Farmed and Dangerous Read online

  Cam, watching three of the hens peck in their yard, shivered with her hands deep in her coat pockets. A biting wind sliced at her cheeks. An icy cloud blew over the sun, which already hung low in the sky. She thought about shutting the hens in early for the night. She checked her phone: barely three o’clock. The temperature was dropping fast. She hoped the girls wouldn’t freeze inside the coop if the temperature kept dropping, but they seemed to be able to puff out their feathers to insulate themselves. Tiny birds, like chickadees and sparrows, lived outside all winter long, after all. She’d already covered the hoop-house beds, and depending on the temperature tomorrow, she might just leave them covered.

  The crunching noise of tires came from the driveway on the other side of the barn. A door slammed, then footsteps approached. Cam’s heart raced. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She whirled in that direction.

  “Wicked cold, isn’t it?” a cheery voice called out.

  Cam let out a breath. She greeted Alexandra and DJ when they came into view. Alexandra, a recent college graduate living with her parents while she figured out what came next in her life, was a committed locavore, an artist, a whiz at Web design, and lots more. DJ . . . Well, Cam didn’t know much about his life. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties and was infinitely talented with animals, carpentry, and good cheer.

  Alexandra waved a gloved hand, her flaxen braids trailing out from under a Nordic knit hat with pointed earflaps. Her other hand was linked with DJ’s. His scruffy light-brown beard bore ice crystals near his mouth, and his blue eyes looked happy. He held a big bag of chicken feed on his shoulder.

  “Thought we’d stop by and see if you need help with the girls.” DJ surveyed the yard. “Everybody else inside?”

  “The smart ones are,” Cam said. “As you can see, it’s only our dear, dim TopKnot and a couple of her friends who don’t possess the sense to go in. Or the brains.”

  Alexandra gazed at Cam. “We heard Bev Montgomery died after eating your vegetables. That’s bad.”

  News traveled fast in a small town. “It’s bad, all right. But everybody at the residence ate the same dinner, so my produce didn’t kill her, obviously. Or I hope it will become obvious to the police. They had me in there for an hour today, grilling me. I arrived home only a little while ago.”

  “That poor lady. Hey, picked you up another bag of organic feed.” DJ raised his eyebrows. “Dude, that stuff is expensive.”

  “I know,” Cam said. “I’m losing money on the eggs, even charging six-fifty a dozen. I’m not sure offering organic eggs is worth it.”

  “I’ll stick it inside the barn.” He detached from Alexandra and carried the bag around the corner of the barn.

  “So maybe Bev died from a heart attack.” Alexandra frowned. “She was pretty old.”

  “I wish. And she wasn’t that old, you know.” Then Cam remembered herself a decade earlier, when she was Alexandra’s age. A sixty-five-year-old woman seemed a lot more ancient then than one did now. “Anyway, she didn’t have a heart attack. Someone murdered her.” Oops. She probably shouldn’t talk about what Pete had told her. Too late now.

  DJ reappeared. “What did you say?”

  “Someone apparently poisoned Bev Montgomery. Murdered her.”

  “Oh, Cam. Not again.” Alexandra slung her arm around Cam’s shoulder and squeezed. They were nearly the same height. “What’s up with you and murderers?”

  Cam rolled her eyes. “I’d be happy never to even hear about another murder, let alone one that seems to have a connection to me.”

  “That’s totally bad news,” DJ said.

  “No kidding.” Cam shivered again. “DJ, mind shooing those birdbrains inside? I need to get out of this wind. Can you both join me for a hot toddy in the house?”

  They glanced at each other and seemed to exchange a silent message.

  “Sure,” Alexandra said.

  DJ stepped into the enclosure and made clicking noises at the hens. Cam had called him the Chicken Whisperer when she’d first seen him do that in the fall. He seemed to be able to communicate with them in a way she couldn’t. He convinced them to go in and latched the door behind them.

  “You guys should take home a dozen eggs.” Cam stepped into the barn and drew an egg carton out of the refrigerator.

  Alexandra followed her. “Totally.”

  “The production is way down, of course, but I still collect about four dozen eggs a week.”

  Alexandra, carrying the eggs, and DJ followed Cam to the house. Once they were inside, Cam put on the teakettle and drew honey and cognac out of the cupboard.

  “Have a seat,” she said, waving at the table.

  Alexandra pulled out a chair and sat.

  Cam brought over a tin. “Oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies, anybody? They’re not local, but I make them with whole-wheat flour, and they’re relatively healthy.”

  DJ shrugged out of his green winter jacket, which sported a six-inch piece of duct tape covering a rip in one sleeve. He helped himself to a cookie and took a bite as he wandered around the room, examining the several pieces of art and the framed pictures decorating the walls. He popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth and picked up the mallets to a small wooden instrument that sat on a bookshelf in the living room. He tapped out a simple melody. The music carried a rich, round tone.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Cam said. “My parents brought that from Lesotho.”

  “Does it have a special name?” Alexandra asked.

  “It does, but I don’t remember. It’s some kind of xylophone.”

  After the teakettle whistled, Cam fixed three toddies with peppermint tea, honey, and lemon, and brought them to the table. She got the cognac and added it to the collection.

  “Add your own poison.” She grimaced. “Oh, that didn’t sound good, did it?” She poured a couple of glugs of cognac into her mug and set the bottle in the middle of the table. “Anyway, I’m done working for the day.” And she’d be alone tonight. Pete had to do the right thing.

  DJ joined them at the table. The young man always seemed upbeat and competent and interested in all kinds of things. She could see why Alexandra wanted to spend time with him.

  Alexandra poured a bit of cognac into her own mug and offered the bottle to DJ.

  “No, thanks.” He smiled. “I’m working on staying present these days.”

  Did that mean Cam wasn’t present when she’d had a drink? Likely.

  “I’ve been studying permaculture lately, Cam,” DJ said. “You ought to look into it.”

  “A North Shore Permaculture Group contacted me about their Meetups, but I haven’t actually met up with them yet. Give me the two-minute thumbnail on what permaculture is and why I should utilize it.” Cam smiled at him.

  “It’s a design science to take sustainability to the next level. Water management, permanent companion planting, the no-till method developed into an art form.” He smiled with an earnest look. “Seriously, we could do design work on your land in the spring if you’re interested. I need to accumulate a boatload of hours for my certificate.”

  “Swales and berms. Berms and swales. That’s all he talks about anymore.” Alexandra nudged DJ affectionately and then folded her forearms on the table. “So, Cam, who do you think killed Bev?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question. The only person who would truly benefit would be her daughter, Ginger.”

  “Because she’d get the farm?” DJ asked.

  “I expect so. Although she does have two brothers, come to think of it,” Cam said. “She wants to develop the property, build houses, I heard, and Bev didn’t want her to. She wanted to keep it farmland.”

  “Ginger would kill her own mother?” Alexandra widened her eyes.

  “Let’s hope not. She seems kind of difficult, and I saw her arguing with her mom. She does go over and play guitar for the residents at Moran Manor, which is a nice thing to do. She played for them even before Bev moved there.”

  DJ sipped his tea. He
tapped the side of the mug. “I might be able to do a little snooping. My brother Eddie worked on that housing project over in Newburyport. The one Ginger Montgomery built. He might know something about her. I’ll ask him tonight.”

  “Did you grow up here in town, DJ?”

  He nodded.

  “Do either of you know anything about Richard Broadhurst? My great-uncle said that he had an interest in acquiring Bev’s farm so he could expand his orchard, and that she was negotiating with him about that.”

  “He’s my friend’s stepfather. Or was.” Alexandra pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and thumbed it with both hands. “There. I texted her. I’ll let you know what she says about him.”

  “Thanks, guys. The sooner the police find out who actually killed her, the sooner they’ll stop harassing me about it.” And the sooner she could see Pete again. As she sipped her own tea, she thought about whether she even wanted to keep spending time with Pete. He was absolutely right. Hanging out with a state cop wasn’t going to be a smooth ride. It still smarted that he’d said he had to distance himself from her during the investigation. With any luck, it would be only another day or two before he tracked down the real murderer.

  Her computer scientist brain knew it was logical and appropriate for Pete to disappear from her life in the interim. Her heart had other ideas.

  Chapter 9

  After Alexandra and DJ left, Cam had called Albert and had made arrangements to pick him up in an hour. Now they sat in a booth in the rear corner of the Westbury House of Pizza, the town’s only restaurant. The Formica tables were worn but clean, and the Greeks who ran the place made a thin crust to die for.

  “Thanks for springing me, Cameron.” Albert sipped his glass of red wine. He waved at a couple who sat across the room.

  Cam finished chewing her bite of pizza, with a piece of anchovy sparking a salty taste. “I didn’t want to sit in the Moran dining room with you and have everybody stare at me.”

  “I didn’t particularly want to make small talk in the dining room, either. I’m not in the best of spirits, with Beverly dead. May she rest in peace.”

  “I’m so sorry, Uncle Albert. I know you and she were friends.” Cam reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

  “I’ll admit I’ve heard talk going around the place about poisoned produce. All hogwash, but still.” He helped himself to a second slice from the platter in the middle of the table. “My, this is tasty. Good idea to order anchovies with the mushrooms and artichoke hearts. The usual fare at the Manor is never very interesting, don’t you know. And I do love a good pizza.”

  “I wonder if the goat cheese on it is local?” she said and then laughed. “Listen to me. Those crazy locavores are starting to mess with my head.”

  “We can ask on our way out.”

  Cam sipped her wine. She frowned. “I imagine Jim Cooper is going to decide he doesn’t want to contract with me for vegetables this summer, after all. But nobody else has gotten sick since the dinner, have they?”

  Albert gazed at a nearby poster of the Parthenon for a moment. “I did hear tell of a lady not feeling well this morning, and Doc, my old fishing buddy, complained of stomach pains at lunch today. But you know, we’re all a bunch of old farts. Residents are always grousing about one thing or another.”

  “I hope they’ll both be fine. And that their ailments are totally unrelated to my dinner.”

  A man and four children brought tall soft drink cups to the booth behind Cam and Albert’s and sat. Two boys facing Cam huddled over a small digital device, which emitted beeps as they played. A little girl kicked the base of the bench repeatedly, the bench that shared a back with Albert’s.

  “The police were about this morning. Collecting dishes and whatnot. Asking questions,” Albert said. “They took over the library for their interviews. Strung up that yellow tape across the door to Beverly’s room, just like on television.”

  Cam leaned toward Albert. “Did that upset people?” Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. The girl kicked with the regularity of a metronome.

  Albert smiled. “It’s the most excitement we’ve had there since I moved in. I wheeled by her room this morning. The door stood open, and I saw an officer actually dusting for fingerprints.” He turned somber. “Don’t mistake me. I am sorry about losing poor Beverly. But she’s in a better place now. Her life here had always been tough. Now she’s sitting in heaven, playing cards with my Marie, I daresay.”

  Cam smiled at the image. Then heard the thunk, thunk, thunk again. The father seemed oblivious to the noise. Cam wrestled her attention back to what had happened at Moran Manor. “Do you know who the police interviewed?”

  “The cook. The director. Her caregiver, Oscar. He didn’t like that at all, I can tell you.”

  The incoming-text tone sounded on Cam’s phone. She pulled the phone out of her purse and glanced at it in her lap. The text was from Ellie.

  Can u come over? Mom wants to talk. Police interviewd me today. Scary.

  Cam glanced across at Albert, who gazed at her with pursed lips.

  “You young people can’t stay away from those wretched devices for anything. Why, in my day—”

  Cam broke in. “It’s Ellie.” She relayed what the girl had said.

  “Ah. Well, then,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted our time together.”

  “Do you need to leave now?” Albert asked. He reached for her free hand and patted it with his.

  She glanced at the wall clock, which read six thirty. “No. Let me tell her I’ll be over in an hour.” She tapped out the message and pressed SEND. Nearly instantly a K. C U soon popped up. She stashed the phone. The little girl climbed out of the booth, followed by her father. They walked together toward the pizza counter. The cessation of the noise from her snow boot–clad feet was like finally tweezing a splinter out of an inflamed finger.

  “Ellie served in the dining room yesterday. I’m sorry she had to be questioned by the authorities, but perhaps she can assist the investigation,” Albert said.

  “Her mother must be terrified. After our horrible experience last June, I’m surprised she even let Ellie return to the farm. And she probably thought her daughter would be a lot safer with a collection of retirees.” If Ellie had, in fact, seen anything significant, she could be in danger. Cam would get over to Ellie’s as soon as she returned Albert to Moran Manor. Scary, indeed.

  Cam sipped the cup of apple-cinnamon tea Ellie had made for her.

  “My mom will be right out. Thanks for coming over, Cam.”

  Ellie perched, with her knees drawn up in front of her, on the arm of the sofa. Cam sat at the other end. The living room of the house felt light and uncluttered. Accents of turquoise abounded, so even in midwinter it felt like breaking waves and a sea breeze were somewhere nearby. A hardwood floor gleamed. Ellie herself didn’t look as well put together. Her fine blond hair lay limp around her shoulders, and she wore a Bruins sweatshirt with frayed cuffs and smudges of paint on the front. Mostly her eyes gave away her worry.

  “Are you all right?” Cam had almost never seen the girl when energy and fun didn’t sparkle off her.

  “I guess.” She shook her head. “This afternoon, though, it was, like—”

  “Thank you for stopping by.” A woman wheeled herself into the room and positioned her wheelchair so that she was facing Cam. She extended a hand. “I’m Myrna.”

  “So nice to meet you at last.” Cam shook Myrna’s small hand, which felt remarkably cold to the touch. “You have an awesome daughter.” She smiled, gesturing at Ellie.

  “Thank you. I have to agree.” Myrna returned the smile and wheeled over next to her daughter. She patted Ellie’s knee, leaving her hand on it. The streaks of white in Myrna’s short dark hair seemed premature, and smudges under her eyes spoke of pain.

  “My husband—well, you know David, of course—is out of town,” she continued. “When that detective, a Mr. Pappas, wanted to talk to Ellie, I i
nsisted he come here so I could be present.” She spoke slowly, forming the words with difficulty.

  Ellie had told Cam the previous summer that her mother had multiple sclerosis. Cam had seen Myrna only once before, in their car when Ellie’s father picked her up at the farm after one of the girl’s volunteer stints. Ellie had been working on her Locavore badge for the Girl Scouts and had helped out with farm chores on a regular basis. Cam caught sight of the purple skin on Myrna’s feet, which were clad in slip-on sandals.

  “Mommy, that’s the law, anyway.” Ellie spoke with the exasperation of any teen daughter toward her mother. “He said you had to be present because I’m underage.”

  “And how did the conversation go?” Cam asked. “Ellie, you said in your message that you were scared.”

  Ellie nodded. “Sort of. I mean—”

  Myrna broke in. “He kept asking Eleanor if she’d seen anyone near the food trays who shouldn’t have been there. He meant, did she see the murderer?”

  Though she was dying to know what, in fact, Ellie had seen, Cam didn’t want to traumatize her by having her answer difficult questions twice in one day. Cam wasn’t supposed to be poking her nose into the case, anyway, although she’d already blown that by talking about it with Alexandra and DJ. Except that Ellie had asked for her help. And should she tell them that Pete was actually a sweet person and was only doing his job? She waited instead.

  “I just told him what I did. It’s what I do every time I serve. I take residents’ orders. They don’t have to take the daily special. Which yesterday was your meal, Cam. They also get a choice of the regular, like, stuff on the menu. A hamburger, a piece of quiche, a tuna sandwich. Whatever. Then I take the order in to Rosemary and sometimes to another helper, and when it’s ready, I bring it out. It’s totally not very complicated.”

  “Did Bev eat in the dining room?”

  “No way. She’s been taking her meals in her room. She’s kind of . . . I mean, she was kind of cranky.”