A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die Page 5

  She wheeled the cart to the row of three compost bins and dumped it in the one holding the newest, roughest ingredients. Cam narrowed her eyes at the far bin, which held the almost finished black gold that nourished her crops and maintained balance in the soil. A layer of fuzzy white coated the top.

  Cam’s stomach dropped. Was this more sabotage? She pushed the cart out of her way and took two quick strides to the compartment. She leaned in over the bin. She sniffed.

  Beyond the familiar earthy scent of organic matter decomposing aerobically, Cam sensed a different kind of decay. She sniffed again. And exhaled in relief. It was only a bit of damping-off. Only an algae bloom.

  Last week had been rainy, after all. Cam had been so busy getting ready for the first share day, she hadn’t given that pile its final turning when it needed it. But at least it hadn’t been attacked. That would have been the last straw.

  “Mrs. Flaherty?” A high voice called from the barn area.

  Cam whirled toward the front of the property. Darn. Now she was late to meet her newest, youngest volunteer. Before the girl and her father had left the farm on Saturday, they had asked Cam if Ellie could work with her on her Girl Scout locavore badge. Cam had tried not to show her reluctance when she agreed.

  “Coming!” Cam loped toward the barn. Panting as she arrived, she said, “Sorry. I was out weeding and lost track of time.”

  “Not a problem.” David Kosloski leaned against his car. Kosloski’s tapping foot seemed to belie his words. The car was a big SUV of the sort Cam always thought more properly belonged navigating the desert than driving around an exurb like Westbury. His daughter bounced on her heels next to him, a notebook in her hand and an eager expression on her face. She wore a pair of denim shorts with a hot pink T-shirt. High-top sneakers matched the outfit.

  “I’m Ellie,” the girl said. “Thank you for letting me shadow you, Mrs. Flaherty.”

  Cam was suddenly both nervous and feeling ridiculous for feeling so. “Hi, Ellie, Mr. Kosloski.”

  “David. Call me David.”

  “David, Ellie, please. I’m Cam, not Mrs. Flaherty. Okay?” Cam did her best to smile. Why she’d gotten involved in this Girl Scout venture, she couldn’t imagine. The family was already a customer. It wasn’t like she needed another sale. “I’m looking forward to showing you the farm, Ellie.”

  The girl smiled again. “Me, too. I mean, I can’t wait to see it.”

  “May I have a word with you?” David folded his arms, tilting his head toward the barn. “We’ll be back in a second, Eleanor.”

  Cam followed him in, puzzled.

  “I heard there was a murder here. Are you sure it’s safe for my daughter to work with you?” Deep lines surrounded an unsmiling mouth.

  Cam looked at David straight on. “Listen, I don’t know who killed Mike Montgomery, but it must have been someone who knew him. It’s always been safe here, and I’m sure it still is. But if you don’t want your daughter alone with me, I’ll understand.”

  “The police are on the case, I assume?”

  Cam assured him they were.

  “Do they have any suspects? Anyone in custody?” His hand jingled change in his pocket as he asked.

  “Not that I know of. Although you really should call the local police and ask them. They must have a public liaison person.”

  “Never mind. Anyway, Eleanor doesn’t know about the murder, and I’d prefer it stayed that way.”

  Cam nodded. “On my honor.” The last thing she wanted to do was talk about violent death with a sunny child.

  He strode outdoors. “I’ll be off, then. Pick you up at five thirty, Ell.” He waved and slid into the driver’s seat.

  Ellie ran around to the passenger door of the car and stuck her head in the window.

  Cam looked over to see a woman in the front seat. Must be Ellie’s mother. These people had a legitimate concern, she realized, feeling grateful they had decided to trust her with the girl.

  Ellie stepped back and waved as the car backed down the drive. “I’m ready now.” She turned a determined face up at Cam.

  “Let’s get started, then. Want to show me your requirements?”

  Ellie opened her notebook. “ ‘The locavore badge lets girls explore the benefits and challenges of going local,’ ” she read out. “I have to, like, find my local food sources, cook a simple dish with only local ingredients, make a family recipe substituting local foods, and then make, like, a three-course meal.”

  “Sounds like a lot to do.”

  Ellie looked up at Cam again. “This is the local food source part. It doesn’t get any more local than this.”

  “That’s right. Let’s go visit the source.”

  “Sweet.”

  Sweet? That was what Great-Uncle Albert said when he liked something, Cam marveled. As they walked out to the fields, Cam said, “Have you been on a farm before?”

  “Only to see Buffy.”

  “Buffy?”

  “You don’t know Buffy? The buffalo at Tendercrop Farm.” The girl’s voice expressed astonishment as only a preteen’s could.

  “Oh, that Buffy.” Cam did know Buffy, or at least a previous incarnation of her, but only from her own teen summers, when they’d tried to entice the captive buffalo to ingest hash brownies, a project that now horrified her. “But have you walked around the fields or anything?”

  “No. My mom has MS. We don’t, like, really get out much as a family.”

  So that was why her mom stayed in the car.

  “But when I told them I wanted to do my locavore badge, Dad found your farm and signed up. He likes to cook vegetables.” Ellie rolled her eyes.

  Cam found herself warming to this elfin creature, who she thought must be ten or eleven at the most. “And you don’t like to eat them?”

  “They’re sort of disgusting.” Ellie grimaced. “Well, I like carrots, and I like red cabbage. But raw, not cooked.”

  “That’s a start. So what grade are you in at school?”

  “I’m finishing eighth. I’m fourteen. I’ll be a Senior Scout when I start high school, and the locavore badge is only for Seniors.” Pride shone through her voice.

  So much for guessing a child’s age. Ellie was so tiny, Cam had assumed she was younger. Cam herself had been an ungainly beanpole who towered over her classmates at that age.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  Cam nodded.

  “Everybody’s saying a man was killed here. On your farm. Is it true?”

  Cam stopped walking. Of course, kids would have heard about it in a town this size. “Yes, that’s true.” She looked straight at Ellie, who also stopped. “But the police are working on it, and we’re safe. It didn’t have anything to do with me or the farm, really.” Cam hoped that was true.

  “Okay.” Ellie resumed progress toward the fields. “We only have a couple of weeks of school left. Maybe I could help you here in the summer?”

  “That’s a possibility. We’ll see.”

  Ellie raised her eyebrows and twisted her mouth. “That’s what Dad says when he means no.”

  “Good thing I’m not your dad,” Cam said, glad to see the smile this produced on the girl. “I can always use volunteers. We’ll work it out.” She gestured around them. “Now, do you recognize anything you see growing here?”

  Chapter 5

  Cam washed her hands in the kitchen sink. She gazed out the window at the yard and the barn beyond. The session with Ellie had gone better than Cam had expected. She was a curious, funny kid, not yet taken over by a typical teen’s sullen reactions or rude back talk, and seemed genuinely interested in learning how plants grew. She had asked what the names of all the plants were. She had tasted each of the herbs Cam grew, and had seemed delighted at the citrusy taste of the lemon thyme and the aroma of a basil leaf.

  Creaking open the refrigerator door, Cam surveyed its mostly empty shelves. Her stomach growled. She’d rather just pop open a Five Mile Ale and have dinner delivered, bu
t in the interest of her meager bank account, she grabbed her purse and her cloth shopping bag and set out for the Food Mart.

  The two-mile drive was over in a flash. She grabbed a plastic basket and walked the short aisles, selecting pasta and a couple of jars of sauce. Being a locavore was all very nice for her customers, but Cam knew this time of year would be a hungry one if she opted for that lifestyle. Last year’s potatoes were shriveled or rotten, and even if she’d had a crop of tomatoes last September, she would have been too busy to spend the time canning or freezing them. Although she had salad and asparagus at home, such a meal didn’t go too far to assuage the appetite of a working farmer.

  At the sound of whispered voices, Cam looked up. At the end of the aisle near the checkout area, a stocky man and an equally stocky woman stood with heads together, staring at her. The woman reached down and put a protective arm around the shoulders of a young boy in a soccer uniform. He tried to wriggle away without success.

  The bread aisle was right beyond them, so Cam kept on walking. The woman’s eyes widened. She almost pushed the little boy ahead of her as she hurried out of sight around a corner. The man stood his ground, blocking Cam’s path.

  “Excuse me,” Cam said, trying to ease past him.

  “You’re the farmer with the murder, aren’t you?” He scowled.

  “A man was killed on my land, it’s true. It’s very sad.”

  “You knocked him off, didn’t you? Mike was our friend, you know.”

  Cam halted. She looked him in the eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss. I had nothing to do with Mike’s death.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He snorted and turned.

  His bicep sported a small tattoo. Cam gazed at the same symbol that decorated the disk from the hoop house. She whistled under her breath and kept on walking. She added a loaf of whole-wheat bread and a jar of natural peanut butter to her basket, barely seeing them. It seemed that certain of the townspeople thought she killed Mike. Great. She ended up at the meat and deli wall. Her hand was on a package of ground beef when someone called her name. She looked up.

  “Hey, Stuart. I forgot you worked here,” Cam said with a smile.

  Stuart stood behind the deli case, a long stained white apron over his clothes. “How are things at the farm? Heard you had a touch of excitement over there the other night.”

  Had anyone not heard? Cam was willing to bet he learned about the killing in this very store and not on the local news.

  “I wouldn’t really call it exciting. Horrifying, more like. But Westbury’s finest are on it, apparently. Did they call you?”

  Stuart raised his eyebrows. “Why would they call me?” He gave a quick glance around the store, then looked back at Cam. They were alone in the aisle.

  “Uh, they wanted to talk to all my customers.” Cam gestured in the air with her free hand. “I don’t know. See if anybody saw something suspicious, I suppose.”

  Stuart busied himself with a large piece of beef on the cutting board. He sliced a steak off it. “Get you anything?”

  “Actually, yes. I’d like a half pound of the maple ham, sliced. And also of the sharp cheddar.”

  She grabbed a bag of chips and a jar of salsa from the shelves behind her while she waited. As Stuart handed her two packages wrapped in white paper, Cam said, “Then you didn’t talk to the police?”

  He shook his head. He picked up the bloody knife again and gestured with it in the air. “I don’t much like police. They want to talk to me, they’ll have to come find me.”

  Cam’s cell phone erupted with the Star Trek theme song as she drove home. She fished it out of her bag with one hand. She glanced at it to find the SEND button, then looked up and swore as a horn blared at her. She’d swerved toward the center line in that brief moment. She cursed the existence of cell phones but pressed SEND, anyway, and said, “Hello?”

  “Cameron? Are you in front of a television?”

  “Hi, Uncle Albert. No, I’m driving home.”

  “Well, you ought to take a look when you get there. Why didn’t you tell me Marie’s rhubarb was harmed? And what in blazes was it?”

  Cam wished she’d never picked up the call. “I shouldn’t be talking and driving. I’ll call you back after I get home, all right? Thanks for letting me know.” She didn’t wait for his reply. She felt for the END button and pressed it without looking down.

  Wonderful. Damn reporter.

  Panic stung Cam like a prickly nettle the next morning. Produce was scarce in early June. The fields stretched out around her, mute, unyielding, displaying rows of immature seedlings. The spring fragrance of fresh earth released by the early morning sunshine did nothing to cheer her. What had she gotten herself into by thinking she could learn how to farm in one short year?

  She’d be unloading her truck at the Tuesday farmers’ market in a few hours. But Cam was afraid she couldn’t harvest enough to make the table look inviting to customers.

  A twig snapped behind her. Her heart sped up to warp speed. She whirled.

  “Hey, fazendeira!” Lucinda strode toward Cam.

  “Hi, Lucinda.” Cam let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “What does fazendeira mean, anyway?”

  “It means ‘farmer.’”

  “I guess that’s me.”

  The Brazilian stopped in front of Cam. She shoved her hands into the pockets of khaki shorts. “The police called me.” A tightness around her eyes gave a cast of alarm to her face.

  “I know. They made me give them the whole list of CSA customers. I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t talk to them. I didn’t pick up.”

  “I’m sure they just want to ask if you had seen anything, you know, about the murder.”

  “I’m not talking to no cops.”

  Cam shrugged. “Whatever. They have a pretty long list to work through. I think they’re barking up the wrong tree, though. They need to find the list of people who didn’t care for Mike.”

  “Maybe I got an idea about that. But I’m not telling them. I tell you, and you call them, okay?”

  “I guess.” Cam didn’t understand why Lucinda didn’t want to talk to the authorities. But this wasn’t the time to figure it out.

  “That Mike, he was in with this anti-immigrant group called the Patriotic Militia. They don’t like me, so I stay out of their way.”

  “Really? Do you think he was murdered because of that?” Cam pictured the disk she’d found in the hoop house. Maybe PM stood for Patriotic Militia. Mike must have dropped it when he was working in there.

  “I don’t know. But maybe, you know, you can maybe tell the police you heard it somewhere.” Lucinda’s eyes widened. “But not from me. Don’t tell them I told you.”

  “I guess I can do that. But, listen, can we talk more about this later? I’m terrified I won’t be ready for the farmers’ market, and it’s only my third time there.”

  “Right.” Lucinda’s face relaxed. “Let’s go. What do we pick first?”

  “I don’t know what else we can pick.” Cam shook her head. “I’ve always been a gardener, and I thought I could handle farming. Now I’m not so sure, despite the course I took during the winter at the college. I think I might have bitten off more than I can chew.”

  Lucinda frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I don’t know if I have enough produce to take to market today. This farm deal might have been a bad idea.”

  “Too late now, Cam. Listen, I’m here to help you, right? So what do you already got, and how much do we need to harvest?”

  “I’ll show you.” Cam led Lucinda along the path to the barn. “I already cut the asparagus. It’s still growing like there’s no tomorrow.” Cam pointed to the asparagus patch, where feathery fronds waved in the gentle breeze.

  In the barn, Cam showed Lucinda what she had laid out on the farm table, which looked much like it had Saturday morning. Bundles of asparagus she’d cut over the last couple of days. A big bag of spinach she’d
cut earlier in the morning from the bed that had overwintered. Bunches of slim green-and-white scallions. A dozen small heads of Red Sails lettuce. Cam squinted at the table of produce as if to squeeze more out of it.

  “Hey, we’re going to be okay. You got more food out there we can harvest.” Lucinda folded her arms and locked her eyes on Cam’s. “Remember I told you I read that Animal, Vegetable, Miracle book, about a family who only ate local food for a year. I told you I’m going to do the same thing for a year, like the Kingsolver family. I started Saturday, and I’m doing great.”

  “You told me. I guess you’re going to be disappointed this week.” Cam couldn’t believe that, despite all her careful planning, the start of the farm year was already stumbling. She rubbed her hair, glad she kept it cut short.

  “Wrong attitude, querida. Come on, I show you.” Lucinda tucked her arm through Cam’s and propelled her out into the fields.

  They stopped at the herb garden. Mounds of oregano, thyme, sage, and rosemary showed new growth on their overwintered stalks. Tarragon pushed bright green slivers of leaves skyward. Cam had tucked several dozen young plants of basil, dill, and parsley among the perennials.

  “What about munches of herbs? How many we need?”

  Cam laughed out loud. “You mean bunches. Great idea. We can harvest some of the mature perennial herbs. Those annuals aren’t ready for cutting yet.”

  “And those shoots of, what do you say, garlic? There in the field. They can be like, you know, green onions, but garlic.”

  “Oh, yeah. Spring garlic scallions. I can thin out the little shoots and make room for bigger bulbs. How’d you know about that?”

  “Look, I grew up on a farm in Rio Grande do Sul. More south than here, but a farm is a farm. I know farms. Now, how about flores . I mean, flowers. I saw purple ones over there, yes?” She pointed back at the house and the large flower garden next to it.