She had promised to brief Seth on her off-the-cuff analysis before he talked to the Select Board. She wasn’t sure if running this by the Board was a courtesy, to keep them informed, or whether there was something tangible the Board members could contribute—like funding the services of the town’s attorney to draw up whatever partnership documents might be needed. Of course, a town might have access to grants and external funding that individuals might not, but so much of that funding had dried up that it was more or less moot.
Seth rapped on her screen door at six before letting himself in. “How’s it look?”
Meg sighed. “They did everything right. I can’t fault the decisions they made. They just underestimated, and ran out of money. Heck, I’d support them for a loan if I were a local banker. You don’t happen to have any pull there, do you?”
“Even if I did, there are a lot of people in the queue ahead of them. Are you having second thoughts about this collaborative idea?”
“No, not at all. The more I think about it, the more I like it. And I keep thinking of ways to promote it—it could serve as a great blueprint for any number of small local businesses. My friend Lauren might be able to help there.” When Seth opened his mouth to speak, Meg hurried to forestall him. “I know, I know—I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m just lining up arguments to support this. It’s good for the town. It’s good for everyone involved.”
“Hey, I agree with you. I don’t see much downside. Were we going to eat something before we headed to the meeting?”
“Oh, right, food. I think I’ve got sandwich makings in there somewhere. I’ve been so busy the last couple of days, trying to line up buyers for myself, that I haven’t had time to think about food.” She smiled. “It might be easier to persuade the Board if we took some of Nicky’s cookies along.”
Seth went to the refrigerator and started foraging. He emerged with packages of cold cuts, bread tucked under his arm. “I like the cookie idea. Nicky’s cooking is definitely one of the best selling points we’ve got. Maybe we should be bringing goodies along to everyone we call on.”
“Now you’re thinking like a promoter! You’re right, and I’m sure Nicky would be happy to whip up some stuff. Are you making the sandwiches?”
“Sure.” As Seth peeled the wrapping off the cold cuts, Lolly appeared from somewhere and stationed herself at his feet. “Hi there, you. You like turkey?”
“As far as I can tell, she likes everything. I’ve caught her eating green beans.”
Seth dropped a small shred of turkey at his feet, and Lolly pounced on it, then waited eagerly for more. “Pig.” He ignored her as he assembled two sandwiches. Meg went back to the refrigerator, pulled out a pitcher of iced tea, and located two glasses.
“Speaking of pigs,” she said as they sat down on opposite sides of the table, with Lolly taking the seat between them, “you haven’t talked to Jake Kellogg yet, have you?”
Seth shook his head, his mouth full of sandwich. After he’d swallowed, he said, “Haven’t had time. Probably won’t have time this week. You want to handle it?”
“I think I can. After all, I’ve met him already. Although I’m not sure what questions to ask, but at least I can give him the general idea. What kind of pigs does he have? I’ve seen them, but I don’t know one pig from another.”
“Berkshires. They’re good eating.”
“Okay. Maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow—he works somewhere else, right?”
“Yeah, but he should be home between five and six.” Seth’s sandwich had disappeared. “Anything else we need to go over?”
Meg handed him a folder. “I’ve boiled down the numbers there. I’ve tried to make it a simple snapshot. The bottom line is, I think the restaurant plan is sound, with one more infusion of funding—that’s the farmers, with in-kind contributions, and long-term participation. I would support it as a good investment on their part. And I think the idea has appeal beyond the numbers.”
“No argument here. You ready?”
Meg gathered up her own folder and her purse. “Let’s go.”
When Meg and Seth arrived at Town Hall, Tom Moody and Caroline Goldthwaite were already seated, along with a man Meg didn’t recognize. Tom stood up when they entered. “Hey, thought you’d gotten lost, Seth. Hi, Meg. This is Fred Weatherly, Granford town counsel. Among other things.”
Fred clambered to his feet and reached across the table to shake Meg’s hand. He was a short and rather round man, and his hand was damp. “Good to meet you, at last. Tom here doesn’t give me enough work, so I have to hold down a real day job.”
Mrs. Goldthwaite gave what sounded suspiciously like a sniff, avoiding Meg’s eyes. “I don’t see why we need Miss Corey here. This is a working meeting, not a public meeting.”
“Mrs. Goldthwaite, I invited Meg,” Seth said mildly. “She’s better equipped than I am to talk about what we want to present to you.”
Mrs. Goldthwaite looked at him as though he were a guilty schoolboy. “I for one don’t see what there is to discuss.”
Tom interrupted. “Mrs. Goldthwaite, let them speak their piece, okay? After all, this restaurant does affect the town, so it’s relevant.” When she didn’t answer, he went on, “Okay, we have any old business to get out of the way?”
Meg sat quietly as the Board dealt with a short list of local issues covering waste disposal, zoning, and funding for an unexpected repair to one of the town schools. Finally Tom looked around the room and said, “Okay, if there’s nothing else—Seth, why don’t you tell us about your pet project? And keep it short, will you? I promised to be home before midnight.”
“Tom, I know there’s another baseball game on. I’ll give you the highlights, and you can go home and think about what questions you have. In a nutshell, Nicky and Brian have come up short of money for the restaurant.”
Mrs. Goldthwaite interrupted. “No surprise there. The project was poorly conceived from the beginning.”
Seth responded quickly. “Mrs. Goldthwaite, I don’t think that’s true. I think they’ve done a great job working within their resources, but admittedly they’re young and inexperienced, so they underestimated—though not by much, I might add. And I think we’ve found a way to help them out.”
“Is this going to cost the town anything, Seth?” Tom asked.
“No. Hey, I know how little we have. But I would like the town’s endorsement for the plan, and public support. Heck, we might even get some publicity out of it.”
Tom sat back in his chair. “Okay, Seth, the ball’s in your court.”
Fifteen minutes later Seth had laid out the history of the restaurant and its current problems. Meg had contributed a brief analysis of the numbers and projections. Together they had sketched out the idea for a collaborative venture that they had come up with.
Mrs. Goldthwaite listened in stony silence, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Tom nodded and said little for most of it. Finally he spoke. “Who’ve you talked to?”
“Several farmers.” Seth rattled off names.
“What’s their take on it?” Tom went on.
“Overall, they like it. Of course, we’ve still got to work out an acceptable legal structure—that’s where you come in, right, Fred?”
Fred’s eyed jerked open. “Um, yeah, right. Happy to help.” Meg wondered if he knew what he’d just volunteered for.
“And we’re under some time pressure,” Seth continued, “because they want to open at the beginning of September. That would give them a shot at snagging the parents bringing all their kids to school, and also take advantage of the late summer crops.”
Tom turned to Fred. “Is that a reasonable time line for you to work out the details? Assuming we have something like oral agreements in place?”
Fred nodded. “If you keep it simple. How many partners you talking about?”
“Does it matter, up front? I’m guessing twenty, but we’d like to keep it flexible, so we can add on if we find someone new. Or so that people can dro
p out if it doesn’t work for them.”
Fred nodded. “Let me see what I can put together. Tom, am I billing you on this one?”
Tom and Seth exchanged a glance. “Yeah, but we should put a cap on it. Say ten hours? If you can’t get something cobbled together in that time, let me know.”
“I don’t suppose anyone is going to ask my opinion?” Mrs. Goldthwaite said, speaking for the first time in several minutes.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Goldthwaite. What’s on your mind?” Tom asked.
Mrs. Goldthwaite straightened her already-straight back and smoothed down her skirt. “I think this whole discussion is absurd. Seth, you’re asking us to condone poor business management, and support a pair of strangers who have made some faulty decisions. What kind of message does that send? I know that bailouts are popular in some circles, but I don’t see why Granford need follow that model. And do we have any reason to believe that they’re here to stay? Or will they get tired of their new toy and go back to wherever they came from, leaving that building unusable as a home?”
“Mrs. Goldthwaite,” Seth began patiently, “I think the restaurant will be a real asset to Granford, as well as a source of revenue for us ultimately. You’ve met Nicky and Brian—they’re good people, the kind we want to attract and keep. And we’re not asking the farmers to give up anything. They’ll get paid, and they’ll get a share of the profits. What’s more, they’ll be directly involved in bringing new financial and social life to the town. What’s wrong with that?”
“I do not see that the commercialization of the town center is desirable. I’m not convinced that the attention such a restaurant attracts is what we want for Granford.”
“And I disagree,” Seth replied. “All the people I’ve talked to have welcomed the idea, whether or not they plan to provide any food. We need a place like this here. And Nicky and Brian need some help to make it happen. Of course, the plan is to make it a profitable business, once they get over the first hurdles.”
“Then we must agree to disagree.” Mrs. Goldthwaite shut her mouth with finality.
Seth turned to Tom. “Tom, do you support this project?”
“Sure, and for all the reasons you outlined. We need new life, and we need new revenues. The town isn’t going to be out of pocket for this—unless Fred here goes wild. And I like the owners. So, sorry, Mrs. Goldthwaite, but I’m with Seth on this.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said, and Meg was startled at the bitterness in her tone. “Have we finished our business here? Because I’m tired and I would like to go home.”
“I think we’re done.” Tom stood up. “Meg, thanks for coming tonight. And thanks for your input regarding the finances. Maybe we can count on your expertise on a few other matters?”
“Tom, I’m happy to help out any way I can.”
Tom rubbed his hands together. “Great. Well, I guess we’re adjourned. Thanks for coming, Fred. Why don’t you send us all what you pull together on the partnership structure? Say, by the end of the week.”
“Yeah, okay, fine. ’Night, all.” Fred made his escape, and Meg wondered if he would produce anything at all. Still, it was a start.
Mrs. Goldthwaite stalked out next, without saying good night to anyone. “She’s not happy,” Seth said to Tom.
Tom sighed. “When is she ever? She wants everything in Granford to stay just the way it’s always been. I hope I’m not that stuffy when I get to be her age.”
“It’s her home, and it always has been. Do you know if she plans to run for selectman again?”
“She hasn’t said, and I haven’t asked. Besides, that’s months away. But if anything comes to a vote, and I’m not even sure it will, then I’m on your side, Seth. Meg, good to see you again. Good luck talking with the rest of the farmers—let me know how it goes.”
They went out the front door, with Tom turning off the lights behind them. He waved as he headed toward his car.
Meg looked around the town. It was still light, but there weren’t many people around, on foot or in cars. There were lights on in the restaurant: apparently Nicky and Brian were barreling ahead at full speed.
“Seth, is Mrs. Goldthwaite going to be a problem?”
“I don’t think so. She’s usually pretty reasonable, even if she’s kind of out of step with the world. And worst case, Tom and I outnumber her. But I hope it doesn’t come to a real confrontation. You ready to go home?”
“I guess. I’ve got more markets to call on over the next few days, but I think I’ve made a good start. Now all I need is apples to sell them.”
“All in good time.”
25
The next week passed in a blur. Pickers came and went, bringing boxes, shifting things around in the barn—doing almost anything but actually picking. Meg was becoming accustomed to the sound of voices outside the house at odd hours, but there was no rushing the apples. Monday morning she woke with a start and realized she hadn’t seen Professor Christopher Ramsdell since her class had ended in May. She knew he was busy. This was, after all, peak growing season, and he had many commitments to field research. Add to that the new integrated pest management project that the pharmaceutical company DeBroCo had proudly announced earlier in the year, and the construction of a new building on the UMass campus to house it, and Christopher must have been run off his feet. She knew that Bree had consulted him periodically. Still, she felt she should check in with him, report on Bree’s admirable progress, and make sure she was on track. She needed to ask him what equipment she still needed, who had bought the crop before this, and what if any spraying was still necessary. In fact, the list kept growing, and Meg sprang out of bed just to stop the spinning in her head.
Downstairs she fed Lolly and pottered around fixing breakfast until she thought it was reasonably late enough to call Christopher. Of course, he should be keeping farmers’ hours these days, right? Just after eight she called his office and was happily surprised to hear his voice.
“Christopher, it’s Meg. Have I caught you at a bad time?”
“Meg, how delightful to hear your voice. I’m about to head out to oversee a spraying, but I can spare a moment. Was there something on your mind?”
“Nothing urgent—I just realized that we hadn’t talked for a while and I wanted to make sure I was doing things right.”
“And is young Briona working out well?”
“She is indeed, and I bless your name daily for sending her my way. Though she doesn’t have your wealth of experience.”
“Ah, Meg, you flatter me.”
“I do. Do you have time to get together today? I know it’s short notice.”
“Let me check my calendar,” he replied, and Meg could hear the riffling of papers in the background. “I’m over in Hadley this morning, but that shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. I’m meeting with the building contractor at two. Could you possibly squeeze in lunch?”
“Perfect. I’ll meet you at your office at noon? Does that work?”
“Excellent. See you then, my dear.”
Meg hung up smiling. Christopher was a sweetheart. His early years in England had left him with a courtly charm that seemed incongruous in an agricultural scientist, but he was a delight to spend time with—in additional to being knowledgeable about both orchards and human character. Meg was happy to have Bree managing her orchard, but she missed the more frequent contact with Christopher that she had enjoyed earlier in the year.
Meg spent her morning talking to still more food vendors— luckily Amherst and Northampton were well supplied with them—and she rapped on Christopher’s office door just before noon and found him at his desk, poring over what appeared to be blueprints, his silvery hair rumpled, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked up and beamed at her. “Meg, please come in. I’ve just been going over the DeBroCo plans. I must say they aren’t trying to cut corners, but I have some quibbles about space allocation—some of the labs are a bit cramped. But I’m sure we’ll
be able to work out the details. Shall we go to that lunch spot we’ve been to before?”
“Sounds good. Why don’t you let me drive?”
Once they had parked in Amherst, a feat made easier by the reduced summer population of the university and the college, and ordered, Christopher sat back and looked at Meg. “You appear to be thriving. So the life of an orchardist agrees with you?”
“So far. I’m enjoying it, between moments of panic. I assume Bree filled you in about the hailstorm?”
“She did indeed. You were lucky, but maybe the gods are on your side—you deserve some luck. And she reports that the trees are doing well. I’m sorry I haven’t been by more frequently, but this new center is consuming all of the time I can spare from research activities.”
“Is everything going well?”
“Surprisingly so, touch wood. I was concerned that the corporation might have a hidden agenda, but so far they have made no demands. I could not ask for more, although I fear that my skills as an administrator may be inadequate to the task. And I shall miss the fieldwork.” He took a swallow of his iced tea. “So tell me about your latest scandal. A young man associated with this proposed restaurant, I hear?”
“You are well informed. Yes, he was going to be the sous chef there, except he ended up dead in a pigsty.”
“Heavens, how dramatic. Not, I take it, on your land?”
“No, thank goodness. But I’ve been working with the restaurant owners—a really nice pair of newlyweds from Boston—and we’ve come up with a plan . . .” Meg proceeded to outline her collaborative scheme, and was gratified that Christopher paid close attention.
When she’d finished, he said, “You might think of talking to someone at the Department of Hospitality at the university. I would imagine they might have some ideas, and it would be a good opportunity to affiliate with the university—as a source of advice, or even staffing.”
“That’s an excellent idea, Christopher. I’ll tell them to look into that,” Meg said. “So, regarding my potential purchasers, who has bought the apple crop in past years?”
Red Delicious Death Page 22