Farmed and Dangerous

by Edith Maxwell

  He wasn’t moving.

  Chapter 11

  In two more steps Cam knelt at his side. She was about to place her hand on his neck to check for a pulse when he shifted slightly and moaned. His eyes remained closed.

  “Thank God you’re alive.” She looked frantically near the head of the bed. Where was the emergency buzzer? There, on the wall. She reached up and slapped the round red button. Then hit it again two more times.

  She glanced back at Albert. She didn’t see blood anywhere. He must have passed out and hit the floor. Or maybe he’d been resting and had fallen out of bed. But would he have landed on his back if he’d fallen out of bed?

  Oscar rushed into the room, followed by a woman in a blue smock-like jacket with a stethoscope around her neck.

  Cam stood. “I found him here on the floor only a minute ago. He’s breathing, but he isn’t conscious.” She stepped out of their way, her heart thudding, her throat thick. She almost tripped on one of Albert’s crutches, which lay half hidden under the bed.

  Oscar turned away and spoke into a kind of two-way radio.

  “I’m the facility’s nurse.” The woman took Cam’s place, kneeling. She listened to Albert’s heart. She pried an eyelid open and shined a little flashlight in his eye. She measured his pulse. She gazed up at Cam.

  “His vitals aren’t bad. We’ll get him to the hospital to be checked out. I can’t tell right now if he had a stroke or what. Until he wakes up.” She glanced around and picked up the blanket. She stretched it over him, then leaned in close to his ear.

  “Mr. St. Pierre? Albert. Can you hear me?” She gently patted his cheek.

  Albert didn’t move.

  The nurse sat back on her heels and then stood in a fluid motion. “You sit there and talk to him until the EMTs arrive,” she said to Cam.

  Cam knelt by his side again. “Uncle Albert. It’s me, Cammy. Can you hear me?” She found his hand under the blanket and squeezed. “Uncle Albert?”

  His eyelids fluttered open.

  “I think he’s waking up.” Cam glanced at the nurse to make sure she’d seen Albert’s open eyes.

  The nurse smiled and nodded. Cam looked back at Albert.

  “It’s okay. You’ll be fine.” Cam tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. “You had a fall.”

  Albert’s eyes widened. He moved his head a little from one side to the other. He moaned and shut his eyes again.

  “What’s going on in here?” Pete Pappas stood behind the woman. “I heard the alarm.”

  “I found Albert lying here,” Cam said. “He just woke up a little.”

  “He must have fallen,” the nurse said to Pete. “His pulse and blood pressure are stable, though. It doesn’t appear to be a cardiac event.”

  Pete frowned, with hands on hips. “I’m glad.”

  Two EMTs strode into the room. One carried a large red bag. “Mr. St. Pierre?” asked the female EMT.

  The nurse nodded.

  “Wait a minute,” Pete said. He held one palm face out and extended his ID with his other hand. “State police detective Pappas. This could be a crime scene. We’ve had two unattended deaths here in the last forty-eight hours. This might be an attempted murder.”

  The male EMT whistled under his breath. “How do we proceed? You realize we need to get this gentleman to the hospital stat.”

  Pete nodded. “Try not to touch anything you don’t have to. That goes for all of you.” He included Oscar and Cam in his gaze.

  The nurse briefed them on Albert’s condition even as the female EMT gave Cam a look that sent her scrambling to her feet. She hurried out of their way and stood near the bathroom door on the other side of the room. The other EMT repeated the nurse’s steps of assessing Albert’s health.

  “We’ll have him out of here in a minute,” the female EMT said on her way out of the room. “The gurney is in the hall.”

  “As soon as you can, please assess any wounds on him, especially on his head,” Pete said. “I’ll be over to talk to the doctors. Are you taking him to Anna Jaques?”

  “Yes,” the female EMT said.

  “Add a note to his chart that he might have been attacked.”

  “Got it.” The EMT nodded.

  A flurry of activity ensued, ending with Albert, strapped to a gurney, being wheeled out of the room.

  “I’ll see you over there, Uncle Albert,” Cam called.

  He nodded his head almost imperceptibly. Oscar and the nurse followed the others out of the room, leaving Cam and Pete alone.

  “He’s in good hands,” Pete said. He took two steps to stand in front of her. “I’m sorry that happened.” He glanced behind him. They were alone in the room. He opened his arms to Cam.

  She let him wrap her in his care. A sob escaped her before she choked it back. The image of someone whacking Albert over the head filled her brain. She stepped away and wiped her cheek of tears.

  “Do you really think someone attacked him?” she asked.

  “It’s possible. Perhaps he saw who poisoned Bev Montgomery. Or had been asking too many questions. Which is why I don’t want you getting all detective on me. You could be in danger, as well.”

  She nodded slowly. “When he opened his eyes, I told him he’d fallen. He looked a little alarmed and tried to shake his head. He might have been saying no.”

  “Interesting.” His eyes narrowed.

  “I’m headed over to Anna Jaques.” Cam grabbed her bag from where she’d dropped it on the floor.

  “Good. Be careful.” Pete turned away and spoke into his cell phone, asking for a crime scene team.

  The television in the emergency department waiting room at the hospital blared some inane talk show. The woman seated next to Cam coughed again, a deep, thick rattle that sounded infectious. Cam rose and moved to a chair in the hallway, on the way dosing up her hands with sanitizer from a dispenser on the wall. The last thing she needed was to get sick. She could still see the door to the reception area from here.

  She’d been waiting for news for an hour. They wouldn’t let her go in to see Albert yet, even though she was his only relative anywhere nearby. Her stomach grumbled. She checked her phone, which read almost one o’clock. She hadn’t eaten since seven that morning. But she didn’t plan to go in search of the cafeteria, in case she missed the doctor.

  She wanted to see Albert so badly, it ached. That look he’d given her in his room. Did he try to tell her he had not fallen? Which would mean Pete’s suspicions about an attack might be true. And then Pete’s embrace . . . What did that mean? It had to be because his feelings for her hadn’t changed. He needed to follow regulations about not consorting with a person of interest. But how could he turn his emotions off and on so easily? She was incapable of doing that.

  As she waited, the movie of her finding Albert on the floor replayed in her head. Funny that Oscar had arrived first. He wasn’t even one of Albert’s care providers. He must have been tending to one of his own residents.

  A white-coated woman about Cam’s age came through the door. “Cameron Flaherty?” She carried a tablet device.

  Cam stood. The woman walked over to her. Her coat read DR. FUJITA. Her eyes and shiny black hair matched her name. “You are Albert St. Pierre’s great-niece?” She extended her hand.

  Cam nodded as she shook hands. “You’re the doctor who saw me after my accident last fall, aren’t you?”

  The doctor cocked her head. “Mild concussion? That’s right. No lingering effects?”

  “No. How’s my uncle?” She clasped her hands behind her so they wouldn’t tremble.

  “He hit his head hard on something. He did wake up for a while, which is a very good sign, but we need to admit him. He seems basically healthy, although the hospital record indicates a history with diabetes.”

  “That’s why he lost his foot. But he’s been very careful with his diet, and he swims for exercise.”

  “Any history of heart disease, heart attacks, angina, that kind of thing?
That you know of?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Good.” The doctor frowned and checked something on her tablet. “There’s a note in his chart about a possible assault. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Not really.” Cam paused, then decided not to mention Albert’s head shaking. “The state police are investigating a murder, possibly two, at the facility where he lives, though. I’m sure they’ll contact you.”

  “You can visit him for a minute before we take him for more tests, but you should know he is sedated.”

  “Are you the doctor who will be in charge of him?”

  “I am. Give me your cell phone number. I’ll call you as soon as he’s in his room. It could be a while, though.”

  Cam scrabbled in her bag, eventually finding one of the farm’s business cards, which bore her cell number, along with the street address and the address of the Web site.

  Dr. Fujita thanked her. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of him.” She reached out and patted Cam on the arm. “Follow me.”

  A minute later Cam stood in a bay, at Albert’s side. He wore a blue-print johnny, a white blanket covering him to the chest. Tubing and cables connected him to an IV bag and several machines that blipped and ticked. The fluorescent lights shaded his skin a tinge of green that echoed the walls, and the air nicked her nose with the sharp tinge of disinfectant. His near hand lay flat, the age spots more visible than ever. She held it and squeezed. She leaned down and brushed her lips across his forehead.

  “Uncle Albert, you’re going to make it. We have a dinner date, don’t forget.” Her throat constricted. She could barely say those last, most important words. “I love you.”

  A muscular male nurse hurried in. “You need to leave now. I’m taking him for tests.”

  She slid around him toward the opening to the central area.

  The nurse lowered the guardrail on one side of the bed and busied himself with tubing and settings.

  Cam blew Albert a kiss and then wandered with blurry vision toward the exit, one hand over her mouth, as if that would keep her anguish from spilling out.

  Chapter 12

  After she arrived home twenty minutes later, Cam felt like she moved in slow motion, as if she were walking underwater. She fixed herself a sandwich, poured a glass of milk, sat at the table. While she ate, her mind stayed with Albert and with all the questions arising. She couldn’t help at the hospital, but she didn’t want to be at home, either. She ate slowly. Preston reared up and rubbed against her knee, then purred as she petted him with her free hand.

  She moved to the desk and started the computer. Usually, if she wrote things down, they became more clear. Her mind worked best when she could see a problem in front of her. This particular set of problems wouldn’t be solved with the logic statements of a computer language, but at least if she listed everything she knew, she could examine it all in one place.

  She opened a file and named it “The Moran Affair.” She typed, “Did someone hit Albert on the head?” She typed, “He didn’t have any enemies. Had he seen something suspicious around the residence and asked the wrong person questions? He seemed nervous after Miss Lacey’s death.”

  She added lines for Bev’s death. And for Bev’s difficult relationships with Ginger, Oscar, and Frank. She typed, “What was the poison that killed her? How had the police or the medical examiner or Pete even thought to test for a poison?” Before this morning she could have called Pete and asked him, but that door was closed for now. She wiggled her cold toes in her slippers, then glanced up to see the curtains stirring as cold air seeped in through the leaky windows.

  She included what Ellie’d said about Oscar working in the kitchen. Cam didn’t know a thing about poor Miss Lacey, but she added a line for her death, as well. Next time she went over to Moran Manor, she’d ask around, see if the deceased woman had shared any friends with Bev, or enemies, for that matter. She saved the file. Sure enough, getting everything down in black and white had calmed her nerves. Opening a browser, she navigated over to the farm Web page. Someone had left a comment on the page titled “Community.” She peered at it.

  “Are the eggs you sell from vegetarian chickens?”

  “As if,” Cam said aloud and began to type a reply. She’d discussed this issue with DJ in the fall, anticipating this moment.

  “Chickens are omnivores. Our free-range birds feed outside all day in their natural habitat, which includes worms, bugs, and insects. Another farm might confine their hens and give them only nonanimal feed, but not this one.”

  Her phone buzzed. She posted the comment and then connected the call. Lucinda spoke.

  “You all set for tonight, fazendeira?”

  “Tonight?”

  “The forum. At my school’s library.”

  Cam swore. “Um, sure, all set.”

  “You don’t sound that sure.”

  Cam filled her in on Albert’s situation. “But it appears he’ll probably be okay. And I did a bit of preparation for the forum last night. So yeah, I’ll be ready.” I hope.

  “Wow. Well, give him a hug from me. I like that old guy. He’s a class act.”

  Cam said she would. She got directions to the school from Lucinda and disconnected. Then groaned. The forum. The last place she wanted to be tonight. But a commitment remained a commitment.

  She checked the clock on the monitor. Two thirty. She’d better spend more time preparing, checking her research, finishing her slide presentation. She would swing by the hospital on her way and visit with Albert, or at least sit with him if he was asleep. She’d need to leave at around five to fit all that in and still get to the school early. Make it four thirty. She hated being late.

  Shivering a little, she shoved her chair away and went to check the thermostat. She’d set the room temperature to seventy, but with the frigid wind outside, the old boiler in the basement couldn’t keep up. Even though the thermostat read sixty-six in the room, the air felt colder than that. She threw on a heavy wool sweater and wrapped a scarf around her neck. And then lit the burner under the teakettle.

  On her way back to the computer, she checked her digital indoor-outdoor thermometer. No wonder her boiler couldn’t keep up. The display on the device read five degrees. Good thing she’d kept all the beds in the hoop house covered.

  Her phone buzzed again. Felicity was on the other end.

  “Cam, I heard about Albert. Is he going to be all right?”

  “That’s what they say. They are admitting him to Anna Jaques, but he doesn’t need surgery, and it didn’t appear to be a heart attack.”

  “Someone told me he fell in his room. Did he have a stroke? Or did he just trip?”

  “I don’t know. They’re doing more tests.” She kept quiet about her, and Pete’s, suspicions of someone striking Albert.

  “Well, I hope he heals soon.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell him when I go back over there,” Cam said. The teakettle started to whistle.

  “I also wanted to let you know that my father keeps talking about something he saw. As you know, he has dementia. And he often doesn’t make a bit of sense. But he says he saw Bev’s killer.”

  “Really?” Cam felt a whoosh of excitement. “Who did he see?” The kettle split the air with its needle of urgency. Cam let it go. She moved into the far corner of the living room.

  “That’s the part I can’t get out of him.” Felicity sighed. “I wondered if you’d stop by and see him next time you’re around. He seemed to like you a lot the other day. Perhaps a fresh face would prod his memory. What’s that sound, Cam?”

  “The teakettle is boiling. Cover your ear. I’m going to go turn the burner off.” Cam dashed into the kitchen, where steam raced angrily from the cherry-red kettle’s spout toward the ceiling. She turned the burner off. “Sorry about that. Anyway, I’d be happy to stop by and see your dad. But I may not get over until Albert is released from the hospital. Which I hope will be soon. You should let Detective Pappa
s know, too.”

  “Good idea. I’ll call the station,” Felicity said. “Let me know when you’ll be by, and I’ll meet you there to talk to Dad.”

  “Will do. Listen, I think it’s best that you don’t tell anybody else that your father thinks he saw the killer,” Cam said. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”

  “Yikes. I never thought of that. What a terrifying prospect. Somebody stalking Dad. He’s nearly helpless.”

  Cam squeezed her eyes shut in a grimace. She’d never gotten the hang of being tactful. “Don’t worry. I shouldn’t even have mentioned that. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “I hope so.” Felicity’s voice quavered. “I know he’s losing his mind, but I still love him dearly.”

  After they said good-bye and Cam disconnected, she said aloud, “Nice move, Flaherty. Now Felicity is scared, as well. When will I learn?”

  She fixed herself that cup of tea, since she’d gone to all the trouble to blow out a few auditory nerve cells, and brought it to the desk. She sat and stared at her monitor for a moment. Then she typed a line that read, “Nicholas Slavin saw Bev’s killer?”

  She checked the wall clock. Four fifteen. She glanced in the mirror one more time. Her hair, which was longer than she liked to wear it, curled around her ears. During the warmer months she sported a short cut that needed little care. But during a winter like this one, having longer hair made her head seem warmer, even if it wasn’t. She wore a power outfit from her previous career, a tailored black jacket over a scoop-necked green sweater and a gray wool skirt that fell just below her knees. If she planned to butt heads with the agrochemical industry, she wanted to feel as powerful as possible. Flat knee-high black boots would keep her legs warm, and they actually had a decent tread on them for navigating icy pathways.

  She checked her bag and added plenty of farm brochures and business cards. She grabbed a granola bar and a packet of almonds, which would have to take the place of dinner. Time to hit the road for the hospital and then the academy. She bundled herself in her good coat and beret. Picking up her scarf, she spied an empty egg carton on the table.