A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die Page 23

  Jake. She felt pretty sure that she didn’t need to keep him in the suspect column. She highlighted his row and dragged it down to the others section, which she’d added at the bottom, and then considered the rest of the other names and everything that had happened in the past two weeks. She thought about David Kosloski, his strange behavior, his sister at the office. She mused on her conversation with Stuart’s mother and her allusions to his temper. She recalled her encounters with Frank Jackson and with Bev. Something was still missing, though. Running the graphics script didn’t help. The solution nagged at the back of her brain but stayed stubbornly there, instead of coming to the forefront.

  Cam pictured Lucinda sitting in jail until frustration shrouded her mood like a heavy, itchy cloak. She shoved her chair back with a bang.

  Chapter 21

  An hour later Cam sprinkled a handful of violets and chive flowers on top of the mixed greens in her wide salad bowl. The lettuces were really taking off, as were the arugula and mizuna, so she had cut a full basket for her contribution to the potluck, and the cutting had soothed her raw feelings in a way the computer had failed to. She checked her watch—four o’clock—then covered the salad with a clean, damp dishcloth and placed it in the refrigerator. She would whip up a vinaigrette at the last minute. Cam smiled to herself as she strolled out to the barn. Vinaigrette had caught on in the last decade, but she’d heard waitstaff in restaurants call it “vinegarette.” She was willing to bet they didn’t realize they had Americanized it without meaning to. Jake’s waitstaff knew better, but not those in less fancy establishments.

  Cam looked around the barn and sighed. Cleaning for dinner guests had just taken on a whole new meaning. She grabbed the push broom and set to work clearing the old wooden floor. When she’d emptied a couple of dustpans into a bucket and dumped that in the compost area, she dragged the farm table to the back of the space. She spread the colorful market cloth over it. People could put their offerings there. She set up her collapsible market table in the middle. She arrayed three cheap plastic chairs and unfolded her four lawn chairs, then added an old metal folding chair that had been Albert and Marie’s. Felicity had said she’d also bring tables, hadn’t she?

  She sneezed as she surveyed the space. It looked kind of bleak. Cam snapped her fingers. That was what it needed. Striding to the house, she thought of picking a few bouquets of flowers, too. She rummaged in a kitchen drawer until she found a half dozen strings of tiny white lights, plus the two strings of hot-pepper lights she liked to put up at Christmas. Cam loaded an orange extension cord into her arms, as well. The clock on the stove read four thirty, so she was still good for time. Felicity had said she would come early, at five thirty or so.

  Cam took the lights back to the barn. As she walked, she heard a noise like a distant train and looked up. A sudden wind had set every deciduous leaf to vibrate and every evergreen needle to purr. The treetops swayed. A massive cloud as dark as charcoal approached from the west. Uh-oh. Could be a stormy potluck.

  Cam began stringing the lights around the walls. The old plank walls provided plenty of nails and other protrusions to hang the wires from. A bang sounded, and the rear of the barn darkened. Cam looked up with a start. The back door of the barn had swung shut with force from the wind.

  She connected the extension cord to the last end, plugged it into the wall, and stepped back to survey the effect, hands on hips. The tiny white points lit the dark shadows, and the reds and oranges of the pepper lights warmed the room into festivity. The light seemed to illuminate that back part of Cam’s brain, too. All the bits of information she’d been accumulating now fell into place. Her eyes widened. She had to call Pappas.

  She patted her pockets and cursed. No cell phone. She’d have to call from the house.

  “Looks pretty.”

  Cam whirled, her heart racing. “Stuart! You startled me.”

  Stuart stood ten yards behind her near the wide door, one hand in his pocket, the other hanging on to a knapsack slung over one shoulder. Wind blew in through the doorway, making his thin hair poke out in odd directions. He gazed at her through narrowed eyes, his head slightly cocked. The edges of his mouth pulled down.

  Cam faced Mike’s killer.

  Chapter 22

  “You’re early for the potluck.” What is he doing here? She had to keep calm. Stuart couldn’t know she knew he was the murderer.

  “I know.” Stuart reached back and slid the door shut. He dropped the heavy latch into its slot.

  “We should leave that open.” Cam started for the door, her heart pounding.

  “Too windy. Gets on my nerves.” Stuart walked slowly toward Cam.

  Cam tried to move around him. “People are going to start arriving any minute now.” Felicity wasn’t due for another hour, but Stuart didn’t know that.

  “Not a problem.” He grabbed her arm. “I put a sign on the driveway saying the potluck was canceled.”

  “Why’d you do that, Stuart?” Cam tried to twist away. She could smell her own fear.

  “Let’s sit down and have a chat.” He let go of her arm as he gestured to the nearest chairs, then sank into one of them.

  “Thanks, but I have way too much to do,” Cam said with what she hoped was a calm smile. She edged toward the back door, keeping an eye on Stuart. “Gotta cut flowers, and the dish I’m cooking for the potluck is in the oven,” she lied. “You’re welcome to sit and wait, though.”

  “It’s not going to work.”

  Cam twisted the knob on the door. The door wouldn’t open. She rattled it and pushed it with her shoulder. It didn’t budge.

  “Told you it wouldn’t work.”

  Cam faced Stuart, her stomach a stone.

  “I padlocked it from the outside. Now, come and sit down.” With a cold smile, he patted the chair next to his.

  “You padlocked my door?”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t want to be alone with me in here. Guess I was right.”

  Cam’s fear morphed into anger. She marched toward the wide door he had slid shut. She had no intention of spending another minute alone with him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him lean down and do something with his pack.

  Stuart rose and grabbed Cam in a sudden move. He twisted her right arm behind her. His other hand waved a long knife with a curving blade. The knife he’d brandished at the butcher counter. The knife she’d last seen dripping with blood.

  He held the blade against her neck and forced her down into one of the molded plastic chairs. “I asked you to sit. I asked nice. Now see what you’ve made me do.”

  Cam struggled, but her arm burned where he held it twisted. “Let go of me.”

  Stuart’s pressed the knife to the side of her neck. The blade stung her skin.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you!”

  Stuart released the pressure on her throat. “And you’ll sit there like a good girl?”

  Cam cringed inwardly but nodded. Stuart let go of her arm. He pulled up a chair, directly facing her.

  “Now then.” Stuart’s voice had an edge to it. He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “You’ve been poking around in my business. I heard you’ve been asking questions about Katie. My Katie. And then, last night, you harassed my poor old mother.”

  “I . . .” Cam began, shaking her head.

  Stuart pointed the knife at her. “I know what you’ve been up to. And it’s going to stop.”

  Cam’s thoughts sped. How was she going to get out of here? “I heard Katie left you for Mike.”

  Stuart leapt out of his seat. He kicked at the leg of her chair, jangling her nerves.

  Bad move. Now she’d made him mad. Cam couldn’t help cowering.

  He paced toward the door and back. “She didn’t leave me. He stole her. She was so innocent. So beautiful. That rat took her from me.”

  “Not according to her sister, he didn’t.”

  Stuart walked away.

  “Alexandra says she was tired of your
temper.” Cam realized she was yakking out of fear. She was only making him madder. Better get that under control before he goes over the edge. Without the overhead light or the illumination from outdoors, the barn was dim despite the strings of lights. Shadows threatened from corners.

  “Listen, there’s nothing wrong with getting mad when the situation calls for it.” Stuart’s flushed face glistened with sweat. Shadows of red and green streaked his cheek closest to the pepper lights. “I’ve been in a lot of angry-making situations lately.” He ended up in front of Cam. He glowered down at her. He tapped the knife blade against his palm. The blade still bore traces of blood.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Cam kept her voice way more level than she felt. “You look hot.”

  He stayed on his feet. “Your snooping around is one of those situations. You couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could you? I heard you telling that statie about my temper last night, about me and Mike.”

  “You heard me?” Cam thought back. She had spoken to Pappas the night before. “Were you listening at my window?”

  “I’ll bet you thought your secret admirer left you those carnations.”

  Cam peered at him. “You left those?”

  “That little ladybug on the bucket? It’s a real bug.”

  She felt like an idiot.

  “I’ve been listening to you for a week now. You talk to yourself a lot, you know.”

  Cam shuddered. What had he heard her talking about? “You have a lot of nerve.”

  Stuart nodded with a smug smile. “And they have your little friend Lucinda in jail. They think she did it.”

  “But she didn’t!”

  “Well, maybe not.” He giggled.

  At the sound, Cam’s anger turned back to fear. This guy was off his rocker.

  “I’m the one who tipped them off about that.” Pride tinted his voice.

  “About what?”

  “Oh, that she’d been seen in the greenhouse that afternoon. And when they searched her place? They found Mike’s cigarette case, the one the stupid militia gives all its members. It conveniently had Lucinda’s fingerprints on it. How did they get there?” Stuart said in a singsong voice, smiling an awful parody of innocence.

  A chill drew through Cam as if it were January and not June.

  “You poisoned Lucinda’s drink, didn’t you? What did you put in it?” As Cam waited for his answer, she tried to figure out how she was going to take this lunatic down. She was taller than him by a couple of inches, but he weighed more and likely had the adrenaline-fueled strength of a madman on his side. And then there was the knife.

  Stuart turned his head toward the sliding door. Cam heard it, too—a persistent knocking.

  “Cam? Are you in there? I came early to help set up,” a high-pitched voice called. “Cam?”

  Ellie. Cam had to convince the girl to go away. “Ellie, go back home. I’m busy right now,” she called out.

  “I can’t. My dad already left.”

  As Cam rose, Stuart smacked her hard across the face and snarled in a low voice, “Sit down and shut up.”

  “Ellie, run! Get help!” Cam yelled through the pain.

  Stuart strode to the door and opened it, knife in hand.

  Ellie saw him and turned to run.

  Stuart grabbed her by the arm. “Come on in, young lady,” he growled and yanked her in. He pointed the knife at her. He let go of her for a moment to drop the door latch in place, then placed his hand on the back of her neck.

  Cam realized he must have lied. He didn’t put a sign up, or David wouldn’t have dropped Ellie off. Cam’s sense of helplessness almost overcame her.

  Ellie looked around, bewildered. “What’s going on, Cam? Why’s it so dark in here?” She tried to slip out of Stuart’s hold without success. “You’re hurting me.”

  Stuart marched Ellie over to the chair next to Cam’s and pushed her down. He waved the knife in her face.

  “You’re the butcher from the Food Mart.” Her face paled.

  Cam couldn’t let him hurt Ellie. No more helplessness.

  Stuart kept his hand on Ellie’s shoulder. He said, “Don’t even think about getting up, Flaherty.” He took aim and delivered a hard kick to Cam’s knee.

  Cam moaned as she bent over her knee, massaging it with her hands.

  Ellie turned to Cam, eyes wide. “This dude is nuts.”

  Cam nodded, her eyes stinging with tears of pain.

  Stuart let go of Ellie and set the knife down behind him. He drew a roll of duct tape out of his knapsack. He grabbed Cam’s hands. When she realized what he was doing, she turned her wrists so her palms faced inward when he taped her wrists to the chair arms. He wound the tape around Cam’s left wrist and the chair three times. He glared at the diminishing roll. “Damn chintzy tape.”

  Cam saw Ellie’s eyes on the knife. The girl rose, but Stuart blocked her way. He shoved her back into her chair.

  “Sit down, kid.” Flecks of saliva flew into her face.

  The girl turned her face away and toward Cam with a look of determination fit for a fighter.

  Stuart tore off another piece of tape and wrapped it once around Ellie’s wrist and the arm of her chair, then taped her other wrist and Cam’s.

  “Sorry, girls. Can’t have you running out to call Westbury’s finest.”

  Cam surreptitiously tried to move her wrists and realized she could, just a little.

  Ellie fixed her eyes on Cam. Cam gazed back, trying to convey more hope than she felt.

  Stuart slammed back into his chair and pulled it so close his knees almost touched Cam’s. One of his legs vibrated up and down. His eyes sparkled, and he blinked fast. “Now, what were we talking about when this little twerp so rudely interrupted us?”

  Ellie opened her mouth, but at a little shake of Cam’s head, she shut it again.

  “Oh, yes. It was how I made sure Lucinda was tabbed for the murder. But Cameron here seems to want to undo all my hard work.”

  “They’re going to find out the truth,” Cam said.

  “How?” He leaned down so his eyes were inches away from Cam’s. “There is no evidence linking me to Mike’s killing. I made sure of that.”

  Cam didn’t have an answer. “What did you put in Lucinda’s drink at the festival?”

  “Same thing I put in yours,” Stuart said. “I had a little extra. Waste not, want not. Isn’t that what they say?”

  His grin chilled Cam.

  “Why did you kill Mike? Lots of people get their feelings hurt in love, but they don’t murder the competition.” Cam stole a glance at Ellie, whose wide eyes pulled at her.

  Stuart rose. He breathed fast, nearly panting. “He stole my girl. Nobody steals from Stuart Wilson. I told him to meet me at the farm after I saw you leave that day.” He waved the knife in the air.

  He’d been watching her. She felt an irrational urge to scrub herself under hot water for a very long time. “So you planned to kill Mike?”

  “Well, maybe, maybe not. But he wouldn’t even apologize. He flaunted the fact that Katie had been with him the night before. That they had screwed that morning.” Stuart looked at Ellie. “Sorry, kid. That’s the way the world is.” He peered at a dark corner of the barn. “So I knocked him down and used your pitchfork. Good riddance.”

  So that was why Mike had died. “But why did you do it on the farm?”

  Stuart shot her a look that said, “Why not?” He began whistling a tune.

  “That’s, like, a Doors song,” Ellie said. “ ‘Light My Fire,’ right?”

  “You’re a smart chick. How’d you know that?” He leaned in, leering at her.

  Ellie turned her head away with a look like she’d smelled fresh manure. “My dad likes to listen to that group.”

  Stuart turned to Cam and winked. “Come on, baby, light my fire,” he sang in a creepy imitation of the original, stretching fire out into two syllables. He stuck his hands in his pockets and surveyed the barn. His eyes lit on a bale
of salt-marsh hay in the corner. He stashed the knife in his knapsack. He strode to the bale and dragged it toward the large door.

  He strolled, still whistling, to the corner of the barn where Cam kept the rototiller, the lawn mower, and gas cans. He hefted one of the cans.

  “Great. It’s full,” Stuart said in a cheery voice, glancing over at Cam. He resumed his whistle as he wandered around the barn.

  Cam stared at Stuart. Her palms sweated. Gasoline. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Cam watched through narrowed eyes.

  “Sorry, girls. It’s going to get a little hot in here.” He turned and strolled back to the gas cans, whistling again. He opened the pour spout and the air breather hole on the largest can. He carried it to the bale and poured until the can was empty, shaking the last drops onto the hay.

  “Stuart, stop!” Cam yelled. “You could claim self-defense for Mike’s murder. But three people dead? You’ll never get away with it. They’ll find you.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You know. Another tragic farm accident. ‘Newbie farmer stores gas near dry hay, loses life, barn.’ ” Stuart strode back to the machine area and grabbed a manual for one of the devices. He sauntered back to the bale. He tore out pages and crumpled them until he’d covered the top of the bale with paper.

  “Cam, he’s setting a fire.” Blue veins stood out on Ellie’s pale forehead as she whispered.

  “I know. We’ll get out, though.” Cam swallowed. How would they escape this? She feared for the lovely old barn. She dreaded death by burning far more.

  “Enjoy your sauna, girls.” He picked up his knapsack and strolled away with another horrible giggle. Stuart unlatched the wide door. Backlit, he reached into his knapsack and drew out a long object. He held it down, pointing it at the bale, and clicked.

  Chapter 23