Red Delicious Death

by Sheila Connolly

  Lauren sighed. “Between you and me, they seem awfully young, even though they’ve got to be close to twenty-five.”

  “And we’re ancient, right?” Not quite a decade older.

  “Some days it feels like it. Anyway, I knew you’d have some good ideas. Let me talk to them, and you talk to your real estate person, and we’ll see if we can get them all together.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Thanks, Meg. Oh, by the way, they want to open by September first.”

  Meg choked on her drink. “You’re kidding! That’s less than three months away!”

  “I know. I told you they were young. They’ll find out fast enough. Oh, hey, how’s that plumber guy of yours?”

  “Seth? You’ll have to come see for yourself. He’s moving his office into my backyard.” Seth lived just over the hill, on land the Chapin family had owned for centuries. He had gone into the family plumbing business, but recently he had decided to follow his true passion, renovating old homes. Since the building that had housed the original plumbing business had been razed to accommodate the new shopping center on the highway through town, Meg had offered to let Seth take over some of the space in her outbuildings that she hadn’t planned to use. She thought she was getting the better deal: with the problems that plagued her eighteenth-century colonial house, it was handy to have a plumber on the premises. Meg hadn’t decided whether the fact that she and Seth had a . . . something blossoming between them made his constant presence a plus or a minus.

  “That’s pretty convenient. Okay, let me check my calendar and I’ll see when I can break loose. And I’ll send the kids out your way. Talk soon!” Lauren hung up.

  Meg sat, stroking Lolly, turning over what Lauren had told her. Granford really could use some decent food, although she had no idea what kind of menu these young chefs would be considering. Local foods sounded like a promising concept, and had been getting good media buzz. And there were probably plenty of providers around who would be happy to get the business. But whatever kind of food the fledgling chefs offered, they’d have to be able to attract people from outside of town, because Granford’s population of thirteen hundred or so would not keep a restaurant in business very long.

  Well, one step at a time. First they would need a location. Meg dislodged a protesting Lolly and retrieved her phone book so she could call Frances.

  Frances answered on the first ring—not surprising, considering the abysmal state of the local real estate market. “Hi, Meg! You ready to sell?”

  Meg laughed. “No, not yet. I’m just getting to know the orchard. But I’ve got a possible lead for you. A friend just told me about a couple of chefs who want to open a restaurant, and I gather they can’t afford Amherst and Northampton. Do you know of any places in town here that might work?”

  Frances snapped into business mode. “Square footage? Seating capacity? How much build-out expense can they handle?”

  Meg laughed again. “Hey, I don’t know! I just heard about this. Let’s assume they’re not looking for a fast-food joint on the highway, but something more upscale, to compete with the fancier places in the bigger local towns. Anything promising along those lines?”

  “Let me think about it, but I’ll bet I can come up with some possibilities. When are they looking to do this?”

  “Immediately or sooner. My friend says they want to be up and running by fall.”

  Frances gave a short bark of laughter. “Yeah, right—in their dreams. But who am I to discourage them? If they buy the building, it’s their problem. Let me check my listings.”

  “Terrific.”

  As Meg hung up, she realized she felt quite pleased with herself. She had done a good deed for her friend Lauren; she had given Frances a lead on some potential business; and she might just have helped score a decent restaurant for Granford. Not bad work, for under half an hour. And maybe Seth could help with the build-out, since he was a plumber; and he could help with zoning and licensing requirements, since he was a town selectman. Better and better.

  She stood up, dislodging the cat. “Well, Lolly, I guess I’d better get back to work.”

  2

  Meg had known Brian and Nicole Czarnecki for two hours and didn’t know whether to pat them on their heads or strangle them. Short and comfortably rounded, Nicole’s dark curls danced around her face, which telegraphed every emotion she felt—and there were many. She would have been a disaster in a poker game. Brian—taller, broader, and definitely quieter—followed his wife with what looked like sincere adoration. They seemed to communicate almost telepathically, with a quick exchange of glances or a passing touch.

  Lauren had warned Meg that the chefs were young, but she hadn’t mentioned that they were extremely sure of themselves, and predictably naive. They had shiny new degrees from a prestigious culinary academy, a couple of years of cooking experience under their belts, and they were certain that they knew all they needed to about fitting out and running a restaurant. Right. But it was hard to squash Nicole’s obvious enthusiasm, and Meg found she didn’t have the heart to try. It was too hard not to like them.

  Meg knew making this sale was important to Frances. A single woman maybe ten years older than Meg, Frances supported herself with her real estate sales, and they had been few and far between lately. Frances had lined up four sites for their inspection. The first three had been flops across the board, and Meg had been reminded of Goldilocks: one had been too big, one had been too small, but so far nothing had been “just right.” Meg wasn’t really sure how she had been roped into accompanying them; she had called Lauren as soon as Frances had lined up some viewings, and somehow Lauren had told the baby chefs that Meg was going to show them around the neighborhood. As if she knew much, after a scant six months. But she thought she should be polite to potential neighbors, and she wanted them to see Granford in a good light, mainly for selfish reasons: she really did want a restaurant in town. At least Granford was looking pretty these days, in the first full flush of summer. The sloping green at the heart of town was lush with grass, and the white church rose strong and true against the blue June sky. From this distance you couldn’t tell it needed a coat of paint—badly.

  Meg exchanged a glance with Frances as they made their way up the front walk of the last place on the list, and Frances winked at her.

  “Now, Nicole, Brian, I’ve saved the best for last,” Frances said. “Let’s take a minute to look at the exterior before we go in.”

  They were standing in front of a square, solid brick building, once painted white, with a generous wraparound porch, perched like a setting hen at the higher end of the Granford town green.

  Frances went on. “You’ve got a terrific site overlooking the town—you can’t miss it when you’re coming along the highway from the west. Imagine it lit up in the evening.”

  Nicole and Brian looked out over the green. “Kind of small, isn’t it?” Nicole said.

  “Granford? Yes, but we’re close to bigger towns, with easy access. South Hadley’s that way, Northampton and Amherst that way.” Frances waved at the two-lane roads that intersected in the middle of Granford. “You’re just far enough off the main road so that it’s quiet, with plenty of space for parking here, on the right side. What do you think?”

  Nicole turned to Brian, who nodded. “Can we see the inside?”

  “No problem. Listen, I can get you a really good price on this one. It’s been in the same family for years—the old couple living here wanted to stay in the family home, but they died recently and the heirs can’t be bothered with it. I think they’ll accept any reasonable offer.”

  “They didn’t die in the house, did they?” Brian asked.

  “No, of course not. In the hospital at Holyoke, a week apart. Kind of sweet, if you think about it. And they kept the place in really good condition—didn’t add too much either. So you won’t have to undo a lot.” Frances strode up the porch steps on the side and fished out a bunch of keys. “Ready?”
/>   “Okay.” Brian and Nicole followed her in, with Meg trailing in their wake. She was looking forward to seeing the inside of this house herself. She’d been driving by it for months, and had noticed the “For Sale” sign out front, but she had more than enough to keep her busy at her own place, between the renovations she was slowly doing by herself—which would accelerate now that the weather was nice—and the work needed in the orchard. Meg listened to Frances’s spiel with half an ear while she studied the house. Nice square rooms, with reasonably high ceilings. Long windows opening onto the broad front porch. She tried to visualize the rooms filled with linen-draped tables, candlelight, muted conversation, and the subdued clink of glassware and china: yes, it might work. It would be intimate and warm in winter, and there would be a nice breeze through the windows in summer. For the first time since they had set out today, Meg felt a surge of optimism.

  She tuned in to what Nicole and Brian were saying. “How many tables, do you think? What about the flow? I’d kind of hoped for a single space, not a couple of rooms. Brian, you’re going to be front—what do you think?”

  He shrugged. “Smaller rooms might be more intimate. Frances, where’s the kitchen?”

  “Oh, right—kitchen. I didn’t even think about that,” Nicole burbled. “I’m an idiot. I hope it’s not a dark hole in the back?” She looked inquiringly at Frances.

  “Nope,” Frances replied promptly. “It’s in an L of its own, with plenty of space. Not much in there now, but lots of potential.”

  As Meg followed the three toward the kitchen, she watched the chefs. They seemed to be thinking seriously about the site—they hadn’t even bothered to look at the kitchen in one of the places they had already visited. “How much were you thinking of investing in remodeling?” Meg asked.

  Brian and Nicole turned to her, looking as though they had forgotten her existence. Nicole answered, “We won’t have a whole lot, after we buy a place. And we’re going to need to fit out the kitchen first—I want real quality appliances and all, you know?”

  “Maybe you should talk to a professional. I know someone who does both plumbing and renovation, and I’m pretty sure he’d give you a good deal. That is, if you’re serious?”

  They glanced at each other, then Brian turned back to Meg. “Maybe. But we could do a lot of the work ourselves. I’m pretty handy with a sledgehammer.”

  “Why don’t you two check out the kitchen and I can give him a call, see if he can come over now. If you’re interested, that is.”

  “Okay, sure,” Brian said, then followed Frances and his wife into the kitchen.

  Meg turned away and hit Seth’s speed-dial number on her cell phone.

  “Chapin Plumbing—oops, Renovation. Hi, Meg. What’s up?”

  Meg walked over to one of the windows overlooking the green. “Are you doing anything right now?”

  “I’m always doing something, but I’m in town, if that’s what you’re asking. What do you need?”

  “Frances is showing some potential buyers the house at the top of the green. They’re looking for a restaurant site, but they’re probably going to have to put together a whole new kitchen. I thought maybe they could use a professional opinion before they got too carried away.”

  “The Stebbins place? Great building, but you’ve got to be careful with that old brick. I can be there in five.”

  “Bless you.”

  Meg shut the phone and followed the sound of voices toward the kitchen, off to one side of the building. Even Meg could tell that some major changes would be needed to fit it out for restaurant cooking.

  Frances was talking rapidly. “Sure, you’d have to tear all this out, but it’s great space, isn’t it? And set off from the dining areas, which will cut down on noise and odors. And the plumbing hook-ups are already in place.”

  Meg cleared her throat. “I’ve asked that friend of mine to come over and take a look—he can probably give you a good idea of what would need to be done.”

  “Cool,” Nicole said. “And thanks. What’s upstairs?”

  “Three bedrooms—well, technically four, but the fourth one was probably the nursery when the place was built,” Frances said. “One bath. You have plans for the upstairs?”

  “We thought if there was enough space, we could live in the restaurant building, at least in the beginning, while we’re getting set up. Can you show us?”

  “Sure. Meg, you coming up?” When Meg shook her head, Frances went on, “Let us know when Seth gets here. Come on, you two—there’s a back set of stairs, which is perfect for what you want.”

  While the trio clattered up the uncarpeted stairs, Meg wandered around the downstairs rooms. Even with a solid structure, it was a pretty safe bet that the house would need a major overhaul to turn it into a business—which meant a major outlay of capital. Did the kids have a clue what they were getting themselves into? And had they given any thought to zoning, permitting, a liquor license? Or did they only have pie-in-the-sky ideas about opening a nice place to eat? Meg wasn’t sure whether she envied them their youthful optimism, or pitied them for the rude awakening that undoubtedly awaited them.

  “Hello?” Seth called out from the front of the building.

  Meg went out to greet him, and watched as he approached, the usual spring in his step. She always thought that he looked like the original town settlers would have looked: compact, solid, competent. That wasn’t surprising, since the Chapins had been among those founders. And if anyone could steer the Czarneckis in the right direction, Seth could.

  “What’s the story? Are they really interested, or just looking?” he asked her.

  Meg shrugged. “I can’t really tell. They saw a couple of other sites, but even I could tell they wouldn’t work. I think they like this place, and Frances is giving them the pep talk. And as a plumber, you can tell them what they’ll need to do in the kitchen, which is pretty much a blank slate at the moment. And as a selectman, you can tell them about permitting.”

  Seth held up a hand, grinning. “Whoa! First we’d better figure out if they’re serious. You think they’d be a good fit for Granford?”

  “You’re asking me? I think they make me feel old.” Meg sighed.

  Seth laughed. “Can it, Meg. You’ve taken on a lot of new things recently, so I don’t think you’re too stodgy yet. Let’s see what they’ve got to say.”

  As Frances, Nicole, and Brian made their way down the stairs, Seth stepped forward to greet them. “Hi, I’m Seth Chapin—Granford resident, contractor, plumber, and selectman. You name it, I’ve probably done it. You’re thinking about using this place as a restaurant?”

  Nicole’s eyes were brighter than they had been when she went up the stairs, Meg noticed.

  “Well, it’s not definite, but it’s the nicest place we’ve seen, if we can get a deal we can afford. We know we’ve got a lot of expenses coming. Can you take a look at the kitchen?”

  “No problem.” Seth led the young chefs back toward the kitchen, leaving Meg and Frances in what must once have been the front parlor.

  “What kind of funds have they got?” Meg said in a low voice.

  Frances grinned. “Enough. From what they’ve said, Nicole’s dad gave them a nice check as a wedding present, and they’ve been saving their pennies since. I’ll get them a good deal, if they go for it. I know the owners pretty well.”

  “Are there restrictions on what you can do with a historical structure in Granford?”

  “Some. We’ll see. I hope Seth doesn’t scare them off.”

  “He’ll be fair. I’ll bet the selectman side of him would want this to work, but I don’t know if that talks louder than the plumber-renovator side.”

  Nicole emerged from the kitchen alone. “Guy stuff. They’re talking about drains and venting.”

  “You both plan to cook?” Meg asked.

  “Oh, yes! We both love it—although Brian took more business courses than I did. And we’ve got another friend—he couldn’t make it today
because he had some stuff to finish up in Boston, but he could be here by next week. He’s our sous chef. So Brian will take care of the build-out, and then later, the front of the house. I’ll handle planning menus and do most of the cooking, and Sam will deal with the vendors and prep work. We’ve got it all planned out.”

  Seth and Brian emerged from the rear, still deep in conversation. Apparently male bonding extended to pipe chases and grease filters. “What’s your schedule for the job?” Seth asked.

  “We’re aiming for September first. Are we nuts?”

  “Depends. It’s doable, but it might be tight.”

  Brian looked relieved. “Hey, you’re the first person who even thinks it’s possible. And Sam and I can do a lot of the unskilled stuff, if you’ll let us.”

  “I could use the help,” Seth replied. “When are you going to decide on the site?”

  Nicole and Brian exchanged a long look before Brian spoke again. “Cards on the table? We like this place. It has a good feel, and it’s in our price range. Let me talk to our mortgage broker, and maybe we can make an offer, say, tomorrow?”

  They might be naive, Meg thought, but at least they’re decisive. Frances looked like she was ready to weep for joy, and Meg had to wonder how many deals she had closed lately.

  “You won’t regret it,” Frances said. “It’s a great town, good people. You do this right, and you can attract business from the whole area. You let me know when you’re ready to make a deal, and I’ll talk to the owners.”

  “Thanks, Frances. And Meg, you, too—you’ve been a big help, and now you’ve put us in touch with Seth. I think we’re going to like it here.”

  Meg waited on the porch as Frances escorted Brian and Nicole back to their car, talking a mile a minute. She was admiring the view when Seth came up behind her.

  “Think they can make it work?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Maybe. I won’t say no. And the town will be happy to have them.”

  “They’ve got a pretty tight timetable. Are they going to be able to get all the permits and permissions and whatever?”