Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery)

by Edith Maxwell

  “I was so busy the rest of the day, I didn’t even think about it. I meant to call him, but I forgot.”

  “I’d better tell him right now.”

  “He’s going to hate me. Let me call him when market closes. I’ll phone him at one o’clock, I promise.”

  “He’s still going to hate you.” Ruth pulled out her phone. “I need to do this. Watch them for a minute, will you?” She gestured at the girls, who were sidling toward the bread samples two tables down.

  Nobody was near Cam’s table, so she moseyed behind the twins. The baker beamed at them and extended the flat basket of sourdough squares.

  “No gluten allergies, Mom?” The baker smiled at Cam, eyebrows raised.

  She opened her mouth and shut it again. Why get into explaining she wasn’t their mother? It was kind of a nice feeling that she was assumed to be. She simply said, “No.”

  At the same time, Nettie pronounced, “Our mom is over there. This is Ms. Cam. She’s a farmer.”

  Cam introduced herself to the baker. The girls munched bread, the tomato and kale apparently forgotten.

  A customer fingered a bunch of leeks at Cam’s table, so she ushered the children back. As she explained how to clean the leeks by slicing them vertically halfway through and rinsing the dirt out of the white part, she heard a plaintive question from Natalie.

  “Mommy, I miss Daddy. When’s he coming back?”

  Ruth, now off the phone, saw that Cam had heard. She leaned down and murmured something to Natalie, stroking her hair.

  Before they left, Ruth said in a soft voice to Cam, “I’ll tell you later.”

  Chapter 9

  Two bicycles, an old pickup truck, and a Prius with a THINK GLOBAL, EAT LOCAL bumper sticker occupied Cam’s driveway when she arrived home. Sounds of hammering echoed off the house. When she rounded the corner of the barn, her mouth dropped open. The chicken coop was already half built, an A-frame structure sitting on a two-wheeled trailer base.

  Alexandra, another young woman, Wes, Ellie, and a young man with a scruffy beard and a wide-brimmed hat were hard at work. They were measuring, sawing, hammering. The guy in the hat examined an oversize piece of paper that looked like a building plan. It lay spread out on a makeshift table. A bale of hay sat next to a large bag labeled CHICKEN LAYER/BREEDER MIX. The air smelled of fresh sawdust.

  “It’s a coop raising!” Cam said. Alexandra had called early that morning, asking if it was all right to go ahead, and Cam had said it was, but she hadn’t expected this kind of progress. “Ellie, you’re here, too.”

  “Alexandra called and asked if I wanted to help. I said, like, ‘Of course.’ It’ll help me get my Voice for Animals badge, too.”

  Cam thanked her. “Did your dad drop you off?”

  “Mr. Ames gave me a ride.”

  “Thanks, Wes,” Cam said. “I appreciate you helping out.”

  “With Felicity out of town, I have a little too much time on my hands. Happy to do it.”

  Alexandra introduced the other young woman as her sister Katie and the young man, named DJ, explaining he was one of the rescue league members. “He’s the one I told you about.”

  The Star Trek: The Next Generation theme song rang in Cam’s pocket. “Excuse me a minute.” She turned away and checked the ID on her cell phone. Pappas. Might as well get this call over with. She strolled back toward the house before answering.

  “Where are you?” he started in without preamble.

  “Good afternoon, Detective. I am at home. At the farm. Why?”

  “I’m on my way to talk with you. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  She barely had time to agree before he disconnected. Yup, he hated her now.

  In even fewer than five, Pappas roared into the drive and parked directly behind Cam’s truck, as if he were blocking her exit. He climbed out and rested one hand on the car.

  “Bobby Burr was on your property. You spoke with him. And you didn’t think of calling it in?”

  “I’m sorry.” She put down the empty basket she’d taken from the back of the truck. She turned toward him. “Saturday is my shareholder day, and I was working without a minute’s break all day long. Really.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  She related her encounter. “I asked him to come in, to have something to eat. He looked like he might have slept outdoors or somewhere rough. But he said he couldn’t. He was about to tell me about the night of the dinner when he heard someone calling me. And then he split.”

  Without trying to be too obvious, she checked Pappas out. Once again he presented a slightly disheveled front. He wore jeans, which was certainly appropriate for Sunday afternoon, but his pale green shirt bore the remnants of a meal, possibly pizza, and he’d missed shaving a patch near his chin. She wondered what was going on in his personal life.

  “We would very much like to speak with Mr. Burr, as you can imagine. More and more as time goes by. At least now we know it wasn’t a double homicide.” He wiped his forehead with a purple handkerchief retrieved from his back pocket. “If you see him, hear from him, catch a glimpse of someone who looks like him, call me. Will you do that?”

  “Yes. I suppose you searched Irene’s house and he’s not hanging out there? I would assume he has a key.”

  He nodded. “Bobby isn’t there.” He took a few steps away down the drive and turned back toward her. “We need to work together. I’d like you to keep your eyes and ears open.”

  Cam nodded. This was an intriguing new development. The detective asking for her help.

  He walked up until he faced her. He could have reached out and touched her. “Any bit of information you think might be related to Ms. Burr’s death, I’d like to know. All right?”

  His tone was friendlier than Cam had ever heard from him. It was almost plaintive. His eyes seemed to implore her to help him.

  “Sure, Detective.”

  “I can’t be everywhere, and we’ve had staffing cuts. And, um, Cameron?” He cleared his throat and mustered a smile. “You can call me Pete. If you want.”

  “Thanks, Pete.” Cam conjured a smile back at what looked like a sudden case of nerves. They might have more in common than she had imagined. She watched him climb into his car and waved to him before he drove off.

  She resumed unpacking the truck, singing “I Feel Good,” à la James Brown, under her breath. It had been a great market day. She had nearly sold out. She was going to have chickens on the farm. And now Pappas—Pete—was even being nice. When she was done, she called in an order of pizza to be delivered for the coop crew, donned her own tool belt, and joined the project.

  An hour later, Alexandra and DJ said they were going to go fetch the chickens.

  “I have the letter from the board of health authorizing us to take them.” Alexandra brandished a white envelope. “And the inspector is going to meet us there.”

  “Let me come with you. I know Bev. Maybe it will make it easier.” Cam wasn’t sure about that but thought the respectful thing to do would be to accompany the rescuers.

  Alexandra exchanged a look with DJ, who nodded. “Okay,” she said. “But you’re not going to let her talk us out of taking the hens, right?”

  “No. I won’t.” Cam shed her tool belt and dusted off her hands.

  Cam and Alexandra squeezed into the cab of DJ’s truck. Cam directed him to the Montgomery place across town.

  She was shocked when she saw the state of Bev’s farm. The fields beyond the barn, which used to be neatly planted with corn, were now choked with weeds. The pumpkins curing in their patch sat small and misshapen. The faded blue paint on the farmhouse was peeling, and the patch of lawn out front hadn’t been mowed in some time. A whiff of sour anaerobic manure wafted by.

  Alexandra followed Cam up the steps to the side door and waited while Cam knocked.

  Bev opened the door. She frowned and squinted at them. Cam greeted her and introduced Alexandra.

  “Hello, Bev. This is Alex
andra Magnusson, one of my subscribers. Alexandra, Bev Montgomery.”

  Bev looked back and forth between them. “What do you want?” Bev had looked worn and tired ever since Cam had met her the previous spring, but new lines were etched deep in her face and the light had gone out of her eyes.

  “We’ve come to give your hens a new home.” Alexandra proffered the letter. “The board of health authorized it. Oh, there’s animal control.” She backed down the stairs to stand with DJ.

  A woman climbed out of a van labeled WESTBURY ANIMAL CONTROL and walked toward the house. After she stopped and conferred with Alexandra and DJ, they began unloading large cages from the back of the van.

  Bev snatched the letter. “My girls are going to you?” Her voice rose as she stared at Cam. “You oughta pay me for those birds. They’re good layers. Or used to be.”

  “As I understand it, they’re about to be put down,” Cam said.

  “I don’t know what Madeline Fracasso is doing here.” Bev glared at the animal control officer as she approached. “Joe at the board of health is an old family friend. He never would have carried through on that letter.”

  “That’s not the way I heard it,” Madeline said from the bottom of the stairs. “The hens are reportedly very thin and are missing most of their feathers. The board said you aren’t feeding them at all.”

  “Oh, hens scratch and find worms and such. Just because I’m a little short on cash right now doesn’t mean I should lose my prize layers.”

  “Mrs. Montgomery, we’re here to collect the hens,” Madeline said in a firm voice. “Please don’t make any trouble.”

  Bev shook her head and glared. “You can’t just take them, you know.”

  Cam knew Bev was an old-style farmer who didn’t see the wisdom in organic practices or growing what she called “fancy” salad greens, like mizuna and arugula. But thinking her malnourished chickens were fine seemed to border on delusional. Maybe Albert could convince her to get out of the business, for her own sake.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Madeline said. She picked up a cage and led Alexandra and DJ with theirs out behind the house, toward a barn that listed more than the Tower of Pisa.

  “It’s called robbery! Taking my property without paying for it.” Bev pointed a shaking finger at Madeline’s back. Her red face glistened with anger.

  Cam cleared her throat. “I also need to tell you I’m not going to be able to sell at the Haverhill Farmers’ Market anymore.”

  Bev whipped her eyes back to Cam. “Not going to be able to or don’t want to?” She spit out the question.

  “It’s a business decision, Bev. With the customers dropping off, I’m not making the kind of money I need to justify spending an entire afternoon there.”

  “How do you expect us to keep the customers if farmers like you stop coming?”

  “I’m sorry.” Cam did feel bad about abandoning the lower-income customer base, but she had her own income to consider.

  “Maybe you’ll be even more sorry soon.” Bev stepped back into the house and slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter 10

  By the end of the afternoon, the coop was finished. A ramp led up to a small square door in one end, with a more human-size door next to it. The crew had set up orange plastic temporary fencing around the area and had placed a metal feeder and a metal water receptacle on the ground near the ramp. The cages of utterly miserable-looking chickens waited inside the fence, in the shade of the barn. Their scrawny little bodies were missing most of their feathers. They clucked and preened in the most pitiful of ways.

  “Thanks so much, everybody,” Cam said. “These poor girls don’t look too happy.”

  “They sure don’t.” DJ knelt next to one of the cages. He stuck a finger in and stroked the head of the nearest hen. “They’ll need food and care, plenty of fresh water always available, and a proper home so they can range and scratch. In our experience, most rebound fine if they’re given the chance. It’s really criminal what that lady did.”

  “Why didn’t you guys offer to help Bev take care of them instead of bringing them here?”

  Alexandra shook her head. “Board of Health getting involved made that impossible. We had to move them to keep them from being slaughtered. And they’re your birds now,” she added. “Why don’t you introduce these girls to their new home?”

  Cam unhooked the door of the closest cage. The hens cowered, shrinking away from the open door. DJ squatted easily in front of it. He spoke in a soft voice and reached in, gently grasping one of the birds. He set her on the ground in front of the cylindrical metal feeder. He scratched a finger in the feed in the flat dish that spread out below the cylinder.

  “Come on out, ladies,” he murmured to the rest of them. “Open the other cages,” he said to Cam with a big smile. He made a clicking noise and patted the ground in front of the first cage. One of the hens ventured forth but tripped on the bottom lip of the opening. He gently lifted her out.

  “They’re not too smart. But they’ll be fine,” DJ said. “You’ll be fine, won’t you, gals?” he said to the hens now stumbling out of the cages.

  Katie positioned herself in front of the next cage and mimicked DJ’s clicking sound. When the first hen hopped out, Katie smiled and beckoned to the next one.

  Soon all the birds were clustered around the feeder, some pecking each other instead of the food. DJ rose and scattered a couple of handfuls of feed on the ground. He made the clicking noise again until the birds noticed the extra food.

  “You’re the chicken whisperer,” Cam said.

  DJ doffed his hat with a flourish and a smile.

  “This calls for a celebration,” Cam said. “Alexandra, grab some chairs from the lawn and the barn. Ellie, help me bring drinks out from the house, okay?”

  When they were settled in a line of chairs outside the fencing a few minutes later, Alexandra raised her bottle of beer toward the enclosure. “Here’s to healthy hens!”

  “To healthy hens!” resounded throughout the group. Ellie clinked her bottle of natural root beer with Cam’s and DJ’s beer bottles. Ellie seemed enchanted by the young man and began asking him questions about the rescue league and where he had learned how to talk to chickens.

  Cam turned to Wes on her other side. “When is Felicity coming back?”

  “It’ll be another week or two. Her sister had some complications.” He set his beer bottle on the ground.

  Alexandra turned in her chair on the other side of Wes and looked at Cam. “Have you heard any news about Irene’s death?”

  Wes jerked in his chair. His right knee bobbed up and down repeatedly, knocking over his beer.

  “Whoa,” Alexandra said. She grabbed the bottle and handed it to him. “Relax, Wes.”

  “I haven’t heard anything,” Cam said. Why did Wes react that way?

  “I wonder if Bobby will continue with Irene’s plan to buy the town hall,” Wes said, staring straight ahead, continuing to jiggle his knee, as if he were bouncing a baby.

  “They’ll have to find him first,” Cam said.

  “Is he missing?” Wes asked. He whipped his head to the right. “How do you know?”

  Cam nodded. “Heard it around. I hope he’ll reappear, and soon.”

  “My mom says opening a textile museum would be a great thing for the town,” Alexandra said.

  Cam remembered that she’d moved back in with her parents after college to save money.

  “It would bring in jobs and tourists,” Alexandra continued. “The town would get some money for other projects, like low-cost housing, which we’re really short on. It’s a cool idea. It’s too bad Ms. Burr died, but I hope her stepson keeps going with the plans.”

  “And where would we hold Town Meeting, young lady?” Wes gave her a stern look.

  “High school auditorium?” Alexandra raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure there are plenty of places. It’s not like it gets a huge turnout, anyway. Dad told me last time they needed a quor
um for a vote, the police stopped cars on Main Street, asking if they were residents. If they were, the cops basically ordered them inside.”

  Wes shook his head in exasperation. Cam decided to extricate herself from the conversation and turned back to Ellie and DJ. They seemed to be involved in an intense discussion of permaculture, so she rose and bent down to stroke Preston instead, who stood outside the fencing. He gazed with intense interest at the hens.

  “Mr. P, those are not your next forty dinners.”

  Katie walked over. “He’s one sweet cat.” Not as tall as her sister, she wore her dark hair at shoulder length.

  Preston reared up and rubbed his head against Katie’s knee, emitting his tiny mew. She scratched his head and gave him a few firm strokes.

  “You should keep the cat away from the ladies for a week or so,” DJ called from his chair. “But usually farm cats are fine with chickens. It’s foxes, coyotes, and stray dogs you need to worry about. Herd all the girls into the coop before it gets dark for the next couple of days. After that they’ll probably start going by themselves to roost, but latch them in every night, to be safe. And even though it’s on a trailer, we’ll keep it here next to the barn for a week or two so they get used to one place.”

  “Why is it on a trailer?” Cam asked.

  “If you leave it in one place, the droppings get pretty nasty. You can rotate it around to any field or area you want fertilized and weeded and leave it there for a few weeks.”

  “That’s cool. What do I haul it with?”

  “Your truck can pull it. And we’ll build the covered run next weekend, right, Alexandra?” DJ leaned his head in her direction. “The run attaches to the coop, but you can easily pick it up and move it. With a friend, anyway. With a covered run they can range in safety and hawks won’t be able to pick them off.”

  Alexandra nodded. “Remember what I said about the raspberry patch, Cam? We can position it there for a week or two and put the covered run over the bushes.”

  “Got it.”

  DJ walked into the enclosure and beckoned to Cam to join him. “Go in and take a look at your new chicken motel. There isn’t really room for two of us in there.”