Mulch Ado about Murder Read online

  LOCAL BUSINESSWOMAN’S DEATH DEEMED HOMICIDE

  So the news was out. She read the article closely, but all it said was that State Police Detective Ivan Hobbs was following up every lead. It didn’t mention the cause of death or Cam, thank goodness, only that a local resident discovered Kingsbury unresponsive in the Seacoast Fresh Hydroponics greenhouse. It did, however, feature a picture of the sign-holding protesters on the sidewalk, all of whom were named. Cam groaned. Her mom would probably want to cut it out and save it. The story ended with a plea for anyone with information about the victim or anyone who had been in the vicinity of the greenhouse on Thursday to please contact the police.

  Cam finished eating and headed to her laptop. Maybe Google could help with information about Carlos Griffith. Or Rudin Brunelle, Nicole’s ex, for that matter.

  She couldn’t find much else on Carlos Griffith. His name was associated with a Catholic retreat center in Rowley. He held an insurance license. He apparently was a runner, because he’d finished eighth in his age class in the Yankee Homecoming ten-miler last summer. Lucinda thought maybe she’d seen him at St. Ann’s, the Westbury Catholic Church. And Cam had seen he was a father and a dog owner.

  She rapped her fingers on the desk. What was the name of the insurance agency next to the greenhouse? Huntington. That was it. Perhaps Carlos worked for them. She found their Web site, but he wasn’t listed as one of the agents. A Helen Fisher was, though. Vince’s mother.

  Cam thought, taking a sip of wine. She could go over to the agency on Monday and ask Helen if Carlos had been in. Her gaze fell on the wall calendar. No, she couldn’t. Monday was Memorial Day. But she and Helen had met last fall after Howard Fisher’s death. It would probably be all right to call her. Or to call Vince and congratulate him. He sometimes volunteered on the farm with Ellie, and he’d been a big help last winter after a killer had attacked Pete and Cam. She found his number on her phone.

  “Vince, it’s Cam Flaherty. I saw you win that race today and wanted to congratulate you.”

  “Thanks, Cam. I’m pretty chuffed about it.”

  “You sure are fast. You looked like you really wanted the win.”

  He laughed. “Got that right.” He said something to someone else. “Ellie’s here at the house. Just told her it was you on the phone.”

  “Tell her hi. Listen, does your mom happen to be there? I have a question I wanted to ask her.”

  “Sure. Just a second.”

  Cam heard him yell, “Ma!” and a minute later Helen came on the line.

  After they exchanged greetings, Helen said, “What can I help you with?”

  “You work at Huntington Insurance in town, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I wondered if you’ve had dealings with a man named Carlos Griffith? I think he’s in insurance, too.”

  “Carlos is one of our agents. He just started with us recently. I don’t know him well, but he seems to be settling in. I was assigned to help him get up to speed. Did you need some insurance, Cam?”

  “No, I’m all set.” Cam pondered how much to tell Helen, deciding on nothing for now. “A friend was asking about him, that’s all. Hey, did you see Vince run today? He was a speed demon.”

  “I’m so sorry I missed the race. My boss had something urgent he said only I was good enough to deal with.”

  Cam could hear the disappointment in Helen’s voice. “I know you’re very proud of how hard Vince has worked on his running,” Cam said.

  “I certainly am. Hold on a second.” A moment later Helen went on in a low voice. “I wanted to get out of earshot of the kids. Cam, what do you know about the death in town? Our office is right next to that greenhouse. It’s just awful what happened. I hear you found the body of that poor woman, too. Nicole Kingsbury, the hydroponic farmer.”

  “I did. And it is awful. Did you know her?”

  “I chatted with her a few times when we met each other in the parking lot.”

  “Have the police been in to interview you?” Cam asked.

  “An Officer Hobbs did. At least he didn’t make me go down to the station. He stopped into the office to ask if anyone knew Nicole.”

  “I’ve had some conversations with him, too.”

  “He’s not a very nice man, is he?”

  Cam laughed. “I’m sure he’s perfectly nice.” Maybe. “He certainly takes his job seriously. And really, that’s the kind of law enforcement officer we need.”

  “He was asking me all kinds of questions, like—” Helen yelled away from the phone, “What?” After a moment she came back on. “Shoot, Cam. Dinner’s burning. I have to run. I’ll call you later.”

  Cam told her to go rescue her dinner and disconnected the call. So Carlos worked right here in Westbury yards away from Nicole’s new home and business. He was active in the Catholic Church. Had he known Nicole? Worse, had he been the affair that was connected with her divorce?

  Chapter 13

  Cam pushed open the screen door ten minutes later to let in Pete and his husky mix, Dasha, along with some cool night air. She bent down and rubbed Dasha’s head before accepting a kiss from Pete. A long luscious kiss, as it turned out. He’d called her after she’d finished talking with Helen and asked if she’d dog-sit. Naturally she’d said yes. She’d grown fond of Dasha over the past months, a bit to her surprise. They’d never had a dog when she was growing up.

  “Mmm,” she said when she and Pete separated.

  “Mmm is right. And you’re rescuing me again,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m called off to a different suspicious death, this time in Salem.”

  The seacoast city, a forty-minute drive south, was the county seat and a sometimes-troubled town. “I’m always happy to take Dasha. You know that.” Cam smiled at Pete, whose eyebrows were dark over deep brown eyes, his open-collared blue shirt crisp under a navy blazer. She knew the jacket hid his shoulder holster, and that didn’t bother her. “Can you sit down for a minute?”

  “I can’t. It’s already eight o’clock and they wanted me down there an hour ago, but I had to touch base with Ivan about the situation here. I hope this new case isn’t a complicated one.”

  Preston wandered in from the living room. He halted when he saw Dasha and stared. Dasha’s tail whapped the floor over and over. He always wanted to play with Preston, and the cat would have nothing of it. He wasn’t upset by Dasha’s visits anymore, but he gave the dog a wide berth on the way to his dry food bowl in the kitchen.

  Pete glanced around. “Where are your parents?”

  “They went up to Maine today. They’ll be back late tonight.”

  “Wish I could take advantage of that.” He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her in close.

  “I wish you could, too,” she murmured into his shoulder. She cleared her throat and pushed back a little. “Before you go, can you tell me anything about the investigation into Nicole’s death?”

  “Not really.” Pete frowned. “Still trying to locate the ex. Thanks for the tip about him being in town.”

  “Do rental cars have trackers on them?”

  “Some do. A few years ago a big public outcry went up about car agencies secretly tracking renters, and lots of them took out the devices. But we’ll find him. Or Ivan will, that is.”

  “I found out that guy Carlos Griffith works at Huntington Insurance. Right next door to the greenhouse. And he’s an active Catholic.”

  “Griffith. The man you saw in the parking lot. That’s certainly a plausible reason for him to be in the vicinity of the greenhouse that day. But where did you learn that? You’re not—”

  Cam held up her hand. “I just happened to be talking with Vince Fisher’s mom, Helen.” Cam crossed her fingers at the little white lie, just happened to be. “Lucinda knows Carlos, sort of, because he’s half Brazilian. She said she thought he was in insurance. So I asked Helen. That’s all.”

  “And you’re talking about the death with all your friends, is that what you�
��re telling me?” He still frowned, but the look in his eyes was soft.

  “They asked me—separately, of course—what was going on. In a town this size, everybody knew I’d found Nicole’s body way before the news actually came out.”

  “I’m sure Ivan or one of the local officers would have tracked down Griffith’s occupation sooner or later, if they haven’t already.”

  “Did Bobby Burr tell you or Ivan that Nicole’s divorce was caused in part because of an affair she had with someone she met at a Catholic retreat?”

  “I’d have to check with Ivan,” Pete said. “I would hope Burr would have shared that information with us.”

  “I was just wondering if Carlos was the man. And if he was . . .”

  “Cam. We’re checking all the angles. We appreciate alert citizens like you passing along information. But please leave the investigating to us, to Ivan.”

  “As long as the angles don’t include my mom. Much as I have my difficulties with her, I know she wouldn’t kill anyone. She’s way too cerebral for that.”

  “I certainly hope she didn’t.”

  Cam cleared her throat. “Do you know the cause of death yet?” She doubted he’d tell her, but it was worth a try.

  Pete gazed at her with an expression mixing tenderness with exasperation. He knelt and hugged Dasha, who gave him a sloppy cheek kiss. Pete stood. “I’m outta here. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Stay safe,” Cam called as he walked down the back stairs.

  “You too, honey. You too.”

  * * *

  Cam adjusted the spray of water from the sprinkler the next morning. Yesterday’s clouds were gone, and the sun had already been up for almost an hour at six o’clock. This was the best time to water. The thirsty plants would have water to use for growing during the daylight hours. If she watered later, the heat of the day could evaporate half the spray before it even reached the plants. And she didn’t run the risk of introducing mildew, always a chance with evening watering.

  Her parents had arrived home at ten last night and promptly gone to bed. Cam wasn’t sure they’d even seen Dasha sleeping on his bed in the corner of the kitchen. He was now keeping her company out here. He’d spent plenty of time with her on the farm over the last eight months when Pete had had to work long hours on homicide cases. By now Cam knew the smart, sweet-tempered dog wouldn’t run off into the woods in back or chase a car on the road. It was fine to have him off leash.

  Despite Pete’s admonishment, she’d spent some time after he left last night looking for information on Rudin Brunelle, Nicole’s ex-husband. Cam had discovered he was a pharmacologist in the Miami area, working in a pharmaceuticals lab. He apparently also played the violin in a community orchestra and had bought a three-bedroom house five years ago. All of which the police surely knew by now. But who he was, how he thought, where he grew up—none of that was easily available simply through a Google search. She could ask Bobby. He obviously knew Rudin to a certain extent, but he definitely didn’t like his cousin’s husband, and that would color what Bobby said about him.

  It was interesting that nobody had yet been able to locate Rudin in the Newburyport–Westbury area. Sim must have given the police Rudin’s cell number, and the rental agency would have disclosed the plate number of the car. Or would the police have even known which agency to contact? Rudin might not have told Sim which rental car place he was going to. With an all-points bulletin, or whatever that kind of alert was called, wouldn’t some officer somewhere have seen the car and reported it? Cam hadn’t thought to ask Bobby if Rudin had told him where he was staying.

  As Cam trudged out to the chicken coop, a red flicker hammered relentlessly at a dead branch. Thoughts about Nicole’s case poked just as insistently at her brain. She assumed that Ivan and company had searched Nicole’s house. Maybe they’d found clues among her belongings about who she was and how she thought. Did she drink soda or beer? Was she a vegetarian or a committed carnivore, a picky eater or a lover of the smells and tastes of good food? Did she keep her house tidy and clean or lean more toward the hurricane style of housekeeping? Most important, Cam wondered if they’d found any clues to who’d killed her.

  After she let the hens out for the day, Cam busied herself with tending the seedlings in the hoophouse for an hour until her stomach informed her it was time for breakfast. She called Dasha and made her way to the house, walking in to alluring smells and delicious sounds of popping and sizzling. William stood with his back to her at the stove stirring something in a pan.

  “Good morning, Daddy,” Cam said. She handed Dasha a biscuit and listened to him crunch it while she went to her father. A pile of grated cheese sat on a board next to the stove, and frothy beaten eggs waited in a stainless steel bowl. William sautéed sliced mushrooms and onions in a skillet. A fresh pot of coffee only added to the tantalizing aromas. “Looks like you’re making an omelet. Got enough for me, too?” she asked.

  “Hi, sweetie. Of course I have enough.” He slid the softened golden onions and mushrooms onto a plate and wiped the pan clean with a paper towel. After the chunk of butter he added had melted, he gently poured in the eggs and lifted the handle, turning the pan to swirl the eggs out to the edges.

  “Can you set the table but bring the plates to me?” He turned away from the stove and had his mouth open to go on, but when he saw Dasha in the corner he set his fists on his waist. “Is that a dog?”

  Cam laughed. “Yes, it’s a dog. Did you think he was a hippo, or maybe a flamingo?” She washed her hands at the kitchen sink.

  “Not funny, Cameron. Where did it come from?”

  “It’s a he, and his name is Dasha. He’s Pete’s dog. I often take care of him here when Pete is out on a case, like he is now.” At the mention of his name, Dasha perked up, looked at both of them, then took the rest of his biscuit into the living room to finish. “Dasha is a real sweetheart.”

  When Cam’s windup ladybug timer dinged from the windowsill, William swore softly. He turned back to the stove. He bent over and used pot holders to pull out a covered pan from the oven.

  “Hash brown casserole.” After William set it on the back of the stove, he worked on the omelet until all the fillings were added and he’d folded it over. Without looking at Cam, he said, “Please bring me plates, then call your mother for breakfast. But she won’t be happy.”

  “Why not?” Cam grabbed silverware and place mats. She set the table in the adjoining room, which connected to the kitchen by a wide, doorless space. She selected three plates and set them on the counter next to William. “Doesn’t Mom eat breakfast?”

  Her mother appeared in the other doorway to the kitchen wearing a long-sleeved, red Indiana University T-shirt with khaki shorts and bare feet. “Of course I eat breakfast. What won’t I be happy about?”

  Dasha padded back in, his toenails clicking on the wide pine floor, and sprawled next to Cam.

  “Is that a dog?” Deb’s eyes widened. “In the house?”

  Chapter 14

  Cam stared at her. “Mom, what’s wrong with a dog in the house?”

  “I don’t like dogs, and they don’t belong in the house.” She folded her arms, her nostrils flared, her lips pressed into a thin line.

  “He’s very well-behaved dog,” Cam said, bewildered. Why was her mom reacting like this? “His name is Dasha. Don’t you want to meet him?”

  “No. Either he goes out or I do.”

  Cam frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “She means can you please tie him up outside, honey,” William said in a soft voice. “Your mother had a—”

  “William, please. That’s not necessary.”

  William faced Cam, his eyes pleading with her, his hands full with omelet-laden plates. “Cam?”

  “Geez. All right. But only because it’s nice weather. And you’re going to have to explain this phobia to me. I’m not a kid you need to hide things from anymore.” She grabbed Dasha’s leash and called him.

  Das
ha looked up and whapped his tail on the floor a few times.

  “Dasha, come,” Cam repeated.

  He stood and trotted over to her. She clipped the leash to his collar and walked him out to the barn.

  “What’s up with my mother?” she asked him as she found a long length of clothesline. “Telling me what to do in my own house. She’s got a lot of nerve.”

  Dasha didn’t answer. Cam tied the rope to the maple tree in the yard and secured the leash to the rope. She didn’t mind him being off leash when she was outside, but it seemed safer to tie him up while she was in the house. If anything happened to him, Pete would be devastated. She would be, too.

  “Sorry, bud.” She scratched him between the ears. “We’ll go for a long walk later, okay?”

  He yipped his agreement and sat in the shade, tongue out, watching as she headed back to the house.

  Her parents were already eating as Cam poured a cup of coffee in the kitchen and slid into her chair at the table. “Thanks for cooking.”

  “My pleasure.” William looked sidelong at his wife, but she didn’t look up from her plate.

  They ate in silence, the only sounds the clinks of forks on plates. Deb avoided Cam’s gaze, too. The potatoes were crisp and cheesy, the omelet perfect. The atmosphere in the room, not so much.

  Cam spoke. “Did you guys have a good time yesterday?” She was determined to get to the bottom of her mother’s reaction, but it was probably wiser to let the mood calm down for a while first.

  “Oh, yes,” William said, looking relieved at the change in topic. “We popped into a couple of Maine beaches on our way north. Old Orchard was very charming, wasn’t it, dear?” He patted Deb’s hand.

  “Very.” Deb ate her last bite of omelet and sat back in her chair.

  “And then we spent quite some time in Portland,” William went on. “Lunch at a brewpub, the afternoon in the Portland Museum of Art. And dinner and a stroll in Portsmouth on our way back. Very much a New England experience.”