Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) (9 page)

“You’re not going to miss her business, then.” Cam handed the helmet to Sim and rubbed her cold hands together.

Sim didn’t look up as she turned to fasten the spare helmet to the back of the bike. “No. I am not.”

“Any word from Bobby? I’m worried about him.”

“Me, too.” This time Sim met Cam’s eyes. “He’s gone underground. I don’t know where, and I don’t know why.”

“What do you mean by
underground?
How do you know?”

“I just mean that I haven’t heard from him.”

“Has Detective Pappas been by to speak with you?”

“Yes. I really don’t like that guy.”

“He had mentioned to me that maybe it was a double homicide.” Cam knew it wasn’t, but wanted to see if Bobby might have contacted Sim in the same way he had appeared at Cam’s farm.

Sim shook her head with a fast movement. “No, no. It can’t be. I—” She cleared her throat and, looking down, fiddled with her glove.

“You what?”

“Nothing. I’m sure he wasn’t killed, that’s all. Let me know if you want a lift back this afternoon. Should be done by three.”

Cam thanked her for the ride and said good-bye. She hugged herself, still chilled from the windy ride, and watched as Sim roared down the hill, the smell of the exhaust trailing behind her. She wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t simply told Sim about Bobby’s appearance on the farm. She’d bet the price of the Harley that Bobby had contacted the mechanic, too. But where was he now?

C
am worked the rest of the morning and all afternoon, taking only a quick lunch break in the house. She finished planting the stiff-neck garlic. She harvested a dozen ripe crops, including the gold cherry tomatoes she’d take to the fair the next day. She split apart the soft-neck garlic bulbs she hadn’t braided. She selected only the fattest cloves for planting, saving the smaller ones for cooking in her own kitchen. She’d come to realize that what ended up on the farmer’s own table was never the biggest, most beautiful examples of what came out of the fields.

She took the basket of cloves and a pitchfork to the field. She loosened a large bed that had held bush beans earlier in the season, so it was now rich in nitrogen from nodules on the legume roots, and covered it with several inches of finished compost. Kneeling, she pressed a clove, root side down, about an inch into the loose, rich soil. The next clove went in four inches away. She continued that way along the length and width of the bed, every clove a hand’s width from its neighbor. Preston sidled by to visit and sat on a bale of salt marsh hay to watch her work.

The wind kept up, ruffling her hair, and the sun warmed her back. She knew she was blessed with good health. She had a kind great-uncle who had given her this land and this livelihood. She possessed a smarter-than-average brain, at least when it came to writing software. And what was software but elegant solutions to everyday needs, solving problems with logic?

As she worked, she thought about this current problem of Irene Burr’s death and the associated events and reactions. Bobby’s disappearance. Sim’s apparent hatred for Irene. Howard’s maltreatment of his animals and the challenge to his land, not to mention his farm being the scene of the crime. Wes’s opposition to Irene’s proposed enterprise.

Surely, Cam could try to find an elegant, true solution to this problem. It wasn’t that different from writing and debugging software. You tried one thing. If it didn’t work, you tried another. You eliminated possibilities. But this particular problem involved humans, not “ifs” and “thens.” She shook her head. It wasn’t her problem to solve, anyway, as Detective Pappas would be the first to point out.

At four thirty, Cam climbed on her bicycle and coasted down the hill to town. She had looked in on the hens before she left. They seemed fine, if pecking around the yard was fine. She gave herself a mental nudge to spend some time reading about normal chicken behavior and best rearing practices. She’d be back before dark to herd them into their coop.

At the shop, the truck was parked in front, and Cam hoisted her bike into the back. Sim strolled out, wiping her hands on a rag.

“It all looks good.” Sim pointed at the tires. “Remember, though, I recommended you get a whole new set. Winter’s coming, and you have to make it up quite a hill to get home.”

Cam promised she would get tires and paid Sim. As she backed out, she spied the corner of a van parked around the back. This time she decided to follow up on her hunch that it was Bobby’s van. She stopped her truck, climbed out, and strode to the rear of the shop. A dark-haired man was slipping through the back door. Cam caught the door and followed him in.

“Bobby!”

He whirled in the narrow hallway. He tried to push past her toward the door, but she blocked his way. His hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a week, and his clothes were in an even scruffier state.

“What are you doing?” Cam asked, extending her arms. “Nobody’s after you. Why are you on the run?”

Sim burst through the door from the garage. “You’re back!” She threw her arms around him with a big smile.

“Back?” Cam asked, watching them. “You were here before, weren’t you?” she asked Bobby. “Last Friday?”

Bobby nodded, but he looked trapped. He detached himself from Sim and edged toward the door. “I gotta go.”

Sim moved to block his way.

“I think we have to do an intervention with this guy,” Sim said to Cam. She took him by the arm and led him into the garage bay. Bobby let himself be led. Cam followed.

Bobby leaned against the workbench. “I think you’re right.” He picked up a wrench and tossed it from one hand to another. He looked from Sim to Cam and back. He pushed his hair off his forehead. He leaned his back against the wall and exhaled a heavy sigh.

“The police just want to talk to you, dude,” Sim said.

“I guess I’m ready to do that now. I’ve been living in my van at Salisbury Beach. But I have to get back to work. Got a big job starting end of this week.”

“Why have you been avoiding the cops?” Cam cocked her head.

Bobby’s smile was wry. “I started to tell you when I saw you at the farm. That night at the dinner, Irene was pressuring me. I don’t know why she was so set on having me take over her business when she hated me so much. I told her I didn’t want to. I was trying to be polite. But then she started threatening me, said she wouldn’t leave me any of her money. It’s my dad’s money! Which she stole from him. She said she wouldn’t give me any of it if I wouldn’t work for her. Can you imagine what kind of hell that would be? At this point I don’t care about her damn money.”

Sim nodded.

“But I couldn’t figure out how to tell her, so I walked away.”

“Did she give you a note telling you to meet her someplace?” Cam asked.

“No.” Bobby looked confused. “Why would she?”

“Never mind. Go on about why you’ve been in hiding. It’s not a crime to argue with your stepmother.”

“After the dinner, after you dropped me off, Sim, I was still steaming. I drove to her McMansion down by the river. I hate that house. I sat out front and planned what I was going to say. I decided to tell her if Dad’s money meant so much to her, she could keep it and go to hell. I got cold feet and was sitting there stewing when Westbury’s finest came by on patrol and started questioning me. I suppose a van like mine looks suspicious parked on the street at ten o’clock at night in the richest part of town.”

A siren approached. Bobby’s suddenly tense eyes darting to the door were those of a cornered animal.

Sim laid her hand on his arm. “Relax, man. They’re not after you.”

The siren grew closer. It stopped. Car doors slammed. A hand pounded at the back door.

“Westbury police. Open up!”

An instant later the door from the reception area opened. Chief George Frost marched toward Bobby with another officer behind him.

“Robert Burr?”

Bobby nodded, his face gone pale.

“We need to take you in for questioning about the murder of your stepmother, Irene Burr.”

Bobby’s knuckles whitened on the wrench. He raised it as he said, “I didn’t kill her!” He took two quick strides toward the back door. He turned and started back toward the chief, gesturing with the wrench.

The officer raised his arm and fired. Bobby cried out as he fell.

C
am disconnected the phone. On his way out in handcuffs, after recovering from being tased, Bobby had asked her to call a lawyer for him.

“Did you reach the lawyer?” Sim asked. “What’d he say?” She paced back and forth in the small office.

“
She
said she’d go down to the station and talk to him.” Cam rose from the chair behind the desk.

“The lawyer’s a woman? How do you know her, anyway?”

“Susan Lee is an old friend of my great-uncle’s. Albert said he used to babysit her. Don’t worry. She’s a force of nature.” Cam smiled. “Wait until you see her. She was my friend Lucinda’s lawyer last June, when she was falsely arrested.”

“Bobby shouldn’t have been taken in, either! He didn’t kill that witch.” Sim punched a fist into the palm of her other hand over and over. “Do you think they’ll arrest him?”

“They will now. I’m sure they thought he was going to attack them with that wrench. But I wonder what evidence they have against him for the murder,” Cam said, staring out the front window of the shop. “It can’t be merely because he was sitting outside her house in his van. Do you remember him being in a bad mood when you drove him home on the motorcycle?”

“It’s kind of hard to tell somebody’s mood when they’re sitting behind you with a helmet on.”

“I guess.”

“What do we do now?” Sim asked. “How do we get him out?”

“Based on what happened with Lucinda, they’ll hold a bond hearing in front of a judge tomorrow or the next day. They won’t let him out on bail if they think he might try to bug out. His hiding for four days probably won’t help him.”

“We have to spring him, Cam.”

“Wait a minute, Sim.” Cam held up a hand. “This isn’t the Wild West. You have to let the process play out. If you ask Susan Lee, she might be able to get you in for a visit.”

Sim nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to visit him.”

“The best thing you can do is be completely honest with Detective Pappas when he comes to ask you questions, because he definitely will. Tell him everything you know about the dinner, about Bobby, about Irene.”

Sim straightened the papers on the desk, tidied a pile of pens, shut a file drawer. She looked everywhere but in Cam’s eyes.

“They can’t keep Bobby if they don’t have evidence that he killed Irene,” Cam went on. “But they need all the information you have. Okay?” Cam felt like the heavy. What did she know about crime fighting? Nothing, really, but her involvement earlier in the year had given her experience she might as well draw on now. And she had a sneaking suspicion Sim was hiding something.

“I have an idea,” Sim said, finally looking at Cam. She dangled something from her finger.

Cam took a closer look. It was a key chain with a tiny silver hammer and a single key.

“Bobby’s apartment. He gave me the key a while ago, when he had to travel for a job. Wanted me to water his plants.”

“Okay. You have his key.” Cam waited. “And?”

“Let’s go over there. Maybe we can find some clues or something.” Sim frowned and nodded, convinced of her own idea. “He lives right across the river in Merrimac.”

“Now? Don’t you have regular hours here?”

Sim batted the idea away with a brush of her hand. “There’s nothing left for today. I’ll put a note on the door. No problem. Let’s go. You in?”

“I don’t know, Sim. This isn’t
CSI,
and you’re not Sherlock Holmes. What kind of clues do you think you’ll find? And what if the police show up while we’re there?”

“How do I know what we’ll find?” Her voice rose. “I have to help Bobby. Are you coming or not? We should hurry. The cops are for sure going to go over there themselves after they book him.”

Against her better judgment, Cam agreed to go on the condition they take her truck and not the Harley.

Twenty minutes later they stood in Bobby’s one-room apartment, a renovated shed behind a large antique house on the Merrimack River. The interior walls were planks of natural wood, and the back of the living space was a wall of glass. The approaching sunset had dyed the river pink, and it seemed to fill the room. It was stunning.

Cam wandered throughout the large room, which was punctuated by a half dozen healthy-looking houseplants. Hooks near the door held coats, shirts, and pants. In one corner a Southwestern-patterned spread covered a platform bed that held brightly colored bolsters and pillows. The small kitchen at the opposite corner of the space was clean and tidy. A wide couch faced the river, with a flat-screen television off to the side. A coffee table displayed the only signs of disorder in the apartment: an empty beer can, a wineglass with a trace of desiccated red in the bottom, last week’s newspaper, a bowl with dried bits of cereal stuck to the inside. She poked her head into the small bath, which featured a glass shower enclosure and red and yellow towels.

Cam turned back to Sim, who was bent over a broad desk, rifling through a stack of papers.

“Are you sure you should be going through his stuff?” Cam asked.

Sim abandoned the pile and started yanking open drawers. “Maybe there’s a letter from Irene here somewhere that threatens him. Or his bank statement, showing he didn’t need her money. I don’t know, Cam!” Sim looked up with tears in her eyes. “I’m worried about him. He’s my best friend.”

“Hey, don’t worry. He’s going to be all right.” Cam walked over to Sim and gingerly patted her on the back. She rarely had the need to comfort a fellow human, and it didn’t come naturally to her.

The outer door creaked. Cam twisted her head to see Detective Pappas standing in the entrance, staring at Sim. He did not look pleased.

“What are you doing here? You have no business in the home of someone under suspicion of murder.” He raised bushy eyebrows.

Sim straightened up. “I have a key. He asked me to water his plants.” Sim’s stance was as defiant as her tone.

“And he keeps houseplants in his desk drawers? Right. What were you looking for?”

Sim shook her head.

Cam backed up a few steps. It wasn’t enough to escape Pappas’s attention.

“And you, Cameron? Can’t keep your nose to yourself. You should know better.”

“Now, wait a minute, Detective. There wasn’t any yellow tape up,” Cam said. “We didn’t break in. We have a key. Bobby is a friend to both of us. A good friend. Why shouldn’t we be here? And aren’t you supposed to have a warrant to search a house?”

Pappas shook his head in exasperation. “Get out.”

“Lemme see the warrant.” Sim set her hands on her hips and glared.

Sighing, Pappas drew a piece of paper out of his pocket. He held it up in front of him.

Sim read it from where she was. “All right, we’ll go.”

“And I’ll put up the damn tape. They brought him in only an hour ago. Didn’t think I needed to quite yet.” He watched them hesitate. “Get!”