One Bad Apple

Table of Contents

As she approached the old house, she looked at it dispassionately. In the winter dark, it was still lovely, strong and square. The few lights that she had left on were glowing gold. Meg pulled around to the side near the barn, turned off the engine, and slumped in her seat, unable to move. She was tired. No, worse, she was tired and depressed. She had tried to do the right thing, had talked to the state police, had told the truth, but no one had wanted to listen. So she had stood up in public and made her case, but it still looked like no one wanted to believe her. She was the outsider, and the community would close ranks against her.
All right, Meg. You can’t sit here all night.
She smiled wryly at the image of someone coming by and finding her frozen corpse still sitting in the car.

She hauled herself out of the car and walked toward the kitchen door, jiggling her keys in her hand. Then she stopped: even in the dim light, it was clear that the storm door hung slightly askew, the lock splintered in the jamb. Someone had broken into her house; someone might still be there. She fumbled in her bag for her cell phone and punched in 911.

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,
South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

ONE BAD APPLE
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / August 2008

Copyright © 2008 by Sheila Connolly.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eISBN : 978-1-436-23932-5

BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks
belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Like an orchard, it takes a lot of people to nurture a book to fruition. First thanks go to my agent, Jacky Sach, who took the seed of an idea and brought it to life, and my editor, Shannon Jamieson Vazquez, who polished the draft until it shone. And as always, Sisters in Crime and the wonderful Guppies (especially Lorraine Bartlett) provided bushels of encouragement.

Since I am not an orchardist, I relied on many people to help me get the details right: Duane W. Greene, Department of Plant, Soil and Insect Sciences at the University of Massachusetts, and Director of the University’s Cold Spring Orchard, who provided much useful information about orchard management; Richard Pelletier of the Nashoba Valley Winery in Bolton, Massachusetts, who shared his orchard’s wealth of antique apple varieties; May Peters of Peters Family Orchard and Cider Mill in Acushnet, Massachusetts, who provides a wonderful example of managing a local orchard; and Joyce Manzello, who educated me about the realities of making an orchard work—and pay.

On the genealogy side, I have to thank many generations of ancestors who left such a wonderful history for me to find—all the Chapins, Downings, Montagues, Seldens, Sheldons, Shumways, Taylors, Townes, Wakemans, Warners, and Woodfords who settled in western Massachusetts and whose spirits drew me there. Among the living, I’m grateful for the help provided by the Granby Historical Society, the Granby Public Library, and the Granby Town Clerk’s Office.

And of course I have to thank Marvina and Jon Brook of Muddy Brook Farm in Granby, without whom this book could not have happened. They are the current owners of the house built by my ancestor Stephen Warner, and they let me spend time getting to know the property and the house—including the very interesting basement!

I should also thank Mother Nature, who made this past season’s apple crop absolutely spectacular.

Finally, I need to thank my entomologist husband, who has served as my consultant on aspects of integrated pest management, and my daughter, who tramped through a lot of orchards with me and carried a lot of bags of apples.

“Orchard? What orchard?” Meg Corey stared in confusion at the man standing on her doorstep. He reminded her of a hobbit: shorter than she was, his silvery hair combed forward in an endearing bang now rumpled by the wind, his cheeks rosy, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’m sorry—who did you say you were?”

“Oh, forgive me. I’m Christopher Ramsdell, with the Integrated Pest Management Department, the Small Fruit Management Project, at the university.” When Meg looked blankly at him, he went on. “Of Massachusetts, at Amherst. We’ve been using the apple orchard as an experimental site for, oh, decades now. But I was looking for the Tuckers. Are they no longer here?”

“The Tuckers were only renting. My mother owns this place, and I’m fixing it up to sell.”
Or trying to
, Meg amended to herself. Every time she tried to “fix” something, it seemed to generate more problems. Usually expensive ones.

“Well, then, you’re the person I should be talking to!” Christopher beamed at her, and Meg couldn’t refuse the delightful man a return smile. At least he wasn’t some crazy person, as she had wondered when she first opened the door.

Which was letting in the freezing January wind. “Uh, come in, I guess. Will this take long? Because I’m expecting a plumber any minute.” She hoped.

“I’d be delighted. And I won’t keep you, but I’d like to explain exactly what it is I’m doing.” He stepped into Meg’s hallway, and she slammed the door shut behind him—the slamming part was necessary if she wanted the warped, if authentic, four-panel door to close at all.

“Take a seat.” Meg gestured vaguely toward her front parlor on the right. The lumpy furniture was draped with drop cloths, old sheets, and anything else Meg could find, since she had been scraping, spackling, and sanding for a couple of weeks now. “I’d offer you some coffee, but my sink is stopped up and I don’t want to run any water until I know what the problem is.”

Christopher was still standing in the middle of the room looking around with clear admiration. “Grand old house, isn’t it? My sympathies on the plumbing problem. Drains are a constant torment.” He rubbed his hands briskly. “Well, I don’t want to take much of your time, so let me get right down to it. I can’t believe you don’t know about the orchard. You haven’t seen it?”

“I don’t know where to look,” Meg said. “Where is it?”

“To your west.” When Meg looked bewildered, Christopher waved toward one side of the house. “Up that way. It runs from the top of that rise down to the highway, Route 202. Surely you’re familiar with that. Roughly fifteen acres, and you have perhaps a hundred and fifty trees, primarily apple. And we—by that I mean the research group at the university—and the Tuckers, and the … let me see … I think it was the Lothrops before them, have been managing it for more than twenty years.”

Meg nodded. “I guess that explains it. My mother inherited this place back in the eighties, and I don’t think she’s been here since. She just sticks the rent checks in the bank. But I found myself at loose ends recently”—no reason why this nice stranger needed to know she’d been downsized out of her job—”and she thought it might be a good time to finally fix up the place and sell it, so here I am. So, what is it you want from me?”

Christopher cocked his head at her, like a friendly sparrow. “Well, my dear, first and foremost I’d like to introduce you to the treasure that you own.”

“Now?” Meg’s voice rose in disbelief. It couldn’t be more than twenty degrees outside.

“Why not? It’s far easier to distinguish trunk and branch configurations when the trees aren’t in leaf.”

“What about my plumber?” Meg sputtered.

Christopher smiled. “When did you call?”

“About half an hour ago.”

“Then I’m sure he’ll be along in an hour or two. Plenty of time!”