Rotten to the Core (26 page)

She was near the foot of the stairs when she saw Bree coming down. And she wasn’t alone: behind her trailed Michael, barefoot. When she spotted Meg, Bree raised her chin defiantly; Michael looked sheepish and uncertain. Meg stifled a laugh, although she felt a twinge of concern. She was unaccustomed to having a roommate, at least in recent years, and she and Bree had never discussed issues such as “gentleman callers.” Not that she had any moral objections, though it might be a good idea to set a few guidelines. But Michael? That was a surprise.

“Hi, Bree, Michael. Have you guys eaten?” A lame question, but safe.

“No, we were about to go out and find something. I didn’t want to mess with the kitchen. Floor looks good.” Bree relaxed slightly, now that the first awkward moment had passed.

“Thanks. I’ve got to sand it down and put on a second coat this afternoon. Did you have plans for today in the orchard?”

“Professor Ramsdell said he was coming by later, and I need to talk with him. Why, do you want some help with the floor?”

“If you’ve got the time. Why don’t you two go find some food, and I’ll get set up here. Nice to see you again, Michael.”

Michael was sitting on the stairs pulling on his shoes, and he mumbled something, avoiding her eyes. Meg, feeling old, went back to the dining room to inventory her supplies. She heard the door slam as they left, heard two cars start up. She went up the stairs to change into work clothes, thinking hard. Bree and Michael: how long had that been going on? More specifically, had they been involved—if that was what they were—before Jason’s death? Did it matter? Bree had made it clear that she’d had no interest in Jason, but how would Jason have felt about Bree and Michael together? Would he have been ticked off? And what might he have done about it?

Not that Bree’s love life was any of her business, but Meg was going to have to ask her about it.

She shut Lolly in the front parlor, propped open the doors to the kitchen, opened the windows wide, put on her dust mask, and was down on her knees sanding when she heard Bree’s car return. She stood up and dusted herself off, and went to intercept Bree in the front hall. “Hi.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean—” Bree began abruptly.

Meg stopped her. “Bree, don’t worry about it. I’m not your mother, you’re an adult, and you’re free to do whatever you want. If you want to have guests, that’s your business.” Meg hesitated a moment. “I was just kind of surprised to see Michael.”

To her surprise, Bree looked almost shy. “Yeah, well, it’s kind of new. I mean, I haven’t had much to do with the whole GreenGrow crowd again until recently, you know? Trying to stay away from Jason in particular. And I guess I assumed that Michael would be a lot like Jason, since they were friends. But he’s not. He’s really nice, and a lot less pushy. So we just sort of connected.”

Meg interrupted. “Was it before . . . ?”

“Before Jason died? Yeah.”

One more question. “Did Jason know?”

Bree shook her head. “I don’t think so. Like I said, I stayed away from GreenGrow, so Michael and I went other places. Anyway, sorry if I should have asked you before bringing Michael here; I lived with my auntie growing up, and she was pretty strict, and then I’ve been living in a dorm, where nobody much cares what you do as long as you don’t burn the place down. So I’m not sure what the rules are, you know?”

“I know. I’m new to this, too. But it doesn’t have to be a problem. And Michael seems like a good guy.” Meg squashed the thought that if Jason had known about Bree and Michael, Jason might have done something about it. But what? Started a fight with Michael? Killed himself in despair? “Look, I want to get the floor sanded down so I can put on another coat of finish before it gets dark. Can you help me with that? This round of sanding is just to smooth out the bubbles and whatever fuzz got stuck in the finish, not to mention cat hair. I’m sure there’s plenty of that. And then we can talk to Christopher.”

“Sounds good to me. You got sandpaper?”

They were about halfway through the sanding process, working in different corners of the room, when Bree spoke up. “Hey, listen, what’s going on with you and Seth?”

“What?” Meg bristled, but then she realized that if she had a right to talk about Bree’s visitors, Bree probably had a fair claim to ask about hers. Seth was around a lot. “Well, you know, he’s using the shop for his new office. And he’s been helping me with other stuff about the house.”

“Yeah, but is that all?”

“We’re friends.”

“Okay. I just didn’t want to say anything stupid. It’s cool.”

Gee, thanks
, Meg thought.
Time to change the subject.
“I think we’re just about done with the sanding. Let me run a tack cloth over the floor and then the buffer. Thanks for helping. I think applying the finish is a one-person job.”

Bree stood up and brushed off her pants. “It’s looking great. Listen, Meg, I’m glad you’re okay about Michael. I don’t know if it’s going anywhere, but we’ll see. And I didn’t mean to be pushy about you and Seth.”

“That’s okay. If we’re living under one roof, you have a right to know what’s going on, too. Let me get this finished up, and by then Christopher should be here.”

As Meg mopped, buffed, and spread finish, she turned over in her mind what she had heard—and not heard—at the press conference the day before. She hadn’t had time to watch the news or to read the morning paper, but she could guess what the local press would say. The announcement of the new project following hard on the heels of Jason’s death troubled her. She was going to have to lay some of these demons to rest, assuming the state police didn’t manage to do it. What the heck were they doing, anyway?

With a second coat of finish applied, Meg carefully closed the door to the kitchen and went upstairs to change yet again. From the front bedroom she spotted the UMass van pass by, so she hurried into her clothes, found her coat and keys downstairs, and went out to meet Christopher in the orchard.

He greeted her happily. “Meg, I’m so glad to see you. You left quite quickly last evening, and we didn’t have a chance to chat.”

“I thought you and the corporate types would have more than enough to talk about.”

“Ah, Meg, you sound a bit jaded. So you weren’t impressed by the fuss and feathers?”

Meg shrugged, not sure how far she wanted to go. “Christopher, are you sure this is on the up-and-up? I mean, is this just a nice PR stunt for DeBroCo, and in a year or two there’ll be some mysterious construction delays or the university will decide it wants to move in a different direction?”

Christopher looked at her with something like sadness before he answered. “I can see how it might look to you, but in fact we have been negotiating this agreement for quite a while. Multimillion dollar agreements do not happen overnight, as I’m sure you know. They first approached us about two years ago. And I’d like to think that DeBroCo is a responsible and forward-looking partner. They have been aware of the shortcomings of various pesticide approaches for some time, and they have chosen to be proactive in their approach—hence this new collaboration. Does that ease your mind?”

She backpedaled quickly. “Christopher, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to question your professional judgment or the university’s motives. I’m sure it’s a good deal all around. It’s the timing that bothers me—that Jason died just as this new project is announced.”

He searched her face, and gradually his expression softened. “Jason would have had no impact on the outcome—he simply wasn’t important enough, although he might have believed otherwise. But regrettably, that unfortunate young man is creating as much trouble dead as he did in life.”

Isn’t that the truth?
Meg thought.

Bree and Christopher headed back to campus, and Meg tried to decide what to tackle next. She was reluctant to take the tractor out by herself just yet; she wanted a few more practice runs under Bree’s tutelage. The floor would take a day to dry, so there was nothing more to be done there, and she didn’t want to risk other renovations stirring up dust that might mess up the floor. She had learned from experience that the doors and windows and, for all she knew, even the walls of the old house were not precisely airtight, and dust and odors migrated freely through the house.

She realized there was one thing she hadn’t scheduled yet: a vet appointment for the cat. Who knew what nasty bugs or parasites Lolly might have picked up when she was fending for herself in the wild? Though she had never owned a pet before, Meg had a vague idea that there were shots that cats were supposed to have, and she really ought to find out whether Lolly had been spayed. And what would this cost? One more bill she hadn’t anticipated. Did the goats need any medical attention? Was she going to keep the goats? If she was, she needed to name them: Smaller Goat and Larger Goat were not going to work for long.

Seth had recommended a vet, and Meg recalled that it was a woman, but the name had slipped her mind. No way was she going to call him to ask such a simple question- she could figure this out on her own. A quick check of the phone book showed that there was only one who fit the bill within ten miles. Meg dialed and spoke with the harried receptionist.

“Hi, I’m Meg Corey over in Granford, and I recently inherited a cat and wanted to get her looked over. Can I—”

Before she could finish the sentence, the woman on the other end snapped, “We’ve got a cancellation. Can you be here in an hour?”

“Uh, sure, I guess.”

“Great. You’re Corey. Cat’s name?”

“Lavinia.”

“See you then.” The woman hung up without saying good-bye.

Meg was left staring at the phone. She figured it would take half an hour to get there, which left her time to find a map on the computer, and to find some sort of carrying container for Lolly. Meg had an ominous feeling that the cat wouldn’t like that part. Slowly she climbed the stairs in search of a box that Lolly wouldn’t manage to claw her way through in the time it took to drive to the vet’s.

Half an hour later she was on the road, and the cat’s yowls from the box had subsided to the occasional low growl. She managed to find the vet’s office with only one wrong turn, and she struggled to extricate the box containing Lolly from the front seat, without jostling the poor cat too much. “Sorry, sweetie, but I have to do this. It’ll be over soon.” Lolly did not bother to comment. Meg wondered how long it would take the cat to forgive her for such rude handling. Still, she would rather put up with short-term hostility than risk losing Lolly to rabies or distemper or whatever other ailment was making the feline rounds.

Inside, Meg was relieved to find the waiting room empty except for a woman about her age wearing a slightly soiled blue jacket, talking to the receptionist. “I wish you’d asked me first, that’s all. This is the last appointment of the day, right?”

“You were busy, and I figured it didn’t matter if I dropped someone into that empty slot.” The receptionist, her plump face florid beneath a frizz of blondish hair, didn’t look at all intimidated by the doctor’s comment, and from the look on the doctor’s face, this wasn’t a new argument. They both saw Meg at the same time, alerted by Lolly’s renewed complaints. The doctor smiled and walked toward her. “Hi. You must be, uh—we didn’t get your first name, but you’re the three o’clock? With Lavinia?”

“That’s me. I’m Meg. I take it you’re the vet?”

“Yup. I’m Andrea Bedortha. Come on back and we can exchange all the details. Vivian, can I have a patient record form, please?”

Vivian slammed a clipboard down on the counter, and Andrea smiled sweetly at her and took it. “Thank you, Vivian. Follow me, Meg.”

Andrea led the way down a narrow corridor, with Meg following behind, carrying Lolly’s box. “Interesting surname, Bedortha. Where’s it from?” Meg asked over the cat’s complaints. The neutral linoleum was threaded with claw marks, and a faint smell of urine lingered in the air.

“Right around here, in fact—mainly Springfield. Goes back to the seventeenth century.” The doctor opened a door and gestured her in, closing the door behind them. “Meg, why don’t you let the cat—Lavinia, is it?—out of the box so she can calm down a bit while we talk. That should make things easier for everyone.”

“Okay,” Meg said dubiously. “By the way, I call her Lolly—Lavinia’s the official name.” She placed the box on the floor and opened the top flaps, and Lolly sprang out, gave her a baleful glare, stopped for a moment to wash a particularly critical spot on her flank, then started to prowl around the room, ignoring the people in it.

Andrea gestured toward a plastic-covered chair. “Sit. She’ll be fine. Had her long?”

“No, only a week or so. She kind of showed up one day and adopted me. Seth said he thought he recognized her as one of the neighbors’ cats and said they’d left town. I can’t imagine just abandoning a pet like that, but here she is.”