A Late Frost Page 16

  “Yeah, that could work. But you gotta know, I’m not good at telling other people what to do.”

  “Well, I had a heck of a time myself, at first. I mean, there I was, supposedly bossing around a lot of guys who were older than I am and who knew a heck of a lot more about what they were supposed to do than I did. But it all worked out. And I trust them, and they know with me they’ll get paid a fair rate. I’m sure you can manage. If you respect them, they’ll respect you.” The water boiled, so Meg poured it over the grounds, then waited until she could fill a mug for Larry.

  When they were both settled at the table again, Meg said, “Seth and I were looking at well pumps yesterday.”

  Larry added two spoons of sugar. “Yeah? What did you find out?”

  “Well, I got a lot of brochures and a lot of recommendations, and I’m very glad I’m married to a plumber who understands these things. But I did want to get your input. Say we have an extreme drought, which is not unheard of around here—how much watering will I need to plan for?”

  “What do you know about your spring?”

  “Not a lot. I know it held up well during the last dry stretch we had, when Bree and I were hand-watering. But how much water the trees got was kind of set by how much the two of us could handle, which might not be the same as what the trees needed. How do I plan?”

  Larry proved to be surprisingly well informed about water stress and timing of watering, so Meg listened respectfully. He ended by saying, “I guess you’ve got to figure your budget into the equation, right? And then you need to give your newest trees special treatment, because you want them to get established, but they’re the farthest from the source, which means running more pipes.”

  Meg was already shaking her head. “How about I let you and Seth put your heads together and work it out? I simply don’t know enough. I can tell you what I think we can afford to spend, but you’re going to have to tell me the best way to spend the money.”

  “Yeah. I can talk to him, set up a time if you want.”

  “Good. Then I can check that off my list.”

  Meg paused. Here was Larry, the prime suspect in Monica’s death in at least one of the theories. But sitting here in her kitchen with Larry in front of her, try as she might she couldn’t picture him as a killer. Maybe of apple maggots, but not a middle-aged woman. Maybe there was a middle ground.

  “You know, I don’t think we’ve talked about longer-range plans for the orchard. When Christopher was managing things, he had no reason to plan for the future, except maybe on paper for his students. What’s your overall assessment? What should we be thinking about for the next two to five years?”

  Larry leaned back in his chair and thought before answering. “You’ve got some trees that are past their prime and they should be replaced, but I don’t have to tell you it’ll be a couple-few years before they produce a crop. I think you were smart to expand where and when you did, but they won’t pay off right away. Good mix of heirlooms and dependable varieties, by the way. Bree’s choices?”

  “Yes. I wanted the heirlooms more for sentimental reasons than for whatever income they’ll bring in, but there is a market for them in this area. Would going organic be worth considering?”

  Larry shook his head. “I’m not a big fan. Too much regulation. You say you’ve stuck to biological control options rather than spraying anything that moved, and I think that’s good, but I don’t think trying to shift now would pay off. And you’d be competing with the Morrises.”

  “How’re they doing?”

  “Hard to tell. Struggling right now, but the orchard was neglected for a while, and it takes time to turn that around. You know them?”

  “I met Ginny briefly at the WinterFare, but I was thinking of getting together with her. It would be nice if we didn’t have to compete head-to-head. There’s room for both of us, isn’t there?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  All right, Meg, you’ve created the opening—now go for it. “If I’m not going to worry about purist organic standards, are there any other strategies we should think about? Fertilizers? New chemical treatments? Any changes in apple-growing coming along?”

  She all but held her breath, waiting to see how Larry would respond.

  He didn’t seem troubled. “I worked with some stuff like that when I was at UMass, with Christopher. You know, ways to increase crop yield, or pest or disease resistance. Interesting to study, but I don’t think the results are in. Doesn’t mean people aren’t trying, but most of the treatments aren’t ready for general use. Probably wouldn’t be worth the effort in your orchard anyway—if the applications didn’t work, you’d have wasted your money.”

  “Is this stuff expensive? Experimental only?”

  “Nah, some of the products have been around for a long time, but it’s how they’re being used that’s changed. Like colchicine—people fifty years ago thought it could work miracles, grow giant vegetables. Didn’t work out. I ran some experiments with it. Can’t say I raised any giant tomatoes”—he grinned at Meg—“but I came to the conclusion that under certain specific conditions it could make a difference. Needs more research, though. I don’t have the time for that.”

  “Is Christopher working on it?”

  “There might be some students who are. You probably know that Christopher’s gotten more into administration, with the new science building and all. I’ll bet he misses being out in the field, though. He’s around here a lot, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. He’s a friend and he knows the orchard inside out, as you know. But he’s also got a more personal reason.” She wondered if Christopher’s relationship with Lydia Chapin was public knowledge yet.

  “You mean Mrs. Chapin?” Larry asked, smiling. “Not you—the other one?”

  “Exactly. And we’re all happy about that. Did he tell you?”

  “I’ve seen them together now and then. It’s kind of obvious.”

  He was right—they kind of glowed, in a mature sedate way, when they were together.

  Had she poked enough? Larry seemed perfectly comfortable talking about colchicine. She decided to drop the matter for the moment and changed the subject.

  “Have you given any more thought to the tiny house idea?”

  Larry shrugged. “It’s kind of cool, but Seth doesn’t have to do it on my account. I’ll figure out something soon enough.”

  “Look, Larry—Seth likes being helpful, but if he says he wants to do this, he means it, and it’s not just a favor for you. I think I like the idea, now that I’ve gotten used to it. I bet Rachel’s kids would love it when they come over.”

  “Rachel?” Larry asked.

  “Seth’s sister. She’s got two school-age kids and a new baby. She lives in Amherst, not far from Emily Dickinson’s house.”

  “Okay. Yeah, I bet kids would like something their size. And maybe for sleepovers later. Well, I’m happy to help out with the work if Seth needs it.”

  “I’ll let him know. Or you can, if you see him first. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” Like, have you killed anyone lately? No, Meg, that’s simply not possible, end of story.

  “That’s about it—just trying to do my job. If Seth wants me to talk with him about well pumps, he can give me a call. But I’d try to get the system in as soon as the ground’s soft enough.”

  “That makes sense. I’ll tell him what you said.”

  “Thanks for the coffee, Meg. Call me if you need anything else.”

  She let him out the back door and watched as he stopped to greet the goats, who’d come over to the fence in case anything interesting was happening. He scratched Dorcas’s head, then Isabel’s. Goats, are you good judges of character? How could a guy who patted her goats be a killer?

  Seth came in from his office about an hour later. “Was that Larry’s car earlier?”

  �
��Yup,” Meg told him. “He was just checking in. I told him you two should talk about the well pumps, because either one of you knows more than I do. He seemed knowledgeable, anyway. Oh, and he’d noticed that Christopher and Lydia were an item, or whatever the kids call it these days. Have they gone public?”

  “I’m not sure what that means, but they’re certainly going out as a couple, in public. I don’t think either one has posted their status on social media, but then, I don’t look at it very often. Or ever.”

  “One more thing . . .”

  “Meg, I’m beginning to dread your sentences that start that way. What?”

  “Since Larry was here, I told him that it was colchicine that killed Monica. He didn’t flinch. He said he’d worked with it at UMass. No hesitation.”

  “And your woman’s intuition told you he was innocent?”

  “You’re being condescending, you know. No, I would say that based on my close observations of his body language and micro-expressions, he did not exhibit any anxiety or other suspicious responses to the mention of colchicine. That might not stand up in court, but I’m satisfied.”

  “I stand corrected. I guess I don’t have any reason to talk to him about it. You were smart to work it into your conversation.”

  “I’m a smart woman. Oh, and he seems to like the tiny house idea, even if I had to drag that admission out of him. If you decide to go ahead with it, you can call him and spend some buddy time with him and pump him for information on your own. When are you going to make up your mind about it?”

  “Soon, I promise.” He strolled over to the sink and looked out the window. “You know, you’ll be able to see it, or at least a corner of it, from here.”

  “I can live with that. Look, I was thinking of calling Ginny about lunch and an orchard tour. You need me for anything else today?”

  “Nothing specific. I’m just catching up on my invoices. Some people are a little slow to pay during the holiday season.”

  “And don’t forget taxes. Are we filing separately or together? We both have sole-proprietor businesses, so it may be a complicated return.”

  “That, my dear wife, is your area of expertise. I will bow to your superior wisdom.”

  Maybe his mother had been doing them all along. “Gee, thanks. I’ll move it up my list. But you’ve got to work out your own Schedule C.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  21

  Seth vanished back to his office lair, leaving Meg at loose ends once again. She cleaned up the few breakfast dishes and was contemplating starting a long-range to-do list for occasions such as this, not that she was expecting many more, when yet another car pulled into her driveway, and this time it belonged to the state police. Unfortunately the appearance of Detective Marcus seldom meant good news, although she took some small comfort that he had come alone. Should she tell Seth to join them? No, she decided: if this was about Larry, she was his employer, and she didn’t need to muddy the waters by including someone else in the discussion. If Marcus wanted to talk with Seth, he could ask himself.

  She opened the back door—again—and waited for the detective to emerge from his vehicle and approach. “A word with you, Meg?” he said when he drew closer.

  “Of course. Come on in. Coffee?” He’d called her Meg, so this was only semiofficial at best—or worst. Maybe he was trying to lull her into a false sense of security. No, not likely—he was usually a direct person.

  “That’d be good. Cold out there.” William Marcus stepped into the kitchen and slid off his coat.

  With Detective Marcus, that passed for social chitchat. “Please, sit down. I’ll just be a minute.” For the third time in the day Meg made coffee. She did her best to keep her mind blank: she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, and she had to avoid acting defensive if there turned out to be no need. And if Detective Marcus asked her a direct question about Larry or poisons, she’d answer honestly. Probably.

  Three minutes later they were seated around the kitchen table with mugs filled with hot coffee. “So, what can I do for you today?” Maybe it was about a fundraiser for the state police? Or the state lab needed money for a new Amazing Thing? But Meg doubted it.

  Marcus cleared his throat. “Our department has a few questions about Larry Bennett. We understand he works for you?”

  Meg couldn’t say she was surprised. “Yes, he does, but he’s only just started. He’s replacing Bree Stewart, who left for an internship in Australia. What do you want to know?”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Not very. But he came highly recommended by Christopher Ramsdell, who was a professor of his at UMass. Christopher knows this orchard well and knows what I need here.”

  “Do you have an address for Mr. Bennett?”

  “No, actually I don’t. He’s told me he’s looking for a new place to live now that he has a steady job with me, but so far he’s been camping out with anyone who has a spare bed. I have his cell phone number, if that’s any help.”

  “We already have that, thank you. He’s not answering it at this time. Did he fill out any type of formal job application?”

  “No, or at least, not yet. I realize I need to do the paperwork on him as an employee of my own business, but I haven’t gotten around to it. He’s barely started working for me.” Take it easy, Meg. Don’t overexplain. Don’t volunteer information. Let him come to you. “Why are you interested in him? Is there something I need to know about him?”

  Detective Marcus ignored her question. “How well did you know Monica Whitman?”

  So that’s the way the wind is blowing. She wasn’t surprised. “I met her just once, when she dropped by to introduce herself and to talk about the WinterFare. That must have been the middle of last month sometime. And then we chatted for a couple of minutes at the fair itself. That’s all.”

  “Have you ever seen Larry Bennett and Monica Whitman together?”

  “No. Do—did they know each other?”

  “That’s something we’re trying to ascertain. You were at the Whitman house the other day. Why?”

  “Art Preston asked me to accompany him to talk to Monica’s husband, Doug. At that time we all thought it was a natural death, and we wanted to make sure Douglas was all right. Art thought a woman’s touch might make things easier. I told you that before.”

  “You had never been to the Whitman house prior to that?”

  “No, I hadn’t.”

  “Yet you took it upon yourself to wash the dishes and clean up the place,” the detective said implacably.

  “Yes, because I thought it was an unhealthy situation. Douglas was clearly in distress and seemed to believe that his wife was still alive and would be home soon. He appeared not to notice that the kitchen was filled with rotting food. So, yes, I did clean up. As I said, no one thought it might be a suspicious death, and I didn’t want him to get sick.”

  “Did you take anything away from the house with you?”

  “No, of course not. I might have taken the garbage away, but your officers arrived before I could, so I left things where they were. Detective, what is this about?”

  Detective Marcus focused a stony stare at her, giving nothing away. Aw, come on, give me a hint, Meg pleaded silently. Finally he cleared his throat. “As you already know, Monica Whitman did not die from natural causes. She ingested a poisonous substance.”

  And why does he believe I know that? Meg wondered. But she could play along. “Which was?”

  He paused—for dramatic effect, Meg wondered?—then said, “Colchicine. Are you familiar with it?”

  “I’ve heard of it. I understand it has some agricultural applications.”

  “That’s correct. Have you used it in your orchard?”

  “Not personally. If Bree used it, she didn’t consult with me because I couldn’t give her any sort of advice. I trusted her judgme
nt in anything to do with the orchard. Why are you asking?”

  “Christopher Ramsdell has informed us that Larry Bennett carried out studies involving the use of colchicine while he was taking classes at the university. He is aware of its applications and properties.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Don’t you find it a curious coincidence that Monica Whitman dies from colchicine poisoning at the same time Larry Bennett starts working in the same town?”

  “A coincidence, yes. I can’t guess what it means. Is there something you want me to do?”

  “If you should see or speak to Larry Bennett, please ask him to contact us at this number.” Detective Marcus handed her a business card.

  “I will be happy to do that. Anything else?”

  “Not at this time.” Marcus stood up.

  “Oh, wait,” Meg said. “Can you tell me anything about how Douglas Whitman is? He seemed kind of lost when I last saw him.”

  “He seems to be in better control of himself. The professional assessment was that he could stay in his home for now, with some periodic supervision, but there is no long-term solution in place yet. Thank you for your time, Meg.”

  Meg meekly followed the detective to the door, shutting it behind him and watching as he pulled out of the driveway. She felt like she had been playing a part in an obscure play, saying the right lines, but there were hidden subtexts littering the scene. Did Marcus know she knew more about Larry than she had let on? But she hadn’t lied. She’d answered his questions honestly. And did he only want to talk with Larry, or was he contemplating an arrest? Did he know more about Larry than Larry had shared with her, or even with Christopher?

  She shook her head to clear it. Better tell Seth, in case Marcus decided to drop by again. She pulled on her jacket and went out to Seth’s office in the back. Seth greeted her after she had trudged up the stairs to his workspace. “Marcus?”

  “Yup. I thought about asking you to join us, but then I decided that I should play big girl and handle it. After all, I’m the one who hired Larry.”