A Tine To Live, A Tine To Die Part 19

"Lucinda, did you come back to the farm at the end of the day that Sat.u.r.day?"

"No! But I was just home, by myself. n.o.body could have seen me at the farm, but n.o.body saw me at my apartment, either. What about the Patriotic Militia? They said I killed Mike because he was going to turn me in. What if Mike was threatening another undoc.u.mented person? He could have been the one, you know, who killed him." Her face pleaded first with Cam and then Susan.

Susan didn't look up but tapped out notes on a tablet device she'd pulled out of her red case.

Cam rubbed her forehead. She looked at Lucinda. "Didn't you say something about a big cheese?"

Lucinda nodded.

"I saw David Kosloski act very strangely at the festival," Cam went on. "Ellie told me he's first-generation Polish, which means he's an immigrant. He has an accent when he speaks. And he's a well-established businessman in town. I'd call that a big cheese."

Now Susan looked up. "I'll check out his immigration status."

Cam had another thought. Jake had an accent, too. He was sort of a big cheese, too, with an entire restaurant at stake. Was that why he left so abruptly when he heard of Lucinda's arrest? Cam decided to keep this thought to herself for the time being.

"And speaking of immigration status, Lucinda," Susan went on, "you know your visa is still valid."

Lucinda's eyes widened. She shook her head. "I thought it expired."

"No. So you're in no imminent danger of being deported. If you are convicted of a crime, it's a different story. You're all right for now on that front."

"I must have gotten the dates wrong. The INS isn't exactly the easiest office to deal with, and their paperwork is really confusing." Lucinda's look of relief was a small spot of joy in the meeting.

"Listen, Alexandra talked with me about Stuart this morning," Cam said. "Well, not really about him, but about him and his former girlfriend, Alexandra's sister, Katie."

"Stuart," Lucinda groaned.

"What?" Cam leaned toward her.

"Oh, you know, he and I were sort of flirting at the festival. He, um, came home with me. But then I got really sick to my stomach. Before anything, you know, romantic happened. He was kinda nice to me, and then he left. Just hearing his name makes me feel sick again."

Cam frowned. "I was really sick Friday night, too. Do you think we both ate the same bad thing?"

"I don't think so. Everybody at the festival would have been sick, then, right?"

"I guess so." Cam didn't believe that for a minute. She and Lucinda must have tasted something spoiled. Except the only food Cam sampled was Jake's. Oh, crud.

Susan glanced at the big schoolroom clock on the wall. "We have seven minutes left. How are they treating you?"

Lucinda's smile was a pale reflection of her usual beam. "Okay, I guess. Can I get a decent hairbrush? They gave me a little kit, you know, toothbrush and soap, but the hairbrush is no good with this mess." She smoothed back a few escaped curls. "And underwear would be nice."

Cam rued not bringing anything. "I'll get that stuff for you, Lucinda. Anything else?"

"How about getting me out of here?" Her eyes filled.

"I'm working on it," Susan said. "But until they find a different suspect, it'll be difficult. And now that they have you, my bet is they aren't looking too hard for anyone else."

Lucinda slumped in her seat. She sank her head onto her arms on the table.

"Couldn't she at least have house arrest, or whatever they call it?" Cam asked. "You know, one of those bracelets."

Susan said she was working on it.

"How's the farm doing, Cam?" Lucinda asked.

"I'm getting along. It's tough without my best volunteer, though." She smiled at Lucinda. "We're going to get you out of here. I promise." This time she reached for Lucinda's hand and squeezed it.

The door banged open. Chief Frost stood in the doorway. "Good afternoon, ladies. I'm afraid your time is up." He moved to Lucinda's side and took her elbow as she stood.

"Thanks for coming, you guys," she said with a wistful look.

"I'll see you soon." Cam tried to put on a hopeful, positive face.

"We'll let ourselves out, Chief." Susan stowed her device and stood.

He nodded and led Lucinda away.

Cam followed Susan as her heels clicked down the hall. Cam glanced over her shoulder. Lucinda's orange scrubs disappeared around the far corner.

Cam sat in her truck in the police station parking lot. She rested her head on the steering wheel. If she didn't find the murderer, Lucinda was never going to get her freedom back, and she'd be sent back to Brazil, too. Cam didn't know why Lucinda had needed to leave her own country, but she did have faith in Lucinda's integrity and honesty. Not from long experience knowing her, Cam acknowledged to herself. She just had a feeling.

She laughed to herself. A feeling? She'd always been too much of a brainiac to let feelings creep very far into the equation of her life. It must be the physical work of farming that was letting her nonmental side emerge.

She straightened and shook her head. Back to the business at hand. It was only three thirty. She did a search on her phone and started up the truck. While she was all cleaned up and presentable, she might as well try her hand at detective work.

Ten minutes later she stood at the reception desk of K-One Construction, David Kosloski's company. No one occupied the orange and blue chairs in the sunny waiting room. No one sat behind the desk. But the door of the office, housed in a small Cape on the main road, had been unlocked. Cam a.s.sumed it was open for business. She cleared her throat in lieu of pressing the b.u.t.ton on the old-fashioned half-sphere bell on the desk. She looked around the waiting room. The walls held a dozen black-and-white photographs of tasteful houses, a condominium complex along the Merrimack River, a group of smiling men wearing work clothes and hard hats.

She peered more closely at one photo, of a perky little girl seated at a small desk, looking at a blueprint. It had to be Ellie at a younger age.

"Can I help you?"

The slightly accented voice from behind her startled Cam, who turned in its direction. A pet.i.te woman with pale skin and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail stood behind the desk. She wore a black T-shirt and black jeans and looked a few years younger than Cam. Several small silver hoop earrings traveled up the outside edge of both ears, and a dozen silver bangles decorated each wrist.

"I was looking for David Kosloski. He's a customer of mine."

"It's Wednesday," the woman said in a "Don't you know anything?" kind of voice.

"That's right. May I speak with him, please?" Cam gestured around the room. "It doesn't look like I'd be interrupting anyone's appointment."

"He's not here. He's never here on Wednesday afternoon." The tone continued.

"I see. Do you think I could find him at home?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Only if he lived at the Polish Club in Lawrence. He sponsors the free health clinic there every week."

"I didn't know that. That's very generous of him."

"Would you like to make an appointment?" The woman c.o.c.ked her head, as if that was unlikely.

"No, I . . ." Cam took a closer look. "Hey, are you related to him? You look a lot like Ellie." She didn't know why she hadn't noticed earlier. Ellie c.o.c.ked her head the same way. And they had the same coloring and pet.i.te build. The accent, now that she thought of it, sounded like David's.

"Yes. Eleanor's my niece. I'm David's sister. My name is Aniela." She folded her arms on her chest. "What do you sell, anyway?"

"I'm Cam Flaherty. I run the farm they're members of." She decided not to extend her hand, given Aniela's body language.

Aniela nodded. "Ellie talked about you." She looked down at the desk and straightened some papers.

"Well, thanks. Nice to meet you." Cam turned to go. "I'll stop in tomorrow. I just have a quick question for him." She glanced back, but Aniela had disappeared. Cam let herself out. David's sister hadn't been exactly forthcoming. That had to be bad for business.

So much for sleuthing. Cam stood on the small porch and thought. A car destined to be ticketed in the speed trap just ahead whizzed by. The speed trap was a big revenue source for the local police, Ruth had told her. And it sat just before the Food Mart. Cam nodded. Maybe there was more investigating she could do today, after all.

She picked up a plastic basket at the door of the Food Mart. She needed a few groceries, anyway, and this way it wouldn't look as if she'd come here only to query Stuart, if he was even at work. She tossed in a Boston Globe, then selected a half gallon of one-percent milk, a pound of b.u.t.ter, a sourdough baguette, and some extra-rich chocolate ice cream. At the checkout counter lately she often got strange looks from customers with carts full of fruit and vegetables, along the lines of "You poor ignorant thing with your basket full of unhealthy food." This amused Cam. They didn't know she had a farm full of produce at home, at least at this time of year.

As she rounded the end of the cookie aisle on her way to the meat counter, Cam stopped. Stuart was speaking in a raised voice to someone. The other voice sounded a little like Bev Montgomery's.

"I told you why!" Stuart said, almost yelling.

Cam eased around the corner. Stuart stood behind the meat counter with an older woman, her fists set on ample hips. Not Bev, after all. Cam thought she must be the store's manager or owner. Her steel-gray hair was cropped, and her clothes were a sensible pair of dark slacks and a dark blouse under the blue jacket all Food Mart employees wore.

The woman glanced at Cam. "We'll deal with this later, Stuart. You still have four more hours on this shift. You can take lunch when you've finished those ribs." She gestured at the cutting board behind Stuart, then exited the meat area and headed for the front of the store.

Cam looked at Stuart. His narrowed eyes followed the woman until she disappeared into the next aisle.

Cam cleared her throat. "Hi, Stuart. A little trouble with the management?"

Stuart whipped his head at Cam. "What do you want?" He glared at her with a flushed face.

"Hey." Cam held up her hand, palm out. "We're friends, right? I was looking for a steak and thought I'd say hi," she lied. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing." The anger drained from his face. "Nothing. How are you, Cam?"

"Good. Missed you this morning at the farm."

Stuart stopped what he was doing, then turned back to Cam with a tray of steaks that looked freshly cut, their red meat glistening.

"These are excellent if you like rib eye."

Okay, don't answer me. Cam nodded. "Sure. Wrap me up a couple."

"They're expensive," Stuart warned.

"It's all right. I don't eat meat much. I'll splurge." She smiled at him. "So you heard Lucinda was arrested for Mike's murder?"

"I heard." Stuart busied himself with wrapping the meat in white paper. "Guess that makes you feel better, that the killer isn't walking around out there anymore."

"Oh, she's not a killer. No, they have the wrong person. Totally the wrong person."

Stuart looked up. "Oh?"

"Absolutely."

"Is that what the police say?"

"No. They're the ones who arrested her." Cam snorted. "But they're wrong. You'll see. Lucinda said she got really sick after the festival." Cam waited. Would he acknowledge going home with Lucinda?

"That's too bad." He weighed the meat and wrote the price on the white paper with a black marker.

"It was nice of you to help her out. While she was sick." Setting her basket on the floor, Cam examined a package of chicken while keeping Stuart in her field of vision.

He, in turn, busied himself tidying up a pile of sausages. "Yeah, I got her a gla.s.s of ginger ale afterward."

"Did you get sick, too? Because I was really sick after I got home. I wondered if it was food we all ate there."

"No, I was fine."

A woman and a little boy came around the far end of the aisle.

"Can I get you anything else?" Stuart asked.

"I'll just take this chicken. Nice chatting with you." She picked up her basket and added the chicken. She started to leave and then turned back. "Say, did Felicity contact you? She's organizing a potluck at the farm Friday night."

Stuart nodded. The woman leaned over and started to ask him a question. Cam waved and walked away. She hadn't learned a thing except that he was in trouble with his boss.

Cam checked the connection to the gas bottle under her small grill on the brick patio. She c.o.c.ked the switch on the lighter but didn't press the b.u.t.ton to start the flame. She felt the connection again, making sure it was tight. She held her breath, turned on the gas and, pointing the lighter at the grill from as far away as she could, released the spark. The flames flared in a nice controlled fashion. She breathed again.

She drew her sweater around her as she waited for the rack to heat. She sat with a gla.s.s of merlot in hand and the newspaper on her lap. The day's cool temperature had settled into an inland fog. The light was dim, even though sunset was still an hour away. The moist air crept in through her pores until she shivered. Still, it was better than sitting in a jail cell.

She went into the house to call Pappas, but he didn't pick up, so she decided to leave a message. She was meandering through what Lucinda had said about Friday night when the voice mail apparently reached its limit. Cam sighed and punched the off b.u.t.ton with bit more vehemence than necessary. She'd have to explain when he called back.

Returning to the patio, Cam waited for the grill to heat. She'd rubbed the steak with kosher salt, freshly ground pepper, and a clove of garlic. The baguette warmed on low in the oven. She planned to finish her indulgent dinner with a bowl of ice cream, read a little, and call it a night.

When she flipped to the Metro section of the Globe, a headline caught Cam's eye. She gripped the paper in both hands.

BURNING HOUSE NEARLY TAKES GIRL'S LIFE; SITTER CHARGED.

A chill crept through Cam, one unrelated to the weather. She again saw the flames licking at the bottom of the door. Felt the heat pressing in. Heard her voice calling out for her mother. Wondered where Zachary, her teen babysitter, had gone. Experienced a young girl's paralysis at knowing no one could hear her.

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. Cam shook her head to clear it. She looked at the display. She didn't recognize the number. Maybe Pappas was calling her back from a different phone. She'd better answer it.

"h.e.l.lo."

"Cammie, is that you?"

"Mom! Where are you?"

"We just got into San Francisco from Bangkok. What's this we hear about a murder on the farm?"

Cam closed her eyes and counted to ten, banishing the memory the news article had drawn up from the depths of wherever she'd banished it to for all these years.