Farmed and Dangerous (7 page)

“No, thanks.” He smiled. “I'm working on staying present these days.”

Did that mean Cam wasn't present when she'd had a drink? Likely.

“I've been studying permaculture lately, Cam,” DJ said. “You ought to look into it.”

“A North Shore Permaculture Group contacted me about their Meetups, but I haven't actually met up with them yet. Give me the two-minute thumbnail on what permaculture is and why I should utilize it.” Cam smiled at him.

“It's a design science to take sustainability to the next level. Water management, permanent companion planting, the no-till method developed into an art form.” He smiled with an earnest look. “Seriously, we could do design work on your land in the spring if you're interested. I need to accumulate a boatload of hours for my certificate.”

“Swales and berms. Berms and swales. That's all he talks about anymore.” Alexandra nudged DJ affectionately and then folded her forearms on the table. “So, Cam, who do you think killed Bev?”

“That's the million-dollar question. The only person who would truly benefit would be her daughter, Ginger.”

“Because she'd get the farm?” DJ asked.

“I expect so. Although she does have two brothers, come to think of it,” Cam said. “She wants to develop the property, build houses, I heard, and Bev didn't want her to. She wanted to keep it farmland.”

“Ginger would kill her own mother?” Alexandra widened her eyes.

“Let's hope not. She seems kind of difficult, and I saw her arguing with her mom. She does go over and play guitar for the residents at Moran Manor, which is a nice thing to do. She played for them even before Bev moved there.”

DJ sipped his tea. He tapped the side of the mug. “I might be able to do a little snooping. My brother Eddie worked on that housing project over in Newburyport. The one Ginger Montgomery built. He might know something about her. I'll ask him tonight.”

“Did you grow up here in town, DJ?”

He nodded.

“Do either of you know anything about Richard Broadhurst? My great-uncle said that he had an interest in acquiring Bev's farm so he could expand his orchard, and that she was negotiating with him about that.”

“He's my friend's stepfather. Or was.” Alexandra pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and thumbed it with both hands. “There. I texted her. I'll let you know what she says about him.”

“Thanks, guys. The sooner the police find out who actually killed her, the sooner they'll stop harassing me about it.” And the sooner she could see Pete again. As she sipped her own tea, she thought about whether she even wanted to keep spending time with Pete. He was absolutely right. Hanging out with a state cop wasn't going to be a smooth ride. It still smarted that he'd said he had to distance himself from her during the investigation. With any luck, it would be only another day or two before he tracked down the real murderer.

Her computer scientist brain knew it was logical and appropriate for Pete to disappear from her life in the interim. Her heart had other ideas.

A
fter Alexandra and DJ left, Cam had called Albert and had made arrangements to pick him up in an hour. Now they sat in a booth in the rear corner of the Westbury House of Pizza, the town's only restaurant. The Formica tables were worn but clean, and the Greeks who ran the place made a thin crust to die for.

“Thanks for springing me, Cameron.” Albert sipped his glass of red wine. He waved at a couple who sat across the room.

Cam finished chewing her bite of pizza, with a piece of anchovy sparking a salty taste. “I didn't want to sit in the Moran dining room with you and have everybody stare at me.”

“I didn't particularly want to make small talk in the dining room, either. I'm not in the best of spirits, with Beverly dead. May she rest in peace.”

“I'm so sorry, Uncle Albert. I know you and she were friends.” Cam reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

“I'll admit I've heard talk going around the place about poisoned produce. All hogwash, but still.” He helped himself to a second slice from the platter in the middle of the table. “My, this is tasty. Good idea to order anchovies with the mushrooms and artichoke hearts. The usual fare at the Manor is never very interesting, don't you know. And I do love a good pizza.”

“I wonder if the goat cheese on it is local?” she said and then laughed. “Listen to me. Those crazy locavores are starting to mess with my head.”

“We can ask on our way out.”

Cam sipped her wine. She frowned. “I imagine Jim Cooper is going to decide he doesn't want to contract with me for vegetables this summer, after all. But nobody else has gotten sick since the dinner, have they?”

Albert gazed at a nearby poster of the Parthenon for a moment. “I did hear tell of a lady not feeling well this morning, and Doc, my old fishing buddy, complained of stomach pains at lunch today. But you know, we're all a bunch of old farts. Residents are always grousing about one thing or another.”

“I hope they'll both be fine. And that their ailments are totally unrelated to my dinner.”

A man and four children brought tall soft drink cups to the booth behind Cam and Albert's and sat. Two boys facing Cam huddled over a small digital device, which emitted beeps as they played. A little girl kicked the base of the bench repeatedly, the bench that shared a back with Albert's.

“The police were about this morning. Collecting dishes and whatnot. Asking questions,” Albert said. “They took over the library for their interviews. Strung up that yellow tape across the door to Beverly's room, just like on television.”

Cam leaned toward Albert. “Did that upset people?”
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
The girl kicked with the regularity of a metronome.

Albert smiled. “It's the most excitement we've had there since I moved in. I wheeled by her room this morning. The door stood open, and I saw an officer actually dusting for fingerprints.” He turned somber. “Don't mistake me. I am sorry about losing poor Beverly. But she's in a better place now. Her life here had always been tough. Now she's sitting in heaven, playing cards with my Marie, I daresay.”

Cam smiled at the image. Then heard the
thunk, thunk, thunk
again. The father seemed oblivious to the noise. Cam wrestled her attention back to what had happened at Moran Manor. “Do you know who the police interviewed?”

“The cook. The director. Her caregiver, Oscar. He didn't like that at all, I can tell you.”

The incoming-text tone sounded on Cam's phone. She pulled the phone out of her purse and glanced at it in her lap. The text was from Ellie.

 

 

Cam glanced across at Albert, who gazed at her with pursed lips.

“You young people can't stay away from those wretched devices for anything. Why, in my day—”

Cam broke in. “It's Ellie.” She relayed what the girl had said.

“Ah. Well, then,” he said.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted our time together.”

“Do you need to leave now?” Albert asked. He reached for her free hand and patted it with his.

She glanced at the wall clock, which read six thirty. “No. Let me tell her I'll be over in an hour.” She tapped out the message and pressed SEND. Nearly instantly a K. C U soon popped up. She stashed the phone. The little girl climbed out of the booth, followed by her father. They walked together toward the pizza counter. The cessation of the noise from her snow boot–clad feet was like finally tweezing a splinter out of an inflamed finger.

“Ellie served in the dining room yesterday. I'm sorry she had to be questioned by the authorities, but perhaps she can assist the investigation,” Albert said.

“Her mother must be terrified. After our horrible experience last June, I'm surprised she even let Ellie return to the farm. And she probably thought her daughter would be a lot safer with a collection of retirees.” If Ellie had, in fact, seen anything significant, she could be in danger. Cam would get over to Ellie's as soon as she returned Albert to Moran Manor. Scary, indeed.

 

Cam sipped the cup of apple-cinnamon tea Ellie had made for her.

“My mom will be right out. Thanks for coming over, Cam.”

Ellie perched, with her knees drawn up in front of her, on the arm of the sofa. Cam sat at the other end. The living room of the house felt light and uncluttered. Accents of turquoise abounded, so even in midwinter it felt like breaking waves and a sea breeze were somewhere nearby. A hardwood floor gleamed. Ellie herself didn't look as well put together. Her fine blond hair lay limp around her shoulders, and she wore a Bruins sweatshirt with frayed cuffs and smudges of paint on the front. Mostly her eyes gave away her worry.

“Are you all right?” Cam had almost never seen the girl when energy and fun didn't sparkle off her.

“I guess.” She shook her head. “This afternoon, though, it was, like—”

“Thank you for stopping by.” A woman wheeled herself into the room and positioned her wheelchair so that she was facing Cam. She extended a hand. “I'm Myrna.”

“So nice to meet you at last.” Cam shook Myrna's small hand, which felt remarkably cold to the touch. “You have an awesome daughter.” She smiled, gesturing at Ellie.

“Thank you. I have to agree.” Myrna returned the smile and wheeled over next to her daughter. She patted Ellie's knee, leaving her hand on it. The streaks of white in Myrna's short dark hair seemed premature, and smudges under her eyes spoke of pain.

“My husband—well, you know David, of course—is out of town,” she continued. “When that detective, a Mr. Pappas, wanted to talk to Ellie, I insisted he come here so I could be present.” She spoke slowly, forming the words with difficulty.

Ellie had told Cam the previous summer that her mother had multiple sclerosis. Cam had seen Myrna only once before, in their car when Ellie's father picked her up at the farm after one of the girl's volunteer stints. Ellie had been working on her Locavore badge for the Girl Scouts and had helped out with farm chores on a regular basis. Cam caught sight of the purple skin on Myrna's feet, which were clad in slip-on sandals.

“Mommy, that's the law, anyway.” Ellie spoke with the exasperation of any teen daughter toward her mother. “He said you had to be present because I'm underage.”

“And how did the conversation go?” Cam asked. “Ellie, you said in your message that you were scared.”

Ellie nodded. “Sort of. I mean—”

Myrna broke in. “He kept asking Eleanor if she'd seen anyone near the food trays who shouldn't have been there. He meant, did she see the murderer?”

Though she was dying to know what, in fact, Ellie had seen, Cam didn't want to traumatize her by having her answer difficult questions twice in one day. Cam wasn't supposed to be poking her nose into the case, anyway, although she'd already blown that by talking about it with Alexandra and DJ. Except that Ellie had asked for her help. And should she tell them that Pete was actually a sweet person and was only doing his job? She waited instead.

“I just told him what I did. It's what I do every time I serve. I take residents' orders. They don't have to take the daily special. Which yesterday was your meal, Cam. They also get a choice of the regular, like, stuff on the menu. A hamburger, a piece of quiche, a tuna sandwich. Whatever. Then I take the order in to Rosemary and sometimes to another helper, and when it's ready, I bring it out. It's totally not very complicated.”

“Did Bev eat in the dining room?”

“No way. She's been taking her meals in her room. She's kind of . . . I mean, she
was
kind of cranky.”

“You told the detective the only people in the kitchen were the cook and that caregiver. . . . What was his name, honey?” Myrna glanced at Ellie.

“Oscar was helping out. You met him, Cam, right? And he delivered all the room meals. So it was us three, plus the other two kids who do what I do. Ray and this other kid, Sean.”

“Ray?” Myrna asked. “Who is he?”

“It's a she, Mom.” Ellie shot a look at the ceiling and then back at her mother. “It's just what we call her. Her real name is Raya, but she hates that. Her parents are subscribers to your CSA, Cam. Or they were last summer.”

“They must be Neela and Sunil.” Cam nodded. “I met Ray on Saturday. She was pushing Felicity's father in a wheelchair.”

“Yeah, that's her. Anyway, Mr. Pappas kept asking me the same questions over and over. Like, did Mrs. Montgomery get the special meal? Who touched her plate? Did I see anybody in the hallway? Did I go to her room?”

“He questioned her relentlessly.” Myrna's voice rose.

“They questioned me today, too, except I had to go to the station,” Cam said.

“It wasn't that bad, Mommy. But I kept telling him the same answers. The room meals always get the special. Rosemary put the food on the plate, and Oscar put the plate on the tray, and the tray on that big cart. And I had too much to do to bring food to Mrs. Montgomery's room. A lot of residents have guests on Sunday night. It's a super-busy night to serve.”

“I hope you didn't think the detective suspected you of poisoning Bev's meal, Ellie,” Cam said.

“No. But just knowing that somebody could actually do that—that's the scary part. And what if they, like, thought I saw them do it or something?” She hugged herself.

Myrna stroked Ellie's arm. “You're not going back there until this issue is solved. Until they put the killer behind bars.”

“Mom. It's my job.”

“Eleanor, you are fourteen.”

“I'll be fifteen next month.” Ellie stood and stuck her hands in her pockets. “I'm not a baby.”

“I spoke to your father about it. He agrees. That place will find someone else to do your work.” Myrna lowered her voice. “You're my only child. If something were to happen to you—”

“I have to do my homework. See you, Cam.” Ellie stomped out of the room.

“I don't know what's come over her the past few months.” Myrna's gaze followed Ellie's departure. “She used to be so sweet.”

“That tends to happen with teenagers. I know I got pretty difficult for a few years there.”

“I suppose. She's both my eldest and my youngest. It's tough.” Myrna cocked her head and gazed at Cam. “All I want to do is keep her safe.”

 

As Cam drove home, she bet that look of Myrna's had referred to the barn fire she and Ellie had barely survived the previous June. Ellie's employment at Moran Manor didn't have anything to do with the murder. Cam wanted the girl to stay safe, too. She thought her parents' prohibition against returning to work until the killer had been apprehended was wise, even if Ellie didn't much like it.

Interesting that Oscar had been working in the kitchen and had delivered the meal. He certainly had the means to add poison to Bev's portion. But why would he?

As she locked the house door behind her, her cell phone rang. She greeted Lucinda on the other end.

“Hey, Cam. I got a great gig for you.” Lucinda sounded breathless. “Tomorrow night.”

“Slow down a little. What kind of gig?” Cam reached down to pet Preston. He turned his head up, and he headed for his dry food dish, his expression asking, as always, that he be stroked while he ate. She obliged, listening to Lucinda at the same time.

“It's a forum with a guy from the company that makes the herbicide that has glyphosate in it, that G-Phos we were talking about. The event is kind of like a debate. Remember, I told you about it?”

“Sort of.”

“A representative from an organic seed company was going to come, but he broke his leg. Can you do it?” Lucinda asked.

“Wait. What?” Cam straightened. “Me? Debate a giant agrochemical company? I'm only a farmer. And a beginner, at that.”

“But you're smart. You decided to farm organic because you believe in it, right?”

“Sure, but—”

“It's in the library at my school. Lots of people will be there. You have to do it.”

“Aren't there any more experienced organic farmers to ask?”

“I called Zeke up in Londonderry, but his mother is ill and he has to go out of town.”

Cam sighed. “I suppose I'll do it. The guy will eat me alive, though.”

“Cool. I'll give you each fifteen minutes to do a presentation, and then you can talk with each other. I'm going to moderate. I'll e-mail directions. It starts at seven, so come around six thirty. And bring your farm brochures. Consider it a marketing opportunity.”