A Killer Crop

by Sheila Connolly

  It sounded plausible enough to Meg—barely.

  “I told him your father was out of town for a few days and perhaps we could defer it until we were both available,” Elizabeth went on. “Daniel said he was disappointed, but why didn’t I come on my own? He was insistent, and I didn’t see why I shouldn’t. So I agreed.”

  Why the urgency, after all these years? Meg wondered. “So you drove up. Why didn’t you call me?”

  Elizabeth looked away. “I’m not really sure. Daniel and I had left things kind of open-ended, and I didn’t know how much time we would want to spend together. So I kept my options open, you could say.”

  Something wasn’t right here. “Did you sleep with him?”

  “Margaret!” Her mother stood up and began pacing. “You have no right to ask me—your mother!—a question like that!”

  “You haven’t answered me.”

  “No, I did not! Nor did I come up here with the intention of . . . doing that. I just wanted to see an old friend, period.”

  Was she telling the truth? Meg had no idea. “Mother, listen—Daniel Weston is dead. You were with him shortly before he died. Is there anything—anything—that you know that might be a factor in his death?”

  “No! We had a delightful time catching up. He was a perfect gentleman. He inquired about your father. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and no, he didn’t invite me to his house or follow me to my hotel room, and we did not sleep together. How can you think such a thing?”

  “With difficulty,” Meg said. She hauled herself to her feet. “Mother, I’m sure we have more to say, but I’m tired and tomorrow will be another long day. But you have to recognize that Detective Marcus is not going to let this go until he figures out what happened, and he’s got you in his sights. So if you’re hiding something, please don’t. I’m going to go to bed, and I’ll see you in the morning.” Meg turned toward the stairs.

  “Meg, there’s nothing to tell!” Elizabeth threw at her retreating back.

  She stopped and turned back to look at her mother. “Then there’s no problem, is there? Good night.”

  4

  Despite the emotional confrontation with her mother, Meg had no trouble sleeping. She had more trouble rousing herself the next morning, but she was determined to pull her weight in the orchard. In a way her mother had been right: technically, she didn’t have to do the manual work. But she really didn’t think she was cut out to sit back and act as overseer, and besides, she wanted to understand all parts of the business, even the sweaty, messy ones. Plus, an extra set of hands was always needed. Oops—she had forgotten to do the laundry. She found a clean T-shirt in a drawer and shook out the dusty jeans she had worn the day before and pulled them on.

  When she opened the door to her bedroom, she stopped for a moment, listening. Meg could hear Bree in the bathroom down the hall. The door to the guest room across the hall was open, and the room was empty, so her mother must have gone downstairs already. Elizabeth had always been an early riser. Squaring her shoulders, Meg marched down the stairs, opening the front door to assess the weather and let some cool air into the house, then went to the kitchen. Her mother was seated at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in front of her. It took Meg a moment to realize that the dirty dishes from the night before had vanished, save for a neat stack gleaming in the dish drainer. In fact, all the counters were clean and clear, more so than they had been for a couple of weeks—since the harvest started.

  “Good morning,” Meg said cautiously as she helped herself to coffee.

  “Good morning, dear.”

  Meg sat down. “Thank you for cleaning up the kitchen.”

  “You know I hate a messy kitchen. But I’m sure you haven’t had time to pay much attention to such things lately.”

  Was that a dig? “No, I haven’t. I’ve had a lot to learn in a short time, and I’m still playing catch-up.”

  Her mother looked out the window, at the blue sky that promised another clear day, ideal for harvesting. “Meg, I thought it over last night, and I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to remain in this house.”

  “What?” Meg was startled.

  “Margaret, I hadn’t realized how busy you are. I’m sorry if I didn’t appreciate that before. But if you’re so distracted, we won’t have any real time together. And if your nerves are so frayed, things may be said that will be regretted later.”

  Meg took a moment to parse that statement. Trust her mother to put it in as oblique a way as humanly possible. And also to put Meg in the wrong—too busy to spend time with her mother, too tactless to hold a civil conversation with her. “I’m sorry if I said things that disturbed you, Mother, but you have to realize that when the police are involved, there is no such thing as privacy. I’m just asking the same kind of questions that the detective will, sooner or later.”

  Elizabeth looked dismayed. “I thought that detective said that Daniel had a heart attack. That shouldn’t be too complicated.”

  “No, but heart attacks can be brought on by any number of things, not all of them natural.”

  Elizabeth laid her hand over her heart, as if in sympathy for Daniel. “How terrible. Daniel seemed so vibrant, so excited. I mean, he was just past sixty!” She straightened in her chair. “All the more reason I should remove myself. I don’t want to bring any part of this down on you. And I think I need some time to think things through.”

  Now, what could she mean by that? Meg wondered. “I think that Detective Marcus wanted you to stay around, at least for a few days. Where will you go?”

  “Margaret, I’m a grown woman. I’m perfectly capable of finding a place to stay. Although that lovely hotel in Northampton was a bit steep in price.”

  “Mother, it’s prime tourist season around here—the trees are turning, and all the college kids are coming back to school with their parents after the summer break. It might not be as easy as you think.” Meg thought for a moment, and was struck by what she felt was a brilliant solution: Seth’s sister, Rachel Dickinson. “I have a friend in Amherst who runs a bed-and-breakfast.”

  “Won’t she be booked as well?”

  “Let me see if she can squeeze you in. How long should I tell her you’ll be staying?”

  “I suppose through the rest of the week. Is it a nice place?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Very nice—I’ve stayed there myself. Let me give her a call now.”

  Meg grabbed the handset from her land line phone and retreated to the front parlor, away from her mother. She checked her watch before dialing: 7:30 a.m. Early, but Rachel had kids to get off to school, not to mention breakfasts to prepare for her guests, so she’d be up. Meg hit the speed-dial button.

  Rachel answered on the second ring, sounding breathless. “Hi, Meg. What’s up?”

  “I won’t keep you long—I know things must be crazy. I’ve got a problem: my mother is in town, and she’s in a snit and has decided she doesn’t want to stay with me because I’m too busy working to spend time with her. Is there any possible way you can take her for a few days?”

  “Oh, Meg—we’re kind of packed to the rafters, but so is everyone else in the valley. You can’t patch things up?”

  “Not quickly. Look, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. An Amherst professor named Daniel Weston, an old friend of my mother’s, was found dead of heart attack. My mother had come up to visit him a couple of days ago.”

  That bit of news stunned Rachel into silence, if briefly. “Oh, my. Were they . . . ?”

  “I don’t know, and she won’t say. But our friend Detective Marcus has asked her to stay around for a few days, so I can’t just send her home to New Jersey.”

  “I see your problem. Huh. Well, let me check my bookings and see what I can juggle. I’ll find a way.”

  “Bless you. But, um, I haven’t exactly told her about me and Seth. I mean, she met him when she arrived, but she doesn’t know ...”

  “I get it. So I shouldn’t tell her I’m his sister,
right? But you know, that could be a good thing. Maybe I can talk about how great he is, and she won’t know that I know . . . you know what I mean. But don’t worry, I’ll keep my mouth shut about the two of you.”

  “Thanks, Rachel, and I owe you big-time. Can I send her over later today?”

  “Let me clear out the breakfast crowd and clean up the rooms. Say, after ten?”

  “Great. And let me know if you pick up any interesting tidbits around town about the professor, will you?”

  “Daniel Weston, right? Sure. I’ll see if anyone in Amherst is buzzing. See you soon!” Rachel hung up.

  Meg returned triumphantly to the kitchen. “All set. You can go over after ten.”

  Bree came bounding down the back stairs and started to fill a carry-mug with coffee. “Morning, Mrs. Corey. Meg, you about ready? We need to use all the good weather we can.”

  “Do you actually pick all the apples by hand?” Elizabeth asked.

  “We do,” Bree responded promptly. “This place really isn’t big enough to justify a mechanical harvester, and besides, they’re harder on the apples. So we handpick, then take them down to the barn and sort them, then deliver them to markets or hold them for a few days.”

  “My word, I had no idea,” Elizabeth replied.

  “Most people don’t,” Bree said. “They just go to the store and buy them. Meg, I’m going to go on up the hill. Join me as soon as you can, okay? Bye, Mrs. Corey.” Bree grabbed a couple of store-bought donuts and her mug and went out the back door, the screen slamming behind her.

  “Then I’d better let you go,” Elizabeth said.

  “Mother, at least let me show you around, tell you what I’ve done since I got here,” Meg protested.

  “If you’re sure you can spare the time, I would be happy to see the property.”

  Meg drained her coffee mug. “Let’s go.” When her mother arose, and carefully placed her mug in the kitchen sink, Meg led the way to the front of the house.

  “How much do you remember, from the times you’ve been here before?” Meg began.

  “Very little, I’m afraid. I certainly wasn’t looking at the architecture at the time. My general impression was that it was a nice, typical colonial house, and that back up the line somewhere an ancestor had build it, or bought it, and his descendants had lived in it ever since.”

  “Yes, the last two of the family were Lula and Nettie Warren, the ones who left it to you. Did you ever explore our genealogy?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Not really. I wasn’t particularly interested. It’s too bad—I suppose I should have asked the sisters more about their past, and now it’s too late. I was certainly surprised when I heard from their attorney.”

  “And you weren’t curious enough to come up and see the house then?”

  “That was, what, twenty years ago? It was a busy time. The attorney—I can’t even remember his name, although his firm was still handling the rentals until you moved in—offered to find tenants, and I just said yes. Until you needed a place to go.”

  Another minefield that Meg didn’t want to explore at the moment. The circumstances under which she’d lost her job still smarted, even now. “Well, luckily for us, nobody messed with the place much. Most of what I’ve had to do has been basic maintenance, and some systems needed replacing. Like the plumbing—that was kind of urgent. The furnace is pretty shaky, and I don’t know if it will make it through another winter, but I want to see what kind of income I can get from the orchard before I lay out a big chunk for that.”

  “Can you actually support yourself this way, Meg?”

  Meg checked quickly to see if her mother was being sarcastic, but she appeared to be honestly interested. “To tell the truth, I don’t know. On paper, if everything goes right, after expenses—the short answer is yes. But that’s going to take some luck and a lot of hard work. Talk to me in a few months and I’ll have a better idea.”

  “I must say I’m surprised to see you doing something so, um, physical.”

  “You mean, rather than using my well-trained financial mind? Mother, I need every skill I’ve got to make this work. It’s a business, and it involves cost estimates and marketing plans and personnel issues. Sure, I get my hands dirty, but it’s a time-honored profession. I know—sometimes I have trouble believing I’m a farmer. If I’d known I was going to end up doing this, I’d have planned my life a bit differently. But I love the challenge, and I’m getting very fond of the town, and the people here. They’ve been great to me.” She hoped having helped to birth the much-needed restaurant went some way toward repaying Granford for welcoming her.

  Elizabeth studied her face but didn’t comment. Finally she said, “Walk me through the place, then. When was it built?”

  “Around 1760, as far as I can tell. I’ve been going through documents from the Historical Society here ...” The building tour took another half hour. Meg was pleasantly surprised when Elizabeth was willing to visit the barn and outbuildings. She felt a small spurt of pride as she described the construction of the temperature-controlled compartments where she stored her apples.

  “How large is the property again?” Elizabeth asked, shading her eyes as she admired the view.

  “Fifteen acres in apples, and a few more for the house lot. It was a lot bigger once—over a hundred acres—but parts were sold off over time. I’m also the proud owner of the Great Meadow there—that’s a fancy name for wet-lands, but at least no one will build on it.”

  “And these are your goats.” Elizabeth approached their enclosure cautiously. Dorcas and Isabel crowded against the fence, intrigued by the newcomer. “Do they smell?”

  “Males do, but these are females.”

  Elizabeth turned around to scan the sweep of hill and house and barn. “I had no idea . . .”

  “Neither did I when you sent me out here.”

  “Poor dear. If I had known what I was getting you into, I probably would have told that lawyer just to sell the place and be done with it.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Meg replied, surprising herself. “Maybe I won’t be doing this forever, but I’m enjoying it for now. You’re sure you don’t want to stay, Mother?”

  “No, dear. I’d just be in the way here, and frankly, I’d like some time alone. When you’re married, that’s a rare treat. If you can spare some time, maybe we can have lunch or dinner together. At that restaurant you mentioned, perhaps?”

  “That would be lovely. I’m sorry I’m not being more hospitable, but I do want to spend some time with you.” And I do want to know more about Daniel Weston and whatever it is you’re not saying.

  “I’m sure we’ll manage something, dear. Now, if you’ll just sketch out directions to get to this B and B, I’ll be on my way, and you can go pick your apples.”

  Instructions conveyed, Meg helped her mother load her suitcase—already packed and waiting—into her car and waved her off. She felt both relieved and guilty. Weren’t there any mothers and daughters who could carry on an adult relationship without dancing around innuendos and old hurts? She loved her mother, really she did, but that didn’t mean they got along well. This current mess just underscored the underlying distance between them, and Meg was having real trouble wrapping her mind around the idea of her mother with Daniel Weston. Elizabeth still had not told the whole truth, which would usually have been fine with Meg—except that Daniel was dead and Detective Marcus was sniffing around. That shifted the priorities.

  Meg had one more thing to do before she started picking today. She found her cell phone and called Seth.

  “Hi, Meg,” he answered in his usual cheery tone. “What’s up?”

  “I just packed my mother off to Rachel’s to stay. It was her idea to go somewhere else—she said staying here made her feel guilty that she was taking up my time, and besides, she wanted some space. But I didn’t tell her Rachel was your sister. Does that make me an evil person?”

  Seth laughed. “You want Rachel to pump her for i
nformation?”

  “Look, Rachel is a whole lot better at getting people to open up than I am.”

  “Meg, she’s your mother—you’ve got too much history together to be open with each other.”

  Meg felt a stab of relief. “You understand! How do you manage with your mother?”

  “Easy. She thinks I’m wonderful, end of story. And I think she’s a pretty great lady. Hey, at least your mother is staying in the area for a bit, right? You’ll have a chance to work things out.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Talk to you later—the apples are calling me.”

  “Go!”

  5

  If Meg had had time, she would have felt guilty. Had she driven her mother out of the house? Or was it her mother who wanted to escape from her daughter’s prying questions? Normally they would have trodden carefully, avoiding any conflicts. Unfortunately this time that wasn’t possible. Meg could only hope that Detective Marcus would sort things out quickly and that she and her mother could go back to their usual “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy of ignoring any important issues.

  But right now she had the demanding physical work of apple picking to distract her. Whatever idyllic fantasies she had harbored about the dignity of the Noble Farmer had evaporated fast when she actually started working. Still, as she had told her mother, it was honest work, and it needed doing, even if it was nothing more than removing apples from a tree—carefully, of course, to avoid damaging both the apples and the branches—and taking them down the hill to the barn, and then from the barn to the market. It was also sweaty and boring much of the time. On the plus side, it left her time to think while her hands (and legs and back and every muscle she could name) were busy. On the minus side, most of her thoughts kept veering toward her mother.