Mulch Ado about Murder

by Edith Maxwell

  “You can tell the lead detective all about it. Let’s go.” Pete took a few steps toward Cam, but he kept his eyes on Carlos. “Sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Are you still taking Dasha?” She reached out and handed him his phone.

  “Yes. I’ll call in a cruiser and keep this idiot in my car while I wait for them. Why don’t you lock up the barn and head back to the house.”

  “Okay.” She was willing to bet Nicole had been dead and Carlos saw her that way. At least that was his story if Cam had interpreted his head shaking correctly. But was it true? And if it was, why hadn’t he called the police himself? Maybe he was afraid of being accused of the murder. Or maybe Nicole was his former lover and he was devastated by seeing her dead. Or maybe he’d killed her himself.

  She watched as Pete took Carlos’s arm and helped him stand, keeping Dasha next to his other side. She turned off the interior barn light and locked the door behind her, glad the moon made it easy to navigate through the area beyond the barn’s lights to the house. The driveway light illuminated Pete ushering Carlos into the back seat of the car. He closed the door, clicking the locks shut, and made his call, still holding Dasha’s leash. He beckoned to Cam where she stood at the back steps.

  She walked to his side. “What was he doing when you found him?” she asked in a whisper. “It’s scary that he tracked me down.”

  “The fool was crouching behind the house. I don’t believe a word of his story about why he was here. We’ll do a more thorough search in the morning.” He shook his head.

  “What do you think he meant, he never hurt Nicole physically?” A siren keened in the distance.

  “No clue, unless he was mean to her otherwise.”

  “So maybe he was the affair,” Cam mused. “And he cut it off because he had to go back to his wife, and doing that hurt Nicole emotionally. If he saw her dead but didn’t report it, he might have been afraid he’d be accused of killing her.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “Or maybe he did kill her. He’d definitely be afraid of being accused.”

  The siren grew near. A moment later a black Westbury Police cruiser pulled into the driveway, lights flashing. Two officers jumped out. The male officer hurried to Pete.

  “Cam, you can go in,” Pete said to her, squeezing her hand. He turned to the male officer. “I found the suspect trespassing. Ms. Flaherty was not involved.”

  “Yes, Detective.” The male officer’s respect for Pete was obvious on his face.

  Cam moved toward the steps to the back door. She paused on the landing, watching them transfer Carlos to the back seat of the cruiser.

  What had been Carlos’s purpose? And if Dasha’s earlier reaction this evening was any clue, he’d been on the property for a couple of hours. He’d tracked her down and had been sneaking around her house, which was too creepy by half. She shuddered, glad that threat was over. At least for tonight.

  Chapter 21

  Cam locked the door behind her, remembering when it seemed Preston had been taken by a predator in the woods. A human murderer had turned out to be the kidnapper, but she’d managed to rescue her cat in time to nurse him back to health. She’d been too late for the vandals who’d let her baby chicks die in March, enacting cruelty in the name of animal rights. The fox that had defended her own kit by breaking a rooster’s neck at around the same time? That was at least the natural order of things, in Cam’s mind. What a relief that Pete had found Carlos so she didn’t have to spend the rest of the night in fear of a vandal, whether person or animal.

  She sniffed and followed the tantalizing aroma to the kitchen. William stood at the counter buttering two pieces of whole-grain toast. Classical music floated in from the living room.

  “You can’t believe how good that smells,” Cam said. What it smelled like was her childhood. Every night her father would make them both toast before bed. Their similar tall, thin frames gave them similar appetites, what Albert used to call Hollow Leg Syndrome. Cam couldn’t help it if she was always hungry, especially growing up. And now she worked so hard physically she never had to worry about her weight, unlike some friends her age.

  “Want some?” he asked. When Cam nodded, he popped two more pieces of bread into the toaster. He took one of the toasted pieces and handed her the plate with the other.

  “I guess dinner was a while ago,” she said, before crunching off the corner of her piece. He’d applied exactly the right amount of butter, now melted into the crispy crumbs.

  William swallowed his bite. “What’s up with the police outside? I was watching out the window until the toaster dinged.”

  “Pete found that guy Carlos snooping around the barn.”

  “Is that so? I didn’t hear a thing. Because I was listening to music, I guess. What did the man hope to accomplish?”

  “He wouldn’t say. But Pete’s going to be letting Ivan know all about it.” She took another bite of toast, thinking as she chewed. “If Carlos killed Nicole, he seemed awfully mild mannered for a murderer. He didn’t have a gun, and he looked terrified after Pete wrestled him down.”

  When the toaster dinged again, William extracted the next two pieces. As he buttered them, he said, “You certainly lead an exciting life, Cameron. Murders and prowlers and all what not.”

  “It’s not by design, Daddy. This stuff just happens.” She leaned an elbow on the counter and watched him. “Mom’s still hiding something from us. From me, anyway. Do you know what it is?”

  “No, honey. She’s not telling me, either.” He handed her another piece of toast.

  “Has she ever had a problem with drugs? I mean, illegal ones?”

  William stared at her. He laughed. “Are you kidding? She won’t even take an aspirin. The woman lives a clean life. I’d have thought you’d know that.”

  “That’s what I figured. But I haven’t spent that much time with either of you for years. She could have changed. She’s changed in other ways.”

  “Did Pete ask about Deb and drugs?” He tilted his head and frowned.

  “Yes, but that’s his job. That’s how a detective’s brain works. Always asking questions.”

  “You can tell him the answer to that one is a dead-end alley going nowhere.” He finished the last bite, dusting off his hands on the sides of his pants.

  Cam watched fondly. Her father, never even remotely a fashion plate, usually had light stains on the hips of his pants from that very habit.

  “But what about this Page character?” he asked. “Think he would have murdered a woman he perceived as threatening his business?”

  “I sure hope not, although he’s clearly having money problems from the costs of his wife’s care. But remember at the dinner with Albert? He said he’d never met Nicole. So why did he know about her all-new equipment?”

  “I noticed the same thing,” William said. “He tried to rescue himself. I suppose he could know what it looks like from catalogs and such. Regardless, I hope your Pete and colleagues check Page out. I find something a bit off about him.”

  “I do, too.”

  He yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth. “I’m going to bed, my dear. Catch you in the morning. We’re going to that parade, right?”

  “Yes. Have a good sleep, Daddy.” Cam kissed her father on the cheek before he ambled out of the kitchen. She wasn’t feeling at all sleepy, herself. She found her mug from earlier, made a fresh cup of lemon-ginger tea, and added a couple of glugs of rum. She took it to the couch and curled up in the corner. Preston jumped up and climbed onto the back of the couch behind her, purring into her ear. Her phone sat on the end table where she’d left it. Jake seemed to know Carlos pretty well. Perhaps he’d be willing to talk about him. Now that she and he were friends.

  She tapped out a text.

  Wondered if you’d talk with me more about Carlos Griffith. Call me?

  She hit Send and waited a couple of minutes, but he didn’t answer. He might still be winding down the dinner hours at
the restaurant. Or he might not want much contact with her. Maybe he didn’t really mean it when he’d told her not to be a stranger.

  She still wanted to learn more about Carlos. She hadn’t talked to Bobby in a few days. He might know something he’d be willing to share.

  She pressed his number. After the call connected and they exchanged greetings, Cam said, “How are you doing, my friend?”

  “Could be better. I spent half the day with my aunt. She’s a mess because she can’t understand why they won’t release the body to her. She wants to arrange the wake and the funeral mass.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “But life goes on, doesn’t it?” His voice was more subdued than usual. “And tonight’s been good. Tell me how you’re doing. How’s the farm?”

  “The farm’s fine,” Cam said. “And I’m all right, I guess. A lot is going on. You probably know the police haven’t made an arrest in Nicole’s case.”

  “Yeah. That’s not helping my aunt cope, either.”

  “So I’m trying to figure out a few things. Maybe I can help.”

  “Why am I not surprised? You’re being careful, right, Cam?” Bobby asked.

  “Of course.” She crossed her fingers. Again. “Listen, what do you know about the guy Nicole had an affair with?”

  “I don’t know much. They met at a weeklong Catholic retreat in Florida. A renew-your-faith kind of thing. He’d gone without his wife, and Nicole was without Rudin, of course. I guess Nicole and this dude just fell for each other.”

  “And then he went home to his wife and that was it?”

  Bobby laughed. “Not exactly. They kept seeing each other on the sly for a while. It motivated Nicole to finally divorce her abusive husband.”

  “Rudin hit her?”

  “No, but he was raking her over the coals psychologically. She’d had it and told him so.”

  That seemed to fit with how Rudin was acting toward Geneva at the brewery. “What about the new guy?” Cam asked.

  “That was the problem. He decided he needed to go back to his wife. Broke Nicole’s heart, but it also gave her freedom to do what she wanted.” Bobby’s voice creaked at the end. He made a squeaky noise, then fell silent. After a moment he sniffed. “I’m sorry. We were just so close, you know? Me and her. She’d moved up here, opened her business. Her life was looking up. And then, boom. She’s dead.”

  “I know. It’s awful. Bobby, do you know the name of the guy from the retreat?”

  “No. She never told me, even though we shared all kinds of other stuff. Said she had to protect him.”

  “She never mentioned a Carlos? Carlos Griffith?”

  “Carlos Griffith? I don’t think so. Who is he?”

  In the background Cam heard a woman’s voice say, “Carlos?”

  “Hang on a sec, Cam. Somebody here wants to talk to you.”

  A second later Lucinda came on the line. “Fazendeira, why you asking Bobby about Carlos?”

  Cam’s eyes flew wide. “Whoa. Let me recalibrate here. First of all, why are you at Bobby’s?”

  Lucinda laughed. “I’m gonna put you on speaker.”

  Cam heard the sound quality change.

  “Remember I told you I might have somebody?” Lucinda asked.

  “Sure. And it’s Bobby?”

  “Yup,” Bobby chimed in. His voice made it clear he was smiling.

  “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me,” Cam said, smiling herself. “You guys could have, like, told me, though.”

  “We were gonna,” Lucinda said. “But what’s this about Carlos?”

  “You know Carlos, Luce?” Bobby asked.

  Cam kept smiling. If Bobby had a nickname for Lucinda, clearly something good was under way.

  “Yeah, like I told Cam. He’s half Brazilian. And the Brazilian community around here, well, people know each other.”

  “Got it,” he said.

  “I was wondering if Carlos Griffith was the man Nicole Kingsbury had the affair with,” Cam continued.

  “Why him?” Bobby asked.

  Cam ticked it off on her fingers. “One, I saw him outside the greenhouse that afternoon, right before I found Nicole dead. Two, he’s apparently a devout Catholic like Nicole was. Three, he was prowling around outside my house tonight. After Pete caught him, Carlos said he’d heard I was asking questions. When we asked him, he said he wanted to tell me he was innocent and that he never hurt Nicole physically. So I did some simple addition and he turned up as the sum.”

  Bobby whistled. “It fits, doesn’t it? When he left Nicole to go back to his wife, it would have hurt my cousin emotionally. That must be what he meant.”

  “I’ll ask around,” Lucinda said. “If he was pegando another woman—”

  “Pegando?” Cam interrupted to ask.

  Lucinda laughed. “You know, sleeping around. If he was doing that, somebody in the Brazilian community’s gonna know.”

  “The thing is, if he wanted to talk to me, why didn’t he just come to the door? Or e-mail me, or call me. I run a farm. It’s not like I’m hard to find.”

  “And he’s outside your house in the dark on a Sunday night, no less,” Bobby agreed. “Something’s fishy with him, for sure.”

  “Let me know if you hear anything, okay, Lucinda?” Cam said.

  “You bet.”

  “See you at the parade tomorrow?” Lucinda asked.

  Cam groaned. “Of course. I told my parents I’d take them. Except I only have a million things to do on the farm at the end of May.”

  “It’ll be fun,” Bobby said. “Tell you what, we’ll come back with you after the parade and do some work, right, Luce?”

  “Sure,” she said. “It’s a holiday. I miss working in the dirt.” She had been one of Cam’s most stalwart volunteers last year when Lucinda was cleaning houses on a flexible schedule. Now that she was a school librarian, her free time was more limited.

  “That would be awesome. We can have a simple cookout, too. Good?” Cam asked.

  “Perfeito,” Lucinda said. “Perfect.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Cam said. “You guys have fun, now.” At the sound of Bobby’s laugh, she disconnected. What could be more perfect than two of her favorite people becoming a couple? Besides solving the mystery of a murder, that is.

  Chapter 22

  “Good morning, chickens,” Cam called as she unlatched the coop door at six the next morning. She’d forced herself to get up early so she could get a few hours of work in before heading downtown to the parade. “Come on out, girls. It’s another beautiful day in paradise.” And it was. The sun was just rising above the tree line, Baltimore orioles warbled their rich-throated mating calls, and the world smelled like growth and hope. Too bad a murderer still walked free.

  Hillary strutted down the ramp into the fenced area, followed by Mama Dot, with the rest of the hens hopping, flapping, and otherwise rushing into the fresh air. They hummed their gargling clucks as they foraged for fresh insects. Cam tossed in a bag of wilted lettuce and a couple of apples that had gone mushy, and watched as the girls rushed in for the treat. She took her bucket around to the people door on the back, emerging five minutes later with the container full of multihued eggs. All this daylight really upped the hens’ egg production, which had fallen off sharply during the short days of winter.

  She headed for the barn and filled the bucket with water. She grabbed the hoe with a blade shaped like a stirrup, plus a rake, and made for an area she’d tilled under last week. She needed to sow more bush beans, but the tilling had exposed a layer of weed seeds to the light, which resulted in a fresh crop of baby weeds she had to kill off before she planted.

  As she drew the stirrup hoe through the top inch of soil, cutting the tender weeds from their roots, she thought again about Carlos. Why in the world had he been trespassing last night? She couldn’t come up with a reason. And had they kept him in jail all night or let him go? Jake had never returned her text, so maybe he didn’t want to talk, o
r didn’t have any more information about Carlos. Too bad.

  Her thoughts went back to earlier in the day. Had Ivan located Rudin and Geneva? If so, had he learned anything from them? Also, why had Nicole moved back north? To be near the man who had ended their affair? Maybe she’d hoped to rekindle it. Or maybe she just wanted to get as far away from Rudin as she could. Her brain roiled with questions.

  Preston ambled up and sat on the dirt she’d just cleaned. “Hey, Mr. P,” Cam said. “What do you know?”

  He kept his thoughts to himself, gazing out at her through slitted lids.

  After she finished the first bed, she remembered Pete had said they’d do a more thorough search of her property this morning. She ought to do her own search first. Maybe she could save them the trouble. She left her tools on the ground and hurried back to the house. Pete had found Carlos crouching behind it. But why?

  Cam began at the corner of the house nearest the driveway. She walked slowly next to the south-facing back wall, examining the ground. She passed her gas grill and caught a glint of light from under it. But it was only an abandoned beer bottle, likely forgotten after one of her post work gatherings with her volunteers. Lilacs grew along the house, ones Marie had planted many years ago. A tall one bore cones of white flowers, another deep purple. Flowers from both were deeply fragrant, but their Mother’s Day blooms had passed by now. Although Cam focused on the ground, she didn’t see a thing out of place or strange. She passed under the kitchen window. She glanced in but didn’t see either of her parents, and moved on.

  She approached the next corner of the house. A flash of orange and black caught her eye, and she looked up at a high branch of the big sugar maple where one of the orioles had just landed. It groomed for a moment, then lifted its head and crooned out its song. When Cam looked down again, she spied a flash of color on the ground too. She’d had so many farm chores in October and November she hadn’t done a great job of cleaning up last fall’s leaves back here. Half hidden under a scuffle of yellow and brown leaves was a rosary. A rosary with a gold cross and tiny red beads dotted with black. A rosary exactly like Nicole’s.