Meg finished her breakfast and went out to greet the goats while she waited for Bree. “Hey, ladies,” she greeted them. “Hot enough for you?”
Dorcas and Isabel stared at her with their unnerving eyes. Their rectangular pupils always surprised her.
“You have enough water? Shade?”
The pair walked away and resumed grazing.
“Thanks for the moral support, you two,” Meg said as she turned to go up the hill. She was surprised to see a university van pull into her driveway, and a young man she recognized by his dark beard climb out. What was the UMass researcher doing here? she wondered. “It’s Gabe, right?” she said, as he came into earshot.
“Sure is. Gabe Aubuchon. Nice to see you again, Meg.”
“What brings you out here?”
“Christopher Ramsdell sent me out—not because you have any problem, personally,” he hurried to reassure Meg. “He thought I should take a look at the ALB in the wild—thought it might give me some new insights into the rearing process. I spend most of my time in the lab, but yesterday I tagged along with the state inspectors, to learn how they spot them. So now I’m just checking out random patches of forest, to see if I can spot any more ALBs.”
“Well, I don’t have a lot of wooded land. Mainly what you can see on the other side of the meadow there, and more toward the back of the property. You haven’t seen it in a forest?”
“Not an active infestation, before now. There aren’t many, thank goodness. I mean, I’ve seen chunks of log that show the damage the ALB has caused—they make some big holes and tunnels! But it’s not the same as seeing them on their home ground.”
“Have the inspectors found any more infested sites?”
“They have, although not big ones. The chainsaw gangs should show up by next week. You mind if I look at your wooded land?” Gabe asked.
“Go right ahead,” Meg said, although she had to admit to herself she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear bad news if Gabe found anything.
“What about up the hill?” Gabe asked, gazing at Meg’s orchard.
“That stand of trees at the top belongs to the Chapins. Like I said, I haven’t seen any inspectors. You think the insects are here?”
“You might see the state crew come by. They’ll start from the spots they’ve already identified and work their way outward from there, until they get a clear half-mile perimeter. So far the finds have been a couple of miles north of here, closer to Amherst. Can I take a look at the trees up the hill?”
“Sure. I was headed that way anyway. Do you suspect there’s anything there?”
“Nope. I’m just checking things out. You never know, and if I find something, maybe I can score some points with the inspectors.”
But not the landowners, Meg thought sourly.
As they trudged up the hill, Gabe asked, “How many trees you got here?”
“In the orchard? Maybe two thousand, or more. If you look over there to the right, those are new ones we just planted this spring—that’s a thousand right there. But they’re planted more closely than the older trees were.”
“And it’s just you doing all the work?”
“Me and my orchard manager, Briona Stewart. We hire pickers in the fall, and for a couple of days in the spring to clean up the place and prune. But, yes, mostly it’s just Bree and me. It’s manageable, if we’re willing to work really hard.”
“What’re you doing now? It’s too early to pick, right?” Gabe seemed eager to learn. Meg wondered how often Christopher let him out of the lab.
“We spend a lot of time irrigating the orchard. I’m lucky to have a well in the middle of the older part, so I’ve got water, but Bree and I are the official delivery system, which means filling tanks and hauling hoses. We really need some rain.”
“Bet you do!”
Meg checked her watch, and then saw Bree climbing the hill. “Well, Gabe, I’ll leave you to it—I’ve got to get to work. Happy hunting!”
“What was that all about?” Bree demanded when she came closer to Meg.
“That’s Gabe, the guy who works in the ALB lab at UMass. I met him the other day. Apparently Christopher let him out of the lab long enough to see the beetles he’s rearing in their wild state, and he’s checking all over.”
“You know, I think I remember meeting him when I visited that lab a couple of years ago—you don’t run into many beards like his these days. So he’s been there awhile.”
“I think he told me five years,” Meg said. “You haven’t seen any of the official inspectors around our land, have you?”
“Nope. Aren’t they supposed to notify you when they want to take a look?”
“I have no idea. They wouldn’t need to look at the orchard, because apples are not one of the host trees, but they might want to look at the wooded areas around my property. I’m not going to object, if they happen to ask.”
“I don’t care what they do, as long as they don’t get in our way. Let’s get going.”
Meg saw Gabe headed back down the hill, giving her a wave and a thumbs-up after he’d looked over the Chapin trees. Meg assumed that meant he hadn’t found anything there. There were a couple of old maples in front of her house—should she worry about those? They shaded the house, and she’d hate to lose them, but at the same time they were old and their dead limbs were just waiting to take a shot at her already battered roof . . .
Meg and Bree finished the morning’s watering and were poking at lunch in the kitchen when Seth stopped by later that afternoon.
“You don’t look happy,” Meg said. “You want something to eat? Drink?”
“I’ll take that drink, but what I really want is a clone of myself.”
“Why?”
He filled a glass with ice, then water, and dropped heavily in a chair. “The good news is, the State Plant Health Director and the State Plant Regulatory Official have the pest invasion situation well in hand, and it’s a pretty impressive operation, I have to say. The problem, however, is that one of the requirements is public outreach, which means press releases, interviews, public meetings, mass mailings, interacting with community interest groups, and so on—all of which falls to me.”
“You can’t ask one of the other members of the board to take it on? Or your staff?”
“You’ve seen our staff—the town clerk, one administrator, and two other select board members. I’m the best qualified, which isn’t saying much. But I’m the only one who knows anything about all this.”
“You have heard of the word ‘no,’ haven’t you?” Meg smiled to soften the comment.
“I’ve heard rumors. It’s okay—Granford isn’t very big, and we’ve got the mailing lists and e-mail contacts on file anyway. But still, it’s just one more time sink, and I’m already running behind on everything else. It’s kind of hard to earn a living when I keep getting distracted by things like this. Funny, the bills keep coming, whether or not we’re under attack from giant killer beetles.”
“I don’t suppose working with Donald makes things any easier,” Meg said.
Seth shook his head. “He’s a great guy—he knows his stuff, and he really cares about it—but he does require a lot of hand-holding, which I don’t have time for at the moment.”
“Anything new from Art? Do you know if he passed that info about Clapp on to Detective Marcus?”
“I haven’t heard. Again, it’s kind of a can of worms—I’m sure we could identify hundreds of local parents who’ve had kids who played on the park fields and who have taken the history tour at the sawmill, who would know the place as well as he did.”
“But how many of them ended up dead in the woods? How many of them have any kind of expertise with forests and their pests?” Meg demanded.
“Meg,” Seth snapped, “if you think it’s so important, you tell Art about it.” He drained his glass and stood up abruptly. “I’ve got to go.”
“Hey, peace. I’m just asking. So the answer is no, you haven’t discussed this w
ith Art?”
“Yes, the answer is no,” Seth said, his tone only slightly less annoyed.
“Will I see you later?” Meg called out at his retreating back.
“I’m having dinner with Mom,” he tossed back over his shoulder, and he headed toward his van.
Meg sighed. With Seth these days, it seemed to be two steps forward, one step back. Right now, the ongoing heat was making everyone snappish, and that included even-tempered Seth. She turned to Bree. “So it’s just you and me?”
“Sorry, Michael and I are going to find someplace with air-conditioning. You’re on your own.”
A few hours later, after Bree had gone, Meg wandered slowly through the house. It was nice having a little alone time. Of course, that gave her time to give the house a hard look and remember how many things needed to be done. Or could be done—it was still standing, even with a few leaks. If the big maple by the front corner turned out to be infested and had to be taken down, she’d suffer the consequences for a long time—as long as it took to grow a thirty-foot maple. How many other homeowners were facing the same problem, if this insect threat turned out to be widespread?
Actually, from the inside the house didn’t look too bad. The parlors flanking the front hall were in pretty good shape, probably because no one had ever used them much. She’d done a lot with the kitchen when she’d moved in, out of necessity, so she could check that off her list. Of course, there were pitifully few electric outlets, at least by modern standards, but she was managing. Storm windows would be nice, but that was down the road somewhere. And a second bathroom—now that was a dream. She refused to contemplate how colonial residents had managed things like basic hygiene. She hadn’t found any archaeological trace of an outhouse, but then, she hadn’t looked very hard. She shouldn’t complain, but she did harbor dreams of a roomy, well-ventilated bathroom, maybe one with a Jacuzzi tub—just the thing to stretch out and wallow in after a hard day in the orchard. But that was going to have to remain a dream for a while longer.
In the end she settled for a cool bath, with Lolly perched on the bathroom counter for company, followed by a mystery novel she’d been saving to read, except that she fell asleep before she finished the first chapter.
23
The next morning Meg could tell it was hot again before she opened her eyes. Even the birds seemed to have given up the effort to sing. This weather had to end sometime, didn’t it? She was willing to accept the reality of global warming, but she had never thought it would hit so hard and so fast. And why did it have to happen to her? Her orchard had been getting along fine for a couple of centuries, but now that she had taken it over, it was going to be devastated by the weather? Surely there wasn’t some cosmic message there, directed at her?
Get over yourself, Meg! she told herself as she stumbled toward the bathroom, passing Bree on her way out. “Nice night?” she asked.
“At least it was cool,” Bree said, without elaborating. Sometimes Meg wondered just what Bree and Michael’s relationship consisted of, but it wasn’t really any of her business.
“Same old, same old today?”
“You got it. See you downstairs.”
In the kitchen Meg fed Lolly, then contemplated her coffeepot, wondering if she really wanted to boil water. Caffeine was dehydrating, she had read, so maybe it wasn’t a good idea, but without it she would be a zombie. The need for caffeine won, and she went through the motions, then stood numbly watching the coffee steep in the French press.
“Tell me there’s something good in the weather forecast?” Meg said when Bree arrived, her hair wet.
“Ha!” was Bree’s only answer, as she buttered an English muffin. “There’s a front somewhere doing something, but the forecasters don’t agree on much of anything. Except that it’s hot.”
Meg’s breakfast was interrupted when her landline rang, with a caller ID she didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Is this Meg Corey?” a vaguely familiar voice asked.
“Yes, it is. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you. This is Donald Butterfield. I’m looking for Seth Chapin. We were supposed to meet this morning, and he hasn’t arrived. He’s usually quite dependable about such things.”
Why was Donald calling her? “I haven’t seen him this morning, Donald. Have you tried his office number? Or his cell?”
“Yes, of course,” Donald said impatiently. “There’s no answer at his home number, but I recalled that his office is behind your house, and I wondered if you might check to see if he’s there?”
Holding the phone, Meg went to the back door and looked out at the drive: there was no sign of Seth’s van or his car, but he had been known to walk over to his office from his home, except he wasn’t home. Unless, of course, he was avoiding answering Donald’s phone calls. But Seth would be unlikely to walk if he had a business appointment. “I don’t see either of his vehicles. When did you expect him?”
“At seven thirty. I’m an early bird, and he said he wanted to beat the heat, so that’s the time we set.”
Meg checked the clock, which read eight. Half an hour was definitely late for Seth, and anyone could travel from one end of Granford to the other twice in that amount of time. “Maybe he’s had car trouble. I’ll keep trying him at his home, but other than that I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you could try the town offices, when they open. I’m sure he’ll show up.”
“Thank you, Meg. I’ll stay here and wait, in case he was delayed.”
Meg hung up thoughtfully. “What’s the problem?” Bree asked.
“Seth didn’t show up for an early meeting with Donald. That’s not like him. He said he was having dinner with his mother last night—I’ll see if I can catch her before she leaves for work, in case he told her something about his plans.”
Meg hit a speed dial number and waited for three rings before a breathless Lydia Chapin answered. “Hi, Meg—you just caught me as I was headed out the door. What’s up, so early?”
“Did Seth have dinner with you last night?”
“Yes, but he left fairly early. Why?”
“He had an appointment this morning and he didn’t show up. Did he say anything about what he was doing this morning?”
“Not that I recall. Wait—it’s that Donald person, isn’t it?”
“That’s the one. He said he tried Seth’s other numbers, and then he called me.”
“Seth says he’s a bit of a fussbudget, but he did mention that he was planning to meet with Donald this morning. That’s all I know. Maybe the van broke down or something. Sorry I can’t help, but I’ve got to leave for work.”
“That’s okay, Lydia. I’m sure he’ll turn up. Talk to you soon.”
Meg put the phone back in its cradle. Now what? Was she supposed to worry? His own mother didn’t seem too concerned. Seth was an adult with a lot of responsibilities. Maybe there had been some crisis at town hall. Or maybe he was just dragging his heels because he didn’t feel like dealing with Donald right away.
But Seth was seldom late, and if he said he was going to do something, he did it.
“You ready?” Bree asked. “Those trees aren’t going to water themselves.”
“Yes, I’m ready.” Meg made sure her cell phone was in her pocket as they closed up the house and walked up the hill.
They’d been watering long enough by now that Meg could do it on autopilot. Fill tank from well; drive to a section of the orchard; dispense water until the tank ran dry. Repeat. And repeat again, until her eighteen acres were watered. It could have been worse, Meg reminded herself once again. And they had the option of irrigating, so they didn’t have to sit by helplessly and watch the trees wither and the immature apples drop. Maybe they were lucky.
So why didn’t she feel lucky? Because she was hot, sticky, dusty, tired, and frustrated. And now she had to add worried: Seth’s van had not appeared while they were watering the orchard, nor had he called, at least on her cell phone. Not that he ow
ed it to her to keep her informed of his every move, but she was a little surprised. He had seemed kind of ticked off the day before, when he had left. Or maybe he’d been tired, like she was, not to mention overcommitted. Maybe the state agencies had grabbed him and locked him in a room to turn out cheerful press releases about the beetle. Or maybe he was just playing hooky.
No, not Seth. He didn’t do things like that.
They finished the watering by noon and went down the hill to stow the equipment in the barn. Inside the house, Meg checked her phone messages: four from Donald, the most recent only half an hour earlier. She didn’t feel like listening to them, but she could guess the substance: no Seth. What now? She drank down a couple of glasses of water and threw together a sandwich of sorts, then told Bree, “Seth’s still AWOL. I’m going over to his house to see if there’s any sign of him.”
“Jeez, maybe he’s just busy.”
“Maybe, but it’s not like him just to vanish, especially when he knows someone is waiting for him. Is there something here you need me to be doing instead?”
“Nope, you’re clear. Go track down Seth and tell him you can’t live without him for more than six hours at a time.”
Meg swallowed a snappish comment. Bree was right, in a way, but Meg was still worried. She debated walking over for about twelve seconds, then rejected the idea in favor of a nice, cool drive in her air-conditioned car. “I’ll take the car. Do we need anything else while I’m out? Food? Drink?”
“The fridge is as bare as I’ve ever seen it, so you’d better stock up on something.”
“Got it.” Meg went to her car and started it up, then sat in it for a few minutes while the interior cooled, as she made a mental shopping list. She felt sluggish and uninspired. Would this heat never end?
She drove the mile or so to Seth’s house—farther by road than on foot—and pulled into his driveway. His car was there, but not his van. Maybe that was a good sign? He’d left the house on his way to Donald’s house and then . . . what? No signs of life in the house. Just in case, she climbed reluctantly out of her cool car and knocked at the back door, with no response. But she was startled to hear barking from behind the house. She went around back to find Max in the enclosure that Seth said he had built recently. Why would Seth have left Max out there? Yes, there was shade, and the dog’s water dish was still half-filled. He must have planned to come back and collect Max after his early date with Donald. But Max seemed pathetically happy to see Meg; how long had Seth been gone?
Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery) Page 18