Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) (19 page)

C
am spread a cloth on her market table under the big maple in the yard. She brought out napkins and silverware. She strode back into the kitchen. The wall clock read 11:20 a.m. She threw a handful of kalamata olives onto the rest of the pesto pasta, to which she’d added chopped cucumber, diced sweet red pepper, some chunks of goat cheese, and two diced tomatoes. Now she whisked together a vinaigrette with olive oil, an herbed red-wine vinegar, Dijon mustard, and a pressed clove of garlic. Pasta salad on a bed of greens would have to do for lunch.

She glanced down at her clothes and groaned at her usual dirt-stained shorts and worn-out T-shirt. She ran upstairs and pulled on a red embroidered Mexican blouse and black capri pants. She dashed some water on her face and hand-combed her hair as she padded back down the stairs in bare feet. She might be hosting a breakup lunch, but she didn’t have to look like she didn’t care.

She glanced out the window. Jake was climbing out of his Cooper Mini. The convertible top was down, and his pale hair stood up from the wind. He wore his usual weekday attire of black-and-white checked chef pants and a black T-shirt. In one hand he grasped a paper bag. Cam, suddenly nervous, walked out to meet him.

He greeted her with a buss on the cheek and stood back. “Some hard cider to go with lunch,” he said, extending the bag. His smile was a pale version of its usual megawatt beam.

“Thanks.” Cam tried to make her voice brighter than she felt. He seemed as nervous as she did.

Jake frowned. He reached a hand out and touched the bruise on her temple as lightly as if he were wielding a butterfly’s hairbrush. “What happened?”

His look of concern made her want to cry. She took a deep breath instead.

“I had a little accident on Wednesday. I’m fine.”

“You didn’t tell me.” Accusation mixed with sadness in his voice.

“Don’t worry. So, how about a glass of cider?” She set the bottle on the table. “Perfect for an alfresco lunch. I’ll get some glasses.” She was about to head for the house when she looked at the table again and laughed, her tension instantly dissipating.

“What’s funny?” His voice was tentative, as if he was unsure whether he should even ask.

“I was going to tell you to sit when I saw I forgot the chairs.” She rolled her eyes and laughed again. “Will you get some out of the barn?”

He smiled, his tension apparently also gone, and gave a little salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

In the kitchen, Cam loaded a wide wooden tray with glasses, plates, the pasta, a bowl of greens, and a serving spoon, and balanced it with care as she returned to the yard. Jake now sprawled in a lawn chair that appeared as if it might give way under his weight. She didn’t feel anywhere near as relaxed as he looked. The tray shook, and she barely got it onto the table without a catastrophe. When she placed the glasses next to the cider bottle, she knocked the bottle. It tipped over, shattering one of the glasses. Jake had already opened the bottle, and now hard cider fizzed over the tablecloth and into the pasta bowl.

Cam swore and stepped back as Jake leaned in from his chair, grabbed the bottle, and set it on its base.

“Look what I’ve done,” Cam muttered. “Ruined everything.”

“No, you haven’t.” Jake mopped up the cider with a napkin. A thin line of blood ran down the back of his left hand.

“You’re cut!” Cam lifted his hand.

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m a complete klutz.”

“Not a klutz. You’re a beautiful and talented farmer.” He drew her toward him until she sat sideways on his considerable lap. He wrapped his arms around her.

Cam tried not to melt into him. She was supposed to be breaking up with him. A total body embrace had not been part of her plan.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured into her ear. “We’re always fighting these days. I want to fix that.” He stroked her hair with one hand.

Cam pulled away a little. She sat up straight and looked him in the eyes. “I’m not sure we can. You don’t trust me. I can’t—”

“Wait.” He gave her a rueful look. “Let’s eat lunch and I’ll tell you a story. Give me that much?”

Cam nodded. She moved to her own chair. She picked up all the pieces of the glass with her fingertips and wrapped them in the sodden napkin. She checked the pasta salad. It looked like only a little cider had made it into the bowl, and the broken glass had fallen in the other direction. She stirred the pasta and tasted it.

“Well, we still have lunch. I’ll claim it was meant to have hard cider vinaigrette all along.” She gave a wan smile.

“I’ll get another glass,” Jake said, grabbing the napkin full of glass and heading for the kitchen.

“And a couple more napkins,” Cam called after him.

After he returned, they ate in silence for a few moments, until Jake declared the salad a masterpiece.

Cam laughed. “At least it isn’t ruined.”

“Okay.” Jake sipped the cider. “Here goes. I know I have trust issues.” He surrounded the last word with finger quotes. “My last girlfriend had several affairs while I was with her. She lied about all of it.” He frowned into the distance.

“What rotten behavior. How did you find out?”

“Oh, you know.” He waved a hand. “Once she left her e-mail open. With another one, I saw them at a bar. She kept apologizing, saying she wouldn’t ever go out on me again. The last one, well, I thought something was up. I actually followed her.”

“What was her name?”

Jake cleared his throat. “Camille.”

“Really? Did you call her Cam, too?”
How strange was that?

“I did. Funny, huh?”

Cam nodded. She took a bite of salad.

“But there’s more. I learned not to trust long before that. My mother . . . Well, I am adopted. My brother and sister are my parents’ birth children. And my mother never treated me the same. My dad, he was great. We were all three his children, all alike. But my mom, it was like she wished she could get rid of me.”

She laid a hand on Jake’s knee. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s made it kind of hard for me to trust women with my feelings. Look at me. I’m a successful chef, I own my own place, I’m in my thirties. And I’m single. You never wondered why?”

She shook her head. “That’s not really how my brain works.”

“Anyway, I’m not trying to excuse my behavior. But when I see you with other men, when somebody like Bobby Burr flirts with you, I get crazy.”

“I know. But the craziness is what I have a problem with. I can’t operate like that. I have enough trouble with relationships as it is. For reasons different than yours.” Cam shook her head. “If I can’t have other friends, male friends, without you thinking I’m going to betray you, I don’t see how being with you can work.”

Jake gazed at her without speaking.

“I love working with you,” Cam continued. “It’s great to have a business partnership. And you know we’ve had a spark between us—”

“I know.” He covered her hand on his leg with his own and squeezed. “And it’s a good spark. Will you give me one more chance?”

She sat watching him. Preston appeared and rubbed against her knee. She looked down at him, her uncomplicated, trusting friend, and rubbed his neck. She looked up again and nodded.

Jake beamed. “Dinner Monday, then? I’ll make it extra special.”

She nodded again. What had she done?

Cam cruised down Main Street, near Westbury High School, at a quarter past two. She thought classes were out for the day at around this time, and it looked like she was right. A line of yellow school buses idled single file in front of the main building. The school marquee urged the Westbury Eagles on to victory against the Ipswich Tigers, and half the cars in the parking lot seemed to be decorated with green and white. There must be a big football game on tonight.

Cam hadn’t been involved in the pep or sports scene at her high school in Indiana, except for running cross-country. She had captained the math team and had been active in 4-H. She used to watch Friday night football games from the stands with her science-minded friend Cindy, but neither had screwed up the courage to attend the fifth-quarter dances afterward. The two had gone out for ice cream and had had sleepovers where they did each other’s nails and fantasized about dating various non-geeks at the school. A fantasy it had remained.

She shook the memory off. It was half her life ago. She pulled to the side of the road and killed the engine. Teenagers began pouring out of the buildings. Student-piloted cars started to pass by. A large number of junkers. Older cars likely passed down from no-longer-driving grandparents. A few SUVs. The occasional sports car, clearly a sweet-sixteen gift from Daddy. The school district included families headed by factory workers, farmers, teachers, doctors, and investment professionals, and pretty much the whole income range in between. The students’ rides reflected the mix.

Cam kept her eyes trained on her rearview mirror. When she saw a skinny kid wheeling toward her on a bicycle, she stepped out of the truck and leaned on the hood, out of the way of traffic.

“Vince,” she called when he approached.

His eyes, previously focused on the pavement, swung up to meet hers. He veered out of traffic and screeched to a halt right beyond her.

“Ms. Flaherty. What are you doing here?” He looked around quickly and back at her. The pack on his back looked laden with books, and his bike helmet hung by its strap off the right handlebar.

“Think your helmet hanging there is going to protect your brain?” She smiled to buffer the remark.

“What’s going on?” He glanced at the traffic going by. “I have to, like, get home.”

“I sensed there was something you wanted to say yesterday. When we returned the Jeep.” She tried to keep her tone casual. “About Preston, maybe?”

“I told him,” Vince muttered, looking at the small ice cream and burger joint across the road.

Cam waited, not wanting to interrupt. A car of young people drove by with all the windows down. She heard cries of “Vincent !” trail after it. A hand waved out of the passenger side as the car rounded the bend before disappearing out of sight.

“I told him we had to let you know.” Vince straightened and met Cam’s eyes. “My father took your cat. Or found him. I don’t know why, or where. But when I told him we had to call you, he wouldn’t listen.”

“What day was this?”

Vince concentrated. “It musta been Tuesday. Yeah, I had my bio exam that day. Tuesday afternoon.”

Cam thought back. She had been in the hospital, getting checked out after the accident.

“I tried to take care of him, Ms. Flaherty. I gave him water. He’s such a cool-looking cat. But he just lay there. Like he’d been drugged or something.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Cam searched his face.

Vince hung his head. “Dad said he’d beat me if I did. I wish I’d a stood up to him.”

“Does he beat you a lot?”

Vince nodded, gazing across the road again.

Cam’s heart went straight out to the boy. Well, more of a young man. Her own father had been distant, not really present in her life. But he was always kind, without a cruel bone in his intellectual body. She gazed at Vince’s left hand, where it lay on the bicycle seat. The pinkie finger was bent at an odd angle. She hoped it wasn’t from his father breaking it.

“But why? Do you know why your dad kept him? He must know Preston is my cat.”

“Oh, he knows, all right. He said something about giving the cat back when the time was right. I think he wanted you to, like, like him. But that so doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Cam had another thought. “Vince, has your dad said anything about losing the farm?”

“Dude.” His eyes were wrapped in anguish. “If you only knew.”

Cam waited, hoping she was projecting as much warmth as she felt for the teen.

“He’s, like, nuts about this letter he got. He didn’t really talk to me directly about it, but I heard him yelling at somebody on the phone. Something about Dad being adopted.”

“Had he ever mentioned it before?”

Vince shook his head. “You don’t understand, Ms. Flaherty. We’re not like a regular family. We don’t talk about anything at home.”

“Not even with your mom?”

Vince shook his head fast. “You don’t really understand.” He glanced at the watch hanging off his spindly wrist and looked back at her with desperation. “Man, I gotta get home.”

“Thank you so much for talking with me. It helps to know you tried to look after Preston.”

“No worries. And Ms. Flaherty?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. Really.”

Cam nodded. Vince slapped the helmet on his head and clicked the fastener under his chin. He rode off without waving.

M
ill Pond was as smooth as a mirror this afternoon. Cam sat on top of one of the picnic tables with her chin in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. After talking with Vince and picking up groceries at the Food Mart, she had arrived a few minutes early to meet Pete. She had shoved her phone and keys in her pockets and had strolled down the winding path from the parking area. She figured he’d call her if he saw her truck in the gravel lot or he’d walk down to the pond. She tried to shush the butterflies in her stomach. She was meeting Pete Pappas to talk about the murder. It wasn’t a hot date. If she were honest with herself, though, she felt drawn to him and thought it was mutual.

Even here, within sight of Main Street, the pond was a peaceful refuge. It got a lot quieter once one started along the path through the trees circumnavigating the water, or up one of the other ones that wound through the woods and around the edges of meadows and fields. When she was walking, Cam could pretend she was hiking in Maine or even in southern Indiana. She had cross-country skied here last winter. Tina had come up from the city, and the two of them had bumbled their way along the paths, laughing at themselves, enjoying the fresh snow, inhaling clean, cold air.

Now the sun shining through the colors of a New England fall dappled the pond like an Impressionist painting as Cam sat and gazed. Her focus was anywhere but present, though. Vince had said that Howard took Preston so she would like him. It didn’t make sense in any universe she could imagine. Maybe Howard wanted to seem the hero by returning the cat. She shook her head. It was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out. At least not now.

Another puzzle was what to do about Jake. She’d given him one more chance but against her better judgment. She didn’t know why she hadn’t insisted they revert to being friends. She liked things clear. On or off. Black and white. That was why she’d been attracted to software engineering in the first place. Elegant ways to arrange ones and zeroes and make them do your bidding felt like a very safe world compared to the confounding fog of interpersonal relationships.

She checked her phone. While she’d been musing, twenty minutes had gone by. Pete was late. She frowned. He seemed like he would be the punctual type. She pulled her phone out, about to press his number, and thought better of it. He’d show up. At least she had a lovely place to sit and wait, although the air was cool here in the shade of a tall fir tree. She had left her sweater in the truck, and the light blouse wasn’t as comfortable as it had been at noon. Neither were the sandals.

Cam rose and walked down to the pier jutting out over the water, where the sun shone without impediment. She sat at the far end, hugging her knees. She had suggested this meeting as a way to let Pete know what she was thinking about the case, but also to follow up on what had seemed like a bit of romantic advance on his part. But now that she had not broken up with Jake and had, in fact, committed to a date Monday night, things were muddy. And she wasn’t the type to date two men at once. It didn’t seem honest, although she knew others did it.

She gazed into the water, which smelled aquatic in a clean, fresh way. Small fish darted to and fro, and she could see the posts supporting the pier all the way to the bottom. She wished she had the same kind of clarity.

A footstep on the wood resounded the length of the pier. She craned her neck around. Pete Pappas stood at the other end. Hands in his pockets, he looked like he had a week ago, when he had come to inspect the remnants of the farm-to-table dinner scene. Wrinkled shirt, hair not smoothly combed, wearing dirty sneakers instead of his usual polished oxfords. He walked the length of the pier and sat cross-legged next to her.

“What’s happening?” Cam cocked her head at Pete. “You’re not your usual spiffy self,” she said and then rued saying it. She had no business addressing his state of attire.

“Yeah. I know.” He nodded slowly, staring out at the pond. “Sorry I’m late.”

They sat without speaking for a few minutes. Cam’s dark shirt and pants soaked up the sun and warmed her. Pete hefted a pebble that lay on the pier, pulled his arm back, and lobbed it way out in an arc. It splashed the quiet surface, and its effect rippled out until the largest circle reached them.

“It’s all circles,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Everything is connected. This murder case. I know it’s all tied together. I can’t seem to tease apart the circles. And this?” He gestured at his clothes. “It’s connected, too.”

Cam raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was an inquisitive look. She didn’t trust herself to speak and blunder away what seemed to be an impending confidence.

“My marriage is falling apart. I guess I should say it
has
fallen apart. My wife moved out last week. And she took Dasha, our dog.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’d been miserable for years. And at least we didn’t have children. Except Dasha.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“And it’s not helping me solve this case. Which, as my boss so kindly reminds me, is getting colder by the day.”

“Do you want to talk it through?”

Pete nodded. “Walking as we talk might help.”

“Come with me to get my sweater. And I think I have some sneakers in the truck, too. One of the walking paths starts from the parking area and leads back here.”

“You’re on.”

A couple of minutes later they strolled down a wide mowed path between a field of dry cornstalks and a brushy area. Cam sneezed.

“Gitses.”
Pete smiled at her.

“What?” Cam cocked her head and frowned as she smiled.

“Means ‘Bless you’ in Greek.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.” Cam sniffed. “I’m allergic to grass. And I’m a farmer. Go figure.”

He cleared his throat. “You know this is not strictly kosher, me talking about the case with you.”

“Because I’m a suspect?” Cam clasped her hands behind her back.

“I have ruled you out as even a person of interest.” He glanced over at her. “It’s not an insult, mind you. It’s a technical term. Seriously, I can’t see why you would want to murder someone who had to be one of your richest customers, even if she was a little prickly. No, talking through a case with a civilian is not the way we’re trained to operate. But I figure you circulate among these people in a way I never could. I feel sure there are things you’ve heard or seen that might help me find the murderer.”

“I don’t know. I’ll do my best. Let me start by telling you about Preston.”

Cam spent a few minutes catching Pete up on Preston going missing and on finding him at Howard Fisher’s. She told him about confronting Howard and Howard’s anger.

“You shouldn’t have gone there alone.” Pete looked at her with worry etched all over his face.

“I didn’t. Lucinda was with me. And I was glad she was.” She went on to describe her meeting Vince after school a little while earlier. “He seemed to think his dad took Preston so he could give him back. When the time was right. I don’t really get it.”

“It’s information. It might connect later.”

“Poor kid. Said his dad beats him, which was why he was afraid to tell me the truth about Preston.”

Pete shook his head. “I wonder if the school knows, if anyone has notified social services.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll make a note to check into it. Now, do you think Howard had any reason to kill Irene?”

“I don’t know. Lucinda said she saw his truck driving away from Irene’s one time.” At Pete’s quizzical look, Cam went on. “Lucinda cleaned house for her.”

“Interesting.”

“She was supposed to call you and tell you. Did she?”

He shook his head.

“I heard something else about Howard from my great-uncle,” Cam said. “He told me Howard’s business is in jeopardy, that he might lose the farm.”

“I wonder if it’s true.”

“I asked Howard, and he said he isn’t losing the farm. He wasn’t too happy about my asking, either.”

Pete stopped in his tracks and pointed to a large bird swooping over the open field. “Marsh hawk. See the white tail patch? And how it tilts back and forth as it swoops?”

“Cool,” Cam said as she watched the hawk. “I don’t know much about bird watching.”

“But you do know something about Sim Koyama.” He resumed walking, as did Cam. “She seems to be a bit unstable this week.”

“I only met her for the first time at the dinner, you know. She and Bobby are good friends, and she’s worried about him. That’s what she says, anyway.” They followed the path into the trees as it wound uphill over roots and between large rocks.

“She was seen disagreeing with Irene Burr several times,” Pete said. “Rather vociferous disagreements, I might add.”

“I guess she might have killed Irene.” Cam turned up her right palm. “But why? I mean, we all have people we don’t get along with, right?”

“Maybe she’s convinced of Bobby’s innocence because she’s the murderer.”

“I don’t think so. But tell me more about Bobby. He came by the other day and said he’d been released but that he’s still a person of interest.”

“We have a reliable witness who places him at the pigsty.”

“So what if he was there? Maybe he argued with Irene, and she fell in by accident.”

“Why wouldn’t he call for help, then? And it wasn’t an accident. She was hit on the head before she died. And it wasn’t from the fence.”

Cam shuddered. “Is there any other evidence against Bobby? Don’t you have to have DNA and fingerprints and everything?”

“Leave the CSI to us, Cam.” Pete cleared his throat again. “You’re right, though. We didn’t have enough to arrest him. Yet. It’s the reason we had to let him go. But we’re working on it. And speaking of working, I was thinking about that note you said you found and lost.”

“I told you—”

“I know. I’m afraid I didn’t take it seriously. I’m sorry. Can you remember what it said?”

“Something about ‘or I’ll tell what I know.’ ”

“Interesting. I hope it turns up soon.”

They had been strolling in single file. He put a hand on her shoulder for a moment and caught up with her, and they continued side by side.

Picturing the pigsty and its malnourished residents, she shuffled through the leaves on the path. Her toe caught in a hidden root, and she launched forward.

“Whoa!” Pete snapped his arms around her waist right before her knee hit the ground. He pulled her back up.

Cam found herself standing with her back to Pete. His arms encircled her waist with a light touch, and his face warmed her left cheek.

“Gotta watch your step, Flaherty,” he murmured.

Cam didn’t move. It felt so comfortable, so right, for his arms to be around her. And Pete calling her by her last name was far more intimate than when he’d first addressed her as Cam.

A rasping blue jay flew at an angle directly in front of them and broke the moment. Cam opened Pete’s arms and twisted away to face him.

“Thanks for the rescue.” She tried to smile through the power of the moment.

Pete looked at her face and closed his eyes for a moment. He reopened them. “Right, where were we? What else do you know?” He resumed walking without meeting Cam’s eyes. “Have you seen anybody acting oddly? It could be anyone, anywhere.”

“Do you know Wes Ames?” Cam asked, wondering if she’d ever regard Pete as only a friend and colleague after today.

“I remember he’s a customer of yours. Petite, friendly wife?”

“Right, except she’s out of town for a few weeks. Wes seems . . . I don’t know . . . off somehow. And he was arguing with Irene the night of the dinner.”

“I heard. About the fate of the Old Town Hall, right?”

“Speaking of which.” Cam went on to describe her encounter with Wes at the Old Town Hall. “He was jumpy and kind of angry. I’d never seen him like that before.”

Pete walked in silence for a minute. “Do you happen to have a customer named Diane?”

“I do.” Cam didn’t even try to hide her surprise at the question and the sudden change of subject. “Why? Do you think she killed Irene?”

“No.” Pete laughed. “I don’t. Her name came across my desk recently, and I wondered.”

Cam stared at him. Not only for the sound of his deep, throaty laugh, which she was pretty sure she’d never heard before, but at the prospect of Diane having anything to do with illegal activities.

“She seems like a perfectly upstanding citizen to me,” Cam said. “Her check for her share didn’t bounce, she volunteers on the farm, and she cans her own tomatoes. She’s a consultant of some kind with a flexible schedule. I don’t really know anything else about her.”

Pete made a halting gesture with his hand. “That’s plenty. Thanks.” A little smile stayed on his face as they walked, though.

Cam shook her head in confusion but decided it would be better to watch where she walked than to quiz Pete about Diane and risk tripping again. She wasn’t sure she could handle another rescue today.