Red Delicious Death

by Sheila Connolly

  “We’re working on it,” Nicky said cheerfully. “Oh, and you haven’t met Sam yet. He just arrived from Boston, and he’s going to be staying at the house, too. He’s looking into suppliers. Isn’t it great that we’re here at this time of year, when there’s so much to choose from? And Seth is terrific, isn’t he? Does he live here with you and Bree?”

  Bree swallowed what sounded like another snort, and Meg hurried to say, “He lives just over the hill. But his office is at the end of the driveway there. He’ll do a good job for you—he really cares about old buildings.”

  “It’s going to be great to clean up the place a bit.” When Nicky saw Meg’s expression, she added quickly, “Don’t worry, we don’t want to destroy it. It’s got charm, and Seth says it’s pretty sturdy. And we haven’t got the money for fancy designers, so mostly we’re going to settle for paint and polish. I like your place here—did Seth do the floor?”

  Meg smiled proudly. “He helped, but it was mostly me. So I know what you’re getting into, and I don’t envy you. Still, I think strong and simple should appeal to people, especially around here. As long as you don’t tart it up with chintz and wooden chickens.”

  Nicky let loose a delighted giggle. “No way! Besides, I don’t want anything to distract people from the food. So, Bree, you from around here?” Nicky asked.

  “Born and raised,” Bree said. “I just graduated from UMass, in Amherst. If you’re asking, my parents are Jamaican.”

  “Ooh, I’ll have to get some recipes from you. Can you get the ingredients you need around here?”

  Bree relaxed slightly, and Meg wondered if she had been braced for an insult of some kind. “Most—there’s actually a pretty big Jamaican population around here. You said you’re from New York?”

  “Manhattan, mainly, ’til I went to Providence. Daddy didn’t much like me going to cooking school—he thought I should get what he calls a ‘real’ degree and do something serious—but he came around, and now he’s really behind me. He says he always liked my cooking—but then, he would, wouldn’t he? And Brian’s great, too, of course. He likes to cook, but he’s much more into running things.”

  “You met at culinary school?”

  “Yes. Sam, too. We’re kind of like the Three Musketeers, you know?”

  “Are you partners, officially?” Meg asked.

  “We’re friends. We don’t have a legal agreement or anything, if that’s what you mean. And we’ve all put in what we could, except I could do a little more than them, because Daddy’s helping.”

  Nicky seemed completely open and sunny, even about the financial side of the situation. The delicious scones showed that she could cook. But how good would she be at running a business?

  Meg was surprised to find that she cared. From what she’d seen so far she liked Nicky, innocent though she might be. She wanted to see their business succeed, for a variety of reasons. But it wasn’t up to her to babysit this project; she had enough on her own plate with the orchard. Still, the next couple of months would be crucial to Nicky and Brian—maybe she could break free a little time to make sure they were on track. If Brian was the financial brains behind this, maybe she could sound him out discreetly and find out if he knew what he was talking about.

  “You know, UMass has a pretty decent hospitality program,” Bree was saying.

  “Oh, I know. Brian told me all about it. He thought we could probably find some graduates to hire, in the future, maybe.”

  “You need staff? I still know a bunch of students who’d be happy to have the work, and maybe some of the pickers’ families.”

  “Great! I love this town already! Everybody has been so helpful—Meg, Frances, Seth, and now you, too, Bree. I just know this is going to work.” She beamed at them, and at the world in general.

  Meg hoped she was right.

  Nicky pressed on, “Can we go talk to Seth now? We’ve got to start making real plans, and the clock is ticking!”

  “Seth’s not always around, you know. His business keeps him running around a lot.” When Nicky’s face fell, Meg added, “But I know he wants to help you. Why don’t you call him and set something up?”

  Nicky bounced out of her chair and pulled out a cell phone. “Excuse me a sec.” She went into the dining room.

  Meg and Bree exchanged a glance. “High energy, isn’t she?” Bree said in a whisper.

  “You’ve got that right. I hope she knows what she’s doing,” Meg replied in the same tone.

  Bree shrugged. “Who knows? Enthusiasm helps. I wonder how many people say no to her?”

  Nicky came back. “He’s coming by the place at three. You guys want to come, too?”

  “I’ve got some stuff to do,” Bree said, “but not anything you need to be here for, Meg.”

  Meg wavered. She thought she ought to know what Bree was doing, if it was related to the orchard, but she also wanted to be sure that Nicky and crew got off on the right foot. What could a couple of hours hurt? “Sure, I’d love to be there.”

  “Oh, good. Hey, before I say something stupid, are you and Seth, like, together? ’Cause I kind of got that vibe.”

  Meg could feel herself blushing. She hadn’t really decided how to define their relationship, whatever it was. “Sort of. We haven’t known each other long.”

  “Hey, cool. Listen, I’d better get back and make sure Brian and Sam are making progress, but I’ll see you later!” She scooped up the plate she had brought the scones on, now empty except for crumbs.

  “Why don’t we go out this way?” Meg led her toward the kitchen door. Outside, she pointed. “That’s Seth’s space, and the barn is mine—that’s where the apples are going soon.”

  Nicky actually held still long enough to take in the view. “It’s pretty here. It sure is different than New York City. But I like it. Thanks again, Meg. It’s great to be making friends here so fast. See you later!”

  Inside again, Meg sat down to finish her coffee. “What do you think?” she asked Bree, who was tidying up.

  “I like her, I guess. I don’t want to see her fall flat on her face.”

  “I don’t either. I hope she’s sincere about this, and it isn’t just the whim of the moment. I’ll have to scope out this Sam guy, too. You really think you can find staff for them?”

  “Sure, no problem. Plenty of people around here looking for work these days.”

  Meg pulled up to the Stebbins house at three and found that Seth had arrived before her—and he had brought Bree. Meg parked and greeted them. “Hi, you two. Bree, I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “Seth grabbed me—he stopped by the house. I finished up my stuff early, and—okay, I’ll admit it—I want to see what they’re doing.”

  “You and me both.”

  “Told you—I bet nobody says no to Nicky,” Bree muttered as they approached the open front door.

  Brian greeted them in the vestibule. “Welcome, welcome! Sorry I can’t offer you refreshments, but we did scrounge up a bottle of champagne. You’ll join us? We want to start off right.”

  He looked so pleased with himself that Meg couldn’t turn him down. “Of course.”

  Brian had bought plastic glasses, and he set them on the stairs to pour. When he had filled the glasses, he called out, “Nicky? Sam? Our first customers.”

  “Coming!” Nicky called out. She appeared a second later with the person Meg assumed was Sam, in tow. “Hi, Meg, Bree, Seth,” she said breathlessly. “And this is Sam.”

  “Sam Anderson,” Sam said, offering his hand. He looked as though he could be Nicky’s big brother. He was broad but not fat, with a thick mop of curly dark hair in need of a cut, and an amiable, handsome face. “Thanks for coming by. Nicky’s told me about all your help with this. I’m going to be sous chef, and help plan the front of the house.”

  Brian distributed glasses, and then raised his. “May our stomachs always be full, and our plates empty.”

  Everyone drank, at least a token sip. Then Seth said, “L
isten, we’ve got a lot of planning to do before we start construction. You want to tell me what you’re thinking?”

  “I’ll let you guys handle that,” Nicky said to Brian and Sam. “I want to tell Meg and Bree about the layout.”

  “Seth, let’s go into the kitchen and we can talk,” Brian said. He led Seth and Sam into the kitchen at the side, leaving Nicky, Bree, and Meg in the front.

  “Tell me what you had in mind, Nicky,” Meg began. “You’ve got the central hallway—are you going to use the rooms on both sides as dining areas?”

  Nicky drifted around the room, running her hand over the walls and woodwork. “I’d love to open this up—just one big, airy room. Can’t you see it? Watching the glowing lights of the town, with maybe a fire here in the fireplace, candles on the tables. But Seth says the building would fall down if we took out the walls.”

  Meg looked out the window and reviewed the visible buildings: the small library (no lights at night), the church (the same), the Historical Society (ditto), and the small general store slash pharmacy (maybe that would stay lit after dark?). The nearest residential buildings were currently screened by summer foliage, but Meg doubted they’d be very visible even in winter. The Stebbins house, perched on the low hill, its windows glowing with warm light, would actually be a nice contrast to the otherwise dark town, and would be an attractive beacon to anyone passing along the main highway.

  “A hearth fire could be very welcoming, and it would probably be cozier for diners if you keep the rooms intimate anyway, rather than opening them up. You’ll have to check if the chimneys are okay, though, if you want to use it. Do you plan to have a bar?”

  Nicky shook her head emphatically. “I wouldn’t waste the space. This place is about the food, not about drinking. Although we’ve got room for a great wine cellar, when we can afford one.”

  “Where’s your setup space? Powder rooms? Supplies for the tables?” Bree broke into Nicky’s raptures with surprisingly practical questions. When Meg raised an eyebrow at her, she said, “I used to waitress. And I know what a pain it is if your staff keeps tripping over each other trying to do their job because of a lousy layout, or running into customers trying to find the loo.”

  Nicky waved an airy hand. “I’ll let Brian and Sam worry about all that. I want to think about food. And menus. Meg, I haven’t had time to visit all the good restaurants around here. What’re they like?”

  Meg laughed. “I’ve eaten at about three restaurants in the time I’ve been here. I’m a working farmer, and I’m broke, so I’m the last person you should ask. Maybe I should ask you: what clientele do you want to attract?”

  “I want to bring in people who appreciate good food, beautifully prepared. No prepackaged garbage. There should be enough sophisticated people at the colleges around here, no? And visiting parents?”

  At last Nicky had come up with a practical point: parents whose kids attended the local colleges probably wanted to eat at a nice place—if they had anything left after writing whopping tuition checks. Maybe Nicky had given this some thought after all.

  “Okay, but that’s seasonal. Are you going to do anything targeted toward Granford residents?”

  “How many are there? Do they even eat out?”

  Meg took offense at Nicky’s dismissive tone, even though she knew what she meant. “I don’t know. You’d do better to ask Seth—he’s lived here all his life. Or Frances.”

  “Do you know the other farmers around here? Because I’d really like to know where to get vegetables and fruits. What kind of apples do you grow?”

  Bree answered, rattling off a list. “For starters, Gravenstein, Spartan, Cortland, Northern Spy. They’ll start ripening about mid-August, if we get a good summer. I bet Michael would know some other vendors. You into organic, Nicky?”

  “Who’s Michael? Your boyfriend?” she asked. When Bree nodded curtly, Nicky went on, “Yes and no. I don’t think we could qualify as an organic restaurant—there are all sorts of guidelines we’d have to meet. But I support the principles, and I think organic food just plain tastes better. Why would Michael know vendors?”

  “He heads this organic nonprofit group in Amherst,” Bree said. “He knows the area pretty well. I’ll ask Michael, then. He knows lots of people around here. You about done here, Meg? I need a ride back to the house.”

  The men emerged from the kitchen, and Meg saw that Seth had a clutch of paper towels with scribbles on them. At least he’d graduated from the paper napkins he’d been using at her house to plan the barn. “Let me work these up and give you some estimates. I can make time to start next week, if that’s good with you.”

  “Thanks, Seth—you’ve given me a lot to think about. And thanks for your input. I probably would have knocked the house down.” Brian looked relieved, Meg thought. What had he been expecting?

  Nicky gravitated to Brian’s side, and he slipped an arm over her shoulder. She fit very neatly under it, Meg noticed. “You guys figure out what you needed?”

  “Wait ’til you see the plans,” Sam said. “The flow will be terrific.”

  “Sounds good. And I found you a lead on suppliers—Bree’s boyfriend, Michael. So everybody’s good, right?”

  The setting sun poured in the west-facing windows in the front, bathing Nicky, Brian, and Sam in golden light. They looked young and happy, and Meg felt a pang. Had she ever been that eager and hopeful? She shook herself: after all, she had just embarked on a new venture, or maybe it was a new adventure, with the orchard. And she had Seth—although not quite the way Nicky had Brian, who looked down at his wife with something like adoration.

  Meg jumped when Seth came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “You heading back?” he asked.

  “I guess,” Meg said. “Bye, you all, and good luck. Thanks for the tour. I’ll look forward to seeing what you do with the place.”

  “Thanks again for everything, Meg. And you, too, Seth. I can just feel this coming together! And we’re going to have so much fun! I’ll call you about staff, okay, Bree?” Nicky called. Bree raised a hand without turning and kept moving.

  Meg and Seth managed to escape Nicky’s enthusiasm and made their way to the parking lot. Bree climbed into Meg’s car, but Meg tarried a moment to talk to Seth. “How do the plans look?” she asked.

  “I think I managed to talk them out of doing anything really stupid. They don’t know a lot about old buildings. And I pointed out that they needed a few things like at least one bathroom downstairs, and figuring out where they want electric outlets, because those aren’t going to be easy to install in brick walls.”

  “They’ve certainly got a lot of enthusiasm, don’t they?”

  “More enthusiasm than sense, you’re implying? Hey, at least they were smart enough to ask for help from me and you.”

  “Me? I don’t know anything about restaurants. Not even the budgeting, except to know that profit margins are pretty slim even for the best-run places.”

  “Sure, but at least you’ve seen something of the wider world, right? Eaten in some fancy places?”

  “Well, of course, back in my banking days, but that’s not what they need here in Granford. Is it?”

  Seth looked out at the green and the surrounding buildings. “No, not really. But give them a chance. First they’ve got to get the structural stuff done, and then get equipment in. Then they can worry about names and napkin colors and menu fonts.”

  “And they can get to know some of their new neighbors, which should help tone down whatever it is they’re thinking.”

  “Exactly. See? It’ll all work out.”

  “Seth, you are an eternal optimist.”

  “I try.”

  5

  The speed with which time flew past alternatively thrilled and terrified Meg. According to Bree, the orchard was thriving—enough sun, enough rain, and Bree and Christopher had handled what little (and nontoxic) spraying they recommended. Meg felt like an anxious mother, checking on the growth of her
apples nearly daily.

  On a late June day she felt too restless to sit in the house—where far too many tasks confronted her—and decided to do an inventory of the outdoor projects she should tackle before it snowed. The roof was going to have to wait a while longer, and she didn’t have the cash to pay for painting the body of the house, nor did she have the time to do it herself—one more project on the waiting list. But the trim she thought she could handle, and maybe puttying some of the leakier window sashes. She was standing in the yard looking up at the front of the house when her cell phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket and flipped it open.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, babe! How’s it going?”

  Lauren. “Terrific. Fabulous. I’m contemplating scraping paint at the moment.”

  “And you like that why?”

  “It’s not that I like it, but that I have to do it or the whole house might crumble into dust. Houses seem to have this built-in urge to self-destruct, and we hardy homeowners must battle constantly to prevent it. Hence the painting.”

  “This is why I rent,” Lauren said smugly. “How are our child chefs doing?”

  “Better than I expected, actually,” Meg replied. “They’ve finished ripping stuff out of the building, and now they’re beginning to put other stuff back in. At least they haven’t given up yet. Are you going to come check it out?”

  “Once they’ve got tables and chairs and stuff like food, probably. And of course I want to see you—I still can’t picture you in overalls and a straw hat.”

  “More like jeans and a baseball cap. But I am now the proud owner of a pair of muck boots.”

  “Do I really want to know what those are?”

  “You aren’t going to need any in Boston, but around here they’re essential. It can get pretty muddy. Did you have a reason for calling, or did you just want to make fun of me?”