Golden Malicious

by Sheila Connolly

  “Uh, yeah?”

  “It’s not urgent. Art, are you going to go play caveman and help Seth burn meat?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Meg handed Art a platter laid out with burgers, hot dogs, and sliced zucchini brushed with olive oil and herbs. She added utensils. “There. Go!”

  Since all the cooking was happening outside, Meg sat down and motioned for Michael and Bree to join her. “Michael, I wanted to talk to you because I’ve got a question about something related to local ecology. Or something like that—I’m not sure what the right terminology is. Did Bree fill you in on this beetle problem that’s been discovered this week?”

  “Kinda.” Michael focused on peeling the label from his beer bottle with his thumbnail.

  “Well, Christopher Ramsdell says that the inspectors thought the distribution of the insects was suspicious, and they’re very quietly wondering if they could have been introduced artificially. Don’t spread that around, okay? Anyway, none of us has come up with a convincing reason why anybody would do something like that. I mean, no matter what your ecological philosophy, invasive pests like this will ultimately do harm to forests, right?”

  Michael nodded. “Yeah, sounds about right. What am I supposed to tell you?” At least now he was beginning to look interested.

  “Look, we’re just spitballing here. Suppose somebody wanted to make a political statement, and they used Asian longhorned beetles as their weapon. The insects were originally imported, mainly from Asia, so no natural enemies, and now they destroy forests. What’s the message?”

  “Huh,” Michael said, looking at a spot above Meg’s head, presumably thinking.

  “Come on, you can do better than that.” Bree nudged him with her elbow.

  “Okay. Bree told me one of the sites was a tree lot, and the trees are used for lumber?”

  Meg nodded. “Yes. The lot belongs to a local lumber company run by a family that’s owned and managed it for generations. But they contract out for the logging, and a hired logger was found dead there. One of the other properties is a town-owned park.”

  “Oh yeah, I think Bree told me about the logger guy. Nobody logs the park?” When Meg shook her head, Michael said, “Then I don’t see how the two fit together. Okay, say somebody decided that commercial logging was bad, or the way they were doing it was too destructive, so they scatter the site with the bugs to destroy its value for logging. It wouldn’t make sense, because a lot of the forest would still get destroyed either way, so nobody comes out ahead. The park makes even less sense, because it’s a public asset that serves all sorts of people. Why try to destroy it?” He took another swallow of beer. “Is this helping?”

  Meg nodded. “Yes, by eliminating possibilities. So in your opinion, there’s no protest group that might be doing this?”

  “I don’t know everything that goes on around here, but I haven’t heard of anything like this. It’s not like we all coordinate, but this doesn’t sound like anyone I know. Nobody wants to destroy the good stuff.”

  “Thank you,” Meg said. “That’s about what I was thinking, but I wanted to check.”

  Bree had been silent, but now she said, “Who pays for all this—I mean, clearing out the trees? The government? State or federal?”

  “Uh, I don’t know,” Meg said. “Why?”

  “Because it could be somebody who wanted to attack either the Nash family or the town, or both, depending on who’s responsible for the costs. It’s probably public knowledge that the town is strapped. I don’t know about the Nashes.”

  “I do—they’re hurting, too,” Meg said. “I don’t know who has the cash for this kind of thing, but it’s not like they have a choice, if the government says they have to remove the trees. Let’s hope it doesn’t come out of the owners’ pockets—there may be some remediation funds.”

  Bree pressed on. “Another question for Christopher.”

  “You’re right,” Meg replied. “Thanks again, Michael—you’ve been a help. Keep your ears open, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  21

  Bree and Michael took off shortly after dinner, leaving Meg, Art, and Seth sitting around the kitchen table, feeling sluggish.

  “Anybody do anything interesting today?” Meg asked hopefully. “Because all I’ve been doing is irrigating. Seth, anything new at Donald’s?”

  Seth smiled. “Now he’s decided he wants to bring in a consultant on paint colors. He may even decide to mix his own paint.”

  “What did they use for paint in seventeen whatever?”

  “Milk paint, for one,” Seth said.

  “As in, cow’s milk?”

  “Yup. Milk plus lime and pigments—about as simple as you can get. Donald wants to be sure he gets his colors right. He’s sent off some samples from the damaged parts to someone who knows about these things, who’s going to analyze the paint layers.”

  “I am so glad I have a newer house,” Art said, leaning back in his chair, his hands laced behind his head, legs outstretched.

  “Lucky you,” Meg said. “Ice cream, anyone?”

  After Meg had dished up ice cream and they’d eaten it quickly before it melted, Art said, “Okay, guys, I appreciate the meal and all, but I know you want to pick my brain, assuming you can find it. You’d better get down to it before I fall asleep in my chair.”

  Meg and Seth exchanged a glance, and Seth nodded at Meg to go first. She quickly outlined the Asian longhorned beetle problem and what Christopher had told her about the government report, and the possible deliberate use of the insects. Art followed her narrative with a slightly bemused expression.

  “Are you saying there’s a crime in here somewhere? Am I supposed to do something?”

  “That’s the problem, Art,” Meg told him. “We have no idea. It could be anything from malicious mischief or vandalism to domestic terrorism. Christopher’s not aware of any other examples of deliberate misuse of insects like this. And where does the death of David Clapp fit?”

  Art nodded. “You think they’re connected? You aren’t buying the accident theory? Because as far as I know, Marcus is. I haven’t heard from him in a week.”

  “I figured as much. I’ll admit that may be what happened, but I don’t think we can rule out other possibilities. Say, for example, that this Clapp person was planting the insects, although what he stood to gain puzzles me. Maybe he was doing it for personal reasons, although Jonas Nash swears they were on good terms. Or maybe he was working for someone else. Either way, it’s possible that somebody found him and tried to stop him physically, and then when things went wrong he got scared and ran. Maybe killing him wasn’t intentional, but the poor guy’s just as dead.”

  Art looked at her and then at Seth, his expression skeptical. “Are you really saying that these critters are worth killing anyone for? I mean, so a few trees die or get cut down—does that really justify murder? Sometimes I wonder why I talk to you two at all—you create more problems for this town, not to mention me, than anyone I’ve ever known.” Art’s smile softened his statement. “What is it you want me to do?”

  Seth finally spoke up. “Nothing, at least for now. Yes, the impact of an insect infestation is serious business, but you don’t have to worry about the details. You’ll be hearing more about it because the town park is affected. To get back to the unexplained death, maybe we’re seeing demons where there are none. But we keep coming back to the basic fact that a man is dead, and it’s possible that somebody else knew about it and didn’t tell anyone. Whether or not that’s connected to this insect thing isn’t clear. Do we know enough about him?”

  Art was silent for a few moments before speaking again. “I’m sure the state police have checked the guy’s background. On the other thing, assume somebody is in fact planting this pest in various places around here. What’s the motive? Who stands to gain?”

  “That’s where we’re stuck, Art,” Meg said. “Or rather, we have a number of possible motives but no way of figur
ing out which one is the right one. And they all sound kind of absurd.”

  “Give me the short version,” Art said.

  Meg ran through her list: doing harm to Jonas Nash, either personally or through his business; trying to influence property values; or simply making trouble, although there should be easier ways of doing that than sneaking around scattering exotic insects. “Does that cover it, Seth?” she said when she had finished.

  “Sounds about right,” he said.

  “Oh, I forgot—while you guys were out cooking I asked Michael whether there were any environmental groups that might have reason to do this, and he said he didn’t know of any. That doesn’t mean they aren’t out there, but he’s pretty plugged into the local scene, so he would likely have heard. It seems a stretch anyway—if someone wants to save a forest, you wouldn’t send in a pest that could destroy it, right?”

  “Wouldn’t make sense to me,” Art said. He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to call it a night, folks, and think about what you’ve told me—not that Marcus would welcome me poking my nose into his investigation, if there even is one, and I’m not sure there is. But I agree that it feels like another one of those pesky coincidences that just doesn’t sit right. And I do take it personally when somebody dies in my backyard. Thanks for the dinner. Don’t get up—I know the way out.”

  When he was gone, Meg continued to sit at the table, too tired to move. “Well, I guess we’ve done the right thing. What’s next on your agenda?”

  “I’ve got a backlog of town business to deal with. One of the letters I opened today was a follow-up from a commercial developer I’ve been talking to.”

  “I thought Granford was done with all that, now that the shopping complex is up and running?”

  “I’d hoped we were. I don’t want to see Granford turn into every other town with a string of strip malls with the same stores. But developers are getting hungry again. I mean, look at how much that stretch of Route 9, this side of Amherst, has been built up recently, even since you’ve arrived. Stores, hotels, restaurants.”

  “You’re right—I noticed that, when I went to get my hair cut. And it does look like any other generic strip in the country, once you get past Hadley. But what would anyone want with Granford?”

  “You forget that Route 202 is a main highway. There’s still land available along there. Like the park.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “And the developer has his eye on that site in particular?”

  Seth nodded. “Along with a few others. The developer wants to meet with the Board of Selectmen and discuss possibilities for working with the town.”

  “Are you going to meet with them?”

  “I’ll tell the board members about it, and we can decide if we want to take it to the next step. I’m guessing we wouldn’t—I’m sure you remember what a mess it was last time, for a variety of reasons—but I have an obligation to hear the guy out, if his intentions are legitimate.”

  “It’s not your decision?”

  “Not a personal decision, no, and not solely mine.”

  “But it’s still on our list of motives,” Meg said, almost to herself.

  “I guess so.”

  “If the government or whoever has to come in and cut all those down, what kind of impact will that have on the park? Or any other wooded site around here, for that matter. People go there to enjoy the woods and nature and all that, and if you take away the forest, or the majority of it, then what? Does it serve its purpose anymore?”

  “I guess I see your point. But it’s not that simple. The park is part of a town-wide recreational use plan, and it would be difficult to change that. We’d have to look into ownership issues, which are complicated by the fact that some government monies were used to acquire it. And all of this would take time—maybe years.”

  “Maybe there are developers who take the long view. After all, there’s only so much land.”

  “True. Oh, and I ran into another odd problem, when I stopped by the town offices, that I’m supposed to do something about. Looks like somebody’s been siphoning off electricity from the town.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we have a municipal power provider here—Granford Power and Light. The town doesn’t manage it directly, but we do have oversight. The town administrator usually reviews the bills and authorizes payment, pro forma, but over the past year or two she noticed an unusual spike in usage, more than can be accounted for by new users like the shopping center. It’s not a lot, which is why it took her so long to identify it—it wasn’t a high priority. It was a good catch on her part.”

  “Are you supposed to do something? You think it’s more than just some hard up homeowner tapping into a line to save some money?”

  “Looks like it. At that level, it would take us a while to catch on. After all, it’s town money that’s paying for whatever this is.”

  “Could it be something illicit, like, say, a meth lab, or a chop shop?”

  Seth laughed. “Meg, you’ve been watching too many crime shows. I guess it’s possible, but it’s not likely.”

  “How do you track it down? What do you look for?”

  “Mostly follow the power lines around and see if anybody’s patched something in that shouldn’t be there.”

  “Shouldn’t the power company be doing that?”

  “Yes, and they are. I’d just be another set of eyes. There’s still a lot of unoccupied land around here, and I drive around a lot on the back roads. For that matter, if whoever it is has done a good job, it would be hard to find. Just one more niggling little problem.”

  “Of which there are many, I gather. I don’t know how you do it all.”

  “Some days I don’t either.” Seth smiled. “Hey, want to come along while I take Max for a walk? It should have cooled down a bit by now.”

  Meg stood up, feeling her muscles protest. “Sure. Some fresh air might be good. Don’t forget bug spray. Betcha this is the leading edge of an insect uprising.”

  “With a coalition between mosquitoes and Asian longhorned beetles? I find that a little hard to visualize.”

  “Never say never,” Meg said, reaching for the spray she kept by the door.

  Max had to be coaxed to leave his comfortable space on the floor, but once outside he perked up. He went over to greet the goats, who were also taking advantage of the cooler evening air to stroll around within the confines of their pen, then he took off toward the back of Meg’s property. At least his golden coat made him easy to follow in the growing dark. Meg and Seth linked arms and strolled after him at a more leisurely pace.

  “Do you think we’ll ever know what really happened to that poor logger?”

  “You know, he probably knew that park. Didn’t Jonas say their kids both played in Little League there?”

  Meg stopped dead and looked at Seth. “Seth, do you realize what that means? He would have known both the park and the Nash land. If I weren’t so tired I’d be excited—that’s actually a clue, sort of. At least it links the victim to two properties.”

  “It does. I’ll tell Art in the morning. He can take it to Marcus, if he wants—maybe he can score some points with the detective.” Seth laughed. “My, what a romantic conversation we’re having.”

  “I’m too tired to be romantic. Let’s collect Max and go in before the mosquitoes find us.”

  22

  When Meg came downstairs the next morning, Bree was seated at the kitchen table with various pads and notes spread out in front of her. Seth had left earlier, headed toward his office, and he’d taken Max with him. Meg helped herself to coffee and sat down across from her.

  “That looks serious,” she said.

  “Maybe,” Bree responded. “I hate to say it, but I’m beginning to worry about our water supply. The water level’s been dropping.”

  Not the way Meg wanted to start the day. “What does that mean, in practical terms?” she asked.

  “I
can’t tell you. We don’t have a lot of history on the well supply—maybe it’s just a blip. But this year’s been so dry . . . I’m worried.”

  “What happens if we can’t irrigate?”

  “With no rain? Uh, it depends.”

  “Come on, you can do better than that!” Meg said.

  “Okay, if you really want to hear it. Fruit growth happens in two phases. The first is from bloom to about fifty days after bloom. We came through that just fine. The second phase runs from fifty days to harvest—that’s when your apples grow. And that’s what depends on available water, during the hottest, driest time of the year. That’s where we are right now, and we’ve got a drought on top of the normal summer heat. We’ve been able to compensate with the well water so far, but if we can’t use that, the apples will stop growing. The older trees with deep roots will do better than the new ones.”

  “Which means we should concentrate our watering on the newly planted trees, even though they’re not producing apples yet, rather than the ones that are?”

  “If you’re thinking long term, yes. Those new trees need to get well-established now. They’re producing wood for the future. But even in the older trees, drought stress can reduce fruit set for the next year.”

  “Are my trees stressed?” Meg asked.

  “You tell me. The signs are wilting, yellowing leaves, falling leaves, and fruit drop.”

  Meg thought about what she’d seen in the orchard. Things weren’t exactly looking lush, but were they that bad yet? “Uh, maybe?”

  Bree shook her head. “We’re okay for now—just. But another week or two like the past few and we won’t be.”

  “Can I go back to bed now and pull the covers over my head?”

  Bree smiled reluctantly. “Nope. As long as we have water, we’re going to irrigate. But maybe some prayer might help.”

  “I’ll consider it.” Meg stood up and refilled her coffee mug—her own form of irrigation. “Anything else you want me to worry about, that I’m helpless to control?”