Farmed and Dangerous

by Edith Maxwell

  As the two women waited to greet Ginger and her brothers, Cam saw Pete head in Oscar’s direction. That looked like trouble. Trouble she was happy not to be part of.

  Cam had one hand on the door of her truck in the church parking lot when Ruth hailed her. Cam waited until she came closer. “How’d it go?” she asked.

  Ruth leaned on the truck, next to Cam. She folded her arms over her red wool coat and stared into the snowy woods across the road.

  “He’s lost it. He sounded pretty rational in the service, except for calling his militia group a ‘club,’ ” Ruth said. “But to me during the reception? He ranted on about starting a new life, about making amends. He wasn’t making much sense. His so-called amends didn’t include apologizing to his daughters for leaving them, I noticed.”

  “He’s even skinnier than he used to be.”

  “Yeah. And he split as soon as he could.” Ruth shook her head slowly, a sad look on her face. “I guess it’s time to file for divorce. I don’t know what I was waiting for.”

  “Hang in there, girlfriend.” Cam slung an arm around Ruth’s shoulders and squeezed. They were nearly the same height, although Ruth carried a lot more padding on her big-boned frame. She’d always said it gave her more credibility in a department where she was the only woman. The guys could see that she wouldn’t be easy to push around physically, and she definitely wasn’t a pushover emotionally, either.

  “Thanks.” Ruth smiled with a pull to her mouth. “I always do, don’t I?”

  “And let me know when you’re good for that glass of wine,” Cam said. She detached herself and fished in her bag for her keys.

  “Let me check with my mom, see if she can take the girls this weekend. How does Sunday sound?”

  “Good, I think. I’m heading over now to visit Albert in the hospital. Did you hear what happened to him?”

  Ruth nodded. “Detective Pappas doesn’t seem to know yet if someone hit him or if he fell.”

  “Yeah, the doctor didn’t know, either. But when I called this morning, they said he was doing well. I hope he’ll be able to talk about what happened soon.”

  “I need to go home and get ready for work. Pulled second shift this week. I don’t know what I’d do without Mom’s babysitting services.” She blew out the sigh of a single mother. “Give Albert a kiss for me, will you?”

  Cam said she would. They exchanged a hug, and Ruth headed for her car. Cam climbed into the Ford and started the engine. She sat for a moment, letting the engine warm and giving her brain time to process everything. So Pete’s team had been trying to reach Richard. Interesting. But of course they would, since he and Bev had been talking about a financial transaction. And if Richard hadn’t lost his phone, why would he lie about it?

  Chapter 16

  Finding Albert became a scavenger hunt. After Cam left the church, she drove to the hospital.

  She rounded the corner into Albert’s hospital room, hoping to see him sitting up and feeling like his old self. She stopped short. The bed lay empty and appeared freshly made. Nothing occupied the bed tray, and no machines clicked or buzzed. Where had Albert gone? Had he had a relapse? Maybe they’d moved him to intensive care. She felt a welling of emotion. He had to be all right. They’d said just this morning he was improving.

  She made her way to the nurses’ station. “Excuse me. Where did Albert St. Pierre go?”

  “And you are?” A nurse in hot pink scrubs gazed up from the desk.

  “I’m his great-niece.”

  “Ah.” She checked a monitor. “He’s gone home.”

  “Home?” Cam gaped.

  The nurse swiveled on her chair to paperwork on the opposite desk. “Where he lives.”

  So they’d released him already. Cam drove to Moran Manor and went straight up to Albert’s room. Which showed no sign of his presence. Another neatly made bed, no lights, no laptop humming on the tidy desk. The white windowsill still bore traces of a dark dust, which, Cam thought, must be fingerprint powder. Where was he?

  She reversed direction, headed down the stairs to the reception desk, and asked for him. The middle-aged man on duty directed her to go downstairs.

  “What’s downstairs? I am downstairs.”

  “He’s in the care unit. Downstairs.” He pointed her to the elevator.

  She waited for the elevator, which seemed to take a year to arrive. She could ask the man what the care unit was, but she was too anxious to see Uncle Albert. She tapped her hand on her thigh on the ride down. The elevator opened to a counter labeled SKILLED NURSING. Now she remembered Uncle Albert talking about this area.

  “Is Albert St. Pierre here?” she asked. Only a distant whine of television programs emitting from a couple of the rooms disturbed the quiet. An older woman in a green flowered top, whose name tag read JUNEY, stood behind the counter. She wore dozens of braids, which were pulled back with a green scarf.

  She nodded. “He’s in room six. And none too happy about it,” she said in a Caribbean accent. When she shook her head, the beads at the ends of her braids clicked with the motion.

  Cam headed in the direction the woman had indicated. “Uncle Albert?” she called, poking her head into the room.

  “I’m here, consarn it.” He sat in a wheelchair near the window, with a blanket covering his lap. He wore pajamas and a robe, and a book lay open on the blanket.

  “You look much better.” She approached him, smiling, and perched on the end of the bed next to him. “They let you out so soon.”

  “Yeah, rush around here and there. My head hurts, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “Sorry to hear that. You hit your head pretty hard yesterday morning.”

  “No, it was last week.” He started to move his head and then winced. “That’s why I can’t understand why they won’t let me go upstairs to my own room.”

  He thinks he fell last week? She patted his hand, the age spots standing out among ropy veins. “I’m sure they’ll get you out of here soon. I bet they want to keep an eye on you for a few more days. Make sure you’re steady.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Do you remember what happened? When you hit your head?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. He gazed out the window for a moment and then back at her. “Well, I almost remember, and then it’s gone. I’d been reading and . . . and then . . .” He searched an empty memory. “And then I have no idea what happened.”

  “It’ll come back to you.” Cam smiled again. She hoped the memory would return, and soon.

  “Can you ask Juney out there to take those cats out of here?” He gestured to a plastic bag hanging from a cupboard handle near the door. “They’ve been fighting in that bag all day.”

  “Cats?” Cam glanced at the bag. It held something, but the bag was not moving. She was willing to bet it held socks and underwear brought down from Albert’s room. One hundred percent inanimate.

  “Oh, they’ve been making quite the racket.”

  Cam swallowed. “I’ll tell her.”

  He chuckled. “She’s kind of cranky. Go easy on her.”

  “Yoo-hoo,” a voice called out. Marilyn moved into the room, leaning on her walker, a high-class model that featured brake levers, a bright yellow plastic flower tied to one of the handles, and a seat in the front. “How’s my main squeeze?” She cocked her head and smiled at Albert.

  “A lot better now that I can see your beautiful face.” Albert beamed. “Come sit down.”

  Cam stood and made room for Marilyn, who locked the wheels on the walker and then slowly moved around to the front and sank into the seat.

  “Hello, Cam. How’s he doing?” Today she wore a red sweatshirt embroidered with flowers.

  “A lot better than when he was in the hospital,” Cam said.

  “I’m ‘he,’ and I can answer for myself, thank you very much.” Albert frowned at Cam. “I wish they’d let me get back to my own place.”

  “I’m sure they will soon. Listen, I’ll let you
two visit. I have to talk to someone upstairs. I’ll stop down here again before I leave, all right?”

  He nodded. He reached for Marilyn’s hand, eyes only for her. But before Cam entered the hallway, he called out, “Don’t forget to tell Juney about the cats.”

  Cam found the stairway and slowly climbed to the second floor. She hoped Albert would regain his faculties once he returned to his own familiar surroundings. It was odd that he made sense most of the time. But the business about believing he’d hit his head last week instead of yesterday, and about complaining about the party at the hospital and the cats fighting in a bag—that stuff seemed like hallucinations.

  For now, she needed to figure out what had happened to him. Emerging into the second-floor hallway, she checked the time on her phone. Residents might be in their rooms at this time. She had an appointment to meet Pete and Felicity at two, but a few minutes remained until then.

  She walked down to Albert’s room and then backtracked one room. She didn’t recognize the name above the memory box on the wall outside the room. She knocked on the door, anyway. No one answered.

  She moved to the door beyond Albert’s, which stood ajar. She hadn’t met this resident, either. She rapped on the doorjamb.

  A woman’s voice called out, “Come in.”

  Cam pushed open the door to a room arranged in the mirror image of Albert’s. A woman in a pink fleece top sat in an easy chair facing a television set. Her hands were busy crocheting with variegated yarn in the blue-green spectrum.

  Cam introduced herself, saying she was related to Albert. “I’m sorry for bothering you, but I wondered if you might have seen anyone out of place in the hall yesterday morning, before lunchtime.”

  “You’re Albert’s great-niece, then?” The woman turned her head toward Cam. “I’m Belinda Colby.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “I heard Albert took a fall. How is he?”

  “He’s downstairs in skilled nursing now. He’s much better. I’m sure he’ll be back up here before long.”

  “Good. He’s a lovely gentleman. Reminds me of my late husband, Ralph.”

  Belinda still hadn’t answered Cam’s question. She tried again. “I’m trying to find out if anyone visited Albert yesterday, before his accident. Did you happen to see anyone?”

  “Oh, no, dear.” Belinda’s laugh was a peal of bells. “I’m blind, you see.” Her hands kept working in unison on the project in her lap.

  Cam realized Belinda, in fact, wasn’t looking at her crocheting.

  “And I’m a bit hard of hearing, don’t you know, so I usually have my television turned up.”

  Cam’s heart sank, but she thanked the woman and left.

  She tried two more rooms. One resident said in a shaky voice that he’d been downstairs, playing bingo. The other door stood open, but the room held no occupant. It smelled of cleaning products, though. She hadn’t thought of asking the housekeeping help. She shook her head at her own cluelessness. She glanced to her left, down the hallway, and then to her right. At the end, where it took a turn, she spied the edge of a cleaning cart. Perfect. She headed in that direction.

  The sound of a vacuum came from a doorway. Cam knocked and stepped in. A young woman in dark blue pants and a matching polo shirt continued vacuuming near the far window. Cam moved farther into the room.

  “Excuse me,” she said, trying to be heard over the noise.

  The woman whirled. The wand hit a chair, and the vacuum fell silent. She placed her hand over her heart.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Cam said.

  The woman pulled out her earbuds. “No problem. Can I help you?” She had a broad face and high cheekbones. Her dark blond hair streaked back into a ponytail.

  “I’m Albert St. Pierre’s great-niece.”

  The woman smiled and nodded. “Albert. Very nice man.” Her smile turned to a frown. “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s much better. He’s in skilled nursing.”

  “Downstairs.”

  “That’s right. I wondered if you saw anyone near his room yesterday morning. Somebody who didn’t belong there.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. She shook her head, fast. “Nothing. Nobody.”

  “Are you sure? Had someone—”

  “Excuse me.” She stuck the earbuds in again, switched on the vacuum, and turned away from Cam, pressing the wand back and forth on the carpet with excessive force.

  Cam stared at her for a moment before leaving the room. She walked away, the sound of the machine echoing in her ears, masking the truth.

  Chapter 17

  “I’m in the lobby with Felicity. Where are you?” Pete’s voice coming out of her cell phone a minute later rasped harshly in Cam’s ear.

  “I’m heading down the stairs. Be right there.” She disconnected. He had a lot of nerve to be short with her. True, Cam had said she’d be available at two o’clock, but she was only a few minutes late.

  She clattered down the stairway. He stood with Felicity in the hallway leading away from the lobby. Felicity wore the same silk jacket with Japanese styling she’d had on at the memorial service.

  “Oh, good. There you are, Cam,” Felicity said with a smile. “We’re going to go into the Neighborhood. Come along.”

  Pete didn’t smile at Cam, although she thought she caught a glimpse of a message in his face. Longing returned? Asking forgiveness? Sorrow? She couldn’t tell. He gestured with his hand for her to precede him while they followed Felicity through a wide doorway. The door clicked shut behind them.

  “You need to use a code on that keypad to get out,” Felicity said. “It’s so the dementia residents don’t try to make a break for it.” She laughed, leading the way at a brisk pace.

  Two women sat slumped in wheelchairs in a small sitting room. A man shuffled toward Felicity and asked if she had a deck of cards. Felicity greeted him and said she didn’t have any.

  The man saluted. “Yes, ma’am.” He moved past them.

  “I think it’s best not to tell Dad that you’re with the police, Detective,” Felicity said, gazing at Pete. “If you don’t mind. I don’t want to upset him.”

  “No problem,” Pete answered.

  In a spacious room at the end of the hall, a large-screen television blared. The aroma of freshly baked cookies mixed with a faint smell of urine. Several residents sat in chairs facing the TV. A caregiver sat opposite a woman in a wheelchair, feeding her pudding from a little cup. Another woman sat next to Nicholas and sang “Silent Night” in a clear voice. She and Nicholas held hands.

  Felicity said hello to her father and kissed the top of his head. She also greeted the woman next to him.

  “I brought visitors to see you,” Felicity said, gently disengaging her father’s hand from the woman’s. “Let’s go somewhere a little quieter and talk.”

  He nodded, and she turned his wheelchair around. After pushing it to the far end of the room, she positioned him at a table.

  “Come sit down.” She waved Pete and Cam toward chairs and sat. “Dad, this is my friend Cam. You met her the other day. She’s the farmer.”

  “The farmer. Nice to see you again.” He smiled at Cam.

  “And this is Pete Pappas.”

  Pete extended his hand across the table to Nicholas. The two men shook.

  “Any friend of Felicity’s is a friend of mine,” Nicholas said. His voice quavered, and his eyes were rheumy, but he looked at Pete straight on.

  “Dad, tell Cam and Pete what you told me. What you saw on Sunday.”

  Nicholas’s face took on a lost look. “What happened on Sunday?”

  “Remember? The day our friend Bev Montgomery died. You told me you saw somebody go into her room.”

  “When I was looking at the pictures.” He nodded slowly.

  “What pictures were those, Dad?” Felicity asked.

  “The music ones.”

  “And you saw someone enter Mrs. Montgomery’s room.” Felicity
’s soft voice was full of caring.

  “That I did. But I don’t quite recall who I saw now.”

  Pete cleared his throat. “Man or woman?”

  “Somebody in trousers. I’m sure of that.” Nicholas’s gaze drifted to the action on the big screen. “It was an Indian.”

  “An Indian?” Pete said. He tapped a finger on the table.

  Pete’s habitual tapping didn’t distract Nicholas. Cam glanced at the screen. Fred Astaire was twirling Ginger Rogers in black and white. Nicholas hummed the tune they danced to as he swayed with the music in his chair.

  “Dad?” Felicity touched his shoulder. “Daddy, we’re still here.”

  “That’s lovely, dear.” He kept his eyes on the movie.

  “What did you mean by ‘an Indian’?” Felicity asked.

  “An Indian?” He kept watching the screen.

  “What was the person’s hair like?” Cam asked Nicholas.

  He kept humming and then asked in a faint voice, “What person?”

  The three stood in the lobby a few minutes later. Felicity spread her palms.

  “I’m sorry. I guess that wasn’t very helpful. Trousers, right? Who doesn’t wear pants these days?” She glanced down at her own denim skirt. “Well, besides me.”

  “What do you think he meant by the pictures?” Cam asked.

  “He played classical violin in the North Shore Symphony for many years. He loves those pictures on the second floor, the ones of the orchestras and such. And the cutouts of instruments.”

  “Bev’s room was on the second floor.” Pete scratched his head. “What would your father be doing on that floor? Is that even possible?”

  “An aide wheels him around the residence sometimes, you know, for a change in scenery.”

  “If a caregiver was taking him around, she must have seen the same thing he did,” Pete said. “I’ll get an interview with her. Or him. This could be the break we need.”

  “I have to run. Good luck, Detective.” Felicity shook his hand. “Bye, Cam. Let me know if you need any help on the farm.”

  Cam said she would. Pete also turned away. Cam reached out and caught his sleeve. He paused, facing her.