Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery) (25 page)

Meg woke on Saturday as sun filtered through the window blinds. She checked her clock: past seven, later than she usually got up. But she felt no desire to move yet. Yesterday had been exhausting, emotionally if not physically, but at least they’d reached an ending that promised some happiness down the line somewhere. The police knew how Novaro Miller had died, even if it was a sad and messy affair, and no one would be charged with killing him.

Seth had left earlier, while Meg was sleeping, no doubt to oversee the setup for the festival. She found it endearing how involved he was with all the activities in the town, and he seemed to truly enjoy all of them. Poor Karen Green fell at the other end of the spectrum, with nothing to occupy her, no friends or spouse to turn to. As a result, she’d gnawed over every imagined slight, and pushed her son as hard as she could. Meg firmly believed that it was never healthy to put all one’s eggs in one basket, as Karen had with Jeffrey. She herself had been an only child, but her parents had always had interests of their own, and looking back, she thought they’d done a good job of balancing parenting and maintaining their own lives. It was a wonder that Jeffrey was as stable as he appeared to be, although only time would tell. Whether Emma stayed in the picture was another issue, but that was for the two of them to work out—without Karen’s interference.

Finally Meg hauled herself out of bed and showered, dressed, and went downstairs, where Bree was just finishing up her breakfast.

“Wondered when you’d show up. What time do you need to be at the Festival?”

“It starts at ten, and I should be there a bit before that to make sure everything is in place.” Bree gave her an odd look, but Meg didn’t have time to think about it because someone was rapping at the back door. She was surprised to see Raynard on the other side of the screen. She hurried to open it.

“Hey, Raynard. Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem, Meg. May I come in?”

“Of course.” Meg stood aside to let him into the kitchen, where he and Bree made some wordless communication that Meg didn’t understand. “Coffee?”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Raynard said. “I came to tell you that the police in Northampton, they called Hector and told him that he could make arrangements to send Novaro home. But there was something else that you should know.”

Meg hoped it wasn’t bad news—it was too nice a day to deal with that. “What is it?”

“Hector knew that Novaro was trouble, but he hoped that work and responsibility would straighten him out. As you know, that did not happen. Novaro got himself mixed up with the wrong people here. But you tried to help, and Hector wishes to apologize if his nephew caused trouble to you, and in the town.”

“Thank you, Raynard. I appreciate it. But Novaro was eighteen—old enough to manage his own life. Hector couldn’t be responsible for him, and certainly can’t be blamed.”

“But he’s still saddened by it.”

“Of course—we all are.”

“Indeed. Thank you again,” Raynard said, but he made no move to leave.

“Was there something else you wanted?” Meg asked.

To her surprise, Raynard’s face crinkled into a smile. So did Bree’s.

“What?” Meg asked, confused.

“You’ve got to see,” Bree said. “Outside.”

Bewildered, Meg followed Bree and Raynard out to the driveway. There stood her farm pickup, clean and polished to a shine, with a new magnetic sign on the door that said
Warren’s Grove Apples
. Bree shoved Meg closer, and she realized that the back of the pickup was filled with apple baskets, and the baskets were filled with different varieties of apples, which looked as though they had been individually hand polished.

“For the Festival,” Bree explained. “There’s some basic varieties, like the Cortlands, and a couple of heirlooms. I made signs for the different varieties. Oh, and you’ll need these.” She fished a bundle of something out of the truck, which turned out to be a stack of white paper bags with handles, each also imprinted with the
Warren’s Grove
logo. “That old scale that Seth mentioned? That’s in the back, too.”

Meg battled a huge lump in her throat. “Thank you. This is wonderful! I didn’t know what I was going to do today, but I didn’t expect all this.”

“Part of the job, ma’am,” Raynard said, still smiling broadly. “You and the orchard do well, we all do well. And we owe you thanks.”

“So you’d better get moving,” Bree said, “because you have to set up your booth. And I almost forgot,” she added, reaching into her pocket and pulling out an envelope. “This is fifty in singles—I figured you’d want to make change.”

Meg had run out of words, so instead she impulsively grabbed Bree in a hug. Bree tolerated that for about two seconds, then backed up. “Hey, don’t get mushy on me. You all set? Because Raynard and I have work to do.”

“I am definitely all set. Go!” Meg watched them walk up the hill, her heart full.

She drove to town, careful not to jostle her baskets full of apples, and pulled into the lane that ran along the green, then climbed out of the pickup and scanned the canopies for her place. Gail came up beside her. “You’re on this side, near the Historical Society booth. Need help unloading? Before you say no, I’m so wired that I need to burn off some energy, so you’d be doing me a favor.”

Meg laughed. “I’ve got a bunch of baskets of apples, and I’d love some help. Isn’t this the perfect day?” After a lousy year that had featured a blizzard and a drought, New England had decided to make up for it by throwing in a storybook September day—not too hot, cloudless blue sky, maple leaves just beginning to turn around the edges. The green was filled with people bustling around carrying bins and boxes, and everyone looked happy.

Meg and Gail made short work of shifting the apple baskets, and Meg found a convenient place to hang the antique scale—Seth had provided a hook, of course. She stacked some of the bags on her table, clipped the labels on the apple baskets, and called herself ready. After moving her truck to a more distant location to allow parking for visitors, she decided to take a stroll around the green, to see who else was taking part in the Festival and what they had to offer.

She was not surprised to find a campaign booth for Rick Sainsbury, staffed with a gaggle of fresh-faced college students. She was more surprised to see the candidate himself in conversation with some of his staffers. When he saw her, he excused himself and came over to greet her. “Walk with me?”

“Sure. How’s the campaign going?”

“I think it’s going well, but I’m not taking anything for granted. Look, I want to thank you for what you did for Jeffrey. I don’t know if he could have dug himself out without your help—yours and Seth’s.”

“We wanted to help him. We like him, and he deserves it.”

“I’m glad he had you on his side. And I don’t know what you said to Karen, but she seemed really unsettled by it—which I think is a good thing. She needed a swift kick where it would do the most good.”

“Happy to be of service.”

“Look, Meg, I owe you and Seth, and that’s personal, not political. Whether or not I win this election, if there’s ever anything I can do for you two, let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Rick. And good luck!”

“Thanks again, for everything.” With that he took off across the green. Meg realized that she was beginning to like Rick, despite their rocky start—and she would definitely hold him to his promise, if he was ever in a position to offer the kind of help they might need.

At the opposite end of the green, Meg found Seth talking with Art, pointing at different corners. When she drew closer, she realized they were debating heatedly about traffic control.

“This kind of day, lots of people out, we have to juggle parking and leaf-peepers with keeping the road clear for others who are just passing through,” Art explained.

Seth looked amused. “How many years have we been doing this? We have the same discussion every year. You’ve called in your off-duty officers?”

“Of course I have. And I’ve got sawhorses and traffic cones marking off the restricted area. Hi, Meg—hey, your booth looks great.”

“You can thank Raynard and Bree for that. They surprised me this morning with the whole setup, including the apples. Did you know, Seth?”

“Nope, although Bree did remind me to hunt down that scale.”

As Art scanned the green and the traffic flow, Meg leaned closer to Seth. “Since I missed you earlier—good morning,” she said, and kissed him enthusiastically.

“And the same to you. You look happy.”

“I am. Rick thanked us for helping Jeffrey. Have you talked to him?”

“Nope, not yet.”

“You still on the fence about him, as a candidate?”

“Not as much as I was. He did make an effort to help his family, even when there were probably plenty of other demands for his time and attention. Of course, that could have been a political ploy.”

“But no photo ops, no headlines. I’m going to choose to believe him. Oh, and if we ever need a favor—he volunteered.” Meg turned to the police chief. “Art, I don’t know all the details about what part you played, but thank you for facilitating whatever went on in Northampton.”

“Aw, shucks, ma’am. Just doin’ my job. You know, Marcus isn’t a bad guy, once you get to know him. At least he’s not PO’d that you stuck your nose in again.” Art checked the scene again. “Whoops, I’ve got to go. Catch you later, Seth, Meg.” Art hurried off across the green, where some overeager tourist was trying to shift the traffic cones and snag a prime parking spot.

“Look!” Meg pointed toward the Historical Society, where Jeffrey and Emma were walking together. Karen was standing by Gail near the young couple, looking pained—but at least she was there, and trying.

“By the way,” Meg said, turning back to Seth, “what are you doing the first weekend in December?”

“I have no idea. Why?”

“My late grandmother’s birthday is that weekend. I thought it might be a good day to get married. The harvest will be over, it’s after Thanksgiving but not too close to Christmas, Rachel ought to have had her baby by then, and I really liked my grandmother. I think she’d be pleased that I chose that date, and Mom can’t complain. We can hold the whole thing at Gran’s and ask Christopher to officiate. How does that sound?”

“It sounds great.” Seth grabbed her and gave her a kiss that weakened her knees, and Meg didn’t care if the whole town of Granford was watching.

Harvesting apples is hard work, but people still have to eat. What’s more, Meg Corey thinks it’s about time that she should share a meal with the pickers who work in the orchard and get to know them better. So she looks for quick, simple recipes that don’t require a lot of preparation, and that also highlight the last crops of the season.

Grilled Chicken, Indian Style

This recipe makes enough for one whole chicken (you can cut it up yourself), or two pounds of parts if you purchase your chicken that way. Of course you can multiply the amounts to serve as many as you want.

½ cup unflavored Greek yoghurt

¼ cup lemon juice

1 tablespoon ground cumin

1 tablespoon ground coriander

Pinch cayenne

1 teaspoon coarse salt

2 tablespoons minced garlic

1 tablespoon minced ginger

Combine all the ingredients in a large bowl and mix. Add the chicken pieces and coat them with the marinade. Let the chicken sit in the marinade until you are ready to grill (if you’re doing this well in advance, refrigerate the container, covered, until you’re ready to cook the chicken).

Set up your grill (charcoal or gas) and place your chicken on the grate, skin side down. Turn once during cooking, and baste with any of the leftover marinade.

Note: If your grill permits, cover the chicken during the first half of the cooking, to ensure that the meat is cooked through. You can leave the cover open after you turn the pieces. If you don’t have a covered grill, spread out your coals so that the heat is not too intense, so that the chicken cooks completely.

Baked Grated Beets

This is a recipe that’s easy to make ahead, then pop into the oven about the same time you start your grill heating. There are many delightful kinds of beets available these days, particularly at local farmer’s markets, so feel free to experiment. The golden ones give a lovely color to the dish. Again, you can multiply the ingredients to make more if you’re feeding a crowd.

5 Little Golden Beets, peeled and shredded (a food processor’s shredding blade does this well)

1 small onion, finely chopped

1 potato, grated

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 tablespoons white vinegar

2 tablespoons brown sugar

1 tablespoon water

Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Shred the beets and place them in a greased one-quart casserole. Add the onions and potato and mix.

In a small bowl, stir together oil, vinegar, sugar, water, salt and pepper.

Stir the liquid mixture into the vegetables. Cover tightly and bake in a 350-degree oven for 30 minutes, stirring once or twice during cooking.