Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery) (5 page)

Christopher, clearly troubled, had left without any further explanations. Before leaving he had shared the picture on his phone with Bree, whose reaction was nearly as quick as Christopher’s had been.

“Wow, that’s bad news! There haven’t been any other sightings around here, have there?” she had asked.

“Not yet, but there aren’t enough eyes to check every potential site,” Christopher had replied. “Meg, can you show me where you saw this?”

“Sure.” Unless it was still a crime scene, she amended to herself. “If you think it’s important. When would you like to go?”

Christopher tapped at his phone some more and pulled up a calendar. “Would tomorrow afternoon suit you?”

Meg looked at Bree, who shrugged and said, “It’s okay. We’re only watering every other day at the moment, and from what you’ve told me, that’s working for now.”

“I believe it is, my dear, although with no rain in sight I’d keep a close eye on your water levels,” Christopher said. Meg explained to him where the forest plot was, and they arranged to meet at the site, then said their good-byes.

After watching Christopher head down the hill, Meg turned to Bree. “Why are you and Christopher so concerned about this bug?”

“It could be nothing, but what you saw looks like an Asian longhorned beetle. It’s an invasive species, probably carried into this country through wooden packing crates at a variety of ports. It eats a whole lot of tree species, and the only way anyone has come up with to stop them is to cut down all the infested trees and grind them up. Left alone, they kill the tree in a couple of years, or at least seriously weaken it. What’s worse, while they’re big and easy to see out in the open, they usually spend most of their life cycle inside a tree, mainly up at the crown level, so they’re hard to spot. Most of the infested areas have been identified because one of the beetles showed up in an ornamental tree in someone’s suburban yard. Like Christopher said, Worcester’s been hit hard, and they’re still finding new outbreaks there and in the surrounding communities. They just cut down another ten thousand trees in Shrewsbury. It’s pretty likely that if there were more people looking, they’d find a lot more.”

“You’re certainly well informed.” Meg digested what Bree had told her. “So if it’s identified on the Nash property, what happens next?”

“Well, first there’s an official identification process—there’s a government office that does that. If it’s confirmed, then the USDA gets involved, and the UMass extension service. And then basically crews go out and chop down a whole lot of trees.”

“Which wouldn’t make Jonas Nash and his company very happy.”

“Exactly. And it would be a shame, because they’ve been good about maintaining their land responsibly. I read about them as a case study when I was at school.”

“Maybe it’s just a single beetle that flew in from somewhere else?”

Bree shook her head. “Those suckers don’t fly very far or very fast. So if you see one, there are probably others nearby.” She made a quick scan around her. “I think we’re pretty much done for the day. You have plans for tonight?”

“You mean with Seth? I don’t even know. Were you volunteering to cook dinner?” Meg ended hopefully.

“If you insist.” Bree gave an exaggerated sigh. “I guess it’s my turn.”

They ambled down the hill, and Bree peeled off for the kitchen door. Meg saw both Seth’s car and his van parked in the driveway, so she figured he was in his office, which was located in the old carpenter’s shop behind her house. She climbed the stairs up to his office space and rapped on the half-open door.

Seth looked up and smiled. “Hi. Have I missed a meal or something?”

Meg came in and dropped into a battered chair in front of his desk. “Not yet, unless you’re talking about lunch. Where’s Max?”

“I left him over at Mom’s—she’s got an old dog run there, from when we were kids. I’m working on adding one at my place, but it’s not finished yet.”

“Poor baby. Doesn’t he get lonely without you? Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something Christopher just told me.”

“Okay. Shoot.” Seth stretched and leaned back in his chair.

“Let me back up and start from the beginning. Remember when I sat down to get that rock out of my shoe yesterday?” Seth nodded, so Meg went on, “There was this big insect on the log. Yeah, I know, woods, nature, et cetera, but this was a big, showy one—black and white, with long antennae. Did you notice anything like that?”

He shook his head. “No, but I wasn’t looking, and then we got kind of distracted by the body. Why does it matter?”

“Because I described it to Christopher today, and he knew exactly what it was: something called an Asian longhorned beetle. From what he and Bree have told me, it’s a nasty pest.”

“And?”

“If there’s an infestation on Jonas’s land, I gather that kicks in a whole official process that goes all the way up to the federal government. And the only way to deal with the insect is to cut down all the trees it likes to eat.”

Seth’s expression turned serious. “Ah. I see the problem. If—it is still ‘if,’ isn’t it?—there is an infestation, then Jonas stands to lose a whole lot of trees.”

“Exactly.”

Seth thought for a moment, then said, “Jonas told me in confidence that the sawmill is losing money. He said he might even have to sell. So losing some of his lumber would hit him hard. What does Christopher say the next step should be?”

“Well, there would have to be confirmation, for a start. He wants me to show him where I saw the beetle.”

“Do you want me to come along?” Seth offered.

Meg smiled at him. “No, you don’t have to. The thing is, I forgot to ask Christopher who should tell Jonas about this. I don’t think he will, until he has confirmed the sighting. But from what Bree said, I gather that if you see one beetle, there are probably a lot more hiding in the trees. Did you get a chance to talk with Jonas today?”

Seth shook his head. “No, I was thinking about talking to him tomorrow. What time are you meeting Christopher?”

“Mid-afternoon tomorrow, at the forest site.”

“How about this: you and I can go to the sawmill before that and talk to Jonas, and then I’ll drive you over to the woodlot to meet Christopher.”

“That sounds good to me. Are you coming by for dinner tonight? I think Bree’s cooking.”

“No, I promised my mother I’d eat with her. Tomorrow night?”

“That’s fine.”

When Meg arrived at her kitchen, Bree was banging pots around and something smelled like onions and spices. Meg sat down at the kitchen table.

“Why do you know so much about this beetle thing?” Meg asked.

“Hey, I haven’t been out of school all that long. Christopher actually oversees some kind of research lab on campus, and I think I remember taking a tour of it once. But I was never much interested in the lab research side of things. Anyway, it’s my business to keep track of anything that might affect what we do here, isn’t it? This critter has set up housekeeping not all that far away.”

“You mean in Worcester. But it doesn’t go after apple trees, does it?”

“No, but you’ve got to look at the bigger ecological picture. Left uncontrolled, this thing can really change the makeup of our forests, and that affects all of us. Maybe it’ll take a while. Heck, maybe it’s already been here for a while and nobody happened to notice. But in the end, it can do a lot of damage.”

“Christopher certainly took it seriously.”

“Of course he did. It
is
serious. Something like this has to be reported officially. If he knew and didn’t act on it and somebody else found out, his professional credibility would be on the line.”

“Ah, I see. Well, Seth and I are going to go over to the Nash sawmill tomorrow, and then I’ll go meet Christopher. I’ll show him where I found the insect and we’ll see what happens.”

“Speaking of you and Seth, you two sure do spend a lot of time together these days. You planning to do anything official about it anytime soon?”

Meg was surprised that Bree had even asked. “We haven’t discussed it. We both have our own lives, you know. We seem to be muddling along well enough.”

“Hey, as long as it works for you. And before you ask, Michael and I are status quo, too, and happy with that. Quite the independent women, you and me, huh?”

• • •

Seth came by
the next day after lunch. “Ready go to?”

“I am. Listen, I’ve been thinking. It sounds as though Jonas has enough to worry about without dumping this possible beetle problem in his lap. Maybe we should wait until we know for sure what’s going on before we say anything. What if we don’t find any more? Does Christopher still have to report it? I mean, I saw one dead beetle, and it might not even be what we think it is. I didn’t stick it in my pocket or take a picture of it. I could have been wrong about it.”

Seth laughed. “Meg, slow down. You don’t have to say anything. You did the right thing to report it to Christopher, but that’s where your responsibility ends. You show him the place, and either he finds more or he doesn’t, but he’s the one who has to take the next step.”

“Fine. I’d be happy not to worry about it. So, how are you today? How’s Donald’s project going? How’s your mother?”

“I’m fine, she’s fine, the world’s a great place. Donald is less than one hundred percent happy because he wants everything done yesterday, but I calmed him down. And you’re going to get to see how our ancestors cut the wood that went into building our houses.”

“That part I’m looking forward to.”

It didn’t take long to reach the sawmill, and as Meg stepped out of the car she inhaled the scent of freshly cut wood. Could someone who handled different woods regularly learn to distinguish each by scent? She could tell the odor of pine from most other woods, but her expertise stopped there. But why was the smell so appealing?

Jonas came out to greet them. “Hey, Seth, Meg. Seth, you’re still looking for wood for Donald, right? I set aside some boards for you—you can take a look.”

“Thanks. Donald’s been on my back about getting started. And if you have time, I promised that Meg could see how a real sawmill works.”

Jonas smiled. “Of course. We’re really proud of the place.”

“Good,” Meg said. “You can start by telling me how different this is from the way it used to be done.”

“Actually, not very, and that’s been our choice. We get school groups coming by a few times a year, so they can see how it was done in the old days. Our machines are power driven, but there are people managing them all, not computers. Most mills are a lot more automated than this, but it makes no sense for an operation of this size.” Jonas smiled again. “I love to show this one off.”

“And I’d love to see it, Jonas,” Meg said. “Lead me to it.”

“All right!” Jonas pointed to a stack of logs at one end of the long building. “Here’s where we start. Those are mixed hardwoods, and they come from a variety of sites. They’re scaled and graded—you want the details?”

“No, I think the general outline is enough for me,” Meg replied.

“Got it. From there we strip the bark off and move the logs to the mill. First they go through the headsaw, which makes the round log into a square. The result is called the ‘cant.’” The stuff that’s cut away goes to a chipper, and the cants go to the cant deck, where they’re run through the resaw—that’s what actually cuts the boards.”

Meg stared, fascinated. It was a noisy, messy process, but the basics were simple: logs went in one end and came out as boards on the other, all within one building—depositing coarse sawdust like snowdrifts on every surface.

Jonas was still talking. “One reason I’ve got real people running things is because there are decisions about individual cants that a computer just can’t make, or not as well.” They walked farther down the line. “So, next is the edger, then the grader. The USDA has grading rules for logs, but at our end we have a trained grader who inspects the boards. He has to grade each board and decide whether it needs more trimming or edging. Only when he’s approved it does it go to the dry kilns. You have to dry the boards under controlled conditions for temperature, moisture, and air circulation. Had enough yet?”

Meg smiled at him. “I’m overwhelmed. Is there more you have to do, before you can actually use the wood?”

“That’s where I come in,” Seth said. “Depending on how I want to use it, I may need to surface-plane it, to smooth it off. And I do some of my own trimming, particularly for these old houses, where what’s there may be out of true, so I have to match up the boards. Speaking of which, let’s take a look at those boards. You coming, Meg?”

“No, I think I’ll stay here and admire this process awhile longer. You won’t be long, will you?”

“Fifteen minutes, tops.”

Meg turned back to Jonas. “Thank you for the tour, Jonas. I’ll definitely look at the wood in my house in a different way from now on.”

“Happy to share it with you, Meg,” Jonas said. “This way, Seth.”

For a couple of moments Meg watched them walking away: Seth compact, fair in complexion; Jonas taller and rangier and darker. But physical differences aside, both cared about the materials they were using and the history they were preserving, even sometimes in the face of common sense and expense. She could sympathize. No way would she repair her own house with modern plywood, even where no one would see. It would be like a bad graft, and she had the irrational feeling that her house would reject the unfamiliar patch. She found an upended stump and sat, watching the men who were operating the machines come and go. It didn’t take a large staff to run this operation; she’d counted fewer than ten men.