A Killer Crop (15 page)

“Excuse me, Seth,” Andrea broke in, “but I should be drumming up business with the local small-pet owners. Good to see you again, Meg, and nice to meet you, Mrs. Corey.” She smiled and left quickly.

If Elizabeth had picked up any unusual undercurrents, she didn’t comment. “So, what shall we see here, Meg? It looks as though there are some nice homemade items over there.”

“There’ll be more at the Harvest Festival—that’s on the green in town,” Meg said, her voice tight. “I just wanted you to get a sense of the place. We can come back later when it’s not so busy. Seth, it looks like you’ve got a great turnout here. Let’s hope they come back often.”

“Are you two headed for the green?”

Meg nodded. “I think so. I’ve got some deliveries to make later this afternoon, but I wanted Mother to see Granford at its best.”

“You picked a good time to visit, Mrs. Cor—Elizabeth. Lots going on in Granford at the moment.”

A man Meg didn’t recognize bustled up and tapped Seth on the arm. “Seth, we need to run another extension cord for the coffeemaker. Can you help out?”

“No problem. See you later, Meg?”

“Okay,” Meg said noncommittally. “We should be back at the house by five or so, but the festival runs into the evening, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does, and then there are fireworks after dark, and the cleanup after, so I’ll be tied up tonight. Elizabeth, will you be around a bit longer?”

“That’s my plan. I’ll look forward to talking to you again.” Seth headed off to deal with the latest crisis, leaving Meg feeling out of sorts. Well, what had she expected? That he would plant a wet kiss on her, here and now? That was silly. He had probably picked up on Meg’s ambivalence and was letting her call the shots. Or else he had been distracted by Andrea—smart, attractive Andrea, who was obviously interested in Seth Chapin. Why shouldn’t she be?

“Meg?” Elizabeth tugged at her sleeve.

“What?” she snapped. “I’m sorry, I was distracted. Did you have a question?”

“I just wondered if we were heading back toward your car? Because we’re walking the other direction at the moment, and I don’t have any particular interest in hay bales.”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, let’s go back to the car. It might take a little while to find parking in the center of town. I hope you don’t mind doing some walking, but we should be hungry by the time we get to the festival.”

Back in the car for the short drive to the town center, Elizabeth said mildly, “Seth Chapin seems very nice.”

“Uh, he is. He’s been a lot of help with the house and the barn, and he’s introduced me to a lot of people around here.”

“Really. He seems to keep popping up every time I turn around.”

Meg sighed, waiting for a woman with a stroller to cross in front of her. “Well, he lives close by, and his office is in my backyard, and he’s involved in about every community activity there is in Granford.” She could feel Elizabeth’s glance on her. Why was she so reluctant to talk about Seth? Because she was afraid of what her mother would think of him? Or because she wasn’t sure what she thought?

Finally Elizabeth turned her eyes back to the busy road in front of them. “I hope we’ll have a chance to get together again while I’m here.”

Meg felt an odd mixture of relief and regret. She wanted to explain, but this was not the right time or place to do it. Still, putting it off did not make it any easier.

They entered the town from the west end, and the single main street was mobbed with people. She saw Police Chief Art Preston standing in the middle of the highway, directing traffic, with a big smile on his face. When Meg pulled closer, she yelled out the window, “You look like you’re having fun. Where should we park?”

“Amherst?” Art grinned. “Go on past Town Hall—they’ve opened up the field on the right.”

“Thanks, Art.” Meg resumed her careful approach. At the field Art had mentioned, she found a volunteer motioning them in, and finally found a space at the back end. “Wow! This is quite a turnout. I wonder if it’s always this busy.”

They clambered out of the car and made their way back to the two-lane highway and across. Meg pitied the hapless tourists out for a drive, for it would probably take them ten minutes to navigate the half mile through town. But maybe they would decide to stop and boost the local economy? She and her mother stopped at the higher end of the green, across the street from the restaurant, to take in the scene. Meg could make out crafts booths, an array of impressively large pumpkins, a cluster of antique cars in the church parking lot, a tent with what looked like a petting zoo, and a table laden with pies. “Are you ready for this, Mother?”

“It looks charming. I’m so glad you have good weather for it.” Her mother was smiling. “Something smells good,” Elizabeth said. “Lead on!”

Meg discovered immediately that the chef-owners of the newly opened Gran’s, Nicky and Brian Czarnecki, had set up a booth at the end closest to their restaurant and were doling out samples of food. Nicky greeted Meg with a squeal of glee. “Meg, isn’t this wonderful? I’m having so much fun! Is this your mother? I’m Nicky and this is my husband, Brian, and we run the restaurant over there. Ooh, I love saying that!”

“Yes, I’m Elizabeth Corey. Meg’s told me a bit about your place. I’m looking forward to trying it.”

“Of course! Meg, call me and we can set up a night, and we’ll plan something really special. Mrs. Corey, we wouldn’t be here without Meg’s help, you know, and we’re just so grateful!”

“I’m just happy to have some great food in town, Nicky,” Meg said. “Good to see you, but we’d better check out the rest of the booths.”

“Not without tasting this first,” Nicky said, handing them each a plate with something that Meg couldn’t identify.

Meg and Elizabeth helped themselves. “That’s terrific. What is it?” Meg asked.

Nicky giggled. “It’s a secret. A recipe I’m testing. Maybe it’ll be on the menu the night you come to dinner. Bye now!”

As they walked away, Elizabeth said, “My, she’s a bundle of energy. And she can cook!”

“That she can, and she’s a real asset to the town. What else looks good?”

They strolled and ogled, and Elizabeth collected a number of craft items and jars of jelly, which in turn necessitated buying an attractive quilted bag to carry them all in. They feasted on hamburgers and surprisingly good french fries, followed by three kinds of pie, accompanied by fresh local cider. Meg wondered if any of her apples had found their way into the batch. Luckily they had located seats on a bench under one of the old maples that ringed the green.

“You know, I think I’m beginning to understand the appeal of New England,” Elizabeth commented. “This is so charming, so timeless.” Then she stiffened to attention. “Didn’t we see that man at Daniel’s service? Is he from town?”

Meg followed the direction of her gaze. “The tall black man in the nice jacket? I don’t know him, but then, I still don’t know a lot of people in town. He does look a bit overdressed to be local. I think you’re right, though, that he was at the service. Did you want to talk to him?”

“I’m not sure what excuse I could give . . . Oh, why not?” Elizabeth quickly gathered up the remains of their lunch, deposited them in the nearest trash can, then walked over to where the man was standing, apparently admiring odds and ends on a white elephant table. Meg trailed behind.

“Excuse me,” Elizabeth began, “but were you a friend of Daniel Weston?”

The man regarded her gravely. “I was a colleague, yes. Why do you ask?”

“I thought so.” Elizabeth flashed what Meg recognized as her social smile. “I saw you at the service on Wednesday. Are you from the college?”

“No, I’m here for the symposium—which, as it happens, is going forward, this afternoon. In fact, I should be headed there now, Mrs. . . . ?”

“Corey. Elizabeth Corey. I was an old friend of Daniel’s. This is my daughter, Meg—she lives here in Granford.”

“Ah. Nice to meet you. I’m Kenneth Henderson.” He looked at his watch. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to talk right now—I was so carried away with the day and this delightful event that I lost track of time, and I really must run. Perhaps we could get together at another time and talk about Daniel?”

“I’d like that. Are you staying in Amherst?”

“Yes, at a charming bed-and-breakfast. Dickinson’s.”

“I was just there myself!” Elizabeth said with delight. “How is it that I didn’t see you there?”

“I treated myself to a bit of a ramble, doing some sightseeing, since I didn’t need to be at the college until today. It was only by accident that I learned of Daniel’s death, and the service, and I felt I should come back for it. Why don’t we try to get together, say, tomorrow?”

“Fine,” Elizabeth said promptly, before glancing at Meg, who nodded with bewilderment. “Let me give you my cell phone number, and you can let me know what time would be convenient.” She found a piece of paper in her bag and scribbled the number on it. “I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then.”

“As will I. A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Corey, Meg.” He turned and headed for the end of the green nearest the parking area.

Elizabeth turned to Meg. “I hope you don’t mind. You don’t have to come along.”

“Mother, I wouldn’t miss it.” Then Meg spied Gail Selden standing in the doorway of the Historical Society. She waved, and Gail waved back.

“Mother? I’d like you to meet Gail, and see the Historical Society. She’s the one who roped me into cataloging part of their documents collection in my so-called spare time.”

“I’d be delighted.”

They crossed the drive to the small, one-story Historical Society building near the church. “Hi, Meg,” Gail called out at they approached. “Is this your mother?”

“My, news travels fast in a small town,” Elizabeth responded. “Yes, I’m Elizabeth Corey. Meg was just telling me about working with you. She thinks I should start putting together a family tree.”

“Great idea. I’d love to help, but maybe later? You going to be around a bit longer?”

“Yes, at least through next week. Of course you must be busy at the moment. What a wonderful event!”

“We enjoy it. And it’s one of the few days that the Society is open to the public, so I encourage people to come in and see what we’ve got, even though it’s only the tip of the iceberg. Come on, I’ll give you the nickel tour.”

Meg had to swallow a smile at her mother’s first reaction to the cluttered interior, particularly the stuffed birds and animals that nestled in the unlikeliest places. She tried to remember if she had ever seen the interior with all the blinds open. The bright September sunshine streaming through the tall windows was a mixed blessing: it was easy to see the collections, but it was even easier to see the thick layer of dust that lay over everything, as well as all the patches and darns and frays. But Gail made no apologies, pointing out the local treasures, and Elizabeth made appropriate admiring noises.

Half an hour later they emerged from the building, blinking at the bright light. It was a double shock, stepping from the quiet detritus of Granford’s past into the vibrant reality of its present. “Goodness,” Elizabeth said. “That was interesting. And your festival seems to be a great success.”

“That it does. Was there anything else you wanted to see? Or revisit? I could see you eyeing the white elephant table.”

“Maybe we could take one more look? Or are you in a hurry? You mentioned you had deliveries to make this afternoon.”

“I do, so I’ve got to get back to the house and pick up the apples, but I can spare a few more minutes. Then I can drop you off back at the house.”

“Would you like company?”

“What, you want to come along on the apple deliveries?”

“Sure. We can at least chat in the car. I might even carry a crate or two, if you’ll let me.”

Will wonders never cease?
Meg thought to herself. Her mother volunteering to do manual labor? It was too good an opportunity to pass up. “Sure, I’d love to have you. But it’s not a car, it’s a pickup truck, and the shocks aren’t in very good shape. Still game?”

“I am.”

Sated with sun and baked goods, Meg drove home with her mother. Bree was nowhere in sight, but as she had promised, she had left the crates of apples stacked just inside the first holding chamber, with a list on top. Only three stops, and all toward Amherst. One of those scheduled deliveries was at Dickinson’s Farm Stand—the place where Daniel Weston had died. Was it ghoulish to want to see it?

Meg started up her new old truck—yet another of Seth’s finds, through a friend of a friend—and backed it up toward the entrance of the barn so she could load the apples.

Elizabeth approached and eyed the elderly pickup incredulously. “This is yours?”

“Sure is,” Meg replied. “A 1996 F150 with two-hundred-thousand-some miles on her. How else did you think we delivered crates of apples?”