”

  “Of course.” Meg crossed the kitchen, filled another cup, and set it in front of him. “Everybody, sit down so we can get started.” To her surprise, everyone sat. “Do you have any new information, Detective?”

  “In fact, I do. We’ve found where the Whitmans lived prior to their arrival in Granford, and we’ve tracked down their medical records. Monica Whitman had suffered most of her life from something called Familial Mediterranean Fever. It’s a hereditary disease that usually first appears in childhood among people of certain ethnic origins. But it can strike almost anyone, as in this case. Its primary symptoms are joint pains, intermittent fevers, that kind of thing. But it can wax and wane, and sometimes go into remission for long periods. One of the primary treatments is oral or injectable colchicine, which Monica took regularly.”

  “What about her husband?”

  “He was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s in his late fifties. He took early retirement for medical reasons, after the first couple of years.”

  “Why did they choose Granford?”

  “We may never know. As you’ve no doubt discovered, they had no family here, no personal connections. Maybe they simply wanted to start over, where no one knew them. Maybe Monica thought it would be good for Doug, which didn’t prove to be the case.”

  “Were they all right financially?”

  “Yes. He had his pension and medical insurance, and they’d both inherited nice amounts from relatives, since neither had any siblings. They sold their prior house at a good profit. I don’t think you’ll find any financial motive in Monica’s death. Their wills were up to date—we found them in the house—with provision for the appointment of an administrator if Monica should pass away first. I believe she had no illusions about his capabilities and the likely course of his illness.”

  “So the WinterFare was her last public effort?” Art asked.

  “Most likely. From what limited personal information my staff has collected, she used to be active
in various clubs and organizations. She cut back as Douglas’s condition worsened.” Marcus turned to Meg. “I’d like to hear the details of the confusion with the pills.”

  Meg debated briefly about playing dumb, but she was the one who’d uncovered it and she felt responsible. “Douglas was telling me about how Monica made him check off on a chart each time he took his own medications. You’ll probably find the chart at the house, if you haven’t already. He also happened to do a lot of the cooking—apparently he was still comfortable following recipes. He remembered that Monica also took medication, because she’d had this condition as long as he’d known her, and he was concerned that she might forget. So he started adding her own colchicine prescription to her food, although he must have been careful not to put any in his. I’m afraid he didn’t remember how often or how much he added, and in the end he put in too much. He showed us his hidden stash of the pills—they weren’t with Monica’s supply.” And that was all she actually knew.

  “Yes, Art turned them over to me. No doubt his fingerprints will be on the package.”

  “Did your lab figure out how much Monica would have taken?”

  “They did. It was pharmaceutical grade, mixed with whatever binders are used to form the pills. You can tell Larry that he’s in the clear—it’s not the kind of chemical he used.”

  Seth spoke up quickly. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

  “Will there be any charges filed against anyone?” Meg asked.

  “I think not. There is little to be gained from prosecuting Douglas Whitman. He might not remember any of what he said in a few weeks or months.”

  “What will happen to him?”

  “The social services people will look out for him. He can afford decent care, so there should be no problem.” Detective Marcus drained his coffee cup and stood up. “I think that’s all the questions I have. I’m glad this was cleared up so quickly.”

  Meg held her breath, wondering if he’d actually go so far as to thank her for her role, but that didn’t happen. “So are we, Detective. Oh, do you know where Monica will be buried? Do they have a family plot?”

  “Back in Ohio, I believe. As soon as the formalities are completed. Art, thanks for keeping me up to date. Meg, Seth—try to stay out of trouble, will you?”

  Meg wondered if she saw a smile as he strode out the door. She thought they deserved one after handing him the solution to Monica’s murder on a silver platter, but she was never sure about the detective.

  Art stayed behind. Seth asked him, “It is over?”

  “All but the paperwork, I’d guess. Good work, you two. You figured it out without anyone trying to shut you up and you handed it over to Marcus without a whimper. You’re learning.”

  “I hope we won’t have to go through this again, Art,” Meg said. “I only wish there was something more we could have done. If we’d known more about their situation, maybe we could have gotten them help.”

  “Meg, at the risk of repeating myself, this was not your fault, either one of you. Monica Whitman chose to move here, knowing full well her husband’s limitations. She could have reached out, but she chose not to. There was no way she could have reversed the course of her husband’s disease, and I’m sure she couldn’t have foreseen what he would do out of love. None of us could. I thank you for your help, and I’m pretty sure Marcus would, too. He owes you, even if he won’t admit it. Now go about your business, will you? You got something planned, Seth?”

  “Yup, we’re going to rebuild the chicken coop.”

  “Good luck with that. Oh, one last question: where did Douglas hide the extra pills?”

  Meg almost smiled. “Apparently in his underwear drawer. The state police didn’t look too hard there.”

  “Ah. Thanks, I’ll remember that in the future.” Art checked his watch. “Gotta go. And if you find another body, will you please call Marcus first?”

  “We will. Thanks, Art.”

  When they were alone again, Meg said, “So it’s really over, and we can get back to our normal lives?”

  “We can. We will. Let’s go build a tiny house.”

  Recipes

  Meg Corey, now Chapin, is often too busy to cook, what with training a new orchard employee and helping out with a new town-wide event—and solving the occasional murder.

  Roasted Carrot Soup

  This is a recipe that comes from the restaurant Gran’s in the heart of Granford. It’s easy to make, and it has an eye-popping color!

  1 lb carrots, peeled and cut into chunks

  ½ lb beets, peeled and cut into chunks

  1 medium onion, thickly sliced

  2 Tbsp good olive oil

  4 cups stock (chicken or vegetable)

  Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

  Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. In a bowl, toss the carrots, beets, and onion with the olive oil, then spread them in a single layer on a large rimmed baking sheet. Roast for about 20 minutes, stirring a couple of times (so they don’t stick), until they are tender and beginning to brown around the edges.

  Place the cooked vegetables in a large saucepan. Add the stock, cover, and bring to a boil. Simmer over low heat until all the vegetables are tender, about 20 minutes.

  Puree the soup in a blender or food processor or with an immersion blender to whatever smoothness you desire. Keep the soup warm in the pan, and season it with the salt and pepper.

  Serve in deep bowls. If you want to dress it up, add a dollop of crème fraîche and maybe a sprig of dill. Serve immediately.

  Note: in winter you can add other vegetables as well—butternut squash, parsnips, sweet potato—to make it a heartier soup. You can also spice it up with a dash of pepper sauce or chile powder—it’s a very versatile recipe!

  Almond Cheesecake Pound Cake

  No time for baking either, but this recipe makes a single large cake or two loaf cakes, so Meg can pop one in the freezer and pull it out when unexpected company arrives.

  3½ cups flour

  ½ tsp baking powder

  ½ tsp baking soda

  ½ tsp salt

  1½ cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature

  1 8-oz package cream cheese, at room temperature

  2¾ cups granulated sugar

  5 eggs

  2 tsp vanilla extract

  2 tsp almond extract

  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Generously butter and flour a 10-inch Bundt pan. (Note: you need a pan that holds about 10 cups. While there’s not a lot of baking powder/soda in this recipe, it does rise a bit, and if you try to squeeze into a smaller pan, it may overflow. Don’t fill your pan to the top.)

  Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.

  In a stand mixer set on medium high, cream the butter for 2 minutes. Add the cream cheese and beat for 2 minutes more.

  Add the sugar in 3 additions, beating after each addition and scraping down the sides of the bowl. When all the sugar is added, beat for 1 minute more.

  Beat in the eggs, one at a time, mixing enough to blend (do not overbeat). Add the vanilla and almond extracts.

  Turn the mixer to low and add the flour mixture in 3 additions.

  Scrape down the sides of the bowl and spoon the mixture into the baking pan. Smooth the top with a rubber spatula.

  Bake for 65–70 minutes in the middle of the oven. (Because it is a dense cake, the outside may begin to brown before the interior is cooked. If you’re concerned, cover the top loosely with a piece of foil and/or reduce the heat to 325 degrees F.) The cake is done when a skewer comes out clean and the cake shrinks away a bit from the sides of the pan.

  Cool in the pan on a rack for 10 minutes. Turn the cake out on a wire rack and cool completely. (If you want to dress it up, you could add an almond glaze using butter, confectioners’ sugar, and almond ex
tract.)

  This cake slices neatly and keeps well.

  Sautéed Chicken French Style

  This is a modern version of a traditional dish—one that Meg can use to impress those guests!

  4 chicken breasts (note: you can use either boneless, skinless ones, which cook quickly, or bone-in ones, which some people believe add more flavor—just make sure they’re cooked through)

  1 Tbsp vegetable oil

  2 Tbsp butter

  ½ cup minced shallots

  1 tsp fresh thyme

  1 Tbsp minced garlic (about 4 cloves, depending on size)

  1 Tbsp flour

  ¾ cup dry white wine

  ½ cup chicken broth

  ½ cup heavy cream

  ½ tsp fresh lemon juice

  Salt and pepper

  3 Tbsp fresh parsley

  In a large skillet heat the oil over medium-high heat until shimmering. Sautée the chicken until lightly browned, turning once. Set aside.

  Reduce the heat, add the butter and let it melt. Add the shallots, thyme, and a half teaspoon of salt, and cook over medium-low heat until the shallots are soft.

  Add the garlic and flour and cook for about a minute.

  Add the wine, scrape the pan to gather up all those tasty bits that stuck to it, and whisk until there are no lumps. Cook for about a minute longer, until the sauce thickens. Add the broth and stir.

  Return the chicken and any juices from it to the pan, dunk both sides in the sauce, cover, and cook until the chicken is done. Remove the chicken to a serving platter and keep warm while you finish the sauce.

  Add the cream to the sauce in the skillet, turn the heat up to medium high, and cook until the sauce thickens. Remove from the heat and add the lemon juice. Taste and add salt and pepper if you like. Stir in the parsley.