A Tine To Live, A Tine To Die Part 17

Cam threw off the pillow, cursing the bird. It was barely light out. She sat up. The clock read 5:10. Then it hit her. Lucinda was still in jail. Susan hadn't called her.

Cam bent over her knees, her forehead in her hands. Life was not being fair. She groaned. And it was market day.

Moving slowly, she showered, dressed in a clean T-shirt and cutoffs, and plodded downstairs. She checked both her cell and the landline phone. No messages. Cam stuck the cell phone in her back pocket. Just in case.

She ground beans and set the coffee to brew, then fed Preston and petted him while he ate. The sink held the rinsed and neatly stacked rose china plates. The winegla.s.ses from last night sat abandoned on the drain board, a ring of red wine in the bottom a reminder of her aborted date with Jake.

After Cam poured her coffee, she added a splash of milk and turned toward the door. At the sight of the table-its white cloth bearing a smudge of soy from the fish, a pink smear from the pie, the vase of hopeful carnations from Jake-Cam sank into a chair. She didn't know if she had the energy, not to mention the emotional strength, to go out there, pick with no help, and then be all social and salespersoney at the market for the entire afternoon. She could skip this one week.

She spied her business cards sitting next to the red carnations on the table near the door. Darn it all, she had a brand-new business to maintain. Whatever happened to Lucinda, Cam was still going to be a farmer. She wouldn't be doing anybody any good if she failed to show up at market when she was just starting to build her customer base there. As Alexandra might say, Cam was building her brand, and you had to keep up momentum. Maybe she'd be able to get more information at the market about the murderer.

Cam took a deep breath and headed for the porch. If Susan needed to reach her, Cam's cell was in her pocket. She donned her work boots, finished her coffee, and strode for the fields.

An hour into the market, Cam finally had a chance to catch her breath. By a stroke of luck, she'd managed to snag a shady spot. She could almost hear her bags of freshly cut greens calling out in tiny voices, "Thank you, Cam!" She'd also managed, even without help, to harvest enough to make the table look full and inviting to customers. The strawberries were coming in fast and furious, and the asparagus, while on its way out, was still producing enough for a couple of dozen bundles to be standing, points up, in a tray of water.

The weather was still warm and humid, what Marie would have called "close." Cam didn't really mind it, as long as she made sure to drink enough water. She knew the crops loved the warmth. As long as they also had enough water, that is, and the season so far had provided regular rains. If it dried out and Cam had to start irrigating, it would be a different ball game. She didn't have long enough hoses or a hefty enough bank account to bring water to the back field, where she'd planted the produce that needed more room, crops like corn, potatoes, and squash.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sight of Detective Pappas making his way down the line of vendors. Cam hadn't heard from Susan Lee or Pappas. She'd left a message on Susan's voice mail, asking what Lucinda's status was, how she was handling being in a jail cell. Cam had wanted to call Ruth, but she knew Ruth would be violating her professional boundaries if she told Cam anything, so Cam didn't even try. Maybe she'd get answers from Pappas now.

The detective stopped to speak with Bev. It was too far away for Cam to hear, but she watched them even as she made change for a box of strawberries and a bunch of irises. Bev looked over at Cam for a moment. Cam thought of looking away but waved instead. It couldn't hurt to be a little extra friendly. Bev did not wave back.

Pappas left Bev's stall and arrived at Cam's a moment later. "Good afternoon, Cam." He pretended to browse the produce while a couple finished paying for greens, spring garlic, and asparagus. After they left, he said, "You know we have Ms. DaSilva in custody."

"She didn't kill Mike." Cam folded her arms.

"We have an eyewitness who saw her in the greenhouse that afternoon. We know Mike was threatening to expose her immigration status. And we have evidence linking her to the crime."

Cam couldn't believe it. "What kind of evidence? Who saw her in the greenhouse? She was a volunteer on my farm. She was welcome anytime, even when I wasn't home, to come by and water or-"

"We searched her apartment and found evidence that is possibly an important connection to the victim."

"What was it? Maybe somebody planted something."

Pappas held up his hand in a forestalling gesture. "I've told you too much as it is, but I felt an obligation to let you know the status."

"Susan Lee wasn't able to get Lucinda out, I gather."

"No, but there will be a bail hearing in front of a judge this afternoon. I wouldn't get your hopes up, though. It is a charge of murder."

"What about her immigration status? Is this going to get her deported?"

Pappas looked around. No customers stood nearby. He looked back at Cam and leaned over the table a little. "As far as I am concerned, the INS does not need to be involved at this stage. She is actually here legally, sort of. She has a valid tourist visa, and she has applied for her green card. Now, if she were convicted, that would certainly result in deportation. But we're a long way from that at this point."

Cam widened her eyes. Lucinda had kept saying she was here illegally. The stories didn't match. But Pappas had to know the real situation. Maybe Lucinda had been confused about it.

"Thank you, Detective, for letting me know," Cam said.

"My father was an immigrant. I have to admit I have a soft spot for hardworking people like Lucinda. She maintains her innocence. Who knows? Perhaps another suspect will turn up. But for now, it doesn't look good for her."

"Great. So it's easier to prosecute Lucinda than to find the real killer." She was about to say she would find the actual murderer for him when two Haitian women with a little boy strolled up and greeted her.

As Cam handed the boy a strawberry, Pappas gave her a little salute and walked off. She watched him go and realized she was better off not having told him of her resolve. He'd only have told her to leave police work to the police.

At three-thirty, Cam surveyed her nearly empty table with satisfaction. She'd pa.s.sed her new business cards out to most of her customers and answered several questions about organic growing methods. Her envelope for the SNAP tokens was half full, meaning a crop of low-income folks was going to be eating fresh, healthy produce for the next week. Her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket. She extracted it and checked the ID. S. A. Lee.

Cam punched the b.u.t.ton to answer it. "h.e.l.lo? Susan?"

"I'm afraid we have bad news, Cam." Susan's tone was brisk. "The judge refused to set bail for Lucinda, saying she was a flight risk. The good news is they're going to continue to hold her in Westbury. The county doesn't have a women's jail, so women are normally sent to MCIFramingham."

"What's that?" Cam wiped the humidity off her free hand on her pants and shifted the phone to that hand.

"It's the state prison for women. You don't want Lucinda there under any circ.u.mstances. She'll be a lot better off right here in town. It's clean, and there won't be any other prisoners to hara.s.s her."

"Can I see her?"

"I think so, but only if I am along, too. I'll try to set it up and call you back."

Cam started to thank her, but the lawyer had already disconnected. No bail. So much for Lucinda's plan for a locavore year. She wasn't likely to get locally produced meals in jail. Cam shook her head, scolding herself. What a stupid thought, when Lucinda's whole future was at stake.

"So, they finally caught my baby's murderer."

Cam jerked her head up. Bev Montgomery stood in front of her, a self-satisfied sneer on her face.

"And it was that illegal alien. Just like I thought. They ought to all go back where they belong."

"Lucinda had no reason to kill Mike."

"Like h.e.l.l she didn't. He told her he was going to turn her in."

"Look, they don't have the right person. Somebody else killed Mike, and I'm going to find out who." She realized with a start that if Lucinda was in the country legally, Mike and the militia wouldn't have had a hold on her. Unless she was protecting someone else.

Bev snorted. "You? A city girl playing at farming? With all your fancy organic business? You show up in town, rob me of customers, and now you're going all private detective on us? Not likely. Pappas has the right person. He's a good man, even though he is a Greek."

Cam closed her mouth. Why was she arguing with this woman? She stuck her hands, along with her phone, in her shorts pockets. The phone began to vibrate again. Cam drew it out. It was Susan again.

"Excuse me." Cam turned her back on Bev, but she sensed her eyes burning into her for a moment longer. Cam listened to Susan tell her she'd set up a visit for the following afternoon. Cam thanked her and disconnected. When she turned back to the table, Bev was gone. Cam wished she could wave a magic wand and make her gone permanently, but that wasn't going to happen. For that matter, if she had a magic wand-abracadabra!-Lucinda would be out of jail with a green card and the real killer would be put away for life.

Cam gazed at the still water of Mill Pond two hours later. She perched on a wooden bench sitting at the water's edge. Swallows swooped for insects above the water, and a kingfisher rattled hoa.r.s.ely from a dead branch. The water smelled of tadpoles and early summer. Albert wouldn't mind if she was a few minutes late for dinner.

The sharp tip of Bev's comment-"You? A city girl playing at farming?"-poked at Cam, threatening to pierce her confidence. She wasn't playing. She was working as hard as she could to change careers. She was trying to make a go of hard physical work, fresh air, and supplying people with what they wanted to eat.

Maybe it was a crazy idea, though. In fact, her gifts were as a computer scientist. Even if she spent the winter using her brain, polishing and productizing her farming software, next year's season would start up again soon enough. To diversify the farm, she wanted to add chickens and fruit trees. She planned to plant a stand of blueberry bushes and several long rows of raspberries, maybe even build a pen and get a couple of pigs. It was a lot of work for a single person, and she wasn't sure she could pull it off with only the help of volunteers. She might not even have Lucinda around next year.

Cam shook that thought off. She sighed and checked her watch. Time to get over to Moran Manor. A car door slammed, and the sound of dogs barking interrupted the quiet of the tree-rimmed pond. Cam made her way toward the path that led to the parking area. From around the bend twenty yards away bounded a large black dog. It ran straight at her.

Chapter 16.

Cam froze. The dog stopped three feet in front of her. It planted splayed feet and panted. Drool dripped from the corner of its mouth. Its eyes were trained on her and did not look friendly.

"Nice doggy," Cam said, her heart thumping in her throat. She tried to take a deep breath. She tried to muster thoughts of a curly c.o.c.ker spaniel, a tactic she'd once read that could trick a dog into thinking you weren't afraid. "Nice little doggy."

"Billy! You come here." A man appeared on the path. He held back another dog on a leash, this one even bigger. "Get over here." He slapped his thigh.

Billy looked at the man and back at Cam. He turned and loped away from Cam.

"Sorry about that, ma'am," the man called.

She walked slowly toward them as he rubbed the black dog's head.

"He wouldn't hurt you."

Every dog owner's favorite words. She kept moving, her heart returning to normal, the smile on her face a lie.

"He's a good boy, aren't you, Billy?" The man wore a trim gray beard and a Red Sox hat. His business shirt, rolled up at the cuffs, and pressed dark slacks looked out of place at the pond, although his sneakers were at least appropriate footwear.

Cam pa.s.sed them, giving a little wave. "Have a good walk." After she was sure the man and his dogs had proceeded down the path, she turned and watched, eyes wide. The man's forearm displayed the same tattoo as Frank Jackson's. The Patriotic Militia tattoo.

Albert pointed a crutch toward a table in the corner of the dining hall at Moran Manor that evening. "Let's eat our dinner there. We'll have a little more quiet."

Cam followed him toward the table in a tasteful room fragrant with the aromas of roasting meat and fresh bread. Aging eyes tracked them from all sides. She nodded and smiled to the senior citizens as she pa.s.sed. It appeared that having a young visitor in the place was an exciting event.

Albert stopped at a table of three women and a man. "This is my great-niece, Cameron Flaherty. Cam, Jimmy Rousseau, Claire Rousseau, Virginia Skinner, and Edna Rogers. We play bridge together. Well, except for Edna."

Cam greeted them. Edna didn't look up from the roll she was working hard to b.u.t.ter, but the others smiled and waved a h.e.l.lo.

"Nice to meet you, dear," Virginia said. "Good to see young blood around here. Come back soon, you hear?"

Cam said she would, then pulled out a chair for Albert at the last table in the row.

He drew a bottle of wine out of a quilted bag and set it on the table. "They'll come and open it for us. Thanks for joining me, honey. And for getting out of your farm togs. They do like their dress code for dinner." He rolled his eyes. Albert's concession to the dress code was the sports coat he'd pulled on over his plaid shirt.

"You know I like hanging out with you, Uncle Albert. And after everything that has happened, well, I could use a nice meal and intelligent conversation." Cam had washed up after market and had donned a summery dress before driving to the a.s.sisted living facility.

They spent a few minutes perusing the menu after giving the wine to a nervous high-school waiter who looked like he'd tucked a shirt into pants for the first time ever. When he brought the open bottle, they gave their orders and then sipped the wine.

"It's a dry Riesling from down the road in Rowley. Perfect for a summer night, don't you think?"

Cam tasted it and agreed. "From Mill River?"

Albert nodded.

Cam took a bite of a roll, a delicious warm sourdough, then set it down. "Susan Lee is a force of nature. And she appears to adore you."

Albert laughed. "I've known her forever. She's no spring chicken, but she's done very well by herself in the law. You know, she didn't go to law school until she was in her forties. She raised three children all by herself after her scoundrel husband left them. And the minute the last kid was off to college, why, she was, too."

"I wish she could have gotten Lucinda out on bail, but the judge denied it." Cam frowned.

"Whoa, back up a little, Cameron. I want to know everything about this Lucinda. And why they think she killed young Montgomery."

Cam laid out the events of the past few days, since she'd dropped Albert off after the Locavore Festival. "There's still something I don't get about Friday night. Lucinda left in a hurry. The next day she was late to help harvest, and she didn't look too well. Then two other subscribers, Wes and Felicity-"

"The Slavin girl?"

Cam nodded. "She's not exactly a girl, Uncle Albert. I'd say she's almost Susan's age."

"She's a girl to me." Albert waved a hand. "But go on."

"Anyway, Wes and Felicity told me Pappas had asked them about Lucinda and Friday night, as if he knew what had happened. I don't know what it was, though. And then Lucinda and I never got a chance to talk about it."

"Can you visit her in jail?"

"I'm going with Susan tomorrow afternoon."

The boy brought their meals. Cam and Albert ate in silence for a moment.

"This is good," Cam said.

"You sound surprised."

"Yeah. I didn't expect inst.i.tutional chicken to be so tasty. It's a really nice mushroom sauce with what? Wine and capers?"

"We have a real chef here, and she does wonders. It's all pretty much healthy, too."

"I should talk to her about using the farm produce in these meals."

"Now you're thinking like a business owner." Albert raised bushy eyebrows. "Make sure you charge her a good price."

"I will, I will. Getting back to the case," Cam said. "What about Bev Montgomery? She's been almost one hundred percent unpleasant to me and downright awful about Lucinda. She seems to think every immigrant in this country ought to go back where they came from."

"Yes, she does hold those views."

"Well, as far as I know, Montgomery isn't exactly a Native American last name. How does she think her family got here?" Cam heard her voice rise and saw Jimmy at the next table glance over. She went on in a low tone. "Sorry about that. It just really bothers me."

Albert nodded but didn't offer an opinion.

"And then today she also accused me of stealing her customers and playing at farming." Cam shook her head. She downed a healthy swallow of wine.

Albert reached across and patted her hand with a palm callused from decades of working with the earth. "Bev has had a hard life. Do you know her husband was killed in a tractor accident? Bev blamed it on their Jamaican farmhand, but it was Jeb Montgomery's own d.a.m.n fault. What kind of farmer gets drunk and then climbs on a tractor?" Albert's mouth pulled down. "At any rate, her older sons and her daughter aren't interested in being farmers. She'd held out hope for Mike, but he didn't quite rise to the responsibility she gave him. Then he said he'd rather work for me. And now she doesn't even have him." He shook his head.

Cam rued being so irritated with Bev. Sort of. "What was it you owed her a favor for, Albert? You wouldn't tell me the other day."

"When Marie was dying, why, Bev Montgomery was over every day. She'd either be wiping Marie's brow, cleaning up the kitchen, or doing farmwork so I could be with Marie. She really came through for us. She's gruff, but she has a big heart."