The air felt supercharged, like the ions of lightning were about to break loose. Cam felt her cheeks pink up. She cleared her throat.
“So how’s your new job?”
Bobby threw her a look Cam couldn’t interpret. “It’s fine. It’s a job.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know if I hear from Sim.”
“You don’t think I need to report her missing?” he asked.
“I don’t think they would let you. Not until twenty-four hours have gone by. I read that somewhere. Plus, you’re not family. I’m not even sure you’d be allowed to after twenty-four hours.”
“That’s dumb.”
“I don’t think anything’s wrong. You’ll see. She’ll call you tomorrow and say she forgot or something.” Cam hoped she sounded more comforting than she felt. She had no idea if Sim was fine or not.
“I have a bad feeling about this.” Bobby shook his head.
“To change the subject, is there going to be a service for Irene?”
He heaved a huge sigh. “Detective Pappas says they can’t release her body yet. And frankly? I don’t really care.”
“Did she have any other family?”
“Nope. She had a sister, who died years ago. I’m it. If you can call me family.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head again. “So I guess I should start figuring out what to do.”
“Did she go to any particular church?”
“Irene?” He snorted. “No way. This’ll be a one hundred percent secular deal, I can assure you.”
“If you need help, call me.” She didn’t know one thing about planning a funeral or, more realistically, a memorial service, but Great-Uncle Albert would. And how hard could it be?
“I appreciate it.” He stood. “Thanks for the wine, Cam, and for trying to reassure me about Sim. You have a good night.”
Cam walked him to the door and stepped out onto the porch as she said good night. She sniffed the clear night air, hoping it wasn’t frost she smelled. October 18 wasn’t too early for temperatures to dip below freezing, but she was pretty sure frost hadn’t been forecast for tonight. She leaned against the doorjamb. The grass, the barn, the perennial flower bed—all were bathed in a silvery light from a perfectly full moon high in the sky. She thought back to an article she’d read in the Natural Farmer about names for full moons. The harvest moon had been in September. She shivered. That lovely orb up there was the blood moon.
She hurried back in and locked the door. The light and warmth inside dispelled the ominous feeling that had come over her a minute before. She realized she still had the dish towel hanging over her shoulder and laughed at herself. Nice look, Flaherty. Thinking about Bobby, she used a corner of the towel to wipe the speckled Formica countertop. That moment of supercharged air was a little unsettling. Her life was complicated enough juggling Jake and Pete. She needed to be sure Bobby’s flirtations stayed in the distance, right where they belonged.
At least he wasn’t still in jail, although Pete had alluded to finding more evidence against him. Pete. She supposed not hearing from him for a whole day was a good thing. If Sim didn’t reappear tomorrow, Cam should probably let him know.
She yawned as she pushed the junk drawer closed. The day had been long and busy. She couldn’t wait to fall into bed, since tomorrow morning promised to be equally as busy. The drawer wouldn’t quite go in. She gave it another push. It was stuck somehow. She tugged it open and saw a slip of paper half caught between the drawer and the slider. She wiggled it loose and smoothed it out on the countertop.
Her eyes widened. It was the lost note. The threatening invitation to meet in the woods. So that was where it had gone. Some evil person hadn’t snuck in and taken it, after all.
Cam took it to the table and sat. She read it again.
MEET ME IN THE WOODS AT ELEVEN, OR I’LL TELL WHAT I KNOW.
YOU KNOW WHERE.
A little bell rang in the back of her head. The writing looked familiar. Where had she seen it? She checked through her mental hard drive but came up with nothing. She yawned again. Her brain’s search engine was too tired for thinking. She’d fire it up again tomorrow and see what results she got. And tell Pete she’d found the note. She tucked it under the corner of the flower vase so it wouldn’t go traveling again.
Chapter 38
The gong rang out, signaling the start of market. Cam locked the legs of her market table into place and set it upright. She was extremely, frantically, abysmally late. Not a great way to start her second appearance here. She snapped the market cloth over the table and started hauling buckets and baskets off the truck. She was arranging bags of cut mesclun when her basket of herbs plopped onto the table at her elbow. Cam looked up.
“Thought you might want some help.” Pete Pappas winked at her. “Should I continue unloading?”
“Um, sure.” She wanted to ask him what he was doing there. She wanted to hug him for helping, and maybe for other reasons, too. She wanted to grill him about Irene’s murder. She decided the wisest course was to just keep setting up.
An older woman in a denim skirt, striped socks, and hiking boots asked about the leeks. By the time Cam finished selling her a bunch of three, plus a bouquet of rudbeckias, nasturtiums, and asters, and two bundles of rosemary, Pete had unloaded the truck and was arranging buckets full of produce on the ground in front of the table.
“You are a godsend,” Cam said.
“Not really. I’d say I was a Pete-send.” He smiled as he stuck his hands in his back pockets. He wore jeans again, but they were clean and pressed, as was his tucked-in plaid shirt.
“Well, thank you. I was wicked late this morning.” She yawned. “Excuse me. Life’s catching up with me.” She eyed him. “Are you here detecting or shopping?”
“A little of both, I suppose. Any news from your world?”
“I’m not sure if you’ll count it as news, but Bobby Burr stopped by last night. He’s worried because Sim didn’t show up for a drink with him. A drink she had invited him to.”
Pete frowned. “He’s still a person of interest in the murder, you know. You might not want to be alone with him.”
“I suppose. But he doesn’t seem like a killer to me.”
“Famous last words, Cam. But why is he so concerned about being stood up for a drink?”
“Sim didn’t answer her cell, either. I doubt it’s anything, but I think everybody’s on edge. I know I’m kind of spooked with the killer still out there. ”
“I’m doing my best.”
“I’m sure you are. Speaking of that, he also told me that you, or somebody, questioned Sim yesterday morning. Do you really think she could have killed Irene?”
“As I said, I’m doing my best.”
Okay, don’t answer me. Cam straightened the farm’s business cards on the table. “By the way, I found the note. Remember I said the tent guy had given me a piece of paper he’d found on the ground the day after the dinner?”
“Ah, the purported threatening letter.” He raised his thick eyebrows. “Where did you find it?”
“Not purported!” Cam frowned at him. When she saw the baker two tables down glance over at her, she lowered her voice. “Late last night I found it stuck in a drawer.”
“I’d like to see it. Although it’ll be no good as far as physical evidence goes. What did it say?”
“It said something about meeting in the woods, or the writer would tell all. I’m happy to turn it over.”
“I’ll call you later about picking it up.” He surveyed the crowd, whistling a tune Cam couldn’t recognize. Without looking at her, he said, “I enjoyed our walk on Friday. It was nice to get out. With you, I mean.”
“I did, too,” she said in a soft voice.
This week’s musicians were setting up near the market manager’s table, which sat in front of the old tannery building, now a successful mini-mall housing local businesses. A woman tuned an electric guitar, another fiddled with the drum set, and a third did a mi
ke check. All three wore skirts of varying lengths with cowboy boots.
Pete stayed at Cam’s side as she sold kabocha and Hubbard squash, explained that the leaves at the ends of the Brussels sprout stalks were tasty and sweet when stir-fried, offered recipes for kale chips and shallot-pepper jelly.
“Shouldn’t you be out dusting for fingerprints somewhere?” Cam leaned sideways toward Pete, then wondered if he’d think she was trying to get rid of him. Foot in mouth, as usual.
“That’s what the crime-scene techs do. Not part of my job description, thank goodness. I prefer to use zee leettle gray cells, you know.” He pointed at his head.
Cam laughed. She’d had a frantic morning—waking up late, scrambling to get the harvest together and loaded onto the truck, racing over to Newburyport—but all seemed well with her world now.
“Cells that need to be fed. I’ll be right back.” Pete strolled toward the baker.
Cam was smiling, watching him buy pastries, when Jake walked up from the opposite direction. He followed her eyes. Uh-oh. Here was trouble.
“Morning, Cam.” He loomed in front of her, not smiling at all.
“Good morning, Jake. How are you?” She didn’t trust herself to say more.
He took a deep breath. “It’s a lovely day.” He mustered a smile. “Who is your friend?” He raised his eyebrows in Pete’s direction.
“You must remember Detective Pappas?”
Jake’s frown suddenly registered recognition. “Now that you mention it. He looks different.”
“It’s a Sunday.” Pete looked different to her, too. But did he really? Or was it because he was relaxed and kind of flirtatious with her?
Pete strolled back toward Cam’s table, carrying two coffees and a white bag with the bakery logo on it. He checked out the other tables and exchanged what looked like pleasantries with several vendors. He arrived at Cam’s spot as he smiled at the Herb Farmacy vendor across the aisle. He set the food down and finally looked up.
“Ah, Mr. Ericsson. Pete Pappas.” He smiled and extended his hand to Jake. “I’m not sure we actually met last spring, but without you Cam’s attacker might have eluded us.”
Cam held her breath. She had no idea if Jake was going to be civil, turn icy, or explode. She’d promised to give him one more chance. This had suddenly turned into the test for that. It struck her, though, that it was more like the alpha males circling each other for the reward of the female. In the wild, Pete wouldn’t stand a chance. Jake was almost a foot taller and weighed perhaps twice as much. But here wily Pete had offset the physical challenge with a compliment that had to arise from feeling secure in his position. What had she gotten herself into?
“Call me Jake.” The chef extended his hand and cleared his throat. “How’s the investigation coming along?”
Touché, Cam thought. Point to Jake.
“Slowly but surely.” Pete smiled, but it didn’t include his eyes.
Jake lifted his empty cloth bags with one hand. “I’ll be off. Lot of tourists in town this weekend, leaf peeping. It’s going to be a busy day at the kitchen. Enjoy your breakfast.” He leaned over and brushed his lips on Cam’s cheek. “See you tomorrow night.”
“Nice to meet you, finally, Jake.” Pete lifted his cardboard cup of coffee in farewell.
Cam glanced sideways at Pete, but he was peering into the pastry bag and didn’t seem to react to the kiss. As far as she could tell.
The market was nearly at its end. After Pete had finished his coffee and pastry, he’d said good-bye, promising to call her later about picking up the note. Now Cam’s table was almost empty, as were the buckets that had held the kale and flowers. She stacked a couple of empty baskets and was stowing them in the truck behind her when someone called her name. She turned.
“Yo, Cam. Looks like I’m almost too late to do my shopping.” Sim stood in front of the table, dressed as usual in all black.
“Sim! You’re all right.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” She frowned and crossed her arms.
“Bobby said you stood him up for a drink yesterday and you weren’t answering your cell last night. He was really worried.”
“He’s one silly dude. I got a last-minute invite to fill in at a hot gig with my friend Elizabeth. You probably saw the posters all over town for Elizabeth Lorrey and the Rafters.”
Cam shook her head. Keeping up on the current music scene wasn’t part of her life anymore.
“Their drummer got the flu. So I had to head over to the Firehouse and rehearse with them beforehand. I totally forgot to call Bobby.”
“He’ll be glad you’re fine.” Cam straightened the last remaining bunch of leeks. “He did say you were questioned yesterday morning. How’d that go?”
She rolled her eyes. “They have nothing. Maybe they think I’m going to change my story and confess or something. To what? Knocking off an obnoxious woman? Sheesh. There’d be nothing in it for me. I’d lose a customer with an expensive car.”
Cam wondered if she was telling the truth. And wondered what Pete knew about Sim that he wasn’t telling her.
“And imagine how many murders there would be if all the obnoxious women got popped. Heck, I wouldn’t even be here anymore.” She flashed a wicked grin as she hefted the leeks.
Cam laughed a little nervously. “Well, anyway, give Bobby a call, would you?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you a question all week,” Cam said. “Were you at the Middleford Fair last Wednesday? I thought I saw your motorcycle heading up Route One.”
“Not me.” She waved the leeks. “How much are these, and what do I do with them?”
Chapter 39
When Cam got home, she greeted Alexandra, DJ, and Katie. They were almost done stapling the chicken wire to the run framework. In the house, she fixed a sandwich and poured a glass of milk. When she sat at the table, Preston approached her chair. She glanced down at him staring up at her. Cam was sure his face, with its luminous light green eyes lined with kohl above a full snowy-white ruff, could get him a gig as a feline supermodel. He didn’t look worried or hungry. It was the calm, patient stare he always gave her when he wanted to sit in her lap. He never jumped up, but simply waited to be lifted. If he was keeping track on his success-o-meter, he had to know he’d scored again. She hoisted him by his ruff and his midsection onto her lap and stroked him with one hand as she ate.
The note from the dinner still sat on the table. She examined it again. Why did the writing look so familiar? On a hunch, she gave Preston one more stroke before sliding him onto the floor, murmuring, “Sorry, Mr. P.”
She got up and went to her desk. The pile of her recent transactions waited next to the computer. Promptly entering which money came in and went out into her online accounting system was not one of Cam’s strong suits. She rifled through the hodgepodge of invoices, receipts, bills, and farm-to-table dinner sign-ups until she found what she wanted. She took Irene’s sign-up form to the table. She compared the writing to that on the note. Identical, as far as she could tell.
Now all she had to do was figure out why.
Cam pulled the truck all the way up the long, curving drive to Irene’s Colonial, as close to the back door as possible. Its tasteful cream clapboards and pale green trim were complemented by understated landscaping that had to have cost her a bundle. She must have hired weekly gardeners to keep the annual flowers deadheaded, the rhododendron and weeping cherry neatly pruned, the black mulch free of weeds.
Cam shut off the engine. She fingered Irene’s keys in the pocket of her jacket. Howard had written the note. To Irene, apparently. Did Cam have the nerve to enter Irene’s house to find the reason for the note? Maybe it was because she didn’t use her intellect in farming the same way she had writing computer code, but she felt a steel filament drawing her toward solving this problem of finding the connection between Howard and Irene.
She checked her phone. Two thirty. What if she was spotted? The house
was situated so the neighbors on either side didn’t have a direct view of the end of the driveway and the back door, but Cam heard a smooth engine noise like a riding mower from one direction and the voices of children playing outdoors from the other. Someone could easily see her and ask what she was doing there.
She’d better come up with a story. She couldn’t very well claim to be a long-lost cousin, since people who lived in town might recognize her. She ran through possibilities. She worked with Lucinda and was here to clean and get the house ready for sale. On a Sunday? No way. She could say Irene had asked her to help with the museum plans. But why? Cam snapped her fingers. If somebody questioned her, she’d claim Irene had asked her to plant a vegetable garden behind the house and Cam had to retrieve garden design books she’d left with Irene. She swallowed. It was a long shot, a story that would have to do. With any luck nobody would see her slip in the back door, anyway.
As a dark cloud blew over the sun, she shut the truck door as quietly as she could. She tried to walk naturally to the door and exhaled a long breath once she was inside, with the door shut behind her. She whistled as she walked through the house. The decor was simple and looked expensive. Rich woven rugs sat atop gleaming hardwood floors. The kitchen could have been featured in a Gourmet magazine spread with its magnet-free refrigerator and empty countertops.
Cam kept walking. Her goal was an office of some kind. Irene surely had a home office. And although she knew Pete and his crew had searched the house, they hadn’t been looking for the object of her search. If she found it, she’d call Pete and go home. And if she didn’t, she’d still call him and go home.
She found herself almost tiptoeing. This lovely home was Irene’s life, her refuge from the world. Cam was intruding on it, uninvited. She was at least as private a person as Irene and would detest someone invading her personal zone of retreat and safety. Like most others, Cam hadn’t particularly liked Irene, but she’d seen the older woman’s affection for Preston, and anyway, nobody deserved to be murdered.
Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) Page 23