Red Delicious Death

by Sheila Connolly

  Art interrupted, “Maybe you all can tell me more about Nicky and Brian? Seeing as they’re newcomers. You folks and Frances are probably the only ones who’ve spent much time with them.”

  “You think they might have killed their business partner? Who was also their friend?” Meg bristled at Art’s implication: suspect the outsiders. Of course, Sam was an outsider, too. It certainly would be much tidier if they had kept it in their little outsider circle.

  Art was still talking. “You’re the one who brought them to Granford, right, Meg?”

  Meg nodded reluctantly. “A friend of mine from Boston knew them. She called me and said that a young couple was looking for a place out here to open a restaurant, using local products. They’d checked the obvious places, Northampton and Amherst, and decided they couldn’t afford either of them, so I told Frances Clark, and she found some places in Granford for them to look at. They loved the Stebbins house as soon as they saw it, and the deal went through quickly.”

  “Was Sam Anderson part of the deal?”

  “You mean, did he put money up? He was a working partner, at least. I think Nicky said he chipped in what he could, but I don’t know whose names are on the deed. I gather most of the money came from a wedding present from Nicky’s father. I just did a friend of a friend a favor, putting them together with a real estate broker. And I thought Granford could use a decent restaurant.” Meg was having trouble controlling her voice. Sam, dead? He had seemed so vital, so enthusiastic, when he had stopped by.

  “Meg,” Seth said gently, “Art isn’t accusing you of anything. You acted with the best of intentions, and I’m sure everything was aboveboard.”

  “Sorry,” Meg said, contrite. “I guess I’m feeling kind of defensive.”

  “Meg, I didn’t mean to point any fingers at you,” Art said. “Or at Nicky and Brian. They seem like good kids. I’m just trying to get the lay of the land here. And I’m sure Detective Marcus will be asking the same kinds of questions.”

  “And I’m sure he’ll find an excuse to badger me,” Meg replied. “For the record, as far as I know, Nicky, Brian, and Sam are exactly what they say they are: nice young people who want to start a business in a small town, a town that can really use the business. I have no idea why Sam is dead, or who would have wanted to kill him.” Meg glanced briefly at Bree, who gave her a small nod.

  Bree had been quietly following the conversation, until now. “Chief, Sam was gay,” Bree said flatly. “I saw him around a couple of Northampton bars I’ve heard about. I don’t know if he hooked up with anybody—he’s only been here a couple of weeks, right? But that’s not a motive to kill anybody around here, is it?” Bree challenged the police chief.

  Art responded, “Of course not, but that’s something to check out. Not that Anderson was killed because of his sexual preferences, but it’s possible he got mixed up with the wrong person over there. Could he have been meeting someone out at Kellogg’s? He wouldn’t have a lot of privacy, living over the restaurant with Nicky and Brian.”

  “So he went looking for a nice private field?” Bree scoffed.

  Meg intervened. “Bree, I don’t think that’s what Art meant.” Bree subsided, but she still looked stormy.

  “You going to tell Marcus?” Bree asked.

  Art sighed. “I think I have to, but I don’t have to tell him you told me, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  “So we should expect a visit from our favorite detective?” Meg asked, not without bitterness.

  “Probably just a formality, Meg. Like I said, you knew all three of them.” Art checked his watch, then stood up. “I’ll get out of your hair now. I’ll let you know if I hear anything new.”

  Meg stood, too. “Thanks for the barbecue and the food. What do I owe you?”

  Art stepped back in mock dismay. “For shame, Meg—can’t you accept a simple gift? Didn’t cost much. And I’ll make it back in cheesy jokes about ‘grilling my suspects.’ ”

  “Don’t you dare! All right, thank you for the gift. It was very thoughtful of you, and I will think of you every time I grill something.”

  Meg said good-bye and watched Art pull out of the driveway, then rejoined Bree and Seth, who were talking about apples. She picked up a few pieces of discarded lettuce and wandered over to the goat pen to offer the snack to them. The goats accepted eagerly.

  Seth joined her by the fence. “Nicky was really broken up by Sam’s death. I can’t see her killing anyone, unless someone criticized her cooking and she took a chef’s knife to them.”

  Meg kept her eyes on the goats, who stared back. “But you don’t think that about Brian?”

  Seth sighed. “Meg, don’t read something into everything anyone says. I didn’t see Brian’s first reaction, and when he showed up at the restaurant, he was mainly concerned with comforting Nicky. So I’m not going to judge one way or the other. I don’t think either one of them is a killer, but I’ve been wrong before.”

  Meg turned to face him, leaning against a fencepost. “I can’t see one of them killing Sam either, but we’ve both been wrong. Damn it! I like them. Think they’ll cut and run now, if it really is murder?”

  Seth watched the goats meander away, once the lettuce was gone. “I don’t know. I hope not, on behalf of the town. Heck, even for myself—I can use the work, and I kind of wanted some good food, too. I won’t push them, but if they want to open in September, they’ve got a lot to do between now and then. They can’t afford to waffle about it.”

  “Don’t they get any time to grieve?”

  Seth was quick to reply. “Of course. They can push the date back. Or they can throw in the towel. It’s up to them.”

  “And if they do decide to stay, now they have to find a new sous chef. You have any ideas about that?”

  Seth’s eyes grew distant. “Maybe. There used to be a decent diner at the east end of town—closed a few years ago when the last owner died. They had a cook working for them who was pretty good, name of Edna Blakely. She would have bought the place, but she couldn’t round up the money. She’s been kicking around, working here and there, ever since. Maybe she’d be interested.”

  “If Brian and Nicky go forward, you could mention her. You know, Seth, it never ceases to amaze me how you know everybody in town, and their entire life histories. What would this town do without you?”

  “Muddle along, just like they have for the past two or three hundred years. Still, I like to help out.”

  “I know. And I’m grateful. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “You would have muddled through, too—you’re not a quitter.” Seth moved closer. “But I’m glad you stuck it out, and I’m glad I could help.”

  “Mmmm.” Meg closed the gap between them. The goats watched them with interest.

  8

  Meg spent the next few days worrying, even as she kept busy with orchard-related tasks. She hadn’t heard from Detective Marcus, for which she was grateful. Nor had she heard from Nicky, but Meg hesitated to intrude on her grieving.

  Finally Nicky called. Without preamble she said, “Meg, would you and Seth meet us here at the house this afternoon?”

  “Sure, I can be there. Although I don’t know where Seth is.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll call him. How about two o’clock?”

  “That’s fine. See you then.” Nicky hung up before Meg could ask anything further.

  Meg looked down at her cat, Lolly, who was taking a leisurely bath in the middle of the kitchen floor. “Well, cat, what do you think? Is she going to tell me that they’ve had enough of Granford and they’re running back to Boston?”

  Lolly gave Meg a brief glance and resumed washing.

  “Gee, thanks. You’re a big help.” With or without the cat’s input, Meg really wasn’t sure which way Nicky and Brian would decide. She didn’t know them well, not enough to guess, so she’d have to wait to find out.

  Meg went back to her chores, which kept growing week to week. F
eed cat, feed goats. The painting of the ground-floor windows was nearly done, but apparently she should repoint the foundation before winter, whatever that meant. During the few trips she had made to the basement to check on the furnace, she had noticed plenty of air whistling through the gaps in the fieldstone. Of course, once she had an income from the orchard, she could probably take out a home equity loan for the improvements, but she didn’t want to saddle herself with payments, and she’d probably be depressed by how little the house was worth, particularly in the current economic climate. Cash would be better. Don’t I sound like an old Yankee? Meg chided herself. At least the apple storage compartments were paid for out of her severance pay—although she suspected that Seth had undercharged her. Still, it was a fair trade-off for the space he occupied in the barn. She reflected again on how convenient it was to have a plumber and handyman around. For repairs, of course . . . and for other things.

  Meg left the house in good time for her two o’clock date at the restaurant, but as she drove past the green, she caught sight of Caroline Goldthwaite struggling to remove something from the trunk of her car, which was parked next to the store. On an impulse Meg pulled in next to her car.

  “Can I help you with that?” she asked, getting out of the car.

  Mrs. Goldthwaite straightened up, not without difficulty, and faced her. “Meg Corey, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Let me get those for you.”

  Mrs. Goldthwaite moved to block Meg’s path. “I’m perfectly capable of handling a few potted plants, thank you.”

  Meg stopped, surprised at the hint of rudeness in Mrs. Goldthwaite’s tone. Maybe she didn’t like to be reminded of her age? “I’m sorry. I only meant to help.”

  Mrs. Goldthwaite shut her eyes for a moment. “Perhaps I overreacted. And I would appreciate your assistance. I prefer to use well-established plants, rather than wait for seedlings to grow. They seem to take so long, and they look rather sparse until they leaf out. But the larger pots are a bit heavy.”

  “I can understand that.” Meg reached into the trunk and pulled out a pair of red geraniums in six-inch plastic pots. “Where do you want these?” she asked.

  Mrs. Goldthwaite waved imperiously at the pair of dirt-filled planters flanking the door of the store. “Over there, if you will.”

  Meg deposited them as directed. “Is this a town beautification project?” She went back to the car and reached in for another pair.

  Caroline Goldthwaite sniffed. “Hardly. The town can’t afford such things. I had hoped to persuade the shopkeeper to volunteer to do this, but apparently he isn’t interested. The church has managed to find the time. I also contributed the flowers in front of the Historical Society.”

  Meg pulled out a flat of lush purple petunias and carried it over to the steps. “This will look lovely—and it’s a great idea, since so many people pass through here, particularly in summer.”

  “I do want Granford to put its best foot forward, so to speak,” Mrs. Goldthwaite said primly. “I suppose there’s no point in asking those people to participate,” she added, nodding toward the restaurant building at the top of the hill.

  “Why? Have they told you they’re not staying?” Meg felt a spurt of concern—wouldn’t Nicky and Brian have shared that with her and Seth first? Or maybe it was wishful thinking on Mrs. Goldthwaite’s part? At the meeting Meg had attended she had seemed to disapprove of the whole idea of the restaurant, sight unseen.

  “No, nor have I had a conversation with them about their plans. I believe Seth Chapin has spent considerable time with them. But what with the trouble they’ve had lately . . .” Mrs. Goldthwaite appeared reluctant to be more specific.

  Meg bristled at defining Sam’s death in Granford as mere “trouble.” “You mean what happened to Sam Anderson. Well, I for one hope that they’ll be staying. I like Nicky and Brian, and I think Granford can use the business.”

  Mrs. Goldthwaite stiffened. “You are entitled to your opinion, just as I am entitled to disagree with you. Thank you for your help, but I think I can manage from here.” Mrs. Goldthwaite turned her back on Meg and rummaged in her trunk for her gardening tools.

  I’ve been dismissed, Meg thought incredulously. But there was no point in prolonging the conversation, so she got back in her car and headed up the hill.

  Still fuming from her uncomfortable encounter with Caroline Goldthwaite, Meg pulled into the restaurant parking lot. The presence of the Chapin van indicated that Seth had already arrived. She knocked at the front door and was greeted by a distant “Come on in, it’s open!”

  She found Brian, Nicky, and Seth in the kitchen. It looked almost finished, all the new appliances in place, gleaming softly. Now there was a long worktable in the middle of the room, and some chairs, their seats still wrapped in plastic. Meg and Seth looked briefly at each other as they settled around the table. Meg wasn’t sure what was coming, but she was surprised by how much the outcome mattered to her—and that she really wanted them to stay.

  Nicky had lost some of her sparkle; even her dark curls seemed limper. She greeted Meg in a subdued tone. “Thanks for coming on short notice. I wanted to talk to you both, since you’ve been part of this from the beginning. Sit, please.” Nicky took a deep breath. “Brian and I have decided we want to stay in Granford. Sam was part of our plans from the beginning, and we’re really going to miss him, but I think he would have wanted us to go ahead, rather than just shut down and mourn for him. Besides, we’ve already sunk most of our money into this, and if we pull out, we won’t be able to start over. Right, Brian?”

  Brian nodded. “It sounds kind of crass to put it that way, but it’s true. Sam wanted this to work, and we’ve got to try.”

  Meg smiled with relief. “I’m glad. I think this town needs you. And you know Seth and I will do whatever we can to help.”

  That finally brought an answering smile from Nicky. “Thank you, Meg. Don’t think we won’t call on you. And Seth—I don’t know what we would have done without you. Look, there are some things we need to work out. Would you like some coffee? I made brownies.”

  They all waited silently while Nicky filled and distributed sturdy white mugs, and laid a platter of brownies on the table. Nicky sat down and waited a moment before speaking, and Meg wondered if she saw a gleam of tears. Then she looked up and plastered on a brave smile. “Eat and drink, please. We can talk while you do. Here’s the deal: most of the structural stuff is done, right, Seth?”

  Seth nodded, his mouth full of chocolate.

  “I think we’re going to have to hold off on the decorating a bit. We can always revisit that later, but for now we’re going to keep it simple.”

  Seth swallowed, then said, “I don’t think that’s a problem. It’s a great building—let it speak for itself.”

  “Thanks, Seth. Okay, second problem: we need to find a sous chef to replace Sam, because we need to start working together, make sure our cooking styles are in synch. I was thinking about contacting the cooking school in Providence—I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d like a shot at getting in on the ground floor.”

  Seth helped himself to another brownie. “Have you thought about looking locally?”

  Nicky looked blank. “We don’t know anybody around here, and we don’t have a lot of time to interview. Do you mean at the university? Or did you have any ideas?”

  “One. There’s an older woman I know, with plenty of experience. Want me to get in touch with her?”

  Nicky still looked uncertain. “I guess so. But is it going to be a problem, what with Sam’s death and all? I mean, maybe people would feel funny about working where . . .” She trailed off.

  “I don’t think so,” Seth said firmly. He hesitated a moment before asking, “I don’t mean to pry, but are you okay financially? Did Sam have money in the business?”

  “No. Most of it’s coming from me,” Nicky replied. When Brian started to protest, Nicky went on, “Wedding present—to both of us. I want to be able
to pay Daddy back eventually, and we’re both willing to work hard to make that happen. I know you probably think we’re a pair of starry-eyed dilettantes who’ll bail out at the first sign of trouble, but we’ve been thinking about this, planning it, for years, and I—we—don’t want to give up now.”

  “Good for you!” Meg said.

  Nicky rewarded her with a smile. “Thank you, Meg. Seth, I’ll be happy to talk to your friend, but no promises. Okay, next problem: staffing.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have problem there,” Seth said. “Plenty of people looking for jobs around here. You planning on lunch and dinner?” Nicky and Brian nodded. “If you can offer flexible shifts, you’ll have a broader pool—you know, students, mothers with kids in school during the day.”

  “Bree said she might know some people,” Meg volunteered.

  Nicky nodded. “Great. And we’ll offer what benefits we can, which may not be much, at least in the beginning. Okay, last problem, and it’s a big one: food. Sam was looking into local suppliers, but he wasn’t the greatest record keeper, and I’m not sure who he talked to, or what terms he might have suggested. So we’re kind of restarting from scratch. I know he got in touch with the local farmers’ collective, so maybe that’s a good place to start.”

  “I don’t know what I’ve got coming along, but I told Sam I’d be happy to sell you whatever apples you need—at a reasonable rate.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Seth said. “Why don’t you talk to the selectmen, formally? I mean, it’s just the three of us, but it could be important that the town know what you’re doing, and that you make them part of the process. Come to one of the open meetings, which the public attends. We can get the word out. And the meetings are broadcast on local cable, so even more people would see you.”

  “Well, sure, I guess,” Nicky said. “What would they—you?—want to know?”

  “Just what you’ve told us so far—that you’re here to stay, that you’ll need ongoing help with staffing and supplies. We can help, and we will.”