Murder Most Fowl (19 page)

Alexandra dropped Cam at the farm at a little before seven. Katie had left the House of Pizza with Tam after they'd split the bill four ways, which had been Tam's idea.

“How well do you know Tam?” Cam asked Alexandra after they pulled into the drive. Cam rested her hand on the passenger door latch.

“I don't really know him. He and Katie have a few classes together this winter. He seems smart. Harmless. Kind of cute, if you like that type.” Alexandra glanced at the time display on the dashboard. “Sorry, gotta run. I'm meeting a friend for a movie.”

“Have fun. Thanks for the ride,” Cam said, and watched her drive off. The motion-controlled light at the house flashed on as Cam trudged past it toward the barn. Tam's “type” was definitely not Alexandra's, if the sweet, scruffy, thoughtful, ever knowledgeable DJ were any guide. But, hey, didn't they say there was somebody for everybody? And who would ever have guessed that Cam herself would be attracted to a police detective a decade older and few inches shorter than herself?

She unlocked the barn, the new key in her hand making her feel like she had her own personal security guard. She flipped on the inside and outside lights, then went around the corner to lock up the hens. She should install a motion-controlled light out here, too. She didn't want anybody prowling around here unseen ever again. At the chicken yard, only Hillary remained still out, so Cam shooed her inside the coop and latched the door. She returned to the barn to check on the remaining chicks.

“Hey, chickies,” she cooed at the fluff balls as she made sure they had food and fresh water. She reached into the box and stroked each one that would let her. She had no idea if they missed their moms grooming them, but she figured giving the livestock on her farm a sense of well-being had to be good for them. “Do you miss your sisters?” None answered, so she went on, “You're safe now, girls. Just eat and grow, okay?” She gave the closest one a last stroke. As she straightened, the image of the fox popped up in her brain, the fox with yellow down on its jaws, and she shuddered.

After locking the barn again, she let Dasha out of the house while she scooped out Preston's dinner and freshened his water. She added Dasha's kibble to his dish and ran clean water for him, too. Preston reared up and rubbed his head against her knee, then looked up at her before trotting to his bowl. Cam laughed and leaned down. It was his time to get stroked, his favorite activity while he crunched his kitty kibble.

At the sound of barking outside, Cam moved to the door but didn't see the dog anywhere. “Dasha,” she called, stepping out onto the porch. “Come on in, buddy.” His barking pierced the night, sounding like it was coming from the far side of the barn. She called again, but he didn't appear. What was he barking at? And why didn't he come?

Cam swore, suddenly chilled to her core. Were the vandals back? Or maybe the fox? There were other predators out there, too—coyotes and the weasel-relative fisher cats, at the very least. She should have taken Dasha out on a leash. And here she was without her truck. She hurried to the kitchen and scrabbled in a drawer until she found the flashlight, then grabbed her phone, too. She was definitely putting up a motion-activated light on the barn tomorrow. With one hand on the door, she turned back, lifted her keys off their hook, and locked the door behind her.

Hurrying toward the barn, she called Dasha again. His barking ceased, but she couldn't hear any snarling or sounds of an animal fight.
Let him be all right
, she prayed to no one in particular. As she reached the building, she heard a car door slam. Cam whirled toward the sound. An engine started up out on the road in front of the field that was the beginning of her neighbor's property, and not a very well-tuned-up engine. It gave off a knocking sound as its headlights raced away down the hill.

That was no animal predator. And every residence around here had long driveways with plenty of room to park. Nobody parked on the rural road with its unfinished berms and scraggly underbrush that reached out to scratch car finishes. It had to be her intruder. But who was it?

She heard panting and turned to see Dasha trotting around the barn toward her.

Relief washed over her as tears filled her eyes. “There you are. Are you okay, buddy?” She dropped the flashlight, squatted, and rubbed his head with two hands as he watched her. “Who was out there?” She sniffed and wiped her eye.

He gave a little bark and looked at the house.

“You're not going to tell me, are you?”

Dasha looked back at her.

“Yes, it's dinnertime. And you're an awesome guard dog.” She stood and gave him one more pet. “Come on.” Cam walked briskly to the house and unlocked the door, letting Dasha in ahead of her. She gazed out at the inky night for a moment. The skies had cleared, and cold stars shone down from their far-off constellations.

A horrible cry ripped out from the woods at the back of her farm. It was a cry like a baby being tortured, the cry of the fisher cat. Cam shuddered as she turned toward the solace of her warm, lit, lockable home.

C
am poured a glass of wine and settled on the couch with her phone, the animals joining her at opposite ends. She dialed Pete, grateful when he answered. She filled him in on what had just happened.

“Dasha is the best guard dog,” she added.

“I'm so glad you both are all right. It might be better to keep him on a leash when you let him out at night, though.”

Cam winced a little. “I was thinking the same thing.” She wasn't about to tell him about hearing the fisher cat with its huge clawed paws and powerful jaws. She wasn't sure Dasha could hold his own with the fierce carnivorous predator even if it was smaller than he was. “Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it. It's my fault he's there at all.”

“I'll for sure keep him leashed at night from now on. It was kind of unsettling, too, because I don't even have my truck here. The battery died when I went to go home, so I left the Ford in the parking lot of the funeral home and got a ride with Alexandra.”

“Not good to be without wheels.”

“You're telling me.”

“So you couldn't see the make of the car that drove away from your place? A license plate or anything?”

“No, it was dark out. The moon hasn't risen yet.” She thought for a moment. “But the person must have been trying to get into the barn. Which is now locked up tight, thanks to my calling a locksmith this afternoon.”

“Good move.”

“And when they couldn't get in and Dasha started barking, I guess they sprinted for the car. I'm surprised they made it over Tully's field without tripping on something.”

“I thought you said Tully didn't own it anymore,” Pete said.

“Yeah, yeah. I can never remember the new owner's name.” Tully, an old man, had finally died this winter. “To me, it's Tully's field. But anyway, I don't know who would want to get into the barn if not those vandals. And I thought they usually didn't strike the same place twice.”

“They haven't in the past.”

“I only hope whoever it was doesn't come back,” Cam said. “So you had to leave the wake today.”

“I did. But I was starting to tell you that I had a very interesting conversation with Catriona Watson this morning,” Pete said.

“I wondered about that. She was supposed to meet me for lunch but she never showed.”

“She wasn't particularly happy to be called in for questioning.”

“Did she tell you what happened? What she meant by that comment of hers?” Cam tapped her fingers on her wineglass.

“She said there was an accident. Fionnoula died.”

“That's what Paul said, too.”

“Paul Underwood? I was looking for him this morning, too, but he wasn't answering his phone.”

“Exactly. I talked with him tonight when I was leaving the wake and he had just arrived. When I told him what Catriona said, he said it was true. And that Wayne was about to go public with the news. He said it would have ruined his life.”

“Possibly true,” Pete said. “That group reported neither the death nor the accident. We can't press charges unless it's murder, and we need more information to decide that. If it wasn't murder, it'd be manslaughter at most, and that has a statute of limitations of six years. But if news got out about how a friend of theirs died, even accidentally, I can imagine it would not do good things for Paul's reputation, or Catriona's.”

“Did you find out what the accident was?”

“Catriona clammed up at that. I'm still hoping, though.”

“How are things with your commander?” Cam asked. “Tomorrow's the end of the week.”

Pete groaned. “As much pressure as always. Ivan isn't helping.”

“I ran into him at the wake, too. He basically warned me off the case.”

“Great.”

“Does he know we're, you know, seeing each other?”

“I think so. And there's nothing wrong with that,” Pete reassured her. “Me talking with you about the case? Not so much.”

Cam caressed the phone with her finger. “I wish this was all over. I wish we could just hang out again. I miss you.”

His voice turned gruff. “I miss you, too.”

 

At seven the next morning Cam pressed the number for SK Foreign Auto. She had to get her battery replaced, pronto, and she knew Sim opened early. The mechanic agreed to go to the funeral home and jump-start the truck if Cam would meet her there.

Cam pulled on coat, gloves, and a knit cap. She locked up the house and dragged her bicycle out of the barn. At least the sun was out today, although the outside thermometer read only forty degrees. Fifteen minutes later, having coasted downhill nearly all the way into town, she sat behind the wheel of the Ford with the door open, the bike in the back, and the engine blessedly running thanks to one red cable and one black that ran between the engine compartment and Sim's mobile battery unit.

“Rev it a few times,” Sim instructed. Her short dark hair was spiked, as usual, and she wore her usual black, although today's leather jacket looked like it was the auto mechanic version, not the punk band look Sim often sported.

Cam pressed the pedal. A running engine was the best sound, ever.

Sim set to work disconnecting the jumper cables. “Follow me to the shop,” she called to Cam when she was done, then let the Ford's hood drop. “It'll only take me a few to swap in a new battery, and I have one of the right size all charged up.”

Cam waved her agreement and soon stood in the auto shop down the road. Sim leaned under the open hood of the truck and worked on the battery connections. The place had a gritty smell of metal and oil and rubber. Two racks of tires hung high on one wall, and mote-filled light filtered in through windows in the garage doors.

“Coffee and donuts in the office if you want.” Sim pointed with a wrench.

“That sounds perfect.” Cam went through the small door, reemerging with a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a chocolate cake donut in the other. She leaned against a metal workbench holding a big red toolbox with its lid open. Shelves above the bench held rows of small boxes and cans of oil. A snapshot of Sim, head down, playing a drum set with both hands and feet, was pinned to the lowest shelf.

“Exactly what the doctor ordered,” Cam said. “How have you been?”

“Great. Band has a gig coming up at the Kit Kat Lounge in Haverhill tomorrow night, if you're not busy.” Four small silver rings marched up the edge of her right ear and another one adorned her left eyebrow.

“I might be able to do that.”

“Bring that detective of yours,” Sim added, glancing up with a grin.

“That could be a problem. He's on this murder case. If it isn't solved soon, he definitely won't be free. And might get demoted, too.”

Sim heaved the battery out and carried it to a cart, then wiped her hands on a red rag she pulled from her back pocket. She cocked her head at Cam.

“I heard about the murder. You involved in this one, too?” she asked.

“Sort of. Wayne Laitinen was a friend of mine. His daughter asked me to help, but I haven't been much use so far.” She shook her head, then nibbled on the donut.

“Who's involved?” Sim asked.

“Well, according to Pete, Wayne's wife could be a suspect. She wasn't that happy with him, but isn't that why they made divorce?”

Sim snorted as she lugged the new battery to the truck. “Yeah. If every unhappy wife knocked off the husband, there wouldn't be many men left in the world.”

“And then this rich woman who lives next door apparently wanted to buy part of the farm for her daughter's horse. But—”

“You talking Judith Patterson?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“She brings her Mercedes here for service. She's okay. A little snooty, but she doesn't give me trouble. Not like Irene did.” She raised the pierced eyebrow. Sim had been a suspect in a murder case in the fall after a public argument between her and the victim.

“I'm glad to hear that.” Cam sipped the coffee.

“They think Judith might have killed this Wayne guy to get his land?”

“I don't know. There's a connection between her vaping habit and the murder, apparently.” Cam couldn't remember if the murder weapon had been made public.

“Funny, those e-cigs. I think people look ridiculous doing that.”

“Agree. Well, if you happen to hear Judith talking about the farm or anything, will you let me know?”

“Of course.” Sim straightened from the engine compartment and wiped her hands again. “Climb in and start 'er up. Should be all set.”

 

Cam drove directly from Sim's to Seabrook. An hour after she got home, she climbed down from the ladder at the corner of the barn, her two new electronic acquisitions installed. The motion detector light was easy, since she'd done one in the past. She'd decided for now to plug it into a receptacle inside the barn, threading an extension cord through a hole she drilled in the wall, until she could get an electrician to come out. While she was at the electronics store, she'd bought a remote camera, too. With all that had been going on, it seemed only prudent. The camera proved even easier to install, since it operated by a wireless signal, and could use the same power source as the light. She set down the drill, held out her phone, and activated the camera according to the instructions in the slim manual, then brought up the viewing app.

Sure enough, there she was, seen from above, gazing at her phone in her hand. If anybody tried to come near her barn again, they'd be both spotlighted and filmed. And if for some reason the light didn't come on, the camera also included night-vision capability up to twenty-five feet.

She had no idea who last night's intruder had been. But if they came back, she'd at least nab them on camera.

She shook her head. It was time to get to work around here. The midmorning sun shone with all the fervor of nearing the equinox, and she'd never gotten to the blueberry pruning. If she didn't do it while the bushes were still dormant, she'd risk clipping out too much or damaging the buds. And with this sunshine, they weren't going to be dormant much longer.

After she put away the drill and screws, she grabbed the red-handled hand pruners off their hook on her tool wall, locked the barn, and headed out to the row of blueberries along the left side of the property. Albert had planted twenty bushes a couple of decades earlier, a mix of mid- and high-bush varieties, and they were in full maturity now. When the berries ripened in July, the sweet dark orbs were easy to pick, didn't have pests or diseases to speak of, and customers loved them for their flavor and their health properties alike. The bushes, most not much taller than Cam, were healthy and only needed dead branches pruned out. Albert had told her to watch for when the pine trees shed their needles, gather them up, and use them to mulch the acidic-loving blueberries. That was about all the care they needed. Well, plus throwing nets over them in the summer so she didn't lose the crop to birds.

She studied the first bush and began to clip. The theory was to remove any dead wood or any branch that rubbed on another, which could open a wound and let disease get in, and then to keep the center of the plant open, allowing in light and air. Just like with the apple tree, except she didn't need to stand on a ladder to manage these. She inhaled. The air finally smelled like things growing instead of things freezing. As Cam wrestled with a particularly thick branch in the middle of one bush, the pruners slipped and turned sideways, then fell to the ground, nearly slicing her thumb on the way down. She swore. This was a branch for loppers, not hand pruners. She trudged back to the barn to get them, but stopped when her phone rang in her pocket. She checked the display and answered, then started walking again.

“Ruth, what's up?”

“We have results for that bone you found,” Ruth said.

“Oh?”

“It was a human bone. Likely from a female.”

Cam stopped in her tracks. A human bone. A female. A bracelet. An accident. She shot her gaze to the compost bins a few yards away, the ground around them still trampled by the teams who had been there only a few days earlier.

“Cam, are you there?”

“Sorry. Yes. What happens next?”

“We follow up about that bracelet. Did you ever ask Albert about it?” Ruth asked.

“He didn't think he'd ever seen it, but he couldn't say for sure that it had never been on the farm.”

“And we try to identify the remains,” Ruth said.

“Um . . .”

“Um?”

“I think you should talk to Pete. We've, I mean, he's learned of an accident from a long time ago that wasn't reported. That bone might be from an Irish girl named Fionnoula Leary.”

“How do you know that? And how did it get onto your farm?”

Cam didn't know how deeply to go into it with Ruth, especially on the phone. Ruth must have forgotten what Cam had told her about the load of lobster shells. She gazed up at a red-tailed hawk drawing big loops in the cerulean sky. “Ask Pete. And thanks for letting me know.”