Red Delicious Death

by Sheila Connolly

  “Things looked good, before Sam died. They’ve got a nice building in town, and the build-out has been going well. I haven’t had a chance to try their food, apart from the occasional pastry, but they talk a good line. Now, I don’t know.”

  “So what happened?”

  “The sous chef, a really nice guy named Sam Anderson, was found dead in a pig wallow.”

  Lauren tried and failed to suppress a snort. “Well, you’re not going to hear that in Boston. A pig wallow?”

  “He was found facedown in the mud. The police would have called it an accident, but there was a nice fat shoeprint in the middle of his back. Apparently somebody held him down until he suffocated.” Meg felt a sudden pang of guilt. “But don’t tell anyone you know that—I’m not sure it’s public information.”

  Lauren wasn’t smiling anymore. “I hear you—but I kind of guessed it wasn’t a natural death when I got that call. I mean, if it had been, why would they have bothered to call me? But that’s awful! Have they figured out who did it?”

  “Not yet. You said Detective Marcus called you? What did he ask?”

  “Mostly if I knew the deceased, personally or by reputation. If I knew anything about his lifestyle or his friends in Boston. I really couldn’t tell him much, since I never met the man. Do the police think the killer was from Boston?”

  “Believe me, the state police don’t tell me anything. And they haven’t even announced officially that it was murder. I have the feeling they’d like to think the killer came from Boston, because they don’t seem to have any strong candidates here. Sam hadn’t been around long enough to make either friends or enemies in town. I’m glad Marcus is following up with Sam’s Boston connections. And about the lifestyle thing—he was gay.”

  “So? Oh, you mean people around here have a problem with that?”

  “Not that I know about—and before you jump to conclusions, most of the people around here are pretty decent, and probably as liberal as you or me.”

  Lauren held up her hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, sorry—I really don’t mean to keep insulting you and your friends. You want me to set this Statie straight?”

  “What?”

  “Tell him what the Boston scene is like, if this Sam was really a part of it?”

  “Lauren, people around here are definitely aware of alternative lifestyles. Why? Are you even familiar with that scene anyway?”

  “You’re right, not really. I’m just trying to help. But I’d kind of like to see how a real investigation works.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. I’ve seen plenty in the last few months, and you’re not missing a thing. Maybe you should eat something,” Meg added dubiously as Lauren drained her second glass and reached for the bottle again.

  “Yes, Mother, I am planning to get mildly drunk, and I’m hungry. You don’t mind if I dump on you, do you? I really need to vent, and you’re the only person I could think of who would listen to me.”

  “That’s what friends are for.” Meg shoved the platter with cheese and sliced bread and cold cuts toward her.

  Lauren took a piece of baguette and slathered it with Brie. She took a huge bite. “Ah, bliss. Damn the calories, full speed ahead.”

  Something was definitely not right with Lauren. She was usually very much in control, and upbeat. Now she had fled Boston and was depressed and getting drunk? Meg wondered if she should push Lauren to spill her guts, or just let the slower pace and the peace and quiet of Granford do its work. Somehow Meg doubted that a single weekend would be enough to unwind Lauren.

  “You okay?”

  Lauren sighed. “I will be. So, what do you do for fun around here?”

  “What’s fun? I work on the house—I refinished the kitchen floor a couple of months ago, I’m learning about the orchard and how to run it—all sorts of stuff, like storage facilities, and pesticide spraying, and hiring pickers, and selling the crop. There’s not a lot of time left over. Oh, and I work on cataloging old records for the Historical Society in town.”

  Meg looked to see Lauren shaking her head. “Who would have believed it? Farmer Meg, with goats and a barn.” Lauren took another long swallow of wine, and looked out over the meadow, where the treetops were gilded with light, while the grass below was in shadow. “I envy you.”

  “Me?” Meg said, startled. “Why? I have no money, and no idea what I’m doing.”

  “But you care about it. You’re involved, and excited, and you’re learning new stuff. Maybe you can’t see that, but I can. It suits you.”

  “Thank you—I think. I am enjoying it, I guess. Apart from the uncertainty.”

  “That’s everywhere these days. Ain’t no sure thing, in Boston or here.” Lauren waved a hand in the air. “Who’s that?”

  Meg followed her gaze to see Seth walking across the meadow. “That’s, uh, Seth.” She scrabbled to remember what she had told Lauren about Seth so far.

  “So that’s the plumber guy you haven’t been talking about? Nice.” Seth was wearing faded jeans and a longsleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

  “Well, yeah, I guess.” Meg felt like a teenager fumbling for words. “But he’s a lot more than a plumber. He’s a neighbor—he lives over the hill, on the next property. He’s running a home renovation service out of the barn here, when he finishes setting it up. And he’s a town selectman,” Meg finished lamely.

  “Ah. You people out here are into multitasking, I see. Hello, neighbor Seth,” she said when he drew into earshot. “I’m Lauren Converse, Meg’s friend from Boston.” She didn’t get up—Meg wondered if she could, after three glasses of wine on a virtually empty stomach—but she did stick her hand out.

  Seth took it and shook. “Hi, Lauren. I think Meg’s mentioned you. Are you visiting?” He pulled a third chair forward.

  Lauren refilled her glass and waved it airily, sloshing a bit of wine over the rim. “I have fled the big bad city to seek the wisdom of my one true friend, out here in the bucolic reaches of the far west of Massachusetts. Oh, and that detective person called me, so I figured, why not kill two birds with one stone? Find a sympathetic ear for my problems and explain the ways of the city to your rural constabulary.”

  Meg looked helplessly at Seth. Lauren was doing everything in her power to give a bad impression—and doing it well. “Did you need something, Seth?”

  Seth looked briefly at Lauren, who seemed lost in her own miserable thoughts. “Not really. I talked to Art today, but he didn’t have anything new.”

  Lauren perked up. “Ooh, are you a sleuth, too, Seth? Hey, that’s not easy to say. Sleuth Seth, Seth the Sleuth . . .”

  “Lauren, stop it,” Meg said sharply. “You’re drunk.”

  “Yes I am.” She looked at Meg, and her face fell. “I think maybe I shall retire to my room before I make a real mess of things. Seth, it was nice to meet you.” Lauren stood up unsteadily and aimed herself toward the kitchen door. Meg was relieved that she left the wine bottle behind, even if it was nearly empty anyway.

  When Lauren had made it to the kitchen without falling down, Meg turned to Seth. “I’m sorry. She’s not usually like that. She’s upset, but I haven’t had time to find out why.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Did Marcus really call her?”

  “He did. I guess he’s checking out Sam’s Boston connections, but I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Maybe it shifts the focus from Granford, at least.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You want what’s left of the wine? There’s another bottle.”

  “No, thanks. I should get going anyway—just wanted to say hi. Lauren staying for the weekend?”

  “I gather. And she says she wants to talk to Marcus, although I can’t imagine why. Maybe she’s trying to distract herself from her own woes.”

  “Interesting. Maybe she can wangle his secrets out of him. If there are any.”

  10

  In the morning Meg and Bree were conferring about the roster of pickers, due to arrive any day, when Lau
ren stumbled down the stairs and made a beeline for the coffeepot.

  Bree cast a quick glance at her, then returned to her lists. “I want them here by the end of the month. Your first apples will be ripe in August, if the weather cooperates, but I want to get to know the pickers, let them get to know me and you, and make sure everything is working right. And they can mow the grass in the orchard, check out the equipment, that kind of thing.”

  “Where are they staying?”

  “Not our problem,” Bree replied. “Some of the bigger orchards provide housing, but we can’t do that. Most of them have been coming here for years anyway, and they know people, know where they want to stay.”

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  Bree nodded vigorously. “How you doing on selling the crop?”

  Meg felt a pang of guilt. “I’m working on it. I did offer some to the restaurant, but I have no idea how many that would be, or how much to charge them.”

  “The rate they’re going, they won’t be able to pay you anyway.”

  Lauren had swallowed half a cup of coffee while staring out the window over the sink. She topped off her cup from the pot and sat down at the table. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Nope, we’re about done.” Bree stood up. “I’ve got stuff to do. I probably won’t be around for dinner, so you two can hang out.”

  “Michael?”

  Bree shrugged without answering, then clattered up the back stairs. Meg turned to Lauren. The morning light wasn’t exactly flattering to her. “Sleep well?”

  “Like a log. Maybe a rotting log. Sure is quiet around here.”

  “It is.” Meg sipped her cooling coffee and waited for Lauren to volunteer something more.

  Lauren sat back and ran her fingers through her hair. “Just how many people did I manage to tick off last night?”

  “Bree. Seth. That’s two.”

  “Not you?” Lauren scraped together a smile.

  “No. You aren’t acting normal, and it’s not just the fresh air and pretty views. If you want to talk about it, fine, I’m listening. If not, I can drag you off to do something touristy. Or just leave you alone with the goats.”

  “While I pickle myself? Not a good idea. I gave you the bare bones last night, if I recall correctly—before I started making nasty comments about your colleagues here. I told you the bank’s in trouble? I’m sure you get that much news even out here. The merger last year didn’t go as well as they had hoped, and now the general economy has gone to hell, and nobody knows what to do.”

  “Is your job secure?”

  Lauren shrugged. “As much as anyone’s. But I don’t even know if I want it anymore. I mean, I’ve always worked hard, been the whiz kid, sucked up to the right people, and I’ve got it made, by most standards. But like I said, suddenly I’m not the ‘kid’ anymore. There’s a whole new generation nipping at my heels, and I’m tempted just to let them have the whole mess. Let them figure it out.”

  “You have any ideas about what you’d like to do instead?”

  “Nope. That’s the problem. I’ve been so focused that I haven’t had time to look around and smell the roses. No relationship, no kids, no house—and no clue. Not that I want to go quite as far as you did, with this place!”

  “It wasn’t really my decision, if you recall, and it certainly didn’t start off well. But the longer I hang around here, the better I like it. It grows on you. Of course, I like learning new things. And I guess I’m less afraid of failing than I used to be.”

  “Good for you. I mean that. But I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. So anyway, what’s with you and this Seth guy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on, Meg—you kind of lit up when he arrived.”

  Meg could feel herself blushing. “I don’t know. I’ve got too much going on to even think about it.”

  “Uh-huh. Meg’s got a boyfriend, Meg’s got a boyfriend,” Lauren chanted.

  “Shut up!” Meg laughed.

  “I will—but let me say one thing first. After your last jerk boyfriend, you deserve a nice guy in your life, so don’t ignore him too long, okay?” Lauren sat up straighter in her chair. “Well, the caffeine seems to be doing its work. What’s on the agenda for today?”

  Between twelve hours of sleep and a jolt of coffee, Lauren seemed to be in a much more positive mood this morning, Meg noted. “What’re you up for? Shopping? Eating? You should meet the chefs, since they’re here because of you.”

  “What about the murder investigation?”

  “What about it?”

  “Come on, Meg—you can’t think that this restaurant is going to succeed with something like a murder hanging over it? The sooner that mystery’s cleared up, the better. How far away is this place?”

  “The restaurant is about two miles away, as the crow flies, or a five-minute drive. I can show you the rest of the town, while we’re at it, but that shouldn’t take more than another five minutes, unless you want to meet all my ancestors in the local cemetery.”

  “I’ll pass on that last part, but the rest sounds good. I can look over the place, and then maybe we can check out one of their competitors for lunch. Can I grab a shower first?”

  “It’s all yours.”

  While Lauren showered, Meg cleaned up the kitchen and inventoried the contents of her refrigerator. Much as she’d love to check out the lovely array of restaurants in Northampton and Amherst, she didn’t think her budget would be happy about it. And she definitely needed to stock up on wine, even if Lauren had stopped trying to drown her sorrows. Last night’s bottle was history, which left only one more.

  Lauren emerged clean and dressed, and not even overdressed. “Let’s do it!”

  “My, you bounce back fast. Okay, I’ll grab my bag and we’ll go to town.”

  Meg offered brief comments as they drove toward town. “That’s the Chapin property, over there—it runs to the highway, except they’ve lost a chunk to the new shopping center. We’re coming up on the town now: library on your left, the church is obvious, Town Hall up the hill on the right.”

  “Wow! You weren’t kidding when you said it was small. Is this all there is?”

  “A couple of feed stores and gas stations along the highway, but yes, what you see is what you get.”

  “And the restaurant?”

  “That white brick building at the end of the green.” Meg drove slowly along the two-lane highway toward it.

  Lauren looked at it critically. “Nice. Good site. Good parking, too. That’ll make a difference.” Her tone was sincere. “They aren’t going to tart it up with neon signs or anything?”

  “I don’t think so.” Meg laughed.

  “What’s the capacity?” Lauren asked.

  “I don’t know. You can ask. They’ll be doing lunch and dinner, I think. They had to rebuild the kitchen entirely—that’s the wing off to the left. It was a residence until pretty recently.”

  “I can see the potential. Do they know what the local market can handle?”

  Meg pulled into the parking lot. “I think they’re still working out details about the menu and stuff like pricing. They live upstairs here, so they should be around.”

  The inner door was open behind the outer screen when Meg and Lauren walked onto the porch. Meg called out, “Anybody home?”

  Nicky came down the stairs, still toweling dry her hair. “Oh, hi, Meg—you’re out and about early today. What’s up?”

  “I didn’t mean to bother you, but I thought you’d like to meet Lauren Converse. She’s visiting this weekend, and she wanted to see what you’ve done so for.”

  “Lauren, Lauren . . . oh, you’re that Lauren!” Nicky’s face lit up. “You know Jeremy! In fact, you’re the reason we’re here. Please, come in. Brian?” she yelled up the stairs.

  “Yo!” Brian answered from somewhere.

  “We’ve got company!” Nicky yelled back. Then she turned back to Meg and Lauren. “I was just going to make some breakfas
t. You hungry?”

  “You have coffee?” Lauren said.

  “Sure do. Come on back.” She led the way to the kitchen.

  Once there, while Nicky bustled around starting coffee, whisking eggs, slicing bread, Lauren looked around at the kitchen. “Nice. Efficient. How many are you planning to serve?”

  “We figure we can accommodate maybe forty diners max in the big rooms up front, maybe another twenty in the smaller ones. Two seatings, at night. We’ve got three rooms, and we want to use the parlors with the fireplaces, but we can shut off one or two if things are slow, or use them for private functions.”

  Lauren nodded. “Sounds good. I like the place. What are you doing about decorating?”

  “Arguing, mostly,” Nicky said with a grin. “It’s the last thing we’re going to worry about, after we get all the structural stuff done, and get the permits—and see how much money we have left. We had some ideas when we arrived, but we’re kind of letting the place speak to us.”

  “Simple works here. You going to have a liquor license?”

  “We hope so. We’ve put in the applications, but I gather we need some approvals from the town. We’re talking to them next week.” Nicky set plates of French toast in front of Meg and Lauren, then went to the kitchen door. “Brian? Food’s up.”

  Lauren dug into her food. “Oh, Nicky, this is great. Or maybe it’s just all this fresh country air.” She sneaked a glance at Meg, who swatted her. “What style of food are you planning?”