Murder Most Fowl (17 page)

Ken scribbled more. “How long have you been farming?”

Cam gestured to the bench on the barn wall and sat, facing the chickens. He joined her, and she told the story of how she got where she was. And that she'd never expected murder to be part of the bargain.

“T
hose Animal Rights Front radicals hit my farm during the night.” Cam had called Pete after she was done talking with Ken.

“No.” He swore. “The PETA splinter group like at the Laitinens'?”

“Yeah. The worst part was the baby chicks. They were all over the barn floor. Pete, they're way too little for that. They were shivering, some were dead, some are missing. And then a fox came out of the corner of the barn with one in its mouth.”

He swore again. “Because the vandals left the door open, right?”

“Exactly. Luckily the fox kept right on going out the door. I didn't know what I was going to do if it tried to attack me.”

“Oh, Cam.” Pete's voice turned husky. “I'm glad you didn't get hurt.”

“Me, too. The adult hens were fine, at least, although their door was open. What idiots do stuff like that?”

“Misguided ones.”

“No kidding.” Cam shook her head, even though Pete couldn't see her.

“Were you home?” he asked.

“I was home all night, of course, but I was out during the evening.”

“How long were you gone?”

“From about seven to when I got home at ten. I was at town meeting, but it was canceled because they didn't get a quorum. Then I stopped by the Grog, as I told you last night.”

“So the ARF folks could have been watching you and came in right after you left.”

“Watching me? That's creepy.”

“What they do is creepy, and dangerous. Or they could have hit your place after you came home.”

“I'm getting locks installed on my barn door this afternoon.”

 

Cam checked the time on her phone one more time. Twelve-thirty. She'd been in this booth at the Grog for half an hour, and Catriona still hadn't shown up. Had she gotten cold feet, or was she in an interview room at the police station being grilled about Fionnoula Leary? Cam regretted telling Pete what Catriona had said last night, but then again, it was his business. She was obliged to tell him, and she got in the way of that often enough, as it was.

She took a sip of her beer and glanced up as the waiter appeared with her order of fish and chips. Catriona or no Catriona, she still needed lunch. She thanked him as her phone rang. That had to be her. Cam picked it up from the table and checked the display, but there was no name associated with the number. She connected and said hello.

“Cam? It's Megan Laitinen.”

Cam let out a breath and greeted Megan. “What's up?”

“I haven't seen you since you brought that lasagna. Have you made any progress? Do you know who killed my father?” Her words tumbled out in a breathless rush.

Why had Cam ever agreed to try to help Megan? “No, I don't. A lot has been happening, and—”

“But you said you'd help us.” Megan's voice wobbled.

“Megan, I'm so sorry. It's really the state police's job. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“As far as I'm aware, they haven't made an arrest. But I'm sure it'll happen soon.” She wasn't sure at all, but if it didn't, Pete could be demoted. Cam gazed at the galloping horse above the bar, with its gold and blue blanket under a short leather saddle, which must have come from a defunct carousel somewhere. Too bad the investigation wasn't galloping along, too. “And if I hear anything, I'll give you a call. Okay?”

Silence met her ears for a moment.

Finally Megan spoke. “Okay. So are you coming to the wake this afternoon?”

“The wake?”
Huh?

“Yes. It's at the McClaren Funeral Home from five to seven. I hope you'll be there.”

“Of course I will. I just hadn't heard about it.”

Megan thanked her and disconnected. Cam popped a perfect crispy fry in her mouth and chewed. A wake. That must mean they had released the body. She wiped her fingers on the napkin and pressed Pete's number, but he didn't pick up. She left him a short message about the wake, and then pressed Lucinda's number. She might be on her lunch break right about now.

“
Fazendeira!
What's cooking?” Lucinda, as always, sounded bright and cheery.

“Wayne's wake is at the end of the day today. Want to go together?”

“Sure. I'd like to honor that farmer. What time, and where?”

“It's from five to seven at the McClaren—”

“Yeah, that one next to the church.”

“Right. Let's go at the start, and we can grab dinner after.”

“Deal.”

“Deal. I'll pick you up at four forty-five.” Cam hung up, glad Lucinda had been able to move from Salisbury to an apartment in Westbury. She dug into the batter-fried fish, which was perfectly flaky and moist on the inside and deliciously crunchy on the outside. When a shadow fell over the table, she glanced up, still hoping Catriona would show, but it was only the waiter asking if she was all set.

 

By the time Cam returned home from the Grog, the police were gone. The female officer had texted her that they were through, and reminded her to be sure to lock up at all times, even when Cam was on the property.

Cam checked on the remaining chicks, who all seemed to have recovered from their very horrible, bad evening. They were cheeping and pecking and running around the box. Which she'd have to replace with a bigger one soon. She wasn't sure what the next stage was, but the
Raising Chickens for Dummies
book was right there on her desk, a welcome Christmas gift from Albert.

Albert. Would he want a ride to Wayne's wake? Cam knew he liked to pay his respects in the community. She pressed his number.

“Cammy, how are things? I saw you on the news.”

“Already? Geez.”

“And you lost some of your chicks. A pity, that. And a fox in your barn?”

“Right. At least it didn't come after me. But the rest of the chicks are all right, and so are the mature hens. I'm alive. We're okay, don't worry.” No, she should tell him about Ruffles. “Actually, a fox took Ruffles. I guess it was right after I came home from seeing you on Tuesday.”

“Why, that's a shame.”

“Yeah, but he had his talons in a fox kit, so the mom was rightfully upset.”

Albert laughed. “That's life in the wild, for you.”

“I guess. I called because I heard that Wayne's wake is this afternoon. Do you need a ride?”

“No on both counts, dear, but thanks for asking. Marilyn's back and she'll drive me. I expect I'll see you there. We're going early so we can get back for dinner. It's competitive Scrabble night.”

“I'll be there at the start, too. See you soon, then.”

“Love you.” Albert disconnected.

Cam looked around the office, then closed the door on the chicks and surveyed the rest of the barn. It looked as though the entire space was covered in powder. Dark surfaces like the tools and an old table were dusted with a light-colored powder, and light objects, like the light switch and a couple of white plastic chairs, were smeared with black. How could the police possibly eliminate the dozens of people who'd been through her barn in the last nine months since it'd been constructed?

A heavy rapping at the outer door made her whip her head. Now what? Her heart raced.

“Cam Flaherty?” The rapping resumed. “It's the locksmith.”

Oh!
Cam slid the door open. Her mouth slid open, too. Bobby Burr stood in front of her with a big grin on his face.

“Hey, Cam.” He held a hand up, palm out, still smiling.

“Bobby! What a nice surprise. I haven't seen you since, when, last November? Come on the heck in.” It finally registered that he held a plastic bag in one hand and had a heavy canvas bag slung over the other shoulder. “Wait. What are you—”

“You didn't know I work for Bill's Locks in the wintertime? Outdoor building slows way down when there's snow on the ground.”

“I didn't know.” Cam smiled. “Glad you have employment, though. Is there anything you can't do?” Bobby had expertly rebuilt this very barn after the terrible fire last June.

“I can't bake a pie to save my life.” He laughed, his dark eyes flashing. He'd been quite the flirt last summer and fall and his attractive looks hadn't diminished.

Cam cleared her throat but kept smiling. “Neither can I.”

“Now that that's settled, let's get locks installed.”

Cam turned to the door she'd slid open. “The slider is the main one. I got vandalized last night and it's time to be able to lock up this barn good and tight. I told Bill on the phone.”

“I heard.” Bobby turned serious. “Hope you weren't hurt.”

“No, but a bunch of my chicks were. And now I'm going to have to paint over those letters.” She pointed to the spray-painted message.

“Yeah. It's got to be soaked into the wood by now. Want me to do it for you? I have primer in the truck.”

“Well, that would be fantastic. Do you have time?”

“You're my last job of the day. Let me get these locks done first—you want the back door, too?”

“You bet.”

“And then I'll throw some paint up there. You don't want to have to look at that every day.”

“I sure don't. Thanks so much.”

“For the slider I brought a vintage-looking barn lock that's keyed on the outside and has a thumb turn on the inside. And a regular dead bolt for the small door.”

“What's a thumb turn?”

Bobby laughed. “One of those little levers you turn to lock the door. With your thumb.”

L
ucinda and Cam walked up the steps of the funeral home a few minutes past five toward a black-coated man holding the door open for them, Cam with a shiny new barn key on her key ring. Once inside, they joined the mourners already lined up in the hallway where somber music played softly from a hidden sound system. Cam bent over to sign the guest book, spying Albert's and Marilyn's names near the top of the page, but she couldn't see them ahead of her in the line. People spoke in low voices as the line moved slowly forward.

Cam glanced down at her black skirt and brushed a few of Preston's hairs off it. “Can't take me anywhere,” she said to Lucinda in a whisper.

Lucinda smiled. “How are the rest of those chicks of yours doing? They going to be my dinner next year?”

Cam had told her about the vandalism on the way over. “I expect they will. At least I finally got a good lock on the barn door. You wouldn't believe who works as a locksmith in the wintertime.”

“Who?”

“Bobby Burr, that's who. He did a great job, too.”

“No kidding. He's cute, that one.” She elbowed Cam as she grinned.

“I know. I think he knows it, too.”

A voice from behind them said, “Hey, guys. What is this, the farm contingent?”

Cam turned to see a grinning Alexandra next to a pale Katie. She greeted them. “Katie, are you all right?”

Katie nodded slowly, but the skin below her eyes was dark and she chewed on the inside of her lip.

“Ready?” Lucinda asked, pointing. The last people in front of them had gone in.

Cam took a deep breath. “Let's do it.” She wasn't that comfortable around groups of people generally, and having to speak about sympathies was not her favorite activity. But it was what one did, and she knew grieving families took comfort in the words. She and Lucinda moved into the room where a man stood next to Megan and Greta. Cam glanced around. She was glad there wasn't an open casket. There wasn't any casket, in fact. The police must not have released the body yet. The air was heavy with the scent of lilies.

Cam introduced herself to the man. “I'm so sorry for your loss.”

He extended a remarkably cold hand. “Thank you. I'm Henry, by the way, Wayne's son.” He resembled Greta more than Wayne, with a robust build and dark eyes now shadowed by grief.

As Cam shook his hand, Megan glanced over. “Oh, Cam, thanks for coming. You met Henry? He's just in from Florida.”

Cam took another step and took Megan's hand, but Megan pulled her in for a hug.

“Still no news?” Megan murmured in Cam's ear.

Pulling back, Cam shook her head. “Sorry.” She patted Megan's arm, then glanced at Greta, her next stop. Greta wore a black knit dress covered in small white flowers, with low black pumps. Cam waited until the man talking to Greta moved on before approaching her, but Greta gazed away from the incoming line of people toward a large framed casual portrait of a smiling Wayne. Cam glimpsed a look of such sadness on Greta's face it tore at her heart.

Cam took one more step and cleared her throat. “How are you doing?” she asked Greta, holding out her hand.

Greta looked at Cam but kept her arms at her sides. “As well as can be expected with my life in shambles.” It looked like her hand had slipped when she applied a deep red lipstick, and a line of white edged her scalp at her hairline. “At least Henry came home. I told him he had to.”

“Good. Please let me know how I can help you.”

“You can tell your detective over there to find the person who killed my husband.” Greta spit out the words in a harsh whisper, the look of sorrow instantly replaced by flared nostrils and angry eyebrows.

Over there?
Sure enough, Pete stood in the far corner in front of a long table laden with appetizers and glasses of wine at the ready. He was leaning over talking with Great-Uncle Albert. Marilyn was at Albert's side, perched on the seat of her red walker next to Albert's wheelchair. Rows of chairs were lined up, with only a few occupied by chatting mourners.

Cam moved on to the table filled with framed pictures of Wayne and the family, which stood in front of several tall flower arrangements. She gazed at Wayne as a skinny white-blond boy in overalls. Wayne with an unfortunate swooping haircut, long sideburns, and a frilly dress shirt at what had to be a high school prom. Wayne and Greta in wedding attire, him looking adoringly at her as she faced the camera unsmiling. Wayne pushing a little boy and a little girl on a swing set. Wayne holding a hen in one arm and a blue ribbon in the other hand in front of the Poultry Building at the Middleford County Fair.

Lucinda came up next to her. “Such a loss.”

“I'll say.”

Lucinda glanced up. “Oh, look at that. It's a teacher from my school. I'm helping her learn Portuguese.” Lucinda waved at a woman across the room. “We're not in any hurry to leave, right?”

“Not at all.” Cam watched Lucinda make her way to her friend, then turned herself toward Pete, Albert, and Marilyn.

“There's my favorite girl,” Albert said when she walked up. He pulled her down for a kiss.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Marilyn asked with a smile.

“You're my other favorite girl.” Albert patted Marilyn's hand. “And you know it.” Albert had knotted a narrow knit tie at his neck and wore the same dark suit Cam had seen him don for previous somber events like this one.

“Nice to see you, Cam, despite the circumstances,” Marilyn said. Her pink sweater, worn with a string of pearls under a black cardigan, matched the color in her cheeks.

“Same here,” Cam said to Marilyn, then squeezed Pete's hand unobtrusively. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Pete gave her a hint of a smile.

“A sad week for this family,” Albert said.

“Indeed,” Cam said as she glanced at the receiving line. A steady stream of locals moved slowly past the family.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Pete asked. At Albert's nod, Pete gestured to Cam to follow him to two unoccupied seats.

“Any news?” Cam spoke softly.

“A little. I had quite an interesting conversation with your Catriona—” Pete clapped his hand to his waist. “Sorry, have to get this.” Standing, he pulled his phone out and walked out of the room.

Cam waited a few moments, the hubbub of the room flowing past her, but Pete never returned. She rose and filled a couple of small plates with miniquiches and minicarrots with dip, then brought them to where Albert and Marilyn sat.

“Snacks, anyone?”

Marilyn reached for the plates. “Thank you, dear. Now sit down and tell us what you've been up to, won't you?”

“Yes, do. But first, I'd take a nip of wine, if you would.” Albert winked at Cam, who brought three cups of red wine to where they sat.

Albert thanked her. “Cam's been trying to figure out what happened to poor Laitinen. Those same radicals who hit his farm came and vandalized hers, too,” he told Marilyn, then gazed at Cam. “I hope you didn't run into them.”

Cam sipped her wine. “No, thank goodness. But I lost a dozen of my brand new chicks.”

Marilyn shook her head. “The people who do that kind of thing are misguided, but they must have had an unhappy childhood.”

“Marilyn always takes the side of the underdog.” Albert gave her a fond smile, his pale blue eyes twinkling.

Cam glanced up at the sight of Judith sweeping into the room, heels clicking, trailed by a petulant long-legged preteen girl with a phone in her hand. Cam watched as Judith greeted first Henry and then Megan. When Judith approached Greta, she held out a hand and Cam was surprised to see Greta take it. They spoke for a moment, although Cam was too far away to hear what was said. After Judith pulled her daughter forward and the daughter spoke to Greta, the daughter wandered off, thumbs flying on her phone. Judith leaned in and said something into Greta's ear, then sauntered over to the table of pictures.

With narrowed eyes and tightened lines around her mouth, Greta stared after her.