A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die

by Edith Maxwell

  Exhausted by the quick ordeal, Cam thought she could probably sleep now. It was warm and a little claustrophobic down here in the dark. She checked the door and windows, then climbed the wide pine stair treads, which dipped in the middle from centuries of farmers going up to bed. The wood was cool under her bare feet and was lit only by the ambient light from the uncovered windows upstairs. At the landing she paused and leaned her elbows on the windowsill at the front of the house. The Strawberry Moon shone fuzzy around the edges from the moisture in the air. Crickets fiddled while she watched fireflies swell to light and then dim again as they danced around the antique lilac.

  Cam heard a noise. She froze. What was that? She heard it again. Not a sound produced by the natural world. A clunk, a kind of metallic noise. She peered out as best she could. The yellow glow of the streetlight didn’t reach into the dark areas next to the house or the hiding places under the lilacs and forsythias filling the space between the road and the house.

  She shivered. Someone might be out there snooping around the house, spying on her. Or trying to break in. Or doing more damage to her crops.

  Cam shook her head. She told herself to get a grip. She was a competent adult with a smarter-than-average brain. She knew the doors were locked downstairs and the windows were open only at the top. What she needed was a plan.

  She tiptoed into her room. She exhaled with relief when she saw her cell phone by her bed. She threw a work shirt on over her sleepwear and pulled on a pair of shorts. She unplugged the clock radio that sat on the bedside table and slid back into the hall. She plugged it in at the receptacle directly under the front window. She set the radio on the windowsill, speaker facing out, switched it to a talk show, and turned the volume up as high as it would go. Flipping the lights on in the other rooms upstairs completed the plan. Let whoever it was think she wasn’t alone.

  In her bedroom at the back of the house, Cam sat on her bed in the dark. The motion-detector floodlight she’d installed could finally come in handy tonight. If the intruder moved to the back, he or she would have no place to hide.

  She waited about twenty minutes. The floodlight did not come on. She heard no more noises. She switched off the radio and the room lights. Tomorrow was share day, and dawn would come in a few short hours. If someone wanted to break into her house, well, let them try. As sleep started to dance around the edges of her consciousness and the beginning scene of a dream projected its images, an idea came to Cam. She told herself to remember it in the morning, then slid into oblivion.

  “Here you go, Ellie.” Cam handed the girl a pair of scissors and a basket. “Clip the greens right above the ground. They’ll grow back, and in two weeks we’ll have another whole crop of mesclun.”

  “I’m all over it.” Ellie knelt in the path next to the greens bed. “Thanks for, like, letting me help.”

  “Hey, I need all the help I can get. The thanks are all mine, girlfriend.”

  Ellie cocked her head and frowned, then started cutting.

  “Is that an odd thing for a grown-up to say?” Cam asked.

  “Yah, duh. I mean, well, we don’t say stuff like that.”

  Cam smiled to herself. She hadn’t hung out with fourteen-year-olds since she’d been one herself. She was glad Ellie wanted to help harvest on share morning. And, frankly, that Ellie’s father hadn’t stayed to help, too. He was a little odd, that one.

  She checked her watch. Ten after nine. No Lucinda. She had told Cam she would come early to harvest again, like last week. Maybe Lucinda ran into trouble after she raced out last night. Cam shook her head. She had too much to do to worry about it. She set to work pulling lettuce heads, roots and all, then plunging them into the wide galvanized-metal basin she’d filled with water. She wiped her forehead with her wet hand. The air was as hot as yesterday, even this early, and as humid, too.

  Cam looked over at Ellie. “I’d better get you a bin to soak those in instead of the basket. They’ll wilt in a minute in this heat, and we need to keep them fresh. Be right back.”

  Ellie nodded, singing a song to herself under her breath.

  Cam took a closer look. The girl had an earbud in one ear whose wire snaked down to the pocket on the bib of her overalls. The youth of today. Actually, Cam knew a lot of people her own age and older who were never without their minuscule music devices. As Cam walked to the barn, she reflected on what an aberration she was. For her, listening to the birds in the trees and the breeze in the leaves was a lot nicer music than anything that came out of a little metal square.

  She rummaged through the corner of the barn where she kept big containers until she found a plastic storage bin Ellie could rinse the greens in. Cam glanced over at the farm table and wrinkled her nose. In three hours the table had to be full.

  “Oh, crud! I forgot to make a dish for the shareholders to sample,” she said aloud. A misbegotten plan if there ever was one. The printed recipes would have to suffice this week. And every week, for that matter. Let them make their own dishes. Cam ran to the house, glad she’d thought to type up a half dozen recipes before the season started.

  She stopped short, with her hand on the door. A small galvanized metal bucket sat on the stoop. It held dozens of cut red carnations in water. A little metallic ladybug stuck to the outside. The array was gorgeous, but where had it come from? Somehow she had missed it this morning. She must have opened the door wide and not seen it. A metal bucket—that could have been the sound she’d heard in the night. The sound of kindness, not malice.

  Cam picked the bucket up but didn’t see a card or any other indication of who her secret admirer was. Thinking the flowers had to be from Jake, a rush zipped through her. She carried the bucket in and set it carefully on the table.

  She fired up the computer and sent Rosemary-Roasted Lamb and Asparagus Frittata to print, thirty copies each, then raced back to the barn. She’d left Ellie alone long enough as it was.

  When Cam got back to the greens bed with the bin and the end of the hose, Ellie was not there. She dropped the bin and swore. Ellie’s basket was full, with the scissors laid neatly on top. Cam looked in every direction. She couldn’t see Ellie. Cam hadn’t been gone very long. She was suddenly cold, her veins infused with ice water.

  “Ellie!” She called as loud as she could. The air seemed to have become silent except for her call. Cam didn’t hear the birds, the leaves, the road traffic. Nothing. If the girl had come to harm, Cam would not forgive herself. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called again, in the direction of the woods skirting the back of the property this time.

  “Hi, Cam! I’m over here.” Ellie waved in the distance.

  Cam’s heart rate started making its way back to normal. She closed her eyes for a moment’s gratitude to whatever goddess was out there. She reopened them to see Ellie sauntering toward her.

  “Where were you?” Cam tried to keep the worry out of her voice.

  “The basket was full and you weren’t back, so I thought I’d look around. I was walking down the row of tomatoes when I saw a flash of light from the edge of the woods, like the sun was reflecting off something shiny. I already got my science sleuth badge, but I wanted to, you know, check it out, anyway.”

  “So you’re all right?”

  Ellie shook her head with a little frowning smile. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I didn’t see you and—”

  “And you thought maybe the murderer was back?” Ellie put one hand in her pocket as she raised her eyebrows. Her other hand she kept behind her.

  “No!” At Ellie’s frank gaze, Cam said, “Well, yes. Crazy, huh?”

  Ellie nodded. “Want to see the thing I found? It looks like a gadget I read about in a novel about covert operations.” She glanced around. “Maybe there’s a spy organization operating undercover.”

  “Maybe,” Cam said, indulging the bookish teen. “Let’s see.”

  Ellie started to bring her hand out from behind her back, then looked beyond Cam. �
�I’ll show you later.”

  “What? Why not now?”

  Ellie pulled her hand back. She shook her head, stuffing whatever it was in her back pocket. “Hi, Lucinda,” she called.

  Cam whirled. Lucinda strode toward them, hair flying. “Sorry, fazendeira. I was detained.”

  “Oh, no. What happened?”

  Lucinda laughed, but it was a weak imitation of her usual peal. “No, not like that. I mean, I’m late. But I’m here now. Hey, Ellie.”

  The girl waved.

  “Okay, what do we got to do?” Lucinda gazed at Cam. Her eyes were watery, with smudged circles under them.

  Cam wanted only to sit her down, get answers to what had happened last night, find out why she was late, make sure she was safe. Of course, maybe she’d had too much to drink, or mixed her drinks like Cam had. Instead of getting into it, she asked Lucinda to fill the bin with water for Ellie. She directed Ellie to dump the greens into the water and cut enough more to refill the basket. She pointed Lucinda to the asparagus beds and took herself off to the perennial herbs to cut and bundle rosemary and thyme for today’s shares. They’d be lucky to get the harvest done and organized by noon. As she knelt to cut, she wondered for a moment what Ellie had found. It was probably an object Ellie’s teen imagination had embellished a story for. But why had she wanted to keep it secret from Lucinda?

  Chapter 11

  Cam surveyed the farm table. The three of them had barely made the noon deadline.

  “No, we didn’t,” she thought aloud. She turned to Lucinda. “Flowers! Can you . . .”

  “I’m on it.” Lucinda, still looking like she’d eaten a rotten eggplant, grabbed scissors and a bucket and headed for the flower garden.

  Cam thought of another forgotten task. “Ellie, greet anybody who arrives, will you? I need to get the recipes from the house.”

  At the girl’s pleased nod, Cam loped across the yard. She grabbed the printouts and cut the sheets in half with a little too much speed. She shook her head at the rough slanted cuts, but she was out of time. She had just locked the back door when a rumbling in the drive made her whirl.

  A panel truck crunched the gravel as it drove slowly toward the back. Cam tried to hail the driver with a wave, but she didn’t wave back. Now what? Cam shook her head, then followed the truck to the barn.

  Great. On only her second share pickup day, the entire entrance to the barn was blocked. Who was this?

  The passenger door slammed, and Alexandra strode around the front of the truck. “Hey, Cam! Good timing, right?” She gestured to the idling truck, a delighted smile lighting up her face.

  “I don’t know. Is it? What’s going on?”

  Alexandra’s smile vanished. “You don’t remember? It’s the CSF. People are going to pick up their fish shares at the same time as their vegetables. You agreed to it.” She frowned into Cam’s eyes.

  Cam nodded slowly. Of course. What a week it had been. “You’re absolutely right. Sorry I forgot. But you know, this isn’t a very good place for the truck. You need to move it. How about in the parking area?” She gestured to a graveled area off the driveway and closer to the road.

  “Sure. No prob.” Alexandra turned to the driver, still ensconced in the cab. “Bev, let’s move it over there.” She pointed down the drive.

  Cam took a closer look.

  Bev Montgomery gripped the wheel. She jammed the truck into reverse and backed down the drive.

  What was Bev doing driving a fish truck? Cam wondered if she was going to ask to see where her son was killed. It had to be painful for her to be here, where Mike had met a violent death. At least there was the memorial to him. Maybe Cam should offer to show her.

  A pain shot through the hand Cam had cut that night. She looked down. She still gripped the sheaf of recipes, now wrinkled from the force of her hand. She told herself to get a grip on her own world instead.

  “Cam, want me to put those on the table?” Ellie looked up at Cam.

  “Sure. Thanks. Anyone arrive yet?”

  Ellie shook her head as she sauntered back into the barn, humming, earbud firmly in place.

  Cam watched her go, then turned back to the truck. Bev now stood in the open back, next to a container that looked like a big refrigerator lying on its back. A large cooler sat on the truck bed next to her. On the ground, Alexandra busied herself with a clipboard. Community-supported fishery. Cam sighed at the excess of community.

  “Hello, Bev. I didn’t know you fished, too.”

  “I don’t.” The older woman pulled on long, thick rubber gloves and rummaged in the container.

  “What’s your relation to the CSF, then?”

  Alexandra piped up. “It’s her brother. He’s one of the supported fishermen. And fisherwomen.”

  Bev nodded but didn’t meet Cam’s eyes.

  So much for getting information out of Bev. Her perky young spokeswoman was obviously going to cover for her. Cam resolved to keep trying.

  “Is this your first time at the farm, Bev?”

  Bev gave Cam a sharp glance. Now Cam had her attention.

  “Of course not,” she snapped. “Your great-uncle and I go way back.” She opened her mouth to continue, then apparently thought the better of it and snapped it shut.

  Cam saw Bev’s clenched jaw working and decided to leave well enough alone. “Thanks for bringing the fish.” She turned to Alexandra and nodded at her clipboard. “Are those the shareholders?”

  Alexandra nodded.

  “If there is fish left over, I’d love to buy a piece, since I never signed up. What kind of fish do you have, by the way?”

  “Whole cod.”

  Cam had no idea how to cook a whole fish, but that was what the Internet was for, wasn’t it? “Well, I’ll take one if anyone doesn’t claim their share.”

  Alexandra rolled her eyes in faux ecstasy. “It’s to die for.”

  Cam sincerely hoped not. There had been enough of that at the farm already to last the rest of her natural lifetime.

  Several shareholders streamed up the drive, including David Kosloski. Cam greeted them and welcomed them into the barn, bracing herself for several hours of being social.

  “I’m sorry I missed the first week.” Irene Burr, in expensive-looking slacks in a cream color and a shimmering blue silk shirt, waved a manicured hand. “I was in Morocco, picking up some rugs. This all looks wonderful.”

  Cam took a moment to show her the setup. “Careful of the dirt.” She gestured at the roots on the radishes and smudges on the farm table. “I wouldn’t want you to ruin those nice pants.”

  The woman laughed and began to fill her cloth bag.

  “Hi, Dad!” Ellie strolled over to her father. “Look what we have today.” She gestured in a broad sweep at the produce displayed on the table. “I cut the mesclun and did a bunch of other stuff, too.”

  David put his arm around Ellie and walked to the table. “It’s beautiful, honey.”

  Ellie helped her father fill two cloth shopping bags with their share. They were at the barn door when Ellie said, “I’ll meet you at the car, Dad. One sec.” She hurried back to Cam.

  “Cam,” she whispered, beckoning Cam to lean down to her level.

  Cam obliged.

  Ellie looked around, as if to be sure no one was listening. “This is the thing I found in the woods.” She drew it out of her back pocket and extended it in a closed fist.

  Cam received it and closed her hand around the object, a little cylinder. She was about to examine it.

  “No! Look at it later. You know, when you’re by yourself.” Ellie pursed her lips under a knit brow.

  “Okay,” Cam promised as she slipped the object into her pocket. She didn’t have time to either study or consider it now, anyway. “Hey, thanks for all your work this morning. It really helped. You’re very competent.”

  “No problem. I mean, thanks. I’m, like, learning a lot.” She strolled toward the door, then turned. “Have a wicked good weekend,” she
called.

  Cam waved her hand in reply. Just then Wes and Felicity rounded the corner into the barn. In contrast to Felicity’s bubbly spirit from all of Cam’s previous encounters with her, today her face was stern, angry. Wes hurried along beside her, one hand on her elbow, speaking in a low voice.

  Felicity twisted out of Wes’s touch and halted, facing him. “I think we should tell her. She deserves to know.” Her voice was shrill. She turned back to the middle of the barn. Catching sight of Cam, she instantly transformed into a smiling shareholder.

  “Ah, Cam, there you are. We were just talking about you.”

  Wes removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Hi, Felicity, Wes. How are things?” Cam gazed from one to the other.

  Felicity glared at Wes, then smiled at Cam. “Oh, I forgot.” She drew a cloth bag out of her market basket. “Here. I brought bamboo plates for your samples.” She extended the bag toward Cam.

  Ouch. “Well, we have a change of plans on that. Thank you so much, Felicity. But I realized it was just too much work to both cook and harvest every Saturday.” Cam waved a hand at the table. “But I still have the recipes, and you know, people can cook their own versions. What do you think?”

  Felicity drew the bag back, gazing at Cam in silence for a moment.

  Cam’s heart fell. This little woman had been one of her most enthusiastic customers so far, and helpful, too. Cam hoped she hadn’t lost her loyalty, and wondered if it had anything to do with Felicity’s argument with Wes. Cam tried to muster a smile encouraging of agreement.

  “I think that’s a wise business decision, Cam. Don’t worry. I was thinking maybe we could start monthly farm potlucks, anyway, everybody sharing their shares, so to speak. What do you think?”