Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) (14 page)

A
fter the volunteers left and Cam headed for the house, all she wanted to do was curl up and take a nap. Her head pounded, her stomach growled, and her heart ached with no Preston at her side. Instead, she took a deep breath and washed her hands. She poured a glass of milk. She cut a piece of cheese to go with the last of Alexandra’s muffins and took her lunch to the computer desk. No new e-mail about Preston. No messages. She decided to post a notice on the farm’s Facebook page and the farm Web page. She had to cover all the bases. She even sent out a tweet using the hashtag #lostcat and linked Preston’s picture.

She called Sim’s shop, but the mechanic didn’t respond. Cam caught up on some paperwork and paid a few bills. It had been a productive morning with the volunteers, and her body was rebelling against doing any more physical work. She checked the farm’s Web site again and noticed a new comment from Neela was up for moderation. Neela, one of her enthusiastic locavores, was a software engineer who lived in town with her husband, Sunil. Cam opened the message.

Cam shook her head at her own cluelessness. Of course she should have a volunteer day on the weekends. Lots of people had to be at their own workplace on Wednesdays. She was lucky she got the turnout she did on a weekday morning. And if she called for volunteers on Saturday mornings, that solved the problem of scrambling to get the harvest in before the noon pickup time. Or maybe she should make half the share be “pick your own.” She tapped the desk next to the keyboard. So many decisions.

She was about to reward herself with a quick nap when she remembered how she’d felt when Lucinda asked about Bobby. Sure, a few things had happened to Cam in the last day or two, but he was her friend. She wasn’t being much of a friend back.

Cam pressed Susan Lee’s number on her cell. To Cam’s amazement, the lawyer picked up. Cam asked her if there was news about Bobby.

“I just got called to the court. They’re about to hold his hearing.”

“What evidence did they have against him?”

“I can’t talk about the evidence.” The lawyer’s voice was tight.

“Can he have visitors?” Cam had brought Lucinda a few personal items while she was jailed for a few days last spring. Lucinda had been very grateful for the gesture. “Does he need anything?”

“So far I’m the only one allowed in. I’ll let you know when that changes.”

Cam thanked her.

“Cameron? One more thing. You need to call off your friend Simone. She’s only making trouble. For Bobby and for herself.”

“I don’t really know her very well. But what do you mean? What has she been doing?”

The phone emitted a noise, and Susan seemed to drop off. A moment later, she said, “I have another call. Catch you later.” The call clicked off.

Cam disconnected, too, but kept her eyes on the phone in her hand. What did she mean about calling off Simone? Cam hoped Sim wasn’t doing anything rash. She called the auto shop, but again Sim didn’t pick up, and the call never went to voice mail.

As she stared at it, the phone rang. She checked the caller ID. “Ruth?”

“I heard you were in an accident. Are you all right?” The concern in Ruth’s voice came through loud and clear.

“I appear to be.” Cam told her about her brakes failing and the crash.

“You were lucky.”

“I’ll say.” Cam went on to outline her thoughts about tampering.

“Did you tell somebody at the station?”

Cam said she had. “You’re not on duty?”

Ruth replied that she was headed out to work in an hour. “Why?”

“I spoke to Susan Lee. She said my mechanic, Sim Koyama, was making trouble about Bobby. Do you know what’s going on?”

“I heard she was hanging around the station all morning. Demanding we let Bobby out of jail. Not the most effective tactic, really.”

“Is she still there?” Cam asked.

“No, I heard she left. I hope she behaves herself.”

“Good. Maybe now she’ll get my truck back on the road. Hey, Ruthie,” Cam said. “Any chance we can get together to hang out sometime soon? We haven’t really talked in a while.” Cam had been meaning to follow up with Ruth about where her husband, Frank, was. Judging by little Natalie’s remarks at the market, he wasn’t around.

“I’d like that. I’m single parenting it these days—”

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

“But let me talk to my mom. She loves taking care of the girls. Maybe Saturday night?”

They said good-bye and disconnected. So Frank was gone and probably off to get in even deeper trouble with his militia friends than he had been last spring. Good riddance, in Cam’s mind, but it couldn’t be easy for Ruth.

Cam finished up her paperwork and lay down for a nap. She managed to sleep for twenty minutes. She had just gotten up and brushed her teeth when someone knocked at the door. She checked the window before throwing open the door.

“Bobby,” she said, smiling. “You’re out.”

Bobby Burr wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t in jail, either. He stopped a yard away and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I’m free. For now, anyway. For what it’s worth.” He almost spat the words out.

“What do you mean, for what it’s worth? They must have realized you didn’t kill Irene. You’re not happy about that?”

“They said they didn’t have enough evidence to hold me. And essentially threatened it was only a matter of time until they do. I continue to be a ‘person of interest,’ as they put it. And they charged me with assault. I wasn’t going to attack them with a crescent wrench!” He looked disgusted with the world. “You bet. I’m real happy.”

Cam didn’t blame him for feeling bitter. “When did you get out?”

“An hour ago. I called Sim, and she met me at the garage, where my van has been. I wanted to let you know.” He shook his head. “Listen to me. I’ve been talking to the police for too long. I feel like I have to explain my every action.”

“Well, I’m so glad they released you. Did you know Sim was doing a Free Bobby Burr campaign? I don’t think the authorities liked it much, but maybe it helped.”

He raised his chin along with his eyebrows. “She’s a good friend, but she’s a little nuts.”

“She must have been ecstatic to see you.”

Bobby nodded.

“Hey, can I get you anything?” Cam asked. “A beer?”

“No, but thanks.” Bobby looked at her and laughed, his face lightening for the first time. “I knew there was a reason I came by. I’ll definitely take you up on that beer another time. For now, I have a big job starting and I’m already late.”

“Don’t worry. It might sound dumb, but I’m sure they’ll find the real murderer soon.” She reached out and patted his arm.

He squeezed her shoulder in return and walked back to the white van with more spirit in his step than before. Cam hoped that spirit was never quashed again.

S
he did some searching online. She located diagrams of the engine compartment for her year and model of truck and printed them out. It was such an old model Sim might not have the information on hand. She also printed out a schematic of what brakes and brake lines looked like and stashed it all with her wallet and phone in a knapsack. It was time to head into town.

She coasted her bicycle down the long hill to Main Street. As the trees and houses flew by, she panicked for a moment. What if her bicycle brakes failed, too? She pressed the levers on the handlebars and was infinitely relieved when the brake pads pressed in on the wheels exactly like they were supposed to.

At Main Street, she turned left and rode into the lot at SK Foreign Auto. The bay door was closed, as was the office door. The only two cars parked on the side of the building had weeds growing up around their wheels. She checked her watch. Three thirty. She had assumed Sim would be at work after leaving the police station, so she hadn’t called ahead. Cam looked around. Where was her truck? She had asked for it to be towed here. Had there been some mistake?

She dismounted and parked the bike. She peered around the side of the building. No truck. She walked all the way around the back. Nothing there but a pile of rusted mufflers and tire rims in a forest of waist-high ragweed and goldenrod growing up through cracks in the pavement. She sensed a sneeze coming on, just looking at the allergen-producing growth. She finished her circumnavigation in the front, at the window in the bay door. She rubbed a spot of dirt off the glass with her fist. A ray of sunlight shone over her shoulder and into the garage. Her truck sat on the right.

Cam let out a breath. At least that mystery was solved. But not the one of what had gone wrong with her brakes. She’d asked Chief Frost to check, but if Sim had been gone all day, he couldn’t have gotten access. Where was she, anyway? Cam tried the reception area door, but it was locked, as she expected.

A cloud scudded across the sun with a chilly breeze in tow. She had to find out what had gone wrong with her truck. The brakes going out had nearly killed her. It was time to take matters into her own hands. Maybe Sim didn’t lock the back door. Cam walked around to the rear of the building again.

Faded green paint had peeled off the old wooden door. She tried the knob. It felt loose but didn’t turn. Cam cursed. She stepped back and narrowed her eyes.

There could be another way in. Cam thought of detective books she had read where the use of a simple credit card was all a private investigator needed to spring a lock. That wouldn’t really qualify as breaking in, would it? She shed the knapsack and extracted a credit card from her wallet. She looked around—she wasn’t in eyesight of any windows from the neighboring buildings—and pushed the card into the slot where the door latched as she turned and pulled the knob with her other hand. But nothing happened. She removed the card and tried sliding it down, as if swiping it in a machine for actual credit. The door wouldn’t budge. She cursed again. So much for getting PI procedure from a novel.

A grimy window was set into the wall next to the door. Cam tried to lift the sash, but it didn’t move. She wasn’t quite ready to start breaking glass to get in. Using a credit card would have been one thing; vandalism was quite another. She had one more idea before she gave up. Maybe Sim had hidden a key in case she locked herself out. Or maybe she’d hidden one for Bobby. Cam ran her hand along the top of the trim around the door and smiled to herself as her hand closed around a key. Maybe she should have thought of that first.

Some security. Sim must put a lot of trust in the good nature of the town residents. Surely the shop held a number of expensive tools and equipment.

Cam inserted the key into the lock. It wouldn’t turn. She jiggled it. She pulled it out a hair and tried again. She turned it over and tried again with no luck. She kicked the bottom of the door in frustration. Why leave a hidden key if it wasn’t for this door? She pulled the key out and examined it. The metal looked corroded and dirty. She spit on it and rubbed it clean with a bit of the hem of her shirt, glad she hadn’t dressed up more than donning a clean long-sleeved T-shirt for her visit with Albert. She extracted a ChapStick from the pack and rubbed a bit of the waxy substance first onto her pinkie and then onto the key, which was as close to oiling the lock as she was going to get.

This time it had to work. She was already going to be late for her beer with Albert, but she couldn’t repress the urgency she felt to examine her truck. Cam slid the key in, edged it a millimeter back and forth twice for good measure, and turned. She felt the lock release. She whistled her relief, opened the door, and replaced the key on the trim before grabbing her pack and entering the shop.

She made her way to the heart of the establishment, a large room capable of holding three vehicles side by side. A wide workbench lined the back wall, with a ten-drawer red metal tool chest on wheels next to it. Shelves above the workbench held boxes of supplies. Two racks supported new tires on the wall opposite the door into the office.

Cam’s old Ford was the only vehicle inside. The clouds that had scudded past the sun earlier now fully occupied the sky, and the filtered light from the dirty bay-door window kept the interior dim. Cam didn’t want to bring attention to herself, though, and decided not to turn on the overhead lights. She looked around the workbench until she found a big flashlight. She lifted the truck’s hood and propped it open. She’d worked on her old Volkswagen bug in a car co-op during college, so she knew her way around an engine a bit. But even this older-model truck, the smallest of its kind, carried much more sophisticated systems than her vintage VW.

She extracted her printouts from her pack and set the ones for the engine compartment on top of the radiator. She studied the schematic of the brake system and what was in front of her. She found the brake fluid reservoir. It was nearly empty. According to the diagram, it sat on top of the master cylinder. She traced the four lines coming out of the cylinder until they disappeared too deep in the compartment to see. She groaned. She’d have to get underneath the Ford, concussion or no concussion. How nice it would be if Sim were here and could put the truck up on the lift. But Cam wasn’t about to try that maneuver herself. With her luck she’d get it halfway up and it would fall down on her.

She scanned the shop until she located a flat platform on small wheels. She lowered her back onto it, flashlight and schematic in hand, and slid under the front of the truck. It was easy to spy the metal lines leading away from each wheel. The front left line looked intact, as far as Cam could tell. She slid over to the right, lifting her head to get a better view. A piece of metal grazed her forehead as she passed under it. She swore and lowered her head flat again. The headache was back. She tried to get the light in a good position to check the right line. It appeared fine, too. She pushed with her feet until she was clear of the truck and scooted to the back. The bed was higher than the engine compartment, so maybe she wouldn’t scrape her head back here. She took a deep breath before sliding under again.

As she played the light over the left rear line, she noticed a darker spot. She reached up to touch it. It was rough and damp. Bringing her hand close to her face, she sniffed the fluid on her fingers. She laughed softly. She had no idea what brake fluid smelled like. She rubbed her fingers together. The fluid was oily. She put the light directly on the rough spot and felt a stab of cold. The area wasn’t just rough. It was an opening in the sealed system. Someone had definitely hacked at the thin metal with something like a saw or a file. The hole had caused the brake fluid reservoir to empty out. A braking system without fluid or pressure could not stop a car. And this was not a case of wear and tear. This had been perpetrated with malicious intent designed to put Cam out of commission.

She slid over to the right to examine the final line, and the chill she felt in her gut became more widespread. Cold air crept around her neck. She heard a rustle. She froze. And switched off the flashlight. She listened with all her senses alive. Had somebody followed her in? Or maybe it was a resident rodent. The room reverted to silence. She dared to breathe. She peered up at the brake line again.

Suddenly the overhead light snapped on.

“Police! Come out from under there,” a female voice commanded. “Hands first.”