A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die Page 22

  She sat on the back porch with her coffee. The cool of the evening had continued into the morning, but yesterday’s breeze was gone. Thin clouds high in the sky promised another still, warm day, and the lingering rosy color in the east was a guarantee of rain later, if the old adage “Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning” had any validity.

  Cam cocked her head at a sound. It was early for Tully to be driving up his gravel driveway. Wait. Driving up? Where had her neighbor been? He was old and not in the habit of either staying out all night or going for early morning coffee runs. She stood and peered over the lilacs at the border of the yard. Tully’s drive paralleled Cam’s but extended much farther back. When the trees were in leaf, like now, she could barely see the neighbor’s house, which was set so far back, it was on a level with Cam’s back field.

  A vehicle crept slowly away from the road. Not Tully’s ancient Cadillac. On the contrary. If Cam was not mistaken, the ratty red pickup was the farm truck Bev Montgomery drove. And Cam was pretty sure Bev didn’t have a breakfast date with Tully. Albert had once mentioned a long-standing feud between the two. This morning was getting interesting.

  Cam darted into the house, grabbed her cell phone, and made her way to the barn, following the far edge of the property. She peered out the back door of the barn. The truck had pulled off the drive under a line of trees that extended to Cam’s property line and joined the woods rimming the back of her fields. Sure enough, Bev Montgomery climbed out and started in the direction of the potato and garlic field. A black bag of some kind was slung over her shoulder.

  Cam’s anger rose. What was Bev doing skulking around her property? And what was in the bag? Cam was about to find out. She headed for the field but kept to the far side, weaving behind the hoop house, circling behind the compost area, ducking under cover of a long row of five-foot-high grapevines. Cam pushed aside a cluster of wide, flat grape leaves and peered through.

  Bev stood in the middle of the potato rows. The bag was on the ground. She had a bundle in her hands. It looked like she was trying to open a package. Cam slid her phone out of her pocket, held it out in front of her, and snapped a couple of pictures. She strode around the edge of the vine.

  “Hey!” Cam set the camera in the phone on zoom and clicked two more photos, capturing both Bev’s startled look and the package. “What are you doing?”

  Bev glanced back at the package and fumbled with it for another moment. Which left Cam with enough time to stash the phone in her pocket and rev her long legs into running stride. Bev looked up and swore loud enough for Cam to hear. As Cam arrived at her side, Bev dropped the package on the ground. She snatched up her bag with one hand and reached into it with the other, her eyes wide and wild.

  “Stop right there,” Cam demanded. She grabbed both the bag and the arm in the bag. A loud noise exploded. The dirt sprayed up from the ground a few inches from Cam’s foot. A hole smoldered at the bottom of the bag, and smoke escaped from the half-open top. “What the heck? You have a gun in there?”

  Bev cursed. She slammed her hip into Cam’s.

  Cam kept her grip on both Bev and the bag. Her ears rang from the noise with a din that almost blocked out Bev’s voice. She squeezed Bev’s wrist as tightly as she could. “Drop the bag, Bev.” Cam tugged at the bag, careful not to pull it toward her.

  Bev didn’t drop it. She tried to twist away from Cam, but Cam had the advantage of height and youth. And the disadvantage of both hands already occupied.

  “You and your organics. You’re taking all my business away,” Bev snarled. “I can’t believe Albert let you do this to me.”

  “Bev, drop the bag. Then we’ll talk.” Cam’s voice shook.

  Bev still struggled. Cam had no choice. She wasn’t about to be the recipient of a wild bullet from an out-of-control woman. She lifted her knee and brought her farm boot down hard on the insole of Bev’s worn sneaker and then drew her foot back and aimed for Bev’s kneecap.

  Bev screamed as Cam connected. She released the bag and fell on her side, clutching her knee.

  Cam walked the black bag several yards away and placed it on the ground with care. She rejoined Bev, kneeling at her side.

  “I’m sorry to hurt you, Bev. But you come onto my land, and then you try to shoot me? And what’s this package?”

  Cam reached for it. She examined it, turning it over. It was the size of a small radio or a book. She peered at the label. Leptinotarsa decemlineata. Cam’s eye’s widened. She glared at Bev.

  “You were going to introduce Colorado potato beetles? Onto my potato crop?” Cam’s voice rose. “Really? You think I don’t have enough troubles?”

  “That’s exactly what I wanted to do. Add to your troubles until you decided farming was too much for you.” The vehemence in Bev’s voice was gone, replaced with a plaintive tone. “Go back to your city job, and keep your hands clean.”

  Cogs clicked in Cam’s brain as she sank to her haunches. “You were responsible for the other sabotage, weren’t you? The rhubarb? The arugula?”

  Bev nodded. “I wanted to stop you.”

  “Did you put Mike up to using chemicals on my crops, too?”

  “I might have.” Tears filled her eyes. “But he didn’t get a chance, did he? For all I know, you killed him.”

  Cam sat in silence. So that was one mystery solved. But not the mystery of the murder. Bev did not kill her own son.

  Chapter 20

  Cam stared at Bev. What was she going to do with her? She stood and extended her hand to Bev. “Can you stand up?”

  Bev gazed at Cam’s hand for a moment, took it, and Cam pulled her up. Bev dropped Cam’s hand as she tested out the leg Cam had attacked.

  “It hurts, but I don’t think you broke anything.” Bev hobbled in a slow circle.

  Cam kept an eye on the bag, glad Bev hadn’t gone near it. She didn’t want to have to disable the older farmer a second time.

  “Good. I really am sorry I hurt you. But I thought you were going to shoot me.” Cam folded her arms. “Were you?”

  Bev didn’t meet her eyes. “No.” Her eyes flared. “But you have to be prepared. In certain states, you come at me like that, I can shoot. Perfectly legal.”

  “But not in Massachusetts!” Cam had heard about those so-called self-defense laws and the kind of violence they encouraged.

  “No, not here. I have a license to carry, though.”

  “And, anyway, you were the one trespassing on my land. You were the one trying to ruin my business. If I come running at you, I’m the one protecting my property, aren’t I?”

  Bev nodded, slowly. “I’ll be going.” She headed for her bag at the end of the row of potatoes.

  Cam stuck her arm out and blocked Bev. “Uh-uh.” She shook her head.

  “I’m taking my bag with me.”

  “No way.” Cam shook her head again. “It’s mine now, or at least until I figure out what to do with the gun.”

  “Give me my keys, then. They’re in the outside pocket.”

  Cam gingerly retrieved the keys and tossed them to Bev.

  Bev glared as she caught them. She turned and limped away. When she reached the neighbor’s field, she paused. She looked back at Cam and opened her mouth.

  “Good-bye, Bev.” Cam waved.

  Bev shut her mouth and kept walking.

  Cam heaved a deep breath. She leaned over the black bag and held it open. The only thing in it was a stubby gun with a black handle. Its cylinder looked like the ones Cam remembered from old cowboy movies. The rest of the business end of the gun was of a smaller diameter and had the word bodyguard printed on its side. Cam shuddered. She could easily have had her foot blown off or worse. She had been on a shooting range with Great-Uncle Albert as a teenager but hadn’t touched a gun since.

  Cam added the package of beetles to the bag and lifted it with care. She held it out in front of her so her knees wouldn’t jostle it and walked toward the barn and the house. At the sound of tires crunching o
n gravel, she glanced toward the neighbor’s field. Good. Bev was headed for the road.

  But where was she going to stash the weapon? She didn’t want to leave it in the truck. She’d have to call Ruth to find out what to do with it. There was no good place to lock it up in the house. Cam wandered into the barn and looked around. Ah, just the ticket.

  On the back wall of the barn, in her tools area, hung a wall cabinet. Albert had locked up pesticides in it, but it was empty and scrubbed clean now. Cam gingerly drew the gun out of the bag and deposited it on the bottom shelf of the cabinet. She wondered if she should try to unload the weapon but decided not to mess with it any more than necessary. It would be safe here. Cam turned the key in the lock and pocketed it.

  Now she had to figure out what to do with the potato beetles. That was easier. She wrapped them tightly in a plastic bag and then in another. She shoved them firmly to the bottom of the trash barrel and made sure the lid was clamped on tight afterward. The world did not need more Leptinotarsa decemlineata.

  What a morning it had already been. One that called for more coffee and a call to Ruth, in that order.

  “What do you think I should do?” Cam asked Ruth, who had sounded sleepy but had insisted she was up before listening to the story of Cam’s early morning drama. “Do I take the bag to the police station? I’d hate to get Bev in trouble, but I’d also hate to get shot at again, either accidentally or on purpose, which is why I kept it.”

  “Gee, Cam. I wish you hadn’t called me.”

  Cam’s heart sank. She hadn’t really thought through the consequences. Now that Ruth knew what had happened, of course, she’d be obliged to do whatever police procedure required. Cam waited. Sounds of Nettie and Natalie squabbling quieted after Ruth admonished them to finish their cereal and get their shoes on.

  “Bev was trespassing, correct?” Ruth spoke in a low voice.

  “Right.” Cam wondered if Frank was in the room and Ruth didn’t want him to hear.

  “Do you want to press charges on it?”

  “Not really. But what do I do about the gun?”

  “You should take it into the station. I’m off today, but they’ll check to make sure she holds a legal license. You can let them return it to her. That will keep it out of her hands for a few days, anyway. I’ll put in a call and ask them to move slowly on it.”

  “Thanks, Ruthie. I appreciate it.”

  “Hey, it’s Friday. I’m sure they’re too busy to deal with it today.” Ruth cleared her throat. “In fact, I highly suspect nobody will have time to call for her to come and pick it up until at least Monday. If she even owns it legally. That’ll give Bev time to cool off.”

  “Is she going to get arrested for firing it, though?”

  “Since you say the gun discharged accidentally and it happened on private property, no, I don’t think so. Nettie, leave her alone!”

  Cam laughed. “Tough morning?”

  “Every morning is a bit tough. Especially when I’m on duty until six in the morning. I just got home a little while ago.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Well, they’ll be off to school by eight, and then I’ll sleep. Bye, Frank.”

  Cam heard a door slam.

  “We’re the proverbial ships passing in the night sometimes. Listen, I gotta run, Cammie. Be careful with that gun. It’s probably still loaded. ”

  “I will. Oh, I just remembered. The subscribers are having a potluck in the barn tonight. Bring the girls, if you want. Should be fun. Six o’clock.”

  After Ruth said she’d try to make it, Cam said good-bye and hung up. She’d take the gun over to the station later. It was safe in the barn for now.

  Cam spent the rest of the morning working. In an effort to preserve her mental health, she tried not to accompany the working with thinking, at least not about murder. But when she turned on the hose at nearly midday and strolled into the hoop house to water the seedlings, the image of Mike lying dead on the ground drew a shudder through her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Cam drew a hand through her hair, surprised it wasn’t standing straight up from the memory.

  Hair. Cam swore. She had promised Lucinda a decent hairbrush and a pack of new underwear. Two days ago. What kind of a friend was she? Cam turned off the water and strode to the house. She grabbed her purse and keys and strode right back out to her truck. She made it to the Newburyport shopping center in record time while staying a hair under five miles over the speed limit.

  After purchasing several packs of cotton bikinis in jailbreak-wild colors and in a size two down from her own, Cam went to the drugstore next door. She threw a good sturdy brush into her basket, then added her own favorite deodorant, a pack of wipes, a lipstick in a color she thought Lucinda would love, a box of pads, and a pack of disposable razors. Then she put the razors back. The police might not even allow the lipstick and wipes. Cam had read stories about weapon-grade material, like needles and files, being smuggled in to prisoners in seemingly innocuous items like lipstick.

  She moved to the candy aisle and added a pack of dark chocolate miniatures. Everybody needed chocolate, didn’t they? And if the station wouldn’t let Lucinda have it, maybe Cam could use it as a gentle persuasive offering to let her have a short visit with Lucinda. Not a bribe, certainly not a bribe.

  In her truck, Cam drew a notepad out of the glove compartment and scribbled a note to Lucinda. She hoped she’d be able to see her, but had an idea she wouldn’t be allowed. She wrote that she hoped life wasn’t too tough, and that she was sure Lucinda would be exonerated soon. She stuffed it in the bag of purchases and drove off.

  She stood at the Westbury PD’s reception counter fifteen minutes later. A stony-faced woman was on duty. Cam’s heart sank.

  “Hi. I have a few things for Lucinda DaSilva.” Cam held up the semiopaque plastic bag.

  “Name please?” The officer glanced at Cam, pursed her lips, and returned her eyes to her monitor and keyboard.

  “Sorry. Cameron Flaherty. Eight Attic Hill Road here in Westbury.” Cam looked down at her clothes. She would have pursed her lips, too. Dirt smudged her yellow T-shirt, and her khaki work shorts showed smears of green and flecks of brown compost.

  The officer tapped on the keyboard. Without looking up, she said, “Things?”

  “Yes, she asked for a hairbrush and some underwear.” Cam peered at her name tag. “I also picked up a couple of other toiletries, Officer Kingsley.”

  “List them.”

  “Deodorant, lipstick, wipes, pads. And chocolate.”

  “Put them there.” The officer pointed to a lower spot in the counter, then grabbed a form from a printer and slid it under the clip of a clipboard. “Sign this.”

  Cam laid the bag in the assigned location. She took the clipboard and signed her name under the list of items. “Could I go back and say hi to her? Just for a minute?”

  The woman’s glare was enough of an answer. Cam didn’t think chocolates would sway her even a millimeter. She thanked the officer and turned to go. She paused at the outer door. Voices grew nearer from the hallway leading to the interrogation rooms and the jail cells. One sounded like Susan Lee. Was the other Detective Pappas?

  Susan emerged from the doorway, followed, indeed, by Detective Pappas. When Susan caught sight of Cam, she closed her mouth, mid-sentence, apparently. She nudged Pappas, who fell silent, as well.

  “Cam, what brings you here?” Susan said. She walked toward Cam, heels clicking.

  “Hi, Susan.” Cam nodded at Pappas. “Detective. What’s going on?”

  “The detective had a few more questions for Lucinda, so I sat in on the session.”

  Cam raised her eyebrows. She waited for more. And waited.

  Susan smiled politely. “As I said, what brings you here?”

  “I told Lucinda I would bring her a few, uh, personal items.” Cam didn’t need to elaborate about the bikini underwear, deodorant, and sanitary supplies in front of Pappas. Not to mention the chocol
ates. She tilted her head toward the bag, which was still on the counter.

  “Good,” Susan said.

  “I asked if I could see her, but Officer Kingsley here wouldn’t facilitate that. How is Lucinda? Any chance she’ll be getting out soon?”

  Pappas excused himself without meeting Cam’s eyes and went back through the inner door.

  Cam was about to ask Susan if she could get her in to see Lucinda when Susan’s phone played a bit of Bach. Susan pressed a button on the phone and sailed out the door, already talking, already moving on to the next client, the next case.

  Cam sighed and exited, too, as Susan’s Jaguar slid out of the parking lot onto the road. She stood and watched it drive off. She was still without answers. What had Susan and Pappas been doing there? Maybe the case had turned. Perhaps Pappas had finally uncovered information that made him doubt Lucinda’s involvement in the murder. That would be a big break. She hated to think of Lucinda getting used to living in a jail cell. Cam wished Pappas or Susan had let her in on the secret, though.

  As she drove slowly toward home, she rued her decision to let the shareholders have their potluck on the farm tonight. Socializing was the last thing she wanted to do. She’d have to cook. She’d have to clean up the barn. She’d need to set up the couple of tables she had and then clean herself up. Investigating, thinking, trying to use her intellect to solve the mystery of who killed Mike Montgomery were what drew her. Instead she’d have to spend the evening smiling and talking with customers over dinner in the barn.

  The barn. Cam smacked herself on the forehead. She was supposed to have brought the gun to the police station. She had completely forgotten about it in her guilt about not having gotten Lucinda her supplies the day before. Well, it was locked up. Nobody at the potluck would even know about it. She hoped.

  Cam gazed at her spreadsheet. She knew she should be either in the kitchen, cooking, or out in the barn, preparing for the potluck, but the lure of the computer overrode the tasks that would lead to an evening of chatting and smiling. The logic of columns and rows and their underlying bits and bytes calmed her in a way her fellow humans didn’t, in a way she’d never really been able to explain.