Sour Apples

by Sheila Connolly

  Meg laughed. “Interesting idea. We could also appeal to the scientific community, preserving the old genetic stock.”

  “So you think it might work?” Bree asked.

  “I do. It’s a good idea, as long as we don’t get carried away. Where would you carve out the space?”

  “That’s the third part of the plan: Seth’s land.” Before Meg could say anything, Bree held up a hand. “I know, you feel funny about taking him up on his offer. But this is a business proposition, pure and simple. He has land he’s not using and doesn’t plan to use. You want to expand your orchard, and it’s a prime location—plenty of sun, good drainage, not too windy. You can work out some kind of long-term lease arrangement with him. Heck, he’d probably let you do whatever you wanted, but knowing you, I’m sure you’d rather have a nice legally binding agreement.”

  “Yes, I would. To protect both of us.” Meg still had reservations, but Bree was right: it was time to make a decision. Either take the idea off the table, or act on it before it was too late to make it work this year. “I’ll talk to Seth about it. But you’ve got to figure out what kind of legalities we need to consider. Do we want a surveyor? How much land are you talking about? What do we have to do to get it ready, and how soon can we get the trees here? Do we have enough workers to plant them? Or would you and I be doing it ourselves?”

  “All good questions. I’ll get right on it, as soon as you clear it with Seth.”

  Bree looked happy, which in turn made Meg happy. The past year, they’d done only what had been done in the orchard for years, although they’d managed to expand their sales outlets. This proposed planting would mark a new phase for their orchard; Meg, with Bree’s help, would be putting her own mark on it. That felt good, even if it meant more work.

  “Here, I brought along some catalogs with heirloom varieties,” Bree said. “You can take a look. I’ve marked the ones that I know do well around here.”

  “I never would have figured you for one of those people who drools over plant catalogs. How do you feel about a kitchen garden?”

  “You want vegetables, you’re on your own. The orchard is business. Think about what I said, and talk to Seth.”

  “Got it,” Meg said. She’d see how much time she had free before laying out a small vegetable garden—after all, this was New England, and she couldn’t plant much anyway for at least another month. Or two.

  Bree finished her coffee and stood up. “I’m going to go pick up the pesticide. Whose truck is that in the driveway?”

  “Someone looking for Seth.”

  “So Seth’s here?”

  “Yes, he is—I’ll try to snag him in a bit and talk about the land. Okay?”

  “Deal! I’ll leave the diagrams here so you can show him. See you later.” Bree headed out the back door, pulling on a jacket on the way.

  As soon as Bree had slammed the door behind her, Lauren wandered into the kitchen, wearing a dingy bathrobe. “Hey,” she said, heading for the coffee. “It’s cold here. Didn’t you tell me you’d gotten a new furnace?”

  “Good morning to you, too. Yes, I did, but I keep the heat low—it’s expensive to heat a leaky old house. I thought you had meetings this morning.”

  “I do, at nine, which means I have about seventeen minutes to enjoy my coffee. What’s up with you?”

  “The usual. Pruning, spraying, tilling, planting, rinse, and repeat.”

  “You make me tired just listening to you,” Lauren said, smiling. “And here I thought I was busy. You know, it’s hard to imagine doing this for the next eight months.”

  “The campaign, you mean? I’d bet your job is harder than the candidate’s. He just has to show up where you tell him to, in the transportation you arrange, and give the speech that he probably didn’t write himself. You have to make it all happen.”

  “You’ve got that right. But I love the energy of it. I love being part of something bigger than I am, that isn’t just about the money.”

  “Like the bank was, you mean? I can understand that. I’ve found I do like farming, even if it is dirty and messy and unpredictable. At least at the end of the season I get a product I can hold, and eat. I’m not sure I’d like to be something like a dairy farmer, though—there’s no downtime at all.”

  “I can’t imagine being a dairy farmer—all those big, messy cows, and you have to milk them all the time.”

  “Speaking of dairy farmers, we just lost one of the few in town here—Seth told me yesterday. The poor woman was killed in a freak accident. It looks like one of her cows kicked her in the head.”

  “Oh my God—that’s awful! At least in an orchard the worst that might happen is a tree might fall on you, and your trees aren’t real big.”

  Meg went over to the sink to rinse her dishes. Seth’s van and Ethan’s truck were both still parked in the drive. Then, as she watched, another all-too-familiar vehicle pulled into the driveway: a state police car, with Detective William Marcus—Lauren’s ex—at the wheel. Marcus got out of the car and headed for Seth’s office.

  “Uh-oh,” Meg said.

  “What?” Lauren asked.

  “Our mutual friend Detective Marcus is here. That’s not usually good news.”

  Lauren bolted out of her chair. “Shoot, look at the time! I’ve got to get dressed and get out of here.” She dashed for the stairs, leaving Meg to wonder whether it was because her friend was running late—or because she was trying to avoid her ex.

  Meg felt conflicted. If Detective Marcus was here to talk to Seth, that meant something was wrong. She couldn’t just barge in and ask, but she didn’t feel like she could accomplish anything either until she knew what was going on.

  Ten minutes passed before Detective Marcus, Seth, and the other man emerged from the building, and even from a distance the three men looked grim. Meg pulled open the door and stepped out onto the granite step. Seth and Marcus sent her twin warning glances; the unfamiliar man looked shattered and didn’t even notice her.

  She could hear Marcus’s gravelly voice clearly. “Go home, Ethan. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything more.” He stared at him until he grudgingly turned and went back to his truck. Ethan didn’t bother to wait for Marcus to move his vehicle, but with a screech of tires he backed over part of Meg’s lawn and pulled onto the street.

  Marcus watched him go before turning to Seth. “I hate this part of the job,” he said.

  “Anything I can do?” Seth asked.

  “Find those records he was talking about. Keep your ears open. It’s early days yet.”

  Meg walked forward to meet them. “Detective, what brings you here?”

  “Chapin can tell you. I’ve got to get back to my office.”

  Lauren chose that moment to come out the back door, apparently oblivious to the scene in the driveway. She stopped abruptly when she saw Meg, Seth, and Marcus standing together. “Oh, I, uh…Hello, Bill.”

  “Lauren.” Marcus nodded. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

  “Just for a bit. I’m working for…a politician. And I’m late for a meeting, and it looks like all these vehicles are in the way of my car. Would you mind moving them? Please?” Lauren plastered on a smile.

  Apparently it worked, because Marcus returned to his cruiser and left, and Seth pulled out after him but waited in the road, freeing a path for Lauren. As the two women stood watching the men maneuver, Lauren said to Meg, “Well, that was awkward.”

  “Did your thing with Marcus not end well?”

  Lauren shrugged. “He didn’t quite get why I found him stuffy, I guess. Anyway, since he’s in Northampton, I didn’t think I’d be running into him, not here in Granford. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know yet—he said Seth could tell me.”

  “Well, you’ll have to bring me up to speed later. I’ve got to go.” She hurried to her car, started it, and reversed out of the driveway with a cheery wave.

  Meg stayed where she was until Seth returned to the drivew
ay and climbed out of his car. “What was that all about?” she asked as he approached. Up close Seth looked even more worried.

  “Can we go inside?”

  “Sure,” Meg said. Within five minutes they were seated around the kitchen table. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she figured had to be bad news. “Okay, Seth, what’s going on?”

  Seth looked as though he’d rather do anything else than talk about this. “In case you didn’t guess, the man you sent back to see me was Ethan Truesdell, Joyce’s husband. According to Detective Marcus, the autopsy showed that Joyce Truesdell wasn’t killed by an accidental kick—she was murdered.”

  “Oh my God, that’s awful! The poor man. I thought he looked pretty ragged. If I’d known, I would have said something to him.” said Meg. “But wait—why was there an autopsy? Was there anything suspicious about the…accident?”

  “No, nothing like that. In Massachusetts, any unattended death means there has to be an autopsy. That’s just routine.”

  “And the medical examiner found something?”

  “You sure you want to hear this? It’s not pretty.”

  “The outline, at least.”

  “As far as it’s been determined, Joyce was alone in the wooden stall, on a low stool, milking a cow. You should know from your own barn, Meg, just how small that kind of stall is. Not that it was a very big cow—she’s young, and she’s a Guernsey, a breed that runs small anyway. Joyce had plenty of experience with cows and with milking, so she knew what she was doing. That’s not to say that accidents don’t happen, and a small percentage of those are serious.

  “The cow had just calved for the first time, and she wasn’t used to being milked—Ethan mentioned that. That’s why Joyce was doing it by hand, which is not the way it’s usually done these days, but she was kind of babying this cow, which was skittish, and apparently she kicked. Again, not unusual. It looked like Joyce fell off the stool when the cow kicked her and hit her head on the side of the stall, hard enough to fracture her skull.”

  “What part of that wasn’t an accident?” Meg asked.

  “Because there was more than one blow to the head, and the shape of the blows indicates a weapon, not a hoof or a wall. Someone hit her, more than once.”

  Meg was stunned into momentary silence, and then a flood of questions emerged. “Wait—who? Why? How do they know?”

  “Marcus said that once they saw the autopsy results, he sent someone back to the barn to take a closer look. They found an old metal grain shovel, in plain sight, with minute traces of Joyce’s hair and blood on it. It would have been heavy enough to do what it took. Somebody did a pretty sloppy job of cleaning it up, or assumed nobody would look too closely.”

  “No prints?” Meg asked.

  “No. Whoever it was probably wore gloves.”

  “But why would anyone want Joyce dead?”

  Seth shook his head. “I have no idea. There’s no money involved—no fat insurance policy or family inheritance. She and Ethan had sunk everything they had into the dairy operation, which was just beginning to show a decent profit. And of course Ethan is the first person the state police are looking at as a suspect.”

  “How does he benefit?” Meg pressed.

  “He doesn’t, as far as anyone can tell. He seems pretty broken up about losing her. In any case, he says he has an alibi. He was out of town, picking up some equipment, and he didn’t get back until Sunday morning, which is when he found his wife’s body. He has a receipt from the motel he stayed at.”

  “He could have sneaked back in the middle of the night, couldn’t he?”

  Seth shrugged. “It’s possible. But it looks as though Joyce had finished up most of the milking—except for that one cow—when she was killed, and that cow was pretty miserable by morning. So if Joyce was doing the milking at the usual time, then someone surprised her between five and six on Saturday night. Probably closer to six, since all the other cows had been taken care of. She must have been saving the little Guernsey for last so she could take her time with her. But that’s not to say that Ethan couldn’t have come back, then left again.”

  Meg sat back in her chair. “So what does that mean? Nobody benefits from Joyce’s death, including the obvious suspect, her husband, who has an alibi anyway. So who would kill her? Are you saying there’s some madman on the loose in Granford?”

  Seth gave her a cheerless smile. “Let’s hope not.”

  “So why was Marcus here, telling you? You’re not involved.”

  “Tangentially, apparently, I am. Joyce seems to have led a blameless life. The only wild card here is her dispute with the town about that pasture she leased from Granford. When Marcus talked to Ethan the first time, he mentioned Joyce’s complaint. Marcus figured Ethan was pretty shook up and rambling. Now that he knows it was murder, though, he’s got to take another look at all possible motives, and that’s where I come in, as part of the town government. You remember, I promised Joyce that I’d check the history of that plot of land, but I haven’t had the time. Which is what I told Marcus.”

  “It seems kind of far-fetched as a motive for murder.”

  “He’s just being thorough, which is appropriate. It’s the only issue Joyce appears to have had with anyone—otherwise she was a model citizen. Filed all the right paperwork, paid her taxes, ran a clean operation. It makes no sense at all that someone would want to kill her.”

  6

  Seth sat silently for a moment before asking, “Was there anything else you wanted?”

  Meg debated for a moment. Obviously Seth wasn’t in the best of moods, but on the other hand, Bree would skin her alive if she didn’t at least talk to him about using his land. “Actually, there’s something I need to discuss with you. Nothing bad,” she added hastily.

  “What is it?”

  Meg took a deep breath. “Bree wants a decision about whether we’re going to expand the orchard this year. Does your offer to use the field up there still stand?”

  “Sure. I told you it did, and I’d love to see it put to good use. How much are you thinking about?”

  Meg pushed Bree’s diagram across the table toward him. “We’ve got fifteen acres planted now, and we thought maybe we could add another two or three? It’ll take some clearing, and we’ll probably end up doing a lot of the work ourselves, and we don’t want to get overextended. But the new trees won’t bear fruit for a couple of years, so that’s kind of a gradual phase-in.” Meg stopped herself because she realized she was babbling.

  But Seth was smiling. “Whatever you want. I probably won’t even notice those three acres—that section isn’t visible from my house or my mother’s anyway. Go for it.”

  “Great! So I can tell Bree to move forward? She’s itching to get started, and we’ll have to plant soon if we’re going to do it this year. Oh, and do you have a recent survey of the land? And we should draw up a lease agreement—I can’t afford to buy it right now, not if I’m going to improve it.”

  Seth smiled at her. “Fine, if it makes you happy, although I wouldn’t insist on it.”

  “I’m running a business, and I appreciate your trust, but I want to keep this on a business footing.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks, Seth.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Meg smiled at him. “Speaking of land, can you tell me more about this land arrangement with the Truesdells? If you don’t mind talking about it, that is.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know,” Seth said. “You only met Joyce once, right?”

  “Yes, that time she was here.”

  Seth went on, “Joyce was the driving force behind the dairy business, and Ethan seems to have gone along with whatever she wanted. But Joyce wasn’t all starry-eyed about it, and she knew how to run a business. They’ve done reasonably well, enough so that she wanted to buy or lease the property that adjoins her farm as grazing land—all her cows are grass fed. So she came to the assemblymen and asked. The town owns that land
and we didn’t have a problem with that, and we worked out a lease arrangement. We didn’t go into the whole history of that piece of land, but there was definitely a title search in the file. There was an implied promise that she could buy it sometime in the future, but Joyce was happy enough with the lease arrangement. So last year she started improving the land for grazing.”

  “What do you mean, ‘improving’? I didn’t know you had to do anything beyond growing grass,” Meg said.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that, though I don’t really know the details. Plus she had to put up fencing and clear out some brush. Nothing major. But then this spring she let the cows out to graze—and they started getting sick.”

  “That’s what she was so upset about the other day, right?”

  “Exactly. Of course, after the first couple of cows started looking bad, she pulled all of them off the field, but one died anyway. That’s when she came to me, because she thought the problem had to have something to do with the land.”

  “I don’t know anything about cattle or grazing. What can make them sick?”

  “Me either, but I gather there are a lot of possibilities. It could be a disease. Or it could be something in the soil. There are plants that can be toxic, or even eating too much too fast. Joyce was careful and well-informed. When she was here the other day, she told me she had sent blood and soil samples off to the appropriate labs. Apparently whoever did the blood work owed her a favor, and she received the report fast—and then she came straight to me.”

  “So the lab found something?”

  Seth nodded. “Lead poisoning. Apparently cows are particularly susceptible to lead.”

  “Where on earth would they have gotten into lead?”

  “We don’t know—yet. It could be something as simple as someone dumping an old car battery in the field—cows are sometimes dumb enough to lick them, believe it or not. But I would think that Joyce was pretty thorough about checking for things like that when she cleaned up the land.”

  “What do you know about that property?”