Red Delicious Death (28 page)

Marcus fixed her with a cold look. “Yes, it was. I guess that’s no secret anymore.”

“Detective,” Meg said carefully, “that conclusion was hard to avoid based on the questions you’ve been asking.”

Marcus looked tired. “Procedure, Ms. Corey.” He turned back to Nicky, who was struggling with tears. Meg knew it must have been hard to hear it put into words, whatever she had suspected.

“Someone really killed him,” Nicky whispered, and then her voice grew stronger. “Someone shoved him into the mud and held him there, while he tried to breathe and couldn’t, and waited . . . and . . .” Finally she dissolved into tears, and Brian was quick to pull her close.

He looked over her head at Marcus. “I guess we kind of hoped it was an accident after all. You have any idea who did this?”

“It was a man’s shoe,” Marcus said without elaboration. He looked at Meg and Seth, but neither volunteered a comment.
Let him do his job
, Meg told herself. She avoided looking at Art.

Finally, Marcus stood up. “Let me know if you remember anything else.” He nodded at the group and stalked out, leaving everyone stunned.

Art stayed behind. “Sorry to barge in on you like that. I think he wanted to catch you off guard, to see how you reacted. He asked me along as a courtesy.”

“So what does this allergy tell us?” Seth asked.

“It widens the field of suspects,” Art said. “It means that it wouldn’t have taken a lot of strength to hold him down, if he was already in shock. A woman or even a child could have done it.”

“Poor Sam,” Nicky said softly, her head against Brian’s shoulder. “What a terrible way to die.”

“Is there a good one?” Art said. “Well, I’ll leave you to whatever you were doing. Meg, Seth.” He nodded, then left.

Seth followed him out, leaving Meg feeling like a third wheel in the kitchen.

She stood up. “Look, this is a difficult time, and I don’t want to rush you into anything. Think about what we said. We can move forward if you want, but don’t feel you have to. Talk it over tonight, and let me and Seth know.”

Nicky brushed away a last tear and said, “Meg, we don’t have to talk about it. I love your idea, and I want to see if it’ll work. If it doesn’t, at least we tried. So maybe you can stop by in the morning and we’ll have a shopping list for you. I’ll give you breakfast.”

“How can I pass up an offer like that? See you tomorrow.”

Seth was still talking to Art when Meg went out to the porch. “Art, Marcus didn’t have anything more to share with you, did he?”

“Nope. They’ve got the size and make of the shoe, but it’s a common one. It’s hard to say how badly Sam was affected by the bee sting, and how easy it would have been to hold him down. So I guess we’ve got more information but still no answers. I wish there was more I could do.”

“Seth and I will be talking to a lot of the local farmers, for the restaurant,” Meg said, glancing at Seth. “We can keep our ears open, find out if any of them ever saw Sam. I know Carl Frederickson mentioned running into Sam, when I talked to him today.”

“The beekeeper? Hmm. You never know what will turn out to be important, Meg. I’ll pass on that bit of information. Well, I’ve gotta go. I’ll keep you posted.”

Meg moved closer to Seth, leaning her shoulder against his. “Nicky’s right—it’s a horrible image, someone holding him down and watching him struggle. I can’t imagine anyone doing that. I hope Marcus finds something to go on.”

“So do I, Meg.”

Seth stopped by early the next morning to pick up Meg, who was waiting in the kitchen while Bree finished breakfast. “Hi, Bree,” he said. “Did Meg tell you about our new scheme?”

Bree swept crumbs off the table into her hand, then went over to the sink to throw them away. “The rough idea. Interesting, if it works. You know, I could ask the pickers if they know of any other people who might want to sell small lots. They do get around, and they hear things.”

“That would help. And ask Michael, too?” Meg said. “If you give me that list of small markets that Michael gave you, I can get started on that tomorrow.”

“Done—I’ll leave it on the table for you. You two have fun.”

As Meg settled herself in Seth’s car, she said, “Seth, do you see any holes in the idea, by the light of morning?”

“Nope,” he responded cheerfully. “I think people would be happy to get involved—makes them feel part of the restaurant, which would be a big boost for Nicky and Brian. It’s a win-win situation.”

“You know, this
is
kind of fun. I’m not the type to walk up to strangers and introduce myself, but this is a terrific way to get to know people in town, both for me and for Nicky and Brian. You sure it won’t take up too much of your time?”

“What time?” he joked. “Seriously, it’s good for the town—I want the restaurant to work, and I want the people around here who still care about farming to have a reason to go on doing it. And heck, I get a free breakfast out of it.”

“That you do, and it should be a good one.” They had reached the town green. Meg gazed out over the green, where a few churchgoers were straggling into the tall white church. “It’s so lovely. It
is
kind of like a postcard, and it’s hard to accept that there are all sorts of problems lurking right under the surface.”

“Like a killer?”

“You know, I can’t get a handle on Sam’s death. Nobody around here knew him, so why would anyone want him dead? It just keeps getting worse. I mean, if somebody wanted to kill him, no way could they have counted on that bee sting and Sam going into shock. Which makes it sound like a random spur-of-the-moment thing. But who?”

“I wish I knew.”

Nicky was waiting for them in the kitchen, with a lavish spread on the table. “I hope you’re hungry!” she greeted them. “I can’t seem to cook for small numbers. And every time I try a recipe, I think of something else I need to find. I added more maple syrup to the list just this morning.”

Meg was surprised when Edna emerged from the pantry at the rear.

“Edna!” Seth exclaimed. “Good to see you here. Have you started already?”

“Part-time for now, just getting a feel for the place.”

So Nicky and Brian were confident enough of their strategy that they had given Edna the go-ahead? Meg hoped that boded well. “You have a list ready for us, Nicky?” she asked.

“After you eat—pleasure before business, okay?”

They dug in happily. Halfway through her stack of pancakes with fresh strawberries, Meg said, “There will be some things you can’t get locally, right? Like coffee. Please don’t tell me you won’t be offering coffee. And chocolate.”

Nicky laughed. “No, we’re not fanatics. And we’ll have to buy liquor. Unless you know of a winery?”

“Not offhand. I’ve been told I could make hard cider eventually, but that takes special permits. Right, Seth?”

He nodded. “How about mead?” When Nicky cocked her head at him, he went on, “From honey. We’ll talk to Carl—you know him, right, Meg?”

“Carl Frederickson, sure. He did say something about honey. But mead is alcoholic, right? Is that regulated, too?”

“Probably. I’d have to check, but it might be worth looking into. And from a business perspective, Meg, you should check out not only hard cider but applejack. Or apple vodka.”

“Please! Can I at least get one crop picked before I start expanding? But I admire your zeal.”

When all plates were empty, Nicky refilled their coffee cups and handed out sheaves of paper. “Here’s what I’d like to find—a wish list—and I gave you some menus so you could see how the food we collect ends up in our dishes, and get a sense of the language we’re using.”

Meg riffled through her stack. “Wow. Very professional You’ve got a good balance of simplicity and sophistication here. Seth?”

“Looks good.” Seth drained his coffee, and scanned Nicky’s wish list. “I think we should talk with Jane Morgan for chickens and eggs—you had one of her chickens at Mom’s house, Meg. Nicky, you want veal?”

“If it’s raised fairly.”

“Strictly grass-fed—that’d be Elliott again,” Seth muttered to himself. “Bill Matthews for fish—he fishes the river, but he lives in Granford. And Caleb Morton supplies vegetables to some of the farmers’ markets—he’d be a good person to talk to about produce. Let’s start out at Elliott’s farm and the cattle—that’ll cover several bases at once. Nicky, that was a great breakfast. We’ll report back later. And remind Brian to put together those business plans, okay? We can pick them up later, too.”

Outside the morning coolness was already giving way to summer humidity. Edna was sitting on the porch shelling something Meg didn’t recognize. “Things working out so far, Edna?” Seth asked.

“Good enough. Those kids got lots of ideas, and I gotta pull ’em back now and then. But she sure can cook.”

“Glad you think so, too. Listen, you heard what we were talking about, right?”

“Hard not to.”

“You think people in Granford will go for the idea? You’ve been serving food around here for a long time.”

Edna stared out over the green. “I’d like to see it happen. Nicky’s right—the food’s better if you get it fresh. I’ll leave the business plan to you folks. Me, I’m just happy to cook.” She stiffened, and Meg followed her gaze. Caroline Goldthwaite was one of the last stragglers leaving the church building, her erect stance recognizable even from this distance.
What was that all about?
Meg wondered.

As they climbed into Seth’s car, Meg said, “Does Edna have some problem with Caroline Goldthwaite?”

“Ancient history now, but yes. A lot of us think Mrs. Goldthwaite was behind denying Edna financing when she wanted to buy the diner.”

I wonder why that would be?
Meg thought, suspecting she already knew the answer. “I notice you didn’t mention the pigs. Are we not going to talk to Jake Kellogg?”

“We can talk to him—I just didn’t want to upset Nicky by bringing him up. He’s the best around, no question.”

“Would finding a dead chef on his land put him off helping out the restaurant?”

“The pigs weren’t upset, so he’s good. I think Nicky will come around once she tastes his bacon.”

“He makes his own? Is that hard?”

“Nope. Build yourself a smokehouse, which doesn’t have to be more than a raised shed, and you’re good to go. In fact, I helped Jake put his together. Only took a day.”

Meg sighed. “The number of things I do not know continues to amaze me. I’ve got some unidentified foundations on my place. Do you know what they were?”

“One was a corn crib, I’d guess.” When Meg looked blank, he explained, “People used to keep the corn up on stone piers, to keep the rats out.”

Meg shuddered. “More than I wanted to know. I don’t have rats now, do I?”

“I wouldn’t worry. No corn, no rats. Okay, we’re here.”

The next several hours followed a pattern that quickly became familiar. They would drive up the long farm drive or, if a new house had been built on the land, pull in the driveway off the country road. Seth would knock, greet whoever answered by name, ask about the kids, the job, the boat, the fishing—any of a number of things. More and more it seemed to Meg that Seth knew not only everybody in town, but also their entire life histories. He was careful to introduce her, and many of the people they talked with already knew who she was; she could tell from the way their eyes darted toward her quickly. Oh, yes, the one who moved into the old Warren place. But Meg smiled and chatted, and under Seth’s umbrella, the sometimes-farmers warmed to her.

And without exception, they all reacted positively to their idea of a collaborative restaurant. No one was ready to commit to real numbers, but everyone expressed interest, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. As they ran through the spiel for the fifth or sixth time, even Meg thought it sounded pretty appealing. And it certainly made her hungry.

But after several hours, she was ready to call it a day. The day had been fine but hot, with little breeze. Meg had admired cows and calves and milking apparatuses. Apparati? She had discussed cheese, soft and hard. She had seen rows upon rows of crops that she couldn’t identify, and had noted a few that Nicky hadn’t mentioned. Would she want fennel? Leeks? She had been introduced to cherry trees, plum trees, even an errant fig tree growing in a sheltered corner. Meg had had no idea that there was so much food surrounding her—because she had never looked. She felt humbled by her ignorance, and secretly thrilled that she now had a part in it all, however small.

And now she was tired, sticky, and hungry, and they still had to stop back and debrief Nicky and Brian.

“Had enough?” Seth asked, starting the car.

“I hope you’re joking.”

“Hey, we’ve still got a few hours of daylight left.”

Meg laughed. “I’m beat. You know, you’re amazing—you never seem to slow down. It’s hard to keep up with you.”