A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die

by Edith Maxwell

  “It’s a date, then. Hey, I’m curious. Why did you owe Bev Montgomery a favor?”

  Albert gazed up at Cam for a moment. “We’ll get into that another time, my dear. It’s not a fast tale to tell.”

  Cam looked around the barn the next morning. She thought she had everything ready for Volunteer Wednesday. Despite Lucinda being such an eager helper, the workload at the farm was more than Cam and Lucinda combined could manage. Starting a weekly volunteer day was an idea Cam had read about on the Web site for the Massachusetts chapter of the Northeast Organic Farming Association, NOFA/Mass. She liked the concept and hoped she could find enough jobs for both the skilled and the unskilled. Hiring another farmhand wasn’t easy and wasn’t cheap. If this worked, maybe she wouldn’t have to.

  “Hey, Cam!” Alexandra strode in. “I know I’m early, but I couldn’t wait to get my hands dirty.” Today the tall young woman sported a denim work shirt tucked into short cutoff jeans. A yellow bandanna was tied around her head, letting her hair spill down her back, and a pair of work gloves stuck out of her back pocket. “Where do we start?”

  The aura of fresh air surrounding Alexandra made Cam smile. Even in her early twenties Cam hadn’t been so open and energetic. “Hang on a minute. Let’s wait until a few others show up. I can give a quick orientation to everyone at once.”

  Alexandra nodded. “So did you think any more about us using the farm as our CSF pickup site?”

  “No, but that would be fine. What day do you want to do it?”

  “Can we do Saturdays? That way we can pick up the fish when we come for our shares.”

  “No problem.”

  “OMG, that’s solid. Did you want to sign up, too?” Alexandra pulled a flat phone out of a pocket. “Here,” she said, pressing a few buttons. “Here’s the information.” She extended the device toward Cam.

  Cam laughed. “I’ll check them out online later, but thanks.” Then she had a thought. “Alexandra, I don’t suppose Web programming is among your talents, is it?”

  “I’m not bad. I created the Locavore Club site. HTML is easy, really.”

  It was easy for people like Alexandra and herself. But Cam didn’t have time to tackle it. “I want to set up a site for the farm. Would you be interested?”

  Alexandra agreed.

  “Great. Let’s figure out a time to meet, and I’ll sketch it out with you. Maybe before you leave today?”

  Alexandra frowned. “I have an appointment later on. What if I stop by tomorrow morning?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Felicity bounced in, sloshing water out of a jar full of flowers. “Am I late?” She beamed. She wore black work pants tucked into green rubber boots. Her braid wound around her head like a queen’s. “I’m so excited to get to work on a real farm. I have a little garden at home, you know, but nothing on this scale. Wes had to work, or he’d be here, too. Oh, and I brought your chart.”

  Cam sighed. “Can we talk about that later?”

  “Sure. But it’s interesting. You’re a Scorpio, which explains why you like writing software. Scorpios like to get deep into things. But your moon is in Taurus, so that’s why you’re attracted to farming and earthy things.”

  “Interesting,” Cam said, mentally rolling her eyes. She’d thought she was interested in farming because Albert had offered her the opportunity right when she needed to escape the city and Tom, too.

  “I also brought a few flowers from my garden in this jar.” Felicity proffered the pint canning jar filled with fragrant narcissus. “I thought it would be nice to set up a little memorial at your hoop house for poor Mike Montgomery. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “A memorial?”

  “Yes, you know. To honor his memory.”

  Alexandra held out a striking hand-drawn card in a plastic sleeve. “I have something for it, too. Felicity called me about the idea, so I sketched a message of peace.” The sketch was a near-professional drawing. It portrayed neat rows of green crops stretching back toward a hill, with an idyllic blue stream wandering along the side and a full basket of harvested vegetables in the foreground.

  “That looks very peaceful, Alexandra, although I’d say it’s a lot more than a sketch,” Cam said. “You’re very talented.”

  “I just diddle around with drawing.”

  “A memorial to Mike is fine,” Cam said to the women, who walked out of the barn with their offerings. Cam probably should have thought of that herself. But hadn’t.

  Several other shareholders drifted in, including Stuart, as Felicity and Alexandra reentered the barn.

  “I don’t work until this afternoon, and this sounded like more fun than weeding through Monster.com for a real job.” Stuart shifted a small knapsack on his back.

  “Glad to have you,” Cam said.

  “Hi, Stuart,” Alexandra said, folding her arms. “Hey, so I hear you and my sister broke up.”

  “Yeah, not exactly.”

  “Really? That’s what Katie told me.” Alexandra raised one eyebrow.

  “She tried to break up with me, okay?” Stuart’s voice was gruff.

  So that was the subscriber Stuart had referred to earlier.

  “Anyway, don’t we have work to do, Cam?”

  To Cam’s ear, he sounded like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Cam nodded and gathered the group. After eyeing up everyone’s relative strength and assessing their experience levels, she assigned each person a task. One rather out-of-shape-looking couple got the easiest job, tying the tomato vines to their stakes. Alexandra appeared to be the biggest and strongest, so Cam gave her the compost to turn. Cam asked Felicity and another woman to cut greens. The rest Cam assigned to weed.

  A man whose name Cam didn’t remember spoke up. “I heard there was a murder here last week. Is the killer still at large?”

  “Yes, are we safe here?” an older woman asked amid a quiet chorus of volunteers talking among themselves.

  At large? The first speaker must have watched too much old television. Cam mustered her most confident farmer face. “The local and state police are hard at work. I am quite sure you’re all safe. The killing wasn’t directed at me or at the farm, so we have nothing to worry about. I want to thank everybody for coming to help. Now, let’s get started.”

  Cam picked up the wheelbarrow handles and led them out to the fields. She showed the volunteers in each group where to focus their energies, doled out hand hoes and weeding tools, and demonstrated the tomato-tying technique to the retired couple. Cam handed Alexandra the spare pitchfork, since the police had confiscated the murder weapon, and showed her how to accomplish her job.

  “The basic concept is that compost needs regular doses of air mixed in so it can break down. You should sprinkle it with water every few minutes, too.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  Cam walked back to the barn to get the garden cart. She paused at the hoop house. Someone had added a few sprigs of herbs next to the small memorial to Mike. Cam rounded the corner of the hoop house to see Ruth Dodge walking toward her down the drive.

  “Ruthie! How nice to see you. What’s happening?”

  Ruth, in jeans, T-shirt, and sandals, smiled at Cam. “I’m off duty and thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing. You holding up?”

  Cam nodded. “Pretty much. I wish you’d find the murderer, though. It’s making a few of my customers uneasy.”

  “I’m sure we will soon. Detective Pappas is the best.”

  Cam wrinkled her nose. “He’s obnoxious. I can’t imagine him getting people to tell him anything.”

  Ruth pulled her mouth. “I guess he comes across that way. But he really is good at what he does, Cam. I should know. I worked with him before I came back to Westbury. So what’s with all the cars here?” She gestured toward the drive.

  “Volunteer Wednesday. Got a bunch of shareholders giving me free labor. It’s good. I need the help.”

  “Well, I’m here. Want to put me to work?”

  Cam agre
ed. She led Ruth into the hoop house and halted, shuddering. “That’s where I found him.” Her feet refused to take another step. There must still be blood in the gravel. She scanned the ground and instead saw scraped-up mounds of gravel and bare dirt.

  “Cam?” Ruth laid a hand on her shoulder. “They cleaned it all up, you know. It was a terrible thing to happen on your farm, but you need to let it go by. ”

  Cam took a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

  “Now, show me what to do.”

  Cam explained about applying water gently to the seedlings, then said, “I’ll be right back.”

  She wheeled the big garden cart out to the weeders. She told them to throw the pulled matter into it and she’d empty it later. She didn’t see Stuart anywhere. Odd. Where was he? She shook her head. Maybe he’d gone off in the woods for a minute to take a leak. Cam made a note to tell her volunteers about the small bathroom in the corner of the barn. She strode back to the hoop house and surveyed Ruth’s work.

  “Nice job, girlfriend.” Cam moved up and down the rows. “Enough water but not too much. You’ve got the touch.”

  “Thanks. It’s not really that hard.”

  “Here’s what’s next,” Cam said. She showed Ruth how to gently separate the seedlings in the cells that held two or more tiny lettuce plants, and how to replant them in a new flat, so there was only one plant per cell.

  “I’m not going to hurt them?” Ruth asked.

  “Lettuces are pretty hardy, even tiny like this.”

  They worked together in silence for a few moments.

  “So when was it that we stopped seeing each other, Cam?” Ruth straightened and looked at her old friend.

  Cam raised her eyebrows. “I went to your wedding, what? Seven years ago?”

  “Eight. I was a child bride.” Ruth smiled, but her mouth had a wistful cast to it.

  “Twenty-three isn’t exactly childhood. Anyway, then I started the job in Boston. And you seemed busy with Frank. How is he, anyway?”

  “He’s fine. I’m not so sure how we are.”

  “But you have the girls. They must be five by now?”

  Ruth looked out the door. “Natalie and Nettie are the joys of my life.” She looked back at Cam with full eyes. “The best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “So what’s wrong?” Cam moved over to stand next to Ruth.

  “Frank and I aren’t doing so great.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Cam?” A voice sounded from the path outside the hoop house. “We need your help out here!”

  Cam gave Ruth a quick hug. “We’re going to take a bottle of wine to the beach one of these days. And you’re going to tell me everything.”

  Ruth agreed.

  “I’ll be right back. Gentle with those lettuces.”

  Cam exited the hoop house, nearly colliding with Felicity.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, dear.” Felicity looked toward the fields and then back at Cam. Worry etched her brow. “Well, I think you should look at one of the fields.”

  Cam walked back with her. “What did you see?”

  “I don’t know. You asked us to cut arugula, but it doesn’t look right.”

  If this was more sabotage, Cam wasn’t sure what she’d do. They passed the weeders, who were rapidly filling the cart. Steam rose from the compost pile that Alexandra turned, forkful by forkful, into the adjacent bin.

  “See?” Felicity pulled at Cam’s sleeve.

  An entire row of leaves lay limp on the ground, still attached to their roots, but nearly lifeless. A pale, granular substance coated them. Droplets of water stood up from the green.

  “Oh, no!” Cam knelt to smell the crop. On a hunch she wiped a bit of the white substance off with her finger and tasted a grain of it. “Salt?” She frowned and shook her head in disbelief. “How did salt get onto this crop?”

  “We got a good cutting from the other row, though.” Felicity’s voice was hopeful. “You can use that, can’t you?”

  “At least salt isn’t grounds for being decertified, but it’s ruined the bed.” Cam looked up at her. “Did you see anyone out here? Were any of the other volunteers working on this bed before you? I could swear it was fine yesterday.”

  Felicity shook her head. She glanced over at the other volunteer, the man who had asked about the murder. He also shook his head.

  Cam rose. “I’ll pull the bed. Can’t sprinkle it down, or it will get into the soil. It’s not that serious.” She hoped that was true. “Some kind of mistake, I guess.” She wanted to put on a good front for the customers, but inside she fumed. Whoever thought they could come onto her land and try to wreck her life was going to have to deal with her.

  She’d left the wheelbarrow at the back of the hoop house, near a wooden fence where Albert and Marie had trained up sweet peas. A whiff of their fragrant blooms instantly transported Cam back to her childhood summers. This year she’d chosen to plant pole beans in the rich soil at the base of the fence as a way to utilize all possible space for producing food.

  Stuart strode toward her as she approached the spigot, his arms full of vines.

  “I cleaned up that fence area for you.” He gestured with his chin toward the greenery he held.

  Cam stopped short. “You what? Those aren’t weeds! That’s my pole bean crop.”

  “Oh, crap. But that’s a fence. Those aren’t poles.”

  “Did anyone tell you to weed there? What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Sorry. They looked like weeds. I was only trying to help.”

  “Sorry?” Cam’s voice rose.

  “Fine.” Stuart dumped the mess of greens on the ground. “Look, I said I was sorry,” he spat out. “Thanks a lot for your understanding, Farmer Cam.” He stalked toward the driveway.

  Cam bent over the beanstalks. Tender roots stuck up out of clumps of soil, their tiny white nitrogen-fixing nodules already apparent. Beans didn’t transplant well. She’d never be able to get these back in the ground and growing again. She’d have to replant. One more setback in a really bad week.

  As Cam gazed at Stuart’s retreating back, Ruth emerged from the hoop house a few feet away. She looked at Stuart, at Cam, and back at Stuart as he climbed into his rusty car.

  “Stuart Wilson?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Everything okay?”

  A dead man, wrecked rhubarb, salted arugula, and ruined bean plants were a long way from okay.

  Chapter 7

  As the last of the volunteers drove away, Cam sank into a lawn chair, discouraged and hungry. Sure, she’d gotten a lot of help. But dealing with people tired her. Plus the business with the arugula and Stuart pulling up the pole beans was very disturbing. She’d mentioned the arugula and the rhubarb to Ruth, who had walked out back to check. Since she was in casual clothes and didn’t act like a police officer, Cam didn’t think Ruth had alarmed the volunteers. Cam had had to pull all the arugula plants, scrape as much salt as she could from the top layer of dirt, and then rake out the soil, hoping to disperse the rest of the salt.

  Maybe this whole venture had been the wrong decision. Writing software was so much more straightforward. She could just give the farm back to Albert and take herself back to the city. He could sell the land. She could find another cubicle job.

  Cam shook her head, hoisted herself out of the chair, and aimed herself at the kitchen. It was time to refuel, not time to reverse a major life decision. She still had an afternoon’s work ahead of her. From the look of the dark thunderclouds forming to the west, it might be a short afternoon.

  She grabbed a peanut butter and banana sandwich and poured a glass of beer. The first swallow went down way too easily, and she took a second. As Cam ate standing at the kitchen counter, she flipped through the seed catalog. She needed to reorder pole bean and arugula seeds and thought of a couple of other items she could add to the order to get it up to the minimum for free shipping.

  Next to the toaster
, Cam caught sight of the talisman she’d picked up in the hoop house that morning. Sunday seemed like weeks ago, instead of only three days earlier. She should have given it to Ruth today. Well, she’d be seeing her again.

  Cam placed the seed order online. She took a moment to check the farm’s e-mail. She frowned at one missive, with a subject line of “Must pick up elsewhere,” and clicked open the message.

  “Can’t come to the farm Saturday to pick up share. Too dangerous. Pls deliver to police station parking lot. Thx.”

  What? She wasn’t about to start hand delivering shares. Cam’s blood pressure rose like an outdoor thermometer in August. She checked the sender. It was the man who had questioned her on the farm’s safety at Volunteer Day. She tapped out a reply, then paused to read it over again.

  “We are sorry you feel the farm is too dangerous, but we cannot accommodate delivery and hope you feel able to pick up your share on Saturday at the barn. Please know the authorities are doing all they can to arrest and prosecute the murderer.”

  Was her message too abrupt, too unaccommodating? Cam shook her head. She worked hard enough as it was. She clicked SEND and headed back to work.

  On her way to the fields she stopped in the flower garden. A blue glass globe rose from a short pole. Marie had tucked all kinds of small statuary and embellishments into the array of perennials. Cam plucked the globe from the ground and carried it to the memorial in front of the hoop house, where she stuck it in the dirt next to the other objects. It was the least she could do.

  She spent the next couple of hours starting broccoli seeds and other late-season cabbage-family crops in the hoop house, trying to place just one tiny seed in each cell of the flat she’d filled with her own special seed-starting mix. Two flats of lettuces were ready to be planted out, which meant an hour of kneeling, poking holes in the soil with her five-dowel dibble, gently inserting a two-inch seedling in each hole, and smoothing and tamping the soil around the stem.

  Cam usually found transplanting meditative, despite the strain on her back, but today her concern about the ruined arugula bed stuck in her brain. She worried about these seedlings, too, as she placed them in the earth, gingerly so she wouldn’t reopen the cut on her hand. She hoped a malicious act wouldn’t cut their lives short. As she worked, she mentally flipped through the morning’s volunteers, considering each as the culprit and rejecting each one. Except maybe for Stuart. But she thought he had his heart in the right place. She shouldn’t have been so severe with him about the pole beans. He really had been trying to help. And she didn’t think he’d actually sprinkle salt on her crop.