Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) (7 page)

B
y the end of the afternoon, the coop was finished. A ramp led up to a small square door in one end, with a more human-size door next to it. The crew had set up orange plastic temporary fencing around the area and had placed a metal feeder and a metal water receptacle on the ground near the ramp. The cages of utterly miserable-looking chickens waited inside the fence, in the shade of the barn. Their scrawny little bodies were missing most of their feathers. They clucked and preened in the most pitiful of ways.

“Thanks so much, everybody,” Cam said. “These poor girls don’t look too happy.”

“They sure don’t.” DJ knelt next to one of the cages. He stuck a finger in and stroked the head of the nearest hen. “They’ll need food and care, plenty of fresh water always available, and a proper home so they can range and scratch. In our experience, most rebound fine if they’re given the chance. It’s really criminal what that lady did.”

“Why didn’t you guys offer to help Bev take care of them instead of bringing them here?”

Alexandra shook her head. “Board of Health getting involved made that impossible. We had to move them to keep them from being slaughtered. And they’re your birds now,” she added. “Why don’t you introduce these girls to their new home?”

Cam unhooked the door of the closest cage. The hens cowered, shrinking away from the open door. DJ squatted easily in front of it. He spoke in a soft voice and reached in, gently grasping one of the birds. He set her on the ground in front of the cylindrical metal feeder. He scratched a finger in the feed in the flat dish that spread out below the cylinder.

“Come on out, ladies,” he murmured to the rest of them. “Open the other cages,” he said to Cam with a big smile. He made a clicking noise and patted the ground in front of the first cage. One of the hens ventured forth but tripped on the bottom lip of the opening. He gently lifted her out.

“They’re not too smart. But they’ll be fine,” DJ said. “You’ll be fine, won’t you, gals?” he said to the hens now stumbling out of the cages.

Katie positioned herself in front of the next cage and mimicked DJ’s clicking sound. When the first hen hopped out, Katie smiled and beckoned to the next one.

Soon all the birds were clustered around the feeder, some pecking each other instead of the food. DJ rose and scattered a couple of handfuls of feed on the ground. He made the clicking noise again until the birds noticed the extra food.

“You’re the chicken whisperer,” Cam said.

DJ doffed his hat with a flourish and a smile.

“This calls for a celebration,” Cam said. “Alexandra, grab some chairs from the lawn and the barn. Ellie, help me bring drinks out from the house, okay?”

When they were settled in a line of chairs outside the fencing a few minutes later, Alexandra raised her bottle of beer toward the enclosure. “Here’s to healthy hens!”

“To healthy hens!” resounded throughout the group. Ellie clinked her bottle of natural root beer with Cam’s and DJ’s beer bottles. Ellie seemed enchanted by the young man and began asking him questions about the rescue league and where he had learned how to talk to chickens.

Cam turned to Wes on her other side. “When is Felicity coming back?”

“It’ll be another week or two. Her sister had some complications.” He set his beer bottle on the ground.

Alexandra turned in her chair on the other side of Wes and looked at Cam. “Have you heard any news about Irene’s death?”

Wes jerked in his chair. His right knee bobbed up and down repeatedly, knocking over his beer.

“Whoa,” Alexandra said. She grabbed the bottle and handed it to him. “Relax, Wes.”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Cam said. Why did Wes react that way?

“I wonder if Bobby will continue with Irene’s plan to buy the town hall,” Wes said, staring straight ahead, continuing to jiggle his knee, as if he were bouncing a baby.

“They’ll have to find him first,” Cam said.

“Is he missing?” Wes asked. He whipped his head to the right. “How do you know?”

Cam nodded. “Heard it around. I hope he’ll reappear, and soon.”

“My mom says opening a textile museum would be a great thing for the town,” Alexandra said.

Cam remembered that she’d moved back in with her parents after college to save money.

“It would bring in jobs and tourists,” Alexandra continued. “The town would get some money for other projects, like low-cost housing, which we’re really short on. It’s a cool idea. It’s too bad Ms. Burr died, but I hope her stepson keeps going with the plans.”

“And where would we hold Town Meeting, young lady?” Wes gave her a stern look.

“High school auditorium?” Alexandra raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure there are plenty of places. It’s not like it gets a huge turnout, anyway. Dad told me last time they needed a quorum for a vote, the police stopped cars on Main Street, asking if they were residents. If they were, the cops basically ordered them inside.”

Wes shook his head in exasperation. Cam decided to extricate herself from the conversation and turned back to Ellie and DJ. They seemed to be involved in an intense discussion of permaculture, so she rose and bent down to stroke Preston instead, who stood outside the fencing. He gazed with intense interest at the hens.

“Mr. P, those are
not
your next forty dinners.”

Katie walked over. “He’s one sweet cat.” Not as tall as her sister, she wore her dark hair at shoulder length.

Preston reared up and rubbed his head against Katie’s knee, emitting his tiny mew. She scratched his head and gave him a few firm strokes.

“You should keep the cat away from the ladies for a week or so,” DJ called from his chair. “But usually farm cats are fine with chickens. It’s foxes, coyotes, and stray dogs you need to worry about. Herd all the girls into the coop before it gets dark for the next couple of days. After that they’ll probably start going by themselves to roost, but latch them in every night, to be safe. And even though it’s on a trailer, we’ll keep it here next to the barn for a week or two so they get used to one place.”

“Why is it on a trailer?” Cam asked.

“If you leave it in one place, the droppings get pretty nasty. You can rotate it around to any field or area you want fertilized and weeded and leave it there for a few weeks.”

“That’s cool. What do I haul it with?”

“Your truck can pull it. And we’ll build the covered run next weekend, right, Alexandra?” DJ leaned his head in her direction. “The run attaches to the coop, but you can easily pick it up and move it. With a friend, anyway. With a covered run they can range in safety and hawks won’t be able to pick them off.”

Alexandra nodded. “Remember what I said about the raspberry patch, Cam? We can position it there for a week or two and put the covered run over the bushes.”

“Got it.”

DJ walked into the enclosure and beckoned to Cam to join him. “Go in and take a look at your new chicken motel. There isn’t really room for two of us in there.”

Cam followed him. She opened the larger door, which wasn’t even as tall as she was, and leaned in. Two levels of nesting boxes lined the back wall. Dowels stuck out every foot halfway up the end walls. Fresh wood shavings covered the floor and lined the boxes. The vents on either end would provide air circulation.

Cam pulled her head back out. “Tell me what the dowels are for.”

“They’re roosting bars,” DJ said. “The hens sleep on them.”

“Won’t they fall off?” Ellie piped up.

DJ laughed. “You’d think so, right? Chickens are descended from jungle fowl. Sleeping off the ground has kept them safe for a really long time.” He angled his head at Ellie and smiled. Ellie, in turn, blushed.

“It all looks great,” Cam said, closing the door. The coop looked sturdy, protective, and, she imagined, inviting, if she were a hen. All it really needed was a little framed sampler of embroidery reading
COOP, SWEET COOP
.

“For tonight let’s leave some food and water inside since they’ve been so neglected, but take the food out tomorrow. It’s better if they eat away from where they nest.”

“So how exactly do I herd them in?” Cam asked. “Flap my own wings and say, ‘Shoo!’?”

DJ looked at the sky. “It’s getting pretty close to dark now, anyway. Let’s do it together. I have to return the truck to my friend Tyler tonight, so I can’t stay much longer.”

She and DJ surrounded the hens. Cam tried to persuade them to walk up the ramp and into the coop. “Time for bed, chickens.”

DJ’s method was more successful. He walked, half crouched, with his arms out and low to his sides, shooing the hens ahead of him up the ramp, clicking as he went. Cam picked up the last straggler and plopped her inside.

“They had a coop at Mrs. Montgomery’s, so they know how to walk up. It’s just that it was filthy inside and they were so underfed.” DJ frowned.

“She was really steamed about us taking them,” Alexandra said. “But she was going to lose them, anyway. This seems like a four-way win to me. You get egg layers. Bev doesn’t have to feed them anymore. Board of Health doesn’t have to turn exterminator, and the girls have a nice, safe home and regular meals.”

DJ carried the food and water into the coop and latched the door. “It’ll take time for them to remember how to live like real chickens. I’ll get you more information on how to take care of them and how to rotate the chicken tractor to prepare new planting areas.”

“What tractor?” Ellie asked.

“Yeah, I don’t own a tractor,” Cam added.

“Right. It’s a coop on a trailer, but people call the whole system chicken tractoring,” DJ said. “When you move them to a new area, it’ll take them just a couple of weeks to clear it of weeds and fertilize it. You can plant right away, but chicken manure is pretty hot, so it’s best to let it sit a few more weeks. You don’t want to burn your seedlings.”

“I have a lot to learn,” Cam said. “Thank you, DJ and Alexandra, for rescuing these gals, and all of you for making a nice home for them.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow to check on them,” Alexandra offered.

“Bring me the bill for the supplies,” Cam told her.

Alexandra assured her she would.

As DJ headed for the truck, he called out, “And, Cam, if you ever need an extra hand around here, I’m an able body and I love growing stuff. Text me. Alexandra knows where I am.”

“That’d be great, DJ. Volunteer Wednesday is every Wednesday.” She laughed at her redundancy. “Anyway, I’d love to contact you for special projects, too. Bye, everybody!”

DJ pulled out, the sisters rode off on their bikes, and Wes promised to deliver Ellie home. Cam peered into the grated window in the human door of the coop. The birds looked cozy and sated on their roosts.

She whistled as she walked to the house. Young people interested in farming and animal welfare. A great new farmers’ market gig. Forty new female companions out back, no matter how dim witted. Life seemed pretty rosy today. As long as she didn’t dwell on a gruesome murder close to home or a missing carpenter now, apparently, under suspicion himself.

In the formal dining room at Moran Manor Assisted Living that evening, Cam poured Great-Uncle Albert a glass of the chardonnay she had brought and then poured for herself. He wore a tweed jacket over his sweater vest, his nod to the Sunday night dinner dress code imposed by the facility. Cam hoped her sweater and slacks were nice enough to pass muster.

“What’s this I hear about a murder happening after your splendid dinner last week?” Albert asked, setting his glass on the white tablecloth.

“Howard Fisher found Irene’s body in the Fisher farm pigsty. The authorities can’t find Irene’s stepson.” Cam decided not to go into the whole story of Bobby’s brief appearance on her farm and his subsequent disappearance. “Wes Ames seems positively delighted that Irene’s plan to buy the Old Town Hall has fallen through. And the police were asking about her mechanic, Sim Koyama, who was heard arguing with Irene at the dinner. I’m glad it’s not my job to sort out that puzzle.”

“Yes, at least the death wasn’t on your farm again.”

“Small blessings.”

“I know Simone well,” Albert said. “She used to service Marie’s Honda. A lovely girl when you get past the black clothes and all those piercings. Although it doesn’t surprise me she has a bit of a hot temper.”

“I’m taking the truck in to her shop for service tomorrow. I know you preferred taking it to the dealer, but I’d rather patronize somebody in town.”

“I don’t care about that.” He shooed away the distinction with his hand. “Now, tell me about your day, Cameron. It was pretty quiet here. Folks who need assistance living don’t make much ruckus. And I like a little ruckus now and then. Short of a murder.” He smiled under snow-white eyebrows whose bushiness threatened to take over his kindly face. “Although I do have a bit of news of my own when you’re done.”

She described the Newburyport Farmers’ Market and her decision to sell there instead of at Haverhill. “It’s such a vibrant market, Uncle Albert. You remember Lucinda?”

He nodded.

“She told me it was like a festival. And it was. Live music, baked goods, even wine and beer tasting after noon. There was a boy, couldn’t have been older than twelve, demonstrating his beehive.”

“And lots of customers, I assume?”

“Absolutely. I sold out. Although not so many were using SNAP tokens.”

“An excellent program. Poor people need more healthy food.”

“And now we have hens at the farm, too.” Cam sighed. “I think it’s a good thing. But they’re going to be a lot of work.” She described the rescue venture, the brand-new coop, and the forty new residents.

“I approve. Why, we had chickens for some years, don’t you know. Oh, your great-aunt Marie loved to feed them out of her apron. She made a little clicking sound that brought them running.”

“That’s the same sound DJ made.”

Albert nodded. “Chickens are smelly things, though.”

“The chickens must have been before I started coming to the farm,” Cam said. “I don’t remember any.”

Albert agreed it must have been. “Do you have a rooster, too?”