A Tine To Live, A Tine To Die Part 9

"Too bad. No clues?"

He looked like he was about to shake his head when he caught himself. "Why don't you fill me in on this clue right here?" He held the bag up in front of Cam's face. "Before I charge you with withholding evidence."

Could he? "Let's all sit down, shall we?" Cam gestured to the table. At the look on Pappas's face, she added in a hurry, "And I'll tell you all about it."

After Cam related how she'd found the disk, she asked, "What do you think it is, Detective?"

"I couldn't say."

Couldn't or wouldn't? Cam figured it didn't really matter. She glanced at Ruth. Her friend's face was nearly expressionless.

"You can be sure we'll check it out, though. I'm curious why you neglected to turn it over when Chief Frost and I visited you several days ago." He continued in the superpolite voice, and his icy eyes bored into Cam's.

"It slipped my mind. I'm very sorry," Cam lied.

"Don't do it again. Now, what I originally stopped by to ask you concerns several of your customers. I understand an Alexandra Magnusson threatened Mike Montgomery on Sat.u.r.day. Why didn't you tell me about that?"

"It slipped my mind." He was going to think she was an idiot with a Teflon brain. "Finding a dead body has done a number on my memory. But, anyway, Alexandra didn't threaten Mike. She was upset about anyone anywhere using chemicals on food crops. She's kind of an idealist."

"Ms. Slavin related that Ms. Magnusson said she would knock Mike down and run him through with a pitchfork. Did she say that?"

"Well, yes, but Mike wasn't even there anymore. She's pa.s.sionate about the environment. That's all."

"You know what I'm pa.s.sionate about? I want to find Mike Montgomery's murderer. To do that, I need all the information you have. If there is anything else you aren't telling me, I'd appreciate knowing it now."

Cam swallowed and shook her head.

"Now, about Ms. DaSilva. We can't seem to locate her. Are you quite certain you provided us with her correct contact information?"

"I think so. I printed out my customer list for you, didn't I?"

Pappas nodded.

"That's the only information I have on her. She lives in Salisbury." Strange. Surely Lucinda had given Cam her correct number and address. Cam realized she'd never needed to call the Brazilian, and she certainly had never gone to her home. Then she thought about the tremor in Lucinda's voice the day before, when she'd spoken about being undoc.u.mented and not wanting to talk to the police. Maybe Lucinda was not answering her door or her cell on purpose.

Cam realized Pappas, now standing, had spoken. "Excuse me?"

"Officer Dodge filed a report about sabotage on your farm. I wondered why you didn't tell me that, either."

"I meant to. Really." Cam hadn't felt this guiltily uncomfortable since being called on while daydreaming in cla.s.s by her strict sixth-grade teacher, Mr. Aguirre.

"Maybe you can file an insurance claim against the lost crops." Pappas raised his eyebrows. "I'll be going. If you happen to hear from Ms. DaSilva, I'd appreciate it if you would ask her to call me. You still have my card, I trust?"

Cam nodded as she stood. "Do you want me to show you where I found the disk? It was in the hoop house."

Pappas looked like he'd tasted a sour lemon. "It's a little late for that." He shook his head. "If you happen to find anything else, please call me immediately, instead of conveniently forgetting. Enjoy your dinner, ladies." Pappas let himself out.

Cam whistled. She turned to Ruth. "You're the quiet one. A wooden nickel for your thoughts?"

Ruth narrowed her eyes at the door. "He doesn't seem as nice as he used to."

Cam snorted. "Nice? He doesn't seem so nice to me." Probably compensating for being so short, she thought but kept it to herself.

Her stomach growled out loud as the melded aroma of chicken, olives, and rosemary wafted their way.

Ruth laughed as Cam headed for the kitchen. "I'm hungry, too. Tell you what. Let's not talk about the murder any more tonight. What do you say to that?"

"Fine with me." It wouldn't make an uncaught killer go away, but it would be nice to take a break from thinking about it.

Chapter 9.

A steel-gray sky and air heavy with humidity greeted Cam the next morning. She hadn't slept well. She brewed a strong pot of dark roast coffee and took the first sip, grateful for its power to bring her into the world of the living. She carried the cup out to the back stoop. Only a good downpour would vanquish the oppressive stillness, but the forecast on the local station had included words like stalled front and low pressure. This weather could be with them for a while.

Cam pulled a list out of her back pocket. Last night before bed she'd jotted down what she had to accomplish today. The list of ch.o.r.es for the morning stretched down the page. Besides the usual farm tasks of weeding, planting out seedlings, harvesting, and general maintenance, she had the Locavore Festival to plan for. All those little bundles of herbs to cut and tie up for the samples. And tomorrow was the next CSA pickup day. Cam shook her head. Better get to it. In the kitchen she threw the rest of the coffee into a travel mug, grabbed a granola bar, and headed for the barn.

As she worked, she thought about her dinner with Ruth. They'd sipped wine, Ruth cutting herself off after one gla.s.s so she could drive home safely. They'd talked about their childhood summers and Ruth's unhappy marriage. They discussed Cam's ex, Tom, and how his breaking up with her had probably been for the best. The chicken was tender and rich with the olives and herbs, and it went perfectly with a plate of rotini, followed by a green salad fresh from the farm. They sat in the circle of their friendship and savored its uncomplicated warmth. They avoided the dark questions of the present.

Cam walked around the corner of the barn to check on the rhubarb. She knew this week's crop was ruined, but she hoped to rescue Great-Aunt Marie's antique plants. Pulling on gloves to protect her cut, she wheeled over a heaping cartload of finished compost. She carefully spread it along the row, tucking the black gold under the wide leaves and gently digging it in with a hand fork. The organic material should bind with the roots, preventing more toxic substances from being taken up. Cam was heartened to see the stalks and leaves starting to gain more turgidity, beginning to stand up again.

As she surveyed the crop, she didn't have much faith that the police would be able to figure out who had executed the destruction of it and the arugula. How would they? Cam promised herself she'd set up a database with the names of anyone who could even remotely have wanted to do her or Mike harm. She'd add the dates and times of day when when she knew people had been on the farm or when she'd been away. If she ever got a minute free to do that. She problem-solved best when an issue was all laid out in cells and probabilities, so she'd have to make time.

For now? Work called.

A few hours later, Cam headed to the house for a bite of lunch. She had just stepped onto the empty drive when Lucinda suddenly emerged from around the corner of the barn in front of her. Cam yelped.

"Lucinda! You scared me."

Lucinda put her finger to her lips as her eyes darted around, coming back to Cam's face. "Shh. Anybody else here?"

Cam frowned, shaking her head. "No. Why?"

Lucinda grabbed Cam's arm. She pulled her into the barn.

"Where's your car?" Cam asked. "Where are we going?"

"Be quiet. Listen, the cops are looking for me. I had to hide my car down the road. I sneaked in from the other field."

Cam gave Lucinda her best stern look. "Girlfriend, you have to talk with the police. It's illegal for them to ask for your papers. Anyway, you didn't do anything wrong."

Lucinda looked away for a moment.

"Did you?" Cam asked, pressing.

Lucinda shook her head, her face stretched tight. "But them? They like to be big macho policia. They are going to deport me. I told you!" Her deep brown eyes pleaded with Cam.

"No, they won't. I'll vouch for you. Maybe I can be, like, your sponsor." Cam laid her hand on Lucinda's arm. "Detective Pappas was here last night, looking for you. The longer you wait, the worse it's going to look."

Lucinda nodded. "I know. I hid in my apartment when he came to the door. One time he was there on my porch, and I drove right by. It's terrible, like I'm being hunted."

"You need to talk to him about that militia thing. About what you know. Listen, let's call him now. I'll be right next to you. Would that help?"

Lucinda nodded slowly. "I should be getting ready right now for the festival tonight. I wish I could turn over the clock, you know?"

"You mean turn back the clock. I know the feeling. But we can't."

"Cam, I really don't want to talk to that man."

"Lucinda, you are too naive about this. I can't make you, but I strongly encourage you to contact him. You'll be all right."

"You don't know that." Lucinda shook her head. "How can you?"

"Come on. Let's go in and call before we both lose our nerve."

Cam finished packing the truck for the Locavore Festival and checked her watch. Five o'clock. Just enough time to clean up before she had to head over to get Albert and then make it to St. John's Hall, the church function room the locavores had reserved for the event. She had given up on the idea of herb samples-too much work-and had picked a flat of strawberries, after all.

In the house, she poured the last gla.s.s of beer from the jug and took it upstairs with her. After taking a quick shower and running a brush through her hair, Cam stood in front of her closet. Overalls or party clothes? Business attire or casual chic? It was a business event, after all, but it was a party, too, and Jake was going to be there. She settled on a sleeveless green silk blouse with her best jeans. She ran a hand down them as she turned in front of the mirror. All this hard work had taken a few pounds off. Cam was tall enough that she had to worry more about getting too thin than about putting on weight. She drained the beer, then added a pair of tomato earrings and a necklace strung with little silver farm implements, which her mother had sent her after she'd heard about the farm venture. Cowboy boots would finish the outfit, even though sandals would be cooler.

She leaned into the mirror and applied a little eye shadow and lipstick, grimacing at her chipped front tooth. Her fourth-grade experiment in walking the halls of her school with her eyes closed to prove how well she knew the school hadn't played out too well when she marched right into a metal pole. She'd lived with a marred incisor ever since.

As Cam drove to pick up Albert, she thought about Lucinda's call to Pappas. Lucinda had hung up, looking relieved and a little suspicious at the same time. She told Cam that Pappas had asked her a few questions, but he hadn't raised the issue of Lucinda's immigration status.

Cam managed to ensconce her great-uncle in the front seat of the truck without incident. She folded his wheelchair and laid it in the back.

"Big night out for the old guy," Albert remarked as they headed onto the road.

Cam glanced over at him. He gazed straight ahead, but a smile flickered under eyes creased with humor.

St. John's Hall was hopping. Green and yellow balloons festooned the entryway, and one of the trucks parked outside sported a b.u.mper sticker reading THINK GLOBAL, EAT LOCAL. Albert lowered himself into the wheelchair, which Cam had brought around to his door.

"I could have brought my crutches, you know."

"I know. I thought we agreed the chair would be easier, especially if they haven't provided seating."

Albert sighed. "You win, young lady."

Cam handed her display basket to Albert. "Carry that on your lap for me?"

At his nod, she pushed the chair up the ramp zigzagging along the side of the building, meeting the front stairs at the wide-open doorway to the hall.

"There you are," Jake boomed. He strode toward them in clean chef's whites and a multicolored skullcap with a flat top. "Let me take that for you."

Albert kept his hand firmly on the handle. "I have it, young man. Who might you be?"

Cam laughed. "Uncle Albert, this is Jake Ericsson. He's a chef and a customer. Jake, Albert St. Pierre. I learned almost everything I know about farming from him."

"Except how to use pesticides," Albert snorted.

"Or why not to," Cam said.

Jake extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir. I hope Cam will bring you to eat at The Market one day soon." His wide smile lit up the room.

Albert shook Jake's hand. "We'll see." He squinted up at Jake. He didn't return the smile.

Cam made a note to ask Albert on the way home what he thought of Jake.

"So where's my spot?" Cam asked Jake as she surveyed the room. Long tables lined the periphery, most of them already set up with various local wares. A woman attached a sign reading WARREN'SG ROVEA PPLES to the front of a table. A color poster showed bushels of shiny heirloom apples, and apple products filled the tabletop: jars of apple b.u.t.ter, packets of dried apples, bottles of apple cider. A Locavore Club banner hung at the end of the room, above a podium with a microphone, and people were starting to mill around, browsing from table to table. "Am I late?"

"No. I think folks are eager for this, though. Hungry, you might say." Jake leaned his face close to Cam's.

She inhaled his scent, today a heady combination of aftershave, a hint of the sea, and a peppery smell. Cam looked into his eyes, hoping her blush wasn't too noticeable.

Jake winked. He straightened and gestured with his head toward an empty table. "You're over there."

"Here." Albert handed Cam the basket. "Take this, and go get set up. I plan to check out every vendor." He executed a neat reverse turn and wheeled himself away.

Cam spread a colorful hot pepper cloth over the tabletop, then set up her basket. She made sure the bouquet of herbs in a vase was as nicely arranged as the bunch of flowers she'd cut. She pulled a few bits of outer skin off the garlic scallions and fluffed out the three heads of lettuce, tucking the red looseleaf between a dark green head of Bibb and one of a lighter green oakleaf. She fanned out the business cards, which had arrived in the afternoon mail.

Before she headed back to the truck to get the strawberries, grateful again it was such an early season, she took a moment to greet the vendors on either side of her table. One was a grain farmer from the western part of the state. His table held cloth bags folded open to show wheat berries, cornmeal, and a couple of grains Cam couldn't identify. Plastic sacks of flour were lined up neatly behind them. A basket of miniature corn m.u.f.fins looked so delectable, Cam's stomach growled. On the other side was the Herb Farmacy from Salisbury. Their table featured small pots of dozens of varieties of herbs, all neatly labeled. Samples of four kinds of mint leaves were attractively arranged in small bowls.

Cam greeted a woman dressed in no-nonsense khaki pants and shirt who sat behind the table, and introduced herself. "I heard about your farm. I've been meaning to get up there for a visit."

The woman handed her a card and told her she was always welcome. "It's a good season so far, being early and all."

Cam agreed.

"You know, you should join us at the Newburyport Farmers' Market. It's thriving. Lots of vendors, lots of eager buyers. Sundays, nine to one."

Cam said she was already committed to the Haverhill market but would consider it.

As she left the hall to get the berries from the truck, she ran into David and Ellie Kosloski, who were coming in.

"Hey, Cam," Ellie said. "I am so going to report on this for my badge."

Cam greeted her and her father. David's expression was one of reluctance, but to his credit, when Ellie beamed up at him, he returned the smile and let himself be tugged by the hand into the hall. At her truck, Cam unloaded the flat of strawberries.

A deep voice behind her startled Cam.

"Need a hand?" Wes Ames held out his arms.

"I'm good, but thanks, Wes." Cam looked around. "Where's Felicity?"

"Inside. She's been here for a while already. Decorating and such."