Free Red Delicious Death by Sheila Connolly Page A

someone held him down.”
    “What? That’s terrible. But how? I mean, Sam was a pretty big guy, young, in good shape.”
    “Hard to tell, but nothing obvious. Of course, they’ll run a more complete tox screen. That might turn up something, though Nicky and Brian swear he didn’t do drugs. No signs of a major struggle. No bruises or other marks on the body, as far as I know. As I said, no blow to the head. But there was one significant piece of evidence—a big muddy footprint on the back of his shirt.”
    Art’s statement met with a few seconds of shocked silence.
    Finally Seth said, “So someone shoved him into the muck and held him down until he suffocated?”
    “Oh, God, Art,” Meg whispered. “That means it is murder. How awful.”
    Art’s face was grim. “Exactly. I don’t have to ask you to keep this quiet, do I? I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you knew the guy and his friends. In fact, you’re probably about the only people in town who did.”
    Meg, Seth, and Bree exchanged wary glances. “Damn!” Meg said. “Does that mean that Marcus is going to want to talk to us?”
    Art sat back in his chair, his shirt buttons bulging. “Maybe. Depends on how he wants to handle things. I think he’ll probably downplay the whole murder angle, at least for now. The press is going to be all over this, you know. And it doesn’t make Granford look good.”
    Seth asked, “He wasn’t killed somewhere else and dumped there, was he?”
    “Doesn’t look like it. Footprints were kind of messed up, but his car was found a mile or two away—of course, the state police are checking that out. No obvious tire tracks, although the lane to the piggery was pretty dry—the only muck was along the verge and in the pen itself, so maybe tire tracks wouldn’t show. But I don’t think anyone could have carried him—he had to run a good 220 pounds. Most likely he died on that spot. Any idea what he might’ve been doing out there?”
    Meg finished the last of her beer, now lukewarm. “Nicky said that he was looking for suppliers, remember? I suppose that included pigs—pork. What kind of operation does the farmer run? I don’t know anything about raising pigs.”
    “Jake Kellogg’s got a real nice setup,” Seth volunteered. “A couple of acres, maybe a dozen pigs at a time. I think he sells to a couple of local restaurants. Anyway, his pigs live in little huts in a field, at least in warm weather, and they can roam around. He feeds ’em real well, too. All pig operations smell, but this one’s well sited, and there’s nobody downwind to complain.”
    “What’s Jake like?” Meg asked. “I don’t think I’ve met him.”
    “Probably not. He’s not the most sociable guy. He’s got to be fifty-odd now, but he’s in good shape. He and his wife raised four kids there—the youngest is still at home. The rest live in-state, but they aren’t interested in the farm.”
    “Is he the type to overreact to trespassers?” Meg asked.
    “Nah, not Jake,” Art responded. “He’s pretty easygoing. Besides, nobody’s going to wander along a back lane and walk off with a pig, are they? And before you ask, I don’t think physically he could have hauled Sam around himself . . .” Art finished dubiously.
    “Jake had a hernia operation a couple of months ago,” Seth added. “I’d wager he saves the heavy lifting for pig food.”
    “Seth, how do you know everything about everyone?” Meg asked, half-admiring, half-baffled.
    “I talk to people, that’s all. And Mom took them over a casserole, when he got out of the hospital. She’s known him forever, and his wife.”
    Art interrupted, “Maybe you all can tell me more about Nicky and Brian? Seeing as they’re newcomers. You folks and Frances are probably the only ones who’ve spent much time with them.”
    “You think they might have killed their business partner? Who was also their friend?” Meg bristled at Art’s implication: suspect the outsiders. Of