Cam shook it. “Thanks so much for coming. I know it’s just a mistake. Lucinda would never hurt anyone.” She gazed at Susan, who was taller than Cam with those heels, and realized with a shock that the lawyer had to be in her sixties. Her big hair surrounded big features, with a full mouth accentuated by lipstick matching her bag and shoes. Cam didn’t see a blouse under the jacket, the top button of which just covered Susan’s cleavage. Still, her skin had the quality of parchment, and deep lines around her mouth and eyes gave away her age.
“Listen. Your friend isn’t in good shape, being accused of murder. But I’m going to do what I can. And any friend of Al’s is a friend of mine.”
“Al? My great-uncle Albert?” Cam had never known Albert to put up with anyone calling him Al. “He doesn’t really know Lucinda.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re her friend, and you’re his great-niece. That’s good enough for me.”
“How do you know Albert?”
Susan laughed heartily. “Our mothers were good friends. He used to babysit me. He’d sneak Marie in when they were courting, and I’d feel like I was their little daughter for the evening.”
Cam had trouble imagining Susan Lee ever being little.
“Al’s a good man. I’d do anything for him.” She cleared her throat. “Now, they might not even let you into the station, and if they do, they probably won’t let you see your friend. But let’s give it a try.”
With that, she rapped on the window. “Susan A. Lee, attorney at law. Here about the DaSilva arrest,” she declared in a loud and clear voice.
Almost instantly the door buzzed. “Just follow me,” Susan said as she pulled the door open. “Once you’re in, it’s harder for them to get rid of you.”
Cam followed. She stood behind Susan at an inner door in a lobby, glad the lawyer knew where to go and how to get what she wanted. The door buzzed, and Cam pushed through it behind Susan.
Facing them was a four-foot-high partition with a flat countertop. Cam realized this was the inner room she’d seen from the double window. A row of benches lined the wall opposite the counter, with a man and a woman the only occupants. The woman’s eyes were red-lined. Tiny shreds of the tissue she worked between her fingers floated to the linoleum floor. The man scowled, arms crossed over his chest. Cam looked closely. It was Howard Fisher, the farmer from the market.
Susan laid an elbow on the counter. “Evening, Ottie. How are you, Officer Dodge?”
Cam looked up. Officer Dodge? “Hi, Ruth.” Cam waved. She thought it prudent to leave the nickname Ruthie for when her friend was off duty.
Ruth gave a little wave back and nodded at Susan.
The woman Susan had addressed as Ottie sat at a bank of monitors and a microphone. She nodded at Susan but kept her eyes on her screens. A well-padded woman of about Susan’s age, she also wore a headset. Her uniform looked different from Ruth’s, with a white blouse, black slacks, and some insignia on the breast pocket. Ruth wore the full navy blue officer outfit Cam had seen her in the night of the murder.
Ruth approached the counter. “Good evening, Counselor. What can I help you with?”
Clearly Susan was known here. Cam hoped that was good.
“I have been retained to represent Lucinda DaSilva. I believe you are holding her here. I’d like to see her as soon as possible. Her friend, Ms. Flaherty, would also like to pay her a visit.”
Strain pulled at the edges of Ruth’s eyes. “Ms. Lee, Ms. DaSilva is being questioned at present. I’ll contact Detective Pappas and let him know you are here.” She turned to Cam. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you see Lucinda now, Cam.”
It looked to Cam like Ruth was torn between her duty to her job and her wish to help out an old friend. Cam knew which would win out but thought she’d push just a little. “If I wait, can I see her when all this is done?”
Just then an inner door opened. Chief Frost walked through it with his arm around the shoulders of a thin young man, a boy, really. Cam did a double take. It was Vince, the kid who had delivered the manure a few days earlier. He looked both miserable and sullen. Cam hadn’t realized he was Howard Fisher’s son when he delivered the manure from Howard’s Green Spring Farm.
“Here he is. I had to ticket him, and it’s going to have an impact on his insurance. You can pick up the car at the tow lot tomorrow. They only take cash, mind you.”
Howard stood and stuck his face in his son’s. “What do you think you were doing, speeding in that wreck of yours?” His voice boomed in the enclosed space.
“The fact that the vehicle was unregistered is very serious, too,” Chief Frost added.
“I’m going to . . . ,” Howard sputtered.
The woman stood and grabbed her husband’s arm. “Howard, this is no time for that. Vince, sweetie, we’re very disappointed. But we’re all going home now, and we’ll decide as a family what to do.” She ushered out the men in her family, one on each side, obviously experienced at keeping them apart.
Susan turned to Cam. “Why don’t you go home? I’m expecting to have Lucinda out of here within an hour or two, but if I don’t, it could be a long wait. I’ll call you to come and get her then, shall I?”
Cam nodded. “Tell her I was here. And that I’ll come get her no matter what time it is.”
Susan agreed, then greeted Chief Frost. After Ruth updated him, Susan followed Ruth into the interior of the station.
“So, looks like we finally caught the farm killer, Ms. Flaherty.” Chief Frost leaned on the counter. “Doesn’t that make you feel safer?”
“Lucinda didn’t kill anyone, Chief. You totally have the wrong person in there.”
“Evidence suggests the contrary, ma’am.”
“What evidence?”
“Sorry. I’m not at liberty to say.”
“But it’s my farm!” Cam laid both hands on her side of the counter.
“Can’t help you there. It will all come out in due time.”
She sighed and turned to leave.
“Oh, by the way, Detective Pappas is going to want to ask you more questions. But it’s getting late tonight. You go on home. He’ll call you in the morning.”
Cam reversed her steps slowly, giving the Fisher family plenty of time to leave. She was suddenly drained, and not just because she’d been up and working since five thirty in the morning. The vision of Lucinda being grilled by Pappas, or alone in a jail cell, filled Cam with trepidation. She pictured the INS speeding here to start Lucinda’s deportation, her friend’s worst fear. Could Susan really get Lucinda out? Chief Frost had sounded so certain about the evidence. If only Cam could find out what it was, she might have a chance to save her friend.
Out in the cool night air, she took a deep breath. It wasn’t going to help Lucinda for her to be feeling sad and helpless. She strode to her truck. Climbing in, she slammed the door with a satisfying thunk. Take that, you real killer, wherever you are. Cam was going to find him, or her, if it was the last thing she did. Not only Lucinda’s honor, but also that of the farm, was at stake. She’d already lost two shareholders’ business and likely the confidence of more.
An insistent mockingbird woke Cam with its calls through the open window. She was in the middle of a dream having something to do with a Thai opera and a scrumptious buffet luncheon presided over by Johnny Depp. She had just helped herself to a plate of pad thai and delectable-looking spring rolls, and Johnny Depp had invited her to sit next to him. She desperately wanted to stay asleep and in the dream.
The bird kept on singing all the tunes in its repertoire. “Show-off.” Cam groaned, dragging the extra pillow over her head. The dream had escaped her.
Cam threw off the pillow, cursing the bird. It was barely light out. She sat up. The clock read 5:10. Then it hit her. Lucinda was still in jail. Susan hadn’t called her.
Cam bent over her knees, her forehead in her hands. Life was not being fair. She groaned. And it was market day.
Moving slowly, she showered, dressed in a c
lean T-shirt and cutoffs, and plodded downstairs. She checked both her cell and the landline phone. No messages. Cam stuck the cell phone in her back pocket. Just in case.
She ground beans and set the coffee to brew, then fed Preston and petted him while he ate. The sink held the rinsed and neatly stacked rose china plates. The wineglasses from last night sat abandoned on the drain board, a ring of red wine in the bottom a reminder of her aborted date with Jake.
After Cam poured her coffee, she added a splash of milk and turned toward the door. At the sight of the table—its white cloth bearing a smudge of soy from the fish, a pink smear from the pie, the vase of hopeful carnations from Jake—Cam sank into a chair. She didn’t know if she had the energy, not to mention the emotional strength, to go out there, pick with no help, and then be all social and salespersoney at the market for the entire afternoon. She could skip this one week.
She spied her business cards sitting next to the red carnations on the table near the door. Darn it all, she had a brand-new business to maintain. Whatever happened to Lucinda, Cam was still going to be a farmer. She wouldn’t be doing anybody any good if she failed to show up at market when she was just starting to build her customer base there. As Alexandra might say, Cam was building her brand, and you had to keep up momentum. Maybe she’d be able to get more information at the market about the murderer.
Cam took a deep breath and headed for the porch. If Susan needed to reach her, Cam’s cell was in her pocket. She donned her work boots, finished her coffee, and strode for the fields.
An hour into the market, Cam finally had a chance to catch her breath. By a stroke of luck, she’d managed to snag a shady spot. She could almost hear her bags of freshly cut greens calling out in tiny voices, “Thank you, Cam!” She’d also managed, even without help, to harvest enough to make the table look full and inviting to customers. The strawberries were coming in fast and furious, and the asparagus, while on its way out, was still producing enough for a couple of dozen bundles to be standing, points up, in a tray of water.
The weather was still warm and humid, what Marie would have called “close.” Cam didn’t really mind it, as long as she made sure to drink enough water. She knew the crops loved the warmth. As long as they also had enough water, that is, and the season so far had provided regular rains. If it dried out and Cam had to start irrigating, it would be a different ball game. She didn’t have long enough hoses or a hefty enough bank account to bring water to the back field, where she’d planted the produce that needed more room, crops like corn, potatoes, and squash.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sight of Detective Pappas making his way down the line of vendors. Cam hadn’t heard from Susan Lee or Pappas. She’d left a message on Susan’s voice mail, asking what Lucinda’s status was, how she was handling being in a jail cell. Cam had wanted to call Ruth, but she knew Ruth would be violating her professional boundaries if she told Cam anything, so Cam didn’t even try. Maybe she’d get answers from Pappas now.
The detective stopped to speak with Bev. It was too far away for Cam to hear, but she watched them even as she made change for a box of strawberries and a bunch of irises. Bev looked over at Cam for a moment. Cam thought of looking away but waved instead. It couldn’t hurt to be a little extra friendly. Bev did not wave back.
Pappas left Bev’s stall and arrived at Cam’s a moment later. “Good afternoon, Cam.” He pretended to browse the produce while a couple finished paying for greens, spring garlic, and asparagus. After they left, he said, “You know we have Ms. DaSilva in custody.”
“She didn’t kill Mike.” Cam folded her arms.
“We have an eyewitness who saw her in the greenhouse that afternoon. We know Mike was threatening to expose her immigration status. And we have evidence linking her to the crime.”
Cam couldn’t believe it. “What kind of evidence? Who saw her in the greenhouse? She was a volunteer on my farm. She was welcome anytime, even when I wasn’t home, to come by and water or—”
“We searched her apartment and found evidence that is possibly an important connection to the victim.”
“What was it? Maybe somebody planted something.”
Pappas held up his hand in a forestalling gesture. “I’ve told you too much as it is, but I felt an obligation to let you know the status.”
“Susan Lee wasn’t able to get Lucinda out, I gather.”
“No, but there will be a bail hearing in front of a judge this afternoon. I wouldn’t get your hopes up, though. It is a charge of murder.”
“What about her immigration status? Is this going to get her deported?”
Pappas looked around. No customers stood nearby. He looked back at Cam and leaned over the table a little. “As far as I am concerned, the INS does not need to be involved at this stage. She is actually here legally, sort of. She has a valid tourist visa, and she has applied for her green card. Now, if she were convicted, that would certainly result in deportation. But we’re a long way from that at this point.”
Cam widened her eyes. Lucinda had kept saying she was here illegally. The stories didn’t match. But Pappas had to know the real situation. Maybe Lucinda had been confused about it.
“Thank you, Detective, for letting me know,” Cam said.
“My father was an immigrant. I have to admit I have a soft spot for hardworking people like Lucinda. She maintains her innocence. Who knows? Perhaps another suspect will turn up. But for now, it doesn’t look good for her.”
“Great. So it’s easier to prosecute Lucinda than to find the real killer.” She was about to say she would find the actual murderer for him when two Haitian women with a little boy strolled up and greeted her.
As Cam handed the boy a strawberry, Pappas gave her a little salute and walked off. She watched him go and realized she was better off not having told him of her resolve. He’d only have told her to leave police work to the police.
At three-thirty, Cam surveyed her nearly empty table with satisfaction. She’d passed her new business cards out to most of her customers and answered several questions about organic growing methods. Her envelope for the SNAP tokens was half full, meaning a crop of low-income folks was going to be eating fresh, healthy produce for the next week. Her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket. She extracted it and checked the ID. S. A. Lee.
Cam punched the button to answer it. “Hello? Susan?”
“I’m afraid we have bad news, Cam.” Susan’s tone was brisk. “The judge refused to set bail for Lucinda, saying she was a flight risk. The good news is they’re going to continue to hold her in Westbury. The county doesn’t have a women’s jail, so women are normally sent to MCI–Framingham.”
“What’s that?” Cam wiped the humidity off her free hand on her pants and shifted the phone to that hand.
“It’s the state prison for women. You don’t want Lucinda there under any circumstances. She’ll be a lot better off right here in town. It’s clean, and there won’t be any other prisoners to harass her.”
“Can I see her?”
“I think so, but only if I am along, too. I’ll try to set it up and call you back.”
Cam started to thank her, but the lawyer had already disconnected. No bail. So much for Lucinda’s plan for a locavore year. She wasn’t likely to get locally produced meals in jail. Cam shook her head, scolding herself. What a stupid thought, when Lucinda’s whole future was at stake.
“So, they finally caught my baby’s murderer.”
Cam jerked her head up. Bev Montgomery stood in front of her, a self-satisfied sneer on her face.
“And it was that illegal alien. Just like I thought. They ought to all go back where they belong.”
“Lucinda had no reason to kill Mike.”
“Like hell she didn’t. He told her he was going to turn her in.”
“Look, they don’t have the right person. Somebody else killed Mike, and I’m going to find out who.” She realized with a start that if Lucinda was in the country legally, Mike a
nd the militia wouldn’t have had a hold on her. Unless she was protecting someone else.
Bev snorted. “You? A city girl playing at farming? With all your fancy organic business? You show up in town, rob me of customers, and now you’re going all private detective on us? Not likely. Pappas has the right person. He’s a good man, even though he is a Greek.”
Cam closed her mouth. Why was she arguing with this woman? She stuck her hands, along with her phone, in her shorts pockets. The phone began to vibrate again. Cam drew it out. It was Susan again.
“Excuse me.” Cam turned her back on Bev, but she sensed her eyes burning into her for a moment longer. Cam listened to Susan tell her she’d set up a visit for the following afternoon. Cam thanked her and disconnected. When she turned back to the table, Bev was gone. Cam wished she could wave a magic wand and make her gone permanently, but that wasn’t going to happen. For that matter, if she had a magic wand—abracadabra!—Lucinda would be out of jail with a green card and the real killer would be put away for life.
Cam gazed at the still water of Mill Pond two hours later. She perched on a wooden bench sitting at the water’s edge. Swallows swooped for insects above the water, and a kingfisher rattled hoarsely from a dead branch. The water smelled of tadpoles and early summer. Albert wouldn’t mind if she was a few minutes late for dinner.
The sharp tip of Bev’s comment—“You? A city girl playing at farming?”—poked at Cam, threatening to pierce her confidence. She wasn’t playing. She was working as hard as she could to change careers. She was trying to make a go of hard physical work, fresh air, and supplying people with what they wanted to eat.
Maybe it was a crazy idea, though. In fact, her gifts were as a computer scientist. Even if she spent the winter using her brain, polishing and productizing her farming software, next year’s season would start up again soon enough. To diversify the farm, she wanted to add chickens and fruit trees. She planned to plant a stand of blueberry bushes and several long rows of raspberries, maybe even build a pen and get a couple of pigs. It was a lot of work for a single person, and she wasn’t sure she could pull it off with only the help of volunteers. She might not even have Lucinda around next year.
A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die Page 17
