No. She’d forgotten all about the hens. She swore and grabbed her bag. On her way to the coop, she dumped the bag in the truck and strode around the corner of the barn. The hen yard appeared empty, so at least they’d had the sense to huddle inside. Then she saw TopKnot standing at the top of the ramp.
“You goofy chicken. Get in there where it’s warm.” Cam made her way into the enclosure and made shooing gestures. “Get out of this cold.”
The hen didn’t move. Cam walked closer. She reached out a hand, and TopKnot still didn’t budge. Cam touched her, and the bird toppled over onto the ground.
She lifted the hen in her gloved hands. The poor girl was frozen. She blew on her face. The red beads of her eyes were filmy. Cam wondered how to check for a chicken’s heartbeat. She carried her into the barn and set her on the hood of the truck. She pulled off one glove and tried to feel the chicken’s skin under her feathers. But TopKnot seemed cold through and through.
“You stupid, sweet bird.” Cam had loved watching her antics over the months since she’d acquired the hens. She kicked herself for not checking on the birds earlier. She found a plastic bag, wrapped TopKnot in it, and laid her in the chest freezer. She’d figure out what to do with her later. She pulled her glove on again and headed out to the coop, hoping the rest of the hens were alive. She opened the people-sized door and checked it out. The air felt a lot warmer in there than outside, and the hens were puffed up and clustered in one corner. They’d be all right. She left the incandescent bulb on for the bit of heat it provided and latched the door. She also closed the solid door over the rubber flap to the small entrance. If she’d done it earlier, TopKnot would still be alive. Damn.
Twenty minutes later she stood at Albert’s bedside. He looked better than he had earlier in the day, with color in his cheeks, although his eyes were still closed. And he seemed to be attached to fewer devices. The one that displayed a green waveform on a wall-mounted monitor beeped at a reassuringly regular pace. Cam stroked the back of Albert’s hand. Its warmth also reassured her. After a minute, his hand turned under hers until they were palm to palm. He squeezed softly.
“Uncle Albert, it’s me, Cam.”
His eyelids opened a crack and then more. The edge of his mouth tilted into the shadow of a smile.
“You look much better.” She touched his cheek.
He nodded a little. He murmured something Cam couldn’t make out.
She leaned down. “What did you say?”
“Quite the accommodations.”
“Are you comfortable?”
“Pretty much.” He closed his eyes. “But the party’s too loud.”
Cam frowned. “Right,” she said, having no idea what party he was talking about. Now didn’t seem like the time to ask, though.
“I’m going to let you rest. I’ll be back tomorrow. Love you.” She patted his hand and kissed his forehead. He raised his hand slightly and kept the faint smile on his face.
On her way to the elevator, once again with tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks, Cam passed the nurses’ station. Uh-oh. Here comes trouble. She blinked away her worry for the moment. Pete faced Dr. Fujita, who stood with arms folded. Pete waved one hand in front of him, like he couldn’t get why she didn’t understand something so obvious. He glanced around with an expression of exasperation and saw Cam.
“Cameron.” He waved her over. “Will you tell the doctor what Albert did when you found him? And why I need to talk with him?”
Cam approached and greeted both of them. “When I told him he’d fallen, he looked alarmed, and he tried to shake his head. I thought he was telling me it hadn’t happened that way.” She stayed a few feet away from Pete. If she smelled his scent, if she felt his warmth . . .
“I told you we’ve had two suspicious deaths at the assisted-living residence.” Pete, glaring at the doctor, tapped his pen on the counter next to him. “Mr. St. Pierre could have been attacked. Someone might have tried to kill him. I need to ask him what happened.”
“And I told you, Detective, that he’s only beginning to recover. I will not have you in there harassing and upsetting him. Come tomorrow, and we’ll talk more then. He’s on the mend, I assure you.”
A wave of relief washed over Cam. Albert seemed to be getting better, but she welcomed hearing the news from the mouth of an expert.
“Did he receive a head wound?” Pete asked.
“He presented with a contusion, but it did not break the skin.”
“Could it have been from someone swinging a heavy object at him, or could he have fallen and hit his head?” Pete stuck his hands in his pockets.
“We can’t tell. I’m sorry.”
“Doctor, a minute ago Albert said something about the party being too loud,” Cam said. “What was he talking about?”
“There haven’t been any parties going on, I can assure you. Has he shown any signs of dementia?”
“Absolutely none. He’s sharp. He has his own blog. He plays Scrabble. No, his mind is fine.”
“Well, sometimes the elderly find being hospitalized very disorienting. He might be exhibiting temporary dementia. It will likely clear once he returns to familiar surroundings.”
“Great,” Pete said. “So whenever you do let me question him, he might not make sense. Is that what you’re saying?”
Cam stared at him. Pete didn’t seem to care about how Albert was faring, only when he’d be ready for an interrogation.
“Detective, I have other patients to see. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Dr. Fujita turned away, balancing a tablet on her left hand, tapping something into it while she walked.
Pete gazed at Cam. His face softened. “How are you holding up?”
“How do you think? Over at the Manor they believe I’m a murderer. My favorite relative is in there, injured and newly senile. My favorite chicken just froze herself to death. And my new boyfriend can’t consort with me and doesn’t seem to care how Albert is doing, only when he can question him. Oh, and I’m off to debate a representative of an agrochemical giant. I’m having a really awesome day.” She turned toward the bank of elevators down the hall.
“Cam,” Pete called out.
“Your rules,” she said without turning toward him. She was nervous enough about the debate and would be lucky to get through the evening intact. She didn’t need her relationship troubles to mess with her head. They’d already messed with her heart.
Chapter 13
Despite the discussion having gone on for forty-five minutes, the attendees in the packed library at Hamilton Academy listened closely, several sitting on the edges of their chairs, others nodding or frowning. Cam’s presentation had gone well, she thought, despite how nervous she’d been at the beginning. She’d had to keep reminding herself to breathe.
Paul Underwood stood at the podium to her left, her opponent on the forum. He had prepared well and several times had included the usual defense of “The EPA approved this chemical as safe for use on food crops.” He wore an immaculate gray suit with a perfectly knotted green tie. Cam was glad she’d gone with her own power outfit.
She’d stressed the importance of increasing organic material in the soil through the addition of compost and maintaining a diverse environment with insects, plants, air, and water in balance. It appeared to go in one of Paul’s ears and out the other, but it gained vocal approval and encouraging nods from the audience.
Lucinda stepped in and opened the floor for questions. “Please either use the microphone in the center aisle or speak loud and clear. I’ll repeat the question before our speakers address it.”
A man around Cam’s age stood. He had black, curly hair pushed away from his forehead and a lively expression on his face. He made his way to the microphone.
“What we need is to feed our soil correctly. Organic doesn’t matter if the plants can’t be healthy because their soil is lacking in nutrients. And when the plants get healthy, they can withstand pests and diseases, so farmers don’t need to appl
y pesticides and herbicides. Bionutrient-dense feeding is the wave of the future. And that future has to happen now. We can build a healthy, sustainable food supply without chemicals of any kind.” He sat. A ripple of applause went through the room.
“Did everybody hear that?” Lucinda asked. At the roomful of nods, she gestured toward Paul and Cam.
“That sounds very interesting, although it’s new to me,” Cam said. “I do a soil test, of course, and amend accordingly with minerals like greensand. Let’s talk afterward. I’d like to learn more.”
Paul leaned into his mike. “Nothing to add.”
A white-haired woman in the audience stood. “Where can I learn more about composting? And I’d like to know, why isn’t the school composting their food waste from the kitchen and the cafeteria?” Lucinda repeated her questions for the audience.
“I can’t address the second comment, but of course I am in favor of composting,” Cam said with a smile. “As for the first, you can find how-tos on the Web. And if you check out the Northeast Organic Farming Association, you’ll find links for local workshops and probably even videos. If all that doesn’t work, come on down to the farm this spring and I’ll be happy to walk you through it.” At the ensuing applause, she added with a smile, “You can all come. Composting is a big part of my operation.”
This was going better than she’d expected. No one had asked her forum partner a question yet, and people seemed happy with what she’d offered.
A ruddy-faced man in a plaid shirt stood. Cam thought she might have seen him at the Haverhill Farmers’ Market when she sold there last summer.
“If I didn’t spray my crops, I’d have nothing to sell,” the man boomed. “Paul here knows all about the pros and cons of using his products. Like he said, there’s nothing wrong with using them on your vegetables and your fruit trees. And you’re not going to feed the world population on a few dinky organic farms. It’s fine for you locavores”—he said the word like it was an obscenity—“but it’s not efficient.”
Scattered applause broke out.
Paul waved at the man. “Thank you, George. Eliminating world hunger is one of our company’s goals.” Cam watched him smooth the lapel of his jacket, like he thought himself the company president.
“And aren’t you the lady farmer who had a couple murders on your farm up to Westbury?” the ruddy-faced man continued. “What? You killing them off with all your fancy organics?”
A collective gasp resounded.
Cam swallowed. “A poor man was killed on my farm last June, it’s true. I had nothing to do with it, and neither did my growing practices.” She started sweating under her jacket.
The woman who had asked about composting looked at Cam and started clapping. Others in the audience joined in. But not all.
A man with a full head of dark hair streaked with white stood. He waited for the applause to die down.
“I’m Luca. I own Wolf Meadow Farm, an artisanal Italian cheese company.” He spoke with a lilting accent. “We make organic mozzarella, ricotta, and other southern Italian farm cheeses from local organic milk. Like back home in Molise. My customers would have it no other way.” He sat.
Lucinda took the mike. “All right, everybody. Are there any more questions pertinent to the topic?” She surveyed the room and nodded at a man, who stood.
“My name is Louis Dispenza. Studies show there’s a link between glyphosate and Alzheimer’s disease,” said the man. Appearing to be in his early forties, he sported a tie and a tweed jacket. He spoke in a loud and clear voice. “How can you, in good conscience, continue to sell your herbicide G-Phos?” He stared at Paul Underwood.
Paul tapped his pen on the podium. “We’ve been over that ground. The EPA has approved our products for use on food crops.”
“Does your company ever reconsider? What about the ethics of giving dementia to people with a career in landscaping or farming? Don’t you personally care about that?”
“I have nothing more to say.” Paul raised his chin.
The man shook his head and sat down.
“If there are no more questions, we’ve set out refreshments in the rear,” Lucinda said into the microphone. “I’m sure our guests will stick around and continue the conversation.” She thanked them both. “Let’s give them a big hand.”
Cam remained at her podium, trying to stay smiling, during the applause. She was exhausted, and Lucinda still expected her to schmooze. The guy in the tweed jacket approached her, his dark hair contrasting with patches of silver at the temples. He stood a few inches taller than Cam.
“Great information, Ms. Flaherty. I’m Lou Dispenza. I’m a science teacher here at the school.” He held out his hand, with smile lines branching out from green eyes over rosy cheeks. “My students call me Mr. D.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. D.” Cam shook his hand. Warm skin and a firm grip. “Call me Cam, please.”
“And I’m Lou. Assuming you’re not enrolling in class here.” He chuckled.
Lucinda approached. “Glad you two have met. Nice job, Cam.”
“Thanks. Sounds like you both read the same study about Alzheimer’s and glyphosate.”
Lou nodded. He glanced at Paul, who was talking with a small group clustered around him. “Not that it’s going to change their practices.”
“Come and take some refreshments,” Lucinda said, gesturing to the rear of the room.
Cam girded her proverbial loins for more socializing and walked toward the food, still chatting with Lou. She accepted a glass of cider from Lucinda and spent several minutes thanking people for coming and answering questions about organic practices. When the crowd thinned, the man who had mentioned bionutrient-dense feeding approached her.
“I have to run, but let’s talk sometime soon. My organization offers workshops, as well.” He handed her a card.
Cam thanked him and said she’d call. The room began to empty out. Lucinda started to tidy the refreshment table, and Lou returned to Cam’s side.
“I, uh, wondered if you’d like to grab a bite to eat sometime. It appears we have a lot in common.” He smiled a little tentatively.
A bite to eat? Was that a date? She was temporarily free of romantic entanglements, after all, thanks to Pete. “Sure. That sounds like fun.”
With his left hand Lou held up one of the farm brochures she’d left on the table Lucinda had provided for information. He did not wear a wedding band. “I have your number. I’ll give you a call soon,” he said, his smile now more sure.
“I look forward to that.”
As he walked away, Lucinda looked after him and then at Cam. “Nice work, fazendeira,” she said in a low voice, with a wicked grin. “He’s smart. And one of the hottest bachelors around.”
Cam made it home by nine thirty and threw a thick sweater on over her outfit. She’d accepted an invitation for a “bite to eat” with Lou. How wise was that? Then she scolded herself.
“He didn’t make a marriage proposal. It’s simply dinner with an interesting man. That’s all. Right, Preston?”
He jumped onto the couch and nestled next to her. She stroked his head as he purred. The heck with a few cat hairs on her skirt.
She couldn’t believe the G-Phos rep had gotten away with saying what he did. He’d kept repeating the same line. “The EPA blah-blah-blah . . .” He obviously had supporters, like the man who had said he couldn’t feed his customers if he couldn’t spray his crops. With chemical fertilizers and pesticides, undoubtedly.
DJ would have had a better response than hers, which had been no response. He would have asserted the value not only of organic but also of permaculture-designed farming. Cam remembered reading about a one-hundred-acre farm in Wisconsin that used organic permaculture methods successfully, and about farms in Australia that were hundreds of acres in size doing the same. She chided herself for not coming up with those examples on the spot. She had smarts, but she wasn’t quick on her feet when interacting with people. One of the many reason
s she avoided public speaking.
She checked her phone, hoping the hospital hadn’t called. That kind of news could only be bad. Nothing from Anna Jaques, but Ellie had rung her. Cam glanced at the time. Ellie had first texted and then had called at around six. Cam must have been either driving or visiting Albert. And she’d turned her phone off during the debate. The text read only,
Have smthng to tell u.
She listened to the voice mail message.
“I heard something on Sunday. I didn’t want to tell you in front of my mom. Call me.”
Cam saved the message and disconnected. Ellie’d heard something, on Sunday, the day Bev died, that she didn’t want her mother to know she had heard. After nine was too late for Cam to return her call. Cam would try to find her after school let out for the day tomorrow. Ellie should be able to find a place to talk where her mom couldn’t overhear. Cam felt a little uneasy about Ellie hiding information from her mom, but Cam could always tell Myrna if necessary.
She pulled the sweater close around her neck with cold fingers. Some rummy cider would warm her up. In the kitchen, she extracted a half gallon of local cider from the fridge and poured three-quarters of a mug full. She added a cinnamon stick and two whole cloves to the mug and nuked it in the microwave. The cider would be a lot tastier mulled at a low heat for a couple of hours, but by then she’d be asleep. She added a generous splash of Turkey Shore rum and a little Cointreau. She topped the cider with a dusting of cinnamon. When she raised the mug, the fumes made her eyes water.
She swung her feet onto the couch and sipped the toddy, its heat warming her hands, as well as her insides. If Pete knew about the text, he would urge Cam not to try to do his job. Ellie trusted Cam, though, in a way she clearly didn’t trust Pete. Once Cam knew the story, she would pass it on to Pete. She supposed. Being a person of interest criminally had transformed her into a person of no interest romantically, at least for Detective Pappas. She had to accept it, but she didn’t have to like it.
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