No one seemed to be around. An old dog moseyed up without barking, sniffed at Alexandra, and ambled toward the house. It was early, but Cam had never yet met a farmer who wasn’t already hard at work at eight in the morning.
“Hello?” she called. “Howard?” No answer. She thought she heard faint snorting sounds from the farthest outbuilding, so she and Alexandra headed that way. They picked their way along a dirt path around the left side of the building, which was more a collection of random boards and pieces of corrugated sheet metal cobbled together than a planned structure. The air smelled of rotten eggs and ammonia.
The back of the building was open to the air but was ringed with yellow police tape. Three fenced areas extended several yards back from the roofed area. In one, a sow suckled what looked like a dozen piglets, two of which seemed excluded and kept climbing over the others to get to a teat.
Alexandra drew in her breath sharply and moved toward the nearest of the other two enclosures.
Five or six pigs laid about in the mud in each area, but these were not the fat animals one saw in discussions of “the other white meat” or in children’s books about farm animals. These beasts, while not exactly thin, looked mangy, with lackluster eyes and spots on their skin. To Cam’s inexpert gaze, they appeared malnourished. She felt like she was seeing the hens from the day before but writ large. She covered her mouth and nose to filter the stench.
Then it slammed her. These were the pigs that had chewed on Irene’s legs. Cam’s bile rose, and she had to swallow hard. She looked at the back part of the fence. Even though the police had left the tape up, they must have already examined the fence. She didn’t need to. It was bad enough imagining the scene. She didn’t know if Irene had been dead and dumped into the sty, if she’d been stunned and pushed in, or if she somehow . . . Cam shook her head. It was no use conjecturing, and it wasn’t her job under any scenario. Wind shook the tops of the tall maples and chilled her. She took a deep breath.
“It’s criminal what he’s doing to these poor animals.” Alexandra wiped away a tear.
Cam nodded. “And they never would have attacked Irene if they weren’t so hungry.”
“Wait’ll I tell DJ about this. He’s really going to be steamed.” The sadness on her face turned to a titanium resolve. “The police must have been here. I wonder why they didn’t report Howard for animal cruelty?”
“Maybe they did. Bureaucracy can take a while. Let’s get going.”
They made their way back to the truck. Cam completed two parts of her three-part turnaround and had her eyes on the gearshift.
“Uh-oh, here’s trouble,” Alexandra said.
Cam heard a bang on the hood of the truck. She looked up to see Howard Fisher’s angry face in the driver’s-side window. She put the truck in neutral and rolled down the window.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing on my property?” The spittle flew from his mouth, and he waved a rifle in his left hand.
Cam recoiled and tilted her head inward. “Hey, Howard.” She attempted a smile. Alexandra gave a little wave from the passenger seat.
“Yeah. Good morning.” His gruff voice edged toward friendliness. “What do you want?” He lowered the rifle.
“I’ve been so sad about Irene’s death. You must be, too, and I wanted to see how you were doing. I called out when we drove in, but nobody was around. I assumed you were out back, feeding the pigs or something.” Cam tried to smile.
“We’re a little short on feed just now.” Howard’s brows knit together, and his eyes sagged. “But they get plenty of slops. Oh, they’re fine. Very happy pigs, you might say.” He mustered a cheery tone with what looked like difficulty.
“Well, great.” Cam cleared her throat. “You’re carrying a gun. Do you have problems with trespassers?”
“Maybe.” His eyes shifted toward the trees to the left, behind the outbuildings, and back to Cam. “You know the police are saying it was murder, don’t you? Mrs. Burr’s death wasn’t no accident.”
“I guess I did hear something about that.”
“If you ask me, it was that stepson of hers. He wants her money.”
“Really? Bobby wouldn’t hurt a soul.”
Howard snorted.
“Hey, Howard.” Alexandra leaned toward the driver’s-side window. “I heard your land is being foreclosed on. It would be awful for you to lose your farm.”
He glared at the younger woman. “Where’d you hear that? I’m not losing the farm.” His voice shook as he shouted. “You tell whoever said so, they’re out of their consarned mind, you hear me?” The rifle came up again.
Cam decided this would be a good time for them to get out of there. “Sure. Gotta run,” she said, putting the truck in gear. “Didn’t mean to alarm you.”
He looked like he might have been about to speak again, but Cam smiled as she drove away, elevating her hand in a wave.
“He’s one unstable dude,” Alexandra said. “I’m sorry to drag you into that, Cam.”
“It’s okay.”
“I wish there was something we could do for the animals.” Alexandra shook her head.
“Me, too.” Cam swung onto Main Street. “But you should know, I’m not ready to host starving pigs, as well as chickens. At least not yet.”
“I know.”
“How’d you hear about his land being threatened?”
Alexandra threw a hand up. “It’s all over town. One of the joys of living in a village, I guess.”
They rode in silence the rest of the way to the Food Mart, where Alexandra got out and headed for her bicycle.
When she arrived at SK Foreign Auto, Cam sat for a moment in the cab. Things hadn’t quite gotten ugly at Howard’s, but an angry man with a rifle in his hand? Something she could do without.
Sim sauntered out, wiping her hands on a red rag. “Ready for a spin on the bike?”
Cam halted halfway out of the cab. “On the bike?”
“You’re leaving the truck for the day, right?”
Cam said that she was and that she would walk home. “It’s only two miles. I can use the exercise.”
“I’ll give you a lift. Ever ride bitch on a Harley before?”
“What?”
Sim laughed. “You know. Shotgun. On the back.”
Cam shook her head. She wasn’t totally sure she wanted to, either.
“It’s fun. Come on. I have a spare helmet. All you have to remember is to lean into the curves. Don’t fight them.”
Cam handed over the keys to the truck as she wondered what she’d gotten herself into. She slung her handbag over her head and across one shoulder.
Sim handed her a heavy helmet. “I don’t believe in those half helmets dudes wear. They think I’m a wuss for wearing true protective gear. I think they’re idiots for not protecting their brains.”
Cam dutifully fastened the helmet while Sim put on her own. The thick foam liner pressed in on her forehead, and the strap rubbed against her throat. She fumbled with the strap adjustment but couldn’t loosen it. She was glad the helmet didn’t have a plastic visor covering her eyes.
Sim pulled on leather gloves before climbing onto the hefty bike painted with a bold red lightning strike on the back. She swung it off its kickstand and motioned Cam to get on behind her.
“Put your arms around my waist,” Sim called through the helmet. “I promise I won’t lust after you.”
Cam set her left foot on what looked like a rear footrest, threw her right leg over the back, and set each hand on Sim’s leather-clad waist. Sim fired up the machine and eased onto Main Street.
When they turned onto Attic Hill Road, Cam leaned into the curve. Sim sped up. The engine roared in Cam’s ears and vibrated beneath her. She hung on to Sim’s waist with increasingly cold fingers. The familiar fields and woods dotted with houses sped by in a blur. And Cam’s own familiar house sped by, too. Where was Sim taking her? Why had she ever agreed to this crazy idea?
They turned again, on
to Moulton Street, and raced around the reservoir. They sped over to Indian Pond Road, charged up the steep Middle Street hill, and flew down the other side, narrowly missing a passing Jeep. They finally rejoined Attic Hill Road.
The engine slowed as Sim turned into Cam’s drive and came to a stop.
Cam dismounted and removed the helmet with shaky hands. “That was quite a ride.”
Sim stayed on the bike but flipped up her face shield with a wicked smile. “Was that fun or what?”
“I guess. I don’t think it’s really my thing.”
“I love speed.” Sim looked into the distance like she’d rather be out on a highway in Wyoming, going ninety miles an hour. “And I had to distract myself from thinking about Bobby.”
“Did you test-drive Irene’s Jag like that? I’ll bet they go pretty fast.” Cam actually had no idea how Jaguars drove. But Lucinda had put the idea of Sim as a suspect in her mind, and Cam wanted to see what she had to say about Irene.
“That witch? She accused me of taking it on joyrides. I told her I had to take it out on the road after a tune-up. There’s no substitute for a road test to make sure a car is running smooth. But she hated the idea of anybody else driving her baby. She even threatened to charge me for every tenth of a mile I drove it.”
“You’re not going to miss her business, then.” Cam handed the helmet to Sim and rubbed her cold hands together.
Sim didn’t look up as she turned to fasten the spare helmet to the back of the bike. “No. I am not.”
“Any word from Bobby? I’m worried about him.”
“Me, too.” This time Sim met Cam’s eyes. “He’s gone underground. I don’t know where, and I don’t know why.”
“What do you mean by underground? How do you know?”
“I just mean that I haven’t heard from him.”
“Has Detective Pappas been by to speak with you?”
“Yes. I really don’t like that guy.”
“He had mentioned to me that maybe it was a double homicide.” Cam knew it wasn’t, but wanted to see if Bobby might have contacted Sim in the same way he had appeared at Cam’s farm.
Sim shook her head with a fast movement. “No, no. It can’t be. I—” She cleared her throat and, looking down, fiddled with her glove.
“You what?”
“Nothing. I’m sure he wasn’t killed, that’s all. Let me know if you want a lift back this afternoon. Should be done by three.”
Cam thanked her for the ride and said good-bye. She hugged herself, still chilled from the windy ride, and watched as Sim roared down the hill, the smell of the exhaust trailing behind her. She wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t simply told Sim about Bobby’s appearance on the farm. She’d bet the price of the Harley that Bobby had contacted the mechanic, too. But where was he now?
Chapter 12
Cam worked the rest of the morning and all afternoon, taking only a quick lunch break in the house. She finished planting the stiff-neck garlic. She harvested a dozen ripe crops, including the gold cherry tomatoes she’d take to the fair the next day. She split apart the soft-neck garlic bulbs she hadn’t braided. She selected only the fattest cloves for planting, saving the smaller ones for cooking in her own kitchen. She’d come to realize that what ended up on the farmer’s own table was never the biggest, most beautiful examples of what came out of the fields.
She took the basket of cloves and a pitchfork to the field. She loosened a large bed that had held bush beans earlier in the season, so it was now rich in nitrogen from nodules on the legume roots, and covered it with several inches of finished compost. Kneeling, she pressed a clove, root side down, about an inch into the loose, rich soil. The next clove went in four inches away. She continued that way along the length and width of the bed, every clove a hand’s width from its neighbor. Preston sidled by to visit and sat on a bale of salt marsh hay to watch her work.
The wind kept up, ruffling her hair, and the sun warmed her back. She knew she was blessed with good health. She had a kind great-uncle who had given her this land and this livelihood. She possessed a smarter-than-average brain, at least when it came to writing software. And what was software but elegant solutions to everyday needs, solving problems with logic?
As she worked, she thought about this current problem of Irene Burr’s death and the associated events and reactions. Bobby’s disappearance. Sim’s apparent hatred for Irene. Howard’s maltreatment of his animals and the challenge to his land, not to mention his farm being the scene of the crime. Wes’s opposition to Irene’s proposed enterprise.
Surely, Cam could try to find an elegant, true solution to this problem. It wasn’t that different from writing and debugging software. You tried one thing. If it didn’t work, you tried another. You eliminated possibilities. But this particular problem involved humans, not “ifs” and “thens.” She shook her head. It wasn’t her problem to solve, anyway, as Detective Pappas would be the first to point out.
At four thirty, Cam climbed on her bicycle and coasted down the hill to town. She had looked in on the hens before she left. They seemed fine, if pecking around the yard was fine. She gave herself a mental nudge to spend some time reading about normal chicken behavior and best rearing practices. She’d be back before dark to herd them into their coop.
At the shop, the truck was parked in front, and Cam hoisted her bike into the back. Sim strolled out, wiping her hands on a rag.
“It all looks good.” Sim pointed at the tires. “Remember, though, I recommended you get a whole new set. Winter’s coming, and you have to make it up quite a hill to get home.”
Cam promised she would get tires and paid Sim. As she backed out, she spied the corner of a van parked around the back. This time she decided to follow up on her hunch that it was Bobby’s van. She stopped her truck, climbed out, and strode to the rear of the shop. A dark-haired man was slipping through the back door. Cam caught the door and followed him in.
“Bobby!”
He whirled in the narrow hallway. He tried to push past her toward the door, but she blocked his way. His hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a week, and his clothes were in an even scruffier state.
“What are you doing?” Cam asked, extending her arms. “Nobody’s after you. Why are you on the run?”
Sim burst through the door from the garage. “You’re back!” She threw her arms around him with a big smile.
“Back?” Cam asked, watching them. “You were here before, weren’t you?” she asked Bobby. “Last Friday?”
Bobby nodded, but he looked trapped. He detached himself from Sim and edged toward the door. “I gotta go.”
Sim moved to block his way.
“I think we have to do an intervention with this guy,” Sim said to Cam. She took him by the arm and led him into the garage bay. Bobby let himself be led. Cam followed.
Bobby leaned against the workbench. “I think you’re right.” He picked up a wrench and tossed it from one hand to another. He looked from Sim to Cam and back. He pushed his hair off his forehead. He leaned his back against the wall and exhaled a heavy sigh.
“The police just want to talk to you, dude,” Sim said.
“I guess I’m ready to do that now. I’ve been living in my van at Salisbury Beach. But I have to get back to work. Got a big job starting end of this week.”
“Why have you been avoiding the cops?” Cam cocked her head.
Bobby’s smile was wry. “I started to tell you when I saw you at the farm. That night at the dinner, Irene was pressuring me. I don’t know why she was so set on having me take over her business when she hated me so much. I told her I didn’t want to. I was trying to be polite. But then she started threatening me, said she wouldn’t leave me any of her money. It’s my dad’s money! Which she stole from him. She said she wouldn’t give me any of it if I wouldn’t work for her. Can you imagine what kind of hell that would be? At this point I don’t care about her damn money.”
Sim nodded.
“Bu
t I couldn’t figure out how to tell her, so I walked away.”
“Did she give you a note telling you to meet her someplace?” Cam asked.
“No.” Bobby looked confused. “Why would she?”
“Never mind. Go on about why you’ve been in hiding. It’s not a crime to argue with your stepmother.”
“After the dinner, after you dropped me off, Sim, I was still steaming. I drove to her McMansion down by the river. I hate that house. I sat out front and planned what I was going to say. I decided to tell her if Dad’s money meant so much to her, she could keep it and go to hell. I got cold feet and was sitting there stewing when Westbury’s finest came by on patrol and started questioning me. I suppose a van like mine looks suspicious parked on the street at ten o’clock at night in the richest part of town.”
A siren approached. Bobby’s suddenly tense eyes darting to the door were those of a cornered animal.
Sim laid her hand on his arm. “Relax, man. They’re not after you.”
The siren grew closer. It stopped. Car doors slammed. A hand pounded at the back door.
“Westbury police. Open up!”
An instant later the door from the reception area opened. Chief George Frost marched toward Bobby with another officer behind him.
“Robert Burr?”
Bobby nodded, his face gone pale.
“We need to take you in for questioning about the murder of your stepmother, Irene Burr.”
Bobby’s knuckles whitened on the wrench. He raised it as he said, “I didn’t kill her!” He took two quick strides toward the back door. He turned and started back toward the chief, gesturing with the wrench.
The officer raised his arm and fired. Bobby cried out as he fell.
Chapter 13
Cam disconnected the phone. On his way out in handcuffs, after recovering from being tased, Bobby had asked her to call a lawyer for him.
“Did you reach the lawyer?” Sim asked. “What’d he say?” She paced back and forth in the small office.
“She said she’d go down to the station and talk to him.” Cam rose from the chair behind the desk.
Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) Page 9