It wasn’t until Meg pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant that she realized that she had let her enthusiasm carry her away and she hadn’t even mentioned the idea to Brian yet. This might be an awkward conversation if Brian hadn’t told Nicky about their financial mess; and even if he had, they might both be too upset to listen to her new plan.
Too late—Nicky and Brian had come out the door at the sound of their cars. Nicky’s face looked a bit red and blotchy, but she summoned up a smile and waved. “You coming in or what?” she yelled.
“Is this a good time? I’ve got an idea I want you to hear, but we can come back later,” Meg said, approaching the porch.
“It’s okay—we’re good. Brian told me what’s been going on, and it’s a whole lot better than what I was thinking. So come on in.”
Meg climbed the porch stairs, with Seth behind her. Brian held the door for them and Nicky led the way to the kitchen.
“You hungry?” she asked.
“We just ate lunch!” Meg protested. “Besides, when did you find time to cook anything?”
Nicky laughed. “I cook when I’m upset. It calms me down. Of course, I also cook when I’m happy. Guess that’s why I’m a chef!” She smiled at Brian, and he smiled back.
Meg deduced that all was right, or at least a lot closer to it, in their little world. Nicky deposited a small china dish in front of her and Seth, and handed out spoons. “It’s a mini-clafoutis—I found somebody who had some early cherries, and I didn’t want to waste them. Taste it and tell me what you think.”
Meg dipped into the golden batter and pulled out a bite studded with small red cherries. She tasted it: still warm, it was a perfect balance of sweet and tart, soft but with a little crunch from the coarse sugar sprinkled over the top, and from something else. “Almonds?” she asked.
Nicky beamed. “You got it! I added some ground almonds for texture—the flavor goes well with cherries. You like it?”
“It’s great. Not too heavy, not too sweet. Seth?” It was a good thing Meg was actively involved in running an orchard, or Nicky’s food would be adding inches to her waist in no time.
“What she said,” he answered, swallowing the last bite. “I know I’ve said it before, but—Nicky, you can
cook
.”
Nicky dimpled. “Thank you both. Now, what did you want to talk about?”
Meg looked at Brian, who had been hovering in the background, looking proud. “Brian, come sit down—this involves both of you.”
Brian joined them at the table. “Is this about . . . what we talked about?”
“Brian, you can say it,” Nicky said. “Our financial mess. Our empty pockets. The gaping hole in our budget.”
Meg checked to see if Nicky was being snide, but she looked surprisingly sunny. “The difficult financial situation you’re in, right. You said Brian told you what the problem is. Did you have any ideas? I mean, if you’re thinking of selling out, or just shutting down, there’s no point in getting into this.”
Nicky and Brian exchanged glances, and Nicky answered, “If there is any way at all that we can keep this going, we’re in. We can’t just walk away. So what’ve you got?”
Meg looked at Seth before she began, “Brian, you said you didn’t have the cash or credit to buy the food you need, right?”
“Not and do anything else.”
“My thought was, why not see if you can interest local farmers in providing what you need?”
“But we’ve been doing that already. At least, Sam had started doing it, and Brian and I have been following up when we could. That’s how I got the cherries,” Nicky said.
“I know, but I was thinking of something more systematic. As you probably already know, most of the farmers around here don’t produce much. In fact, calling them ‘farmers’ is kind of a stretch—they’re more like hobby farmers. But if you put them all together, you might—heck, you’d probably have enough to provide for one restaurant, right?”
Brian sat back, looking thoughtful. “So you’re saying we contract with them to provide exclusively to us?”
“Something like that. You have a formal agreement to buy some or even all of what they produce. I know, you’re going to tell me you can’t pay them, not now. But what about if you offered them shares in a partnership? You two would still hold controlling interest, but they would get what you owe them and a share of the profits, too. They’d have to understand that they’re going to have to wait a bit for their money, particularly the profits part, but you’d have enough to get you started. What do you think?”
Brian and Nicky looked at each other, and then Brian spoke. “Off the top of my head, I see a few issues. The first is the legal basis for this—we’d have to get somebody to draw up an agreement, whatever form it takes. Second, we’d have to know that enough providers are interested, and what they can give us. Third—well, that’s Nicky’s territory. Nicky, can you cook from whatever you get locally?”
Nicky’s eyes were shining. “Oh, Brian, don’t worry about the nitpicky legal side. But sure, I’ve always planned to work with local products. That’s what I want for this restaurant—food that hasn’t traveled more than a few miles before it’s served.”
“If I can play the devil’s advocate here,” Seth interrupted, “what about during the winter? What do you do when all you’ve got is a lot of squash?”
Nicky smiled at him. “It’s never that bad. You’ve got meat, chicken, and eggs year-round. Sure, there’s squash, pumpkins, and the like. Some apple varieties keep well over the winter, or you can dry them. Cheeses. And you know what? You stock up on whatever you get in the summer and fall, and you preserve them. What do you think people did in the old days? They spent a heck of a lot of time in summer canning stuff for the winter. There’s even an old storage pantry in the basement here, with shelves. We’d just be re-creating what they used to do in this very house. Ooh, I like this.”
“Before you get too excited, you realize that you’d have to start canning right now, if you want to have anything to eat next winter,” Meg said.
“I know, I know,” Nicky said dreamily. “But think about it! Maybe we could gather people together here, before we open, and they could relearn how to preserve our foods. That’s pretty much fallen by the wayside these days, right? Maybe we could hold a class here. I mean, it’d be a whole lot easier to do in a big kitchen like this than at home, and we could get a bunch of women together and they could all learn at once . . .”
“Sort of like a canning bee?” Meg volunteered, swept up in Nicky’s enthusiasm.
“Exactly! Oh, this is really great. Do you think it could work?”
“We’d have to get the farmers on board pretty quickly,” Seth said, “but I’ve known most of them my whole life. I can tell you who to talk to. And I can talk to the other members of the Select Board. They might be willing to help with the legal side, if town counsel agrees, since this will benefit the community. There might be some sorts of community assistance grants available for a start-up like this. Lots of possibilities.”
Nicky bounced out of her chair, too excited to sit still. “Oh, thank you, thank you both! How soon can we start?”
“Tomorrow?” Meg looked at Seth, and he nodded. “Why don’t we put together a list of what we know is available, and what you want to look for?”
“Let me find something to write on,” Brian said, and disappeared into the front room. Nicky threw herself back into her chair.
“Nicky,” Meg said in a low voice, “are you two really okay? And don’t let us steamroll you into this idea if it’s not right for you.”
“Oh, Meg, thank you for worrying, but Brian and I are fine. I’m a lot tougher than he thinks I am, but it’s sweet that he was trying to protect me. Anyway, your idea is exactly what this restaurant needs. I mean, there are more and more restaurants that advertise using local foods—bless them!—but the idea of having the whole community involved? That’s a great twist. And that means that most of the people in town will show up at least once, just to see what we’re doing with their produce. And if it’s good, they’ll keep coming back, right?”
Meg had to smile. “That would certainly be one benefit.”
Brian reappeared with paper and pencils and sat down. “Okay, Nicky, what do you want?”
“Veggies are easy—let’s wait on those. Meg, can we get apples from you, if you’ve got the right kinds?” When Meg nodded, she went on, “I think the most important thing is our proteins, right? Beef, pork, lamb, chicken, fish. Pork we know we can get locally.” A brief shadow passed over her face, but she kept on. “Seth, anybody raise cattle here?”
“Sure—Elliott Deane, over toward South Hadley.”
“Dairy or meat? Because we’d need both.”
“Then you should talk to Mary Cole, too. She makes great cheeses, and butter, if you ask nicely. And you’ve already found Kibbee’s.”
“Fish, fish . . .” Nicky tapped her pencil on the pad. “There’s a river near here, right?”
Seth smiled. “Yes, the Connecticut River, which is still good fishing. Particularly for shad, when it’s in season.”
“Wonderful. Then there’s mushrooms. Fresh herbs. I hear the Hadley asparagus is good. Ooh, and how about local heirloom vegetable varieties? I’ll bet we can find stuff that doesn’t ever appear in stores.”
Meg interrupted, “I can talk to Gail at the Historical Society, see if she has any old harvest fair listings and what was available in the past. You could have a nice tie-in that way.”
“Oh, right, good, Meg. I love this! Seth, you have any other ideas?”
“I know a few people we could talk to tomorrow. It might be good to test the waters, see what they have to say, before we get too deep into this. But first you and Brian have got to figure out quantities and pricing, so at least we’ll have some talking points.”
Brian nodded. “We can do that. I’ve got some spreadsheets roughed out already. Nicky would have to tinker with the menus and ingredients.”
“Why don’t I touch base tomorrow morning and see what you’ve come up with? Nicky, maybe you could throw in some sample menus, so we can show people how you plan to use the food? You want to come along?”
Nicky suddenly looked less eager. “Seth,” she said reluctantly, “I’m not real good meeting new people. I get kind of tongue-tied—you saw that at the meeting in town. These are your friends—could you talk to them first? Please?”
Meg avoided looking at Seth. She’d come up with a bright idea, dragged Seth into it, and now Nicky was asking him to give up more of his time. She resolved to ask him about it later. She’d be happy to help out—if Bree let her off the orchard leash long enough—but like Seth, she had her own business to attend to, she reminded herself.
“Yeah, I can do that. But just the first round. You’re going to have to do the rest of it. Oh, and I’ll lay it out at the Select Board working meeting on Tuesday—you don’t have to be there for that. This is just exploratory, but Tom and Mrs. Goldthwaite may have some ideas of their own.”
“Thank you, both of you. We owe you so much, and we’ll make it up to you somehow.”
They were startled out of their happy mood by an abrupt pounding on the front door.
“Mr. Czarnecki? This is Detective Marcus.”
The cheerful atmosphere in the kitchen evaporated like water on a hot griddle. Brian stood up abruptly and went to the front. Meg, Nicky, and Seth looked at each other. “What’s this about?” Meg asked.
Seth shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Brian returned with Detective Marcus in tow, followed by Art Preston. Brian continued around the table to stand behind Nicky’s chair. Meg glanced at Art, but his face gave nothing away.
“Ms. Corey, Chapin.” Marcus nodded. “I have some more questions for you and your wife, Mr. Czarnecki.”
Seth had stood up when Marcus entered. “Would you prefer that we leave?”
“Not necessary,” Marcus said curtly. “The ME faxed me the autopsy results for your friend this morning. Turns out it was a little more complicated than we thought.”
“You said Sam died from suffocation. Asphyxia. Right?” Brian asked.
“He did. But the ME also found evidence of anaphylactic shock. More specifically, it looks like he was stung by a bee and had a pretty strong reaction. Did either of you know if he was allergic?”
Nicky and Brian looked at each other, but it was Nicky who spoke first. “This is the first that I’ve heard of it, but Sam grew up in a city, like me. I don’t know if he ever ran into any bees. Maybe even
he
didn’t know he was allergic. Is that what killed him?”
“No, suffocation’s still the primary cause of death. But if he was in anaphylactic shock, it would have made it a lot easier. You never saw him with an epinephrine pen?”
Nicky shook her head and swallowed before answering. “No, never. He was always completely healthy. I mean, he barely took aspirin. I can’t think of any other allergies he had. Certainly no food allergies—I would have known about that.”
“Was there anyone else he was close to, who might have known about it?”
Nicky was shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I gave you all the personal information I had, so you could contact his family. I met his folks once or twice, when they came up to visit him, but we never talked about stuff like that. You could ask Derek, I guess. Maybe Sam told him. But it’s news to me. Brian?”
“I didn’t know anything either,” Brian said. “So what does that mean about Sam’s death, Detective? He was stung by a bee, and then fell down and suffocated?”
Meg realized with a start that Marcus probably still hadn’t broadcast the news about the footprint. She forced herself to meet Marcus’s gaze.
Marcus looked briefly at Meg before going on. “There’s one other item that we didn’t release. Sam Anderson suffocated, but someone helped him die. There was a muddy footprint in the middle of his back.” Marcus sat back in his chair and waited for responses.
“So you’re definitely saying it was murder?” The words were out of Meg’s mouth before she could stop them.