A Killer Crop (12 page)

“Bree? Yeah, right,” Michael snorted. “But I’ll try. Tell her I’ll talk to her tomorrow?” He disappeared out the back door into the night, and Meg heard his car start up.

She slumped in a seat at the table in the kitchen, too tired to think about eating. At least she’d had a good lunch today. Lolly peered around the doorway from the dining room, as if checking to see if the coast was clear. Seeing no strangers, she sauntered in and jumped up on the table.

“Mother is
not
going to tolerate that, Ms. Cat,” Meg said. Lolly ignored her and began to wash her tail. “Fine. You’ll find out,” Meg added. Her mind drifted, and she was jerked out of her reverie by a knock at the back door, still open save for the screen to catch the evening breeze.

“Hard day?” Seth asked, walking in.

“I’ve had better. Bree’s down for the count, according to Michael, who just left. Wait—how did you hear? Is the village grapevine at work?” Meg smiled but couldn’t bring herself to move.

“Your mother told Rachel, Rachel called me. She thought you might need some company. Or a shoulder to cry on.”

Meg snorted. “Who said that, my mother or Rachel? I’m betting on your sister.”

Seth nodded. “Rachel. But your mother did seem honestly concerned about you. Listen, have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch. Which was very nice, by the way, and neither of us said anything regrettable.”

“Good. How about I make you some eggs?”

“Anything I don’t have to cook myself would be wonderful.”

“Eggs it is, then.” Seth headed for the refrigerator, knuckling Lolly’s head as he passed.

Ten minutes later he had produced a plate of food that looked good and smelled better. Meg dug in, and felt happier with each bite. “You are a lifesaver. I didn’t know how hungry I was.” She wiped up the last of the scrambled eggs with a piece of bread.

“I try. Are you going to be shorthanded?”

Meg pushed away from the table and sat back in her chair. “I honestly don’t know. I think we can manage if I do more of the actual picking than I have been. I’ll have to ask Raynard what the forward schedule looks like, but it’s kind of unpredictable. Were you planning to volunteer to pick in between all your other activities?”

“I would if you asked, but I am kind of booked up right now. All those people who’ve been putting off their home repairs over the summer have suddenly decided they want to get them finished before winter. Of course, a lot of it is niggling small jobs, like beefing up insulation or replacing windows. But it pays the rent.”

Meg looked down at the table. She was tired, frustrated, and uncertain about what was going to happen tomorrow, or next week. And her mother was going to be around for who knew how long, with Detective Marcus sniffing at her heels. Oh, yes, it was going to be just lovely.

“Uh, Seth, are you busy tonight? Because my mother’s going to be moving back here tomorrow ...”

Seth cocked his head and looked at her with a smile. “I’m yours for the evening. As long as you don’t mind that I have to leave early in the morning?”

“Not at all,” Meg said. She struggled out of her chair and carried her plate to the sink. “The dishes can wait—I’m going up.”

“Right behind you,” Seth answered.

At the top of the stairs, Meg tiptoed first toward Bree’s room at the back of the house. Carefully she opened the door, enough to see Bree lying asleep on her bed, breathing deeply, her casted arm resting on a pillow. She looked ridiculously young and vulnerable. Meg pulled the door closed behind her, and headed for her bedroom.

Seth was gone when Meg woke up at six thirty; she hadn’t even heard him leave. She ran into Bree in the bathroom and backed out again quickly: Bree was struggling to manage with one good arm, and she didn’t look any too happy as she tried to maneuver toothpaste onto her toothbrush. Meg waited until she heard her clomp down the stairs and start rattling things in the kitchen before she ventured back to the bathroom.

When Meg made it downstairs, she found chaos. Bree was banging through cabinets and cursing under her breath every time she knocked into something, which was often. Last night’s dishes were still stacked in the sink. Lolly was sitting on top of the refrigerator, out of harm’s way, but reluctant to vacate the scene because she apparently hadn’t been fed yet. Meg set about silently assembling a clean dish and cat food: at least she knew she could make one member of the household happy. When she set the dish on the floor, Lolly scarfed down her meal and retreated toward the front of the house.

“Coffee?” Meg asked.

“Yeah, whatever,” Bree replied, still surly. Then she stopped herself. “Sorry. I keep knocking things over, and I hate it.”

Meg filled the kettle at the sink and set it on the stove. “Does your arm hurt?”

“I guess. But I hate to take pills because they make me dopey.”

“Bree, you’ve got a broken wrist, and it just happened yesterday. You’ve got to give it time to heal.”

“We don’t have time! There’s too much to do! But I can’t do my job like this!” Bree waved her cast-clad arm.

“Well,
you
aren’t going to be doing it!” Meg replied tartly. “I can’t be responsible for you doing more damage to yourself. We can hire more labor.”

“No, we can’t! Everyone around here’s been booked since last year.”

Meg wasn’t going to back down. “Then you can tell me what to do, and I’ll do the heavy stuff. There’s no reason why I can’t pick apples and load crates and such. What you provide is direction and knowledge, and you can do that with or without both arms.” Meg took a breath. “Now, do you want breakfast? I’ll get it. You sit, and make a list of what jobs we need to divvy up.”

Breakfast was finished and so was Bree’s list by the time Raynard came knocking at the kitchen door. Meg beckoned him inside. “You want coffee, Ray?”

“No, ma’am, I’m good. Just came to see how our girl’s doing, and plan out our day.”

“I’m nobody’s ‘girl,’ Raynard. I’m your boss,” Bree said, but she tempered her bite with a half smile.

“So you say, missy,” Raynard countered, “so long as you take care of that arm there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bree snapped back. “Can we get to work here? Ray, have you checked the orchard this morning? What’s ready to pick?”

Meg listened intently. She had fifteen acres, and the tree density was on average about 300 trees per acre. She knew she had at least twenty varieties of apple, and they all ripened at different times. The early Gravensteins were about done, but the Cortlands, Spartans, Empires, and McIntoshes were following hard on their heels. And she knew she had a few scattered trees of heirloom varieties—not enough to call a crop, but enough to place in some of the local farmers’ markets and restaurants, to pique interest. But most of those ripened later; now, in September, they would be harvesting most of the bread-and-butter apples, the ones that made up the bulk of the orchard’s crop. From what Raynard and Bree had told her, it had been a good growing year for apples—plenty of rain and sun, in the right proportions. Good news and bad: Meg was likely to make money on her first crop, but she was going to have to work her butt off until the end of the season.

Raynard was obviously ready to get to work. “Are you going to need me right away, Ray?” she asked.

“What say I walk you through the orchard and show you what’s coming along? That’ll tell us how many hands we’ll need today. Briona, you coming?”

“Of course,” Bree snapped. “My legs work just fine.”

Meg pulled on a sweatshirt against the early morning chill, and grabbed her keys and cell phone. “I’m ready.”

After following Ray through the rows of apple trees laden with heavy clusters of ripe apples, Meg felt relieved. The pickers were already hard at work, and Ray didn’t think they’d have to look for any additional help, at least not right away—as long as Meg stepped into Bree’s shoes. Bree seemed resigned to her standby role, and Meg thanked the stars that she’d hired Raynard this year—even though he put her to work immediately. When Meg finally looked at her watch hours later, she was startled to find it was late afternoon—and no sign or word from her mother. “Are we all set here, Ray?”

“That we are, I think.”

“Good, because I need to find out where my mother is—she said she’d be back this morning and she’s late. I’ll be down at the house if you need me.”

Ray waved a sketchy salute as Meg left, and turned back to Bree. Meg ambled down the hill from the orchard, admiring the view of the deep grass rippling in the Great Meadow, and the turning trees beyond. Still too early for the brightest colors, or maybe the trees needed a cold snap to burst into their full autumn glory. At the bottom of the hill she decided it was too nice to go back into the house, and instead stopped to say hello to Dorcas and Isabel, then settled herself in one of the Adirondack chairs overlooking the meadow. She pulled out her phone to call her mother, but at that moment her mother’s car pulled into the drive.

Elizabeth climbed out, looking more cheerful than she had the day before. “Sorry I’m so late, but Rachel and I got to talking. She’s quite a ball of energy, isn’t she? Not only does she run the bed-and-breakfast, she’s got children to deal with.”

“Yes, she’s a real fireball.” Meg wondered briefly just what they might have been talking about, but she lacked the energy to worry about it now. “Have a seat,” she said, gesturing at the other chair.

“My, this is lovely,” Elizabeth said. “What a wonderful view!”

“I told you, that’s the Great Meadow. That’s the name they gave it when the town was first laid out, back in sixteen-whatever. It does provide a buffer zone for the property, so we keep the view.”

“Nice.”

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes. Then Elizabeth roused herself. “If I’m going to be making dinner, I’d better get started. Are you keeping farmers’ hours?”

“You mean, do I want to eat early? Yes, that would be great.”

Elizabeth stood up. “Then I’ll go in. You stay where you are.”

Meg didn’t argue. After a few more minutes, Bree came down the hill and flopped into the seat Elizabeth had vacated. “Everything cool?”

Meg nodded. “I think so. She’s going to make dinner, and then she’ll be staying. Can you handle that?”

“No problem. There’s some stuff I need to go over with you before we pick the next batch tomorrow. Before you jump all over me, I didn’t overdo today—Ray made sure of that.”

“Well, good for him. So, what do we need to look at?”

“Let’s take this inside—I need room to spread out.”

“The dining room, then.” Meg spent a productive half hour reviewing schedules and staffing with Bree, vaguely aware of good smells issuing from the kitchen. “Did the doctor say you couldn’t drive? Because if that’s the case, I’ll need to run some of the apples to our vendors. And you shouldn’t be doing any lifting, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, as if Ray hadn’t reminded me like sixteen times. You’re right—you’ll have to make the deliveries, at least for a bit. You can handle the truck, right? The shift’s kind of rough.” When Meg nodded, Bree added, “At least it’s still early—next month we’ll be swamped, but I should be back in shape by then.”

“We’ll see. Okay, you give me a list of deliveries for tomorrow, and I’ll take care of it.”

“Great. And I’ll duck out after dinner and give you a chance to talk to your mother.”

“Bree,” Meg protested, “I don’t want you to feel you have to hide out in your room all the time she’s here. This is your home, too.”

“No biggie. I’m kind of tired anyway.”

Bree was gathering up her lists when Elizabeth poked her head in. “Dinner’s ready. Do you want to eat in the kitchen?”

Meg stood up. “Sure. That’s easiest.”

They managed to get through dinner without bringing up anything remotely controversial. Elizabeth asked intelligent questions about the pros and cons of organic farming. Meg had dredged up another bottle of wine and made sure that her mother’s glass was filled. Elizabeth wasn’t a heavy drinker by any means, but Meg figured it might help to loosen her mother’s tongue.

Bree was the first to finish her meal. “Want me to do the dishes, Mrs. C.?”

“With that cast on? Nonsense. We’ll take care of things.”

“Okay, thanks.” Bree glanced at Meg. “I guess I’ll go upstairs now, so I’ll be out of the bathroom when you need it. Night, all.”

Meg carried her dishes to the sink. She was wondering how to frame her first question when there was a knock at the back door: Seth. “Hi. What’s up? You want to come in?”

Seth took in the scene: her mother still at the table, the uncleared dishes. “Hi, Mrs. Corey. No, I just wanted to remind you about the Harvest Festival tomorrow. You coming?”

Meg felt a pang of guilt. This was the second time Seth had asked about it, so clearly it was important to him. Of course, it was not just the annual Granford Harvest Festival but also the grand opening of Granford Grange, the new commercial strip on the highway, the construction of which Seth had been overseeing for months now. It had slipped her mind when she was planning the day with Bree, but she couldn’t let him down. “Of course. I’d love to come, if Ray and Bree will let me—apples wait for no man, or woman. And Bree tells me we have some deliveries scheduled. I don’t have to volunteer for anything, do I?”