Red Delicious Death (17 page)

“And I’m relying on you to keep me on track there. The orchard comes first, no question—and if you need me here, tell me and I’ll be here. Look, I appreciate your bringing this up, and maybe I’ll have a better sense of where they really are, how ready they are, after I talk to them tomorrow. I promise I won’t let myself get sucked into their problems. Okay?”

“Okay.”

They had almost finished eating when the phone rang again: Seth this time.

“Hi, Seth—what’s up? I hear Nicky’s getting ready for the Select Board meeting this week,” Meg said. “She wants me to go over their presentation with them. This isn’t a big formal thing, is it?”

“No, not at all. Of course, in this town a high turnout is maybe ten people. It’s good that Nicky and Brian want to be prepared, but nobody’s going to pick apart whatever they have to say. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure it will.”

“Anyway, I just called to let you know that Edna’s coming in tomorrow to talk to them.”

“Oh, good. That’s one less thing they’ll have to worry about, if it works out. Thanks again, Seth.”

When Meg hung up, Bree said, “You all sure do live in each other’s pockets. Everybody’s got their nose in everybody else’s business.”

“It’s called neighbors helping neighbors. Try it—you might like it.”

“Maybe.”

Meg arrived at the restaurant a few minutes before ten to find the place bustling. The interior framing was done, and Sheetrock was going up. She peeked around behind the stairs—yes, even the small washrooms now had walls and fixtures. Every time she stopped by, she could see more tangible progress, and she thought everything looked great so far. Maybe the September deadline wasn’t so unrealistic after all.

Nicky emerged from the kitchen to greet her, talking a mile a minute. “Hi, Meg. Can I get you some coffee? Thanks so much for coming. I really appreciate it, and so does Brian. He can put together the numbers, but you know these people. Better than we do, at least! And now Seth’s friend Edna is coming over, and I don’t really know how to interview people—and jeez, I’ve got to get some wait-staff lined up soon—but I feel so scattered because there’s so much going on, and there’s a shipment of furniture due today and Brian said he had errands to do, and—”

Meg held up a hand. “Nicky! Take a breath. The place looks good, and I’m sure this woman is perfectly nice, if Seth recommends her.”

“I know, I know. But I’m not sure what questions to ask her, and I don’t know what kind of pay she’ll expect, and—”

“How about that coffee?” Meg wondered just how many cups Nicky had already had, but she could use some herself, if only to keep up. She followed Nicky into the kitchen. “You know, I really love this space. Have you had a chance to test-drive it?”

“Some, mostly to make sure everything works. Which is does, so far.” Nicky handed Meg a cup. “I hope it’s big enough. We had to balance the space we had against the number of customers we expect, and then there was the budget. So it’s not exactly what I wanted, but pretty close. Of course, so far here I’ve only been cooking for two or three at a time, and I could do that with a hotplate. The real test will be a full house, but that’s still a ways off.”

“Sooner than you think,” Meg replied. “Bree keeps telling me my harvest is starting any minute, which scares me. I haven’t got buyers lined up yet, and I’m not even sure where to start. Tell me, how do you, as a restaurateur, decide what to order?”

“That’s easy: what’s local, what’s fresh, what’s good.”

“Sounds simple. But how do you plan menus when you don’t know what you’ll have on hand?”

“You do have to be flexible, and know your foods. But that’s half the fun of being a chef—improvising. I wouldn’t want to run a big place and have to turn out the same boring stuff day after day. I saw enough of that in Boston. And no way do I want to use prepackaged stuff. You’d be amazed at what some of the big restaurants get away with, because people don’t know any better.”

“The chefs, or the patrons?”

“Both. The chefs settle for what’s easy, like canned sauces, and the patrons accept it because that’s what they expect. You have to educate both sides.”

Meg hesitated a moment before saying, “I’ve got one piece of good news for you: Jake Kellogg said he’d be willing to talk to you about supplying pork.”

“Isn’t that the place . . .” Nicky’s voice trailed off.

“Yes, but Seth says he’s the best supplier around. If it bothers you, you don’t have to use him.”

Nicky squared her shoulders. “It’s okay. I can handle it. And thanks, Meg.” Talking about food, which she clearly loved, seemed to have calmed Nicky down, and she didn’t flinch when Seth’s voice called out from the front, “Anybody home?”

Nicky gave Meg a quick smile. “Here we go!”

Meg followed her to the front room, where Seth waited with Edna Blakely, the potential sous chef. She was an older black woman, with close-cropped hair, mainly silver. She was nearly as tall as Seth, and taller than Nicky. Her eyes were wary.

“Hi, Nicky, Meg. This is Edna Blakely. Edna, Nicky Czarnecki. Is Brian here, Nicky?”

Nicky strode forward and extended her hand. “It’s good to meet you, Edna. No, Brian had something to do in Springfield, but he might get here before we’re done. Why don’t we sit in the kitchen? As you can see, Edna, we’re still just setting up out here—I thought we should get the kitchen right first.”

“Pleased to meet you, Nicky. And you got that right—the kitchen’s the heart of the place. Nice space you’ve got here. How many covers?”

“We’re thinking two dinner seatings, at least forty each.” Nicky led the way back to the kitchen and doled out coffee to the newcomers. They all found seats, with Nicky and Edna across from each other at one end, Meg and Seth at the other end.

“Okay, Edna, tell me your background,” Nicky began.

Edna’s expression gave little away, but Meg noticed that she kept twisting her hands in front of her, maybe unconsciously. How badly did she want this job?

“I didn’t grow up around here,” Edna began. “Came with my husband, Luther. He was a restless sort, never could figure out what he wanted to do. We lived in Ohio before here, and Tennessee before that. He’s gone now. I always worked, some factory work, back a good few years. Then the Millers opened up that diner on the highway—you remember, right, Seth?”

“I do. We used to go there Sundays after church, for breakfast.”

“I’d always cooked, but whatever training I got, I got at Millers’ diner. Open eighteen hours a day, breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“Did the Millers do most of the cooking?”

“Early on, yeah. When they got older, I took over more and more of it.”

“What was the menu like?”

“ ’ Bout like what you’d expect for a diner—sandwiches, hamburgers, big breakfasts, served all day. We did a couple of daily specials—I was pretty much responsible for the idea, and then for cooking ’em. Got to be pretty popular, too.”

“What happened to the diner? It’s closed?”

“Five years now. Mrs. Miller died, and Mr. Miller kind of lost interest. He tried to sell it, but nobody wanted it—he’d let it get pretty run down, over the years. I tried to put together enough cash to buy him out, but Luther didn’t leave me much, and the bank wasn’t about to help, so in the end it closed. It was out where that gas station is now.”

“And what have you been doing since, Edna?”

Meg suppressed a smile: Nicky was trying so hard to be professional and dignified as she interviewed a woman old enough to be her mother. She sneaked a glance at Seth, who had been quiet, allowing Nicky to handle things.

“This and that,” Edna said. “Mostly prep cook for a couple of places around here. I can give you names, if you want. But I’m tired of chopping up stuff for other people’s dishes. I can do more. What you looking for, Nicky?” Edna gave Nicky a direct, almost challenging, look.

Nicky gave a small sigh. “I don’t know how much Seth has told you, but here’s the story. My husband, Brian, and I moved here with a friend of ours, Sam Anderson. I’m the head chef, and Brian’s the manager, front of house, and the numbers guy. Sam was going to be my sous chef and forager. You’ve probably heard that Sam . . . died.”

“Found dead in Kellogg’s pigpen. Somebody kill him?”

Nicky looked startled by the direct question. “Maybe. Is that a problem, Edna?”

“Nope. I didn’t know your man. I do know the Kelloggs, though—good people. Good pigs.”

“How do you know that?”

“Used to be he’d smoke some bacon, now and then. When he did, I grabbed it up for the diner.”

“Ah.” Nicky looked speculatively at Edna, but it wasn’t an unfriendly look. “Tell me, how would you see working with me in this kitchen?”

Edna took her time looking around. “Good layout, plenty of room. Your husband’s gonna cover the front of the house? Because that’s not what I’m good at.”

“Yes, Brian’s going to do that. Can you handle suppliers?”

“Sure can, no problem. But listen, I’d want to do more than chop up your onions. I want to cook.” Edna’s chin came up.

Nicky studied Edna’s face. Finally she said, “Show me.”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“With what you got on hand?”

Nicky nodded. “Exactly. Show me what you can do.”

Edna thought for a moment, then nodded in response. “Okay. But can you all clear out for a bit, let me get a feel for the place without everybody watching?”

“Fair enough. Edna, the kitchen’s all yours.”

When they’d left the room, Edna closed the door behind them.

“This is an interesting approach, Nicky,” Meg said. “What are you looking for? And what the heck does she have in there to work with?”

“What I really want to know is what her approach to food is. I’ve been stocking up on basics—we’ve been eating here for a few weeks, so she’s got more than a can of beans and some bread to work with. I hope I didn’t insult her, Seth, but if she’s a real cook, she’ll understand.”

“She seemed to take it well. Look, Nicky, she needs the job, but you aren’t under any obligation to give it to her if she’s not a good fit.”

“Thanks, Seth. I’d hate to hurt her feelings, but I need to know what she can do.”

Seth nodded. “Now, what do you want to know about the selectmen’s meeting?”

“Oh, goodness, I don’t know. What do I need to know? Who’s going to be there, what they need to hear. Are we going to run into any problems? Who’s in charge of permits? Is there an inspector? What questions are we supposed to ask?”

“Slow down!” Seth laughed. “Look, there are three selectmen—me, Tom Moody, and Caroline Goldthwaite. We’re all elected. The town secretary may be there, to take the minutes, even though we videotape the meetings these days. At some point you’ll have to talk to the town assessor, but that can wait. There should be some outsiders—local citizens—there, mostly those who are curious about what you’re doing with the place. And the handful who believe in attending every public meeting on principle.”

“Are they going to ask about . . . Sam’s death? Are people really saying it was murder?”

Seth shrugged. “Maybe, although it would surprise me. Mostly they’ll want to know about what kind of food you’re planning to serve, and whether they can afford it. As for your other question, I’d guess the cat’s pretty much out of the bag, no matter what Detective Marcus may think.”

“Huh. Well, what
can
people in Granford afford?” Nicky asked.

“Hard to say. Are you aiming for a casual, local kind of place, or a special occasion place?”

“Somewhere in the middle, I think. I mean, I want people to feel welcome, and I don’t want them to think they have to dress up to walk through the door, but I want the food to be special. Something that might attract people from Northampton and Amherst, and maybe tourists, but I don’t want to price my neighbors out of the place. Is that going to be impossible?”

“Nicky, I honestly don’t know. But I think you’ve got the right idea. If it helps any, we’re thinking of including a nonchain lunch place in Granford Grange—that’s the new shopping strip south of town—so you wouldn’t have to cover that part of things.”

“Okay.” Nicky chewed her lower lip. “I’m sorry if this sounds kind of vague. I mean, before we got here, I didn’t want to get too wedded to any one idea before I actually knew what kind of place we’d have, and even now that we’ve got this place, I’m still thinking about a lot of things. That’s why I can’t give a lot of details yet. Can your selectmen help with finding providers?”

“Maybe. You might want to talk to the Agricultural Commission.”

“Will they be there?”

“Not this time, but I can put you together with the head of the commission.”

The kitchen door opened. “You all ready?” Edna asked.

“That was fast!” Nicky whispered. It hadn’t been more than ten minutes since they’d left the kitchen.