Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) Read online

  “Deal.” He gave her a thumbs-up gesture and walked to his car. Before he climbed in, he called, “Let’s get that joyride in one of these days.”

  She waved as he pulled out, hoping there was, in fact, some joy coming along soon. But that pale band on his ring finger. Was he just recently divorced? Or maybe even still married? He seemed much friendlier toward her now than he had last June. She already had an overcontrolling man in her life. Did she also need one on the rebound?

  Chapter 19

  Cam worked here and there alongside the volunteers for the next couple of hours, being careful not to bend down. She sat for a rest every twenty minutes or so. She found herself looking over her shoulder at odd noises and startling at the least thing. She wished she’d told Pete about Preston’s disappearance.

  Her feelings were at odds with the weather. It had turned out to be a sunny day with a mild breeze, perfect for ripening the pumpkins and winter squashes where they lay in the field and for sweetening up the apples. Deep purple eggplants and reddening peppers hung from branches, although the first frost would spell their end. She set one younger shareholder to sift through the potato beds to be sure they hadn’t missed any tubers at harvest time the week before. Lucinda and another volunteer took on the final weeding in the lettuce and greens beds.

  Cam joined Diane Weaver in her assigned task of picking up windfall apples. “I know it’s a bit backbreaking, but I can take them over to Cider Valley Farm and put them through their press,” Cam said. “I hate to waste them in the compost if we can get juice from them.”

  “No problem. It’s great to be out in the fresh air.”

  “What do you do for work, Diane? I know a lot of people can’t get away on a weekday morning to work on a farm.”

  Diane was silent for a moment. She picked up another handful of apples and laid them in the wooden box Cam had supplied her with earlier. “I’m a consultant. I can fix my own hours, within reason.” She stood to stretch.

  “What do you consult about?”

  “I work for the government.” Diane bent to pick up more apples from the ground and did not elaborate.

  Cam let the subject drop. She was grateful for the free labor and didn’t really care what her volunteers’ day jobs were. She watched Diane’s eyes fix on a field beyond and to the left of the small apple orchard. Cam followed the trajectory to see Wes Ames bent over a row of Brussels sprouts.

  “Have you known Wes long?” Cam asked, remembering the look Wes had shot Diane on Saturday.

  Diane paused again. “I don’t actually know him. I’ve heard him speak about the Old Town Hall at meetings, that’s all.”

  “When he was leaving Saturday, he gave you kind of a dirty look.”

  “Oh, we might have been on opposite sides of an issue once or twice.” Diane’s laugh seemed forced. “Nothing personal. Has he been a subscriber long?”

  “This is my first year of having a CSA, actually. But his wife, Felicity, signed them up early last winter, and they’ve been active members. He told me she’s away helping her sister right now.”

  “Interesting.”

  Cam started to work alongside Diane until she realized bending down to pick up apples was not the best thing for her head. She spied Alexandra at the compost piles and strolled in that direction instead.

  “Thanks once again for tackling compost duty,” Cam said to Alexandra. There was plenty of new material to add almost every day now. “The weather is still warm enough to cook it down if it’s turned often enough.”

  “No worries. It’s great exercise.” Alexandra stuck her pitchfork in the ground.

  At a sudden rustling from the grapevine behind Alexandra, Cam whirled but saw only a squirrel chasing another up a nearby tree.

  “So Madeline didn’t have any news about Preston?”

  Cam shook her head. “No news. I put the poster up all over town and on this road, too.” She patted the phone in her back pocket. “No calls yet, either.”

  Alexandra reached out an arm and squeezed Cam around the shoulders. “He’ll show up. I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope so,” Cam said, tears pricking her eyes. “I can only hope so.”

  As the sun reached its apex, she wandered the fields and asked each person working to keep an eye out for Preston. Most expressed their sympathy. All the volunteers knew the farm cat, and several had grown quite fond of him. She also made sure everybody knew they were welcome to pull up as many cornstalks as they wanted to take home for fall decorations. A sheaf of cornstalks next to a bale of hay and a couple of pumpkins was apparently an obligatory decoration in town. Cam herself didn’t bother. She had all the cornstalks she’d ever want to see a few short yards away.

  She headed out to the field where Wes was working. She gave him her spiel about Preston.

  “You know cats,” Wes said. “He’s out catching songbirds somewhere. He’ll either be back or he won’t. He’s an animal, isn’t he?” He didn’t meet Cam’s eyes, and he didn’t sound as if he cared if the kitty was found or not.

  She thought about how he’d reacted to Preston on the most recent pickup day, almost as if the feline was disgusting. “You don’t like cats, do you?” She stuck her hands in her back pockets. Certainly some people were not cat people, but she’d rarely encountered a person who appeared to actively dislike them.

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” Wes bent over a stalk and began to hack at it with the machete-like knife he held.

  The knife wasn’t one of hers. He must have brought his own. Cam shivered as she wondered why. At least today he didn’t seem stoned.

  “It looked like you were enjoying yourself at the fair yesterday,” she said.

  “I was.” He straightened and arched his lower back into his hands. “It’s one of the perks of being retired. You can have fun when you choose to, not when the boss tells you to.”

  Wes turned his back on Cam and began whacking the stalk with excess force. Green chips flew every which way until the plant split. Wes tossed it on the wheelbarrow full of other stalks and threw the knife in on top.

  “See you Saturday,” he called over his shoulder as he marched toward the barn.

  Cam followed him at a stroll.

  As they filed back to their cars, Lucinda and the woman she’d been working with paused to say good-bye to Cam.

  “Hey, fazendeira. Any news about Bobby? He still in jail or what?”

  “I’ve been so worried about Preston being gone and about what happened to my brakes, I almost forgot about Bobby.”

  The other woman, a local named Fiona, said, “Bobby Burr is in jail? He’s the talented carpenter, right? I was going to call him about an addition to my kitchen.”

  “I think he’s in jail. I haven’t heard anything about him getting out. I’m sure they’ll realize soon enough that he isn’t the killer.”

  “Killer?” Fiona covered her mouth with a pale hand, her eyes wide. “You mean he’s in jail for his stepmother’s death?”

  Cam nodded. Fiona must have been hiding under some rock if she didn’t know this biggest local news story of the season. Who was the real murderer, anyway? And would he attack again before Pappas arrested him? Or her?

  Chapter 20

  After 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 do
ing 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.

  Can we have a volunteer day on the weekends, please? We want to help but cannot be there during the workweek. Thank you!

  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.

  Chapter 21

  She 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.