Cam thanked Felicity, glad to see her leave. She’d had just about all the community she could stand for a while. She planned to commune with nothing more than solitude for the next couple of hours.
Cam waited in her truck at the only stoplight in Westbury at a little before three o’clock. She looked down and checked her outfit, khaki slacks and a navy blue blouse. She brushed a bit of lint off one sleeve. An official visit to a jail seemed to warrant a somber outfit. She wondered if she should have brought Lucinda anything. Maybe she needed a change of clothes or a toothbrush. She could probably use a decent meal, but Cam guessed the jail wouldn’t allow that. She’d ask during the visit what Lucinda needed and what the police would let her bring.
A discreet beep from behind made her look up. The light had turned green. Cam gave a little wave in her rearview mirror and drove the last couple of blocks to the station. She pulled in and parked next to Susan’s Jaguar. What a car. Cam peered in at pristine white leather seats and a red dashboard. She thought fondly for a moment of the sporty Audi she’d owned as a single software engineer, heated seats and all. She’d been single with a hearty salary. Now all her money was in the farm, and she still thought it had been a good move. Most of the time.
Cam squared her shoulders and strode into the station. Susan stood at the reception counter, tapping her enameled fingernails on the top. Today she wore a navy pin-striped pantsuit, again with the red heels and red leather case.
“There you are,” Susan said to Cam in a brisk tone. “We’re ready now.” Susan directed this at a young officer Cam hadn’t seen before who stood behind the desk.
Cam’s heart rate doubled. She’d never been inside a jail before. She was glad the officer held the heavy door for her. Her palms were so sweaty, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to grasp it herself. And she hadn’t even done anything wrong.
The officer led them into a small conference room. The walls were painted an institutional beige and needed a touch-up coat. Susan turned full circle, looking at every wall, then up at the corners and ceiling. She glanced sharply at the officer.
“We will not be recorded, correct?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Thank you. We’ll see Ms. DaSilva now.” She turned her back on him. “Sit down, Cameron.” Susan gestured at the table and chairs in the middle of the otherwise bare room. After the officer left the room, Susan sat across from Cam.
“They’ll probably record us, anyway, even though it’s illegal. At least they don’t have a two-way mirror in here, although they might have a camera.” She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “What can you do?”
Cam tried to still her nervous hands by clasping them in her lap. That felt silly, so she moved them to the top of the table.
The door opened. The officer ushered Lucinda in ahead of him and pointed to a chair. Dark patches caved in under her eyes, and her skin was pale. Her glorious mane of curls was twisted back in a messy knot. She wore what looked like scrubs, except Cam had never seen them in any hospital in that shade of orange.
As Lucinda sat, Cam reached her hand out to touch Lucinda’s, but at the glare she got from the officer, she pulled it back.
“Hey, fazendeira.” Lucinda mustered a weak smile.
Susan shot a pointed look at the officer. “Leave us now, please.”
“You have twenty minutes,” the officer said, then turned and left.
When the door clanged shut, Cam was as imprisoned as Lucinda.
“Thanks for bringing Cam, Susan,” Lucinda said.
“I’m so sorry you’re in here, Lucinda. We all know you’re the wrong person to be accused of Mike’s murder, but what do we do now?” Cam opened her palms.
“Let’s start by going over everything we know.” Susan proceeded to list Lucinda’s activities in the days before the murder, as well as where she’d been that day and what her dealings with Mike had been.
“Wait,” Cam said. “Do we know what this evidence is they say they have?”
Susan shook her head. “I haven’t gotten that information yet.”
“Or who the witness is?”
Susan shook her head again.
“Lucinda, did you come back to the farm at the end of the day that Saturday?”
“No! But I was just home, by myself. Nobody could have seen me at the farm, but nobody saw me at my apartment, either. What about the Patriotic Militia? They said I killed Mike because he was going to turn me in. What if Mike was threatening another undocumented person? He could have been the one, you know, who killed him.” Her face pleaded first with Cam and then Susan.
Susan didn’t look up but tapped out notes on a tablet device she’d pulled out of her red case.
Cam rubbed her forehead. She looked at Lucinda. “Didn’t you say something about a big cheese?”
Lucinda nodded.
“I saw David Kosloski act very strangely at the festival,” Cam went on. “Ellie told me he’s first-generation Polish, which means he’s an immigrant. He has an accent when he speaks. And he’s a well-established businessman in town. I’d call that a big cheese.”
Now Susan looked up. “I’ll check out his immigration status.”
Cam had another thought. Jake had an accent, too. He was sort of a big cheese, too, with an entire restaurant at stake. Was that why he left so abruptly when he heard of Lucinda’s arrest? Cam decided to keep this thought to herself for the time being.
“And speaking of immigration status, Lucinda,” Susan went on, “you know your visa is still valid.”
Lucinda’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “I thought it expired.”
“No. So you’re in no imminent danger of being deported. If you are convicted of a crime, it’s a different story. You’re all right for now on that front.”
“I must have gotten the dates wrong. The INS isn’t exactly the easiest office to deal with, and their paperwork is really confusing.” Lucinda’s look of relief was a small spot of joy in the meeting.
“Listen, Alexandra talked with me about Stuart this morning,” Cam said. “Well, not really about him, but about him and his former girlfriend, Alexandra’s sister, Katie.”
“Stuart,” Lucinda groaned.
“What?” Cam leaned toward her.
“Oh, you know, he and I were sort of flirting at the festival. He, um, came home with me. But then I got really sick to my stomach. Before anything, you know, romantic happened. He was kinda nice to me, and then he left. Just hearing his name makes me feel sick again.”
Cam frowned. “I was really sick Friday night, too. Do you think we both ate the same bad thing?”
“I don’t think so. Everybody at the festival would have been sick, then, right?”
“I guess so.” Cam didn’t believe that for a minute. She and Lucinda must have tasted something spoiled. Except the only food Cam sampled was Jake’s. Oh, crud.
Susan glanced at the big schoolroom clock on the wall. “We have seven minutes left. How are they treating you?”
Lucinda’s smile was a pale reflection of her usual beam. “Okay, I guess. Can I get a decent hairbrush? They gave me a little kit, you know, toothbrush and soap, but the hairbrush is no good with this mess.” She smoothed back a few escaped curls. “And underwear would be nice.”
Cam rued not bringing anything. “I’ll get that stuff for you, Lucinda. Anything else?”
“How about getting me out of here?” Her eyes filled.
“I’m working on it,” Susan said. “But until they find a different suspect, it’ll be difficult. And now that they have you, my bet is they aren’t looking too hard for anyone else.”
Lucinda slumped in her seat. She sank her head onto her arms on the table.
“Couldn’t she at least have house arrest, or whatever they call it?” Cam asked. “You know, one of those bracelets.”
Susan said she was working on it.
“How’s the farm doing, Cam?” Lucinda asked.
“I’m getting along. It’s tough wi
thout my best volunteer, though.” She smiled at Lucinda. “We’re going to get you out of here. I promise.” This time she reached for Lucinda’s hand and squeezed it.
The door banged open. Chief Frost stood in the doorway. “Good afternoon, ladies. I’m afraid your time is up.” He moved to Lucinda’s side and took her elbow as she stood.
“Thanks for coming, you guys,” she said with a wistful look.
“I’ll see you soon.” Cam tried to put on a hopeful, positive face.
“We’ll let ourselves out, Chief.” Susan stowed her device and stood.
He nodded and led Lucinda away.
Cam followed Susan as her heels clicked down the hall. Cam glanced over her shoulder. Lucinda’s orange scrubs disappeared around the far corner.
Cam sat in her truck in the police station parking lot. She rested her head on the steering wheel. If she didn’t find the murderer, Lucinda was never going to get her freedom back, and she’d be sent back to Brazil, too. Cam didn’t know why Lucinda had needed to leave her own country, but she did have faith in Lucinda’s integrity and honesty. Not from long experience knowing her, Cam acknowledged to herself. She just had a feeling.
She laughed to herself. A feeling? She’d always been too much of a brainiac to let feelings creep very far into the equation of her life. It must be the physical work of farming that was letting her nonmental side emerge.
She straightened and shook her head. Back to the business at hand. It was only three thirty. She did a search on her phone and started up the truck. While she was all cleaned up and presentable, she might as well try her hand at detective work.
Ten minutes later she stood at the reception desk of K-One Construction, David Kosloski’s company. No one occupied the orange and blue chairs in the sunny waiting room. No one sat behind the desk. But the door of the office, housed in a small Cape on the main road, had been unlocked. Cam assumed it was open for business. She cleared her throat in lieu of pressing the button on the old-fashioned half-sphere bell on the desk. She looked around the waiting room. The walls held a dozen black-and-white photographs of tasteful houses, a condominium complex along the Merrimack River, a group of smiling men wearing work clothes and hard hats.
She peered more closely at one photo, of a perky little girl seated at a small desk, looking at a blueprint. It had to be Ellie at a younger age.
“Can I help you?”
The slightly accented voice from behind her startled Cam, who turned in its direction. A petite woman with pale skin and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail stood behind the desk. She wore a black T-shirt and black jeans and looked a few years younger than Cam. Several small silver hoop earrings traveled up the outside edge of both ears, and a dozen silver bangles decorated each wrist.
“I was looking for David Kosloski. He’s a customer of mine.”
“It’s Wednesday,” the woman said in a “Don’t you know anything?” kind of voice.
“That’s right. May I speak with him, please?” Cam gestured around the room. “It doesn’t look like I’d be interrupting anyone’s appointment.”
“He’s not here. He’s never here on Wednesday afternoon.” The tone continued.
“I see. Do you think I could find him at home?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Only if he lived at the Polish Club in Lawrence. He sponsors the free health clinic there every week.”
“I didn’t know that. That’s very generous of him.”
“Would you like to make an appointment?” The woman cocked her head, as if that was unlikely.
“No, I . . .” Cam took a closer look. “Hey, are you related to him? You look a lot like Ellie.” She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed earlier. Ellie cocked her head the same way. And they had the same coloring and petite build. The accent, now that she thought of it, sounded like David’s.
“Yes. Eleanor’s my niece. I’m David’s sister. My name is Aniela.” She folded her arms on her chest. “What do you sell, anyway?”
“I’m Cam Flaherty. I run the farm they’re members of.” She decided not to extend her hand, given Aniela’s body language.
Aniela nodded. “Ellie talked about you.” She looked down at the desk and straightened some papers.
“Well, thanks. Nice to meet you.” Cam turned to go. “I’ll stop in tomorrow. I just have a quick question for him.” She glanced back, but Aniela had disappeared. Cam let herself out. David’s sister hadn’t been exactly forthcoming. That had to be bad for business.
So much for sleuthing. Cam stood on the small porch and thought. A car destined to be ticketed in the speed trap just ahead whizzed by. The speed trap was a big revenue source for the local police, Ruth had told her. And it sat just before the Food Mart. Cam nodded. Maybe there was more investigating she could do today, after all.
She picked up a plastic basket at the door of the Food Mart. She needed a few groceries, anyway, and this way it wouldn’t look as if she’d come here only to query Stuart, if he was even at work. She tossed in a Boston Globe, then selected a half gallon of one-percent milk, a pound of butter, a sourdough baguette, and some extra-rich chocolate ice cream. At the checkout counter lately she often got strange looks from customers with carts full of fruit and vegetables, along the lines of “You poor ignorant thing with your basket full of unhealthy food.” This amused Cam. They didn’t know she had a farm full of produce at home, at least at this time of year.
As she rounded the end of the cookie aisle on her way to the meat counter, Cam stopped. Stuart was speaking in a raised voice to someone. The other voice sounded a little like Bev Montgomery’s.
“I told you why!” Stuart said, almost yelling.
Cam eased around the corner. Stuart stood behind the meat counter with an older woman, her fists set on ample hips. Not Bev, after all. Cam thought she must be the store’s manager or owner. Her steel-gray hair was cropped, and her clothes were a sensible pair of dark slacks and a dark blouse under the blue jacket all Food Mart employees wore.
The woman glanced at Cam. “We’ll deal with this later, Stuart. You still have four more hours on this shift. You can take lunch when you’ve finished those ribs.” She gestured at the cutting board behind Stuart, then exited the meat area and headed for the front of the store.
Cam looked at Stuart. His narrowed eyes followed the woman until she disappeared into the next aisle.
Cam cleared her throat. “Hi, Stuart. A little trouble with the management?”
Stuart whipped his head at Cam. “What do you want?” He glared at her with a flushed face.
“Hey.” Cam held up her hand, palm out. “We’re friends, right? I was looking for a steak and thought I’d say hi,” she lied. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” The anger drained from his face. “Nothing. How are you, Cam?”
“Good. Missed you this morning at the farm.”
Stuart stopped what he was doing, then turned back to Cam with a tray of steaks that looked freshly cut, their red meat glistening.
“These are excellent if you like rib eye.”
Okay, don’t answer me. Cam nodded. “Sure. Wrap me up a couple.”
“They’re expensive,” Stuart warned.
“It’s all right. I don’t eat meat much. I’ll splurge.” She smiled at him. “So you heard Lucinda was arrested for Mike’s murder?”
“I heard.” Stuart busied himself with wrapping the meat in white paper. “Guess that makes you feel better, that the killer isn’t walking around out there anymore.”
“Oh, she’s not a killer. No, they have the wrong person. Totally the wrong person.”
Stuart looked up. “Oh?”
“Absolutely.”
“Is that what the police say?”
“No. They’re the ones who arrested her.” Cam snorted. “But they’re wrong. You’ll see. Lucinda said she got really sick after the festival.” Cam waited. Would he acknowledge going home with Lucinda?
“That’s too bad.” He weighed the me
at and wrote the price on the white paper with a black marker.
“It was nice of you to help her out. While she was sick.” Setting her basket on the floor, Cam examined a package of chicken while keeping Stuart in her field of vision.
He, in turn, busied himself tidying up a pile of sausages. “Yeah, I got her a glass of ginger ale afterward.”
“Did you get sick, too? Because I was really sick after I got home. I wondered if it was food we all ate there.”
“No, I was fine.”
A woman and a little boy came around the far end of the aisle.
“Can I get you anything else?” Stuart asked.
“I’ll just take this chicken. Nice chatting with you.” She picked up her basket and added the chicken. She started to leave and then turned back. “Say, did Felicity contact you? She’s organizing a potluck at the farm Friday night.”
Stuart nodded. The woman leaned over and started to ask him a question. Cam waved and walked away. She hadn’t learned a thing except that he was in trouble with his boss.
Cam checked the connection to the gas bottle under her small grill on the brick patio. She cocked the switch on the lighter but didn’t press the button to start the flame. She felt the connection again, making sure it was tight. She held her breath, turned on the gas and, pointing the lighter at the grill from as far away as she could, released the spark. The flames flared in a nice controlled fashion. She breathed again.
She drew her sweater around her as she waited for the rack to heat. She sat with a glass of merlot in hand and the newspaper on her lap. The day’s cool temperature had settled into an inland fog. The light was dim, even though sunset was still an hour away. The moist air crept in through her pores until she shivered. Still, it was better than sitting in a jail cell.
She went into the house to call Pappas, but he didn’t pick up, so she decided to leave a message. She was meandering through what Lucinda had said about Friday night when the voice mail apparently reached its limit. Cam sighed and punched the off button with bit more vehemence than necessary. She’d have to explain when he called back.
A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die Page 19
