Rotten to the Core (16 page)

“Now you’re even talking like her. But I’m glad she approves of me, and I’d be happy to have you two over for tea or something. Assuming, of course, I finish my floor this century.”

“You will, don’t worry. And better now than later, when the orchard stuff picks up. You give me a call when the orchard blooms, and I’ll bring Ruth over, okay?”

“Sounds good to me. And thank you again for bringing us together.”
With just a little nudge from Seth.

“My privilege.”

After she had retrieved her car from Rachel’s house, Meg checked her watch: no point in going home and coming back again for the GreenGrow meeting, so she might as well stay in Amherst and find something useful to do. Lolly couldn’t complain; Meg had left her plenty of food and water. She made another mental note to ask Gail if she could tell her more about the former Ferry farm, and what, if any, family connections the Warrens had shared with the Ferrys. Funny how everyone around here seemed to be related to everyone else, even if the link sometimes went back a century or two.

Meg stopped at the university library and spent a few hours tracking down some of the recommended reading for her course, then headed over to the GreenGrow meeting. She followed a trickle of people into a single-story cinder-block building behind the main street and found a seat among the rows of folding chairs. The group appeared to be a mix of academics and ordinary citizens, although most of the latter wore clothes made of natural fibers. She was early, so she pulled her class notebook out of her bag and started to review the notes she had taken at the class earlier in the day.

At ten minutes past the designated start time, Michael stood up behind the podium at the front of the room and tapped the microphone to assure that it was live. He scanned the audience, clearly disappointed: by Meg’s count there were no more than twenty-five people in the room, including the cluster of people standing behind Michael. Had he hoped for more? Meg recognized a couple of faces, including the young woman—Daphne something—who had accompanied Michael to Jason’s wake at the university.

Michael had to bend down to speak into the microphone, and he took a couple of seconds to adjust its height before he began. “Welcome, everyone, to this meeting of GreenGrow. Before we begin, we’d like to make a public statement about the unfortunate death of our colleague Jason Miller and to let you know of our plans going forward. Jason was a founder of this organization, and his efforts . . .” Meg tuned out Michael’s actual words while studying his performance. He was good: earnest and sincere. He ended his quasi eulogy quickly yet gracefully, asking for a moment of silence for Jason. The room fell silent, and Meg looked at her hands. Although she hadn’t known Jason personally, she was coming to know him through his associates—and she felt bad that she didn’t like what she had learned about him. So far he had emerged as overbearing and fanatical. He had been emotionally invested in GreenGrow, but at the expense of his academic career, and it sounded as though he had been in the process of alienating many of his colleagues even here. He had had a vision, no doubt, but apparently hadn’t been interested in tolerating anyone else’s views.

Michael began speaking again, and Meg brought her focus back to him. “We at GreenGrow want to continue Jason’s work in eliminating toxic chemicals in our food, and to that end we have been working on developing a number of new programs to spread our ideas to the public.” He went on to detail the updated newsletter they planned to distribute, the expansion of their website, the collaboration in the summer with the Pioneer Valley association that sponsored various farmers markets throughout the region. All good ideas, Meg thought, and she sat up straighter and paid closer attention. Occasionally she shifted her glance to the other members of the GreenGrow group. They appeared generally enthusiastic, though Daphne still looked sullen, as she had at the wake.

After another ten or fifteen minutes, Michael wrapped up his presentation. “We’d be delighted if you would all stay a bit longer and join us in some refreshments.” He smiled. “We like to say they’re our best advertising. All made from locally grown, pesticide-free ingredients. And please ask us questions about anything you like.” He ducked his head shyly, still smiling, and a few people clapped in a haphazard way before standing up and stretching. The majority moved toward the front of the room, where Meg saw a table that until now had been concealed by the GreenGrow members. The surge of people suggested that either they were very hungry or the products, natural or otherwise, were very good. Meg decided to investigate more closely.

She was filling a small plate with an interesting if eclectic sampling of cookies, cakes, and cheeses when Michael came up beside her. “I’m glad you could come, Meg. What did you think?”

“I thought you handled that very well. And I’m impressed with what you’ve put together. I’ll take a look at the website. Has it gone live yet?”

“In a couple of days. Jason didn’t think that kind of thing was important, so it’s something I’ve been working on in my spare time.”

“It seems to me a website is an excellent way to draw attention to your efforts, and to reach a wider audience.” She bit into a cracker she had slathered with what she hoped was goat cheese. “Wow, this is good. It’s local?”

Michael nodded. “Yes. The cheese comes from a farm about five miles from here. We’re not ready to compete with the artisanal cheese makers in Vermont, but we’re getting there.”

“What else do you promote here?”

“Honey, of course. Lots of fruits and vegetables, later in the season. Various milk products from cattle that haven’t been dosed with antibiotics or chemical-laced feeds—all grass-fed. Eggs from free-range chickens. I can give you some more literature, if you’re really interested.”

“I’d like to know more about
all
of this,” Meg answered, surprised to find that she really meant it.

Michael looked away from her and raised a hand to someone across the room. “Excuse me, but I need to talk to him—he’s from the local paper. Why don’t you talk to some of our other members?”

“I will.” Meg refilled her plate, then wandered over to Daphne, who hovered near the edge of a group of people without really being part of it. “Daphne, right? I met you at the university.”

Reluctantly Daphne peeled herself away from the group. “Yeah. And you’re the woman who owns the place where Jason was found.”

“Yes. Meg Corey. Did you know him well?”

Daphne drew herself up. “I was his girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The words sounded lame even to Meg, but she had nothing better to say. Better to fall back on platitudes, since Daphne looked as though she would take offense at almost anything that Meg offered. “He sounds like he was a very committed man.”

“He was. He really cared about natural foods and keeping our crops pure. Not like some of these people here.” Daphne uttered the last sentence in a low voice, and Meg wondered if she was supposed to hear. So there was dissent in the ranks?

Daphne was on a roll. “The chemical establishment wants to make money off of the farmers, get them hooked on spraying or whatever, and keep them hooked. And when the pests become resistant to one form of chemical, guess what? There’s the chemical company with something newer and better. And probably more expensive. Do you have any idea how much chemical treatments add to the cost of the food you eat? Do you?”

“No, I don’t. I never gave it much thought until I ended up with my orchard,” Meg admitted.

Michael, having finished his conversation with the local reporter, came up beside Daphne and laid a hand on her arm. “Daphne, you don’t have to be too hard on her. I said I’d give her our materials, and she’s willing to look at them.”

Daphne gave him a sidelong glance laden with venom. “Yeah, right. She’s working with Ramsdell at the university, isn’t she?”

“He’s been managing the orchard for years,” Meg said. “I haven’t heard any complaints. Do you have a problem with him?”

Michael answered, cutting off Daphne before she could protest. “Actually he’s one of the more responsible scientists in this area. At least he doesn’t dismiss GreenGrow out of hand. And he tried to help Jason.”

“Help?” Daphne sputtered. “He told Jason his thesis research was sloppy and he’d have to redo all his analyses. And then he turns around and tells him that he’s out of time. You call that help?”

“Daphne, I don’t think he put it quite that strongly. He said he thought some of the analyses were a little superficial and Jason should look them over more critically. And he was only following university guidelines, as far as timing. Jason just wasn’t very focused on the academic side of things.”

Poor Michael looked uncomfortable airing Jason’s dirty academic laundry in front of Meg, but he couldn’t stem Daphne’s tide of hostility. “And why should he have been, with an advisor like Ramsdell? Holds himself up as Mr. High and Mighty, let’s all find a middle path and use chemicals responsibly, blah, blah, blah. All the time he’s been sucking up to the chemical industry.”

“Daphne!” Michael’s voice had taken on an edge. “I think you’re making far too much of that.”

Daphne turned to face Michael. “What? I saw him with that guy Kurtz, the big man at DeBroCo. And they looked pretty friendly to me.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Chemical companies come around all the time, looking for new opportunities. DeBroCo’s been funding scholarships and research at the university for years. Ramsdell is probably on his regular call list.”

“Michael, you are so naïve! Just wait—there’s going to be a big announcement any day now, and then you’ll see how he’s pulled the wool over your eyes. You and a lot of other people!”

“Daphne, that’s enough! This is not the time or the place to discuss this.” He held Daphne’s gaze for a moment, and finally she turned away from him to address Meg. “You—ask Ramsdell about the money DeBroCo is throwing at the university. He’s going to come out of this smelling like a rose, and GreenGrow’s going to get screwed. Again.” She turned on her heel and stalked away.

Michael shook his head. “Sorry about that. She’s upset about Jason’s death. And I think his attitude was kind of contagious, and now she’s seeing conspiracies everywhere.”

Meg felt sorry for Michael, having to deal with such histrionics. “I can understand that. But what was she talking about?”

Michael shrugged. “We don’t have all the details, but the rumors are that the university has been negotiating something big with DeBroCo Pharmaceuticals, and it’s likely to be announced any time now.”

“And Christopher has something to do with this?”

“Looks like it. I don’t know much, only what I hear. Why don’t you ask him?”

And then report back to you? Not likely.
“I’ll be interested to hear what he has to say,” Meg replied noncommittally. But she did wonder if there was any truth to the rumors, or if GreenGrow was just seeing evil pesticide promoters under every rock. What was the saying? Even paranoid people were right sometimes? Not that there was any reason for Christopher to have told her about university plans, public or private, confirmed or anticipated. But she knew that he was worried about his own future—he had told her as much when it had looked as though her orchard was destined to be paved over for parking for a planned minimall in her backyard. Even though that threat had been quashed, she knew that funding was always an issue within a university, and that popularity of disciplines and departments waxed and waned. But would Christopher sell out to corporate interests? It seemed out of character for him.

Michael seemed eager to talk to the rest of the dwindling crowd. Meg waved him off. “Michael, thanks for inviting me to the meeting, and for the information. You’ve given me a lot to think about. You make a good case for the organic viewpoint.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated. “Jason was a good guy and he really cared, but he was pretty pushy, and I think it put some people off. I try to present a more balanced and practical approach. But he did a lot for GreenGrow.” The last statement sounded perfunctory to Meg’s ears.

“I’m sure he did. And I hope that the police figure out what happened to him.”

“So do I, Meg. Thanks for coming.”

Meg watched him work the rest of the small crowd. He did seem at ease, and he was clearly knowledgeable. He might make a good leader, out from Jason’s shadow.

As Meg drove home in the dark, she wondered,
Why is it that everything I look into turns out to make everything else more complicated?
Did she now have to add Christopher to the list of those who might have wanted Jason dead?