Mulch Ado about Murder Page 5

  “Pete asked me to come in. He didn’t say when.” Cam folded her hands on the table in front of her. She was glad she’d changed into good slacks and a turquoise blouse. It couldn’t hurt to look a little professional. It gave her a sense of confidence, as illogical as that seemed.

  “Be that as it may. Let’s get going then, shall we? Officer Dodge, if you don’t mind.”

  Ruth did something with a panel on the wall. “Recording,” she said. She remained standing with her hands clasped behind her back.

  The detective identified himself and the date and asked Cam to state her name and address.

  She obliged. “Just to be clear, I understand this is a homicide investigation.”

  Ivan stared at her for a moment. “I’m afraid it is. Or at least an investigation of a suspicious death.” He pulled out a ballpoint pen and laid a legal pad covered with illegible writing on the table. “Please describe the events of yesterday afternoon.”

  “I brought two flats of basil seedlings to the greenhouse yesterday at about two o’clock.”

  “That would be the Seacoast Fresh greenhouse at”—he checked the pad—“71 Main Street.”

  “Yes. After I climbed out of my truck, a dark-haired man pushed past me. His face was pale, and he looked worried. Or nervous, or something.”

  Ivan sat up straight. “Can you identify him?”

  “No. I’d never seen him before.”

  “Height? Build? Other identifying features?”

  “Maybe five eight. He was wearing a green shirt. I told Ruth and Chief Frost that.”

  Ruth nodded. “You did. And you said he had haunted eyes.”

  Cam squeezed her eyes shut, trying to bring up the thing that had been dancing outside her memory. She opened them. “I think he was wearing a chain around his neck. I only got a glimpse, but maybe a cross hung from it? I can see a flash when I try to picture him, like a flash of bright metal on his chest.”

  “Big guy? Skinny?”

  “He was slight. That’s all I can remember.” Cam ran a hand over the table’s battered wooden surface, scratched and marred with carved initials, which made it oddly out of style with the rest of the room. She traced one set of letters with her finger. But she couldn’t bring up any more details about the man.

  “Did he get into a vehicle?” the detective asked. “Or had he gotten out of one?”

  “Neither. I mean, not that I saw.”

  “After you saw him, what did you do?”

  “I took the flats into the greenhouse. I remember thinking that nobody was there. That’s how it felt, or sounded, maybe. I called for Nicole a couple of times, but she didn’t respond. So I took my seedlings to the back and set them on her worktable.”

  “Did you see the body at that time?”

  “No. I mean, yes, a few seconds later I did. I’d sent her a text and turned to go when I heard her phone ping beyond the set of shelves.”

  “Please describe the shelves.”

  “They’re just shelves. Like a plastic shelving unit about five feet tall, maybe ten feet long, a foot deep. Without a back, you know, so you can see through it. She used them for supplies, tools, what have you.”

  “Go on.”

  “Nicole always wore black and red. Every single time I saw her. When I went to see if that was her phone, I saw a flash of red. Usually there’s nothing red in a greenhouse unless you have ripe tomatoes or peppers, and it’s way too early in the season for that. Packaging for soil amendments and such don’t often have red on them, either. So I went to look.”

  “And found her.”

  Cam nodded as she traveled in her mind once again back to that horrific scene. She felt seasick anew. It was a good thing her breakfast of peanut butter on toast had been hours ago.

  “Out loud for the recording, please,” Ruth said gently.

  “Yes, I found her.”

  “Please describe every detail you can remember.” Ivan narrowed his eyes at Cam.

  She told him about the position of the body. About Nicole’s shirt. About the slurry.

  “Was any part of Ms. Kingsbury touching this slurry?”

  “I don’t think so. The level was pretty low. Unless her right hand was. I don’t remember.”

  “What else?”

  Cam told him about the rosary beads and what they looked like. “Oh, and a few of the beads seemed to be missing. Right, Ruthie?” Oops. Maybe she shouldn’t have used her friend’s nickname for the recording. Too late now.

  “That’s correct,” Ruth said.

  Ivan checked his notes. “And you touched her neck to see if you could detect a pulse.”

  “Yes. I couldn’t feel one. I backed away and called nine-one-one. Ruth and Chief Frost arrived shortly after that.”

  “You didn’t touch anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Did your mother, Debra Flaherty, know the victim personally?”

  Cam stared at him. This meeting had just veered from being a straightforward statement to a grilling about Cam’s mom.

  “Ms. Flaherty?” Ivan gazed at her with what looked like ice in his eyes.

  “I don’t think she knew Nicole, no.”

  “Professor Flaherty apparently spent some time in the greenhouse earlier.”

  “I wasn’t there,” Cam said. She lowered her hands to her lap and gripped one with the other to prevent them from revealing her nervousness.

  “Did she tell you what she talked with the victim about?”

  “No.” Her mom hadn’t even told her what she told Ruth in her interview. Maybe later today Cam could convince Deb to open up and talk with her about the questioning.

  “Does your mother have a history of demonstrating for causes?” he asked.

  “Not when I was living at home, she didn’t.” Cam shut her mouth. She was about to tell him what her father had said about Deb’s more recent activities. Not a good idea. Let them ferret it out if they thought it was pertinent. Or ask Mom herself.

  “When did Professor Flaherty arrive in Westbury?”

  Why all these questions? Was her mom really in trouble? “She and my father flew in some days ago. They are each Professor Flaherty, actually. They rented a car at the airport and drove up here.”

  “I see. Do you have anything else to add?” Ivan clicked his pen shut and open, shut and open.

  Oh. She should tell him about the text message. “I sent Nicole a text right before I found her. I was going to write her a note but decided to text, instead.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that.” He peered at the legal pad again. “What did you write?”

  “Just that I had left the seedlings.”

  “Did you also apologize for the protest? Are you sure you weren’t also involved in organizing the demonstration? Perhaps you and your mother conspired together to put Ms. Kingsbury out of business.”

  “No. No!” Cam exclaimed. “That isn’t what I meant at all.” They must have already reviewed Nicole’s phone. He knew what she had texted.

  Ivan stared at her. Cam glanced up at Ruth, who looked sympathetic but remained silent.

  “I felt bad for her that people I knew were demonstrating. That’s all it was.”

  He let out an audible breath as if chiding her for not telling the truth. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes.” Cam crossed her arms. “Of course I am. And we weren’t in competition at all. I have a thriving business. If anything, I was helping Nicole get hers off the ground. I hoped she’d succeed.”

  “Do you have anything else you’d like to add?”

  Meeting Orson Page flashed into her brain. “Maybe. Last night I was at Moran Manor with—”

  “Moran Manor?” Ivan sounded like he’d run out of patience.

  “Hang on a sec, Detective.” Geez. He had a lot of nerve to get short with her. “You asked if there was anything else. The least you can do is hear me out.”

  He tapped the fingers of his right hand against the table in a buh-bam, buh-bam, b
uh-bam rhythm. “Go ahead.”

  “My parents and I were eating dinner at the assisted living residence in town with my great-uncle and his woman friend. I happened to speak with an Orson Page. He runs a hydroponics greenhouse in Salisbury called Fresh Page. He didn’t seem too happy about Nicole’s business.”

  “Did you talk with Mr. Page about finding her body?”

  “That didn’t come up. And he didn’t appear to know she was dead.”

  “This interview is concluded. Thank you for your time. I remind you not to speak to the public about what you saw.” He slid a business card across the table. “I will be your contact person for this investigation, Ms. Flaherty. If you think of anything else, please contact me. Not Detective Pappas. Is that clear?”

  Cam stood. “Couldn’t be more clear. I hope you sort out this case sooner rather than later.” She nearly crumpled the card in her fist.

  “So do we, Ms. Flaherty.”

  Chapter 8

  Cam pulled out onto Main Street right behind Simone Koyama’s antique red work truck. A round red light blinked from the left rear corner of the truck’s bed, signaling a turn into Sim’s auto repair shop, which was almost directly across the street from the greenhouse. Cam hadn’t visited with her friend in a while, so she pulled in to SK Foreign Auto after Sim. Cam needed to get back to her volunteers, but she could spare a few minutes to say hello. And maybe it would get the bad taste of being grilled by Ivan out of her mouth. Or at least the unsettled feeling he’d left her with.

  The mechanic jumped down from the high cab and sauntered over to Cam. “How’s it going, farmer girl?” She fist-bumped Cam through the open window of Cam’s truck, her dark hair both shorter and spikier than the last time Cam had seen her. The smile slid off Sim’s face. “Did you hear about the death over at the greenhouse?” She pointed down the road in the direction of the greenhouse a quarter mile away.

  “I did.” The small-town gossip mill apparently didn’t yet include Cam’s role in the death. She switched off the engine and cleared her throat. “I was the one who found her.” Oops. Was that saying too much? Too late now.

  “Really? Wicked nasty. She was Bobby’s cousin, you know.” Sim and Bobby had been good friends before Cam met either of them. Sim wrinkled her nose, the silver ring in her nostril scrunching up, too. “You okay?”

  “I guess. I just came from being questioned at the station.”

  “That’s no fun. I speak from experience.”

  “I know.” Sim had been questioned about Bobby’s mother’s murder in the fall, a woman everybody knew Sim didn’t get along with. “Did you know my parents are here visiting?” Cam asked.

  “Get out. I thought they like never came to see you.”

  “They’re here now. And my own mom was demonstrating against Nicole’s business when I found the body,” Cam said. “I can’t get her to talk about it, either.”

  “Give her time, girlfriend. Maybe she’s just upset about the whole thing.”

  “Maybe. So what have you been up to lately? Business been good?”

  “Yeah, steady.” Sim mock-played a pair of air drumsticks. “Had a couple of good gigs on the weekend. And I, uh, might have a new girlfriend.” She blushed. “She’s pretty cool.”

  Cam smiled. She wondered if Sim had met the new prospect during one of her band’s shows. “Name?”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. I don’t want to jinx it. If we last, you’ll meet her, for sure.”

  “I’d like that. I’d better get back to the farm. I have volunteers working, plus my parents, you know, probably want to see me.” Her dad, anyway. Cam’s gaze lit on a silver Mercedes with Florida plates parked at the side of the lot. “Nice wheels. Did somebody drive that all the way up here and then it broke down?”

  “Pretty much. I don’t know what the dude’s business is, but he left it here a couple of days ago and got himself an Uber to a car rental place.” Sim shook her head. “He’s one of those guys who kind of thinks the world owes him, ya dig?”

  Cam flashed on the dark-haired guy she’d seen near the greenhouse. “Is he slight? Dark hair?”

  “No way. This one’s thick, blond, and balding. Why?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “He wanted all kinds of recommendations for local places to eat and drink before he left, too.”

  “What did you tell him?” Cam asked.

  “The usual. The Grog. Throwback Brewery. The Market. You know.”

  “I would have said the same. I should get going. Come on out to the farm when you get a chance.”

  “Pretty busy sched. You bringing the ’rents to the parade Monday?”

  “The what?”

  “The Memorial Day parade. Only the biggest happening in town for the year.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Cam said. “I forgot all about it. They aren’t leaving until Tuesday. And I’ll bet you’re driving Ruby in it, right?”

  Sim’s truck was a classic 1948 Chevy, with rounded surfaces, a big silver grill, and shiny chrome bumpers. She’d added seat belts and kept the inspection up to date, and it was the vehicle she took out on service calls.

  Sim grinned. “Of course. Ruby’s already stocked up on candy to throw to the kids.”

  * * *

  By the time the volunteers left, it was one o’clock and Cam was famished. They’d had a productive morning, finishing all the tasks she’d assigned them and then some. It really helped to have experienced volunteers like Alexandra and Felicity on the team. While Cam was out they’d taken the initiative to get some additional planting under way. Her dad was nowhere to be found, but at least the hens were clean and happy, and two full flats of clean eggs nestled in the barn fridge.

  Trudging toward her antique yellow saltbox of a farmhouse, Cam swallowed and cleared her throat, which felt scratchy. If that was a spring cold brewing, she didn’t want any part of it. I don’t have time to get sick. On the chore list for this afternoon was some serious crop watering, since the sky remained cloudless. But first it was time for lunch. She pulled open the back door to find her father about to come out, his arms laden with a big tray full of sandwiches, a bowl of potato chips, and a pitcher of lemonade.

  “Whoa. Let me hold the door for you.” She took a step back and let him out.

  “I didn’t think you’d mind if I fixed us some lunch,” he called over his shoulder as he made his way to the picnic table under the big maple in the back yard.

  “Not at all. I’m going to wash up and I’ll be right out,” Cam answered. Smiling to herself, she headed toward the powder room tucked under the stairs. Her dad had always liked fixing lunch. She peered into the living room and waved at her mother.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  Deb sat curled up on the couch, feet on the coffee table, typing on a laptop in her lap while talking to someone on the cell phone tucked under her ear. She glanced briefly at Cam.

  “We’re eating outside,” Cam said. She gestured with a thumb over her shoulder.

  “Got it.” Deb focused on her computer again.

  Cam frowned. Too busy to eat lunch with her seldom-seen daughter, even after what had happened yesterday. Oh well.

  A couple of minutes later Cam sat at the table outside. “Thanks, Daddy. This is perfect.”

  He beamed and poured her a glass of lemonade. “Cheers. I figured you were probably going back out to work, or I’d have poured us beers.”

  “Cheers. And you’re right.” She took a bite of her sandwich, two pieces of multigrain bread loaded with turkey slices, lettuce leaves, and a hint of garlic. “You’ve outdone yourself,” she mumbled, stuffing the end of a piece of lettuce into the corner of her mouth. “What’s the garlic taste? It’s delicious.”

  “I just whipped up a roasted garlic spread with cream cheese and a bit of sour cream. Thought it would go perfect with the smoked turkey breast.”

  “It does. It’s heaven, Daddy. Thank you.” Cam washed down a bite with lemonade. “Did Mom already eat?”

>   William raised his eyebrows and looked at her over the top of his glasses. “Your mother seems to have some urgent work to do. She’s barely said a word to me all morning.”

  Cam wrinkled her brow. Deb hadn’t spoken to her all morning, either. Preston ambled toward the table. He reared up and rubbed first his head and then his whole body along the end of the bench where Cam sat. He put his front paws on it, mewing in his tiny voice.

  “He’s an awfully big fellow to have such a little voice,” William said.

  “I know. Isn’t it funny? Here, Preston.” She drew a scrap of meat out of her sandwich and fed it to him. “That’s all, now, Mr. P.”

  She gazed around the yard. She’d found time to mow the grass before her parents had arrived, but at this time of year it grew so fast it almost needed cutting again. The herb garden on the other side of the driveway was in full swing, too, with all the clumps of perennials filling out in several shades of green bordering on gray. Spiky chives lived next to spreading thyme, with a big variegated sage watching over the narrow, brilliant green leaves of the tarragon. The barn and the greenhouse were behind them, with the fields stretching out toward the back. Such an orderly, healthy scene was at odds with Cam finding a fellow farmer dead. She didn’t quite know how to reconcile it.

  “Did Mom say anything to you about—?” Cam asked.

  William lifted his chin and pointed.

  “Did I say anything about what?” Deb said from behind Cam. She took a seat next to her.

  “Hey, Mom. Hungry?”

  “I am.” Cam’s mom helped herself to half a sandwich and a handful of chips. “It sounds like you want to know if I talked with your father about my interview with the local police.”

  “Exactly,” Cam said.

  “The answer is no.” Her mom took a big bite of sandwich.

  Great. Cam didn’t know how to talk with her mom about difficult or important matters. They never had, and she didn’t have the tools.