A Killer Crop

by Sheila Connolly

  “Were you ever . . . involved with Daniel, back in those days?” Meg asked.

  “You mean, was I sleeping with him? Yes.”

  Meg squirmed inwardly. This was far beyond any conversations they’d had in Meg’s younger years, and she certainly had never wanted to ask, nor had her mother volunteered. But now it was important. “Before Daddy? Or at the same time?”

  Elizabeth looked at her with something like pity. “Meg, before you judge me, you have to understand the time and the place. It was a different environment, and people viewed things differently. I was pretty straitlaced by standards then, and I knew I wanted a conventional life, no matter what our friends were doing. I felt that I had to make a choice. I loved your father, but in a way I loved Daniel, too. They were very different people. I have to say, your father loved me more than Daniel ever did. I slept with Daniel a few times, to see . . . I don’t know what. If it would change what I felt, or what he felt. If it would make any difference. I don’t think your father ever knew—I certainly didn’t tell him, and I doubt Daniel did. Phillip might have sensed something, but he didn’t press. And then he proposed.”

  “Who proposed? Daddy, or Daniel?”

  “Your father.”

  “And that was the end of it between you and Daniel?”

  “Not immediately. I didn’t accept your father’s proposal right away. I guess I wanted to give Daniel one last chance. Maybe I hoped he would see what he would be losing and fight for me. But he didn’t. Maybe he valued Phillip’s friendship more that he cared about me.”

  An awful thought hit Meg, and she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “You’re not going to tell me that Daniel is my father?”

  Elizabeth turned abruptly toward her, her eyes glittering in the half-light. “Margaret Elizabeth Corey, how can you ask me that? Of course not. I wasn’t stupid or careless, and I wouldn’t have done that to your father. And you, young woman—you work with numbers. Do the math. You were born two years after I married Phillip.”

  Meg was embarrassed, but also relieved. “I’m sorry. And I guess I’m sorry we’ve never talked about those days. Maybe it would have helped me with my own relationships. I don’t have a lot to be proud of there.”

  “You mean Chandler?”

  “In part. I know you liked him.”

  Her mother sighed deeply. “Darling, I thought he was a self-centered ass. But I wasn’t about to meddle—that’s never a good idea.”

  Meg sat up straighter, incredulous. “You didn’t like Chandler?”

  “Not at all. But you seemed happy.”

  “I tried to be, but I can see now that the whole thing was a mistake. He never really cared about me—I was just a placeholder until someone better came along.” How much of Meg’s image of a “good” relationship was based on what she’d seen of her parents’ relationship when she was growing up? Which, when she thought about it, was pretty distant. “Mother, have you and Daddy been happy together?”

  “Yes, I’d say so. It hasn’t been a mad, passionate relationship, if that’s what you’re asking. But we’ve always supported each other, always respected each other, trusted each other. I would call it a successful marriage.”

  “Was there passion with Daniel?”

  For a moment her mother didn’t answer, and then she said softly, “Yes.”

  Meg waited before framing her next question. “And did you miss that, with Daddy?”

  “Oh, Meg . . .” Her mother shook her head sadly. “To be honest, yes, occasionally. But please don’t cling to any romantic notions about soul mates or the idea that love conquers all. I mentioned choices earlier. I made a considered, rational choice to marry your father, because I believed we would have a better life together, over time. And I think I was right.”

  “Then why were you here with Daniel now?”

  “Curiosity. It had been a long time.”

  “Mother, I know you said you didn’t sleep with him, and I believe you. But did you plan to?”

  After another long pause, Elizabeth whispered, “I would have. If he’d asked.”

  The single lamp in the room cast shadows in the corners. Meg was conscious of Lolly’s purring warmth in her lap, and she felt the weight of the silence in the room. She needed to think carefully. Her respectable mother had come up here for what she probably had hoped would be a romantic tryst with a former lover—but he hadn’t been interested. And he had ended up dead.

  “Mother, I hate to keep poking at this, but I think it’s important. Did you believe that Daniel invited you up here for a . . .”

  “An affair? A quickie? A last gasp at youth, now that we’re all old and gray?” Elizabeth’s tone was strained. “No, I don’t think so.”

  What had so upset her mother? “I know you didn’t have a lot of time together, but he didn’t, uh, make overtures? He didn’t meet you at your hotel room and fling you on the bed?” Meg couldn’t believe she was saying this to her mother.

  Her mother gave an uncharacteristic snort of laughter. “No. Nothing like that. He talked about his wife and his children. All very proper. We never even got near a bed.”

  Which, Meg realized, potentially gave her mother a motive for murder. She had come up here with expectations, which Daniel had squashed. Elizabeth had risked her marriage and her dignity and he had rejected her. She could see a prosecutor outlining for a jury the classic story of a woman scorned, a woman with a fading marriage, past her youth, grasping at straws—and pushed over the edge when Daniel had said no, or worse, had said nothing, trashing all of Elizabeth’s fantasies.

  “Was this what you weren’t telling the police?”

  Elizabeth smiled ruefully. “I know, it seems silly. I was embarrassed, and I didn’t think they needed to know. After all, nothing happened. My expectations had nothing to do with Daniel’s death. Are you seriously thinking that I would have killed him because he didn’t want to sleep with me?”

  “I guess not,” Meg said, suppressing an inappropriate grin. Now that her fears had been voiced, they appeared ridiculous. “But it’s possible that the police would see this as a motive for killing him, and if they find out you’ve lied to them, they’re going to be even more suspicious.”

  “Meg, there’s nothing to find. We were two old friends meeting in public places. That’s all there was.”

  “But he’s dead. Somebody killed him. Are you sure he didn’t say something, anything, that would suggest he was in danger, or was afraid of something?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Not that I can recall.”

  “Maybe if we go over exactly what he did say, we might find something,” Meg said stubbornly. Surely a man who had been murdered could not have been the paragon of virtue that Detective Marcus had outlined. He must have left some small hint, embedded somewhere.

  “Meg, are you sure this is going to help? I’m tired, and I’d like to remember the positive things Daniel and I shared.”

  “Mother, he was murdered, and you’re the best suspect the police have. This is not just going to go away. Trust me on that.” When Elizabeth didn’t answer, Meg pressed on, “Look, the man must have been busy, with classes and this conference. Why did he pick this particular time to ask you up here? Surely there would have been more convenient times. Was his wife away?”

  “No. Or if she was, he didn’t mention it. He didn’t invite me to his home.”

  “Did he take you to the campus?”

  “Not exactly. We drove around it, but we didn’t visit his office. We never even got out of the car.”

  “Did he take you out anywhere in Amherst?”

  “No. He said the choices in Northampton were more interesting, and that’s where I was staying anyway, so it was convenient.”

  No doubt someone at the restaurants would remember seeing them, or there would be a credit card trail, to corroborate her story. Tracking that down was a job for the police. “So no one in Amherst—not his family or his colleagues—knew you were in town?”

&n
bsp; “No, but I didn’t give it any thought. It’s not like he made me duck down or put a blanket over my head when we drove through town, as though he were ashamed to be seen with me. Does it really matter?”

  “To be honest, I don’t know. I’m just looking for something out of place. He didn’t introduce you to anyone in Amherst. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen in public with you there. Why?”

  “Meg, I think you’re making too much of this. We didn’t spend that much time together—less than forty-eight hours.”

  “All right. What did you talk about?”

  “I’ve already told you. We caught up on the past. We talked about our spouses and our children. He asked about you, and told me what his sons were doing, where they’d gone to college, their jobs.”

  Meg thought furiously. Weston had asked her mother to meet him here without Phillip, but not for romantic purposes. Yet he’d more or less concealed her presence from anyone who knew him. They’d shared information about their respective spouses and children, which was perfectly normal. On the surface, everything seemed quite innocent. Why didn’t it feel right?

  Meg was startled when her mother stood up abruptly. So was Lolly, who launched herself off Meg’s lap; Meg winced at the dig of sharp claws.

  “Meg, I know you mean well, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore right now. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go to bed.”

  “Of course. I’ll see you in the morning.” Meg didn’t even have time to get to her feet before her mother left—or more accurately, fled. Meg had struck a nerve, no doubt, but that had been her intention. Knowing her mother, she could understand why she had withheld certain details from the police. Unfortunately those were details whose concealment did not put her in a good light. Had Elizabeth finally realized that?

  What now? Accepting that her mother was not a killer—not that Meg had any such suspicion—why would anyone else have wanted Daniel Weston dead? It made no sense to her. But, Meg admitted, she was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and tomorrow promised to be as demanding as today had been. Reluctantly she dragged herself out of the chair and trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. Her mother’s door across the hall was firmly closed.

  12

  When Meg awoke the next morning, feeling sluggish, she lay in bed listening to the distant sounds of voices. Bree and her mother were early risers and were chatting up a storm in the kitchen, and they sounded so normal. Meg sighed: what Elizabeth had told her the night before did nothing to eliminate her as a suspect in Daniel Weston’s death. Ignoring that was not going to make it go away. Did Marcus have any other suspects? Not that he’d share them with her, but clearly he would be annoyed at Elizabeth’s ongoing evasiveness. As was Meg. She could understand why her mother had been reluctant to tell the detective everything, but stalling had only aggravated the situation.

  So what was she supposed to do? Harvesting her apples was at the top of the list. She had to ask Raynard if he could spare her long enough to put in an appearance at the Harvest Festival; if she didn’t, Seth’s feelings would be hurt, even if he didn’t say so, since he had done a lot of the planning for the event and specifically asked her to attend. Thinking of Seth made her wonder: Why hadn’t her mother ever told her that she thought Chandler was wrong for her? And what would she have done if she had? Had she gotten involved with Chandler because in the back of her mind she thought her mother would approve of him? And worse, was she putting off introducing Seth as her . . . whatever, because she was afraid her mother would disapprove of her dating a plumber? Grow up, Meg!

  To avoid any more unsettling thoughts, Meg hauled herself out of bed. When she made it to the kitchen, Bree and Elizabeth were seated next to each other at the table, and Bree was sketching on a piece of scrap paper and pointing with her pencil. “This area here was replanted a couple of years ago, so they won’t be bearing for another couple of years. Over at this end, we’ve got a bunch of heirlooms. Christopher Ramsdell—that’s the professor who’s kept the orchard going for years—he’s been trying to collect as many of the old varieties as he can, so we don’t lose them from the genome forever.”

  “That’s fascinating. And I met Christopher yesterday at lunch in Amherst—he’s charming,” Elizabeth said.

  “Hi, guys,” Meg said as she headed for the coffeepot. “Bree, what’s on the agenda for today?”

  “Well, duh. Picking apples.” Bree grinned at her. “There are lots of Macs left.”

  “I need to sneak off for a couple of hours—I promised Seth I’d stop by the Harvest Festival.”

  “I think we can spare you. You know, you should have some T-shirts made up with your crate label on them—you could advertise that way.”

  Was there anyone in town who didn’t know who Meg was already? Still, it was a cute idea. “I’ll think about it. Mother, did you see the label that Bree designed?” Meg rummaged through a stack of papers until she found a color computer image. “We used a historic example for the background but plugged in our orchard name.”

  “Very nice. Eye-catching,” Elizabeth replied. “I never thought about how many details there are to growing and selling apples.”

  Meg sat down at the table with her coffee. “Neither did I. But with Bree and Christopher helping, I’ve learned a lot since I arrived. Mother, you still want to go to the festival?”

  Elizabeth nodded at Meg. “Certainly, if I wouldn’t be imposing on you.”

  Bree burst out laughing. “Man, the two of you! You sound like something out of a Victorian novel. Meg, you gonna write an invitation? I can deliver it, if I can find a pair of white gloves.”

  Meg smiled. “You’re right. Mother, you’d be more than welcome. Bree, I’m going to go up and check in with Raynard about what deliveries I need to make. I’ll come back and Mother and I can head over to the festival.”

  Once outside, Bree asked as they climbed the hill, “You two working things out?”

  “Sort of.” Meg hesitated for a moment, wondering how much of her mother’s confidences she could share with Bree. “Let’s say that the reason she’s been ducking Detective Marcus is embarrassing rather than criminal.”

  “I couldn’t exactly see your mother whacking someone. How did the guy die again?”

  “Marcus didn’t share, but he knows it wasn’t natural, which makes it a murder investigation now.”

  “Ouch. Just what we need.”

  Raynard was waiting at the top of the hill, and Meg could see pickers already dispersed through the orchard. “Hi, Ray,” she said. “Listen, do you think you could spare me for a bit today? I’d like to take my mother to see the Harvest Festival.”

  “I think that would be fine—if Briona agrees,” he said with a sly smile and a nod toward Bree.

  “I’ll let you go, Meg, if you’ll take care of today’s deliveries later. I’m not supposed to do stuff like that with this arm, remember.”

  “Deal!” Meg responded. “You just let me know who gets what. We should have plenty of time.”

  “Six crates of apples to deliver to Amherst,” Bree said promptly. “They’re in the cooler, and they’re all labeled. You’ll be okay with the truck?”

  “I’ll manage. If I can handle a tractor, I’m sure I can handle an old pickup. You don’t want to go to the festival?”

  “I’m going to meet Michael later and we’re going to hit up some of the bigger festivals in Amherst and Belchertown. It’s a pain that they all seem to happen on the same weekend.”

  “Then I’ll be back in a couple of hours to pick up the apples.”

  Back at the house, Meg found her mother in her once-again spotless kitchen, wearing practical shoes and a light sweater draped over her shoulders. “So tell me, what goes on at this fair of yours?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I have no idea—this is my first one. But it’s also the official opening of the new strip mall on the highway—it’s called Granford Grange—and I’d like to stop by. I’m going to make the wild assumption that there will
be various food products at the festival today, so we’ll have plenty of opportunity to eat later. Are you ready?”

  “I am.”

  Meg led her mother out to the car. When they were settled, Elizabeth asked, “What sort of mall is this Grange?”

  Meg started the car and headed out the driveway. “That’s probably kind of a grand term for it—it’s a row of shops along the highway, but it is new, and sorely needed in Granford. The original plan was to put it where the orchard is now, but luckily the design was cut back and the whole thing got shifted closer to town.” She realized once again she had omitted to mention Seth’s role, which had been crucial in that process.

  “From what little I’ve seen of the town, there isn’t much commercial development here. Downtown Granford looks just like I remembered it, even after all these years.”

  “Yes, Granford doesn’t change much. Mostly because it can’t—no income, dwindling population, and so on. Though that keeps the tourists happy.” Meg laughed. “There’s the general store in town, and of course, the restaurant now, and some feed stores along the highway, but most people have to leave town to do any shopping. It does take getting used to.”

  “So what does this little mall offer?”

  “A sandwich shop, breakfast and lunch only. My veterinarian, Andrea Bedortha. A card-and-gift shop, and I think an accountant. Plus a couple of others—I haven’t kept up lately. The town tried to avoid chain stores, not that we were really big enough to interest them, and stick to those that will benefit the local community. Anything exotic you can find somewhere else around here, like Northampton.”

  “I will say that the area seems relatively unspoiled, by contemporary standards.”