Mulch Ado about Murder Read online

  “Okay.” This kind of offer wasn’t like her mom, but Cam wasn’t about to pass up the chance to walk and talk.

  “I plan to lie on the warm sand,” William said. “You girls have a nice stroll.”

  Cam and Deb walked in silence for a minute. They detoured around a toddler girl squatting with her bucket and shovel, a pink ruffle not quite covering her little diapered tush as she shoveled sand with great concentration. A suited-up teenage surfer, board under one arm, ran across their path and into the water, her board attached to a cord leading to a cuff fastened around her ankle.

  A white-haired woman approached with a curly little dog on a leash.

  “They let dogs on a public beach?” Deb’s voice rose.

  “I think it’s because it’s before Memorial Day. Just. Or maybe they don’t and she’s flaunting the rules.”

  It was a very long leash, and the woman didn’t reel in the dog to her side, so it ran toward Cam and Deb. The woman smiled and waved.

  “Dog owners,” Cam’s mom said in a harsh whisper. “They expect everyone to want to talk to their little darling.”

  The dog gazed up at them, panting, almost pleading to be petted. Deb steered Cam in a wide berth around it, casting a dirty look at the owner.

  “Why do you hate dogs so much, Mom?” Cam asked, keeping her voice casual.

  Deb walked so long without answering that Cam thought she wasn’t going to. When they reached a tumble of giant rocks separating Jenness from the next beach to the south, Deb perched on the edge of a boulder and gazed out to sea. Cam sat on the dry sand next to her, resting her arms on bent knees.

  “I don’t hate them, Cameron. I had a very bad experience with a dog when I was a teenager. I’m terrified of it happening again.”

  This might be the first vulnerable thing her mom had ever said to Cam. She glanced up at Deb. “You going to tell me what happened?”

  Deb stared at the waves. “I was out running by myself. A big dog came racing up to me. It sank its teeth into my leg.” She tugged up the hem of her left shorts leg. A ragged scar marred her outer thigh near the underwear line.

  “Mom, that’s awful.”

  A shiver ran through Deb. “I was terrified. I couldn’t make it let go. I whacked it and yelled. The beast was growling and pulling at me.” Her voice trembled. She brought her hand to cover her mouth. “Finally a man driving by stopped and hit the dog with something, made it let go.”

  “I had no idea. It must have been so scary.” Cam stood and wrapped her arms around her mother, something she never would have done a year ago. She felt her mother’s slender shoulders shudder, as if still experiencing the attack from forty years earlier. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s in the past.”

  “I know. But it doesn’t feel that way,” her mom whispered.

  “I don’t blame you for not liking dogs,” Cam said, pulling back but keeping one hand on Deb’s shoulder. “I have fears from my childhood, too.”

  Deb squared her shoulders and turned to gaze at Cam. “From the fire,” she murmured.

  Cam nodded. “I can’t stand it when I hear sirens in the distance or smell smoke in the air. It’s stupid, because people in New England love to burn their leaves in the fall and heat with wood stoves in the winter.”

  “It’s not stupid. I still feel responsible for that situation, Cam.”

  “You do?” Cam asked. Her mother had never said anything of the kind.

  “It was that irresponsible babysitter. We were so desperate to go out, your father and me, I hired a teenager I hadn’t fully vetted.” Deb’s eyes drooped, and she pressed her lips together in an expression of regret. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Of course,” Cam said. “I’m just glad we’re talking.”

  * * *

  By five o’clock a hungry Cam and her parents were seated at a round, wrought iron table on the patio outside the Throwback Brewery. Umbrellas in bright reds and blues kept the sun off and matched a dozen Adirondack chairs arranged in seating clusters. Big, red sliding doors at the end of the whitewashed barn that housed the brewery were wide open. Cam loved the place. And since Sim had recommended it to Rudin, there was a chance he’d be here on a nice Sunday afternoon, too.

  A young woman in a black brewery hoodie brought a tray with the beers they’d ordered. IT’S LOCAL was written on the front of her sweatshirt above the logo of a slatted wheel like a windmill.

  Cam thanked her. “Is Annette around?” She’d arranged to sell her produce with one of the two women who owned and ran the brewery.

  “Sure. I’ll ask her to stop by your table when she has time.”

  “Great. You got the porter, right, Daddy?” Cam asked as the waitperson left.

  He nodded as he sipped from a glass full of a dark brew. “Mmm, smoky.”

  “Love Me Long Time Pilsner,” Deb said. “What a fun name.”

  Cam tasted her hoppy brew. “Hopstruck is a perfect name for an IPA. And it’s the right temperature. Lots of places serve it too cold.” She pointed to a structure with lines hanging from twenty-foot-high pipes. “Did you see they’re growing some of their own hops?”

  “Hops grow that tall?” William asked.

  “They do. See, the plants are already climbing up those lines.”

  “Do they have to replant them every year?” Deb asked.

  “No, they’re perennials. And once the hop plant gets established, it has such a strong root system it’s been known to crack pipes when somebody plants it too close to a house.”

  The three sat, sipping, observing other dining customers come and go. Two twenty-something couples arrived and sat in the Adirondack chairs. A family of five departed, the father cradling a fat-bellied growler with the brewery logo painted in white letters on the dark glass. The scent of fresh-mown grass mixed with the aroma of grilled meat emanating from the restaurant.

  Deb was seated across from Cam, legs stretched out, one hand in the pocket of her shorts. She seemed more relaxed than she had since her arrival. Cam wondered if it would be psychobabble to think Deb’s talking about her fears had let her release some tension. But Cam was a former software engineer turned farmer, so she didn’t really have a clue. She was simply glad the lines in her mother’s forehead had smoothed out and her laugh was closer to the surface.

  After the waitperson came back and took their food orders, Cam said to her parents, “So tomorrow’s a big day in Westbury. You’re not going to want to miss the Memorial Day parade.”

  “I’ll bet it’s just like the one in Otsego where I grew up,” William said, his face alight. “The veterans lead off, and all the children’s organizations march. Does the whole town turn out to watch like they do in Michigan?”

  “They sure do,” Cam said. “It’s exactly as you said. Scouts, ball teams, 4-H—they all walk in the parade. Plus the high school marching band, antique vehicles, the works. Last year a guy even drove his riding lawn mower, all decorated in red, white, and blue. The town fire trucks bring up the rear, and at the end all the kids get to pile on for a ride back to the fire station for free ice cream.”

  “That sounds a little dangerous,” Deb said.

  “Kind of, yes. Teenagers hang off the outside. But the firefighters drive slowly.”

  “We’ll certainly go and watch, won’t we, hon?” William squeezed Deb’s hand.

  “Of course.”

  A couple made their way from the parking lot down the path toward the seating area. They took the only open table, a couple of yards from where Cam and her parents sat.

  Cam’s friend Annette, a wiry, petite woman in her forties, approached the table with a tray full of food. “Let’s see, you had the black bean burger,” she said to Deb as she set it down.

  “I’m the hamburger,” William said.

  “And Cam must be the poutine with the kale and couscous salad on the side,” Annette said to Cam. “How are you?”

  “Great to see you, Annette.” Cam smiled and introduced her to her parents.r />
  They exchanged greetings and pleasantries. “It’s not just my brewery,” Annette said. “My business partner Nicole and I run it together.”

  “But you’re the brewer, aren’t you?” Cam asked.

  “I’m in charge of brewing, that’s true. I hope you enjoy your meal as much as we like using Cam’s greens and other vegetables later in the season,” Annette said. “Are you all still good with your drinks?”

  “I think so,” Cam answered.

  “I’ll take another,” William said. “Since my wife is driving home. The stout this time, I think. I like beer I can almost chew.”

  “You got it.” Annette moved on to the newcomers.

  “Bon appetit,” Deb said.

  Cam heard the man at the next table tell Annette, “We’re visiting from Florida.”

  Cam had extracted a fat french fry from the delicious morass of gravy and cheese curds. She stopped her hand halfway to her mouth and looked across the table past her mother. The woman of the couple, in profile to Cam, was striking, with almond-shaped eyes and a low ponytail of shiny black hair stretching halfway down her back. She wore a summery sheath dress in magenta that lit up her tanned skin. From the back Cam could see the man with her had a squat, square head, half bald, with thin blond hair. Was this Rudin Brunelle? Had her bet paid off? He sure looked like how Sim had described Nicole’s ex-husband.

  Cam ate her fry and kept watching. The couple ordered a flight of beer samples, which the waitperson brought back a couple of minutes later—four small glasses full of different-colored beers resting in an arched wire holder.

  “Did you want to order food, too?” the waitperson asked.

  The man shook his head. “Just drinking for now.”

  The woman tasted one of the beers and passed the glass to the man as they murmured to each other. Cam couldn’t quite make out the words.

  “Cam?” William waved his hand in front of her face. “I asked you a question.”

  Cam startled. She dragged her focus away from the couple. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I asked how your dinner was.”

  “It’s delicious. Did you know this is the national dish of Québec?”

  “You don’t say.”

  “You can have it.” Deb wrinkled her nose. “Why spoil perfectly good fries with gravy?”

  Cam focused on her meal. She asked her parents about their upcoming trip to Brazil. They chatted until their plates were empty. After Deb excused herself to go to the restroom, Cam glanced up to see the woman at the next table pull out her phone. The man grabbed it out of her hand, and she stood, nostrils flaring. Her high-heeled black sandals showed off toenails in an eggplant shade.

  “Rudin, give that back to me this instant.”

  Cam froze. It was him, all right.

  He held the phone just out of the woman’s reach. “No phones at the table. Isn’t that your rule?” he taunted her.

  The woman reached across the table for the phone. As she grabbed for it, she lost her balance on those stiletto heels. She tipped to the side, knocking over one of the wire chairs. The glasses in the holder took an actual flight, too, rolling on the table, splashing what beer was left in them. Cam jumped up and hurried to the woman’s side, where she sprawled on the ground.

  “Are you all right?” Cam asked, extending a hand.

  The woman accepted it and boosted herself with her other hand until she sat in her chair again. She rubbed the elbow she’d fallen on. Rudin hadn’t stood. He sat leaning back with his arms folded across his chest. The woman glared at him for a second before looking up at Cam.

  “Thank you. I’m Geneva. Geneva Flores.” She held out a slender hand also displaying expertly manicured nails.

  “Cam Flaherty.” They shook hands. “Is your elbow okay?”

  “Yes, thanks,” Geneva said. “This is my ‘friend,’ Rudin Brunelle.” Geneva surrounded “friend” in finger quotes.

  “Nice to meet you,” Cam said to him. What did Geneva mean with the finger quotes? That they weren’t really friends, or were more than friends?

  He kept his arms folded and nodded without speaking.

  “I’m sorry about the death of your ex-wife,” Cam said.

  He sat up straight, setting his forearms on the table. “How do you know who I am?” His pale green eyes were wide over ruddy cheeks, the lashes so light Cam could hardly see them.

  How much to tell him? “I’m a farmer, and I’d been starting some seedlings for her.”

  William piped up from the other table. “Cam found the poor woman dead.”

  Rudin twisted in his chair with a “who the heck is this guy?” look on his face.

  “William Flaherty. Cam’s father.” William stuck out his hand.

  Rudin shook it. He returned his gaze to Cam. “You found Nicole dead in the greenhouse?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Cam said. “We’re all so sad about it. She had high hopes for her business.”

  “Terrible news.” Geneva shook her head with a somber expression on her face.

  Rudin blinked. “Yes, of course. It’s very sad. She and I were separated, but naturally I didn’t wish her ill. I’m curious, how did you know I was her ex?” Rudin asked.

  Separated? Not divorced? “Apparently the police have been looking for you. I’d heard your name.”

  He raised his eyebrows and let them drop. “I’m on vacation. Maybe they don’t have my cell number.”

  Or maybe you haven’t been answering it. “Where are you staying while you’re here?” Cam asked. She kept her voice light. Casual. Interested.

  Rudin didn’t speak. Geneva glanced at him. Cam caught the slightest shake of a head from Rudin.

  “We found the sweetest Airbnb,” she said with smile.

  Cam’s mom approached from the building.

  “I paid the bill inside and . . .” Her voice trailed off as her line of sight landed on Rudin and Geneva. Deb stared at Geneva, who stared back.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Cam said, glancing from her mother to Geneva. What was going on?

  An almost imperceptible look passed over Geneva’s face. Was it alarm or malice? Cam couldn’t tell, and it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

  Deb faced Cam. “Shall we get going?”

  Cam cleared her throat. “Sure. Enjoy your drinks,” she said to the couple. She headed with her parents toward the parking lot. Turning back, Cam said, “You might want to contact the Westbury police department, Rudin. They really do want to talk with you.”

  Chapter 16

  Still in the Throwback Brewery parking lot, Deb twisted in the driver’s seat to look at Cam in the back of the rental car. “I saw that man near the greenhouse, Cam. Who is he?”

  So that was why that look had appeared on her mom’s face when she came out of the building. Except she’d been staring at Geneva, not at Rudin. “You did?” Cam asked.

  “Yes. At least I think I did. Who is he? Do you know him?”

  “He’s Nicole’s ex-husband, Rudin Brunelle.”

  “The plot thickens.” William spoke in a deep, dramatic voice. “As they say.”

  “Nicole’s former husband. That’s very interesting,” Deb said. “Very.”

  “Why?” Cam asked. “What was he doing when you saw him?”

  “It was when we first got to the greenhouse that morning, your friend Felicity and me. Before I went in to speak with Nicole.”

  “Wait,” Cam said. “Tell me that later. I have an idea. Let’s pull out of here but only drive to the end of the block. I want to see their license plate number.”

  “Don’t you think the police already have that, from the rental car place?” William asked.

  “Let’s just do it. Please,” Cam urged. “Maybe they don’t have it.”

  Deb started the car.

  Cam directed her out of the lot. “Turn left and pull into that lot.” She pointed to a gas station on the corner with busy Route 1. “We can sit here and wait for them to leave.” She really should
text Ivan right now and tell him she’d seen Rudin. But if she could include a license plate number, so much the better.

  “This could take a while,” Deb said, but she did as Cam requested. She backed into a parking spot so they faced the corner and rolled down the windows before shutting off the engine. The whoosh and thrum of traffic on the state route was constant. People coming home from the beaches, heading out to Sunday dinner, picking up groceries for the week, shopping at the outlets in no-sales-tax New Hampshire.

  “Perfect, Mom. This way we’ll see them whether they turn north or south.”

  “Are we going to give chase? Tail them?” William sounded delighted at the prospect.

  “No, Bill, we are not.” Deb rolled her eyes at her husband. “Right, Cam?”

  Cam considered that idea. While it held a certain appeal, following Rudin and Geneva would be foolhardy and maybe dangerous. “Right. We’re going to phone in the make of the car and the license plate number, maybe send the police a picture, and then go home.” She unbuckled her seat belt and moved into the middle of the backseat so she’d have a better view.

  After a few minutes of the three of them watching every car that passed and listening to the ding-ding of cars pulling up to the gas pumps, William spoke up. “What if they ordered a meal at the brewery? We could be here for an hour.”

  “Rudin said they were just drinking,” Cam said.

  “Well, I’m going inside to use the facilities. Don’t blink, girls, you might miss them.” William climbed out and headed for the convenience store.

  Deb drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

  Cam pulled out her phone and activated the camera so she’d be ready. “You acted like you recognized Geneva, Mom. Do you know her?”

  “She reminded me of someone else.” Deb looked straight out the front window.

  “While we have time, tell me about seeing Rudin that morning.”

  “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But I saw a man come out of that little house behind the greenhouse. I’m pretty sure it was Rudin, now that I know who he is.”

  Nicole’s house. Cam hoped her mom wouldn’t bite her head off like she had a couple of days ago, but she had to ask. “Did you tell the police?”