Mulch Ado about Murder

by Edith Maxwell

  “Of course.” Cam took a deep breath. She headed for the other end of the structure. For the planting tables. For the vat of slurry. No, don’t go there, she scolded herself. She was here to pick up her flats and take them home. She arrived at the table to see her basil seedlings drooping, too. She could revive them with water and TLC. Cam glanced briefly over at the vat, but that space now sat empty. They must have emptied it and taken it for evidence. Now that she looked more closely, she could see traces of fingerprint powder, and small, yellow numbered markers like tiny road signs on the ground and on the shelves near where the vat had been. The police had done their work. With any luck they’d find their villain.

  As she slid the first flat onto her forearm, something fell to the floor. Cam stared at it, a stretchy piece of a rubbery material less than an inch wide and about eight inches long. She called out, “Ruth? Can you come back here, please?” She carefully laid the flat back on the table but in a different spot.

  A moment later Ruth, at Cam’s side, asked, “What is it?”

  Cam pointed. “There.”

  Ruth knelt, examining the object without touching it.

  “When I picked up the flat from this spot here”—Cam indicated the place on the table—“that thing fell to the floor, like it was tucked under it, or even hidden. I left it on the ground where it fell.”

  “It looks like a tourniquet,” William said. “Like what they use around your arm when you get blood drawn. We’re always getting tested for one tropical disease or another after we return home from our various sojourns abroad.”

  A tourniquet? Cam couldn’t think of a single use in a greenhouse, hydroponic or otherwise, for such a thing.

  “I think it could very well be a tourniquet.” Ruth stood. “Good catch, Cam. I’ll call in the team.” She twisted her mouth. “And now I’ll never get home.”

  “I’m sorry. I just thought—”

  “You did the right thing. I’ll ask you both to leave now, though, all right?” She turned away, pressing buttons on her cell phone.

  “Wait. Can I still take my flats?” Cam asked.

  Ruth frowned. “I guess. Ivan will come get them back if he needs them.”

  Chapter 19

  Cam and her father settled into her living room with mugs of steaming peppermint tea after Cam left the flats in her hoophouse with a good dose of water. She’d feed them with a dose of compost tea tomorrow to hit up the stressed baby plants with needed nutrients. She heard a knock at the door and glanced at the clock on the mantel.

  “Who’s here at eight-thirty?” she asked. A sudden rush of fear flooded her. She stared at her father. “What if it’s—”

  “Cammie,” he said gently. “Do you think a murderer is going to politely knock at your door?”

  “I guess not.” She laughed but could hear the nerves in her voice as she set her tea down and went to the door. She switched on the porch light and spied Pete through the door’s glass inset. Whew. She unlocked and pulled open the door.

  “Hey, stranger,” he said, wearing a chagrined smile.

  “Hey, yourself.” Cam stepped back to let him in. “Looks like you’ve been working.” He wore slightly rumpled detective clothes, not his usual Sunday faded jeans.

  He kissed her lightly before running a hand through his dark hair, which had acquired a few new streaks of silver. “I sure have.”

  “Come on in.” She gestured toward the living room. “My dad and I were just having tea. Want some?”

  “Sure, thanks.” He looked around, tilted his head, and frowned. “Where’s my boy?”

  “I’m afraid he’s in the barn.”

  “The barn? Was he bad?”

  “My mother has a real problem with dogs that I wasn’t aware of when you first brought Dasha over. She’s terrified of them. But he’s comfortable out there. He has his bed, food, and water.”

  “I understand. Anyway, I’ll take him home with me tonight.”

  “That you, Peter?” Cam’s dad appeared in the doorway to the living room. He held out his hand to Pete, who shook it.

  “Me in the flesh,” Pete said. “Good to see you again, sir.”

  “You guys go sit down,” Cam said. “I’ll get Pete some tea.”

  “I saw an intriguing bottle of Ipswich spiced rum in your liquor cupboard, Cameron,” William said. “I think a taste of that in our tea might be just the ticket.”

  Cam smiled. “Help yourself.”

  A minute later she handed Pete his mug and sat at the end of the couch facing him, curling her feet up. William stepped over and poured a splash of rum into Cam’s mug and his own.

  “Detective?” he asked, proffering the bottle.

  “Only a splash.” Pete extended his mug. “It’s been a long day and I still have to drive home.”

  Darn it. How much nicer it would be if he could settle in for the night. With her. But having him stay might feel awkward with her parents there, even if he could.

  William doled out a little rum to Pete before sinking into the easy chair.

  “How’s the Salem case going?” Cam asked.

  “It turned out to be a gang shooting. Nasty business, but we caught a lucky break and nabbed the guy who did it.”

  “And you must be off duty now or you wouldn’t be having rum, I daresay.” William regarded Pete over the top of his glasses.

  “That’s right.”

  Cam sipped her tea, letting the warmth of the alcohol spread its calm from the inside of her body outward. “Too bad Nicole’s death isn’t such a neat package.”

  “So I hear.” Pete cleared his throat. “I also caught wind of a couple of new pieces of information today. Ivan has been sending me updates.”

  William glanced toward the second floor. “I’ll be right back.” He headed for the stairs.

  Pete stroked Cam’s foot and smiled at her. “I’m sure Ivan and his team will have this wrapped up soon. Then you and I can get back to normal.”

  “I can’t wait. For so many reasons.” His hand on her foot was comforting, but also an alluring reminder of what else his hands did when she was alone with him. Her cheeks warmed as she told him about their trip to the beach and their dinner at the brewery.

  “I’ll take you to Throwback next chance we get,” she said. “Food’s great, beer’s excellent, and it’s a fun setting.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “And we ran into Nicole’s ex there today, too,” Cam said.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope.” Cam outlined their interaction and told him they had duly informed Ivan.

  “Did you just possibly know Brunelle was going to be at Throwback and that’s why you took your folks there?”

  “Of course not. Sim did tell me she’d given Rudin that brewery as one of several good places to eat. But it really was only chance that they showed up at the same time as us.” Which was true. Pete raised one eyebrow but didn’t challenge her on what she’d said. Whew again.

  William returned. “Deb’s sound asleep. I didn’t want to talk behind her back. But I imagine you heard that my wife told the detective she saw the ex-husband coming out of Ms. Kingsbury’s house.” He glanced at Cam and back at Pete.

  Should he be telling Pete that? Cam shrugged mentally. Too late now.

  “The thing is, we’re not sure she could have seen him unless she had some other business back behind the greenhouse,” he went on. “I feel like Deb is hiding something, but I don’t know what it is or why she would.”

  “Do you know?” Pete asked Cam.

  She shook her head. “Not a clue. I wish I did know.”

  “You probably shouldn’t have told me that,” Pete said to Cam’s dad. “On the other hand, Ivan is thorough. He’ll follow up with her.”

  “We found the oddest thing in the greenhouse tonight,” Cam said. “Ruth let us in, with Ivan’s permission, so I could retrieve the two flats of seedlings I’d taken to Nicole. When I picked up the first one, a stretchy band h
ad been underneath it on the table. It fell to the ground.”

  “A band like a tourniquet,” William added.

  “I can’t think of any use for something like that in a greenhouse,” Cam said.

  Pete sipped his tea. He set the mug on the coffee table, his expression serious. “Nicole could have misplaced a tourniquet near her planting supplies if she was shooting up. If she was injecting drugs.”

  Cam inhaled a sharp breath. Really? Nicole, an addict? “You mean like heroin?”

  He nodded slowly. “Like heroin. Or cocaine. Actually very few drugs can’t be injected.”

  “But Nicole was . . .” Cam’s voice trailed off.

  “You might be surprised at who’s an addict, Cam.” Pete’s tone was soft. “They don’t all look like a homeless person sleeping on the street. And heroin is a brutal habit to kick.”

  * * *

  The moon was tracking for heaven when Cam and Pete strolled out to the barn hand in hand at nine o’clock. They paused to gaze up at the disk the color of a shiny new dime. A narrow cloud floated over it like on a Halloween greeting card. Cam almost expected to see a black figure on a broom fly across the moon’s surface.

  “You had quite a day,” Pete said.

  “That’s for sure,” Cam murmured. “So do you really think Nicole might have been an addict?”

  “I don’t know. It would certainly complicate things. People on drugs operate in a different world than we do.” Pete squeezed her hand. “Her killer could have been a dealer she didn’t pay, or a fellow addict who couldn’t afford to buy what she had.”

  Cam faced Pete. “That guy Carlos Griffith. Maybe he was also into drugs. Maybe that was why he had gone to see her.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “I don’t really know how a person acts when they’re on drugs like that. The few times I was with Nicole, she was sort of speedy, moving with nervous energy.”

  “That’s a helpful piece of information. I’ll let Ivan know. But what about this secret of your mother’s? I don’t like it that she’s still hedging her story.”

  “I don’t either, Pete. She was honest with me this afternoon about her issue with dogs. For the first time. I hope she’ll keep talking to me from her heart.” A great horned owl called its low, mournful whoo-whoo-whoo from the woods as if it, too, wanted Deb to come clean.

  “I’d like to know what she’s hiding. And you can bet Ivan does, too.” They walked another couple of paces. He stopped and faced her. “Your mom. Do you have any evidence that would lead you to believe she’s using?”

  “Mom? Drugs? No way. She’s a super-straight arrow, Pete. Really.” Mom, a heroin addict? No way.

  “But you haven’t lived with her for a long time. How would you know?”

  Cam let out a breath. “She’s been here for a week and I haven’t seen any signs of drugs. But you’re right. I left for college about fifteen years ago, and I never lived at home after that. I only visited during vacations. Listen, I’ll ask my dad. He would know. They’re very close.”

  “All right. Keep me in the loop?”

  “Of course.”

  Dasha barked from inside the barn. Pete laughed. “He knows I’m here. Coming, buddy,” he called to the dog.

  Cam unlocked the door and slid it open to Dasha’s eager greeting. She flicked on the light switch inside as Pete knelt, burying his head in Dasha’s fur for a moment. He straightened when Dasha alerted. Ears forward, tail straight out, the dog stared out the open door into the darkness.

  “What is it, Dash?” Pete asked in a terse voice. Frowning, he kept his hand on the dog’s collar. “Cam, leash?”

  She grabbed the leash off the hook where she’d hung it and handed it to him, watching as he clipped the leash’s connector to Dasha’s collar.

  “He barked at something a couple of hours earlier, after we returned from the brewery,” Cam whispered. “I thought he was howling at the full moon, but maybe he knew something was out there.”

  “If it’s an animal predator, I don’t want my dog racing off to his death.” Pete rolled the strap around his wrist twice.

  Cam shuddered.

  “But a human would be a worse threat,” Pete continued.

  Dasha growled a low, guttural sound. Cam could swear he narrowed his eyes.

  Pete thrust the leash into her hands. “Take him, please. Stay in here. Got your cell?

  When she shook her head, he handed her his phone. “If I’m not back in five, call it in.”

  “Okay, but I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  He took her face in both hands. “I love you.”

  Her eyes widened. “I love you, too.” He really thought a threat could be outside, and he was protecting her. And Dasha.

  He took a step for the door. “Wait,” Cam called. She grabbed the flashlight she kept near the door and handed it to him. “In case you go around the back. The motion detector lights will go on in front here. Be careful.”

  “I will.” Pete rumbled the sliding door shut behind him.

  Cam sank onto an upended milk crate and stroked Dasha’s head, holding his leash in her other hand. The dog stared at the door, but he sat on his haunches and seemed to calm down somewhat. What could be out there? It must be an animal, because surely no person would’ve been lurking since seven o’clock, when Dasha had barked earlier. She checked the time on the phone. It had only been one minute. It felt like an hour. Was Pete still wearing his weapon? They’d had a very close call right here in this barn last January when a murderer had come after them, and Pete had left his gun in his car. Dasha came to the rescue that time. Maybe Pete should have taken the dog out with him.

  She stood. “I can’t sit down, Dasha.” She walked with him to the rear of the barn and back, over and over. All her senses were on alert. She could smell the rough-grained wood of the walls, the motor oil in her old tiller, Dasha’s breath. Her palm sensed every thread of the embroidered leash. She heard Dasha’s nails clicking on the wooden floor. She tasted the acrid flavor of her own nerves. She saw the specks of dirt on the tines of her pitchfork and a few spilled seeds on her planting table, each one as clear as if they were under a magnifying glass.

  Every time they neared the door, the dog strained toward it. Cam checked the time on Pete’s phone again. It had been four and a half minutes. Her heart pounded. Dasha barked. This time he refused to leave the door.

  A man yelled outside. Pete? She grabbed the door handle. It stuck an inch into its tracks even as she heard another yell. Frantic, she shoved it closed again. She forced herself to slow down and slide it with more care until it opened wide.

  She gasped. In the yard about ten yards away, in the shadows cast by the moonlight, Pete and Carlos Griffith grappled on the ground.

  Chapter 20

  Dasha strained at the leash. “Pete!” Cam ran toward the two men. Her heart thudded against her ribs. The motion detector lights flamed to life.

  “Stay back, Cam,” Pete yelled.

  She halted and gripped Dasha’s leash. “Sit, Dasha,” she commanded, but he stayed on his feet, quivering to join his master. She pulled out the phone to hit nine-one-one when Pete wrestled Carlos face down on the ground. Pete set a knee on his back and twisted one of Carlos’s arms behind him.

  Carlos turned his head to the side. “I didn’t do anything,” he said in a rasping voice.

  “You were trespassing on this property.” Pete called out, “Dasha, come.”

  Cam let go of the leash and Dasha streaked toward Pete. Her hands were almost numb from the adrenaline of the moment, but her heart rate began to slow. Pete was all right.

  “Sit, Dash,” Pete commanded. He released Carlos’s arm and patted him down. Carlos wore a long-sleeved shirt tucked into jeans, with nowhere obvious to hide a weapon. Pete stood. “This dog is trained to attack on my command.”

  It was true. Cam had seen Dasha in action last winter. Pete had trained him well. But what was Carlos doing on her property at night?

&
nbsp; “Roll over and sit up.” Pete watched Carlos carefully as he maneuvered himself to sitting with his arms on his raised knees.

  Carlos’s face glistened with sweat. He patted his right pants pocket. His eyes widened, and his hand was about to go into the pocket.

  “Freeze,” Pete commanded. “Keep your hands on your knees where I can see them.”

  Carlos seemed to sag with despair, but he did as Pete said. What did he need from his pocket that was so important? It didn’t look like he had room for a gun in there, and anyway, Pete had checked for a weapon.

  “Cam, can you get cuffs from my car? Driver’s side door pocket. Not locked.”

  Cam gave the two a wide berth on her way to the car. She tossed the handcuffs to Pete from a couple of yards away.

  Pete drew Carlos’s hands behind him and clicked on the cuffs. “Now tell us what you were doing out here,” Pete demanded.

  “I heard that this woman was snooping around about Nicole’s death.” He gestured with his head in Cam’s direction. “I know she saw me that afternoon.” Carlos swallowed. “I wanted to tell her I’m innocent. I never hurt Nicole, not physically, anyway.”

  Cam shot a glance at Pete. “What do you mean?” she called out to Carlos.

  He didn’t answer.

  “That’s a funny way to get a message to someone.” Pete glared at him. “Poking around outside in the dark on a Sunday night. Why didn’t you just knock on the door?”

  “I was afraid . . .” Carlos’s voice trailed off.

  “Afraid of what?” Pete barked out.

  “I was going to talk to her, to Nicole. I went into the greenhouse but . . .”

  “But what?” Cam asked.

  He blinked several times, and a tic beat fast at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think I should say anything else.” Carlos clamped his mouth shut.

  “Was she still alive when you saw her?” Cam stared at Carlos.

  He stared back at her with the same haunted eyes as last week. He shook his head slowly but didn’t speak. Cam narrowed her eyes at him. She couldn’t figure out if he was shaking his head because he’d found Nicole dead or because he was refusing to speak.