Rotten to the Core (25 page)

Rachel chewed vigorously. “The second, please. The rest I can read in the paper.”

Meg sipped her wine before answering. “I did a little Internet digging about them when I first heard about the deal. They’ve been getting a lot of flack about some of their products—inadequate labeling, cutting corners in the testing, maybe even concealing test results. Probably typical of the stuff that kind of company faces all the time, but DeBroCo’s gotten a lot of negative publicity. I think they see this as a good opportunity for them to mend some fences and to come out looking like the good guys.”

“Are you saying they aren’t?”

“Good guys? I don’t know. I don’t think they’re any worse than any big company in the business.”

“But?” Rachel stopped eating for a moment to look at Meg.

Meg shrugged, and picked up a forkful of salad. “There is no but, really. It just felt wrong, somehow—too calculating.”

“Well, that’s why you left the big, bad business world, right? All those jerks in suits.”

“In part. But that doesn’t mean the company is rotten or the deal is bad. And I trust that Christopher and the university know what they’re doing. Certainly better than I do.”

“And Christopher gets to keep working with your orchard, and the university gets a nice gift, and all’s right with the world. Right?”

“I guess.” Meg hesitated for a moment before adding, “The police have decided that Jason was poisoned with a pesticide.”

Rachel sat back in her chair. “Damn! That’s too bad. Do they have any suspects?”

“Not that I know of, but it’s not like they would tell me anyway. I wondered if DeBroCo had tried to eliminate him, but that seems ridiculous.”

Rachel speared a few more pieces of chicken from the casserole. “I agree. Face it, Jason was small potatoes, strictly local. He was more bluster than bite, and most people around here knew it, including the members of the press. At worst he was an annoyance, but I can’t see a big company going to the trouble of taking him out. You think they would hire a hit man? Where are they based, New Jersey?”

Meg smiled in spite of herself. “Delaware. And that’s pretty much my conclusion—why would they bother? It’s just so frustrating that the police aren’t making any progress. Okay, Jason was irritating, but who wanted him dead? Do you know, so far I haven’t found anyone around here who even liked him, unless you count his would-be girlfriend, and from what other people have told me, he barely noticed her. Even Michael, who was his friend and partner, was getting tired of him. Sad commentary, isn’t it? To leave the world without anyone to mourn for you?”

“Let’s hope his parents loved him, at least. Meg, are you getting depressed sitting in that house of yours, or are you sniffing too much solvent from your floor finishing? Because you are sounding a little odd.”

“Gee, thanks. And, no, I read the instructions for the polyurethane very thoroughly and provided adequate ventilation. As for depressed—who has time? I have a cat, and now I have two goats to feed, thanks to your soft-hearted brother. And I can drive a tractor! There’s one achievement I never expected.”

“Okay, I’ll believe you, for now.”

“But Jason is still dead, and I just think that somebody should care. And I’d like to know who did it, so I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Fair enough. I would, too, if I were in your shoes. But what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. The easiest thing to do would be to just stay out of it.” Meg stopped abruptly.

Rachel snorted with laughter. “Don’t be ridiculous. You found the body, in your own backyard, literally. Of course you want to know what happened. Just don’t drive yourself nuts, okay? Excuse me while I go check on the kids and make sure they’re getting something done.”

Rachel stood up and went through the swinging door to the kitchen, where Meg heard her barking orders to the kids. She could pick out the word “bath” and heated protests from Chloe and Matthew, and then she heard the thunder of reluctant young feet stomping up the back stairs. Meg stood up and drifted around the room, admiring the ornate Victorian sideboard filled with mismatched china and the opulent dark wallpaper with clusters of anonymous fruits. Everything was handsome and fit together well, but truthfully Meg preferred the cleaner, simpler lines of her own house. She wondered what she was going to do about buying furniture. The orphaned junk the tenants had left behind was not even worth considering, and she didn’t have much of her own to show for her years of apartment living. She was going to need something to sit on and something to put things in, but her budget was already strained and she still needed to buy new kitchen appliances. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Maybe she could start growing her own vegetables to save a little money? Surely there would’ve once been a vegetable plot somewhere near the house—she’d have to go looking for it. And she could can and pickle and . . . whatever it was people had done in the old days.

Rachel returned. “Well, they’re upstairs and they say they’re going to take their baths, but if I don’t hear running water soon, I’ll have to go prod them. Okay: more wine or ice cream now?”

Meg considered. The only journey she had before her at the moment was up the stairs. “One more glass?”

“Done.” Rachel tipped the wine bottle over Meg’s glass, then refilled her own. “Do you know, I can’t remember the last intelligent conversation I’ve had with a friend? I talk to the kids, I talk to Noah, sure. I talk to the guests, but they don’t stick around for dinner, and I don’t want to be pushy if they’re here on vacation. But because I do have guests often, it’s hard for me to join other organizations or just go out, beyond the essentials like PTA meetings. So this is a real treat for me, Meg.”

“Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have a friend around here.”

Rachel waved an airy hand. “You’ll make friends. Just give it time. You’re still the new kid. So you want to discuss world peace, or which movie star is sleeping with someone else’s husband, or something closer to home?”

“Like where to get a deal on a new refrigerator?”

“Ask Seth. He’ll know.”

“He always does. He knows everybody. I can’t imagine being that connected anywhere.”

“Look, there’s a downside to living in one place all your life. Everybody knows your business, and your parents’ and your grandparents’. Sometimes you can get claustrophobic, if you know what I mean.”

“Maybe. But I lived in Boston for years and I didn’t even know the names of the other people in my apartment building. There were a lot of people around all the time, but it was easy to feel lonely. I suppose that was one reason why it was so easy to leave. So I’m still learning about how this place works.”

Rachel swirled her wine in her glass, watching the whirlpool. “Listen, Meg, about Seth . . .”

Meg tensed. “Uh-huh,” she said neutrally.

Rachel must have noticed her response, because she looked up and grinned at her. “No, it’s nothing bad. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, and I mean that in a good way. Sure, Seth’s Mr. Nice Guy, always helping everybody out. But he’s gone an extra mile for you. Look, it’s none of my business, but I know he likes you.”

Meg suddenly felt nervous. “Wait—before you go any further, Seth is a good friend and neighbor, and a business partner of sorts. But I’m not at a point where I can deal with anything more than that right now.”

Rachel was watching her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll stop. And Seth didn’t ask me to play go-between. It’s just that I’m happy with my life, with my husband and kids, and I want to see other people happy, too, and I love Seth, and I’ve been worried for him ever since his divorce, and . . .”

“I get the picture, Rachel. But give me a little time, will you? I’ve been here, what, a few months? And in that time I’ve had an awful lot to deal with, not even including trying to learn how to run an orchard when I usually have trouble keeping an African violet alive, and working hard to keep my house from falling down around my ears. I guess what I’m saying is, I really don’t have the time or energy to even think about anything like a relationship at the moment. I can promise you that when I do, I’ll put Seth on my short list, okay?”

“Good enough. I’ll shut up. So, ready for ice cream now?”

Later, full of three flavors of ice cream and tucked into one of Rachel’s delightfully frilly guest rooms, Meg thought back on Rachel’s comments about Seth. Meg meant what she had said: after all of the recent upheavals in her life, she had no energy left to give to a relationship. No matter how nice it felt to have someone watching out for her, no matter how good it felt to have someone’s arms around her.
No, Meg, stop right there.
Right now she needed friends, and she needed to get her life together. She still didn’t know if she could manage to make a living from the orchard, and she was painfully aware of how little she knew about agriculture in general. She was forced to rely on others, like Christopher and Bree, and hope they knew what they were doing. The whole situation was unsettling. She couldn’t deal with everything at once. So she just did what she could to keep moving forward.

Maybe having the house to work on was a good thing. There were specific, concrete tasks she could tackle, with real results. Like the kitchen floor. It had looked so good that afternoon, clean and fresh, gleaming with its first coat of finish. She couldn’t wait to see it when she was done, and then she would get to enjoy the results each and every day.

She fell asleep thinking of the kitchen floor.

When Meg woke up, the sun was shining, and all she really wanted to do was get back to the house and see how her kitchen floor looked in the morning light—and whether the finish was dry enough to sand. But she had a class to go to, so the floor would have to wait. Just as well—it hadn’t had a full twenty-four hours to dry yet. She checked her watch: six thirty. Early still, but she could hear sounds coming from the kitchen, including childish voices. What time did school start these days?

She showered, pulled on a clean shirt and jeans, and made her way downstairs. Rachel was coordinating a scene of controlled chaos. “Eat your oatmeal, Matthew. I’m not driving you to school just because you don’t like the stuff. It’s good for you. Chloe, please put on a sweater. I don’t care how trendy that top is—you’ve already got goose bumps and you haven’t even left the house. Hi, Meg—grab yourself a cup of coffee.”

Meg followed instructions and then stayed out of the way while Rachel orchestrated the children’s departure. When the door shut behind them, Rachel filled another mug for herself. “I can’t understand why we go through the same arguments each and every morning. And they aren’t even teenagers yet!” She dropped into a chair across from Meg. “You’re up early.”

“I woke up thinking about checking out the floor while there was natural light in the kitchen, but then I remembered I’ve got class this morning.”

“I can’t wait to see the results. I would’ve gone that route with this floor here, but it’s crappy subflooring, and we get far too much traffic in here anyway. This stuff is tough and easy to keep clean. But I’m still jealous.”

“Really? I’ve still got to find new appliances and cupboards and all that stuff. And I gather none of that is cheap. Last time I was at the home store, I was looking at refrigerators, and they were going for well over a thousand dollars.”

Rachel waved a dismissive hand. “That’s if you want all the bells and whistles, like in-door ice cube dispensers. You don’t have to spend that much for a plain vanilla model. You’ll find something you can afford.”

They chatted amiably while Meg nibbled on Rachel’s memorable muffins, and by eight she was ready to hit the road. She sat through her class, then drove home on autopilot, her mind reviewing lists: check if the floor was dry. Sandpaper? Did she have the right grit? Could she do it with a pole sander, or was she going to have to get down on her hands and knees and go over it by hand? How much sanding was enough? Too much? What was she supposed to mop with to get rid of the dust from the sanding?

She was surprised how quickly she arrived at her own driveway—and surprised to see two other cars parked there. One was Bree’s, but she didn’t recognize the other one. She let herself in the front door and was greeted by an annoyed Lolly. “Hello?” she called out as she knelt to rub Lolly’s head. She hung up her coat on the stand in the hall, then walked through to the dining room. Lolly’s dish was half-full of fresh food, so Bree must have fed her. Was Lolly complaining about still being banned from the kitchen, or was she annoyed about having someone else in the house? “Bree? You upstairs?” She scooped up Lolly, then cautiously opened the door to the kitchen, knelt down, and felt the floor. The surface felt completely dry, and the satin polyurethane looked even and smooth.
Well done, Meg!
Lolly was squirming in her arms, so she shut the door again and put the cat down. Time to change clothes and get back to working on the floor. Maybe she could even press Bree into service—two hands would make things go a lot faster.