A Late Frost Page 7

  Max clearly had more energy than she did at the moment. He strained at the leash, wanting to go out into the fields and check out all those interesting smells. Meg wasn’t in the mood to chase after him, and wasn’t sure he’d come back to her if he got distracted, but she picked up her pace to accommodate him. She was startled when a dark figure emerged from the barn; she hadn’t realized a door was open, but it must have been one of the side ones. The figure resolved into Larry, which she should have realized when Max didn’t react to the sight of him.

  “Hey, what’re you doing here?” she called out.

  “I was dropping off some supplies I picked up today. How’d your thing today go?”

  “It was great.” At least until she’d heard about Monica, but she saw no need to tell Larry about that until they knew more, and he hadn’t even been there. “I sold all of the apples. And I met Ginny Morris—you know, the one with the organic orchard? Have you met her?”

  “Yeah, Christopher sent me over to talk to her a while back. She hadn’t been there very long.”

  “Then you probably know her better than I do. I’d like to know more about what distinguishes an organic farm and why it’s worth the effort. Remind me to call her sometime this week and see if we can find a time to get together.”

  “You want me there, too?” Larry appeared surprised.

  “Only if you want to be there. You’ve probably studied organic farming anyway. I haven’t.” Max tugged at the leash again, whining. “Anything critical we need to do this next week?”

  “I’ll let you know on Monday. Okay?”

  “Fine.” Meg watched as Larry disappeared into the darkness as quietly as he had come earlier. She was relieved when she heard his car start up—so he wasn’t wandering around in the dark on foot. Maybe he’d just parked behind the barn to make it easier to unload his supplies.

  “Okay, Max, let’s get things done. It’s cold out here!” Max must have agreed, because he finished his business quickly and loped back to the kitchen door, tugging Meg along. Meg let herself in and hung up her coat. Seth wasn’t in the kitchen, so she assumed he’d gone upstairs.

  In the bedroom she found him sound asleep. Poor baby, he’d worked hard today. He really did care about Granford, and he felt responsible for what went on in the town. She slid into bed next to him and was asleep in a minute.

  • • •

  In the morning Meg awoke slowly to realize that Seth had already gone downstairs to answer his cell phone, whose ring had entered her dream with some rather odd results. She checked the clock: it was barely seven, and the sky outside was a murky gray. So much for sleeping in. But now she was awake, so she might as well get up and start her day. She pulled on grubby sweats and went down the stairs to find Seth sitting at the kitchen table staring into space. He barely noticed her arrival. “What’s up?” Meg asked.

  He dragged his attention back to the present. “That was Art. Monica didn’t make it. There are a few more possible cases, including some kids.”

  “Oh God, that’s awful. So what happens now? The officials come in and investigate?”

  “That’s the law.”

  “I hate to sound petty, but are all food vendors going to be investigated?”

  “Are you worried about your apples? You didn’t use any chemical pesticides or preservatives or whatever on them. They haven’t left this property since they were picked. But I suppose somebody will have to test a few, just to be sure. They aren’t going to take my word for it.”

  “I understand. Is it likely that more people will get sick? You said the timing for food poisoning could vary.”

  “It hasn’t been even twenty-four hours yet, so I can’t say we’re in the clear.”

  “What do we need to do?”

  “I need to go into town and talk with Tom and Art and figure out who’s going to speak for Granford, and who we need to call in.”

  “The town has a lawyer, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. You met him a while back—Fred Weatherly. But there’s no reason to bring him in yet. We looked carefully at the regulations for events—we’ve got them all on file for the Harvest Festival. The restaurant permits are all current, and they’ve had no problems there. Maybe Monica went home and ate something she shouldn’t have. Someone will have to ask her husband.”

  “That wouldn’t explain the other cases,” Meg said.

  “No, it wouldn’t, unless she was handing out tainted candy to kids. Which seems absurd, but we don’t know her well. Maybe she’s a serial killer, living here under an assumed name.”

  “Seth! You don’t believe that,” Meg protested.

  “No, I don’t. And I shouldn’t joke about it. I think she was a good person and she didn’t deserve this.” He stood up abruptly. “I’m going to take Max out.” At the sound of his name, Max, who had been sitting under the table watching his master, jumped out, tail wagging.

  “Should I answer the phone if it rings?”

  “Maybe it’s better if you don’t, if it’s town business. I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll make coffee.” Again. Her primary purpose in life these days: to make coffee. She waited until it was ready and poured herself a cup, then sat down at the table again. Lolly came and jumped on her lap and went to sleep, but Meg was glad of the soft furry creature keeping her company.

  Seth was still out when his phone, which he’d left on the table, rang, but Meg recognized Lydia’s number, so she answered it. “Hey, Lydia,” she began.

  Lydia spoke immediately. “Have you heard?”

  “About Monica? Yes. Seth got the call. Terrible, isn’t it?”

  “Where is Seth?”

  “Out walking Max. I think he needed the fresh air as much as Max did.”

  “It’s such a shame . . . How was the event before . . . this?”

  “I thought it was great. Everybody seemed to have a good time. I sold all of my apples, which is good because there weren’t enough of all those varietals to sell to a market right now. Are you sorry you missed it?”

  “Yes and no. I just couldn’t get psyched up for sorting through cast-offs, mine or anyone else’s. Amazing how much junk we all end up with without even noticing.”

  “True. We were in my parents’ attic recently and found my father had kept documents for cases that go back decades. Of course he’s a lawyer, so maybe he had a reason for that. At least his boxes were labeled.”

  “Did your new manager go to the fair?” Lydia asked.

  “No. I invited him to tag along, but he didn’t want to. He’s not a people person, and he knows it. Which is okay when it comes to our division of labor: I’m the face for the orchard, and the marketer and promoter, and he keeps the apples healthy and growing. I handle the books. In theory, he’s going to manage the pickers, which should be interesting. At least I know them now and I can run interference if necessary. Which I hope it won’t be. We’ve got a few months to work out the kinks.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you,” Lydia said. “Tell Seth I called, but he doesn’t have to call back.”

  “Will do. Talk soon!”

  She’d hardly hung up when Seth came back with Max galloping before him. Before he could ask, Meg said, “That was your mother. You don’t have to call her back.”

  “Good. Sorry, I’m not good company right now.”

  “Why are you supposed to be? A person is dead. I hope that we and anyone we care about had nothing to do with it, but you have every right to mourn for her. She became part of this community very quickly, and then suddenly she’s gone. I wonder if her husband has any friends around here, that he can call on?”

  “I still haven’t met him. Poor guy. They didn’t have kids, did they?”

  “I don’t think so—nobody’s mentioned any. Or maybe they’re grown and don’t live around here. He’s retired, so he doesn’t have any c
olleagues he can lean on. Still, I doubt he’d want strangers like us barging in on him right now. Sad.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Meg said, “Coffee’s made. You want breakfast?”

  “Something simple is fine.”

  “No problem. You have any projects for today?”

  “I was thinking about the tiny house idea again. It’s kind of growing on me, no matter what use it’s put to when it’s done.”

  “What can you fit into a space like that?” Meg wasn’t wedded to the idea, but it would be better if Seth had a distraction to occupy his mind since there was nothing he could do for Douglas Whitman. “Is there room for a bathroom?”

  “You’d be surprised. But one of the first things I have to look at is running pipes out there—and they’ve got to be buried deep enough to avoid freezing. Wiring’s not a problem. Mostly I need a template so I can move things around and see what fits.”

  “Is there software for that?”

  “Of course. There’s software for everything these days. The problem with programs like that is that they’re too much fun to play with—they’re distracting. I’m still thinking about it.”

  As Meg made her way over to the refrigerator, she stopped to kiss Seth on the top of his head. He reached back to squeeze her hand. “I know what you’re doing—you want to distract me. But thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  9

  After a breakfast that he consumed with little interest, Seth escaped to his office, in theory to work on plans for the tiny house, but in reality to be alone, Meg suspected. She didn’t mind. A death in the community should bring forth an emotional response, and she’d seen her fair share of them, at least after the fact. She hadn’t known Monica well, but from what she’d learned of her, Meg thought that she would have been a good addition to Granford. Poor Douglas—he was still a stranger to the town, and now his wife was gone in the blink of an eye. Meg wondered if he would stay in town now or go back to wherever they’d lived before Granford—Chicago, was it? He’d seen so little of the town that Monica’s passing would have imposed no bad associations with the place, so he could go either way. But Meg thought he’d be lonely wherever he went.

  Meg was finishing up her second cup of coffee when there was a knock at the back door. She looked out to find Rachel, along with baby Maggie, bundled up like a snowman. Snow person. Whatever. Meg opened the door quickly.

  “Hi, Rachel. What brings you two over this morning? We didn’t have anything planned, did we? Because things are a bit jumbled today.”

  “I know—Mom told me about, uh, Monica, was it? How awful. Please don’t think me ghoulish to come over to get the whole story, but Noah said he’d keep an eye on the big kids, so I bundled up Maggie and here we are. Want to hold her?” Rachel thrust the baby at Meg without waiting for an answer.

  “Sure. How about I hang on to her while you take off all the outside clothes?” Rachel was still riding high on baby hormones, Meg guessed. Did she have an agenda for Meg?

  “Great.”

  Meg took three-month-old Maggie—her namesake!—rubbed noses with her briefly, then turned her so she faced her mom so Rachel could unzip, unbutton, un-Velcro, or whatever else needed doing. It seemed to take a long time because there were a lot of layers. When Rachel had added the last sweater to the pile of clothes, Meg turned Maggie around to greet her properly. “Hey, baby girl, how’ve you been? I swear, you’re bigger than the last time I saw you, and that was only like a week ago.”

  “She probably is—we haven’t been to the pediatrician for a couple of weeks. You look like an old pro with her.”

  “Don’t get any ideas, Rachel. Seth and I haven’t even started dancing around that subject.”

  “Clock is ticking, my friend.”

  “You’re worse than my mother!” Meg told her, although she had to admit she enjoyed Maggie, who looked surprisingly intelligent for such a young child.

  Rachel was still smiling. “Where’s my brother?”

  “Out in the barn.”

  “Hiding?”

  “Not exactly. I think mostly keeping himself busy so he doesn’t have to think about . . . Monica.”

  “Did you know her well?”

  “I met her a couple of times, in connection with the WinterFare, but I think Seth had met her more often, on behalf of the town.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Energetic! Tireless. Detail-oriented. As a person, it’s harder to say. She really wanted to fit into the community here, and she had some really good ideas. What a waste!”

  “They’re still saying it’s food poisoning?” Rachel asked.

  Who is “they” in this case? Meg wondered. “As far as I know, but we only heard this morning. There may be other cases, apparently. Want some coffee?”

  “No, I’m still nursing. Any herbal tea?”

  “No caffeine?” Meg asked, opening a cupboard and surveying the choices.

  “Nope, which is too bad, because with the two kids and a baby I kind of run out of steam by late afternoon.”

  “Cocoa?”

  Rachel shook her head again. “Caffeine again. Plus it gives Maggie the hiccups.”

  “Really?” Meg asked.

  “Really. Always did, even before she was born. Might be a mild allergy that she’ll outgrow, but for now it’s better to stay away from it. The other no-no’s are fish and fatty meats and some dairy. But all the crunchy people are still saying that natural is better, at least for a few more months.”

  “Well, that leaves us with hot milk or hot water.”

  “Maybe hot milk with some vanilla added?”

  “That I can do.” Meg set about finding a clean mug, wondering where she’d last seen her vanilla extract. She filled a mug with milk, then stuck it in the microwave on low for a couple of minutes while she hunted down her vanilla extract. Which reminded her that she hadn’t baked anything lately, and with no doubt there would be people dropping by to talk to Seth about the death . . . “How long do you plan to keep this up?” she asked, watching the timer on the microwave.

  “Until one or both of us get tired of it. The other kids lost interest after about six months. So, enough baby stuff! Unless you’re planning to make an announcement soon?” Rachel said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

  “Nope, not now. But I promise when and if that changes, you’ll be one of the first to know.”

  “Got it. So talk to me about adult stuff. I’ve been talking mainly to children for what seems like forever. And this one”—Rachel nodded toward Maggie, now asleep on her lap—“doesn’t answer. You’ve given us the honeymoon story, unless you held back a few juicy tidbits?”

  “Not really. The biggest surprise—outside of the body—was that it was the past that set the whole thing off. That and running into an old high school classmate very unexpectedly, and for some weird reason he turned out to have the key to the whole thing. Maybe Seth and I have some sort of karma that attracts murders.”

  Rachel shook her head. “That’s on you. Seth got through all of his life without tripping over a body, until you arrived in town.”

  “I apologize, to Seth, to Granford, and to the universe in general. I would be happy to have it stop.”

  “Meg, do you think there’s any possibility that this Monica’s death was . . . not natural?”

  Meg delayed answering by retrieving the mug of milk then adding a dash of the vanilla extract. For herself she poured the last of the coffee into a mug and decided it wasn’t worth nuking—cold would do, but she started a fresh pot because no doubt someone else would drop by shortly. She slid Rachel’s milk across the table to her. “The thought had crossed my mind, mainly because of my history here, but I rejected it pretty quickly. For one thing, Monica hasn’t been here very long, certainly not long enough to make enemies who would want to kill her.�
��

  “Maybe she lived here before, thirty years ago, under an assumed name, and had done someone wrong?”

  “Well, if that’s true, I don’t know about it. And I didn’t get an evil vibe from her.”

  “What about the husband?”

  “I haven’t met him. Seth hasn’t met him. He didn’t come to the WinterFare. So maybe he doesn’t exist, or he’s a cripple, or he finally got fed up with Monica’s incessant scurrying around and killed her to get some peace. Sorry, that sounds very shallow, and she was a nice person from what little I saw. So let’s shelve the husband for now.”

  “Huh. She didn’t have any other relatives around here?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then why was she here?”

  “She told us that her husband retired and they were looking for someplace new and they’d never tried New England.”

  “Do you buy that? I mean, to make a big life change like moving without doing their homework?”

  “Well, what other reasons are there? Lower property costs? Their place couldn’t have been very expensive—Seth will tell you it needs work, but they were kind of past the age for do-it-yourself. Rachel, I don’t know! You’re asking good questions, but I don’t have any answers. I know you’re bored, but do you really need to create a crime where none exists?”

  “Sorry,” Rachel said, although Meg didn’t think she looked very sorry. “But this is you I’m talking to. And you do have a rather unusual track record in this department.”

  Meg was relieved when Seth chose that moment to appear. “Hey, I thought I recognized that car. What brings you here?” He leaned over to kiss Rachel on the cheek, and then to peel back the blanket partially covering Maggie’s face with a careful finger. Meg watched the tenderness in his touch and felt a pang: did they need to talk about children sooner rather than later? They’d been careful to avoid that talk so far, but they were married now, and both approaching a fortieth birthday . . .

  “I got bored watching this one sleep”—Rachel nodded at Maggie—“so I thought we could go for a ride. And here’s where I ended up. You want me to leave?” Rachel grinned.