Red Delicious Death (29 page)

“I’m just built that way—it used to drive Mom nuts. I always had a lot of energy—nowadays they’d probably label me ADD. Mom and Dad did their best to channel it to something useful. Anyway, you’re not the first person to complain. Hey, I’ve got an idea.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve walking anywhere or talking to anyone, fine. But remember we’ve still got to stop at the restaurant.”

“Don’t worry—this won’t take long.”

Meg no longer had any idea where they were, after following meandering farm lanes for hours, so she sat back and admired the passing landscape and enjoyed the air-conditioning in the car. They reached the base of the ridge that marked the northern end of Granford, and Seth followed a road barely two lanes wide, winding up the side of it until they came to a cleared area and a pull-out. He stopped the car, and they both stepped out. “There.” He waved his hand as the vista. “There’s Granford, laid out at your feet.”

They were still shy of the top of the ridge, shaded by tall old trees, and a faint breeze cooled Meg’s damp hair. “It is lovely, isn’t it? It looks so peaceful.” She could see the steeple of the church, scattered white houses, many still with adjoining barns, and plowed fields green with crops. She could hear the distant lowing of cows—how strange that the sound carried all the way up there. “Like it’s never changed. At least, if you swap carriages for cars. But the roads are the same, aren’t they?”

“Yup, most of them were laid out in the eighteenth century, like the one in front of your house.”

“Like the orchard—that’s probably been there about as long, in one form or another. Why is it everything around here seems to have a long history except me?”
And what is it about this lovely view that’s making me feel melancholy?
Meg wondered.

“You still worried about fitting in?” Seth tilted her chin up so he could look in her eyes.

“Less so than I was, maybe. But I saw the way some of the people today reacted when you introduced me.”

“Meg, give them time. They’re good people.”

“I’m trying. You know, I wonder if being with you makes it too easy—they accept me by proxy. I get the Seth Chapin stamp of approval.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not. I’m grateful. As long as I’m not just one of your fix-it projects.”

“Do you have to ask?”

She studied his face. “No.”

He pulled her closer and kissed her, and she forgot her surroundings, and her fatigue, and her worries about being accepted by the population of Granford. The kiss ended gradually, and she found herself leaning against Seth, her mind entirely empty. Her body, on the other hand, was very much alive, but now wasn’t the time to do anything about that. This was good, this was nice. This could work. And then maybe someday soon there would be a restaurant where they could celebrate the special occasions of their lives. She sighed.

“What?” he said into her hair.

“I like this. Do we have to go back to the real world?”

“This isn’t real?”

“Well, yes, it is. But we have other things we need to do.”

“I know,” he said, but he didn’t let go immediately. “We’ll stop by the restaurant on the way home.”

“Right.” She peeled herself away reluctantly, then turned to take one last look at the vista, gilded by the sinking sun. “How sad to think there’s a murderer down there somewhere.”

“Not for long.”

“You really think Marcus will find the killer?”

“I think he’ll give it his best shot. Unsolved murders don’t look good on his résumé, and this one is sensitive. I think he’ll want to get this cleared up as fast as he can.”

“I hope so,” Meg said dubiously. Trouble was, she’d seen Marcus at work before, and she wasn’t convinced.

Nicky and Brian had been suitably impressed with their progress, but neither Meg nor Seth had time to call on anyone else over the next day or two. Meg was working her way through the list of small markets that Michael had provided, and met with mixed success. Some already had contracts for as many apples as they needed; others were willing to accept some orders on trial, with the promise of accepting more if the first batch proved satisfactory. Since Meg was still puzzling over what kinds of apples she had, when they would ripen, and how many she could expect, she was grateful for any hint of support. It was a start.

Tuesday morning she sat down to review the financial projections that Brian had provided. He had done a competent job, she decided, even though the details of this particular business were unfamiliar to her. Financial statements were more or less universal, and boiled down to expenses versus income. Of course, for a start-up that involved a lot of guessing, but from what Meg could tell, Brian’s guesses had been conservative and reasonable. She had seen for herself that he had kept the build-out simple, concentrating resources in bringing the systems—plumbing and electrical—up to code for this new use. Interior decoration had been held to a minimum, with Brian and Nicky doing a lot of the painting themselves. Obviously they had had to invest in kitchen equipment, but much of that had been acquired secondhand (located, checked over, and approved by Seth). There had been no way to avoid buying tables and chairs, and the numbers there had been dictated by the space available combined with the number of covers Brian projected that they needed to break even. Add to that the linens, china, glassware, cookware, and the other inescapable necessities of running a restaurant, and it was clear where the money had gone. There had been no waste, no extravagance.

They’d started with the generous gift from Nicky’s father, but that was spent now. With no demonstrable cash flow until September at the earliest, the bank wasn’t about to give them a loan. And in any case, under current economic conditions, everybody was tightening belts. Small business loans were simply not happening these days. Not that it really would’ve been a good idea for Brian and Nicky to take on debt at this point anyway.

Which left the gaping hole of inventory: food, beverages, and disposable supplies. Liquor was nonnegotiable, according to Brian, and Meg wasn’t going to disagree. Brian had walked her through the principles behind pricing an entrée, and the target cost seemed reasonable to her, if he wanted to attract a broad mix of customers. So, failing a lottery win, Meg’s plan for a collaborative effort was the best hope if this restaurant was going to open in September—or ever.

She had promised to brief Seth on her off-the-cuff analysis before he talked to the Select Board. She wasn’t sure if running this by the Board was a courtesy, to keep them informed, or whether there was something tangible the Board members could contribute—like funding the services of the town’s attorney to draw up whatever partnership documents might be needed. Of course, a town might have access to grants and external funding that individuals might not, but so much of that funding had dried up that it was more or less moot.

Seth rapped on her screen door at six before letting himself in. “How’s it look?”

Meg sighed. “They did everything right. I can’t fault the decisions they made. They just underestimated, and ran out of money. Heck, I’d support them for a loan if I were a local banker. You don’t happen to have any pull there, do you?”

“Even if I did, there are a lot of people in the queue ahead of them. Are you having second thoughts about this collaborative idea?”

“No, not at all. The more I think about it, the more I like it. And I keep thinking of ways to promote it—it could serve as a great blueprint for any number of small local businesses. My friend Lauren might be able to help there.” When Seth opened his mouth to speak, Meg hurried to forestall him. “I know, I know—I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m just lining up arguments to support this. It’s good for the town. It’s good for everyone involved.”

“Hey, I agree with you. I don’t see much downside. Were we going to eat something before we headed to the meeting?”

“Oh, right, food. I think I’ve got sandwich makings in there somewhere. I’ve been so busy the last couple of days, trying to line up buyers for myself, that I haven’t had time to think about food.” She smiled. “It might be easier to persuade the Board if we took some of Nicky’s cookies along.”

Seth went to the refrigerator and started foraging. He emerged with packages of cold cuts, bread tucked under his arm. “I like the cookie idea. Nicky’s cooking is definitely one of the best selling points we’ve got. Maybe we should be bringing goodies along to everyone we call on.”

“Now you’re thinking like a promoter! You’re right, and I’m sure Nicky would be happy to whip up some stuff. Are you making the sandwiches?”

“Sure.” As Seth peeled the wrapping off the cold cuts, Lolly appeared from somewhere and stationed herself at his feet. “Hi there, you. You like turkey?”

“As far as I can tell, she likes everything. I’ve caught her eating green beans.”

Seth dropped a small shred of turkey at his feet, and Lolly pounced on it, then waited eagerly for more. “Pig.” He ignored her as he assembled two sandwiches. Meg went back to the refrigerator, pulled out a pitcher of iced tea, and located two glasses.

“Speaking of pigs,” she said as they sat down on opposite sides of the table, with Lolly taking the seat between them, “you haven’t talked to Jake Kellogg yet, have you?”

Seth shook his head, his mouth full of sandwich. After he’d swallowed, he said, “Haven’t had time. Probably won’t have time this week. You want to handle it?”

“I think I can. After all, I’ve met him already. Although I’m not sure what questions to ask, but at least I can give him the general idea. What kind of pigs does he have? I’ve seen them, but I don’t know one pig from another.”

“Berkshires. They’re good eating.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow—he works somewhere else, right?”

“Yeah, but he should be home between five and six.” Seth’s sandwich had disappeared. “Anything else we need to go over?”

Meg handed him a folder. “I’ve boiled down the numbers there. I’ve tried to make it a simple snapshot. The bottom line is, I think the restaurant plan is sound, with one more infusion of funding—that’s the farmers, with in-kind contributions, and long-term participation. I would support it as a good investment on their part. And I think the idea has appeal beyond the numbers.”

“No argument here. You ready?”

Meg gathered up her own folder and her purse. “Let’s go.”

When Meg and Seth arrived at Town Hall, Tom Moody and Caroline Goldthwaite were already seated, along with a man Meg didn’t recognize. Tom stood up when they entered. “Hey, thought you’d gotten lost, Seth. Hi, Meg. This is Fred Weatherly, Granford town counsel. Among other things.”

Fred clambered to his feet and reached across the table to shake Meg’s hand. He was a short and rather round man, and his hand was damp. “Good to meet you, at last. Tom here doesn’t give me enough work, so I have to hold down a real day job.”

Mrs. Goldthwaite gave what sounded suspiciously like a sniff, avoiding Meg’s eyes. “I don’t see why we need Miss Corey here. This is a working meeting, not a public meeting.”

“Mrs. Goldthwaite, I invited Meg,” Seth said mildly. “She’s better equipped than I am to talk about what we want to present to you.”

Mrs. Goldthwaite looked at him as though he were a guilty schoolboy. “I for one don’t see what there is to discuss.”

Tom interrupted. “Mrs. Goldthwaite, let them speak their piece, okay? After all, this restaurant does affect the town, so it’s relevant.” When she didn’t answer, he went on, “Okay, we have any old business to get out of the way?”

Meg sat quietly as the Board dealt with a short list of local issues covering waste disposal, zoning, and funding for an unexpected repair to one of the town schools. Finally Tom looked around the room and said, “Okay, if there’s nothing else—Seth, why don’t you tell us about your pet project? And keep it short, will you? I promised to be home before midnight.”

“Tom, I know there’s another baseball game on. I’ll give you the highlights, and you can go home and think about what questions you have. In a nutshell, Nicky and Brian have come up short of money for the restaurant.”

Mrs. Goldthwaite interrupted. “No surprise there. The project was poorly conceived from the beginning.”

Seth responded quickly. “Mrs. Goldthwaite, I don’t think that’s true. I think they’ve done a great job working within their resources, but admittedly they’re young and inexperienced, so they underestimated—though not by much, I might add. And I think we’ve found a way to help them out.”

“Is this going to cost the town anything, Seth?” Tom asked.

“No. Hey, I know how little we have. But I would like the town’s endorsement for the plan, and public support. Heck, we might even get some publicity out of it.”

Tom sat back in his chair. “Okay, Seth, the ball’s in your court.”

Fifteen minutes later Seth had laid out the history of the restaurant and its current problems. Meg had contributed a brief analysis of the numbers and projections. Together they had sketched out the idea for a collaborative venture that they had come up with.