“I have something to tell you,” she said. She glanced around the lobby. A woman about her age was signing in with her two young children. A caregiver held the outer door open for a stooped resident who was moving at tortoise pace with her walker toward a van waiting outside.
“This isn’t a good place to talk about us, Cam.” The lines around Pete’s eyes held care and sorrow.
“It’s not about us.” She lowered her voice. “I asked a member of the housekeeping staff if she’d seen anybody near Uncle Albert’s room yesterday morning.”
“You just happened to ask her?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Cameron, you know you shouldn’t be doing that. Asking around could be dangerous.”
Cam waved a hand. “Relax, Pete. I was only asking a few questions. I wondered if a resident saw the person who pushed him. I’m curious, okay? And he’s my dear old uncle.” Her throat thickened for the second time that day. She hadn’t planned on that. She cleared her throat and glanced away.
“I know how much you care for him. And this might be connected to the murder.” He rested his hand on her arm for a few seconds. “Tell me what the maid said.”
“Well, she said she hadn’t seen anything or anybody. But she looked and sounded alarmed.”
“What was her name?”
“I didn’t see a name tag. But she looked Russian. Or Slavic. You know, blond, high cheekbones. Younger than me.”
“We’ll find her. We couldn’t interview every single employee here or every resident. And, tough as this sounds, our focus has to be on finding Bev’s murderer. We’re not even sure someone attacked Albert. The doctor said the nature of his injury was inconclusive.”
“And Albert says he doesn’t remember. He was reading, and after that his memory is gone. I’m going downstairs now to see him again. I’ll keep asking him.”
“Let me know if he remembers anything.”
Cam nodded. “How’s Dasha doing?” She surprised herself by asking.
“He’s fine. A bit lonely.” He sighed. “Not a great week for me to be on a new case.”
“I suppose I’m still technically a suspect?” She supposed she was since he hadn’t said otherwise.
Jim Cooper chose that moment to pop out of his office. He walked by them right when Cam said the word suspect. Jim frowned and pursed his lips. He glanced at her and Pete out of the side of his eyes and hurried past.
“I suppose you are. But let’s not talk about it here. For obvious reasons,” Pete said, tilting his head in the direction Jim had gone. “I’m still on the clock, and my to-do list is huge. I’ll be in touch.”
Cam said good-bye and headed downstairs. When she got to Albert’s room, he was sleeping in the bed, the red plaid blanket now pulled up under his chin. Marilyn sat reading in a chair next to the bed.
“I came down to say good-bye,” Cam said. “Good that he’s sleeping, though.”
“Can you stay for a minute?” Marilyn asked.
“Sure. Thanks for keeping him company.” Cam leaned against the bureau.
Marilyn smiled. “I’m getting quite fond of him. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’m glad to see you both happy.” Cam smiled at her. “So was he still talking about the cats in the bag after I left?”
“I’m afraid so. The same thing happened to my late husband when they hospitalized him once for pneumonia. I’m sure Albert will be fine once he has returned to his own room. Don’t worry, dear. It’s part of being old.”
“Have you heard when he’ll get out of here?”
“A doctor stopped by in the last hour and said Albert should be able to go back upstairs tomorrow.”
“Great news.” Cam frowned. “I guess. But what if he isn’t safe in his room? What if he’s still . . .” In danger. She clamped her mouth shut. She wanted to add that she was worried. Whoever had whacked him on the head might appear again and finish him off. But she didn’t want to alarm Marilyn and kept it to herself.
“Oh, dear. Do you think he wouldn’t be safe up there?” Marilyn asked. “I suppose he could fall again.”
Cam realized that Marilyn was giving safe a different meaning than she had. “I could have him stay at the farm with me. I could take care of him there. At least until we clear this up.” Oops. “I mean, until he improves.”
“But would he be able to get around with his chair and his crutches? Is your house handicapped accessible? Do you have a ramp?”
“No, of course not. It used to be Albert’s house, but that was before he lost his foot.”
“Something to consider, dear.” Marilyn glanced at the snoring Albert with a fond smile. “He gets very good care here, you know.”
“I’ll go home and check the house from his perspective. He might not want to come, anyway.” She pushed her hair off her forehead. “Did he tell you anything else about his fall?”
“No. But if he does, I’ll give you a ring. What’s your number, Cameron?” Marilyn pulled an iPhone out of her handbag.
“You’re up on the latest technology. I’m impressed.”
“You know, I can enlarge the numbers and the print on it so it’s easier to read and type. And this way I can text with my great-grandchildren. We really enjoy our little shortcuts. Like lol.”
“You mean ‘laugh out loud’?”
“No, no. It means “lots of love.” Isn’t that cute?” Marilyn poised a finger bent from arthritis over the phone and looked up expectantly. “Now, give me your number.”
Chapter 18
Cam held the pen above the sign-out book and then paused. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind the receptionist’s desk. It read three o’clock. She didn’t need to get home to the chickens yet. There had to be someone who knew what had happened to Albert. Pete’s priorities were with the murder case, as he’d made clear. If anybody was going to figure it out, Cam would have to be the one.
She had never paid much attention to the caregiver staff beyond Albert’s and didn’t know whom she could ask. The high school kids, including Ellie, wouldn’t have been around in the mornings. The housekeeper had been unhelpful to the point of hostility.
“Heading home?” The man behind the desk smiled brightly at Cam.
Oscar walked down the hall, pushing an empty wheelchair.
“Not quite yet.” Cam laid down the pen and set out after him.
“Oh, Oscar,” she called.
He looked over his shoulder with a quick glance, then disappeared around a corner.
Cam hurried after him. She rounded the same corner. The wheelchair sat abandoned. A door swung back and forth with a quiet swish at the end of the hall. The kitchen door. Cam hurried down and pushed it open.
The stainless-steel counters sparkled, the floor shone, and an enormous Dutch oven simmered on the ten-burner industrial stove, but the room was empty. Cam sniffed. Mixed with the aroma of dinner was the scent of fresh air. She navigated through to the rear door, which was propped open a few inches.
Oscar stood on a covered open-air porch with arms folded, a lit cigarette between the fingers of one hand. He saw her, then took a drag.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Flaherty.” His breath mingled with the exhaled smoke and seemed to hang in the frigid air.
“Call me Cam.” She joined him, then hugged her own arms around her, which was feeble protection from the cold. The porch consisted of a roof over a concrete deck with a wide apron and three stairs leading down to a parking area.
“Cigarette, Cam?” he asked, his tone as cold as the icicles hanging from the eaves.
“No, thank you.” Cam remembered his temper from the first day she’d met him. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, after all. But she should be fine. They stood right by the kitchen, and the door was propped open.
“Are you chasing me down or something?”
“I wanted to ask you a question.”
“I seem to be very popular for being asked questions these days. I’m getting a little tired of it. Tall black
man who delivered the poisoned dinner is everybody’s favorite suspect.” His mouth pulled down in displeasure.
“I’m actually trying to find out something different. And I don’t suspect you of anything.” He’d never talk to her if she let on that she considered him an attacker.
“All right. Let’s have it.” He took another long drag. He dropped the butt, ground it out with his heel, and then slipped it into a sandwich bag he drew out of his pocket. He glanced at Cam. “Not supposed to smoke anywhere on the grounds. Good thing there’s no camera out here.”
“You know my great-uncle had an accident yesterday morning. I wonder if someone might have pushed him or hit him on the head. Did you happen to be in the hall where his room is? Did you see anybody go in or out of his room? I mean, somebody who didn’t belong there?”
He gazed out over the snow-covered field beyond the parking area. “No. Didn’t see anyone. I was on the second floor, collecting breakfast trays, too.” His voice grew more gentle. He gazed at Cam. “You know, he’s old, and he’s missing a foot. He probably fell.”
She sighed. “I suppose. I’d hate to think he’s still in danger, though. If someone hit him once, perhaps hoping he’d die, they could come after him again once he’s back in his room.”
“I’ll try to keep an eye on him. Listen, I’ve got to get back to work. The gentleman who needs a chair will be wondering where I am.” He popped a breath mint, then held the door open and followed her through.
Jim Cooper stood in the kitchen, speaking with Rosemary, whose hands disappeared into a deep bowl full of dozens of carrots submerged in water. She made scrubbing motions.
Jim frowned at Cam. “What were you two doing out there?”
“Just having a chat, Jim. No worries,” Oscar said. He disappeared into the hallway.
“And you, Cam? I’m not sure I want you hanging around here. The residents are nervous enough as it is.”
“I’m trying to figure out if somebody hit my great-uncle on the head or if he fell. Nobody else seems to be looking into—”
“Certainly he simply fell,” Jim said.
Cam frowned at his interruption. “How can you say that? We don’t know what happened in his room.”
“Perhaps he had a TIA.”
“TIA?”
“Transient ischemic attack. A ministroke.”
Cam glanced at Rosemary, who now chopped the carrots with a gleaming knife and quick motions.
“The doctor didn’t say anything about that.” Cam looked at Jim.
Jim pressed several fingers on his left eyebrow. “Well, from now on, when you come here, please try simply to visit Albert and then go home, or I’ll consider revoking your visitation privileges.” He bustled out of the kitchen.
Cam stared at the door, shaking her head. “What a . . .”
“Not the easiest man in the world,” Rosemary said.
“Can I ask you a question?” Cam leaned a shoulder against the wall and watched the cook at work.
“You just did.” Rosemary didn’t look up from her cutting board.
She ignored the jab. “You know I brought over clean organic produce for the dinner. Would you put in a word with Detective Pappas that the food I delivered couldn’t possibly have had toxins in it? I’m still considered a person of interest, and it’s ridiculous.”
Rosemary snorted. “You’re not the only one. He’s suspicious of me, as well. You think my word would carry any weight with him?”
“He suspects you?” Cam asked.
“I didn’t have a reason in the world to knock off that poor lady, cranky though she was. But I made the dinner.” She glanced up from the growing pile of orange-colored bits. “And how do I know what was in your produce? No, I won’t be putting in a word for you. Let them catch the real killer and we’ll all be off the hook.”
Chapter 19
Cam arrived home and changed out of her nice clothes into jeans and an old sweater, glad to be home alone again. It’d been a long day, spent mostly talking to people. She’d read an article once about introverts and extroverts. Being around others fed the extroverts. For her, socializing and being in the company of folks, even those she knew and liked, drained her and made her hungry for solitude.
School should be out by now. She pressed Ellie’s number, but the girl didn’t pick up. She took a minute to walk through the farmhouse, with an eye to Albert navigating it in a wheelchair or on crutches. Marilyn was right. Not only would he have to get up the outside stairs, but also the only bedrooms were on the second floor. The couch in the living room wasn’t a sofa bed, and she couldn’t expect an elderly man to sleep on those narrow, sagging cushions. But if he wasn’t safe at Moran . . .
She shook her head. After grabbing the egg bucket, she stuck her phone in her pocket and headed outside. What with Albert’s health, plus a murderer on the loose, she didn’t want to be without the lifeline of a cell phone even for a few minutes.
In the coop, in air becoming fragrant with the sharp tang of fresh chicken poop, she gathered all the freshly laid eggs from the past few days. She would clean up the droppings later in the week, when the weather warmed to double digits again. Definitely not today, though. She fed and watered the hens and closed them in, grateful the birds were all still alive, then carried the bucket to the barn to wash the eggs before she stowed them in the egg fridge. She slid open the wide barn door a few feet and slipped inside, then switched on the light and closed the door behind her.
“What the heck?” On the floor in front of her were two cat carriers. And the carriers were emitting the funny gargling speech of chickens. “Who’s leaving me more hens?” An envelope sat on top of one carrier. She extracted a piece of paper and read.
Our donation to your farm! We find we can’t keep these hens in our backyard, after all. We didn’t realize how much work they are, and we’re headed to the Bahamas. Thanks for giving them a good home. Their names are Eunice, Sylvia, Ruffles, and Linda. Thanks.
The note had been signed “M&M.” Great. She had no idea who M and M were. The hens in the coop behind the barn had been rescued from certain death last fall. She supposed these had been headed for the same fate, except for different reasons. These were the fault of irresponsible owners who’d thought a few gallinaceous pets would be fun, until reality sank in.
She filled the egg bucket with water, then knelt and opened the door to one of the carriers. It held two birds. She was surprised they weren’t wearing little name tags. The other carrier held two more. They were interesting-looking breeds. The silky golden one with a beard might even be an Ameraucana, the stupid but winter-hardy breed with the blue eggs. If she put them in the coop tonight, they might start fighting. If she left them in their cages, they could peck each other’s eyes out or feathers off. And if she let them loose in the barn, they could end up eating something they shouldn’t or getting stuck under the tiller. Plus, the air wasn’t at all warm in here. But what if her current flock didn’t like the new girls on the block? She sighed and pulled out her phone. She pressed DJ’s number.
After she explained what she’d found, she said, “Will it be all right to put them in the coop with all the others?”
“It should be fine. They might peck at each other a little. But it’s better than keeping them in those carriers—that’s way too small of a space.”
Cam thanked him. “Plus, we’re down one, anyway.” She told him the story of TopKnot’s freezing death.
“No worries. These things happen.”
“Speaking of hens, somebody left a comment on the farm Web site, asking if our eggs were vegetarian. That is, if the chickens are.”
“We talked about that, right?”
“Right. I was glad I had an answer, and wanted to thank you. Some people are just clueless.”
DJ laughed. “Hey, while we’re talking, let me tell you what my brother said about Ginger Montgomery.”
“I’m all ears.” She perched on a salt marsh hay bale away from the door.
/>
“I told you Eddie worked on that housing development she did in Newburyport. He says he’ll never work for her again. She cut corners, even with safety stuff, just to spend less money. She used cheap building materials and told them not to bother fixing stuff like cracks in the foundation. Said to just cover it up.”
“Sounds like bad business practice to me. That’s got to bounce back at her one of these days,” Cam said.
“You’d think so, right? One time he overheard her talking on the phone to somebody about a loan she was supposed to be repaying. Eddie said she didn’t seem particularly happy with whatever she was hearing on the other end of the line.”
Cam thanked him and disconnected. After she washed the eggs and refrigerated them, she carried the new members of her chicken family out to the coop. When she opened the door of the first carrier inside the coop, the birds didn’t want to come out. She left the carrier on the floor with the door ajar. After she opened the other carrier, those two marched right out and started exploring. Hillary hopped off her roost and went to greet them with a few pecks. She cocked her head, as if studying their résumés, then returned to her nightly resting spot. The new ones apparently passed the test of membership. Cam had no idea which named hen was which. When their personalities emerged as time went on, she’d rename them. She reached into the carrier on the floor and pulled out the two shy chickens, one by one. The second, larger one squawked and tried to peck Cam’s wrist, but when she set it down at the food tray, it stopped complaining.
She shut the coop again, dumped the empty carriers in the barn, and trudged to the house. Once inside, she cranked up the heat. She’d find a way to pay for the heating oil. Maybe next winter she’d put in a woodstove or one of those pellet stoves. For now, she wasn’t willing to sit around wearing gloves and a hat indoors.
Her stomach complained bitterly of emptiness. She rummaged in the freezer until she found the single serving of lasagna she knew she’d stashed, and started heating it in the microwave. She poured a glass of red wine and munched on crackers while she washed a couple of handfuls of her own salad greens. Which reminded her of what Rosemary had said, that Pete thought Rosemary was also a person of interest. True, Rosemary had made the salad. She could have easily added poison to an individual plate of greens. But why?
Farmed and Dangerous Page 13