A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die Page 16

  Striding into the living room, Cam smoothed down a stray lock of hair as she checked her appearance once more in the tall oval mirror. She’d picked a gauzy pale blue Indian blouse that set off her eyes and white capri pants. The tiny bells on her silver Indian earrings jingled when she moved her head. Of course, she’d rolled the sleeves of the blouse up for cooking, and a drop of strawberry juice had landed on the pants, near her knee, which kind of spoiled the look. Cam knew she wasn’t a style setter. If Jake was going to be involved with her, he’d have to learn that this was what he was going to get.

  When the timer rang again, Cam dashed back to the kitchen and carefully extracted the pie, setting it on a wire rack to cool.

  She looked down at Preston. “Don’t you get any ideas about licking the sour cream off the top of that, sir.” He only occasionally made his way onto the countertop, and this would be a particularly inopportune time to do it. Cam rummaged in the lower cupboards until she found an extra-large colander. She turned it over and covered the pie. A proper farmhouse would have had a pie keep. If Marie had had one of the cupboards with doors made of perforated metal, it was long gone now.

  Cam made her way outdoors to wait in a lawn chair under the tree. A breeze that had sprung up brought the tang of fresh-cut grass. A mosquito keened near her ear and earned a slap. It was still a couple of hours until sunset. This one must have been extra hungry. She closed her eyes, trying to still her mind. A motorcycle sped by on the road. The leaves rustled in the tree above her, and a branch rubbed against another.

  She got up and wandered over to the flower garden, which was in its purple phase. The Japanese irises. The pointy stalks of lupines. The delicate columbines. Cam bent over and pulled a few weeds. While she was at it, she deadheaded several of the narcissus that had gone by, a task Marie had taught her on one of Cam’s first visits to the farm, twisting off the little bulging bulb where the flower had been. “The energy has to go back into the bulb in the ground and nourish it, so it will flower next year, too,” Marie had said.

  Cam looked back at the yard, glad she’d taken twenty minutes to mow it earlier. It made everything look tidier, nicer, even the peeling paint on the back of the house. But where was Jake? It had to be almost six-thirty. Maybe he’d had an accident. Maybe he forgot. Or maybe he thought fashionably late was cool. She realized she didn’t really know if he was habitually late or not. She didn’t know much about him at all, for that matter. Cam dusted her hands on her pants, as was her habit.

  “Oh, rats,” she said as she looked down. She didn’t usually wear white for precisely this reason. A dusting of dirt now decorated the outer seam of both pant legs.

  Just then a Cooper Mini with the top down pulled into the drive. There he was. Just in time to see her ruined outfit. Cam watched Jake unfold himself out of the tiny convertible. He wore ivory linen slacks with black sandals and a loose silk shirt in a bold print with blocks of black, red, and ivory tumbling every which way. To Cam’s eyes, he looked relaxed and stylish. And sexy.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he called, waving a floral wrap full of flowers. He leaned into the backseat and emerged with the other arm tucked around a bottle of wine and a paper bag. A CD was clamped under his chin, preventing him from straightening all the way. “Help?”

  Cam laughed. She relieved him of the CD, and then of the flowers when he extended them to her. “Thanks.” She peered into the wrap and said, “Awww, Jake.” It was dozens of pink and white carnations. “How did you know?”

  “Know what?” He had the audacity to wink at her. “That you like carnations? Maybe I’m just a good judge of character.”

  “I guess. Anyway, thanks.”

  Jake assumed a stern look. “They’re not local, you know.”

  Cam shook her head, gesturing around her with the CD. “I live, breathe, and eat local. Mostly. I don’t need flowers from my dinner guest to be local, too. They’re beautiful, by the way. And they happen to look great for at least a couple of weeks. It’s funny. A big bunch of carnations was left here a couple of days ago. Would that have been from you, too?”

  Jake’s face darkened. “No, it wouldn’t have happened to have been me. The competition again? What’s his name?”

  “Don’t be silly. It was probably one of my customers.” But if not Jake, she had no idea who could have left them. “So what’s in the bag?”

  Jake held out the paper bag. “I brought just one little contribution. An appetizer, only.”

  Cam wrinkled her nose. “Oh, right.” Appetizers. She glanced up at Jake. His dark expression turned to hurt. “I mean, thank you! I totally forgot about appetizers. And I really appreciate it.”

  Jake’s face relaxed. “I just made simple pastries stuffed with crab and truffles.”

  Yeah, simple, thought Cam. “What a treat,” she said. “Come on in.” She led the way into the house, her body aware of his following her.

  Cam laid the flowers next to the sink, then drew two slender wineglasses out of the fridge. “Chardonnay okay to start? We’ll have what you brought with dinner.”

  “Lovely.”

  Cam poured the wine and handed Jake his glass. “Here’s to summer. Less than two weeks to the solstice.”

  “To summer.” Jake clinked his glass with hers and sipped. “Delicious. It’ll be perfect with the pastries. Give me a cookie sheet and an oven, and I’ll just crisp them up.”

  After directing Jake to what he needed, Cam leaned her elbows back on the counter and watched him work. His ample body and energy filled the room. He glanced over once and smiled.

  After he closed the oven door, Jake examined the timer on the stove and, apparently being a quick study, set it for ten minutes. He washed his hands. “Now, a wine opener. I want to let the red breathe.”

  The man was all business. Cam handed him the corkscrew. While he opened the red wine, she clipped the ends of the flowers and arranged them in a heavy glass vase then placed it on the table, shifting the bucket of flowers to the table near the door. She remembered to roll down her sleeves and smooth them out.

  Jake set the bottle on the counter and turned to her. “There,” he said. He gazed at Cam, taking in her face, her outfit, her feet—thank goodness for the red nail polish she’d unearthed in her cabinet—like he was hungry for more than dinner.

  The blush tiptoed its way up her neck.

  “You look fabulous, Cam. The perfect summer hostess.”

  Cam snorted. “Yeah, perfect.” She shook her head, then gestured to her now less than white pants.

  “Well, a hostess who can not only cook but can also grow the dinner, no? That’s a good thing, that little bit of dirt.” Jake picked up his glass and, with a seductive look in his eyes, sidled over next to Cam, leaning one elbow on the counter so he faced her. “What’s on the menu, Madame Chef?”

  His heat. His delicious scent. His ice-blue eyes boring into hers. She felt a little dizzy and a little damp.

  The timer went off.

  “Ah, saved by the bell!” Jake said as he left her side and busied himself finding a plate and a spatula, sliding the pastry cups—now tipped with a light toast color—onto the plate, offering it to Cam with a flourish.

  Saved by the bell was right.

  A couple of hours later Cameron took the last bite of her pie.

  “That was splendid, Cameron. I must have the recipe.” Jake pushed back from the table a little and patted his stomach. “What a meal.”

  Cam nodded, taking a sip of coffee. The pasta and salmon had been a success, and Jake had exclaimed repeatedly about the freshness of the salad. Cam had promised him as many greens as she could cut as soon as they were ready in quantity, and had made a note to herself to feed the lettuce seedlings the next morning so they stayed healthy.

  “Thanks for bringing the crab thingies. They were divine.”

  Jake laughed with gusto. “Thingies? A technical term among farmers?” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

  Cam sputtere
d as she blushed. “Hey, you’re the chef. What do you call them, anyway?”

  “Crab-truffle thingies.” He wiped the smile off his face but not out of his eyes. “I put them on the menu every other week. They even got a thumbs-up from the reviewer last month. ‘The crab thingies were divine’ was in the second paragraph of the review.” Jake broke down and let the laughter out until he cried.

  Cam tsk-tsked, protesting, “I’ll bet you wouldn’t have the slightest idea what the beneficial parasite that colonizes tomato hornworms is called, so there.”

  Jake wiped his eyes with his napkin, the hilarity apparently subsiding. “No, my dear, I wouldn’t. But you know what else I brought besides thingies?”

  “A CD.”

  “Righto. I’m going to clear here, and then I want to put on a particular CD for you. No, don’t get up,” he said as Cam started to rise. “Let me do it. You worked hard all day. I had the day off, remember?”

  Cam didn’t remember the last time someone cleared the table for her, but decided to sit back and enjoy being waited on. Jake’s big hands made short work of it. He wandered into the living room.

  “Need help with the stereo?” Cam called.

  “Nah, I was an AV geek back in the old country,” Jake called. He had told Cam during dinner that he’d come to the States from Sweden with his family when he was sixteen. His parents and younger brother had gone back after two years, but Jake had stayed.

  The house was suddenly filled with music that sounded both Caribbean and African. The beat was catchy and regular. Jake reemerged from the living room. Bowing to Cam, he took her hand.

  “May I have this dance, miss?” He pulled her to her feet.

  “Wait a minute. I told you I don’t dance.” Cam pulled her hand back, but he didn’t let go.

  “Ah, but you agreed to dance in private. I don’t see anyone else here, do you?”

  “You win. But don’t complain if I step on your toe.” Cam shook her head in mock frustration. “Wait one second.” She blew out the candles. “Never leave a room with a lit candle in it” was one of her mantras.

  Cam let Jake lead her into the living room. He’d pushed aside the coffee table and the easy chair so they had an open space. A small lamp was the only light. It washed the room in a warm glow that didn’t quite reach into the dark corners.

  Jake put Cam’s left hand on his shoulder, placed his right hand deliciously on her waist, and took her right hand lightly in his left. Before she could blink, they were dancing. Somehow he managed to steer her around, so it even seemed like she was following his lead, a skill she’d never been particularly good at.

  The song changed, but it was the same upbeat kind of music, and Cam made it through another dance without kicking Jake in the shin or otherwise harming him. It was a magical feeling for a tall woman like Cam to feel light on her feet and in perfect sync with an even taller man, one she’d never experienced before.

  The next song was much slower. Jake pulled her in close. His feet slowed. It was even easier to follow him now. The smooth silk of his shirt cooled Cam’s now burning cheek. His own cheek pressed lightly on her head. They swayed and turned. Cam’s body came alive and was exquisitely sensitive from the top of her head all the way down to her gaudily painted toes. But especially in the middle.

  When the song ended, Jake pulled apart just enough to see her face. “See? You can dance.” His voice was husky.

  Cam reached her left hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face close to hers. “I guess I’ve never danced with a man who knew what he was doing.” She was angling up to kiss him when the phone’s shrill ring broke their bubble.

  “Ignore it,” he whispered, his lips an inch from hers. His heart beat fast next to hers.

  The phone kept ringing. It was the house phone, not her cell. Few people knew the number. Cam looked into Jake’s eyes. She let go of his neck and slid out of his embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” Cam said over her shoulder on her way into the kitchen. “Almost nobody knows my number. It’s got to be important.”

  “Yeah. Or a Monday night telemarketer,” Jake muttered.

  Cam picked up the phone and said hello. She listened. Her eyes shifted to Jake. “Arrested? That’s crazy!”

  Jake’s eyes widened. He walked over to Cam and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Sure, I’ll find a lawyer for you. I’ll be over soon. Hang in there. We’ll get you out. They can’t hold you if you didn’t do it.” Cam listened. “Okay. Don’t worry.” She slammed the phone on the counter.

  Jake gave Cam’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Who’s been arrested? What can I do to help?”

  Cam faced Jake. “It’s Lucinda. They arrested her for Mike’s murder!”

  Chapter 15

  Jake froze. His face paled. “I have to find her a lawyer,” Cam said, frowning. “Poor Lucinda. This is just what she was afraid of. She’s not exactly here legally, and she thinks if she even talks to the police, she’ll be deported.” Cam had a quick moment of remorse, wondering if she should be sharing Lucinda’s status and fears with Jake.

  “She probably will be.” Jake’s voice was low, ominous.

  “That’s ridiculous. She hasn’t done anything wrong. This is all a big mistake.” Cam turned back to the phone. “I’ll call Uncle Albert. He’ll know a lawyer.” She pressed his number. “Poor Lucinda,” Cam repeated as she waited. “Come on, Albert. Pick up.” Cam paced into the kitchen and back.

  “Uncle Albert. Hi. Do you know of a good lawyer?”

  Albert asked her if she was in trouble.

  “No, not for me. My friend, my customer Lucinda, she’s been arrested for Mike Montgomery’s murder.”

  “Well, isn’t that something. Wait a minute while I find my address book.”

  When he came back on the line, Cam wrote down the number and thanked him, then hung up. She looked around. Where was Jake?

  He emerged from the living room, closing the case on his CD. “I have to go, Cam.”

  Cam frowned. “You do? Just like that?”

  “I need to. Tomorrow I have to . . .” Jake spread his hands open. “You’ve got a lot to do. I don’t want you to have to worry about me, too.” His expression was stern, but his eyes shifted around the room like a trapped animal’s. “Call me later to tell me how it went.”

  Cam sighed. “Okay.” She shrugged. The entire universe had changed course. They’d been a millimeter and a millisecond away from becoming intimate, and now he was running off. So be it.

  “Thanks for dinner.” Jake leaned in and kissed her on the cheek as if she was his sister. “I’ll call you soon. Good luck with Lucinda.”

  And then he was gone.

  Cam shook her head to clear it. She pictured Lucinda in a jail cell and shuddered. She dialed the lawyer, a Susan Lee. This woman had better be a magician.

  Cam knocked on the glass door of the Westbury Public Safety Complex fifteen minutes later. She tried the handle again. It was still locked. She swore. Stepping back a few paces, she scanned the front of the building with its two matching gabled roofs that mimicked the neighboring antique colonial homes along Main Street. Why a little town like Westbury thought it needed an edifice with an exalted name like the Public Safety Complex was beyond her. People used to just call them police stations and fire stations. And the public wasn’t very safe when a citizen couldn’t even gain access at nine o’clock on a Monday night.

  She approached the door again and pressed her nose against the glass. All she could see was a long hall illuminated only by ceiling-mounted red exit signs every few yards.

  “Please come around to the back door,” a tinny, disembodied voice said.

  Cam yelped and jumped back. Where had it come from? Then she noticed a speaker set into the stone facade. Under it was a small unlit brass sign. Cam peered at it. AFTER 8:00 PM VISITORS ARE REQUIRED TO ENTER BY THE BACK DOOR.

  Nice. She’d missed it completely.

  Cam waved at the hidden camera, wh
erever it was, and trudged around the left side of the building. The right side housed the fire engine bays. Just in case an alarm sounded, she did not intend to be run down as they sped to their firefighting duties.

  She rounded the second corner of the complex. Now she was getting somewhere. The back of the building featured a spotlight and a window set into the wall next to a door. Half a dozen navy blue Westbury squad cars were lined up in a neat row. Cam peered in the window. A space of several feet separated her from an inner window that led to a lit office. Another disembodied voice spoke, but this one seemed to correspond to the seated person behind the second window.

  “Can I help you?”

  Cam didn’t see any particular place where she should direct her voice, so she just stood in place and spoke. “I’m Cameron Flaherty of Attic Hill Road. My friend has been arrested. Lucinda DaSilva. It’s all a mistake. I’d like to see her, please. Her lawyer is on her way.”

  There was no answer. Cam saw the person who had spoken to her turn and consult with another officer in the room.

  A car peeled into the driveway and screeched to a stop. Cam turned to look. Out of a white Jaguar unfolded a woman as tall as Cam, in a gray suit jacket and a tight pencil skirt. Her hair was platinum and flouncy. A red leather case swung from her shoulder as she strode toward Cam on red three-inch heels that would have looked right at home on a glamorous 1930s movie star.

  If this was Susan Lee, Cam was glad she didn’t have to oppose her.

  “Cameron Flaherty?” the woman said in a deep, throaty voice as she approached.

  Cam nodded.

  “Susan Lee, attorney. I got here as soon as I could.” She extended her hand toward Cam.