Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery) (20 page)

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 owed 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?

“Hey, Max, want to come with me?” Max jumped up and put his paws on the fence, panting. She took that as a yes. “Okay, let me find a leash for you and we’ll go over to my house.”

She found a long leash hanging on a nail on a wall near the pen, then let Max out and attached the leash to his collar. “Let’s go, boy.”

Max willingly followed her to the car and jumped into the backseat. Meg wondered just what was going on. She pulled out her phone and tried all Seth’s numbers: no answer at any of them. What now? Water for Max, first. Could she leave him in her house? She still had errands to do, but she couldn’t take Max along and leave him in the car.

She headed home, then opened the back door for Max to jump out, and led him in the back door. Seth’s van was not parked in her driveway, eliminating one hope. Bree was still in the kitchen, and she looked surprised to see Max.

“What’s up?”

“No sign of Seth, but Max was outside in his pen, and I don’t think Seth would have left him out all day, in this heat.”

Finally Bree registered some concern. “That’s not like Seth. I can see him blowing off Donald, but not Max.”

“You haven’t heard anything?”

“Nope. You still going to do those errands?”

“I thought I would, and I might swing by town hall to see if they know if Seth was working on something for the town. Can you keep an eye on Max? I shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“Sure, no problem. He’s good company.”

Meg set off again, this time toward town. Might as well stop at town hall before buying food, which would wilt in minutes if it sat in her car in the sun. She pulled into the small parking lot at the side and went in the front door. “Hi, Sandy,” she greeted the woman at the desk inside.

“Hey, Meg. What brings you here?”

“I’m looking for Seth. Have you seen him today?”

“Nope, but he’s not here every day. You probably know his schedule better than I do. Did you need something in particular?”

Meg debated about how to answer that without sounding like a nervous idiot. “He missed an appointment this morning, and that person called me looking for him—I didn’t know what to tell him.” Then she recalled that Seth had mentioned something about checking for bootleg power lines. “Wait—were you the person who was looking at those electric bills? Something about someone siphoning off electricity? Would he be working on that?”

“He told you about that?” Sandy looked surprised. “Normally it wouldn’t be noticeable, but with everybody pulling power for their air-conditioning at the moment, we’re pretty much up to maximum usage, and every bit counts.”

“I hadn’t even realized we had a municipal system until Seth told me.”

“Sure—always have, since about 1900. None of the bigger companies has offered the town a better deal. Most of the time we don’t pay much attention to it—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?—but this little jump showed up, and I started looking back and found it had been going on for a while, so I told Seth. He said he’d look into it, but he didn’t seem to think it was urgent.”

“Sounds about right.” If it wasn’t urgent, there was no reason for Seth to have ditched his appointment with Donald, who was paying him, to run around the back roads looking for unauthorized power lines. “Any other fallout from this drought, for the town?”

“Fire company’s been keeping busy. Doesn’t take much to start a fire these days, and then it moves fast because everything’s so dry.”

“I know—there was a small one near my place a couple of days ago. It was the first time I’d seen the fire department in action. I thought they did a great job—showed up fast.”

“I think they’re still grateful for the new municipal building the town put up a couple of years ago, so they’re on their best behavior. Anything else I can do for you, Meg?”

“No, I don’t think so. If you see Seth, tell him Donald was looking for him. Of course, maybe they’ve already connected by now. I’ll let you get back to work, Sandy.”

“Good to see you, Meg.” The phone rang and Sandy turned to answer it, so Meg left. She braced herself to step from the relatively cool interior of the town hall building to the sweltering heat outside, and she stopped on the top step for a moment to adjust. The town hall building, once a gracious Victorian summer home, sat on a rise, and below her lay the town green, ringed with sugar maples. Meg felt a pang of alarm: how far away was the town forest and park? If there were insects there, would the trees around the green fall within the mandatory clearance area? Would the state come in and take down the maples? That would be a true loss to the town, stripping it of one of the more appealing aspects.

She returned to her car and made her rounds, picking up food and other necessary supplies. It was after four when she returned. Bree came out as Meg was unloading the car.

“Let me grab those,” Bree said, reaching for some bags.

“Thanks. No word?” Meg didn’t elaborate; she didn’t need to.

“Nope. Not at town hall?”

“No.” They shuttled their burdens into the house and distributed them, mainly in the refrigerator. When they were done, Meg said, “I’m going to call Art.”