Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) (18 page)

T
he Grog had been a fixture in Newburyport for as long as Cam could remember. She’d first come to the pub as a child with Albert and Marie after a morning of bird watching on Plum Island. She’d drawn on the paper place mat with the provided crayons and demolished the child-size burger and fries. The restaurant welcomed regulars at the bar, as well as families in the dining room. The walls between the wooden booths were high enough to keep conversations private, but if you wanted to perch on a bar stool and schmooze with the stranger next to you, that was welcome, too. Cam had done both over the years. She’d also listened to live music downstairs on a Saturday night, although she hadn’t made it to a single concert since the growing season had launched itself with a vengeance.

She and Lucinda slid into a booth near the bar and perused the menus.

“Looks like the most local food I’ll get here is the clam chowder. And an Ipswich ale,” Lucinda said.

“I’m going to try the Green Head IPA from Newburyport Brewing Company. It’s right here in town, even more local than Ipswich.”

“Good idea.”

A waitress stopped by, took their beer orders, and said she’d give them a minute to decide on food.

“How’s your year of being a locavore going, anyway?” Cam asked. Lucinda had decided the previous spring to try to eat only local food for a year, an idea she’d gotten from a Barbara Kingsolver book in which she described her family’s efforts to do the same.

“I’ve had a few slipups, but it’s mostly good. Local food is out there if you look for it. Milk, cheese, meat, and fish. Your produce, of course. And wine and beer.” Lucinda smiled and raised her eyebrows. “I finally decided to give myself a pass on coffee, though.” She raised her shoulders. “What can I do?
Sou brasileira.
Coffee’s in my blood.”

“I think you can be excused.” Cam smiled back.

The waitress brought two full pints and listened to their food orders: the Middle Street Cuban sandwich for Cam, clam chowder and a salad for Lucinda, but only after she’d asked if the greens came from a local farm.

“How do you say ‘Cheers’ in Portuguese?” Cam asked.

“Saúde.”
Lucinda lifted her glass.

Cam repeated what she’d heard Lucinda say, which was something like “sow-OO-gee,” and grimaced. “I was terrible at foreign languages in school. My engineer’s brain couldn’t do it.”

Lucinda laughed. “That was close enough.”

They clinked glasses, and each took a sip.

“Lucinda, I can’t help thinking about Irene’s death. Pete—”

“Oh, it’s
Pete
now? You guys getting to be good pals?”

“No!” Cam felt the telltale blush creeping up her neck. “No, he only asked me to keep my eyes out for him. Anyway, he said they searched Irene’s house. But what if they missed something ?”

Lucinda rummaged in the slim shoulder bag she used as a purse. “Ta-da!” She held up a ring holding two keys. Off it also hung a little red rectangle that looked like a miniature Oriental rug. “Irene’s keys.”

“Oh, my.” Why were her friends always proffering other people’s keys? Cam held out her hand, and Lucinda dropped the keys into it. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If we go over there and look around, we’ll get in big trouble with your boyfriend Pete? Yes.”

“It was sort of the first part of that.”

“Listen,
fazendeira.
You go get yourself in whatever hot water you want. Me, I just got legal. I’m not doing nothing to put my immigration status in danger.”

Cam stuck the keys in her bag. She took another long swig of the Green Head and thought an India pale ale had never tasted so good. Newburyport Brewing was a fairly new microbrewery, but they seemed to be on top of their game. As she felt herself start to relax, she realized how much stress she’d been under in the last week. Maybe this wasn’t a good time to hash things out. The police had to be making progress in finding Irene’s real killer. She didn’t have to use Lucinda’s keys. She could sit here and have a girls’ afternoon out with her friend. And not worry about anything except enjoying good food and company.

She took another sip and closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the hops on her tongue.

“Hmm. That was interesting,” Lucinda said in a low voice.

Cam opened her eyes. “What was?”

“Bev Montgomery just walked by. Lady looks terrible.”

“Was she by herself?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think she’s too well,” Cam said. “Albert’s going to try to convince her to sell her farm and move in where he is. She’s not very young.”

“She can’t possibly manage her farm all by herself, right?”

“Right.” Cam nodded as she threw her hands out to the sides in an “It’s obvious” gesture. Her left hand collided with a waiter passing with a tray of full beer glasses. Cam’s shoulder and arm took most of the spills.

“I’m so sorry!” the young man said. He halted, eyes wide, mouth pulled down in chagrin. He balanced the edge of the tray on the table and proffered a cloth napkin from his apron pocket. “I, I . . .”

Cam laughed. “I was the one throwing my arms around. Don’t worry about it.” She swabbed off her arm. “And charge me for the spilled beer if you need to.” The waiter shook his head and returned to the bar.

“I’m going to go clean up. Back in a flash,” Cam said, heading for the ladies’ room in the far corner of the restaurant. She shook her head and laughed at herself as she pulled the heavy door open.

When it shut behind her, the room stayed dark. The last time she was here, the bar had installed motion-detector lights and they had come on automatically. She waved her hand around, but the lights didn’t come on. She felt around for a switch, but the wall near the door was smooth. She heard breathing.

“Wow, this is weird,” she called to whoever was in there. “The lights aren’t working.” But there was no response.

Cam froze. Why didn’t the person answer her?

It was darker than a darkroom. Her eyes weren’t adjusting. She couldn’t see a thing. Something creaked. A hint of barnyard scented the air.

“Who’s there?” Cam called. No response. Cam stood next to the exit, so she knew the creak hadn’t come from the door. She should get out of here. Her feet felt like blocks of ice. Her heart thudded in her chest. Where was the door handle? She felt around where she thought it should be, but couldn’t find it.

A raspy voice said, “I knew you’d come in here sooner or later.”

Cam knew the voice. “Bev?”

“Is our newfangled farmer a little bit scared?” Bev Montgomery’s voice singsonged like a failed horror-movie actor’s.

“I’m not scared, Bev,” Cam said, hoping her voice didn’t reveal how nervous this was making her. “Why don’t you switch the lights back on, though?”

“Only when I’m good and ready,” Bev growled. “You seem to do whatever you want to do. Steal my customers. Steal my hens. It’s my turn now.”

The lights blinked on. They nearly blinded Cam. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, except that Bev Montgomery stood a scant yard away, pointing a pistol at her. Bev’s eyes were wide and wild.

“B
ev!” Cam’s voice shook. “Put it down.” Her heart sank. She had been through this once before with Bev and had managed to wrest the gun away. But they had been outside on Cam’s farm. The gun had been in a bag, not pointed at her. And Bev was a lot closer this time.

Her steel-gray hair looked like she’d been cutting it herself, and she must have lost twenty pounds since last June. But it was her eyes that gave away her desperation.

“I thought you’d come to the Grog. You wouldn’t take your illegal-alien friend to a fancy place like The Market.”

“You were following me?” Cam didn’t bother to tell her Lucinda was, in fact, not in the country illegally. She knew of Bev’s activities with a militia group that sought to expose undocumented workers.

“And what if I was? You’ve been putting me out of business ever since you moved here,” Bev accused. “It was your fault my son was killed, and now I don’t have anybody to help me.”

Cam opened her mouth to deny it.

“Be quiet and listen.” Barb waved the weapon in Cam’s face. “You lured away my business, and now you’ve stolen my chickens.”

“But as soon as those hens get healthy and start laying again, I’m going to bring you eggs every week.”

“Those are
my
hens! You people had no right to take them.”

Cam fought to keep her voice calm. “You have friends who want to help you, Bev. My great-uncle Albert, for one. He was speaking of you yesterday, in fact.”

Bev sniffed like she didn’t believe Cam. “But not friends who will do farmwork for me.” She glared and kept the gun leveled at Cam’s chest.

“Maybe not. Albert thought you might like to move where he’s living. It’s a really nice place.”

“I’m not moving anywhere. I’m not selling my farm.” Her face reddened, and her breathing sounded erratic. “Those developers, they want to turn it into some cheap housing. You, of all people, should understand.”

Cam nodded. She thought fast and furious. She had less and less hope that Bev would calm down and listen to reason. Hoping someone would come in and rescue her wasn’t going to cut it, either. She ducked with a quick move and brought her head up sharply under Bev’s hand. The gun went flying as Cam grabbed both of Bev’s hands with her own. Cam took a deep breath when she heard the weapon fall to the floor without discharging.

The exit door swung open and thudded on Cam’s back. Cam pushed Bev farther into the restroom to let the door open and, letting her hands go, sidled around behind her, where the gun had landed.

“Oops, sorry,” said the young woman who came in. She gave the two an odd look but headed for a stall, checking her artfully arranged hair in the mirror as she passed.

Without taking her eyes off Bev, Cam bent down and picked up the gun. Bev’s face paled, and she looked as if she might collapse.

“Are you going to shoot me?” Bev whispered. She stood without moving, her arms at her sides, all her anger apparently drained, and her will, as well.

Cam made sure the safety was on and stowed the weapon gingerly in her bag. “Of course not. Come on.” Cam knew Great-Uncle Albert would want her to assist Bev. “Let’s get you some dinner and some help. All right?”

Cam told Lucinda that Bev was going to join them. After ordering for Bev, Cam phoned Albert, who said he’d call a friend of Bev’s. Lucinda looked impatient to hear the story, but Cam put her off with hand gestures and eyebrows. Bev sat with slumped shoulders and didn’t speak, but she ate like it had been a while since her last good meal. By the time they were finished with their food, pink light slanted through the windows on the street. They waited outside until the friend fetched Bev.

Standing on the sidewalk, Cam watched the two walk slowly down the street. She faced Lucinda and explained in detail what had happened in the restroom.

“You were lucky on that one,
fazendeira,
” Lucinda said. “The woman is nuts! She could have shot you right there in the bathroom.”

“She’s out of energy and out of hope. I think it was her last gasp at wishing she could get her old life back. Maybe now she’ll be more willing to sell the farm. And to quit coming after me, as if I’m the source of all her problems.”

“Are you going to tell the police?”

“I don’t think she’s going to be a problem again, but I’ll give Ruth a heads-up.”

“What about the gun?”

Cam groaned. “Crud. I’ll lock it up at home and think about it later.”

“You sure have a thing for getting in crazy situations, you know?”

Cam nodded as she checked the sky. The afternoon clouds had lifted on the horizon in time to showcase a band of spectacular sunset. “Sailors’ delight. I gotta run home and see to the chickens.”

“I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” Lucinda headed for the municipal parking lot.

“Thanks for backing me up at Howard’s today,” Cam called. She strode toward her truck, which she’d had to park a couple of blocks away. When her bag bumped more heavily than usual against her hip, Cam put a hand to her mouth and slowed her pace. Wouldn’t that top off the day to shoot herself in the leg?

C
am locked Bev’s gun in a cupboard under the stairs at home, wondering what in the world she was going to do with it. At least it was safe there for a while. She dialed Albert on the house phone and talked with him at greater length about Bev. He assured her he’d make sure she was cared for. After they said good-bye, Cam checked her cell phone. Jake had left a message accepting her lunch invitation. Lunch tomorrow was on, then. She didn’t foresee it being an easy conversation. And the first task, of course, was to figure out what she planned to tell him.

She poured a glass of white wine and paced the length of the downstairs, from one end of the kitchen through the eating area to the far end of the living room and back. She and Jake had a real spark together. He was taller than she and made her laugh. It was easy for them to talk food and farming together. But there was much about life they had never talked about. She had no idea if he was interested in raising a family. She knew he had immigration issues. She was well aware of his jealous streak and control issues.

Cam knew she wasn’t the best at social interactions, but she had a core of self-confidence about her strengths and an interest in overcoming her difficulties relating to all kinds of people. And she knew it wasn’t healthy for one person to want to control another’s relationships. She sipped her wine and paced some more.

Finally, she refilled her glass and sank onto the couch. She made a special effort, using a trick her friend Tina had taught her, to shut away all the concerns and questions in her life in a mental box. She visualized locking it and putting it on a shelf.

The trick seemed to work. Preston jumped up on her lap and, under her ministrations, purred himself into oblivion. Cam spent the rest of the evening on the couch with her cat and a book and adjourned to bed for a deep and restful sleep.

Sure enough, the red sky at night brought a sunny, clear morning to the next day, although the temperature was again seasonably cool. Cam yawned as she laced up her boots before going out. It was so early, she’d caught sight of the nearly full setting moon from her bedroom window when she’d first opened her eyes. She had a list of items to harvest for the Saturday share pickup the next day, plus the usual tasks of chickens, weeding, tending seedlings, and so on. If she worked hard this morning, maybe she’d have time to take a walk around Mill Pond this afternoon.

Then she thought about the list of concerns she’d made the day before. She sure hadn’t found Irene’s murderer, but many of the other items had been ticked off.

She stuffed her phone in her pocket and reached for the key to the door. Preston ran over to his food bowl and looked up at her. Cam smiled and petted him for a moment as he ate. Her heart swelled with gratitude that she had found him, that he was all right, and that he was her feline companion. She wondered if she’d ever have a child of her own. Could she find her way along the path to intimacy with a partner and not blow it? If so, and if they were in agreement about wanting a child, she suspected this kind of loving feeling would be amplified a thousandfold. For now, a full heart and a sweet cat were enough.

Cam opened the back door to head out to her tasks. Preston streaked by her. The heart full of love instantly turned to one of fear. What if he disappeared again? She wasn’t sure she could take it. She called him, and he paused near the big tree in the yard. He looked back at her, as if to say, “Aren’t we going out to work and play like we always do? You work, and I play.”

Cam took a deep if slightly shaky breath, locked the door behind her, and followed a now ambling cat toward the barn. She let the chickens out and stood back, watching them. They already seemed stronger and more energetic than they had earlier in the week. She was starting to be able to tell them apart. One, who was growing new feathers, seemed to be a leader of some kind. This one was usually first down the ramp in the morning, sometimes flying out, and a clutch of others followed her around. Cam called her Hillary. In contrast was Her Meekness, always the last to emerge from the coop, often last in line for food, occasionally pushed around by the bossier hens. Maybe Cam should name her Pea Brain. She was acquiring new feathers, too. Preston didn’t seem the least bit interested in the girls, for which Cam was grateful. The last thing she needed was a predator for a pet. As long as Preston stuck to voles and mice and stayed within the bounds of the farm, they’d be in good shape.

After two hours of physical work, the mental box Cam had so carefully stowed away the night before sprang open like Pandora’s. It brought with it a share of angst that went way beyond worrying about Preston. Questions roiled in her brain even as she weeded the beds of dark green kale in the mild sunshine. Why hadn’t Pappas made any progress in the case? Why had Wes behaved so oddly at Old Town Hall? What did Sim have to hide that she felt compelled to lie about the night of the dinner, and what had she done on Wednesday instead of working in her shop? How did Howard come into possession of Preston, and why did he react so belligerently when Cam asked him about her cat? What did Vince know that he hadn’t been able to tell Cam? And how in the world was she going to be able to end things with Jake, if breaking up was even what she wanted?

Cam shook her head. She tried without success to corral the thoughts back into their box. They were taking over her mind and her day. In the absence of pen and paper or yesterday’s list, which was probably in the laundry basket, she pulled out her phone and brought up a text editor. Sitting back on her heels, she tapped in a list. Was there any of it she could control? Anything she could do?

She saved the file. On second thought, she deleted the item about Jake, saved the file again, and pressed the numbers for Detective Pete. Most of these concerns were in his bailiwick. One of them was clearly in hers. Several they might be able to work together on. Which made her heart beat a little bit faster. Which reminded her of her impending lunch with Jake.

When Pete answered, Cam asked if they could meet and talk this afternoon.

“Sure. When is good?”

“How about three o’clock?” Cam asked. “Do you want to take a walk around Mill Pond? I mean, to talk about the case?”

When Pete took a moment to respond, Cam was suddenly afraid she’d overstepped the boundary of casual, friendly interchange.

“Sounds good. Meet you in the parking lot there?”

Cam agreed, relieved. She told him she was going to e-mail him the list of issues she’d come up with. “Just so you know what I’m thinking about.”

He thanked her and hung up.

She stared at the scissors in her hand and then at the Red Russian kale in the bed at her feet. She had a harvest to bring in. She bent over and resumed cutting, placing handfuls of the sturdy stalks in a bucket with a few inches of water in the bottom.

She wondered if Pete had any idea what she was really thinking about. Did she?