“I miss Sam!” Nicky burst out. “I know it’s hard to explain, and it’s kind of odd, getting married and then having Sam move in with us right away. But we needed him. We were kind of like the Three Musketeers, you know? We all had different skills, but they meshed—we worked as a unit. And he was, like, my best friend. It would be one thing if he’d left, but he’s dead!” Nicky finally gave in to the tears she had been fighting, covering her face with her hands.
Meg wondered what she was supposed to do now. Maybe doing nothing would work: Nicky seemed to need to vent more than anything else, and maybe giving her the chance to do that, coupled with a sympathetic ear, would be enough. She had to keep in mind that Nicky hadn’t had a mother for quite a while. Did she have any other female friends? Not in Granford, certainly. So Meg resigned herself to playing surrogate mother and friend, rolled into one.
“It’s okay, Nicky. You’ve taken on a lot in a short time, even before Sam died. I think you deserve some time to let it all out. Heck, if you want to scream and throw things, that’s fine with me.”
Nicky sniffed and produced a watery smile. “Thanks, Meg. I keep trying to be cheerful and upbeat for Brian, and somehow that just makes him grumpier. I wish he’d talk to me. Sam and I used to talk about everything, and it really helped.”
“Nicky,” Meg said slowly, “do you think Brian was jealous of Sam?”
“Huh? But Sam and I, we weren’t that way. I mean, he was a friend.”
“I know, but maybe Brian had a problem with the fact that you two were so close. You could talk to Sam in a way that you didn’t talk to him, and maybe he felt left out. And he doesn’t know how to change that, even though Sam is dead, so he feels guilty about resenting a dead man. Could that make any sense?”
Nicky stared at her, and then her expression changed. “You don’t think . . . ? No, it’s not possible.”
“What?”
“That Brian had anything to do with Sam’s death? I mean, Brian’s not violent, or mean. But maybe they got into something and it just went wrong. Maybe they were both out there looking at pigs together. Maybe . . . Oh, I don’t know!” Nicky melted into tears again, this time with a hint of hysteria.
The scenario seemed unlikely to Meg, but nevertheless she asked gently, “Nicky, have you talked to Brian about this?”
Nicky looked up at her. “I can’t. I’ve tried, but half the time he’s not around, and when he is, we’re both so busy . . . or he just brushes me off. Meg, could you talk to him for me?”
Oh, hell. She should have seen this coming. Now she was supposed to be a go-between? “Nicky, I don’t think that’s appropriate . . .”
Nicky grabbed her wrist. “No, Meg, please! Just talk to him, find out what’s bothering him. Maybe he’ll talk to you. He just clams up with me.”
Or maybe he’ll tell me I’m a busybody and to get the hell out and mind my own business. Which I should. “All right, all right,” she gave in, “I’ll talk to him.”
“Will you go now?” Nicky asked. “He’s at the restaurant. That’s one reason I had to get out. He wouldn’t talk, but he kept watching me all the time with that droopy expression.”
Well, she might as well get it over with. “All right. You want to stay here? Bree’s around.”
“Okay. Thank you, Meg. I know it’s a lot to ask. But I’m afraid if I say the wrong thing, everything will blow up—us, the restaurant. I don’t want that to happen. I love Brian, and I really want this to work. So maybe he’ll talk to you, or at least he’ll be polite.”
You are going to owe me a lot of dinners, Nicky. “Okay. If you see Bree, tell her where I went, will you?”
Nicky nodded. “Thank you, Meg. I really appreciate it.”
21
For once Meg wished the ride to town took longer. She didn’t want to talk to Brian. She didn’t want to put herself in the middle of a messy situation, and if it did all blow up, she’d probably get blamed for something—the failure of the restaurant, or maybe the marriage. Or both. She wasn’t good at this kind of thing; she was much happier ignoring personal crises until they either went away or resolved themselves. Not always for the better, she reminded herself. Well, she’d told Nicky she’d try, so here she was.
Meg parked and walked up to the front door and rapped. “Brian?” she called out.
“Back here. Hang on.”
Brian emerged from the back of the building, wiping his hands on a rag. “Oh, hi, Meg. Nicky’s not here.”
“I know. She’s at my place.”
“Huh?” Brian looked confused, and Meg wondered if he’d even realized that Nicky had left.
“She was upset. Actually, she was upset because she thinks you’re upset, and she doesn’t know what to ask you. Look, I’m sorry—I don’t usually mess with other people’s problems. But I know what it’s like to be a stranger in town, to not know anybody, and I want you to know that I’m here if you’re willing to talk about it. And if you’re not, you can throw me out and I’ll understand.”
Brian tucked the towel under his belt and rubbed his hands over his face. “What did she tell you?”
“She said that you were acting odd, and not talking to her. Listen, can we sit down, somewhere that people aren’t likely to walk in on us?”
“The kitchen, I guess.” Brian led the way, then pointed toward a stool. Meg pulled it toward the table and sat.
“Brian, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be in the middle of this—you two need to work this out between yourselves. But the fact that your friend was murdered makes it kind of public, and unfortunately I’ve had a little experience with that sort of situation since I arrived here. Nicky says you’re acting weird toward her, and it really upsets her, and she doesn’t know what to do. Look, I know I have no right to butt in here, but . . . did you have a problem with Sam?”
Brian stared at her. “So she sent you,” he said flatly. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I was jealous. Sam and Nicky . . . sometimes I felt shut out. It’s like they had their own language, their shorthand, and I couldn’t share it with them.” He shook his head. “Dumb, isn’t it? I mean, Nicky married me, not Sam. And I have to say he was a pretty decent guy. And a good cook. Okay, let’s cut to the chase. She’s actually wondering if I had something to do with Sam’s death? No. No way I would hurt him, or anybody else, for that matter.”
“Brian, I believe you, and I’m pretty sure Nicky doesn’t really think that. It’s very clear that she loves you; it’s just that you’re both overworked and under a lot of stress. But why is Sam dead?”
Brian stood up and paced around the kitchen. “I don’t know! I mean, if it had happened in Boston, I could almost understand it. Something random, like a mugging, a robbery—you kind of look out for it. But here? This place looks like something off a Christmas card. Why would anyone here want to kill him?”
“Can you think of anything that you haven’t already told the police?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, we were all coming and going. I wasn’t even sure where he was half the time, until he walked in carrying a bunch of something new. He was raised in a city, like Nicky. He didn’t go around oohing and aahing over pretty landscapes, but he appreciated artisanal products. He was getting to know the neighborhood, you know? He was like a kid in a candy shop, only he was hauling home vegetables. You see anything there that would tick someone off? Enough to kill him?”
“No, I don’t,” Meg agreed. “What about Derek?”
Brian snorted. “Derek’s a drama queen, but he couldn’t kill a spider.”
“So, from what you’ve said, and what we know, nobody had a motive to kill him,” Meg said.
“Somebody did,” Brian muttered bitterly.
They fell silent for a moment. Meg was pretty sure that whatever issues Brian had with Nicky, Sam wasn’t one of them. What else would it be? “Brian, Nicky says you haven’t been talking to her much lately. I know you’ve both been busy, but is there something more go
ing on?”
Brian’s shoulders sagged. “We’re running out of money.”
Ah. “How bad?”
“The nice chunk Nicky’s dad gave us as a wedding present made it possible to buy this place, and to fix it up. The stuff we’ve bought we paid for—the kitchen, the front of the house. In a couple of weeks we’re going to have this great space all fitted out and ready to go, but . . . well, we can’t afford to open.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s put it this way—we can either afford staff, serving empty plates, or we can fill the plates, but then we’ll have to do everything ourselves—prep, cook, serve, and clean up. It’s too much for two people to handle. I don’t even know if we can keep Edna on.”
“Nicky’s father can’t help out again?”
Brian shook his head. “Even if we could get up the nerve to ask him, he’s been pretty hard hit by the market slump. He’s tapped out.”
“Have you talked to any banks about a loan?”
“Sure. At least, I have. Nicky doesn’t know. That was our deal—she’d handle the cooking, I’d handle the management. And she’s been so upset about Sam’s death that I haven’t wanted to dump anything more on her. But the bank here more or less laughed at me, unfortunately. We have no capital, except what’s in the building, we have no financial track record, we’re starting up in a risky business in a depressed area. Heck, I wouldn’t lend money to me if I were a banker.”
“Is there anyone else you can ask? Family, friends, outside investors?”
“You’re kidding, right? Everybody’s hurting. I know, we were idiots to think we could start this up and make it work, just as the market went south.”
“And you feel like it’s your fault?” Meg prompted.
“Of course I do! I had it all mapped out, with spreadsheets and projections. A nice little business plan with color charts and everything. But nothing ever works out, right? Even with getting a decent deal on this place, and living here to save money, and buying half our equipment used, we’re still short.”
Meg could sympathize with their problems. They were young and hopeful—and they hadn’t allowed much margin of error for their start-up. Understandable, but didn’t make it easier for them to swallow. Meg sat, turning over in her mind what Brian had said. She had no money to lend even if she wanted to, and she couldn’t think of any friends or colleagues to tap. Brian had done the right things, and gotten the predictable answers. It must be awful to face failure before you even started. No wonder he hadn’t shared this with Nicky yet.
But there had to be some way out of this. Nicky and Brian had done so much, come so far. The place was lovely and ready to go. What could she do . . . ?
A vague idea started to take shape in her mind. “Brian, do you have to make any decisions right away? I mean, in the next few days?”
“Apart from deciding which one of our bills to pay with what we’ve got left? No. There aren’t any orders we can stop, or changes we can make now. Why?”
“I may have an idea, but I want to check a few things before I say anything. If you can wait a few days, I might be able to give you more. But right now, will you please talk to Nicky? I think she suspects something is seriously wrong, but she’s afraid to ask. You’re married, and you’re business partners—you need to let her know what’s going on.”
He sighed. “I know. Will you ask her to come back?”
“Soon as I get home.” Meg stood up. “Brian, you two can work through this. Maybe you’ll have to sacrifice this place, but you can move past it, if you love each other.” Meg realized what she said and almost gagged. If Nicky had appointed her as wise mother, her subconscious mind seemed to have taken it to heart and was now spouting platitudes.
But it seemed to be working: Brian looked more cheerful than he had when she arrived. “Thanks, Meg. I’m sorry you had to get into our dirty laundry, but I think you’re right.”
Back in her car, Meg pulled out her cell phone and called Seth. When he answered, she said, “Where are you?”
“Eric’s barn in Hadley. You miss me already?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling. I need to talk to you about something. Can we meet for lunch?”
“Sure. How about that diner by the tracks in Northampton?”
“Sounds good. Half an hour?”
“See you then.”
Meg started the car and realized she was smiling again. She pulled out of the driveway and headed for her own place.
Nicky and Bree were sitting at the kitchen table with plates in front of them when Meg came in. “Wow, something smells good!”
“Nicky’s been showing me how to make a frittata. We saved some for you,” Bree said.
“Thanks, but I’ve got a lunch date. And Nicky, you should go home and talk to Brian.”
“He’s not hiding some awful secret?”
“Nothing to do with Sam, if that’s what you’re asking. But you two have things you need to talk about. Go, now.”
“Thanks, Meg.” Nicky gave her a quick hug on her way out the door.
Bree sighed. “You could have waited until she did the dishes. Where’re you going?”
“Lunch with Seth, in Northampton.”
“Ah. Should I plan to be somewhere else this afternoon?”
“No.” Meg swatted her. “If you can believe it, this is actually a business lunch of sorts. I’ll fill you in later. I’m still working things out in my head.”
“Very mysterious. Well, you two have a nice time, and we can talk when you get back.”
As she drove to Northampton, Meg’s mind was occupied with trying to put her spur-of-the-moment idea into some sort of logical order. Seth was already waiting at the endearingly shabby diner when she walked in. When he saw her, he stood up and smiled.
“Hi,” she said as she slid into the booth. Suddenly she felt shy.
“Hi to you. Everything all right?” Seth asked a little anxiously.
Meg realized suddenly that she hadn’t made it clear on the phone that what she wanted to talk about had nothing to do with what had happened the night before, but Seth didn’t know that. “Oh, fine. Look, about last night . . .”
“Last night was great. Wasn’t it? You’re not having second thoughts?”
“About us? No, of course not.”
He laid a hand over hers on the table. “Good. I just didn’t want you to feel pressured. I know things could get awkward if it doesn’t work out, and you’re stuck with me in your backyard.”
“Seth, I’m happy. You’re great. We’re great.” She stopped, then burst out laughing. “This is ridiculous. Seth, last night was wonderful, and I hope there will be many more like it.”
“Okay,” Seth replied cautiously. The waitress appeared with tattered menus, and they ordered. “So what do we need to talk about?”
“This is just an idea I had, and it’s pretty sketchy, so hear me out. After you left this morning, Nicky came by all worked up because she thought Brian was holding something back from her. She asked me to go talk to Brian.”
“So you did, I assume?”
“I did.” Meg sighed. “How did I end up in the middle? Anyway, he told me that he was upset because they’ve more or less gone through all their money, and he didn’t know how to tell her. Brian said they had enough money either to open without food, or to buy supplies but not be able to pay for staff. And I thought we might be in a position to do something about the food.”
“How?”
“I’m pretty new in town, and I’m also pretty new to farming. I know my crop isn’t big enough to sell to major chains, so I’m going to be talking to smaller places. And that started me thinking. My impression is—and correct me if I’m wrong—that there are a lot of people in Granford who live on farms that their parents and grandparents used to farm for a living. But that’s not economically feasible anymore, so most of them have jobs somewhere else, and raise a small crop or a few head of livestock, more out of nostalgia t
han anything else. Jake Kellogg is a good example—when I met him, he says he raises pigs because his father raised pigs before him, but it’s not primarily for the income.”
“I’m with you so far, but how does this apply to the restaurant?” Seth was following intently.
Meg chose her words carefully. “Do you think it would be possible to round up enough of these small farmers to provide the food for the restaurant?”
“For free?”
“No, I don’t expect them to donate the food outright. But here’s the part I’m trying to work out: say they enter into some sort of partnership agreement with Nicky and Brian—becoming, in effect, minority shareholders in the restaurant? They provide what they raise, under a contract with the restaurant, but they wait to be paid until the restaurant is on its feet and can pay them back? Maybe with interest, or a share of the profits, like a co-op? Does this make any sense? Would people go for it?”
Seth sat back and stared over Meg’s head, thinking. He didn’t answer immediately, and finally he said, “I like it. I think you’re bang on about the people who are growing stuff around here—I can name quite a few off the top of my head. Some of them sell to farmers’ markets or to some of the restaurants in Amherst and Northampton, but they could just as easily sell to the Czarneckis’ restaurant, so they wouldn’t lose financially in the long run. But wouldn’t it be kind of feast or famine for the restaurant? Plenty of stuff from June to October, but what would they do over the winter?”
“I have no idea, but it’s something we can all talk about. I mean, people survived for generations on whatever they grew in their backyards. Based on what Nicky has talked about before, I think it’s more a question of making the case to the patrons—eat what’s in season, not what we’ve shipped in from New Zealand.”
“That makes sense, but it’s a marketing question. We’d have to work out how much of what products, timing, some sort of legal agreement format.”
Meg interrupted, “Should the town be involved? Could the town be involved, or should this be a private agreement?”
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