Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery) (14 page)

Meg’s breakfast the next morning was interrupted by a phone call from Christopher. “Ah, Meg—sorry to bother you so early,” he apologized.

“No problem, Christopher—this is the coolest part of the day, and I usually get up early to enjoy it. What can I do for you?”

“First, I wanted to thank you for a delightful evening, but I also wanted to tell you that the government agency has moved extraordinarily quickly: they are sending a preliminary inspection team to check out the ALB sites today.”

“Wow, that is fast. Didn’t you just tell them about the sighting a couple of days ago?”

“Yes, and this is indeed unusually quick turnaround. But the process is facilitated because they already had a team in place nearby, at Worcester. Let me note that this is just the first inspection. They’ll send a few people to look at the site from the ground, and if they decide it’s warranted, they’ll send a larger official crew out to determine the parameters of the infestation. There are protocols in place for events like these.”

“Where are you sending them?”

“You mean, which physical locations? The Nash lot, for a start, although I assume they’ll want to expand their search from there, and there’s a lot of other forested land in that direction, although no one could check all of it. I thought I might direct them to the Granford town forest as well.”

Meg wasn’t even sure where that was. “Why? Has anybody noticed anything there?”

“Not to my knowledge, but it wouldn’t hurt to check, and it’s public land, so there are no issues about gaining access there.”

“I hadn’t realized access was a problem. Are you saying that an owner has to grant permission for a government agency to inspect their property?”

“Essentially, yes. Legally it’s a rather murky issue. In the Worcester situation, most of the pests were found on suburban properties, so it hasn’t been too controversial. As you might guess, however, a forest, whatever its size, presents a different challenge, both practically and legally.”

“I never thought of that. Have you told Jonas Nash yet?”

“No, but it falls to the inspection team to get in touch with the owners, rather than me.”

So Jonas didn’t know yet. “Christopher, what would have happened if I hadn’t noticed that one insect, or hadn’t reported it?”

“Someone would have noticed signs of the infestation eventually. But it’s good to have an early start in dealing with it.”

“Will you let me know if they find anything significant?”

“Of course, my dear.”

While she had learned a lot about agricultural pests in the past year, forest pests had not been on her radar, although she had the impression that the Asian longhorned beetle had been in the news intermittently but consistently. The government agencies were taking the threat seriously, it appeared.

“Christopher, how serious is this? I know the Worcester infestation had gotten a lot of press in the state, but sometimes I wonder if that’s because it’s such a large, showy bug. I swear I’ve seen the same footage of one of them climbing up a boy’s arm, every time the news stations give us an update. It certainly has shock value.”

“There is a certain visual appeal to the insect that serves well to alarm the public. It’s more difficult to generate concern about a pest that is hard to see. It’s as though people have trouble connecting a tiny insect with the destruction of a tree, or worse, a forest, for all that it’s a true threat.”

Political theater
, Meg thought to herself. “Will you be involved?”

“I’m not directly responsible, but I have friends and colleagues who will no doubt fill me in, since this is occurring in my backyard, so to speak. In case you’re wondering, the research that we do on campus and the government eradication program such as that at Worcester are not connected. I’ll let you know what they find or don’t find. Well, I should leave you to your tasks.”

“Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Christopher.” They hung up simultaneously.

Meg gazed into space, sipping her lukewarm coffee. She could pat herself on the back for doing the socially responsible thing in reporting the one she had found, but that would be the end of her involvement. She hoped.

When Meg returned to the kitchen table, Bree was there, munching on cold cereal. “What was that about?” she asked.

“Christopher’s latest insect update. The Feds are coming.”

“That’s fast, for them.”

“Looks like it. Thank goodness these things don’t eat apples, right?” Meg buttered some local whole-grain bread. It was too hot outside to toast it.

“Right. Lots of other trees, though, like maples, elms, even willows. But slowly. They’re kind of sneaky—they burrow under the bark and tunnel up and down, out of sight, so by the time you notice that the tree looks sick, the damage has been done. Not that it kills the tree, or not right away. It just weakens it. In populated areas people worry about the weak trees or at least their branches falling on houses or cars—or people. Left alone, it might take decades to kill trees, but that would screw up the forest ecosystem, which has bigger effects. Back a century or two, most of the land around here was open fields, so what we’ve got now is secondary forest. Which has more maples, which the beetles really like to eat, so they can do more damage more quickly in a maple forest. And if the ALB goes after all those maples that turn pretty colors in the fall, the leaf-peeper tourists are going to be unhappy. And they bring dollars to places around here. So it all ties together.”

Meg sighed. “So the USDA is indirectly helping Massachusetts hold on to tourist dollars? Who would have thought? But this is not something I have to worry about for the orchard, right?”

“Yeah, if you’re thinking just about your own needs rather than the greater good.”

“I am, believe me. Keep the orchard alive and producing—that’s all I want for now. What’re we doing today?”

“I’ll give you three guesses.” Bree grinned.

“Watering,” Meg said.

“Got it in one.”

Through the kitchen window Meg saw Seth’s van pull into the driveway. She stood up quickly. “I’m going to talk to Seth before we head up the hill. You want to go ahead?”

“Yeah. I’ll take the tractor up. Don’t talk too long.”

“Don’t worry,” Meg said. Seth hadn’t seemed in a talkative mood over the last few days anyway, but she wanted to fill him in on what Christopher had told her. It might affect the town, right? So he should know. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

She and Bree left by the back door, Bree heading up the hill and Meg going toward Seth’s office. She found him sorting through piles of papers on his desk. He looked up when she knocked and said, “Hi,” but his tone was neutral.

“Hi, yourself,” Meg said. “You look busy already.”

“I’m trying to find the cost estimates for the structural parts of Donald’s house. He wants everything done yesterday, but I want to be sure the billing is right before we close in the walls.”

“How’s it going?”

“As well as can be expected. The nice part is, everyone around here knows the house, and a lot of people in the restoration community have volunteered materials or skills. They respect that he wants to do things right.”

“That’s good to know. Did he lose much in the way of personal heirlooms?”

“Some. Those are irreplaceable.”

“Have you talked to Jonas lately?”

“Only in passing. Why?”

“Christopher called this morning, and he says the federal agency’s confirmed the beetle identification, and they’re sending a team out to do a preliminary survey—today. They’ll look at the Nash land, but he mentioned they might also want to look at some town-owned land. Isn’t there a public park on the other side of town, just past the center?”

“Yes, where our ball fields are, and picnic areas and hiking trails, not that it’s all that big. It’s just over two hundred acres of former farmland. The town bought it with the help of matching funds from the Federal Land and Water Commission. It’s got something for everyone: a pond for fishing and skating; picnic areas; three baseball fields; hiking trails; a two-ring horse arena; a dog park; and a relatively new playground. No swimming, though.”

“Nice,” Meg said. “How much is forested?”

“Most of it. Since it used to be farmland, a lot of it is secondary growth, mostly maples. We’ve got a recreation commission who manages it—during the school year we hold a lot of baseball and soccer events there. So they want to see if there are beetles there?”

“That’s what Christopher says. I assume you—I mean the town selectmen—haven’t heard from the agency yet? Because they seem to have jumped on this pretty fast. Christopher said they’d be contacting Jonas, too.”

Seth shook his head. “Not that I know of, but it’s public space, so they have every right to roam around and look. I’d be more concerned about what happens if they do find something.”

“What happens then?”

“Well, in the Worcester case, a lot of trees got cut down. Certainly the town would want to cooperate, if it’s a real ecological threat, but I don’t know what that would mean for the wooded parts of the park. I’d bet there are some folk around here who might be upset if they cut down a lot of the trees.”

“Can they stop it?”

“I really don’t know, Meg. This is new territory for me, and for the town.”

Seth was not making this conversation easy. Meg tried changing the subject. “You know, it’s been a week since David Clapp died. Has anybody said anything more about that? Has Art mentioned anything?”

Seth shrugged. “Marcus doesn’t always keep Art up to date, you know. I’d guess he hasn’t said anything because there’s nothing new to tell. The forensics might not prove how the rock came into contact with his head, and absent any physical evidence, Marcus doesn’t have many choices, so I’d guess he’ll either leave it as open and move on to other cases, or he’ll declare it an accident.”

“It doesn’t seem right, though, that he should be forgotten so easily. Especially if Jonas knew him.”

“I wouldn’t be too hard on Jonas—he’s got enough troubles of his own.”

“What do you mean? Or is it none of my business?”

“I know you won’t spread it around,” Seth said. “Jonas told me that he may have to close the sawmill—it’s just not financially viable anymore. He’s had some indications of interest from developers about selling the place. The sawmill site has parking, easy access, and it’s a sound building that could be modified for another purpose.”

“It would be a shame if he had to sell it—hasn’t it been in his family for generations? What about the timberland he holds? Isn’t that worth something?”

“Not the timber itself, if he’s going to lose the trees to this beetle. And most of the lots are scattered around, away from main roads. Not as attractive as the sawmill site. He and his family are going to have to make some kind of decision soon.”

If Jonas Nash was trying to sell his property, Meg thought, and David Clapp found ALB on Jonas’s timberland, that gave Jonas a motive to silence him—to prevent him from undermining any deal with a developer. Meg filed that away to think about later. “It’s too bad.”

“Was there anything else you wanted, Meg?”

Meg debated holding her tongue, but she was getting tired of his cold shoulder treatment. “Yes, there is. Why are you mad at me?”

He looked at her, then slumped into his battered office chair. “You really want to get into this now?”

“Yes, I do. We had an awkward conversation the other day, that I never intended to mean anything, and ever since then you’ve been shutting me out. If you have a problem with something I said, I want to know what it is, and why.”

He shook his head, more to himself than at her. “You know, there are a lot of things we haven’t talked about, but what you said, about being too busy to think about having a baby—well, it brought back some unhappy memories.”

“I was making a joke, and apparently it failed—I didn’t mean to upset you, or to treat it lightly. We’ve both had relationships before that ended badly. So we’re cautious, I guess.”

“Some people might say emotionally paralyzed.”

“Okay, fine. But can we find a time to talk?”

“Put it on the calendar, you mean?”

She was trying to fix things, and he was being sarcastic. She tried to swallow her annoyance. “Seth, you’re not making this any easier. I’m sorry it I hit a nerve. I didn’t mean to. So let’s talk about it.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk. It’s hot and I’m tired and Donald keeps nagging me, and there’s always some new problem with the town—like this beetle thing, and now there’s this developer sniffing around looking at town properties, so I have to deal with that—and I feel like I’m chasing my tail all the time and getting nowhere. I shouldn’t take it out on you. I agree—let’s find a time when we can sit down like calm, rational adults and talk about things that really matter, not bugs and Colonial paint colors. Okay?”

Meg smiled at him. “Okay. That’s all I want.” She turned to leave, then stopped and turned back. “Wait—did you say a developer is looking at town land, too? Haven’t we been through all that? When the strip mall went in?”