A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die Page 10

Cam walked around the corner of the barn to check on the rhubarb. She knew this week’s crop was ruined, but she hoped to rescue Great-Aunt Marie’s antique plants. Pulling on gloves to protect her cut, she wheeled over a heaping cartload of finished compost. She carefully spread it along the row, tucking the black gold under the wide leaves and gently digging it in with a hand fork. The organic material should bind with the roots, preventing more toxic substances from being taken up. Cam was heartened to see the stalks and leaves starting to gain more turgidity, beginning to stand up again.

  As she surveyed the crop, she didn’t have much faith that the police would be able to figure out who had executed the destruction of it and the arugula. How would they? Cam promised herself she’d set up a database with the names of anyone who could even remotely have wanted to do her or Mike harm. She’d add the dates and times of day when when she knew people had been on the farm or when she’d been away. If she ever got a minute free to do that. She problem-solved best when an issue was all laid out in cells and probabilities, so she’d have to make time.

  For now? Work called.

  A few hours later, Cam headed to the house for a bite of lunch. She had just stepped onto the empty drive when Lucinda suddenly emerged from around the corner of the barn in front of her. Cam yelped.

  “Lucinda! You scared me.”

  Lucinda put her finger to her lips as her eyes darted around, coming back to Cam’s face. “Shh. Anybody else here?”

  Cam frowned, shaking her head. “No. Why?”

  Lucinda grabbed Cam’s arm. She pulled her into the barn.

  “Where’s your car?” Cam asked. “Where are we going?”

  “Be quiet. Listen, the cops are looking for me. I had to hide my car down the road. I sneaked in from the other field.”

  Cam gave Lucinda her best stern look. “Girlfriend, you have to talk with the police. It’s illegal for them to ask for your papers. Anyway, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Lucinda looked away for a moment.

  “Did you?” Cam asked, pressing.

  Lucinda shook her head, her face stretched tight. “But them? They like to be big macho policia. They are going to deport me. I told you!” Her deep brown eyes pleaded with Cam.

  “No, they won’t. I’ll vouch for you. Maybe I can be, like, your sponsor.” Cam laid her hand on Lucinda’s arm. “Detective Pappas was here last night, looking for you. The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to look.”

  Lucinda nodded. “I know. I hid in my apartment when he came to the door. One time he was there on my porch, and I drove right by. It’s terrible, like I’m being hunted.”

  “You need to talk to him about that militia thing. About what you know. Listen, let’s call him now. I’ll be right next to you. Would that help?”

  Lucinda nodded slowly. “I should be getting ready right now for the festival tonight. I wish I could turn over the clock, you know?”

  “You mean turn back the clock. I know the feeling. But we can’t.”

  “Cam, I really don’t want to talk to that man.”

  “Lucinda, you are too naive about this. I can’t make you, but I strongly encourage you to contact him. You’ll be all right.”

  “You don’t know that.” Lucinda shook her head. “How can you?”

  “Come on. Let’s go in and call before we both lose our nerve.”

  Cam finished packing the truck for the Locavore Festival and checked her watch. Five o’clock. Just enough time to clean up before she had to head over to get Albert and then make it to St. John’s Hall, the church function room the locavores had reserved for the event. She had given up on the idea of herb samples—too much work—and had picked a flat of strawberries, after all.

  In the house, she poured the last glass of beer from the jug and took it upstairs with her. After taking a quick shower and running a brush through her hair, Cam stood in front of her closet. Overalls or party clothes? Business attire or casual chic? It was a business event, after all, but it was a party, too, and Jake was going to be there. She settled on a sleeveless green silk blouse with her best jeans. She ran a hand down them as she turned in front of the mirror. All this hard work had taken a few pounds off. Cam was tall enough that she had to worry more about getting too thin than about putting on weight. She drained the beer, then added a pair of tomato earrings and a necklace strung with little silver farm implements, which her mother had sent her after she’d heard about the farm venture. Cowboy boots would finish the outfit, even though sandals would be cooler.

  She leaned into the mirror and applied a little eye shadow and lipstick, grimacing at her chipped front tooth. Her fourth-grade experiment in walking the halls of her school with her eyes closed to prove how well she knew the school hadn’t played out too well when she marched right into a metal pole. She’d lived with a marred incisor ever since.

  As Cam drove to pick up Albert, she thought about Lucinda’s call to Pappas. Lucinda had hung up, looking relieved and a little suspicious at the same time. She told Cam that Pappas had asked her a few questions, but he hadn’t raised the issue of Lucinda’s immigration status.

  Cam managed to ensconce her great-uncle in the front seat of the truck without incident. She folded his wheelchair and laid it in the back.

  “Big night out for the old guy,” Albert remarked as they headed onto the road.

  Cam glanced over at him. He gazed straight ahead, but a smile flickered under eyes creased with humor.

  St. John’s Hall was hopping. Green and yellow balloons festooned the entryway, and one of the trucks parked outside sported a bumper sticker reading THINK GLOBAL, EAT LOCAL. Albert lowered himself into the wheelchair, which Cam had brought around to his door.

  “I could have brought my crutches, you know.”

  “I know. I thought we agreed the chair would be easier, especially if they haven’t provided seating.”

  Albert sighed. “You win, young lady.”

  Cam handed her display basket to Albert. “Carry that on your lap for me?”

  At his nod, she pushed the chair up the ramp zigzagging along the side of the building, meeting the front stairs at the wide-open doorway to the hall.

  “There you are,” Jake boomed. He strode toward them in clean chef’s whites and a multicolored skullcap with a flat top. “Let me take that for you.”

  Albert kept his hand firmly on the handle. “I have it, young man. Who might you be?”

  Cam laughed. “Uncle Albert, this is Jake Ericsson. He’s a chef and a customer. Jake, Albert St. Pierre. I learned almost everything I know about farming from him.”

  “Except how to use pesticides,” Albert snorted.

  “Or why not to,” Cam said.

  Jake extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir. I hope Cam will bring you to eat at The Market one day soon.” His wide smile lit up the room.

  Albert shook Jake’s hand. “We’ll see.” He squinted up at Jake. He didn’t return the smile.

  Cam made a note to ask Albert on the way home what he thought of Jake.

  “So where’s my spot?” Cam asked Jake as she surveyed the room. Long tables lined the periphery, most of them already set up with various local wares. A woman attached a sign reading WARREN’SG ROVEA PPLES to the front of a table. A color poster showed bushels of shiny heirloom apples, and apple products filled the tabletop: jars of apple butter, packets of dried apples, bottles of apple cider. A Locavore Club banner hung at the end of the room, above a podium with a microphone, and people were starting to mill around, browsing from table to table. “Am I late?”

  “No. I think folks are eager for this, though. Hungry, you might say.” Jake leaned his face close to Cam’s.

  She inhaled his scent, today a heady combination of aftershave, a hint of the sea, and a peppery smell. Cam looked into his eyes, hoping her blush wasn’t too noticeable.

  Jake winked. He straightened and gestured with his head toward an empty table. “You’re over there.”

  “Here.�
� Albert handed Cam the basket. “Take this, and go get set up. I plan to check out every vendor.” He executed a neat reverse turn and wheeled himself away.

  Cam spread a colorful hot pepper cloth over the tabletop, then set up her basket. She made sure the bouquet of herbs in a vase was as nicely arranged as the bunch of flowers she’d cut. She pulled a few bits of outer skin off the garlic scallions and fluffed out the three heads of lettuce, tucking the red looseleaf between a dark green head of Bibb and one of a lighter green oakleaf. She fanned out the business cards, which had arrived in the afternoon mail.

  Before she headed back to the truck to get the strawberries, grateful again it was such an early season, she took a moment to greet the vendors on either side of her table. One was a grain farmer from the western part of the state. His table held cloth bags folded open to show wheat berries, cornmeal, and a couple of grains Cam couldn’t identify. Plastic sacks of flour were lined up neatly behind them. A basket of miniature corn muffins looked so delectable, Cam’s stomach growled. On the other side was the Herb Farmacy from Salisbury. Their table featured small pots of dozens of varieties of herbs, all neatly labeled. Samples of four kinds of mint leaves were attractively arranged in small bowls.

  Cam greeted a woman dressed in no-nonsense khaki pants and shirt who sat behind the table, and introduced herself. “I heard about your farm. I’ve been meaning to get up there for a visit.”

  The woman handed her a card and told her she was always welcome. “It’s a good season so far, being early and all.”

  Cam agreed.

  “You know, you should join us at the Newburyport Farmers’ Market. It’s thriving. Lots of vendors, lots of eager buyers. Sundays, nine to one.”

  Cam said she was already committed to the Haverhill market but would consider it.

  As she left the hall to get the berries from the truck, she ran into David and Ellie Kosloski, who were coming in.

  “Hey, Cam,” Ellie said. “I am so going to report on this for my badge.”

  Cam greeted her and her father. David’s expression was one of reluctance, but to his credit, when Ellie beamed up at him, he returned the smile and let himself be tugged by the hand into the hall. At her truck, Cam unloaded the flat of strawberries.

  A deep voice behind her startled Cam.

  “Need a hand?” Wes Ames held out his arms.

  “I’m good, but thanks, Wes.” Cam looked around. “Where’s Felicity?”

  “Inside. She’s been here for a while already. Decorating and such.”

  Cam followed him up the stairs and laid the flat on the floor behind her table. She arrayed a shallow bowl full of berries on the table and propped up a little sign she’d made that read ONLY ONE APIECE, PLEASE, hoping it didn’t make her look stingy. She stepped back to check the table.

  “Oh, crud.” She’d forgotten the farm sign she liked to hang from the front of the table. Well, the business cards would have to do.

  Cam surveyed the hall. The far corner had accumulated a crowd. When she saw Felicity stroll away from it, holding a plastic beer cup, Cam realized why. One table housed the Ipswich Ale Brewery. Next to them on one side hung a sign for Alfalfa Farm Winery. On the other side was Mill River Winery. One of the two wineries was apparently David Kosloski’s preference, since he now carried a clear plastic cup of red wine. And on the other side of the brewery, Cam spied a sign for Turkey Shore Distilleries, makers of a historically correct rum. She had heard of the outfit but had never gotten the chance to try the rum.

  The atmosphere in the room was festive. The central area was filling up fast, with people old and young visiting tables and sampling local foods of all kinds. Cam spied Albert in a cluster of men near the beer table. Good. He’d found cronies to hang with. She decided to dash over to the Market’s table and grab a little plate of whatever Jake was offering. The thought of physical proximity to the tall chef made her body thrum with excitement.

  “Felicity?” Cam waved at the petite woman passing by. She was dressed in a flowing purple dress, with a brilliant turquoise scarf draped around her shoulder.

  “Hey, the table looks great, Cam. Isn’t this wonderful?” Felicity sipped her beer. “Have you seen Lucinda?”

  “She’s not here?” Cam’s mouth dropped open. This was Lucinda’s event.

  “No. In fact, I had to call my brother to open up for us. She was supposed to have gotten the key from him.”

  “Your brother?”

  “He’s the sexton here.”

  “That was lucky. Listen, can you watch my table for a minute? I need to ask Jake a question. Try to make sure people take only one strawberry if you can. So we don’t run out.”

  Felicity nodded. “Sure.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Cam decided to grab a drink before she visited Jake’s table. She searched all the faces she passed for Lucinda’s, but she didn’t seem to be in the room. Harm could have come to Lucinda. It had been only a week since the murder. Thoughts of violence pushed into Cam’s brain. Or maybe the Brazilian had been detained. Cam had no idea if the INS was active in Westbury, it was such a backwater. The recent push across the country to make the local police report immigration violations had to make undocumented workers like Lucinda nervous.

  The Turkey Shore table had the smallest crowd, so Cam steered in that direction. She introduced herself to the burly, rosy-cheeked man behind it.

  He smiled at Cam. “I’m Mat. Can I offer you a sample of the White Cap or the Tavern Style rum?”

  “I’d love a little. How about the Tavern Style? But, wait, it can’t be local.” Cam paused before tasting the small cup of amber liquid. She eyed Mat. “I mean, you don’t get your molasses from around here, do you? Sugarcane doesn’t grow in Zone Six.”

  He shook his head. “Louisiana.” He glanced around. “Don’t tell,” he whispered, with smiling eyes under raised eyebrows. “It’s not a secret, really,” he continued in a normal voice. “Lucinda let me display, anyway, since the rum is locally made.”

  Was there anybody Lucinda didn’t know? Cam sipped the rum. “Ooh. Nice. It’s so smooth, like bourbon, almost.” She ran her tongue against the back of her teeth, savoring the buttery feel and catching a hint of vanilla. “Thanks. I’ll spread the word.” She downed the sample and waved as she moved toward Jake’s table, the warmth of the rum spreading through her. She cast her eyes around the crowd for Lucinda.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going!”

  Cam thudded into someone. “I’m sorry!” Cam said. “Oh, hi, Stuart.” She stepped back with a sheepish look that turned to chagrin when she saw the spilled beer near the hem of his pants. “Sorry about that.”

  Stuart cleared his throat as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Anybody could make a mistake. “And while I’m apologizing, I might have overreacted about you pulling those pole beans.”

  “I’m over it. But did you lose something just now? You were walking around like a woman on a scavenger hunt.” He frowned up at Cam as he leaned down to pat the spill with the handkerchief.

  “I’m looking for Lucinda. Have you seen her? She planned this whole event, but she doesn’t seem to be here.”

  Stuart focused on the wet spot on his leg. “Can’t help you.” He did not look up.

  “All right. Hey, I am sorry. I’ll try to pay more attention to where I’m going.” He seemed more rational, at least, than he had been at the funeral home.

  An eager group stood in front of the restaurant’s table. Cam paused. Jake stood motionless, an empty plate in one hand, with a somber look on his face. She followed the path of his eyes, which blazed at Stuart in the middle of the room. Cam cleared her throat.

  Jake shifted his eyes to Cam. He didn’t smile. “You know that guy?”

  “He’s a customer. And we worked together, sort of, a few years ago. We were both at the same company. Why?”

  Jake shook his head. “He’s not my favorite guy. He�
��s been into the restaurant. Let’s just say he’s not the easiest customer I’ve ever cooked for.” He mustered a smile, but it didn’t look easy. “Want food?”

  Cam nodded. “Hungry. Thanks.” She accepted the plate after Jake filled it. “What do we have?”

  “Local shrimp ravioli in a reduction of Alfalfa Farm Winery’s pinot gris with local sun-dried tomatoes from last year, Sunrise Dairy’s butter, and your own lemon thyme. It’s been getting rave reviews.”

  A server gestured to Jake to answer a question from one of the many samplers. Cam thanked him and took her plate back to her table. She also thanked Felicity and managed to snag a bite of one of the ravioli before a white-haired couple demanded her attention. The ravioli definitely earned their rave reviews.

  Several hollow-sounding taps came over the PA system. Cam glanced at the podium.

  “Can I have your attention, please?” Lucinda stood behind the mike, her curly hair twisted up in a messy knot, with wild strands escaping all over.

  Cam let out a breath. Her volunteer was present, she was alive, and she looked fine, if a bit disheveled.

  Lucinda sounded breathless as she called out, “Greetings, locavores!” A deep magenta blouse brought out the warm tones of her skin. She wore matching lipstick that flashed when she smiled broadly to the gathering. She went on to welcome the crowd. She spoke for a moment about her Kingsolverian plan to eat locally for a year. She then urged people to sample from every table.

  “We all need to encourage our local sources of food. With that, I’m happy to introduce one of our biggest supporters, Farmer Cameron Flaherty. Cam, come up and tell us about your farm.”

  Cam gulped. Her? Oh, no. Public speaking was not on her list of favorite activities. It wasn’t even at the bottom of the list. She tried to catch Lucinda’s eye and shook her head with energy, but the crowd had started clapping. Heads turned to look at Cam. She spied Irene Burr, who caught her eye and nodded with raised eyebrows, encouraging Cam to speak. Lucinda clapped at the mike, too.

  “Farmer Cam of Produce Plus Plus, where are you?”

  Cam sighed. That had to be a rhetorical question, since between her height and her red hair, she was sure Lucinda knew her exact location. Where Lucinda had been was another question, one Cam hoped to get answered before the evening was out.