Farmed and Dangerous

by Edith Maxwell

  “Dasha, come here, boy.” When he obeyed, she patted him on the head. “Sit. Be my guard dog?”

  He lowered himself to his haunches, front legs straight, mouth open, arctic eyes fixed on her.

  “I’ll be right up. Stay.” Amazed at how well trained he was, she took a deep breath and ventured down the steps. The cool air smelled of dirt and something a little sweet, with a touch of rot. One of the squashes must have gone bad. She searched the shelves until she found a kuri with a bad spot. At least the squash didn’t touch any of its neighbors. Rot could spread and ruin an entire season’s worth of storage. She set the bad kuri on the stairs so she’d remember to take it up and compost it.

  She filled a bushel basket with the light tan butternut squashes, which were shaped like elongated incandescent light bulbs. Happily none of them showed any soft spots. She had lifted the bushel and was turning to climb the steps when a rumbling noise reached her ears. She froze. Her heart thudded at the sound of the barn door sliding open. She set the basket down slowly, quietly. Who had entered her barn?

  Dasha barked. Would he defend her? He had a sweet temperament. Surely Pete hadn’t trained him to attack.

  “Hey, Dash,” Pete called. “Cam? Are you here?”

  Pete. Only Pete. Cam exhaled and mustered her voice.

  “Down here.” She hoisted the basket and a moment later emerged from the cellar. “You about gave me a heart attack, Detective. I didn’t know who had come in here. And, you know, last time I went down to the cellar . . .”

  “Sorry about that. I was going to call first, but the day got away from me. In a good way.”

  Cam lowered the basket to the floor at the end of the table. “Oh?”

  Pete stroked Dasha’s head. “Yeah. We arrested Frank Jackson for Bev’s murder.”

  Cam moved to Pete’s side and squeezed his hand. “Congratulations.”

  “What you said about his film developing broke the case. We found his apartment over in Haverhill and discovered cyanide salts. He was heard threatening Bev.” He ticked the information off on his fingers. “He’s almost destitute and needed money for his debts with that Patriotic Militia group he and Bev both belonged to. And several witnesses, including you, placed him in the residence, in fact in her room, near the time of her death.”

  “Did you ever find the caregiver who was pushing Nicholas Slavin around?”

  “We did. It was one of the teenagers, a girl named Raya.”

  “She’s Ellie’s friend,” Cam said. “I saw her pushing him last Saturday, actually. I didn’t realize she did it regularly.”

  “She admitted that she left him belted into his wheelchair in front of the musical pictures and went off to the restroom to make a quick call to her boyfriend. She was appropriately remorseful. But she didn’t see Frank.”

  “Did Frank confess to the murder?”

  Pete frowned. “No. He claims he’s innocent. But they all do.” He let out a breath, which condensed in the cold air into an evanescent cloud. “Can we talk in the house? It’s cold in here.”

  “I know. It’s too big a space for the radiant heating to do much more than keep it from freezing. But I need to stay out here, because I’m not done arranging the shares. Come into the office. It’s warmer in there. Oh, wait. Look at this.” She pointed to the red threads. “Look what I found. It must be from whoever locked me in the root cellar.”

  He peered at them. “Good for you for leaving them there. Did you call it in?”

  “I called Ruth, but she didn’t call back.” Cam led the way into the office and perched on the desk. Dasha followed her and lay at her feet with his head on his paws. The smell of cold dog fur mixed with the full aroma of the moist growing medium. The seedlings had sprouted their cotyledons, and the tiny first leaves were happily greening up under the grow lights.

  Pete faced her, pulling the door mostly closed. He unbuttoned his coat and stuck his hands in his pockets. “That’s better. I have another interesting piece of news.”

  “You won the Powerball lottery?”

  “Close. We acquired a copy of Bev’s will. Which she’d changed only last week.”

  “Right before her death,” Cam said.

  He nodded. “She left her entire property to Richard Broadhurst. It’s notarized and legal.”

  “What?” She stared. “Not to be sold to him at a discount, but given as an outright gift? Why?”

  “We’re all wondering that. Didn’t you say he took her out last weekend, on the day before she died?”

  Cam nodded. “And somebody told me he’d been taking her out a lot recently. Oscar? Ellie? I can’t remember who told me.”

  “She left a note in the will about wanting the land to be farmed. Maybe she was trying to keep her daughter from developing it. Anyway, it doesn’t change the fact that we have a real suspect in custody.”

  “So I’m now a legally admissible date again?” Cam lifted her chin and smiled just a little.

  “You’d better believe it.” Pete sidled close to her. When he leaned in for a kiss, Dasha barked and tried to nose in between them.

  Pete smiled. “Somebody’s jealous.” The Dragnet theme rang from his pocket. Dun dahDUN dun. He gave Cam a quick buss, then retrieved his phone and connected.

  “Pappas.” He listened for a moment, his gaze on Cam, his face increasingly alarmed. “Yeah. Got it. Send someone over and keep me informed.” He pressed a button on the phone and stood in silence.

  “What?”

  “Someone reported hearing shots over at Broadhurst’s farm a little while ago. A neighbor called it in, said she heard gunfire from the house, and then Richard’s truck tore out of there.”

  Cam opened her eyes wide. “Rosemary, you know, the cook at Moran Manor? She said she was going home early today. She lives with Richard.”

  “You’re kidding. She must have lied to us about her address when we interviewed her.” He rapped his fingers on the desk.

  “She was trying to hide her relationship with him, but when I pointed out that she was the one who had nearly run me down over there, she admitted it. She also makes jewelry.” Cam felt her ears. “I bought these from her.” She waggled her head, and the earrings danced with the movement.

  “Jewelry makers also use cyanide salts.” He tapped the fingers of his right hand on the desk and looked uneasy.

  “I know. I read about it. Last night.” Cam frowned.

  “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

  “You’re the detective. I thought you’d know.”

  “Sure I knew. But I didn’t know that Rosemary makes earrings and lives with Broadhurst.”

  “And I didn’t know about the will. Richard could have pressured Rosemary to poison Bev so he’d get the land now rather than later.” A cold unease spread through Cam. “But you said you arrested Frank for the murder.”

  Dasha picked up his head and barked. He jumped to his feet and kept barking.

  “Dasha, quiet,” Pete said. “Hush, boy.” He grabbed Dasha’s leash and pulled him close.

  “Sounds like you two have things all figured out,” a voice boomed, and the door swung open. A grinning Richard Broadhurst, in his red work jacket, filled the space. “Too bad all that information is staying right here.”

  He slowly swung up his right hand and pointed a gun at Pete.

  Chapter 32

  Pete had been right about Richard. Now what? Cam’s breath came fast. The pulse in her neck beat even faster.

  “Calm down.” Pete held both hands up, with his palms out in front of his chest. He spoke in a low, calm voice. “Put the weapon down and let’s talk.”

  “Nah, I don’t think so.” Richard’s grin was demoniac. “Get your hands up. Straight up, or your girlfriend is going to turn out just like Tosca herself. You, too, Flaherty.”

  He stood only two yards away. Cam could smell him as she raised her hands above her head: stale smoke mixed with coffee and dirt. What she didn’t sense was fear. Except from herself. Sh
e’d seen Tosca with Great-Aunt Marie. The opera where Tosca famously ends up dead. How were they going to get out of this mess?

  Pete dropped the leash and slowly pushed his hands into the air. He glanced at Cam and then at Richard. “So what’s this all about?”

  “I came over to see Flaherty. Rosemary told me she’d been blabbing about living with me and making jewelry. The woman never could keep her lousy mouth shut. I figured it wouldn’t be long before Ms. Computer Programmer here put it all together.”

  “Put what together?” Cam demanded. She tried without success to keep her voice from shaking. The gun Richard pointed was a big one. A gun he knew how to use from his sharpshooter days.

  “You know. Who has access to cyanide. Hearing about the will. Me convincing my girlfriend to add a bit of her precious cyanide salts to Bev’s dinner made with your produce. The airhead named Rosemary would do anything for me. Calls it love.” He snorted. “And I couldn’t risk Cam telling anybody else, especially you, Pappas. But since you’re with her, you’re a nice little bonus for me.”

  “Why did you need to kill Bev now?” Pete stared at Richard. “She’d already left you the land in her will.”

  “Yeah. You know what a tough bird Bev was? She wasn’t going to croak for another couple decades. Out of sheer orneriness, if nothing else. And I happen to have some debts that just couldn’t wait. Rosemary would have been nailed for it if she hadn’t started talking.”

  “How did you get in without us hearing you?” Cam asked.

  “Let’s say I’m experienced.” Richard waggled his eyebrows.

  Cam watched his bravado. He’d been a master of bluff since she’d met him. He wouldn’t kill both of them. Anyway, Pete’s gun was under his coat. If she could get Richard’s weapon away from him, Pete could shoot him in the leg or something. But how could she get the gun? Think, Flaherty. Think. She swallowed hard.

  “We received a report of a shooting at your house right before you drove off,” Pete said.

  “Oh, I know. I saw my nosy neighbor staring at the house with her phone to her ear.” Richard flicked a piece of straw off his gun arm.

  Which was in a red sleeve. The threads Cam had found. It was Richard who’d trapped her.

  “Did you kill Rosemary Contini?” Pete asked.

  “What happened or didn’t happen is none of your business.”

  “It’s actually very much my business.” Pete smiled.

  “It won’t be in a few minutes,” Richard spat out. His bonhomie from a moment ago had been replaced by a mouth that had tasted bitter fruits.

  “You locked me in my root cellar.” Cam stared at him.

  “You were asking too many questions,” he said with vitriol. “Thought it’d be good to get you out of circulation for a while. Not long enough, as it turned out.”

  Dasha stared at Richard and growled, with his ears laid back and flat against his head. Richard lashed out his foot and kicked Dasha, who whined and shrank away.

  Cam gasped. “Don’t kick him!”

  “I’m doing whatever I want. See this?” He waved the gun while still keeping it trained on Pete. “It’s my ticket out.”

  “You’re okay,” Pete said, gazing at the dog. “It’s okay, buddy.” He turned to Richard. “Your ticket expired a long time ago, Broadhurst. My department is fully aware of the miserable state of your finances. It’s public knowledge that Ms. Contini lived with you. Bev Montgomery changing the disposition of her estate has no chance of standing up in court. Killing us will only make it worse for you. A lot worse.”

  “Not if it seems like one of you shot the other. Let’s just say Pete accused Cam of murder, and Cam grabbed the gun and shot him, then, in a fit of remorse, turned it on herself. Like I said, just like Tosca, except with the help of a gun.”

  “That might work on the stage, but nobody will believe it here. And your firearm isn’t exactly a police-issue service revolver.” Pete started to lower his hands.

  “Get those hands back up,” Richard barked. “No, this isn’t a police weapon. But yours is, isn’t it?”

  Pete shook his head with a sad look.

  “What are you shaking your head for?” Richard asked.

  “Not carrying.”

  Cam’s heart sank. They didn’t stand a chance if Pete’s gun wasn’t in his shoulder holster. Why had he removed it?

  “What?” Richard switched the gun to point at Cam. He reached over and felt Pete’s sides under his coat. “Where is it, then?”

  Pete shook his head again.

  “Never mind. I’ll figure something out,” Richard said. “Both of you, move out into the barn. I can’t think in that little space.”

  Cam hesitated. She glanced at Pete, who gave a little nod. They might have a better chance of overcoming Richard out in the open.

  Richard waved them through the doorway, first Cam, then Pete. Dasha stayed put, but his gaze didn’t waver from Pete.

  “And don’t try any moves, or I’ll blow the closest head off. Could even be Doggy’s.”

  He prodded them a few feet away, into the corner near the wall where Cam hung her hoes and shovels.

  “Don’t shoot Dasha, Richard,” she pleaded. “We’re cooperating. And he didn’t do anything.” Her hands were growing numb from holding them in the air. Her shoulders ached, and her throat thickened with fear. She didn’t know how Pete could appear so calm.

  “Come on out,” Richard said to Dasha but kept his gaze and the gun on Pete.

  Dasha didn’t budge. He growled again.

  “Call your damn dog,” Richard said in a deep voice, nearly growling himself.

  “Epithesi,” Pete said in an urgent tone.

  Dasha curled himself into a spring. He launched at Richard with bared teeth and a deep, rumbling snarl. His mouth clamped down on Richard’s pistol wrist.

  “Aii! Let go of me!” Richard yelled.

  The gun went off with a blast. Pete cried out. The gun went flying and landed somewhere with a clunk of metal. Dasha swung Richard’s arm this way and that, while Richard tried to kick himself free. Pete crumpled to the floor.

  Cam yanked at the nearest shovel on the wall, but it wouldn’t come off of its hook. She jerked it until it came loose. She shuddered, but she had to do it, and now. She swung it high and smashed the metal head with all her strength into the back of Richard’s head. He fell onto his side, and his head hit the floor with a thunk. He didn’t move. He was sprawled a few feet from where Pete lay, clutching his left arm with his right hand. Dasha kept Richard’s wrist clamped in his mouth and uttered a low, rumbling growl.

  Cam tossed the shovel down and knelt next to Pete. His eyes were open, although his face drew in with pain.

  “Are you . . . did he . . .” She could barely eke the words out.

  “He got my arm.” He gestured with his chin toward the top of his left bicep. He kept his other hand clasped there. Blood seeped out through his fingers.

  She tore her phone out of her pocket and pressed 911. She laid her hand aside his face while she waited for them to answer, her eyes hot with tears. Let him be all right.

  “Tie Richard’s hands behind him. Turn him onto his front,” he croaked out in a weak voice. “Get rope. Hurry. He could come to.”

  Cam rose, pressing the speaker icon on the phone. She laid it on the floor next to Pete and swallowed hard. She had to stay strong. Richard still didn’t stir. Dasha had let go of the wrist, but he stood guard over their attacker, his legs slightly splayed, every nerve at attention.

  “Good dog, Dasha. Stay right there.” Cam looked more closely at Richard but stayed a few feet away. His chest rose and fell over and over. Okay. Rope. Twine. Plastic line. Anything. Think, Flaherty.

  As she ran to the section of the barn where she kept supplies, she heard Pete give a terse account to the dispatcher. She returned to Richard with a length of clothesline. Standing behind him, with Dasha on the other side, she pushed with her foot and rolled him over onto his front. When she
leaned over to draw his hands behind his back, he grabbed her foot with his big, meaty hand and jerked.

  She lost her balance and fell backward, landing on her elbows, crying out. Her left elbow stabbed with pain. She yelled and kicked at him, but she couldn’t loosen his grip. He pulled her leg toward him. He began to roll over. She brought her other foot up and stomped down on his hand. He jerked her foot once more. This time she succeeded only in stomping her own shin.

  “Dasha!” she yelled.

  Dasha growled and leapt onto Richard’s back. He bit down on the nape of Richard’s neck with that deep, rumbling sound again.

  Richard screamed. He released Cam’s foot. She scooted in reverse on her rear to make sure he couldn’t grab her. She scrambled to standing, then grabbed the shovel again. She took aim, raised it over her head, and whacked down on his closest hand, which made a sickening crunch.

  He shouted in pain, a loud, high cry that pierced the air. He tried to grab Dasha’s leg with his good hand. She hurried around to his other side, giving his feet a wide berth. She took a deep breath and cracked the other hand, wincing at both the act and the obscenities he yelled. Finally, she knelt and brought both his hands, now limp, behind his back, working around Dasha’s feet. She used an excessive amount of rope to make sure she tied him up good and tight.

  She stood. Pete gave her the tiniest of smiles.

  Chapter 33

  The wide barn door slid open two minutes later. Cam glanced sharply up from where she knelt at Pete’s side, both hands pressing his wounds. She hadn’t heard any sirens. Richard moaned. Dasha growled. He had let go of Richard’s neck but kept his front feet on Richard’s back.

  “Cam? What’s going on?” Ellie rushed toward them.

  Cam let out a breath. Friend, not foe.

  Vince, a skinny teen with sandy hair poking out from a navy watch cap, followed Ellie in, closing the door behind him. Ellie’s hands flew to her face when she saw them: Pete bleeding, Richard tied up, Dasha standing guard.