Rotten to the Core Read online

  She had seated herself at a wobbly table in the restaurant and was looking over the sticky menu when Michael walked in and dropped into the chair opposite her. “I know who you are,” he said abruptly.

  Meg debated for a split second whether she should play dumb and decided there was no point. “I’m the one who found Jason’s body,” she said.

  Michael slumped further and shrugged off his coat. “Yeah. You didn’t mention that yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t sure you’d talk to me if you knew. So I gather you did some checking?”

  “Daphne told me. Look, I don’t want to talk about Jason.”

  How did Daphne know? “Michael, I really am interested in organic farming. I’m new to the orchard business, and you know about local conditions and concerns. So let’s just talk about that,” Meg said. And maybe I can work my way around to Jason later.

  “What do you want to know?” Michael picked up the menu and scanned it.

  “Look, to be completely honest, all I know about the organic approach is what I read in the papers. It makes you sound like a bunch of crunchy hippies digging your bare toes into the good earth, with a sprinkling of self-righteous yuppies thrown in. Surely there’s more to it?”

  Michael snorted in spite of himself. “I hope so. Okay, if you’re serious, I’ll start at the beginning.”

  They were interrupted by the appearance of the student waitress, and Michael ordered a sandwich and fries. Meg settled for a sandwich and waited patiently for Michael to begin.

  “Okay. GreenGrow sees organic farming as a sustainable alternative to current agricultural practices that put profits ahead of human welfare. At the moment, organic goods tend to be more expensive than nonorganic goods. So it’s kind of a Catch-22: the prices for organic goods won’t go down until organic processes spread on a wider scale, but people won’t buy the higher-price goods that will make it possible for the market to grow.” He looked at Meg to see if she was following.

  She was; what he said made sense, in a broad way. “Sounds reasonable. So, I guess I have two questions: one, what does your group propose to do about it? And, two, how does that apply to what I’m doing as an individual grower?”

  Michael was warming to his subject. “Well, we believe that organic farming is an environmentally friendly alternative. Do you have any idea of the impact of increasing levels of nitrogen compounds from fertilizer? They’re contributing to global warming! They’re in our watersheds, and that means they contaminate water tables and mess up biological zones at the mouths of our rivers. And they’re not necessary! There are good alternatives—alfalfa or chicken manure, for example.”

  Meg struggled to suppress the image of herself trying to raise chickens to produce enough manure to fertilize her orchard. That was definitely something she hadn’t signed up for.

  Michael was still talking. “And look at weeds. There’s no need to dump herbicides on them. You can use cover crops, you can mulch, you can burn them off. Lots of options. Keeping the organic matter in your soil is a big plus, and you don’t have to add harmful chemicals.”

  “All right,” Meg said cautiously. “But what about apples specifically? I’ve been told that buyers want big, flawless apples, and that means you have to control insects.”

  Disgust flashed across Michael’s face. “Then we need to reeducate them. Organic fruits taste better, even if they have some blemishes. Sweeter, more flavorful. And there are economic tradeoffs, right? You may receive a little less money for your crop, but you aren’t shelling out for all those chemicals, which don’t come cheap. Or, heck, sell your apples for cider—then it doesn’t matter what they look like.”

  “You make some good points. So why don’t more people go this route?”

  “They’re lazy. Sometimes it does take more work to use natural methods. Or they’ve been brainwashed by the chemical establishment.”

  “And how does GreenGrow hope to change things?”

  “GreenGrow is a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing information and support for organic farming practices here in the Pioneer Valley. We’ve been pretty successful, especially with some of the farmers’ markets in the area. And with smaller farmers and growers. It’s harder to convince the big corporate farms, but we’re working on it.”

  “You rely on contributions for your funding?”

  “Yeah. We’ve got a base list of local supporters, and the cooperatives chip in a bit. Why, you want to make a contribution?” Michael grinned, looking for once like an eager and attractive young man.

  “Maybe. But what do you spend your money on?”

  “Publications. Flyers, newsletters. The website. Memberships in national organizations.”

  Much to her surprise, Meg was impressed. Michael sounded as though he knew what he was doing, and he hadn’t said anything she could disagree with. If it weren’t for the issue of Jason’s death hanging over them, she might actually have enjoyed this conversation. Maybe it was time to throw that out on the table and see how Michael reacted.

  “You want some dessert?” she asked. At his nod, she waved the waitress over and they both ordered. At least that would keep him from getting up and walking out. When the waitress had left, Meg went on. “You know, Michael, you make a good case. You’ve given me something to think about, and I’ll talk it over with my manager.”

  Michael looked away. “Bree? She’s not that into it.”

  So Michael also knew Bree? And more—he knew she was working for Meg? That was interesting. “Why do you say that?”

  “Jason tried to persuade her, couple of years ago, but she blew him off.”

  Well, at least he had been the one to introduce Jason’s name into the conversation. Meg tried to frame her next question as neutrally as possible. “Was that because she disagreed with GreenGrow’s philosophy, or was it more personal?”

  “You mean, like, her and Jason, were they together? None of my business. All I know is, he brought her into the group, and then she wasn’t around anymore.”

  The waitress arrived with their gooey chocolate desserts and coffee, and Meg hoped that the interruption hadn’t put an end to that thread of the conversation. “I understand that Jason was the founder of GreenGrow.”

  Michael grimaced around his mouthful of chocolate cake. “That’s what he wanted people to believe, but we pretty much shared it, at least in the beginning. I guess he thought he was a better public speaker, which was probably true—I don’t much like that kind of thing. But that meant I got to do all the scut work. You know, paying the bills, keeping the website current.”

  “So what did he do?” Meg forked up a piece of her own cake, keeping her gaze on the plate.

  “Made speeches. Went around looking for places he could get attention. For himself, mostly.”

  Meg risked looking at Michael directly. “You know, you don’t sound too happy about that.”

  Michael sat back in his chair, stretched, and grinned at Meg. “Lady, you’re good. You’ve been plying me with cheap carbs just so you could pump me for information, right?”

  Meg smiled back. “Something like that. Look, I never knew Jason, and then, boom, there he was, dead in my orchard. So I think I have a right to be curious. Don’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  “So tell me about him. What was he like? Do you think he killed himself?”

  Michael snorted. “Jason? No way.”

  “So he wasn’t upset about not finishing his degree, or about how things were going at GreenGrow?”

  “Not really. I think he actually liked to believe that the university had it in for him because of his involvement with GreenGrow—made him feel like a martyr. And GreenGrow is doing okay.”

  “Say somebody killed him. Who would have wanted him dead?”

  “That’s a tough one. Lots of people might have thought about it. He could be really annoying. Pushy, self-important, and he had a one-track mind. Sometimes that worked; the guy really could give a good sp
eech. Thing is, he never knew when to climb off the soapbox. He didn’t have a clue about how to make nice to donors or the press. He thought he had all the answers, and if you didn’t agree with him, you were obviously an idiot.”

  “Hey, don’t hold back!” Meg laughed.

  Michael swirled the dregs in his coffee mug. “Don’t get me wrong. I liked the guy, or at least, the guy he used to be. We had a lot of fun when we were getting this thing started. But lately, I don’t know. He was getting kind of extreme, you know? I think the university was pushing him to finish or get out, and he really didn’t know what he was going to do.”

  “Had he finished the work for the degree?”

  “Course work and stuff, I guess. He was having problems finishing his thesis, something about the research. Or maybe he just got distracted. He didn’t share with me, that’s for sure.”

  “Why would he even bother with a degree?”

  “Credibility, I guess—it would certainly look better on the flyers if he could put ‘PhD’ after his name. And I think Mom and Dad were sending him a check now and then, as long as he stayed in school. GreenGrow doesn’t pay much.”

  “Was there anyone else he was close to?”

  Michael shrugged by way of an answer. Meg wondered if he was keeping something back or if he really didn’t know.

  Meg filed that fact away. “Okay, one last question. Any idea why he would’ve been at my place?”

  “Hey, that one I can answer. He’d heard about you taking over the Warren place and figured he’d see if he could woo you away from the IPM people.”

  “He said that?” Meg said, surprised.

  “Sure. Didn’t he get in touch with you? He kept his eye on the local places, and of course he knew about your orchard, because Christopher’s been taking students out there for years. He’d probably been there a few times already.”

  Meg felt a throb of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. So, not only had Jason had a reason to be on her property, but he’d also told other people. Except he hadn’t told her; he’d just shown up—dead. It didn’t put her in a very good light. “Did the state police talk to you, or anyone in your group?”

  “Not me. I can’t speak for the rest.”

  Meg wasn’t sure whether that was good news or bad. On the plus side, Marcus presumably didn’t know that Jason had been interested in her orchard; on the minus side, Marcus didn’t seem to be trying very hard to find out about Jason’s life. She’d have to mull that over. Meg took a quick look at her watch and realized it was after two. “Michael, I appreciate your talking to me. And I meant what I said about the whole organic thing. I do need to know more about it before I jump into anything, so if you’ve got some literature or can point me in the right direction, I promise I’ll follow up.”

  “That’s all I want. I’ll see what I can pull together. And for what it’s worth, I don’t believe you had anything to do with Jason’s death. It’s just one of those things.”

  One of those things that just seems to keep happening to me. “Thanks, Michael. I’m glad we had this talk.”

  She looked at the check, then tucked a few bills under her plate and stood up. Michael clambered to his feet. He followed her to the door, then hesitated.

  “Uh, listen,” he began. “About Professor Ramsdell . . .”

  “Yes?” Meg prompted.

  “He talks a good line about IPM, and he’s been willing to work with us, but I don’t think he’s quite as pure as he wants you to think.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t have all the details, but I think he’s in bed with the pesticide crowd.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Michael shrugged. “Just that he’s been taking funding from one of the big companies for research.” He framed the last word with air quotes. “You might want to ask him about it. Jason knew about it, and he was really steamed. That’s all I know. Thanks for the lunch.” He turned and headed off down the street.

  Meg stood for a moment, looking around the bustling Amherst intersection. It seemed so bizarre to have been sitting at lunch with a pleasant young man, talking about death. But then, a lot of her life had seemed bizarre to her recently. Jason had had a reason to seek her out, which was distressing, even if he hadn’t actually made contact with her. And what was Michael implying about Christopher? With a vigorous shake of her head, she turned back toward her car, and her orchard.

  12

  When Meg pulled into her driveway, Seth was there, poking around the dead leaves and spindly bushes that clustered near the foundation of the house and in odd corners. He waited while she parked and clambered out of the car.

  “I’m sorry, were you waiting for me?” Meg asked.

  “Sort of—it’s a nice day, so I thought we could do a walk-through of the barn. You want to change clothes? It’s kind of dirty in there.”

  Meg looked down at her “lunch in Amherst” clothes. “I guess so. Give me five.” Thanks to a couple of months’ worth of renovations, she had an ample supply of grubby clothes, and upstairs in her bedroom she pulled on some paint-stained jeans and a similarly decorated sweatshirt.

  Back outside, she picked her way across the damp grass to where Seth waited for her. “Ready to go. What are we going to be looking at?”

  “A couple of things, I guess. You haven’t been inside the barn much, have you?”

  “Frankly the thing scares me—I’m afraid it’s going to fall down on my head. When I wanted to keep the car out of the snow, I just pulled into the shed thing there.” She pointed to the open shed that connected with the back of the house.

  “Okay, let’s start from this end.” Seth gestured at the buildings. “Take a look—you’ve got the open shed, the old carpenter’s shop, and the barn. They were all connected, so you could walk from the house to the barn without actually going outside. Those cold New England winters, you know.”

  “Okay,” Meg said cautiously. “And?”

  “There’s some really neat old equipment in the carpentry part. As I told you, I’ve been thinking that I could use that for my shop—it’s plenty big enough for an office, over there on the right, and there’s room for the van inside, and storage above—although I might have to shore up the joists up there.”

  “You sure the barn wouldn’t be better?” Meg asked.

  “Actually, that’s more space than I need for the business side, and it would be harder to retrofit. I might keep some of the heavier stuff—you know, those old cast-iron tubs and such—in there, but you’re going to need the space yourself.”

  “For apple storage?” Meg looked skeptically at the structure, which seemed huge to her. It also appeared to be leaning a bit toward the north.

  “Exactly,” Seth replied promptly. “As Bree mentioned the other night, you’re going to need a place to let your apples ripen.”

  “I meant to follow up with her on that point. I thought they were ripe when they were picked.”

  Seth shook his head. “Actually I understand a certain amount of ripening takes place after you pick your apples. And, like Bree said, that means you have to control the temperature and modify the oxygen-carbon dioxide mix. And you’ve got to cool them fast, which is why it’s good to have your storage facility on site to process the apples as soon as they’re picked, rather than shipping them to remote storage somewhere. What you need is what’s called controlled-atmosphere storage.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done your research. And it sounds expensive.” Meg wasn’t surprised, since everything she had touched on this property had turned out to be expensive.

  Seth grinned at her. “Hey, lady, I’m a plumber, remember? I think we can handle it.”

  Meg had to smile at his enthusiasm. “If you say so. How big does this storage system have to be?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll talk to Bree and some guys I know, and we can lay out what you need.” Seth busied himself with unlocking the padlock that held the sliding barn door in place—sort of. �
�After you.” He stood back to let Meg enter first.

  Meg walked in and stopped after a few feet to let her eyes adjust. Her first impression was that it looked like a medieval church: long central nave, open to the rafters; side aisles split halfway up to form haylofts, but still open to the center. The central part had a plank floor, but Meg couldn’t tell how far that extended, because all the aisles were clogged with . . . stuff. A forest of things she couldn’t even begin to identify. She could see light through a multitude of chinks in the walls, and a steady breeze wafted through.

  “Looks like it needs to be cleared out, doesn’t it? What the heck is all this stuff?” She waved around the interior.

  “My guess is nobody here ever threw anything out, so you’ve probably got at least a century’s worth of defunct equipment. The building itself is probably at least a hundred years old, but there are later patches and modifications, and there’s a lot of reused timber that is much older.”

  “What was it used for back then?”

  Seth shrugged. “Just basic family farm stuff, if that’s what you’re asking. The family probably kept a couple of cows for their own use, a horse for farm work and transport—that lasted well into the twentieth century—and some kind of carriage or buggy. Mowing equipment. Maybe a pig.”

  Meg advanced cautiously into the center of the building, looking at the old beams. A rickety timeworn ladder leaned against one. Ropes hung from various hooks and nails, and massive cobwebs festooned the corners and swayed in the moving air. “This makes me feel incredibly ignorant.”

  “You and most other people nowadays. Nobody uses most of this stuff anymore. I recognize most of it only because I’ve lived around here all my life, and I’ve poked in a lot of basements and outbuildings. And I guess I’m just naturally curious. Want to take some wild guesses about what these bits and pieces did?”

  “As long as you promise not to laugh.” Meg scanned the dark corners, then pointed. “Okay, that’s a grindstone, and that’s an anvil, right?”