Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Most of the other old houses in Granford are pretty much the same.”
    “Ah, but that’s part of the charm, isn’t it?” Gail said. “I shudder to think what would happen if some mogul decided that Granford was the perfect place to build his latest McMansion and all his friends followed him out here.”
    “Don’t worry—Seth would lean on the Zoning Commission to stop them.”
    “Nothing like having friends in high places!” Gail agreed, laughing. “So, you ready to go home?”
    “I’d better be, or Bree will skin me alive. She gave me the morning off, but we’re smack in the middle of picking, and shorthanded. One of our pickers found a better job this year.”
    “I sure don’t want to trade places with you,” Gail said fervently. “Manual labor is not my thing.”
    The drive home took only minutes. They passed Meg’s orchard, where she saw the pickers working steadily. Each one would reach up to deftly remove an apple from a branch with a quick twist, then place it carefully in the bag strapped to his chest. When a picker’s bag was full, he would then transfer the load to a nearby bin, taking care not to bruise the apples.
    “You still haven’t decided to try your hand at cider-making?” Gail asked as they pulled into Meg’s driveway.
    “Not yet. Maybe someday. I figured I’d better get the basics down before I add anything else. At the moment I’m selling the less-than-perfect apples to a local cider-maker for next to nothing. At least, I
think
he’s making cider. He mentioned something about trying to make apple vodka . . .”
    “Nothing new under the sun,” Gail said. “In case you’ve wondered—and I’m sure you haven’t—there used to be not one but
five
whiskey distilleries in Granford in the early 1800s. Didn’t last long, though.”
    “Don’t tell me this was a dry town?” Meg asked in mock horror.
    “No, nothing like that. After all, hard cider was the drink of choice in colonial America. The distilleries failed because of economic ups and downs. Just like today.”
    “Speaking of drinking, you want to come in for something to drink?” Meg asked. “Although it’s a bit early in the day for whiskey.”
    “You’re just being polite, but no thanks. I’ll let you get to work. And I can’t wait to hear what Seth has to say about our building plans—I really want to get started on this.”
    “In case he forgets, I’ll remind him later. Good to see you again, Gail.”
    Gail pulled away with a backward wave of her hand. Meg went inside, greeted Max and Lolly, pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge, and started up the hill to join the pickers.
    *   *   *
    By six o’clock Meg and Bree were back in the kitchen, sitting in a daze of fatigue. Meg tried not to count how many crates they’d filled with apples. It was great that they had a crew of skilled workers who made the picking go quickly. But why was it that the apples would decide to ripen all at once for a short time, and then simply stall for no particular reason?
Feast or famine in picking
, Meg thought.
    Thank goodness the weather was cooperating. While it was still in the high seventies during the day, the nights cooled nicely. And after the blazing-hot days and prolonged drought in August, it was a welcome change. Still, the heat during the day took its toll on her, too.
    “Do we have to cook?” Meg asked.
    “Yes,” Bree said reluctantly. “Where’s a good genie when you need one?”
    “There are still plenty of veggies in the fridge, and lots of lettuce. And we should grill while we still can.”
    “Ugh,” Bree replied. “That means standing up and finding meat and building a fire and all that stuff. I’d rather just sit here and complain.”
    “About what?” Seth said, coming in the door, looking energetic. Better yet, he was carrying several supermarket bags.
    “Is that food?” Meg asked.
    “Yes, it’s food,” Seth said, smiling at her plaintive tone. “I picked up some premade