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

the rear. Seth tossed a stick for Max, which the dog fetched eagerly.
    “He’s full of energy, isn’t he?” Meg said.
    “He hasn’t been outside working all day. That’s why I brought him out now, so he can burn it off.”
    “We need to figure out where to keep him here during the days.” Seth had put in a dog run at his own house up the hill, so he could probably do the same down here, Meg thought. “Maybe off to the side of the old carpenter’s shop?”
    “I’ll put it on the list,” Seth said. “I should get to it by, oh, March. Of next year.”
    Meg let out a snort of laughter. “Just about the time I build a distillery and start making apple brandy.”
    “Hey, that’s something to think about. Maybe not brandy, but cider could be a nice little profit center for you.”
    “Gail was saying the same thing to me, basically. Who do you have in mind to run it?”
    “I’ll think about it. Maybe there’s someone at the university that you could talk to? That could fit under either agriculture or hospitality—maybe they could supply you with an intern, or at least a consultant.” They’d reached the end of the open meadow, and Seth put his arm around Meg’s shoulders and turned her to face the house. “You know, you can almost believe it hasn’t changed since it was built.”
    “It hasn’t, really,” Meg said. “Except for the heating and plumbing, which don’t show.”
    “Do you ever feel any of those generations of Warrens who lived here before you? After all, they’re your kin.”
    “You mean, like ghosts? I . . . I’m not sure,” Meg hedged. “Don’t people leave something behind, when they’ve lived in a house for a long time? What about at your house, or your mother’s?”
    “Maybe,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. “There must be a lot of former Chapins and Warrens running around here, then.”
    “Well, if there are, I hope they’re friendly. I
think
they are.”
    “So do I,” Seth said. “They must like us. Ready to turn in?” When Meg nodded, he whistled to bring Max back, and then the three of them rambled back to the house in the near-dark.

4

    The next morning Meg, once again up early, was seated in front of her laptop in the dining room with a cup of coffee when Bree came down the back stairs.
    “Look! I’m ordering those crates!” Meg called out.
    “About time,” Bree grumbled.
    Meg made a rude noise. “You know, I think the reason I’ve been putting this off is because I think the new ones are ugly. Plastic may be lighter in weight and will last longer, but I like the old wooden ones. They seem more appropriate somehow.”
    “But they fall apart. You love ’em so much, make ’em into furniture or something.” Bree poked around in the refrigerator in search of breakfast.
    Meg hit Send to place her order, then shut down the computer. Bree’s suggestion had merit—maybe Seth could find some use for the recycled apple crate boards, which were nicely weathered. The new plastic ones wouldn’t look the same, but no point in buying special-order wooden crates purely for sentimental reasons. Not a wise business decision, and growing and selling apples was a business.
    Meg went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. “Bree, can I ask you something?”
    Bree finished buttering her muffin, then sat down. “That always sounds ominous. There a problem?”
    “No, nothing like that.” Meg sat down at the kitchen table across from her. “I was just thinking that even though we’re working with the same crew of pickers as last year, I don’t even know their names, except for Raynard. I mean, I write the checks, but I don’t know who’s who.”
    “Why do you bring this up now?” Bree asked.
    “I feel guilty about it, I guess. I mean, we work side by side all the time, and I don’t even know what to call them. And to them, I’m just ‘Ms. Corey.’”
    “Liberal guilt, eh? What do you plan to do about it?”
    “Could we set up something so we