Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) (6 page)

A
t two minutes before nine the next morning, Cam finished setting out her business cards on her table at the Newburyport Farmers’ Market. The other guest vendor had canceled, the market manager told her, so she was able to spread her wares out. A white tent top identical to the several dozen others shielded her from the morning sun. She fluffed up the lettuce heads and was straightening the bunches of leeks when the gong rang, signaling the start of market. Customers already milled about, chatting with vendors, hefting a fat eggplant here, a bunch of scallions there. Once the gong rang, business commenced.

The Herb Farmacy was across the way. The farmer, who Cam had met at the Locavore Festival last spring, gave a quick wave before turning to a buyer. Cam greeted the cheese maker from Hickory Nut Farm next to her and proceeded to sell two squashes and a bunch of oregano, rosemary, and sage to an eager customer.

She had been selling for about an hour and was tapping her foot to a bluegrass tune this week’s band was playing when two big hands covered her eyes.

“Guess who?” a deep voice whispered in her ear.

Cam grabbed Jake’s hands off her eyes and turned toward him. His smile was devilish, particularly combined with one raised eyebrow. He wore his usual today—black-and-white checked pants paired with a white double-breasted chef’s shirt. He carried two cloth shopping bags.

“How’s my favorite farmer?” He bent his head down until their noses nearly touched.

The usual rush she felt when she was next to him heated her cheeks. He seemed to have gotten over his snit from the night of the dinner.

“I’m fine,” Cam said. “This is a great market, isn’t it? I’m thinking of switching to selling here instead of at the Haverhill market on Tuesdays.”

“It rocks. I usually stroll down here to see what’s special on Sunday morning and then revise my menu accordingly.” Jake’s restaurant was only a few blocks away.

“How much is the kale?” a young woman asked. She stood with her arm around the waist of another woman.

As Cam turned back toward the table, Jake gave her own waist a little squeeze. “See you tomorrow night? It’s my turn to cook.” They’d made a habit of having dates on Monday nights, the only night the restaurant was closed. “Six o’clock.”

“It’s two dollars a bunch.” Cam watched Jake out of the corner of her eye as he left even as she took the customer’s money and thanked her. He sampled the goat cheese at the next table and bought ten logs. He strolled to the specialty vinegars and olive oils. Despite his height and heft, he moved with a flowing grace she could watch all day. She didn’t really focus on her table until he disappeared around the corner of the aisle.

A young man with a baby boy in a carrier on his back handed Cam four SNAP tokens in exchange for a bag of mixed greens.

“I already swiped my card with the market manager.” His look of tired patience indicated he had explained the system more often than he cared to. “They’re dollar tokens—”

“I know.” Cam smiled at him. “We welcome tokens. I think they’re great.” But he was the first customer to use the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program at Cam’s table since the market had opened. She reflected that Newburyport attracted a different demographic than Haverhill, where customers using food stamps for fresh produce were much more numerous.

Ruth Dodge appeared with her daughters, Natalie and Nettie, during the prenoon lull. Every market had its lull point. The Newburyport market ran from nine to one, so the end of the eleven o’clock hour was quiet. Cam was sure it would get frantic in the last sixty minutes. People came after church fellowship hour. An absentminded type might remember the farmers’ market, check the clock, and head down here. Bargain hunters knew many vendors lowered their prices during the last fifteen to thirty minutes. Whatever the reason, the lull period was a good time to take a quick bathroom break, straighten up the display, or actually sit for a few minutes before it got busy again.

“Hey, Ruth. Hi, girls.” Cam stood to greet them.

“Hi, Ms. Cam.” Nettie bounced on her heels, her dark curls bouncing, too. “Can I have a tomato?” She reached for one of the gold cherries.

“Nettie, those are for sale,” Ruth said, staying her daughter’s hand. Ruth, clearly off duty, wore her Mom uniform of jeans and a pink Red Sox T-shirt. “But I’ll buy us a basket. Natalie, do you want one, too?”

The blond-haired twin hid behind her mother as she shook her head.

“You don’t have to buy them,” Cam said. She picked out the best-looking basket and handed one of the tomatoes to the girl. “Natalie, is there anything here you like?”

Natalie nodded slowly. She pointed to the kale, its dark gray-green leaves curled around purple veins.

Cam glanced at Ruth, who smiled.

“Let me help you get a leaf out. That’s a healthy food to like,” Cam said. She extracted a stem and handed it to the little girl, who wore a red tracksuit and miniature sneakers. Her more adventurous sister was decked out in striped tights, a denim dress, and a little fleece vest.

“This is a great place to shop,” Cam said to Ruth as the girls munched their snacks.

Ruth nodded absently. She glanced around the crowd. She was clearly in the habit, uniform or no uniform, of someone accustomed to having her radar up for wrongdoing.

Cam lowered her voice. “Any news about the case?”

“Not that I can share. Detective Pappas is in charge, so unless he asks us directly, we let him take the lead. The fact that Bobby Burr is missing is worrisome, I can tell you that much. I’ve heard talk of it being a double homicide. I don’t know what the motive would be for killing them both.”

“Oh, it’s not. I saw Bobby—”

Ruth focused her attention so keenly on Cam, she felt like a laser shone into her eyes.

“You
saw
him?” Ruth’s whisper rasped on Cam’s ears. She grabbed Cam’s arm.

“Yesterday. It was weird.” Cam shook her head. “He came out of the woods at the back of my farm. He looked terrible. I think he was about to tell me something, but he split when he heard Ellie calling me.”

“Cam! Did you tell Pappas? They’re looking for Bobby everywhere.”

“I was so busy the rest of the day, I didn’t even think about it. I meant to call him, but I forgot.”

“I’d better tell him right now.”

“He’s going to hate me. Let me call him when market closes. I’ll phone him at one o’clock, I promise.”

“He’s still going to hate you.” Ruth pulled out her phone. “I need to do this. Watch them for a minute, will you?” She gestured at the girls, who were sidling toward the bread samples two tables down.

Nobody was near Cam’s table, so she moseyed behind the twins. The baker beamed at them and extended the flat basket of sourdough squares.

“No gluten allergies, Mom?” The baker smiled at Cam, eyebrows raised.

She opened her mouth and shut it again. Why get into explaining she wasn’t their mother? It was kind of a nice feeling that she was assumed to be. She simply said, “No.”

At the same time, Nettie pronounced, “Our mom is over
there.
This is Ms. Cam. She’s a farmer.”

Cam introduced herself to the baker. The girls munched bread, the tomato and kale apparently forgotten.

A customer fingered a bunch of leeks at Cam’s table, so she ushered the children back. As she explained how to clean the leeks by slicing them vertically halfway through and rinsing the dirt out of the white part, she heard a plaintive question from Natalie.

“Mommy, I miss Daddy. When’s he coming back?”

Ruth, now off the phone, saw that Cam had heard. She leaned down and murmured something to Natalie, stroking her hair.

Before they left, Ruth said in a soft voice to Cam, “I’ll tell you later.”

T
wo bicycles, an old pickup truck, and a Prius with a
THINK GLOBAL, EAT LOCAL
bumper sticker occupied Cam’s driveway when she arrived home. Sounds of hammering echoed off the house. When she rounded the corner of the barn, her mouth dropped open. The chicken coop was already half built, an A-frame structure sitting on a two-wheeled trailer base.

Alexandra, another young woman, Wes, Ellie, and a young man with a scruffy beard and a wide-brimmed hat were hard at work. They were measuring, sawing, hammering. The guy in the hat examined an oversize piece of paper that looked like a building plan. It lay spread out on a makeshift table. A bale of hay sat next to a large bag labeled
CHICKEN LAYER/
BREEDER MIX.
The air smelled of fresh sawdust.

“It’s a coop raising!” Cam said. Alexandra had called early that morning, asking if it was all right to go ahead, and Cam had said it was, but she hadn’t expected this kind of progress. “Ellie, you’re here, too.”

“Alexandra called and asked if I wanted to help. I said, like, ‘Of course.’ It’ll help me get my Voice for Animals badge, too.”

Cam thanked her. “Did your dad drop you off?”

“Mr. Ames gave me a ride.”

“Thanks, Wes,” Cam said. “I appreciate you helping out.”

“With Felicity out of town, I have a little too much time on my hands. Happy to do it.”

Alexandra introduced the other young woman as her sister Katie and the young man, named DJ, explaining he was one of the rescue league members. “He’s the one I told you about.”

The
Star Trek: The Next Generation
theme song rang in Cam’s pocket. “Excuse me a minute.” She turned away and checked the ID on her cell phone. Pappas. Might as well get this call over with. She strolled back toward the house before answering.

“Where are you?” he started in without preamble.

“Good afternoon, Detective. I am at home. At the farm. Why?”

“I’m on my way to talk with you. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

She barely had time to agree before he disconnected. Yup, he hated her now.

In even fewer than five, Pappas roared into the drive and parked directly behind Cam’s truck, as if he were blocking her exit. He climbed out and rested one hand on the car.

“Bobby Burr was on your property. You spoke with him. And you didn’t think of calling it in?”

“I’m sorry.” She put down the empty basket she’d taken from the back of the truck. She turned toward him. “Saturday is my shareholder day, and I was working without a minute’s break all day long. Really.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

She related her encounter. “I asked him to come in, to have something to eat. He looked like he might have slept outdoors or somewhere rough. But he said he couldn’t. He was about to tell me about the night of the dinner when he heard someone calling me. And then he split.”

Without trying to be too obvious, she checked Pappas out. Once again he presented a slightly disheveled front. He wore jeans, which was certainly appropriate for Sunday afternoon, but his pale green shirt bore the remnants of a meal, possibly pizza, and he’d missed shaving a patch near his chin. She wondered what was going on in his personal life.

“We would very much like to speak with Mr. Burr, as you can imagine. More and more as time goes by. At least now we know it wasn’t a double homicide.” He wiped his forehead with a purple handkerchief retrieved from his back pocket. “If you see him, hear from him, catch a glimpse of someone who looks like him, call me. Will you do that?”

“Yes. I suppose you searched Irene’s house and he’s not hanging out there? I would assume he has a key.”

He nodded. “Bobby isn’t there.” He took a few steps away down the drive and turned back toward her. “We need to work together. I’d like you to keep your eyes and ears open.”

Cam nodded. This was an intriguing new development. The detective asking for her help.

He walked up until he faced her. He could have reached out and touched her. “Any bit of information you think might be related to Ms. Burr’s death, I’d like to know. All right?”

His tone was friendlier than Cam had ever heard from him. It was almost plaintive. His eyes seemed to implore her to help him.

“Sure, Detective.”

“I can’t be everywhere, and we’ve had staffing cuts. And, um, Cameron?” He cleared his throat and mustered a smile. “You can call me Pete. If you want.”

“Thanks, Pete.” Cam conjured a smile back at what looked like a sudden case of nerves. They might have more in common than she had imagined. She watched him climb into his car and waved to him before he drove off.

She resumed unpacking the truck, singing “I Feel Good,” à la James Brown, under her breath. It had been a great market day. She had nearly sold out. She was going to have chickens on the farm. And now Pappas—Pete—was even being nice. When she was done, she called in an order of pizza to be delivered for the coop crew, donned her own tool belt, and joined the project.

An hour later, Alexandra and DJ said they were going to go fetch the chickens.

“I have the letter from the board of health authorizing us to take them.” Alexandra brandished a white envelope. “And the inspector is going to meet us there.”

“Let me come with you. I know Bev. Maybe it will make it easier.” Cam wasn’t sure about that but thought the respectful thing to do would be to accompany the rescuers.

Alexandra exchanged a look with DJ, who nodded. “Okay,” she said. “But you’re not going to let her talk us out of taking the hens, right?”

“No. I won’t.” Cam shed her tool belt and dusted off her hands.

Cam and Alexandra squeezed into the cab of DJ’s truck. Cam directed him to the Montgomery place across town.

She was shocked when she saw the state of Bev’s farm. The fields beyond the barn, which used to be neatly planted with corn, were now choked with weeds. The pumpkins curing in their patch sat small and misshapen. The faded blue paint on the farmhouse was peeling, and the patch of lawn out front hadn’t been mowed in some time. A whiff of sour anaerobic manure wafted by.

Alexandra followed Cam up the steps to the side door and waited while Cam knocked.

Bev opened the door. She frowned and squinted at them. Cam greeted her and introduced Alexandra.

“Hello, Bev. This is Alexandra Magnusson, one of my subscribers. Alexandra, Bev Montgomery.”

Bev looked back and forth between them. “What do you want?” Bev had looked worn and tired ever since Cam had met her the previous spring, but new lines were etched deep in her face and the light had gone out of her eyes.

“We’ve come to give your hens a new home.” Alexandra proffered the letter. “The board of health authorized it. Oh, there’s animal control.” She backed down the stairs to stand with DJ.

A woman climbed out of a van labeled
WESTBURY ANIMAL CONTROL
and walked toward the house. After she stopped and conferred with Alexandra and DJ, they began unloading large cages from the back of the van.

Bev snatched the letter. “My girls are going to you?” Her voice rose as she stared at Cam. “You oughta pay me for those birds. They’re good layers. Or used to be.”

“As I understand it, they’re about to be put down,” Cam said.

“I don’t know what Madeline Fracasso is doing here.” Bev glared at the animal control officer as she approached. “Joe at the board of health is an old family friend. He never would have carried through on that letter.”

“That’s not the way I heard it,” Madeline said from the bottom of the stairs. “The hens are reportedly very thin and are missing most of their feathers. The board said you aren’t feeding them at all.”

“Oh, hens scratch and find worms and such. Just because I’m a little short on cash right now doesn’t mean I should lose my prize layers.”

“Mrs. Montgomery, we’re here to collect the hens,” Madeline said in a firm voice. “Please don’t make any trouble.”

Bev shook her head and glared. “You can’t just take them, you know.”

Cam knew Bev was an old-style farmer who didn’t see the wisdom in organic practices or growing what she called “fancy” salad greens, like mizuna and arugula. But thinking her malnourished chickens were fine seemed to border on delusional. Maybe Albert could convince her to get out of the business, for her own sake.

“Let’s get this over with,” Madeline said. She picked up a cage and led Alexandra and DJ with theirs out behind the house, toward a barn that listed more than the Tower of Pisa.

“It’s called robbery! Taking my property without paying for it.” Bev pointed a shaking finger at Madeline’s back. Her red face glistened with anger.

Cam cleared her throat. “I also need to tell you I’m not going to be able to sell at the Haverhill Farmers’ Market anymore.”

Bev whipped her eyes back to Cam. “Not going to be able to or don’t want to?” She spit out the question.

“It’s a business decision, Bev. With the customers dropping off, I’m not making the kind of money I need to justify spending an entire afternoon there.”

“How do you expect us to keep the customers if farmers like you stop coming?”

“I’m sorry.” Cam did feel bad about abandoning the lower-income customer base, but she had her own income to consider.

“Maybe you’ll be even more sorry soon.” Bev stepped back into the house and slammed the door behind her.