Rotten to the Core (17 page)

Wednesday morning after breakfast, Meg climbed up the hill to the orchard, hoping to find Christopher there. She was in luck: he
was
there, and even better, he wasn’t accompanied by his students. He waved when he saw her, and she approached him with an uncomfortable mix of anxiety and hope. Surely the rumors she’d heard at the GreenGrow meeting were only that.

“Good morning, my dear!” Christopher said warmly.

“It looks as though the buds are forming well. It shouldn’t be long now until we start to see some color.”

“Green tip, right?” Meg said. “Listen, can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course. Is this about Bree?”

“No, we’re fine. This is about you, and your department.”

“Oh dear, that sounds serious. Perhaps we should go inside?”

“No, I’d rather walk, if that’s all right with you.”

“If you prefer.” As Meg set off down the cleared space between two rows of apple trees, Christopher fell into step alongside her. “Is something troubling you?”

Meg fumbled to begin, then decided to work her way around to her real concern. “Christopher, you told me you use some pesticides in managing this orchard?”

“Yes, I do, judiciously.”

“How do you get them? Can any ordinary citizen go online and buy whatever they want?”

Christopher paused to seize a low-hanging branch, examining the buds on it. “Of course a person such as yourself may go to any garden center and buy and store small amounts of any number of pesticides and herbicides, for home use. For agricultural use, on a larger scale, there is a paper trail. Moreover, handlers—anyone who mixes, loads, or applies pesticides—are given formal safety training. Pesticides must be clearly labeled and identified as toxic. When they are applied in the field, clear warnings must be posted.”

“So the short answer is, there are lots of regulations in place for large-scale use?”

“I think it would be accurate to say that. Not that they are always followed precisely, but I have always maintained strict standards, personally and to protect my students.” Christopher stopped walking, forcing Meg to stop as well. “Meg, I’m happy to answer your questions, but I have a feeling you’re leading up to something. Why are you asking? Is this about Jason’s death?”

Meg met his gaze. “Yes, it is. Look, I told you about the pesticide that was found in the barn, right?”

“You did. Methidathion. I checked my records, and we haven’t used it on this site for several years. Particularly after we started having troubles with bees dying off.”

“Could the container in the barn have been left over from then?”

“Meg, I would say with some degree of assurance that any chemicals found in your barn did not belong to the university. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“In part. Do you still have any methidathion at the university?”

Christopher shook his head. “I can’t say definitively. It has other applications than in orchards, and other faculty members may be using it. And the amount required to kill a single person would probably not be significant. Let me ask
you
a question: have the authorities determined that methidathion was the cause of death?”

“If they have, they haven’t told me, but that’s no surprise. All I know for sure is that the authorities believe Jason was poisoned, but I don’t know if they’ve narrowed down which poison or how he took it. I’m just trying to understand how someone would go about getting hold of a poison.” Meg decided to try another tack. “Can you think of any reason why Jason would have been here? I mean, I’d never met him, never had any contact with him. Why here, why now?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that, my dear. The department’s involvement with this orchard is well known and has been going on for years. Perhaps he hoped he could persuade you to adopt his philosophy rather than mine. I’m sorry if I have in any way dragged you into something unpleasant, but I confess I have no idea how that could have come about.”

“I know. Listen, Christopher . . .” Meg wondered whether bringing up what she had heard from Michael and Daphne was worth it, but she might as well get it all out into the open now. “I went to a GreenGrow meeting in Amherst last night,” she began.

“Ah. Has Michael taken the reins in hand?”

“Yes, and he seems to be doing well. But we got to talking afterwards, and he mentioned something that bothered me.”

“What would that be?”

“Apparently some people believe that you are working with a major pesticide company. He and others saw you with one of their executives.”

Meg hoped that Christopher would deny it. When he sighed and took his time answering, she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the March breeze sweeping over the hillside.

At last he spoke. “Meg, I don’t wish to mislead you. Michael is no doubt referring to DeBroCo, which has sponsored various programs in the Life Sciences Department for years. If I recall, Bree has benefitted from their scholarship funding. Recently I have met with a representative of DeBroCo about something new, and no doubt some well-meaning member of GreenGrow saw us and misconstrued the situation. But I can’t say more at this time.”

Meg wavered. She had known Christopher only a short time, but she would have said they were friends, and his evasiveness troubled her. Did he have something to hide?

He was still talking. “Please don’t take this amiss, Meg. I can understand how this might look to you, and if it were only I who was involved, I would share the details in a moment. But there are others who have an interest, and I am not at liberty to speak for them. Let me assure you that this matter will be resolved shortly, and then I will be able to give you a full account.”

She remained unconvinced, but what could she do? She had no reason to distrust Christopher, save for the gossip of a few people from GreenGrow, and she wasn’t sure whether she had any grounds to believe them.

She summoned a smile. “Christopher, I’m sure you have good reasons for not telling me, and I look forward to a full account whenever you can speak freely.”

“Thank you, my dear. I will not abuse your trust.” He glanced at his watch. “Heavens, I’ve overstayed. I have office hours in half an hour. You’ll excuse me if I run?”

“Of course.”

He lingered a moment longer. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Meg. This will all be cleared up soon. In the meantime, we should schedule some time to review your plans for the storage units. Bree mentioned them to me.”

“Fine, Christopher. I’ll be here.” By then she was speaking to his retreating back, as he hurried toward his van.

She had no more answers now than she had had earlier. Christopher had disavowed any knowledge of the pesticide from the barn, and she couldn’t prove or disprove anything. He had admitted that he was involved somehow with a pesticide purveyor, a fact that had set off alarm bells with the GreenGrow people. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation, but Christopher was not willing to share it with her. Things were getting murkier by the day.

Meg was in the middle of trying to put together something for lunch when Seth appeared in her driveway. She opened the kitchen door as he approached. “Hi, Seth. Come on in.”

“Wow!” Seth had made it three feet inside the door and was now staring at the denuded floor. “When did you do this?”

“Um, Monday? I wanted something to take my mind off . . . everything, and this is what happened. You approve?”

“You’ve still got some work to do, but it looks great. You are planning to leave it bare?” he added anxiously.

“I think so. Seems a shame to cover it up again, now that I’ve put so much work into cleaning it off, and the wood looks nice. Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Did you drop by to chat or was there another reason?”

“Actually, I stopped by to ask if you’ve done anything about a tractor.”

“What?” That was the last thing she expected to hear.

“Bree said you were going to need something to haul your apples around.”

“Oh, right. We didn’t find one buried in all that junk in the barn, did we?”

“No. The sisters probably sold off whatever they could, since they weren’t using it.”

“And left the rest to rust in the fields, apparently.” She had seen several rusted tangles of machinery scattered around the place.

“That they did.” Seth was all but bouncing with repressed excitement. “But the good news is, my friend Eric’s got a line on a great used tractor, and he can get you a good price for it.”

Meg recalled that Eric Putnam was a long-time friend of Seth’s; his day job was teaching at UMass, but he spent most of his free time prowling for antique salvage. Eric had sold Meg the antique clock that graced the space over her mantel. And Seth gladly took all of the antique plumbing fixtures Eric could find, for his growing plumbing and renovation business.

“You know I don’t know squat about tractors. Or how to use one.” Meg still wasn’t sure what she would do with a tractor, of any age or condition.

“You’re smart—you can learn. You interested?”

“What, I have to decide right now?”

“If you don’t want it, Eric will find someone else. But the seller’s in a hurry to get rid of it.”

Seth looked so excited that Meg hated to disappoint him. “I guess. Where is this thing? Does it even run?”

Seth waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about that. I can get it running and figure out what attachments you’ll need.”

“Attachments? Wait a minute—I don’t even know how it works, and now you’re adding stuff to it?”

“Just a way to move your apples from one place to another, and maybe something to mow between the trees. No big deal.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. When I was a kid, I used to pick up some spare change after school during harvest season, picking apples. I have a good idea what you’ll need. And I like machines. You want to go?”

“Okay, okay. Where are we going?”

“Williamsburg—it’s a small town north of here. Let me give Eric a call, let him know we’re coming.”

Seth finished up his call in less than a minute. “He’s good to go. He thinks it hasn’t run for a while, but it’s in pretty good shape.”

“Lead on. I just love having my nose rubbed in all the things I don’t know about farming.”

“You’re learning fast.”

“I’d better.”

Seth was driving his car today rather than the plumbing van, and Meg settled herself in and buckled her seat belt. “Listen, I don’t want to get stampeded into a decision about a piece of major machinery without time to think about it.”

“Hey, relax. We’ll let you know if it looks like a good machine for you, and if you want it, your handshake is good enough to hold it.”

“That’s not the point. Everything I touch is expensive these days, and I want to be sure I’m spending my money wisely.”

“What, you don’t trust my opinion, or Eric’s?”

“I do, but I still want to pretend to be in charge of this. You big strong men will let me get a word in now and then, right?”

“Of course we will.”

They bantered easily during the drive, past Northampton and north, paralleling the Connecticut River until they arrived in Williamsburg. They drove past a cluster of shops and a restaurant, then climbed up a steep road to where a house and barn, in dire need of paint, clung to the hillside. Meg recognized Eric leaning against a battered pickup truck parked in front of the barn. He was talking to a fortyish woman in faded jeans and a more-faded sweatshirt.

Meg climbed out of the car, watched by a pair of curious goats behind a rickety fence.

“Hey, Seth, Meg. This is Florence Lucas.”

The woman stepped forward and Meg shook her hand. Her grip was strong, her palm rough. “I’m taking my own name back—Florence Lusardi. Eric here says you need a tractor?”

“That’s what people keep telling me. I just took over an orchard in Granford, and I’m kind of starting from scratch.” Meg was conscious of Florence’s cool stare, and she wondered if she looked as clueless as she felt.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, I’m from Boston.”

“Think farming is a cute hobby?”

Meg immediately felt defensive. “No, I don’t. I realize it takes hard work, and I’m not just dabbling. I want to make this orchard economically viable, and to do that I need equipment. Eric said you had a tractor to sell?” Meg realized that the two men hadn’t said anything, and wondered if Seth was trying to suppress a smile.

Florence finally softened and produced a smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to give you a hard time. But I hate these city types who come out here and buy a place, and then get fed up and leave again. Like my ex. He used to have a decent job in Springfield, and then a few years ago he ups and decides he wants to be a farmer. I told him he was crazy, but he didn’t listen to me. He went out and bought all this equipment, and he used it for a few months, and then, surprise, he lost interest. So, yes, I’ve got this tractor to unload. Want to see it?”