A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die

by Edith Maxwell

  Striding to the podium, she glanced over at Jake. He winked at her with a wicked smile. Wonderful. Now she also had to perform in front of a guy she had a crush on. As she stepped onto the small platform, the toe of her boot caught and she nearly fell. Lucinda reached out a hand.

  “Gotcha, fazendeira,” she whispered.

  “Thanks,” Cam whispered in reply as she shook her head. She swallowed hard and began to speak, leaning over at an awkward angle to reach the microphone. She told them about Great-Uncle Albert and Great-Aunt Marie and how Albert had offered her the farm. Lucinda jumped up next to her and straightened the mike neck with a smile. She hopped off the podium again.

  Cam spied Albert, still in place near the beer table. The crowd had moved aside in front of him, presumably so he could see.

  “That’s Albert St. Pierre right there.” She waved at him. “He taught me about the soil and how to nurture it so plants will be healthy.”

  When Albert raised a hand in return, a wave of applause swept the room.

  Cam continued. She spoke for a moment about organic certification. She described the CSA and lauded the Locavore Club’s decision to sign up early. She finished by thanking the crowd.

  “I’m a geek farmer. What can I say? If the food I grow makes you happy, that’s good. And really, why buy from far away when you can eat what comes from your local area? I have to confess, though, that personally I am not giving up coffee.” The audience laughed, to Cam’s relief.

  “Back to you,” Cam said as she turned to Lucinda. But Lucinda wasn’t there anymore. “Okay, enjoy the evening.”

  As she stepped down, a woman a bit older than Cam pushed past her and took the mike. “I hate to pop your bubble, folks, but you’ve got your heads in the clouds. Eating locally is all very nice, but it’s not an efficient way to feed the world’s population.”

  A hiss arose from the audience, and someone in the back booed. Cam wondered why this person was even at the festival if she was so anti-locavore.

  The woman, whose tidy blouse and slacks contrasted with unkempt blond hair, started to speak again. A man hurried toward the podium.

  “Clarice, honey. Come down from there,” he murmured, extending a hand to her. She complied as he said in Cam’s direction, “Sorry. She’s not well.” He put his arm around the woman and led her to the door.

  Cam shrugged as she headed back to her table. The woman was probably right, but this wasn’t exactly the right venue to start a debate on the topic. People kept stopping her to say hello or ask a question about the CSA. It was slow going.

  “Nice speech.” Ruth Dodge patted Cam on the arm.

  “Hey, Ruth! Thanks. Nice to see you.”

  “Good speech, right, girls?” Two little girls stood on either side of Ruth. One wore a striped top, a short denim skirt over striped tights, and little hiking boots; the other a pink sundress and purple sandals. “Can you say hi to Ms. Cam?”

  The girls said “Hi” in unison.

  “You’ve gotten so big,” Cam said, smiling at them, then thought she must sound like an old lady aunt. “Ms. Cam?” she said with raised eyebrows to Ruth.

  “It’s how they address their preschool teachers. Respect and informality combined. Seems to work.”

  “You guys having fun?” Cam squatted down to their level.

  “I am. I’m Nettie.” The girl in stripes pushed back a cap of dark curls from her forehead. “We’re not the same, even though we’re twins,” her tiny voice asserted. It sounded like she’d been practicing the statement.

  “Of course not. And you’re Natalie, right?” Cam asked the girl in pink. Blond curls framed her face like angel hair.

  Natalie nodded and looked away, hugging Ruth’s knee.

  Ruth ruffled Natalie’s hair and mouthed “Shy” to Cam.

  Nettie’s face broke into a wide smile. “Daddy!” She flew at the man who had appeared at Ruth’s side. He scooped up both girls, one in each arm, and kissed each in turn. He was taller than Cam and Ruth and wiry, with a scrawny brown ponytail. A feather earring hung from an earlobe. He wore old jeans and an untucked cowboy shirt, the kind with snaps instead of buttons, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  “Cameron, right?” He greeted Cam without looking at Ruth.

  Cam returned the greeting. “Haven’t seen you since the wedding, I think.”

  Frank Jackson nodded, busying himself with his girls. Nettie demanded they go explore, while Natalie nestled into his shoulder like that was the only place she’d ever wanted to be.

  Ruth reached out a hand to his other shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

  Cam watched the hurt on Ruth’s face be replaced by a mask of public good nature. Frank teased Nettie and stroked Natalie’s hair. Clearly, he loved his kids, but he and Ruth were just as clearly having issues.

  Cam froze. His left arm, the one around Natalie, sported a tattoo. She narrowed her eyes, as if it would improve her eyesight. She didn’t need to. The tattoo depicted the same symbol as the one on the disk she’d found in her greenhouse.

  Chapter 10

  Cam shifted her eyes quickly. She watched Ruth watch the father of her children instead. It suddenly seemed important not to let Frank know she was interested in his tattoo, which had to be from the Patriotic Militia. She did know she was intensely curious about the image on his arm. It had to mean that Frank was part of the militia. Ruth had reacted to the logo on the disk, but she hadn’t told Cam her husband was involved with the organization. And she hadn’t told Pappas, either, as far as Cam knew. She worried about what Ruth had gotten herself into. It was time for that walk on the beach with her friend. And soon.

  Nettie was out of Frank’s arms and pulling him with her little hand across the hall, so Cam excused herself. “I have to get back to my table. Bye, Frank, girls!” she called after them, then lowered her voice. “Let’s talk soon, Ruthie.” Cam squeezed Ruth’s hand.

  Her eyes on her daughters and her husband, Ruth nodded. She returned Cam’s squeeze before she let go and followed them.

  Cam headed back to her table. Stuart appeared at her side, holding two full plastic glasses.

  “Wine?” He extended one toward Cam. “Alfalfa Farm Winery.”

  “I should be bringing you beer instead, to make up for the one I spilled on you.” Cam accepted the glass. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Wanted to make sure you know there’s no hard feelings about pouring beer on me.” Stuart laughed. “I was walking by, and they handed me two glasses for the price of one.”

  “I thought the samples were free.” Cam smiled back. “Cheers.”

  Stuart raised his glass. “Let me know if you need another.” He winked before he strolled away.

  Alexandra was standing at the table when Cam returned. “I told Felicity I’d mind the space for you. It’s been busy. I put out a sheet for people to leave their e-mail addresses on.” She wore a green-and-blue rayon dress, a garment Great-Aunt Marie might have worn, that looked like it came from an antiques store. Except on Alexandra it was stunning, and not an everyday housedress.

  “I appreciate it, Alexandra.” An image flashed in Cam’s mind. An image of Alexandra standing over Mike’s limp body with a pitchfork raised above her head, a pitchfork aimed at his throat. Cam shuddered.

  “Are you all right?” Alexandra cocked her head and drew her brows together.

  Cam shook her head a little. “I’m fine. Looks like we had lots of takers.”

  The young woman must have refilled the strawberry bowl several times, since the flat on the floor was nearly empty. The array of business cards was almost depleted, too. Cam dug the box out of her purse and displayed another couple of dozen.

  “Hey, Alexandra. Is Katie coming?” Stuart materialized next to Cam.

  Alexandra frowned. “Stuart, really. You need to leave her alone.”

  “What, little sister can’t put in a good word? We had a nice thing going there for a while.” Stuart sounded like he’d been sampling a little to
o much from the wine and beer tables, pronouncing nice as “naish.” “Maybe now the competition’s gone. . . .”

  “Forget it, Stuart. She’s moved on.” Alexandra put fists on hips. “And, anyway, why would she listen to me?”

  Stuart’s smile turned to hurt. “Thanks a lot.” He stalked away.

  “Sounds like he wants your sister back. Anyway, thanks so much for filling in.” She smiled at Alexandra. “Go enjoy yourself.” Cam shooed her away and banished the image of Alexandra as murderer, too.

  The next hour passed quickly. The burst of publicity from Lucinda brought all kinds of interested eaters who wanted a slice of Cam’s time. She didn’t think she could fit any more customers into the CSA this year but urged folks who asked about it to come to the farmers’ market instead or even drop by the farm itself.

  Lucinda breezed by several times. She wore black capri pants with her blouse and stylish black espadrilles. She didn’t stop to talk, though, giving Cam a little wave of her hand as she worked the crowd. Bright spots burned on her cheeks, as if from the energy of the event.

  “How’s business?” Pete Pappas materialized opposite Cam.

  Why was he at the festival?

  “May I?” He gestured to one of the last strawberries.

  “Sure. Business is booming. You’re lucky to get one of those.” Cam pointed to the strawberry. “Are you interested in local foods?”

  “Not in the slightest. But it’s my job right now to be interested in your farm.” His smile was thin and didn’t include the least scrap of warmth.

  Cam returned the smile.

  “Cam! Great speech.” Ellie Kosloski stood next to Pappas, her father behind her. “I can’t wait to come and help tomorrow morning.”

  Pappas raised an eyebrow. “More of your volunteers?” He nodded at Ellie and David.

  “David and Ellie Kosloski, this is Detective Pappas. Detective, two of my shareholders. Ellie’s doing her Girl Scout locavore badge, too.”

  Pappas nodded. “Mr. Kosloski. We’ve spoken on the telephone.”

  David nodded in return. He met Pappas’s eyes briefly. Ellie waved at someone across the room and led her father away.

  “Young Peter!” Albert’s voice boomed from Cam’s side.

  Pappas’s startled look was the first time Cam had seen him surprised.

  “I knew your father. Spiros was a good man.” Albert extended his hand. “Albert St. Pierre. I’d get up, but . . .” He gestured toward what was left of his leg.

  Pappas shook Albert’s hand. A smile drew across his face, under eyes tinged with sadness. “You knew my babás?”

  “Yes. Spiros and I ran Rotary events. You know, getting money for winter coats for poor children. Bringing the kids up from the hot city—from Dorchester or Lowell—to the country for the summer. Why, we used to host them at the farm.” Albert turned to Cam. “You remember, don’t you, Cameron?”

  Cam shook her head. “Maybe it was before I started coming. I was usually alone there. I mean, the only child. That’s why I hung out with Ruthie.”

  “I daresay you’re right. It must have been in my younger days.”

  Pappas ran a hand through his hair. Cam hadn’t noticed the gray in it before. It was almost a week since the murder and still no arrest. He was in charge of the investigation. She imagined that could cause gray hair to sprout in anybody.

  “I remember older children staying with us when I was little,” he said. “They helped out at Babás’s store.”

  Albert nodded. “Say, my niece here says you’re the man in charge of finding who stabbed poor Montgomery on my, I should say her, farm. Haven’t found the killer yet? Mike’s mother is getting worried you might never.”

  “We haven’t made an arrest, sir.” Pappas glanced at Cam. “Yet. We could be getting close, however. I should have asked to interview you earlier, since the victim was your former employee. My oversight. When would be a good time to talk?”

  “No time like the present. Cameron, we’re not leaving soon, are we? It’s still hopping here.”

  Cam looked around. It was still hopping. She checked her watch. It was eight o’clock, but the hall remained full. The discordant notes of a tuning fiddle drifted over from the corner and then morphed like a butterfly into a full-fledged bluegrass tune, accompanied by a banjo and a guitar. Looked like the hopping was ramping up.

  “No, we’re not going soon.”

  Pappas gestured toward the doorway. “How about a breath of air?”

  “I wouldn’t mind it,” Albert said, deftly turning the chair. Pappas followed him out.

  Tapping her foot to the tune, Cam watched them go. Albert had mentioned Mike’s mother to Pappas. Wouldn’t Cam love to be a fly on the handle of his wheelchair to hear what Great-Uncle Albert knew about Bev Montgomery. What he hadn’t wanted to tell Cam the other night. And then Pappas’s comment “We could be getting close.” If it was true, she might be able to breathe easily again.

  Cam swung around at the swell of a crowd’s worth of rhythmic clapping. A contra dance had materialized, complete with a caller in a swirly black skirt and red cowboy boots. Lucinda, squired by Stuart, sashayed to the music down the middle of a double row of people and then back. They separated and danced alone down the outside of the rows, Lucinda twirling as she went, Stuart doing fancy maneuvers with his feet. They took up positions facing each other again at the far end. Stuart smiled at Lucinda, who returned it with a five-hundred-watt beam. The rest of the dancers and half the observers clapped in time to the music.

  Cam turned back to her farm table. The Herb Farmacy woman was packing up. Wes and Felicity had joined the dancers. Cam tidied up the cards and the display, removing the empty strawberry bowl and the note about taking only one, now face-down and forlorn on the cloth. She hummed along with the band, swaying to the music as she worked.

  Suddenly a large warm arm encircled her waist. “Want to join the contra line?” Jake asked. His eyes twinkled under a mock frown. “Dare we?”

  Cam flushed, loving the feeling of his arm but thinking this was a very public place to be seen so close. “Uh, I don’t dance.” She twisted away and faced him, smiling.

  “You were, Farmer Flaherty. I saw you.” Jake’s double-breasted white shirt bore evidence of serving, and his hat was now askew as he returned her smile. The smile lines around those pale eyes countered their icy blue color. An escapee lock of hair over his brow gave him a boyish look.

  “That wasn’t dancing.” Cam shook her head. “Besides”—she gestured around the room—“too many people here.” She raised her eyebrows, hoping he would understand.

  “Maybe we’ll dance in private one of these days. What do you think?” Jake leaned his face close to hers until she could feel his heat.

  Cam thought she would very much like to dance in private with this man. She took a deep breath. “How about I cook dinner for you tomorrow night?”

  Jake gestured at his shirt with both hands and gave her a rueful look. “I’m a chef, remember? I cook all the nights but Monday and Tuesday. Even tonight I had to talk my sous-chef into being the big boss for an evening.”

  “Monday it is, then. On the farm. Six o’clock?”

  Jake nodded. “I’ll bring the dance music.” He smiled over his shoulder as he strode away.

  The tune changed to an even livelier one. Cam packed up the rest of the display and folded the cloth, tapping her foot. The dancers had formed two circles mostly defined by gender, one inside the other, women on the inside, men on the outside. The men’s circle moved at the caller’s instruction, so the partners changed with every call.

  “Now, ladies and gentlemen, you be sure to introduce yourself if you don’t know your new partner when he or she shows up,” the caller announced.

  Alexandra looked like she’d done this before, decorating the basic moves with flair and energy. Ellie and her father danced in the circles, too, Ellie holding her own with men twice her size and three times her age as the outer circle m
oved.

  While Cam watched, David Kosloski came face-to-face with Lucinda. She smiled at him as he leaned toward her and seemed to say something. Lucinda’s eyes widened in a look of alarm. Her smile vanished. She spoke, then dashed out of the circle and toward the propped-open back door.

  Cam checked the clock as she lay in bed. Midnight thirty. The unmoving, moisture-laden air pushed down like a blanket. Even a sheet felt too hot, so she sprawled uncovered, wearing only a long T-shirt softened to the texture of silk by years of washing.

  The heat kept her awake. Her stomach was a little queasy, too. Thoughts chased each other around her brain as she lay there. Lucinda had acted so oddly tonight. Showing up late to her own event? Very strange. Absent when Cam finished her little speech? A little weird. Zooming around like she was high during the event? Okay, normal. But tearing out of there, with alarm written on her face, right after seeing David Kosloski? Just plain odd, and a little scary. The two must know each other, since Lucinda cleaned the Kosloski house. Maybe Cam should call her, but it seemed like too much effort right now.

  Then Pappas taking Great-Uncle Albert outside so Pappas could grill him, or maybe it was Albert getting information out of Pappas. Cam hadn’t been able to find out which, since Albert had fallen asleep on the drive home.

  She grabbed her stomach and groaned. All of a sudden she had a lobster thrashing around in her gut, claws and all. She raced down the stairs to the bathroom, arriving in the nick of time. Her head pounded as she lost her dinner in first one direction and then the other, like she was being turned inside out. When the attack seemed to be over, she washed her hands and rinsed her mouth out. A shudder rippled through her, and she wondered if she was going to be sick again. Looking in the mirror, she was shocked at how pale her face was.

  Cam inhaled deeply and let the air out. If this was from what she’d eaten at the Locavore Festival, it wasn’t very good advertising for local foods. She padded out into the dark parlor and sank into an armchair. She shook her head. Unless others reported getting sick, she didn’t have any way of finding out what had caused her own distress. It could be a flu bug, she supposed. Or maybe it was mixing beer with rum with wine. How many times did she have to tell herself not to do that?