Bev’s service tomorrow morning would involve another onslaught of socializing. For now, Cam needed to relax and be alone. She gazed at the lace curtains Marie had hung years before. Were Marie and Bev sitting in heaven, playing cards together right now? Marie and Albert were Catholic. Cam wasn’t sure she shared their view of an afterlife. She tended more toward the carpe diem school of “right now is all we have.” Unfortunately, she’d seen more than one dead person. It had been clear each time that after death the essence of the person evaporated from the shell of the body. Was it the soul that left? Did it migrate into a newborn baby somewhere or gather on heavenly clouds or merely dissipate? Cam didn’t know. But it was certainly comforting to picture all those who had gone before gathered in a pleasant place, doing whatever they liked without fear of sickness or death.
Chapter 14
Cam called the hospital in the morning to ask about Albert. The male nurse on the floor said Albert’s health had improved, but he still seemed confused about his surroundings.
“He will likely be discharged today or tomorrow.”
“Can I talk to him for a minute, please?” Cam asked. The nurse said he’d connect her to Albert’s room.
After Cam had waited over a minute, someone picked up. Cam heard a shuffling noise and then, at last, Albert’s voice. But he sounded faint, like he was speaking from a long distance.
“Uncle Albert? Are you there?”
“Who is it?” Albert said.
Cam could barely hear him. Then she heard the nurse’s voice. “Mr. St. Pierre, it’s your great-niece. But you’re holding the phone upside down. Here.”
“Cameron?” This time Albert came in loud and clear.
“It’s me, Uncle Albert. How are you this morning?”
“Well, I’ve been better. The party went on all night long.”
“The party?” So he was still confused. Maybe she could reach the doctor and ask how long it would last.
“They were making a ruckus right next door. Talking and carousing. I asked them to keep it down, but they didn’t pay me any mind a-tall.”
“That’s too bad.” Cam kept her voice sympathetic. He was probably misinterpreting what he heard the nurses and aides say among themselves. “Listen, I wanted to tell you I’ll come by and visit a bit later today. I’m going to Bev Montgomery’s funeral this morning.”
“Why, I must go, as well. Listen, son, I need to be getting out.” His voice became more distant. He had to be talking to the nurse. “Beverly was good to my Marie, and to me. Have to pay my respects.”
Cam didn’t catch what the nurse said, but then he came on the line.
“Sorry about that. Your uncle is a bit agitated.”
“Please tell him I will represent him at the service for his friend. And that I’ll come see him directly afterward.”
Poor Uncle Albert. She only hoped his confusion would clear once he returned home. She checked the clock. Bev’s funeral would begin at eleven o’clock. Cam still had a few hours for work.
The air still tasted bitterly cold outside. Inhaling hurt, and she slid on the iced-over snow packed on the paths. Preston followed but didn’t have a problem keeping his footing.
“You’re lucky to have four feet instead of two, Mr. P. Although you could have stayed in that warm house, you know.”
Preston didn’t reply, instead dashing off to chase a slate-colored junco off its perch on a fence post.
Cam checked on the chickens first thing. All the remaining birds were still alive and accounted for. She freshened the hens’ food and drink but kept them closed in with the light on. She checked the lettuce flats she’d planted, started two more of spinach, and added water to the trays under the flats so it would wick into the cells. All the beds in the hoop house were still covered. She threw her own kitchen scraps into the worm bin.
As she worked, she thought through the recent events. Why would the doctor be thinking of discharging Albert already? It could be an insurance issue. The forum last night had gone passably well, aside from her being called a murderer. Again. Lou seemed kind of interesting. She would have to see how their dinner went, if in fact he called her. She liked Pete, but she found it hard to stomach that he needed to shun their relationship for work reasons. She missed the closeness they’d developed. She wondered if he missed her in return.
In the barn office, she checked the list of what she had to offer in the shares on Saturday. The portions looked scant. What else could she include? Cheese would be nice. An image of the guy who had spoken last night, the cute Italian, appeared in her mind. Luca of Wolf Meadow Farm. A ball of his cheese in each share would be perfect. He’d said he used local organic milk. Maybe he’d give her a wholesale price. If she left early, she could stop by the store on the way to the funeral.
When she finished working and went into the house, Preston came along. Even with his two layers of fur, he didn’t want to stay out for long in this kind of cold. Cam showered, then dressed in her outfit from the night before. She donned her good black wool coat and headed out to buy some cheese.
“Welcome,” Luca said. He came out from behind the cheese counter with a big smile and open arms. “What can I help you with?” The shop was empty except for the two of them.
“I was hoping to buy some cheese from you to give to my shareholders.”
“How about some samples before you decide?” He returned behind the counter, then drew out three wedges of cheese and a slender knife. “This is many people’s favorite, the aged truffled farm cheese.” He sliced off a piece and laid it on a square of paper.
“Mmm,” Cam said, savoring the nutty flavor.
“But our specialty is mozzarella.” The sounds that rolled out of Luca’s mouth made Cam feel like she was in Italy instead of Westbury. He fished a white, squishy ball out of a bin of water and offered her a slice.
“Wow. That melted in my mouth,” Cam said when she finished it. “That’s nothing like what we get in the supermarket. Would you give me a wholesale price on thirty balls of it? I distribute shares on Saturday.”
“We’re both local. I am happy to. I make it fresh on Friday and deliver to your farm. Bene?”
Cam smiled and thanked him, then said good-bye. Luca said something she didn’t understand as she climbed into the truck, and she drove off with Italian echoing in her ears. If she ever saved enough money for a vacation, she’d head straight for Italy.
Almost no spaces remained in the parking area of Oneonta Congregational Church. Cam squeezed the truck into a spot that hadn’t been well plowed, crunching the snow-piled berm with the truck’s nose. She made her way into the church with only minutes to spare, glad of the tread on her boots. An organ played a kind of dirge, one of the reasons Cam had stopped attending any kind of religious service in her teen years. Her idea of worship was more about being outside, under God’s sun and sky, than about sitting on an uncomfortable wooden bench and listening to depressing tunes.
The sanctuary was nearly full and smelled of incense mixed with overly sweet flowers. On an easel in the front sat an enlarged copy of the same picture of Bev that Cam had seen at Moran Manor. Two vases of tall flowers flanked it, but she didn’t see a coffin. Ginger sat in the front right pew with several others. Two had to be her brothers. Richard Broadhurst sat in one of the forward pews on the other side of the aisle. Oscar sat in a rear pew, with hands in his lap, his head bowed.
Cam spied Ruth in a pew halfway toward the front on the left and slid in next to her. Ruth, in dark slacks and a soft purple sweater stretched over her hefty figure, squeezed her hand. A moment later, Alexandra and DJ slid in from the outer aisle on the other side of Ruth. They brought a whiff of fresh air. Cam leaned toward them and gestured a greeting. Alexandra smiled in return, while DJ closed his eyes and crossed his legs meditation-style on the bench, laying his hands, palms up, on his knees.
“So this isn’t really a funeral?” Cam whispered to Ruth. “No casket.”
“Right. The stat
e couldn’t release the body yet, but the family wanted to hold the service now.”
So the receptionist had been right. Good. She had been to one open-casket funeral and hoped never to have to repeat the experience. Knowing in her mind that someone had died was enough. She didn’t need visual proof.
The organ music changed to something stirring, and the minister came to the altar. He spoke several platitudes, he led them in a song, and then he read from the Bible. Cam cast a glance around, noticing community members she had seen in the Food Mart but didn’t know by name. She spied Felicity in a pew on the other side. Jim Cooper, the Moran Manor director, sat across from her. Then a thin man edged into a seat behind Felicity. Frank Jackson.
Cam nudged Ruth and pointed. Ruth’s eyes widened. She sighed and gazed back at Cam, who could only imagine the thoughts and feelings roiling in Ruth’s head.
A man rose from the front row and made his way to the podium.
“I am Bill Montgomery. My brother Tom and my sister, Ginger, and I would like to thank you all for coming. Our mother was taken too young, but I want to share some of my memories of her.”
He went on to talk about Bev’s childhood, her marriage to their father, and their farm.
“When my brother Mike died last year, it kind of took the wind out of Mom’s sails, and we hoped she’d be happier at Moran Manor. But she had a hardworking life and was good to the people she loved.” He swallowed hard and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Let’s remember her for that.”
The minister stepped to the podium. “Let us hold Beverly’s soul in our hearts as she journeys on. If anyone present would like to stand and share a memory, please feel welcome.”
The music started again, quietly this time. If Albert were here, he would offer his story of how good Bev had been to him and Marie. Cam could tell his tale for him, but after the forum last night, she felt about all shared out.
A woman who said she had been a Grange friend of Bev’s told of how they’d worked together to keep the rural nature of the town alive, and she made people laugh with a tale of a Halloween party they had thrown, with both of them in costume, one as a carrot, one as a stick.
Someone else rose to speak of how her family had been close to Bev’s and what a good mother she’d been.
Cam studied her hands, trying to muster the energy to speak on Albert’s behalf. Ruth nudged her.
Frank stood. “Bev and I were in the same, um, club. She was a good friend to me. She didn’t deserve to die the way she did. May she rest in peace.”
A murmur rustled through the room. The club had to be the Patriotic Militia, a violent anti-immigrant group they’d both belonged to. Cam assumed Frank still did. Hardly a social club. And he was the first to mention how Bev had died. Cam felt she had to counter that, for Albert. She stood and took a deep breath.
“I am Albert St. Pierre’s great-niece. He couldn’t be here today, but I know he would want me to share with you how kind Bev was to him and his wife, my great-aunt Marie, when she lay dying a few years ago. Not only did Bev cook and care for Marie, but she also did farm chores so that Albert could be at Marie’s side. He has told me this more than once, and I know how much it meant to him.” She sat. Ruth patted her hand.
The minister stepped forward again. He appeared about to speak when Richard Broadhurst stood. He began to sing “Amazing Grace.” The minister appeared startled. Richard turned sideways and opened his arms, his hands inviting everyone to sing along. Several others stood and joined him in the song. Ginger rose and began to harmonize. The minister smiled and gave a nod to the organist, who played along. Soon the entire church was singing in unison.
Cam’s throat thickened. Something about singing in a group always got to her, especially when it entailed such a beautiful song in a spiritual place, despite what she thought of organized religion. She pictured Albert and willed him to recover so she could tell him about this moment. And so his service wouldn’t be the next in line.
Chapter 15
“Here goes,” Ruth said twenty minutes later in the church’s reception hall. “Wish me luck.” She headed in Frank’s direction.
Cam sipped from a plastic cup of sherry. She surveyed the spacious room that adjoined the sanctuary. Most of those who had come to pay their respects to Bev had adjourned to the reception. Finger sandwiches, a raw vegetable platter, cookies, cider, and an urn of coffee sat on a long table. Many had opted instead for the small plastic cups of sherry a young man offered from a tray. Bev’s children stood in a row, greeting the guests. A poster board featuring a collage of pictures leaned on an easel near the door.
In her peripheral vision, she caught sight of a familiar figure. She turned her head. Sure enough, Pete was walking toward her, carrying a cup of coffee.
“I didn’t see you in the service,” she said. He came close enough to touch. She kept her hands to herself, even as her conflicted heart reached out.
“I stood in the rear. I’m working, as you can imagine.” He wore a dark suit with a pale green tie. Although his clothes were clean and pressed, his face showed the stress of the past few days.
“Getting anywhere?” Even though Cam had seen Pete every day this week, a rush of longing swept through her. She clenched her fists to tamp it down, deny it.
“Not anywhere good. You look nice,” he said, but his gaze was on Frank and Ruth.
Cam gazed in the same direction. The couple stood close and talked intently, heads leaning in. She couldn’t hear any raised voices or see any angry gestures.
“See any other murder suspects?” Cam asked.
“It’s possible.” Pete put his hands in his pockets, scanning the area.
Cam followed his eyes. Oscar, in a dark sweater over a white shirt and a brightly colored tie, talked with Jim Cooper in a corner. Oscar glanced toward Pete and then turned his back. Pete might suspect Oscar. She had, herself, after all. Ellie had said he’d delivered Bev’s meal to her room. Her last supper, as it turned out. She had opened her mouth to ask Pete when Richard ambled toward them.
“Farmer Cam, lovely to see you again,” he boomed. “Who’s your gentleman companion here?” He smiled and winked. He wore the same turquoise vest he had when Cam saw him at Moran Manor, this time with a tweed jacket and black slacks.
“This is Pete Pappas. State police detective Pappas, actually. Pete, Richard Broadhurst.”
Richard kept on his broad smile while he shook Pete’s hand. Richard stood only an inch or two taller than Pete, but he projected a much larger profile, and his meaty farmer’s hand definitely dwarfed Pete’s.
“Mr. Broadhurst.” Pete extracted his hand. “I believe my office has been trying to contact you in recent days.”
“Oh? Have I done something that needs detecting?” Richard raised his eyebrows nearly into his hairline.
“It’s in the matter of Mrs. Montgomery’s death. You haven’t been responding to your messages.”
“Lost the damn cell phone somewhere. And I canceled my landline a couple of years ago. No longer necessary these days. So am I a person of interest? That sounds exciting.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I understand you were in negotiations to purchase Bev’s farm.”
Cam could tell Pete was struggling to keep irritation out of his voice.
“Purely a business deal. Nothing suspect about it, I assure you,” Richard said. “I need to go and speak with Ginger and her brothers. Those poor children.” He shook his head with a sorrowful expression on his face and headed for the end of the reception line. He launched into another aria, this time singing more softly than when he sang in the Moran Manor lobby.
“Those poor children, my ass,” Pete said, watching him go. “Excuse my French, but that man is a load of hogwash.”
“He’s a bit over the top, I agree,” Cam said. “Do you think he was telling the truth about losing his cell phone? I can’t imagine someone with a business not having a working cell phone. It puts you back in the Stone Age.”
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Pete was opening his mouth to speak when Felicity materialized at Cam’s side.
“Oh, Cam, I’ve been trying to find you.” She sounded breathless.
Cam introduced Felicity and Pete, and Pete greeted Felicity.
“What’s up?” Cam frowned. Felicity didn’t appear her usual calm, beaming self.
“I told you my father believes he saw something. He’s getting more adamant about it. Could you come by and talk to him sometime soon? That would set his mind at ease.”
“Felicity’s father lives at Moran Manor,” Cam said to Pete.
Pete glanced from one to the other. “He thinks he saw something connected to Bev’s death?” He took his turn frowning. “And you didn’t tell me, Cam?” He folded his arms.
Cam sighed. “Felicity mentioned it to me, what? Yesterday?”
Felicity nodded. “And he has Alzheimer’s disease, so he might be entirely unreliable.” She smiled, but the look was a faint, worried echo of the expression Cam usually saw on her face.
“I’ll need to interview him,” Pete said.
“Would it be all right if Pete and I talked to him together?” Cam glanced at Pete. “You can be kind of scary on your own, you know.”
“Why not?” Felicity said.
Pete’s nostrils flared. “Who’s running this investigation, anyway? I’ve asked you to keep out of it, Cameron.”
Cam opened her mouth. And then shut it. Now wasn’t the time to get into an argument with him.
“My father feels comfortable with Cam,” Felicity said. “He might not talk to you on his own.”
“Fine, then.”
Cam checked the time on her phone. “After I pay my respects, I’m heading over to the hospital to see how Albert is. I should be able to be at Moran by two o’clock. Meet you there?” She looked at Pete.
“It’s a date,” he said. “In a manner of speaking,” he rushed to add.
“I’ll get in the reception line with you,” Felicity said.
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