One Bad Apple (An Orchard Mystery)
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There?s a killer in the orchard? and he?s rotten to the core.
Meg Corey has come to the quaint New England town of Granford, Massachusetts, to sell her mother?s old colonial home and apple orchard. Instead, she becomes embroiled in development plans that include her land?and her former flame from Boston. When he?s found dead in the new septic tank on her property, the police immediately suspect Meg, whose only ally in town is the plumber Seth Chapin. Together, they?ll have to peel back the layers of secrecy that surround the deal in order to find the real murderer? and save the orchard.
out of the septic tank, but on the other hand, the police chief, who couldn’t be more than ten years her senior, was treating her like she was a fragile flower of womanhood. Seth still looked unnerved by his gruesome discovery. The police chief just looked thoughtful. She stayed put. Five minutes later an unmarked van pulled into her driveway and parked behind the police car. A stocky gray-haired man climbed out and approached the group. “Hey, Art, Seth. What’ve you got for me? And who’s this
like a good idea at the time. She hadn’t had anything else to do with herself after her job had vaporized, and there was nothing holding her in Boston. At least she had been careful to work out a formal arrangement with her mother—much as she loved her, Meg knew her mother didn’t have a head for business. Meg made sure that her mother had named her joint owner of the property, which would entitle her to a share of the proceeds from the sale. With the stipulation that Meg had to oversee repairs.
want.” She laughed shortly. “If I even have that choice. After all, half the town thinks I killed Chandler.” “Maybe the detective, but the police chief doesn’t,” Frances replied. “I don’t. Hey, give folks a chance—they don’t even know you. I don’t think they’ve all jumped to the conclusion that you’re a murderer.” “But someone out there is. Damn it, Frances, who killed Chandler? Maybe he exploited people, but he didn’t deserve to die.” “He sure was one busy boy around here, wasn’t he? I get
police credit; they weren’t taking any chances until they had heard both of their stories and could make a guess who the good guys or bad guys were. Gals. Whatever. She sat silently in the rear seat as they drove the short blocks to the police station. She felt powerless, dragged along by the process she had started without any idea where it was going to end up. Damn it, Meg, what’s wrong with you? Chandler died, and you want to see that avenged. Fine. You think Cinda did it. Less fine, but
the chair Cinda had vacated. Meg stared at the worn pattern on the floor, wondering how long she was going to have to sit here. How long before Seth would speak to her again, if ever. She felt numb. How had everything gone so horribly wrong? She had just stood up in a public meeting and accused someone of murder. And—surprise— nobody believed her. But she’d tried to go through the right channels, and no one had paid attention to her. Maybe she was desperate, but she hadn’t seen any other way to