Drizzled with Death(41)
“That doesn’t exactly make things easier.” Lowell let out a long sigh.
“No, I’m afraid it doesn’t. There could easily be fifty or more sets of keys rattling around Sugar Grove,” I said. Any of those people could have let themselves in to tamper with the syrup.
“There must be some way to narrow it down,” Loden said.
“Considering the tamper-resistant seal angle, I’ll start with grange members who also make syrup.” Lowell said his good-byes and my mother walked him out. I walked myself to the kitchen for a snack.
Celadon followed me to the kitchen and scowled as I started to fix myself a plate of ham with all the trimmings. “How can you eat at a time like this?”
“I’m hungry.” I put two biscuits instead of my usual one onto my plate to make my point. “Besides, starving myself isn’t going to fix the problem.”
“There wouldn’t be a problem to fix if you hadn’t decided to take it upon yourself to open the business in the first place.” Celadon began yanking dishes out of the drainer and slamming them into place in their cupboards.
“Are you saying I’m responsible for Alanza’s death?” I put down the biscuit I’d been slathering with maple butter.
“I’m saying Grampa looks like he’s on the verge of a stroke, Grandma’s about to spit nails, and Mom hasn’t stopped talking about bad luck and curses since Saturday.”
“But we’ve always donated syrup, even before I started selling it.”
“But selling it is the point. Now there may be poisoned syrup all over the country. And that is definitely your fault.”
“But you heard Lowell. He thinks it was just Alanza’s bottle that was messed with.” I pushed my plate away, suddenly feeling more queasy than hungry.
“I heard Lowell trying to be reassuring once he saw how distressed Grampa was. I also heard him tell you to suspend sales until he figures out what is going on.”
“What I’m hearing is a big ‘I told you so.’”
“I did tell you. But I guess it was too much to expect you to listen to reason.”
“Just because you don’t approve of something doesn’t make it a bad idea.”
“Tell me how it was a good idea for someone with an environmental science degree to start a business.”
“People from all walks of life start businesses every day.”
“People with experience start businesses.”
“I have experience.”
“You can’t count selling Girl Scout cookies.”
“Don’t forget my lemonade stand.”
“That’s great, make jokes while you drag our name through the mud. You only started the business because you felt guilty about Dad’s heart attack.” Celadon smacked a wooden spoon down on the counter so hard the bowl snapped off. Then she stomped out of the room with footfalls so heavy she rattled the glasses in the cupboard. And to think, back in the sugarhouse when Lowell delivered the news about the poison, I thought the day had gotten about as bad as it could. The house felt too small to be in at the same time as Celadon. I grabbed my keys and headed for the Stack.
• • •
I was a couple of miles from home when I noticed Graham’s state-issued vehicle pulled over to the side of the road. I slowed to a roll that would have come in second in a walker race at a hip replacement facility. I had just about given up looking for the driver when I saw a leg thrashing about from above. I came to a complete halt and craned my neck up into the limbs of an apple tree that had sprouted up alongside a tumbledown stone wall. All through New Hampshire it is possible to spot the remains of long abandoned farms. From bits of wall that no longer mark out boundaries to apple trees on the edge of dense woods, you can read the signs and imagine what life was like before refrigerator trucks brought produce from warmer climates, before people bought all their clothing ready-made at the mall.
Graham’s right arm wrapped around a limb that didn’t look up to bearing his weight while his left reached toward something that looked like a teddy bear that had been run through a laundry wringer. If that teddy had claws like a garden rake. The creature was moving slowly enough that the entire race between them looked like it was being replayed in slow motion by a sportscaster with a sense of the absurd. Graham inched out farther and farther on the steadily narrowing limb, but with each inch, he moved forward, the furry guy moved, too, and remained just out of reach.
I hopped out of the car just in time for Graham to fall at my feet, sprawled on his back, blue eyes looking up at me. I don’t know who was more surprised, Graham or myself. I reached out a hand to help him up and then reassessed. The last thing I wanted was to be pulled down on top of him when he overbalanced me. Well, maybe not the actual last thing, but since it had been hours since I’d brushed my teeth, it was pretty far down on the list. I stuffed my hand down into my jacket pocket and willed it to stay there. He scrambled to his feet with no need for my assistance whatsoever.