Alexandra leaned in. “I’m active in an underground rescue league.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “That’s how I knew about Howard Fisher mistreating his pigs. And last night I got a text alert about a farmer who’s been busted for neglecting her chickens. Penning them up, starving them. The health inspector wants to destroy the birds, but it looks like our group can save them. Are you in?”
Cam sat back in her chair. She took another cool sip before she responded. “I really admire your tender heart, and I would love to have chickens on the farm. Everybody always wants to know when I’ll have local eggs. But how do we know we can save the hens? Does your group do it legally?”
“Don’t worry. It’s legal. We have it under control.”
“Are the birds diseased?” Cam wrinkled her nose. “And do abused hens ever lay eggs again after they get happy, or whatever their tiny brains understand as happiness? I wonder if you’ve thought about these issues.”
“Well, they aren’t diseased. If they were, they’d have to be put down. Like I said, we can pick them up tomorrow.”
“Who’s we?”
“Me, DJ—he’s a dude who works on urban farming issues—my sister, and a couple others. And from what DJ says, hens usually recover really well once they’re well nourished and protected.”
“And we’ll have to build a coop. That’s going to cost something.” Cam felt tired even considering the new venture. “How many birds are we talking, anyway? Ten or a hundred?”
“I think there are three or four dozen. You’ll need a covered run, too, so they won’t be picked off by hawks and stuff. But I told you, we have a team, and we’re going to do all the work.”
“It’s a lot to take on. I’m kind of overwhelmed by my workload even without chickens.”
Alexandra stood. “Are you in or not? These poor hens are going to die. Do you want their deaths on your head?” Hands on hips, she fixed Cam with a look that wasn’t hostile, but it certainly challenged Cam to answer.
“As long as you build the coop, find the food, and tell me how to take care of them, yes, I’m in.” Cam also stood. “Are you in for spending the day tomorrow building whatever our rescue fowl need?”
The younger woman beamed as she nodded.
“And will you go home right now and research what they eat? I need you to take the lead on this project.”
“You bet. I’ll borrow a car and pick up whatever the Agway down in Middleford has in stock for feed. Then we can figure out the most cost-effective place to order more from.” She reached out and wrapped her arms around Cam and then released her. “Thanks! I know you won’t regret it.” Alexandra hoisted her pack of produce onto her back and headed for her bicycle.
“Wait a sec. What local farmer is neglecting fowl, anyway?” Cam asked.
Alexandra paused for a moment and turned. “Bev Montgomery. Not good news, I know.”
Cam frowned in dismay. The mother of the man murdered in Cam’s hoop house earlier in the year was a troubled woman, but Cam wouldn’t have thought she’d be so hard-hearted as to starve a collection of chickens.
After Alexandra cycled away, Cam wandered out behind the barn. She had to figure out the best place to locate the chicken coop. Probably near the barn, so it would be easy to get to their feed. She’d need to install a small refrigerator in the barn to keep the eggs cool, too. Wait. Several dozen chickens? She might need a full-size fridge. She realized she had no idea how many eggs a few dozen hens would lay once they were healthy.
Even if Alexandra was positive this venture would work, Cam wasn’t so sure she should be taking on so much extra work. She’d been invited to share a guest table at the thriving Newburyport Farmers’ Market the next day as a trial run. The Tuesday market in Haverhill had started out the year as a bustling enterprise, but by the fall customer interest had dwindled. Some of the farmers had stopped coming, so then even fewer customers showed up. Cam didn’t know if it was the fault of Bev Montgomery, who was the market manager. Cam relied on a heavily traveled market day to bring in cash throughout the season. She might have to switch to the Sunday market instead. Bev wasn’t going to like hearing that Cam was both getting her hens and withdrawing from the market.
What the guest table also meant was that her day wasn’t over yet. She pulled her phone out and tried it. Grateful to see it working again, she checked to see who had called her when the phone dropped earlier. A message was from Lucinda, who said she’d be happy to come back and work for a couple of hours. There was one problem solved.
Chapter 7
Shadows were long by the time the two women called it a day. Cam would cut and bag salad greens, as well as herbs, early in the morning, before heading to the market’s opening at nine. She and Lucinda had loaded the truck with several bushels of squash. Leeks poked their pointy leaves out of a bucket of water in the barn. Buckets of kale and chard also stood ready, as did a basket of cured garlic. A flat box held berry boxes of Cam’s prize gold cherry tomatoes.
They’d even picked a half bushel of what Cam would advertise as “Organic Sauce Apples.” The fruit from the one antique tree on the property was mottled and dimpled, but it had a deep, old-fashioned flavor that made Cam want to wear a long skirt and have her beau take her riding in a surrey. She reminded herself once again to ask Albert if he knew what the apple variety was.
She thanked Lucinda for coming as they sat on the bench outside the barn. “Kind of nuts to do a market the day after pickup day, isn’t it?”
“You planted enough stuff, so you’ll be okay. I’ve been to the Newburyport market. It’s pretty amazing. Besides the produce, they got cheese makers, bread, wine, even live music. All local. And lots of customers, too. Feels kind of like a festival.”
Cam’s thoughts turned to Bobby popping out of the trees this morning and disappearing back into them.
“Can I ask you something?” Cam said. “You housecleaned for Irene.” She described the threatening note the tent guy had found the day before. “I’m thinking it has to be either for Irene or from her, right? Do you have any idea, you know, from being in her house, what that might have been about?”
Lucinda’s laugh was a peal of bells. “Seriously? I think she had a good heart, but she didn’t know how to get along with people. Everybody seemed to do the wrong thing in her eyes. I was the only one she wasn’t mean to.”
“Why?”
Lucinda raised both hands. “I didn’t let her push me around, I guess. She told me once I reminded her of her younger sister.”
“Maybe that was it.”
“I guess. But you shoulda heard some of the stuff she said about other people.” She shook her head. “Whoa.”
“Like what?”
“Like Bobby was a weasel, that he wanted her money without working for it.”
“I overheard something like that at the dinner. After she said it, he even suggested that maybe Irene had killed his father.”
“Yeah, she was always going on about that. She said, ‘Poor dear Zebulon, bless his heart.’ ” Lucinda had switched into a perfect imitation of Irene’s clear Boston Brahmin pronunciation. “ ‘He died of natural causes, and that Bobby shouldn’t soil his memory. ’ ” Lucinda snorted.
“But Bobby is such a talented carpenter. Look at this.” Cam gestured to the barn. “Why would she even want him working for her? And doing what? Selling textiles?”
“Irene was about seventy. I think she saw her own death coming. She didn’t have any children of her own. She built up the business by herself, and I think she wanted to leave it to somebody. But Bobby’s not the right one.”
“Who else did she mention when you were around her?” Cam asked.
“She had some kind of relationship with Fisher, the pig guy. I don’t know what it was. I overheard her talking about money to somebody named Howard once, and another time his truck was driving away when I arrived.”
“She probably bought pork from him.”
“Yeah.”
/> “I overheard Irene mention her real son. Did she ever talk about him?”
“No. But that Sim girl? The mechanic?” Lucinda wrinkled her nose. “Irene needed her to fix the Jaguar, but she was always ragging on Sim. Irene would pick up the car and call Sim once she got home, yelling that there was a scratch on the door or a bit of dirt on the floor mat. Once Irene gave me a ride home. We stopped by Sim’s shop, and Irene chewed her out. ‘Don’t you know this is a nineteen ninety Jaguar?’ ” Lucinda again imitated Irene’s patrician diction. She shook her head. “No wonder somebody killed her.”
After Lucinda left, Cam fixed herself a quick omelet with sautéed leeks, a bit of chopped rosemary, and the end of a piece of Brie. As she ate it with sourdough toast and washed it down with a glass of red wine, she reflected that sometime soon she could be making omelets with eggs from her own hens. An intriguing thought.
The temperature was falling. She went around closing windows, making sure they were all locked, before pulling on a thick sweater. She was beat, and tomorrow’s alarm would ring early. She sat at the computer and pulled up her e-mail to find a new one from her former colleague, fellow geek, and friend Tina, which read, Call me! So she did.
They chatted for a few minutes. Cam answered Tina’s questions about the murder, which she’d seen described on television, including the reference to Cam’s farm.
“So I got laid off last week,” Tina said. “ ‘Reduction in force.’ ”
“You’re their best coder. They’re idiots to do that. But you won’t have any trouble finding something else, I’ll bet.”
“It’s an occupational hazard of working in high tech. Anyway, I have some feelers out.” Tina laughed. “And for sure, I’m not taking up farming instead.”
“Hey, it’s working for me. Of course, having a great-uncle who offered me his farm right after I was laid off last year did help.”
“I’ve been meaning to say something about that goofy farm name you chose. You take a perfectly good name, Attic Hill Farm, and change it to Produce Plus Plus? That’s crazy stuff, Cam.”
“I know, but now I’m stuck with it.”
“Are you sure? You know we haven’t even coded in C++ since you left. It’s C Sharp now.”
Cam groaned. “Great. Maybe I’ll change it back to Attic Hill. I never did get around to getting a sign made for the road, and business cards are cheap.” Cam snapped her head to the right. There was a soft rapping on the glass of her back door. She checked the time. Seven o’clock.
“Hey, I gotta run,” Cam said. “Somebody’s here.”
“Hot date on a Saturday night?”
The rapping sounded again.
Cam called out, “Just a minute,” in the general direction of the door. “Not a chance,” she said to Tina. “I don’t know who it is, actually.” They said their good-byes, promising to get together soon, and disconnected.
Cam walked to the door and pulled aside the white lace curtain, another of Great-Aunt Marie’s touches Cam hadn’t seen any reason to change.
Nobody was there. But someone had stood near the house recently. The motion-detector floodlight illuminated the back porch and the brick patio beyond it. She unlocked the window next to the door and opened it slowly. She stuck her head out and looked both ways. She couldn’t see a soul.
“Hello?” she called out into the cool darkness beyond the pool of light. No answer.
Cam closed and locked the window. Maybe it had been Bobby, coming back to ask for help. Why hadn’t he stayed? He might have thought she had guests because she was talking on the phone. Who else would be rapping on her door if not him? She shuddered and shot the dead bolt.
Chapter 8
At two minutes before nine the next morning, Cam finished setting out her business cards on her table at the Newburyport Farmers’ Market. The other guest vendor had canceled, the market manager told her, so she was able to spread her wares out. A white tent top identical to the several dozen others shielded her from the morning sun. She fluffed up the lettuce heads and was straightening the bunches of leeks when the gong rang, signaling the start of market. Customers already milled about, chatting with vendors, hefting a fat eggplant here, a bunch of scallions there. Once the gong rang, business commenced.
The Herb Farmacy was across the way. The farmer, who Cam had met at the Locavore Festival last spring, gave a quick wave before turning to a buyer. Cam greeted the cheese maker from Hickory Nut Farm next to her and proceeded to sell two squashes and a bunch of oregano, rosemary, and sage to an eager customer.
She had been selling for about an hour and was tapping her foot to a bluegrass tune this week’s band was playing when two big hands covered her eyes.
“Guess who?” a deep voice whispered in her ear.
Cam grabbed Jake’s hands off her eyes and turned toward him. His smile was devilish, particularly combined with one raised eyebrow. He wore his usual today—black-and-white checked pants paired with a white double-breasted chef’s shirt. He carried two cloth shopping bags.
“How’s my favorite farmer?” He bent his head down until their noses nearly touched.
The usual rush she felt when she was next to him heated her cheeks. He seemed to have gotten over his snit from the night of the dinner.
“I’m fine,” Cam said. “This is a great market, isn’t it? I’m thinking of switching to selling here instead of at the Haverhill market on Tuesdays.”
“It rocks. I usually stroll down here to see what’s special on Sunday morning and then revise my menu accordingly.” Jake’s restaurant was only a few blocks away.
“How much is the kale?” a young woman asked. She stood with her arm around the waist of another woman.
As Cam turned back toward the table, Jake gave her own waist a little squeeze. “See you tomorrow night? It’s my turn to cook.” They’d made a habit of having dates on Monday nights, the only night the restaurant was closed. “Six o’clock.”
“It’s two dollars a bunch.” Cam watched Jake out of the corner of her eye as he left even as she took the customer’s money and thanked her. He sampled the goat cheese at the next table and bought ten logs. He strolled to the specialty vinegars and olive oils. Despite his height and heft, he moved with a flowing grace she could watch all day. She didn’t really focus on her table until he disappeared around the corner of the aisle.
A young man with a baby boy in a carrier on his back handed Cam four SNAP tokens in exchange for a bag of mixed greens.
“I already swiped my card with the market manager.” His look of tired patience indicated he had explained the system more often than he cared to. “They’re dollar tokens—”
“I know.” Cam smiled at him. “We welcome tokens. I think they’re great.” But he was the first customer to use the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program at Cam’s table since the market had opened. She reflected that Newburyport attracted a different demographic than Haverhill, where customers using food stamps for fresh produce were much more numerous.
Ruth Dodge appeared with her daughters, Natalie and Nettie, during the prenoon lull. Every market had its lull point. The Newburyport market ran from nine to one, so the end of the eleven o’clock hour was quiet. Cam was sure it would get frantic in the last sixty minutes. People came after church fellowship hour. An absentminded type might remember the farmers’ market, check the clock, and head down here. Bargain hunters knew many vendors lowered their prices during the last fifteen to thirty minutes. Whatever the reason, the lull period was a good time to take a quick bathroom break, straighten up the display, or actually sit for a few minutes before it got busy again.
“Hey, Ruth. Hi, girls.” Cam stood to greet them.
“Hi, Ms. Cam.” Nettie bounced on her heels, her dark curls bouncing, too. “Can I have a tomato?” She reached for one of the gold cherries.
“Nettie, those are for sale,” Ruth said, staying her daughter’s hand. Ruth, clearly off duty, wore her Mom uniform of jeans and a pink Red Sox T-shirt.
“But I’ll buy us a basket. Natalie, do you want one, too?”
The blond-haired twin hid behind her mother as she shook her head.
“You don’t have to buy them,” Cam said. She picked out the best-looking basket and handed one of the tomatoes to the girl. “Natalie, is there anything here you like?”
Natalie nodded slowly. She pointed to the kale, its dark gray-green leaves curled around purple veins.
Cam glanced at Ruth, who smiled.
“Let me help you get a leaf out. That’s a healthy food to like,” Cam said. She extracted a stem and handed it to the little girl, who wore a red tracksuit and miniature sneakers. Her more adventurous sister was decked out in striped tights, a denim dress, and a little fleece vest.
“This is a great place to shop,” Cam said to Ruth as the girls munched their snacks.
Ruth nodded absently. She glanced around the crowd. She was clearly in the habit, uniform or no uniform, of someone accustomed to having her radar up for wrongdoing.
Cam lowered her voice. “Any news about the case?”
“Not that I can share. Detective Pappas is in charge, so unless he asks us directly, we let him take the lead. The fact that Bobby Burr is missing is worrisome, I can tell you that much. I’ve heard talk of it being a double homicide. I don’t know what the motive would be for killing them both.”
“Oh, it’s not. I saw Bobby—”
Ruth focused her attention so keenly on Cam, she felt like a laser shone into her eyes.
“You saw him?” Ruth’s whisper rasped on Cam’s ears. She grabbed Cam’s arm.
“Yesterday. It was weird.” Cam shook her head. “He came out of the woods at the back of my farm. He looked terrible. I think he was about to tell me something, but he split when he heard Ellie calling me.”
“Cam! Did you tell Pappas? They’re looking for Bobby everywhere.”
Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) Page 6