A Killer Crop by Sheila Connolly

in the front seat—you’ll be more comfortable. I’ll take the back.” Elizabeth opened the front door and waited until Bree had settled herself before sitting in the back.
    Meg got in and started the car, then headed for the highway and Holyoke’s hospital. “I thought you said we weren’t picking today?”
    “Not much, and we had enough guys to cover it. I thought you could use some time with your mother.”
    “Thank you, Bree—I appreciate that,” came Elizabeth’s voice from the backseat.
    Great, now Meg had another reason to feel guilty. Bree had been trying to help her out, and look where things had ended up—not that her being there, rather than enjoying a fine luncheon in Amherst, would have prevented the fall. If it was a fall. “Bree, was that the whole story?” she asked as they drove. “I know you’re careful.”
    “What’re you asking?”
    Meg wasn’t sure. “Did someone do something to the ladder? Or maybe stumble over it and make you fall?”
    Bree didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t think so,” she muttered, looking at the road.
    Meg had known there might be problems—a young and untried woman bossing around more experienced, older, mostly male workers. But she had counted on Raynard to keep them in line, and Bree hadn’t complained. “Have you had other problems?”
    “No! Nothing serious—just some joking around. It’s been fine. I was just clumsy, all right?”
    “All right.” For now. She’d have to probe later, when they had taken care of the immediate problem. Insurance rarely covered all costs. The hospital took credit cards, didn’t they? Meg couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered—if Bree had been injured while working for her, Meg would see that she was taken care of. She knew that the pickers, as her subcontractors, were covered under a state-offered program, but Bree was a different case. She’d have to check when she got home again.
    The ride took no more than ten minutes. Meg parked in the hospital lot, but by the time she had reached the other side of the car, Bree had already extricated herself and was stalking toward the entrance, and Meg and her mother had to hurry to catch up. Inside Bree made a beeline for the front desk, with Meg close behind her.
    “What’s the problem?” the nurse-receptionist asked.
    “I think I’ve broken my wrist,” Bree said, her voice tight. She ignored Meg, hovering behind her.
    The nurse slid a clipboard across the counter. “Fill these out and bring them back. Take a seat in the waiting area and we’ll call you.”
    Meg led Bree to the waiting area, filled with stiff plastic chairs in rows bolted to the floor. They found three seats together, and Meg scanned the room. Even though it was the middle of the day, there were quite a few people waiting; but nobody looked seriously ill or hurt—or at least, there was no evident bleeding. Maybe this wouldn’t take too long?
    It was half an hour before they called Bree’s name. Meg handed over the forms that she had helped Bree fill out, and an orderly guided Bree off to x-ray.
    Meg realized that she and her mother hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since they had arrived. “Sorry about dragging you here.”
    “Meg, you don’t need to apologize. I hope I’m not in the way, but I thought maybe you could use some company. These things can often drag on for a while. I’m glad you insisted—she’s stubborn, isn’t she?”
    “She is, but she’s trying to look like she’s in control. You’ve had a lot of experience with waiting around emergency rooms?” Meg couldn’t think of any time in her youth that she had had an injury that required an emergency room visit.
    “Enough.
    “Not with me.”
    “No.” Elizabeth paused, as if weighing her words. “Your father had a scare, a while ago.”
    Meg turned in her seat. “What? You never told me anything about that. When was this?”
    Elizabeth nodded. “It was last winter. But it turned out to be nothing.