Free A Killer Crop by Sheila Connolly Page B

avalanche of events over the past few days. She made her way back to where her mother was sitting, staring idly at nothing. When Meg sat down next to her again, Elizabeth gave her a grave smile. “That was unpleasant.”
    “Yes, it was. I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for sightseeing?”
    “I think not. Actually I think I’d rather have just a little more time to myself. I hope you understand. Perhaps we could get together again tomorrow, if your schedule permits?”
    “I’ll see if Bree will give me permission. I’ll take you back to Rachel’s, if you like.”
    “That would be fine,” Elizabeth replied.
    They drove back to the bed-and-breakfast largely in silence. Meg pulled into the driveway to let her mother out. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?”
    “Certainly. See you tomorrow, darling.”
    Meg waited as her mother climbed the steps of the house and disappeared inside before pulling away. She felt a bit confused: she’d come over this morning hoping to make peace, but Marcus’s unwelcome announcement had only made things worse. On the plus side, though, she had the afternoon free. Bree would be pleased, and would no doubt find something useful for her to do. It would beat stewing over whether her mother might be a murderer.
    Back at the house, Meg parked, then went inside to change clothes. When she climbed the hill to the orchard, Bree spotted her immediately. “What are you doing here?” she called out. “I thought you and Mom were doing girly things.”
    “Turns out Daniel Weston’s memorial service was this morning, so I took her over there. And then our friend Detective Marcus showed up.”
    Bree grimaced. “At the church? Why?”
    “The autopsy showed that Daniel was murdered.”
    “Oh, shoot. That sucks. How’d your mother take the news? I’ll assume Marcus didn’t arrest her.”
    “Not yet, but I bet he’d like to. Apparently there’s no one else who makes a promising suspect. She seemed sad, I guess. I took her back to Rachel’s—she said she wanted a bit more time on her own. I’ll call her tomorrow morning. So, you need me here?”
    “Of course. Grab a bag and let’s get to work.”

7

    Even after putting in her fair share of picking the day before, Meg still felt guilty about taking time from the orchard. She was sitting in the kitchen when Bree came down on Friday morning. “Look, is it really okay for me to take today off? I can come back later in the afternoon.”
    Bree waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. You need time with your mom, and it won’t hurt the apples to wait a day.”
    “You aren’t just saying that?”
    “Hey, you don’t trust me? I know what I’m doing. It’ll be fine, and we’ve got it covered. Will your mom be coming back here?”
    Meg shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope so. She’s been so odd these last few days, I really don’t know what she’s thinking. I’ll ask her again today—after we’ve done some of those girly things you were talking about.”
    Bree flashed her a grin. “You do that. See you later!” Meg hurried out the door.
    Meg found she was in a strange mood as she drove the familiar route to Rachel’s. Did she want her mother to stay with her? She should, she knew. But as she’d told Bree, Elizabeth was not herself at the moment, and until Marcus found out who had killed Daniel Weston, Elizabeth would be under a cloud. Combine that with the erratic pressures of the harvest, and it was a recipe for friction. Still, she was going to ask.
    She arrived at the bed-and-breakfast just after eleven, and parked by her mother’s car. There were no others parked there—were all of Rachel’s other guests out admiring leaves or installing offspring in dorm rooms? Meg made her way to the front door and rang the old-fashioned bell; footsteps followed, and then her mother opened the door.
    “Oh, Meg. I wondered if it might be you, but I thought you would call first.”
    “Sorry.” Great—already she