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up to let in Art Preston, Granford’s chief of police. “Hey, Art. I can guess why you’re here. Want some coffee?”
    “Hi Meg, Seth, Bree. Sure, I’ll take some coffee. Although I have to say I’m not happy that you two find a body in my town and you don’t even call me.”
    “Sorry, Art,” Seth said. “I didn’t even consider
not
calling Detective Marcus for a suspicious, unattended death, so I guess I kind of skipped right over you. Of course, we’re hoping it was natural causes.”
    “Fair enough. Did Marcus find out who it was?”
    “He got an ID from the guy’s driver’s license,” Seth replied. “Name of David Clapp, from Easthampton. He used to work for Jonas Nash, but more recently he was working for the logging company that Nash uses. He was found on Nash’s land.”
    “And before you ask,” Meg said, “we didn’t get close enough to see how he died. Although I think it’s safe to say that a tree didn’t fall on him. I probably would have noticed that. Sorry we left you out of the loop.”
    “I’ll survive.” Art sighed histrionically. “At least I got a decent cup of coffee out of it. What were you two doing out there at all?”
    “Looking for lumber for Donald Butterfield’s house,” Seth explained. “He’s asked me to handle the repairs.”
    “I should have known. That kid who was driving—what an idiot. The car was totaled. He’s lucky he survived.”
    “Is the boy going to be charged with anything?” Meg asked. “Was he drinking?”
    “That’s what everybody assumed, but no, basically he was joyriding with some pals and things got out of hand. I’ve slapped him with a healthy fine, but since his folks said they’d pay for all damages, he probably won’t care. Kids!”
    “Maybe he’s learned something?” Seth added hopefully. “Anyway, Donald wants the restoration to be historically correct, and to do it right I’ll need wide boards, which are getting harder and harder to find. Nash’s was the best bet.”
    “Got it. Well, that’s all I wanted to know. How’s the orchard doing, Meg?”
    “Too dry, or maybe dry at the wrong times. We’re having to irrigate, and that means hauling water and hoses around a lot.”
    “Speaking of which, Meg,” Bree interrupted, “we’ve got work to do. And I asked Christopher to come by whenever he can and make sure we’ve got it right, and tell us if there’s anything else we need to be doing. Whatever we did right last year isn’t enough under this year’s conditions.”
    “I haven’t seen Christopher for a while,” Meg said. Christopher Ramsdell was a charming agriculture professor at the nearby university, and long before Meg came along, he’d managed her orchard for years. He was still a mentor to Bree, who had studied with him, and now Meg also considered him a friend. “And I’ll be happy to have his advice. When will he be here?”
    “He said maybe around lunchtime. He’s really busy these days, since not only is it peak agriculture season, but he’s involved with the construction of that new center, so he couldn’t be sure.”
    “Well, he’ll know where to look for us.”
    Seth stood up and carried his dishes to the sink. “I guess I’d better get moving, too. Walk you out, Art?”
    Art drained his coffee and stood up. “Nice to see you, Meg, but I wish you’d stop finding corpses.”
    Meg laughed. “Believe me, Art, so do I!”
    They all left together, parting ways in the driveway—Art back to the center of town, Seth into his office at the end of the drive, and Meg and Bree up the hill to the orchard.
    Meg knew she was lucky to have the natural spring that emerged halfway up the hill. Still, she and Bree were spending an awful lot of time hauling water around the orchard to reach all the trees, especially the vulnerable new ones they’d added in the spring. The new ones most needed water, in order to establish a strong root system, but they were also the farthest from the water source. It