One Bad Apple by Sheila Connolly

new one in. I can have things hooked up by the end of the day. I’ll give my brother Stephen a call, tell him to head over here and help out.”
    Meg had no idea if the speed of this process was normal for plumbers, but she had the feeling Seth was making a special effort. The least she could do was let him warm up. “Are you ready for coffee now?”
    “Sure. Oh, and here’s your archeological trove. No treasure chests loaded with gold, I’m afraid, but some neat stuff.”
    “Thanks.” Meg eyed distastefully the sodden clumps in the shoe box he handed her. He followed her into the kitchen, where she laid the box on the table and filled two sturdy mugs with hot coffee. She heard the Bobcat start up again, and then the sound faded into the distance. “He’s leaving already?
    “Yup. Tight schedule—I had to sweet-talk him into fitting you in. Look, I’m sorry about yesterday …”
    “You’ve already apologized, you know.”
    “Yeah, but I try to avoid screwups like that. Gives us plumbers a bad name, you know.” Seth pulled the shoe box of artifacts toward him and poked around. “This is part of the job I love. You never know what’s going to turn up. Let’s see.” He rummaged through the muddy fragments with one finger. “A coin—looks like an 1895 Indian head penny, nice. A spoon, definitely twentieth century. A couple of marbles. You know, it seems like any place where there’s been a kid over the last century, I end up finding marbles. And here’s a nice piece of china. Too bad it got broken.” He handed Meg a shard. He was right: it was a pretty piece of blue willowware, almost half of its original bowl shape. It looked old.
    “Neat. Don’t you find yourself wondering how these things got lost? Did somebody miss them? Or was it trash? What did they do with trash in the old days, for that matter?”
    “Threw it down the privy, up to a point. Then town dumps. You have to remember, people didn’t make as much trash as we do now. And there were plenty of thrifty Yankees around here— if you could save something or reuse it, you did. So I’d guess this pretty little bowl was broken a long time ago, from the look of it.”
    Meg pointed to a piece he hadn’t mentioned, a much-rusted, large, and ornate multitoothed gear. “What’s this?”
    Seth picked it up and turned it in his hands. “Part of a—” He stopped himself and grinned at her. “Maybe I’ll let you figure it out.” He dropped it back into the box with a thunk, then turned his head to listen. “That’ll be the guy with the tank. Damn, where’s Stephen?” As Seth left the kitchen, he was pulling out his cell phone again. Meg peered out at the newly arrived truck carrying a bulky concrete object she assumed was her new septic tank. For its cost, it was disappointingly prosaic, but if she was lucky she’d never see it again anyway.
    The truck was soon joined by a dented, not-new sports car. The man who climbed out bore a clear resemblance to Seth, although his hair was darker and he walked with a swagger. This must be the brother, Stephen. Seth approached him, clearly annoyed, and they argued briefly before Seth directed him toward the Chapin van while he went to talk to the truck driver.
    In short order the old tank was hauled out, and the new tank was off the truck and in the ground, even though Stephen looked a bit sulky about taking orders from Seth, and moved slowly.
    It was little more than an hour later when Seth knocked again. “You’re good to go. Want to try out your drains?”
    “With pleasure,” Meg answered. She went to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap. The water disappeared with no hesitation. “Hallelujah! It works! And it’ll keep working, right?”
    “Of course it will. Chapin Brothers does good work.”
    “I hope so. Hey, listen—can I get you something?” Meg racked her brain to recall if she had any food in the place.
    Stephen had come up behind Seth on the step, crowding him. “Hey, I could