Rotten to the Core

by Sheila Connolly

  They trooped into the room, with the detective in the lead. “Ms. Lydon, I am going to read you your rights and remind you that you have the right to have an attorney present.”

  Daphne lay against a stack of pillows, but she didn’t look particularly ill. She did, however, look peevish. Meg thought irreverently that this was probably the most concentrated attention she had received in years and she probably wanted to draw it out and enjoy it for as long as possible.

  Marcus recited the familiar words, while Daphne watched him, unblinking. When he was done she said, “Sure, fine. I get it. And I don’t want a lawyer. Can I start now?”

  Meg stepped forward and claimed the sole guest chair, while Marcus checked a small recorder he had pulled from a pocket; Seth and Art leaned against the walls. Before Marcus could begin, Meg said, “Daphne, why did you want me here?”

  “I feel kinda bad that you got mixed up in this. I mean, I didn’t even know you, and Jason didn’t, either. But he knew the orchard and he wanted to take it back.”

  “Ms. Lydon,” Marcus broke in, “can you please state your full name and residence for the record?” Formalities completed, he asked, “Were you responsible for the death of Jason Miller?”

  “Kinda. Look, can I tell this in my own words? It’s kind of hard to explain.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Jason had this brilliant idea that he was going to kill himself, like a political protest or something, you know? Like he’d done all he could with GreenGrow, and people still wouldn’t listen to him, and this chemical company was moving in on the university at the same time the university was throwing him out, see? So he was going to make a statement and get some attention, maybe some good press. Only he never meant to die. I was supposed to come along and find him and save him.”

  Well, that was a new twist. Jason had trusted Daphne enough to help him stage a phony suicide? But obviously, something had gone wrong.

  “Were you delayed?” Marcus asked.

  Daphne glared at him for interrupting, but Meg thought she saw a glint of sly triumph in her expression. “No, I was not delayed. I was there, at his apartment, right on time. He had this suicide note written—ha, book was more like it, full of political stuff. And he mixed up some of this pesticide stuff and he drank it down, and then he checked the time and looked at me and said, ‘Let’s give it a couple of hours and then you can call for help, okay?’ So we waited, and he started getting nauseous and sweaty.” Daphne stopped.

  “We found no note,” Marcus said grimly.

  “Well, duh. I got rid of it—the printed copy, anyway. But he probably wrote it on the GreenGrow computer.”

  Marcus sighed, almost imperceptibly. “And then what did you do?” he said.

  “Nothing. Not. A. Thing. I watched him get sicker and sicker, and all I felt was empty. And then I figured, somebody would find him dead and they’d just think he’d killed himself. Which he did, right? I mean, he was the one who took the stuff.”

  Meg was chilled by the image of Daphne watching Jason die, but she had to know: “Daphne, why was he in the orchard?”

  “Figured you’d wonder about that. Well, he started getting kind of crazy, and loud, and he decided that to make his point, he ought to make it look like he picked the orchard to die in. So I went along with the idea.”

  “He knew the property?”

  “Sure. Professor Ramsdell’s been teaching classes out there for years, and Jason took one of them a while back.”

  “Was that where he found the poison?” Marcus asked.

  “Yup. He’d seen it there, one time, when he was snooping around, and he kind of helped himself to some. You never know when things like that will come in handy. Problem was, it turned out to be kind of unstable—which he found out the hard way. It acted a lot faster than he thought it would. Hurt more, too.” Daphne looked ghoul ishly pleased at that idea.

  Meg felt a pang: so it had been the pesticide from her barn. Her carelessness was going to haunt her—she should have known what she had on her property.

  “How did you transport him?” Marcus asked.

  “His car. I can drive, you know—I just can’t afford a car.”

  “But,” Meg interrupted again, “his car was found in Amherst. You just left him here and went home? Without telling anyone?”

  Daphne settled herself more comfortably on her pillows. “Well, you know, I had plenty of time to think, sitting out there in the dark with him, waiting. Good thing he’d quieted down by then, or the whole neighborhood would have been awake. Anyway, I guess it was the first time I felt like I was in control, you know? I mean, it was always like, Daphne, do this. Daphne, come over when I want you. He never cared what I wanted. So now I had the power, and I started thinking: what did I care about GreenGrow or all this organic crap? I was only there because Jason cared. Okay, maybe his death would help them, but then I had a better idea. I figured I’d make it look like it was Bree’s fault.”

  The men in the room looked blank, but Meg had an inkling of Daphne’s intentions. “Because she rejected Jason?”

  “That was part of it. She didn’t want him, and he was really pissed about that. But then she started sniffing around Michael, and she started coming back to GreenGrow. Jason wasn’t too happy about that. Him and Michael, they started arguing a lot more. Everybody knew it. Why should Miss High-and-Mighty get everything she wants? And why did she have to horn in on the only thing I had? Jason and GreenGrow? So I thought, let’s see if the cops will think maybe she had something to do with it.”

  Not a bad plan, Meg thought. It might have worked, or the whole thing might have blown away for lack of evidence and Jason’s death would have gone down as unsolved. “Then why did you try to poison us last night?”

  “Because you jerks just weren’t getting it! I mean, Jason had been dead for two weeks, and nobody had a clue! I figured I’d better give the police a shove in the right direction.”

  “And you could have killed all of us, if that pesticide was as unstable as you say.”

  “Yeah, well, sorry. I guess I didn’t plan it very well.”

  “So when you saw that your plan had failed, you decided to kill yourself?” Marcus said.

  “Yeah, I guess. I couldn’t think of anything better. I mean, I have no education, no money, the only guy I loved didn’t care about me, and now he’s dead. It just seemed like the easiest way out.”

  Meg felt nauseated again, but this time it was due to the horror she felt at Daphne’s words. Daphne had watched someone she claimed to love die, and had let it happen; worse, she’d come close to killing more people, just because she was jealous of Bree. Poor Daphne—the killer.

  Seth moved to her side. “Had enough?” he whispered in her ear.

  Meg nodded. “Get me out of here.”

  He turned to face Detective Marcus. “Do you need her for anything else?”

  “I think we have enough.”

  “Talk to you later, Art. Meg, let’s go home.”

  36

  “Did the hospital clear you to go?” Meg asked Seth on the way down to the lobby.

  “No problem. You all right?”

  “Sad, I guess. Daphne’s such a mess, and Jason was a jerk. If he’d just been a little nicer to Daphne, maybe none of this would have happened. And how pathetic is that?”

  “I’m sorry it had to involve you, and your orchard.”

  “So am I.”

  “Are you okay to drive?”

  “Sure. I come from tough Yankee stock. And I’ve got work to do.”

  They drove back in silence, but somehow Meg didn’t turn off toward Seth’s house, going straight home instead, without asking Seth. It was a lovely sunny day, and she wanted to check on the orchard. Thank God she had managed to get Daphne out of there alive—she didn’t need any more ghosts in her orchard.

  Things happened quickly during this uncertain season, didn’t they? She got out of the car, stuck her keys in her pocket, and set off up the hill,
toward air and sunshine. Seth followed without a word.

  When she reached the edge of the orchard, she stopped. Superstitiously her eyes were drawn to the springhouse, but there was no one there, dead or alive. The rows of trees stretched in all directions, and—she did a double take—some of them appeared to be blooming. Wasn’t it early for that? But here and there were hints of pink as new blossoms sought the sun. Baby apples in the making, and—bees, weather, pests, and time willing—they would be full grown by the fall.

  “Seth, look! I’ve got flowers. Or blooms, or whatever you call them.” The orchard had gone on, with or without their attention.

  “You do. Looks good.” He came up behind her. “Listen, Meg, I don’t want you to let what happened with Daphne and Jason get to you.”

  She turned to him. “Seth, why shouldn’t it? They were living out their own little tragedy, right here under our noses. Sure, it wasn’t my fault, but I still feel bad about it. What a waste.”

  A minute or two drifted by as Meg moved away, looking at more individual trees. Then she said without turning, “Seth, I’m glad you’re not dead.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I’m kind of glad about that, too.”

  She took a deep breath. “You know, I have a lousy romantic track record, and I’m not sure I trust my judgment right now, but if there’s a chance of something happening between us . . . I think I’d like to know.”

  “Meg, you’ve got to know that I think of you as a lot more than a friend.”

  It wasn’t easy for her to turn around and look at him. Same Seth, solid and warm, watching her. She reached out, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him into the shelter of an apple tree’s low branches. “Good,” she breathed.

  She wasn’t sure who kissed who, but it didn’t matter. It felt right. She leaned back against the rough bark of the tree and pulled him closer. He was alive, she was alive, and it was spring . . .

  “Ahem.”

  Meg jumped a foot at the sound of a discreet cough.

  “Is that you, Meg? And Seth Chapin?”

  Meg could feel herself blushing. “Tell me it isn’t Ruth Ferry,” she said into Seth’s chest.

  Seth backed up—all of an inch—without letting her go. “I won’t, but Rachel will.”

  Meg giggled. “Not Rachel, too. Can we get back to this later?”

  “Definitely.”

  Seth backed out of the branches cautiously, and Meg followed after running her fingers through her hair, releasing a shower of pink petals. “Hi, Rachel. Were you looking for me?”

  Rachel struggled to hide her smile. “I was. It was such a nice day, I thought Ruth might enjoy a drive, and here we are. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

  The expression on her face made it clear that she hoped no such thing. Seth intervened quickly. “Rachel, behave yourself. Ruth, it’s great to see you—how long has it been?”

  “Long enough, my dear boy. Do you know, I believe I came upon your grandfather under the same circumstances, when I was about twelve. It must be the spring. If you can spare the time, however, I’d love to see the orchard.”

  Meg beamed at her. “Of course! It looks like the bloom is just beginning. Seth, you want to come, too?”

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  Cooking with Apples

  While almost all apples taste good when cooked, their texture varies widely, so you have to choose carefully when you’re using apples in cooking. Some cook down into mush, others become leathery and tough, and some are “just right.”

  Old cookbooks may recommend apple varieties, but they’re not always available these days. In your local stores today, the best cooking apples are: Braeburn, Cortland, Granny Smith, Jonathan, Mutsu, and Stayman. Golden Delicious is a dependable variety, but don’t try to cook with Red Delicious! And keep in mind that a good eating apple is not always a good cooking apple.

  1 pound of apples = 2 large, 3 medium, or 4 small

  Apple Recipes

  Grandmother’s Apple Crisp

  Apple desserts come with all sorts of wonderful names—cobblers, buckles, betties, pandowdies, crisps, crumbles, slumps, and grunts. They’re all related, but with complicated genealogies. For her ill-fated dinner party, Meg chooses a recipe she remembers her grandmother making—it’s hard to go wrong with it.

  Serves eight

  Topping

  2 cups all-purpose flour

  ¾ cup packed dark brown sugar

  ¼ cup granulated sugar

  ½ tsp. cinnamon

  ¼ tsp. salt

  2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter, cut into

  tablespoon-size pieces and softened

  1cups toasted, chopped pecans

  Filling

  ½ cup granulated sugar

  ½ tsp. cinnamon

  5 lbs. apples

  2 tbsp. fresh lemon juice

  grated lemon rind

  Preheat oven to 375°.

  Blend the flour, sugars, cinnamon, and salt in a food processor. Add the butter and blend until mixture forms large clumps. Place the mixture in a bowl and work in chopped nuts with your fingers (quickly—you don’t want the butter to melt).

  Peel, core, and slice the apples (slices should be about a half-inch thick). Blend the sugar and cinnamon in a large bowl. Combine the sliced apples, sugar-cinnamon mix, lemon juice, and zest and toss well.

  Butter a 4-quart shallow baking dish and spread the apples in it. Crumble the topping evenly over the apples. Bake in the middle of the preheated oven until the topping is golden brown, about an hour.

  Roast Pork Loin with Apples and Onions

  1 boneless pork loin roast (about 3 lbs.)

  Salt (preferably kosher) and pepper

  1 tbsp. minced fresh thyme (use less if you have only

  dried thyme)

  2 tbsp. vegetable oil

  3 medium onions, cut pole to pole into ¾-inch

  wedges

  3 garlic cloves, minced

  2 large baking apples, peeled, cored, and cut into

  large chunks

  cup sparkling dry hard cider (you may use bottled

  sparking cider-you don’t want it to be too sweet)

  1 tsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice

  ¼ cup chopped fresh parsley

  Set the oven rack in the middle position and preheat the oven to 325°.

  In a small bowl, mix 1½ teaspoons of salt, ¾ teaspoon of pepper, and 2 teaspoons of thyme. Set pork on a cutting board, pat dry with paper towels, tie into a neat cylinder with kitchen twine at 1½-inch intervals, and rub all over with the salt mixture.

  Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a large ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat until very hot. Place the roast in the skillet and cook, turning, until well browned on all sides, about 12 minutes.

  Add the onions and garlic and sprinkle with a pinch of salt and drizzle with the remaining tablespoon of oil. Turn the vegetables to coat with the oil, put the skillet in the oven, and roast for about 20 minutes.

  Add the apples, the cider, and the remaining teaspoon of thyme, toss the apples and onions to coat and turn the meat over with tongs; continue roasting until center of the meat registers about 135° on instant-read thermometer, 20-30 minutes longer.

  Transfer the roast to a carving board, remove the twine, cover loosely with foil, and rest for 15 minutes (center of loin should register about 150° on instant-read thermometer). With a slotted spoon, remove the onions and apples to a serving platter, cover loosely with foil, and set aside.

  Bring the liquid in the skillet to a boil, and continue boiling until liquid is reduced by half, about 5 minutes. Add the lemon juice, parsley, and any accumulated juices from the onions and apples and the meat. Stir to mix, taste the sauce, and adjust the seasoning with salt and pepper, if necessary.

  Cut the meat into half-inch slices and arrange over the onions and apples on the serving platter. Pour the sauce over the meat and serve at once, with boiled potatoes.

  Tarte Tatin


  This is the classic French dessert that Meg enjoys at the bistro in Amherst. There are those who think that it’s too difficult or too unpredictable to make at home, but the caramelized flavor makes it worth the effort.

  4 lbs. cooking apples

  1 cup granulated sugar

  cinnamon (optional)

  2 tbsp. softened butter (to grease the pan)

  a flame-proof baking dish 9-10 inches in diameter

  and 2-2 ½ inches deep

  6 tbsp. melted butter

  confectioners’ sugar, if needed

  pastry large enough to cover (you

  may use your own pie crust or a short

  sweet pastry, or just buy the frozen

  pie crusts from your grocery store)

  Preheat the oven to 375°.

  Quarter, core, and peel the apples. Cut them into 1/8- inch slices. Toss the slices in a bowl with thecup of the sugar (and the cinnamon, if you like). You should have about 10 cups of apples.

  Butter the baking dish heavily. Sprinkle half the remaining sugar evenly in the bottom, and arrangeof the apples over it (this should be fairly neat, since it will become the top of the dessert at the end). Sprinkle withof the melted butter. Repeat, making three layers of apples (these layers can be messier). Sprinkle the rest of the sugar on top.

  Roll out the pastry to ⅛-inch thick, cut into a circle, and lay it over the apples, keeping the edges inside the pan. Cut a few holes for steam.

  Bake in the lower third of the preheated oven for 45- 60 minutes, covering the edges of the crust with foil if they are browning too quickly. The tart is cooked when the liquid has begun to thicken to a deep brown syrup and bubbles up around the edges (here’s where choosing the right kind of apple makes a difference—you don’t want them to be too soupy).

  Now, here’s the fun part (you can skip this if you’re worried). Remove the tart from the oven and set it over medium-high heat on the stove top. Shake regularly so that the apples will not stick to the bottom. Continue until almost all the liquid has evaporated.