A Killer Crop (9 page)

“And you’ve never visited that farm stand where he was found?”

“Of course not! Why would I? I have no idea where it even is. I came here to see Daniel, not to buy vegetables.”

Marcus waited a few beats before responding. “Will you be staying in the area for a while?”

Elizabeth’s glance darted at Meg again. “If you wish. I have no current obligations back home.”

“What about your husband?”

“I don’t know what he could add to what I’ve already told you, but I will be sure to let you know when I hear from him.”

“Thank you.” Marcus stood up abruptly. “I’ll be in touch.”

When he turned to go, Meg followed him, and when they were out of her mother’s hearing, she said, “Detective, what did you hope to find out from her?”

He regarded her gravely. “I don’t know, but she’s the only thing out of place in this whole scene. I don’t trust coincidences. Listen, if she tells you anything she didn’t feel like sharing with me, will you let me know?”

Meg wondered how she was supposed to respond to that: he was asking her to rat out her mother. But she had to admit that she couldn’t rid herself either of the nagging feeling that Elizabeth hadn’t been completely honest. “Yes, I’ll tell you. But there’s no way she killed anyone, so you’d better look hard at the other people on your list.”

Marcus’s mouth twitched. “You’re the expert.”

Before Meg could come up with a response, he was gone. She was annoyed at him, frustrated by her mother’s reticence, bewildered by the whole situation, and stressed out by the avalanche of events over the past few days. She made her way back to where her mother was sitting, staring idly at nothing. When Meg sat down next to her again, Elizabeth gave her a grave smile. “That was unpleasant.”

“Yes, it was. I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for sightseeing?”

“I think not. Actually I think I’d rather have just a little more time to myself. I hope you understand. Perhaps we could get together again tomorrow, if your schedule permits?”

“I’ll see if Bree will give me permission. I’ll take you back to Rachel’s, if you like.”

“That would be fine,” Elizabeth replied.

They drove back to the bed-and-breakfast largely in silence. Meg pulled into the driveway to let her mother out. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?”

“Certainly. See you tomorrow, darling.”

Meg waited as her mother climbed the steps of the house and disappeared inside before pulling away. She felt a bit confused: she’d come over this morning hoping to make peace, but Marcus’s unwelcome announcement had only made things worse. On the plus side, though, she had the afternoon free. Bree would be pleased, and would no doubt find something useful for her to do. It would beat stewing over whether her mother might be a murderer.

Back at the house, Meg parked, then went inside to change clothes. When she climbed the hill to the orchard, Bree spotted her immediately. “What are you doing here?” she called out. “I thought you and Mom were doing girly things.”

“Turns out Daniel Weston’s memorial service was this morning, so I took her over there. And then our friend Detective Marcus showed up.”

Bree grimaced. “At the church? Why?”

“The autopsy showed that Daniel was murdered.”

“Oh, shoot. That sucks. How’d your mother take the news? I’ll assume Marcus didn’t arrest her.”

“Not yet, but I bet he’d like to. Apparently there’s no one else who makes a promising suspect. She seemed sad, I guess. I took her back to Rachel’s—she said she wanted a bit more time on her own. I’ll call her tomorrow morning. So, you need me here?”

“Of course. Grab a bag and let’s get to work.”

Even after putting in her fair share of picking the day before, Meg still felt guilty about taking time from the orchard. She was sitting in the kitchen when Bree came down on Friday morning. “Look, is it really okay for me to take today off? I can come back later in the afternoon.”

Bree waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. You need time with your mom, and it won’t hurt the apples to wait a day.”

“You aren’t just saying that?”

“Hey, you don’t trust me? I know what I’m doing. It’ll be fine, and we’ve got it covered. Will your mom be coming back here?”

Meg shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope so. She’s been so odd these last few days, I really don’t know what she’s thinking. I’ll ask her again today—after we’ve done some of those girly things you were talking about.”

Bree flashed her a grin. “You do that. See you later!” Meg hurried out the door.

Meg found she was in a strange mood as she drove the familiar route to Rachel’s. Did she want her mother to stay with her? She should, she knew. But as she’d told Bree, Elizabeth was not herself at the moment, and until Marcus found out who had killed Daniel Weston, Elizabeth would be under a cloud. Combine that with the erratic pressures of the harvest, and it was a recipe for friction. Still, she was going to ask.

She arrived at the bed-and-breakfast just after eleven, and parked by her mother’s car. There were no others parked there—were all of Rachel’s other guests out admiring leaves or installing offspring in dorm rooms? Meg made her way to the front door and rang the old-fashioned bell; footsteps followed, and then her mother opened the door.

“Oh, Meg. I wondered if it might be you, but I thought you would call first.”

“Sorry.” Great—already she was defensive. “I thought you might like to go to lunch. There’s a very nice bistro in the middle of town, and after we eat, we could walk around a little, maybe see Emily Dickinson’s house?” Meg laid her peace offering at her mother’s feet.

“Sounds perfect.” Elizabeth smiled tentatively. Olive branch accepted apparently.

When they arrived at the town center, though, Meg realized that the place was crawling with mid-forties couples, all of whom looked disoriented: she had forgotten about the impact of the multiple school openings in the area. She snagged a parking space just as someone else was leaving and counted herself lucky. As they climbed out of the car, Meg asked her mother, “Have you already seen much of Amherst?”

Her mother shrugged. “Not really.” She didn’t add anything more.

All right, if that’s the way she was going to play it. “Well, Amherst College is over there,” Meg began, pointing. “UMass is that way.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “Emily Dickinson’s house is a block or so that way, and the restaurant I mentioned is right there across the street.”

“It looks charming, dear,” her mother said.

Meg fed the parking meter and escorted her mother across the street. She was dismayed to find the tiny vestibule crowded with people, all of whom had apparently had the same thought about lunch. She was about to turn away when she heard her name called.

“Meg?”

She peered past the group to see her friend and orchard mentor Christopher Ramsdell at a table at the rear—with Frances Clark, her real estate agent from Granford.
Interesting
. Meg recalled that the two of them had also shared a table at the restaurant opening earlier in the week.

“Won’t you join us?” Christopher beckoned. Several people in front of her in line turned to glare. Meg ignored them.

“We’d love to.” Before Elizabeth could protest, she dragged her mother over to the table. “Mother, this is Frances Clark and Christopher Ramsdell, a professor at UMass who used to oversee the orchard. Christopher, Frances, this is my mother, Elizabeth Corey. She’s visiting for a few days. Are you sure there’s room at the table?”

“We shall make room. Albert won’t mind—I come here often.” Christopher gestured toward the maître d’ with a smile; the maître d’ quickly found two spare chairs and arranged them around the table. It was a close fit, but it worked. Meg and her mother sat down, and Christopher beamed at them. “There we go! Would you care for something to drink? A glass of wine, perhaps? Is this a special occasion?”

Not the way you’d imagine
, Meg thought. “Maybe one glass,” she replied, looking at her mother, who appeared absorbed by the list of specials posted on the chalkboard above the small bar. “Mother?”

“Oh, that would be fine,” Elizabeth answered absently.

“We were thinking of doing some sightseeing later,” Meg said. “Mother hasn’t spent much time around here.”

Frances cocked her head at Elizabeth. “So you and Meg own the Granford property jointly?”

Meg turned to Elizabeth. “Frances is a real estate agent, Mother. She was going to sell the house, before I decided to stay.”

“Ah.” Elizabeth nodded. “This would not be a good time to think about selling, would it, Frances?”

“That’s the truth. But if you’re looking for a condo or something, so you can visit with your daughter, I could find you something nice.”

Meg’s mother laughed briefly. “I don’t think that’s necessary at the moment. Christopher, what do you recommend from the menu?”

Meg noted her mother’s adroit diversion as she studied the menu herself. A waiter approached and took their orders.

Talk drifted to the orchard. “And how is your picking going, Meg?” Christopher asked. “I’m a bit surprised to see you here today.”

“Bree gave me the day off—I gather we’re waiting for the next batch to ripen. Hurry up and wait, isn’t it?” When Elizabeth looked quizzical, Meg reminded her, “Christopher managed the orchard for years. Bree was one of his students.”

“One of my best, in fact. Are the pickers working out?” Christopher turned to Elizabeth. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but there is a long tradition of Jamaican pickers around here. I had hoped that Meg’s transition would be smooth. Has it been, my dear?”

“I think so. Raynard is very good at keeping things moving, and nobody has yelled at me yet, even though I’ve made a couple of bloopers. Thank goodness it’s a good crop.”

“It is. And you were lucky that the hailstorm missed you. Perhaps the gods are smiling on your endeavors. Mrs. Corey, what do you think of your daughter’s new profession?”

“Elizabeth, please. I think she’s quite brave to jump into something new with so little experience. I believe she’s mentioned how glad she is to have you as a resource.”

Christopher looked pleased. “I’ve been more than happy to help. After all, I’ve been involved with her—your—orchard for a long time, and I feel quite attached to it. She has some wonderful old varieties there.”

As their meal arrived, Meg asked, “Christopher, Frances, what did you think of Gran’s?”

“I for one am thrilled,” Frances said. “There’s finally a place I can take potential buyers. Nothing like feeding people a good meal to put them in a spending mood.”

“I thought the food was excellent,” Christopher agreed. “I will be happy to return when time permits. Perhaps we could arrange a special event associated with the launch of the new building? That’s still several months off, so that will allow your young chefs time to settle in.”

“I’m sure they’d love it, Christopher. That’s a wonderful idea. By the way, how’s the construction project going?” Meg said. “Mother, Christopher is overseeing the construction of a new research facility on campus, which will explore alternative strategies for pest control. He’s going to be the director when it’s completed.”

“Quite well, all things considered. The building should be ready by the end of the year, assuming the weather cooperates. Are you familiar with the practice of integrated pest management, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth shook her head, looking amused. “I’m not. Tell me why I should be.”

Genial conversation carried them through the rest of the meal. Elizabeth appeared interested in what Christopher had to say, although Meg wasn’t sure whether her interest was genuine or she was merely being polite. The meal wound down with coffee and individual ramekins of crème brûlée. Christopher checked his watch. “Gracious, I must be getting back. Let this meal be my treat, in honor of your visit, Elizabeth. Frances, it was lovely to see you, and I’ll call soon. Good-bye, ladies!” He rose, had a word with the maître d’, then departed.

Frances rose, too. “Well, I’d better get back to the office, in case anyone happens to call. And if you’re wondering, there are plenty of people who are looking for a bargain these days, and some of them can even get mortgages. I keep busy! Good to see you, Meg, Elizabeth. Maybe we can get together before you go?” Frances looked directly at Elizabeth.

“I’d like that, but I’m not sure what my plans are. Meg knows where to reach you, I assume?”

“Of course. Bye now.”

Meg and her mother were left alone at the table. “I guess we should go. There are plenty of people waiting for a table,” Meg ventured. She looked at her mother. “Do you feel like seeing Emily Dickinson’s house?”

“If we can walk. That was a delightful meal, but I should let it settle just a bit. You said it wasn’t far?”

“Just down that street. Are you a fan?”