Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery) Read online

  It was after five when Meg walked slowly down the hill, glad to see Seth’s car in the drive, and hoping he had remembered his promise to make dinner. She let herself in by the back door and found Seth absorbed in reading one of her cookbooks.

  “All you need now is an apron, and this would be the perfect picture,” Meg said with a smile when he noticed her.

  “Glad to be of service. You look beat. Where’s Bree?”

  “Bringing the tractor back down the hill for the night. It’s not much, but I’d hate to lose it. There are probably other farmers worse off than I am who might decide to drive off with it. And I am beat. I think I’ll claim executive privilege and grab a shower before she gets here.”

  “Go for it. Dinner should be ready soon.”

  “Sounds good.” Especially since I don’t even have to cook it. Meg trudged up the stairs, feeling every muscle. Twenty minutes later, minus a layer of dirt, she passed Bree coming up the stairs as she went down. “It’s all yours,” Meg said. Bree grunted in return and kept going. Meg ran her fingers through her hair, almost dry already, even though she’d been out of the shower for only a few minutes.

  Back in the kitchen, Meg dropped into a chair, and Seth handed her a glass of chilled wine, a thin sheen of moisture beading the outside. Meg accepted it gratefully and took a long sip. “Oh, that’s good. So, how was your day?”

  “Interesting. I saw the house and went over it with Donald and his insurance assessor. The car did a real number on it—took out the corner altogether, so we have to shore that up so the second story doesn’t collapse. An original eighteenth-century corner cupboard is now in splinters, and a lot of the wainscoting is beyond salvage. A number of windows are gone. Donald is in mourning for every fragment.”

  “I assume you got the job?”

  “Yes. Donald knows my work and trusts me.”

  “How much can be repaired or replaced?” Meg asked, feeling pleasantly buzzed by the wine.

  “All of it, for a price, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem. I’ll check out some of the salvage places locally—you remember Eric, over in Hadley?—and see if there are any windows of the right size. But most likely we’ll have to reconstruct them. Matching the boards for the wainscoting is going to be a bigger problem, since they’ve got to be eighteen inches wide, like yours.”

  “Is that kind of stuff still available?”

  “Not at your local box stores, but there’s an old family-owned sawmill not far from here that can probably help us out.”

  “There used to be a sawmill at the back of this property,” Meg said. “I remember seeing a picture at the historical society in town.”

  Seth sat down across the table from her, with a bottle of beer. “Back in those days it didn’t take anything fancy, and you weren’t supplying more than your own needs and maybe a couple of neighbors. Once the insurance comes up with a figure, I need to go back and get some measurements so I can give Donald estimates for materials, and since he’s got the budget for it, I may call in a professional cleanup team, although I’ll have to keep an eye on them to make sure they don’t take away any of the good stuff that can be reused. Even if it’s only a piece of board, it can be recycled somewhere in the house. Did you ever notice that some of the timbers in this house in the attic were recycled?”

  “No, sir, I did not. How can you tell?”

  “A few of the long beams have mortises that don’t match any timbers with tenons. And they’re pretty major beams. Why waste a perfectly good piece of lumber? Especially one that nobody was ever going to see?”

  “Why is it that you know more about my house than I do?”

  “You know plenty. I just have an eye for construction.”

  Bree came loudly down the stairs from her room, her hair wet. “Something smells great. Are we ready to eat?”

  “Sit and I’ll dish up,” Seth said.

  He looks so cheerful, Meg thought. It can’t be because he likes cooking so much, so it has to be the new project. “You look like a kid with a new toy,” she told Seth.

  He distributed filled plates and sat down. “I feel like that. Historic renovation and reconstruction really are what I like to do best, and I don’t get many opportunities. Hey, you should come see the place, while its bones are bared. Bree, can you spare her for a few hours?”

  “Tomorrow’s okay,” Bree said, her mouth full. “We’ve just started irrigating, and I’ve got to measure the soil moisture. We probably didn’t give it enough today, but I’ve never tried it in this orchard and I didn’t want to waste water. I’ll check it in the morning, but let’s assume it’ll be every other day for the moment.”

  “If your boss is going to give you the time off, Meg”—Seth smiled at Bree—“figure on most of the day tomorrow. That way I can take you to see the sawmill, too.”

  Meg sat back and watched the two of them plan her week for her, but she had no objections. She enjoyed learning about old houses like her own, and she loved sharing Seth’s enthusiasm. For him, his job was the perfect blend of work and pleasure—and how many people could say that?

  “Let me know when you’ve figured out my schedule,” she said with a smile, then dug into her dinner.

  2

  Since Bree had graciously granted her a day off, the next morning Meg enjoyed some cherished moments of leisure, and a second cup of coffee. Her cat Lolly was sitting on the windowsill in the sun, diligently washing her face with a paw, and Meg had actually managed to finish reading the newspaper by the time Seth let himself in the back door.

  “Hey, is there any more of that?” He pointed to Meg’s cup.

  “Help yourself. I’m too lazy to get up.”

  He poured himself a cup and sat down across from her. “You still up for seeing the house?”

  “Sure. I can’t imagine losing an entire corner of my house. What’s going on there now?”

  “Donald insists he’s going to stay there twenty-four-seven with a shotgun in hand, if need be, to drive away any snoops. Or looters. Yesterday I followed the insurance assessor around while he checked it out. He’s a good guy. I’ve worked with him before. Of course, the problem is that anything new that goes in will not only have to meet Donald’s standards but also current code requirements, which is going to make things complicated.”

  “Do you have to bring the rest of the systems up to that standard? Like plumbing and wiring?”

  “Probably, at the least for the repairs. Frankly, if the walls are open it makes sense to upgrade the rest, if I can persuade Donald. I’m still looking into what’s required.”

  “I assume he wants you to get this done fast?”

  “Within reason. I told Donald it might take some time to pull together all the historically correct materials, but I’m already working on it. I think the bottom line is, he’d rather have it done right than done quickly. You ready to go?”

  Meg drained the last of her coffee. “I guess so.”

  “Don’t sound so excited! I thought you’d enjoy it, but if you’d rather take a nap and do your laundry, I’ll understand.”

  He would, too, Meg knew. But this was something she could share with him, and it would help her to understand her own house, and she had the time free, and the sun was shining . . . She had no excuses. “Let’s go.”

  Meg’s house lay close to the south end of Granford, but the whole town extended no more than a few miles to its farthest point. To the north lay Amherst, with a large hill, locally called a mountain, in between. Donald Butterfield’s house lay in the northeast corner of Granford, along the main road heading north. It sat close to the road, typical of the Colonial houses in the area, and as they approached, Meg could see the damaged corner on the near side, draped in billowing blue plastic tarps.

  “Wow. That kid must have been going pretty fast to do so much damage! The house was in generally good shape before, wasn’t it? I mean, no termites or rot?”

  “I don’t know what the police report will say, but yeah, he ha
d to be going close to eighty, way above the speed limit along here. The house was in as good shape as any house this age can be. Does it look familiar?”

  “You mean, does it look like your house and my house?” Seth’s house, as well as his mother Lydia’s, lay just over the hill from Meg’s, no more than a mile or so away, although out of sight. “Pretty much. I’ve already figured out that most Colonials follow the same general pattern, and yours and mine were built about the same time, maybe 1760, right?”

  Seth nodded. “And probably by the same people—neighbors helped each other out.”

  “Nice,” Meg said. “Except I’ve got two windows on the sides, and Donald has only one. And this has only one chimney instead of my two.”

  “Yours had only the big central one originally, remember?”

  “True. So this is like mine, only a little older and a little smaller. The parts the car didn’t take out look to be in decent shape. It’s been painted recently?” Meg was still trying to figure out where she’d find the money to paint her own house, but she had to replace the roof first. She felt a pang of jealousy, looking at the obviously well-tended house in front of her. But at least no car had run into hers.

  “A few years ago. The chimney’s been repointed, too.”

  “Don’t tell me that’s something else I have to worry about,” Meg protested.

  “You can do it when you take care of the roof. Let me show you the rest of the building.” Seth got out of the car and waved at a man who had come out the front door. He was slight, with thinning hair, and appeared to be in his sixties. “Hi, Donald. I brought Meg Corey along to see your place. She lives in the Colonial—”

  “On the Ludlow road—I know the place,” Donald said promptly. “It’s the old Warren house. Welcome, Meg.” He offered his hand and Meg shook it. “I’m sorry we’re not looking our best at the moment. Damn kids.”

  We? He seems to have personalized his house, Meg thought with amusement. “Even with the damage, I can tell you’ve taken good care of the place.”

  “I consider it a privilege to be custodian of a piece of our past, Meg.”

  “Did the appraiser drop off his report, Donald?” Seth asked.

  “He did, and he left a whole stack of papers. I thought for sure Ben Lathrop was going to make me evacuate, but I told him that our forefathers got by just fine without indoor plumbing and electricity, and I didn’t need heat, this time of year.”

  “And he bought that?” Seth asked.

  “Sure did.”

  “Good for him,” Seth said. “I don’t know if you’ve met Ben yet, Meg. He’s our town safety inspector, and he’s been known to be a stickler for regulations.”

  “I had to promise him to have this closed up and back together by the end of the month, Seth,” Donald said. “I know it’s a tight schedule, but he wouldn’t budge. Can you make that work?”

  Seth considered before answering. “If I postpone a couple of other projects I’ve been working on and can get the right people on board, then yes. Problem is, I know you want to keep this authentic, which means it might take longer than usual.”

  “If it’s any help to you, that idiot kid’s father gave me a fat check to get started, and I took it straight to the bank. So if it’s a matter of cost, don’t worry.”

  “That’s not the issue, Donald. Getting the right materials is. But Meg and I are heading over to Nash’s Sawmill from here, and we’ll see what they’ve got in stock, or can get easily.”

  “Good people there,” Donald said. “I like the way they take care of the forest properties they own.”

  “I agree,” Seth said. “They’ve got a solid long-range plan. The problem is, they’re finding it hard with a small sawmill operation to compete with the big chains. Specialty moldings are not enough to keep a business going. But for now, I throw them whatever work I can.”

  “Let me know what you find, Seth,” Donald said.

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  “Nice to meet you, Donald,” Meg said. “I look forward to seeing the progress on your house repairs. It’ll make mine look less overwhelming.”

  “Good to meet you, too, Meg. Maybe sometime I could take the tour of your place? I hear tell you’ve got a well in the basement.”

  Meg laughed. “I do, and there’s still water there. If I’m ever under siege by angry natives, I’m prepared. I’d love to show it to you. Just let me know when you want to stop by—I’m out in the orchard a lot.”

  Donald waved farewell as they pulled away, and when Meg looked last, he was pacing around the broken corner of his house and shaking his head.

  “Poor guy,” she said. “He really loves that house. Does he have any family?”

  “The kids are grown, and his wife left him a few years ago. People in town used to joke that she felt she couldn’t compete with the house. Anyway, Donald’s alone there now. He’s retired, so he doesn’t have much else to do than worry about the place.”

  “I can sympathize up to a point, but I’ve got enough other things going on to keep me from becoming monomaniacal about my house. Of course, I’d have to win a lottery to do all the things I should or I’d like to.”

  “One step at a time, Meg.”

  “I know, I know. Roof first, then paint. But my fondest dream is to have another bathroom. Of course, I can’t pay much, but I might be able to offer some other considerations to a handsome local contractor . . .”

  Seth sneaked a quick glance at her. “I’m not sure how the bookkeeping for that would work. But I’ll keep it in mind,” he said, smiling.

  “You do that,” said Meg. “Okay, so about this sawmill. What were you and Donald talking about, when you said you admired their land management policies?”

  “It’s an interesting story, but I kind of have to go back to the beginning to explain it. Nash’s Sawmill has been in business since the 1740s, and they own a lot of timberland, not just in Granford, but in over twenty other towns in a couple of counties. Massachusetts has what is called Chapter 61, a ten-year management plan for conserving forestland, and Nash’s sticks very closely to it. What that means is that their forests are harvested only periodically and carefully, and they work hard to maintain conservation of soil, water, and wildlife. They even keep the land open for some recreational uses. They plan to hold the timberland for the long term, and even expand it for Chapter 61 conservation. The mill itself is only a small portion of the operation.”

  “That’s impressive,” Meg commented. “Do you know the family?”

  “Some of them. It’s one of the oldest family-run businesses in the country, and it takes more than one generation to manage it. I know some of the younger ones, though unfortunately they may be the last generation to play a role in the company. Over the last few years the sawmill has been mostly a tourist attraction, and it loses money. I have to say I’m tempted to invest in some of their less available woods and stockpile a supply for projects like this, before it’s too late.”

  “So in an odd way, it’s good that car hit Donald’s house now, rather than next year?” Meg asked.

  “You could look at it that way, if you’re a Pollyanna. Not a bad thing to be.” Seth turned into a wide but mostly empty parking lot in front of a long, low building, its axis parallel to the road. “Hang on a sec—I want to see if Jonas is here,” Seth said. “He said he’d be in and out this afternoon.”

  Meg waited while Seth climbed the wooden steps of the building. He returned only a minute or two later. “He’s not around?”

  “Not in the mill,” Seth said, climbing back in the car, “but one of the guys said he’s over at one of his local woodlots, only a few minutes from here. You game to head over?”

  “Hey, I’m enjoying a day when I not only don’t have to do any work, I don’t even have to decide where to drive. It’s fine with me. Do I know this place?”

  “You’ve probably driven by it without noticing. You haven’t been taking many picnics in the park lately, have you?”


  “Who has time? I didn’t even know there are picnic areas around here.”

  “Several. I should show you the map of Granford. We’ve got state-owned land, town-owned land, and privately held land, and most of those properties include some recreational areas. The ones you might have noticed lie along Route 202. That’s where the town’s ball fields are.”

  “I guess I haven’t been paying attention, but if I wanted to picnic I’d be more likely to do it on my own property. Doesn’t all this land with different owners make life complicated for Granford to manage?” The problem had never occurred to Meg when she lived in Boston.

  “It does. It takes a certain amount of cooperation, and a lot of paperwork, but we do have a green space plan in place. Now, Nash’s land is one of those multiuse examples I told you about. There are a few fire pits and some tables and benches. The sad thing is, people can be careless with their fires, and sometimes local kids go out and trash the place because they know no one can see them. But Jonas believes in keeping the land open to the public, even if that means he has to pay for cleanup now and then. And that’s above and beyond logging the forest.”

  Jonas sounded a lot like Seth, putting the needs of the community before his own, or at least before his own financial benefit. No wonder Seth liked working with him; they were a rare breed.

  Another five minutes brought them to a marginally paved road, marked by a discreet sign indicating that picnic facilities were available, though none were visible from the road. Seth turned with the ease of familiarity and followed the lane to where it opened out into a roughly marked parking area, where there were already two other vehicles parked. Seth pulled over to one side and parked. “This is it. That’s Jonas’s truck over there. From here we walk.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Meg said, climbing out of her side. “How do you expect to find him here?”