A Tine to Live, a Tine to Die

by Edith Maxwell

  When they were finished, Cam rose and thanked Jake.

  He walked her to the door. “You’re still not completely sure I didn’t kill Mike. I hope you’ll believe me when they find the actual murderer.”

  “They?” Cam shook her head. “They think they have it all buttoned up with Lucinda behind bars. They’re not really looking anymore. The last thing Pappas said to me was, ‘Perhaps another suspect will turn up.’ Those aren’t the words of an active investigator. No, if anybody is going to find the killer, it’s going to be me.”

  “Shouldn’t you leave it to the police? You could get hurt, Cam. If I had been the criminal, you might never have gotten out of here alive.” He leered at her. “I have a very large walk-in freezer downstairs.”

  As he put his arm around her, Cam shivered. She didn’t know if it was from attraction or fear. Maybe she was still wondering about him. “I’d better get going. That was a great lunch. I appreciate it. And thanks for not using your cleaver on me.” She mustered as big a smile as she could.

  Walking down the stairs, Cam glanced back up and called, “I’ll see you Sunday.”

  Jake stood backlit at the door to his apartment. His expression had returned to somber, and he loomed as large as an ogre.

  Cam checked her watch after she climbed into the truck. Might as well take advantage of the clean clothes again for a visit to David Kosloski. She debated calling first but then remembered her dead phone. It wasn’t until she pulled up in the K-One Construction parking lot that she wondered what she was going to say, and then wondered why she hadn’t wondered that yesterday. If David was here illegally, and if the militia, with Mike as the messenger, had said they were going to expose him, David had a lot to lose. His successful company, his reputation in the community as a generous donor to charities, his ability to support an ill wife and a daughter. Would he have killed Mike, though? Cam had no idea if any of it was true. Her head hurt from all the ifs. But there was one more. If any of it was true, would David even talk with her about it?

  He certainly wouldn’t talk if she stayed sitting in her truck. Cam climbed out, took a deep breath, and opened the door to the office. The scene was different today. A man bent over blueprints on the reception counter, and a couple sat in chairs, the woman clutching a folder.

  The door to the back opened. David Kosloski, a folder in his hand, ushered an older woman out.

  David’s eyes fell on Cam where she stood just inside the door. “Cam, what can I help you with?” He walked across the room to her. His mouth smiled, but his eyes did not participate.

  “I wondered if I could talk with you for a few minutes.”

  “Is it about Eleanor? She’s been behaving herself, hasn’t she?” His brow sprouted new lines.

  “She’s great. No, it’s not about her.” Cam lowered her voice. “I just wanted to ask you . . .” She looked around the busy room. What had she been thinking?

  “Aniela said you were in yesterday, too. Asking questions.” David matched Cam’s low tone. His kindly expression changed. His eyes flew wide open, and his nostrils flared. “What’s this about, Cam?” he hissed through a clenched jaw.

  “I’ve been hearing things about a militia group harassing immigrants,” Cam said, almost whispering. “I wondered if . . .”

  “Not here. Not now.” His eyes darted around the room and then back at Cam. “Why don’t you just go back to your farm and mind your own business?”

  “This obviously isn’t a good time. I’m sorry to bother you.” She turned to go, then paused. She asked in a normal voice, “Will we see you at the shareholders’ potluck tomorrow?”

  Kosloski nodded, his face once again that of the busy entrepreneur, but his eyes daggers into hers.

  Cam spent the rest of the afternoon hand weeding in the heat, trying to still her mind in the company of earthworms and crows uncurious about murder. As the sun made its way toward the horizon, a breeze finally came to visit. It cooled her brow and rustled the tops of the trees. She wished it brought answers, too.

  She stretched, surveying the back field. At least part of her world was in order. The potato shoots were already pushing up through their hills. The three hundred garlic plants, their white bases thick and healthy, their green leaves bowing gracefully to the sides, were getting ready to throw up their pointy, alien-looking scapes. The soil in the rows of corn was dark and largely weed free.

  She layered her hands on the top of the hoe handle and leaned her chin onto them, staring out at where the last field bordered the woods. The question of who killed Mike Montgomery was not right with the world. David Kosloski and Jake had both acted oddly, almost threateningly, when Cam tried to talk with them about their immigration status and the militia. She was new to town, of course. It was illogical to assume that everyone she asked questions of would be forthcoming.

  And then there was Stuart. It seemed like she was missing information about him. As the lazy red disk of sun slid behind the trees, she checked her watch and made a plan. First, she’d call Tina and see if she knew the circumstances of Stuart’s leaving the company. After that, she had an idea of one more source to check.

  Peering at mailboxes along a dark country road, Cam drove slowly, thinking of what Tina had said. She hadn’t known anything specific but had said she thought Stuart was laid off partly because of his temper.

  Cam stopped, checked the address on her phone, and resumed. The narrow road was in serious need of repaving and wasn’t doing her truck’s shock absorbers any favors. Then the way appeared to end. When she reached that point, she saw instead that it took a sharp turn to the right. The number on the mailbox at the turn had faded from black to barely readable gray, but Cam thought it looked like a seventy-nine. She turned into a winding graveled drive with even more ruts and potholes than the road.

  The house, when she arrived, was a small two-story farmhouse. The moon hadn’t yet risen, and the sky was inky.

  “Mrs. Wilson?” Cam raised her hand in a wave as she shut the truck door behind her. A diminutive person, backlit from the room behind her, sat in a rocking chair in the dark of a wide covered porch. “Hello?” Cam called.

  No response. Cam, carrying a bag, picked her way along a gravel path toward the house. Stuart’s car wasn’t in the drive, and Cam didn’t see a garage. At the bottom of the steps, Cam paused. “Mrs. Wilson? I’m Cameron Flaherty. I met you the other night. My uncle is—”

  “Albert St. Pierre. And your great-aunt was Marie, God rest her soul. Come on up, dear.” The woman, now in silhouette, beckoned to Cam and then patted the wicker chair next to her.

  Cam climbed the stairs and sat, wondering if she was doing the right thing. But Stuart’s mother might be able to speak to her son’s innocence. It was worth a try. She might have a few moments of clarity here in her home territory. At least she now seemed to know that Marie had left this world. The older woman leaned toward Cam, half a weathered face now in the light. Cam took the hand she was offered, the skin a cool wrinkled leather glove over knobby knuckles. She set the bag on the floor.

  “So you’ve chosen the farming life, I hear. Tell me, how is my old boyfriend, Albert?” Mrs. Wilson smiled at a long-ago secret.

  “He’s doing well, Mrs. Wilson. He seems to like Moran Manor. We saw you there just the other night, remember?”

  “I can’t say that I do.”

  “Well, Albert’s making friends there.” That she didn’t remember didn’t surprise Cam at all, having witnessed the older woman’s bewildered expression in the dining room. “I know he misses Great-Aunt Marie, but he’s thriving.”

  “He was quite the looker in his day.” She winked at Cam. “A bit older than I, of course, but not too much. Then Marie, why, she just snatched him away from me. But we grew to be friends by and by. Such a shame she passed over ahead of her time. Now, were you looking for my boy?”

  Cam was startled at the change of subject. “Yes, I guess I was.” She stalled. “He must still be at work, though.” Cam
had planned on him being there until the Food Mart closed at ten.

  “Or maybe out with one of his girlfriends. Although I hear that Katie girl left town. They all leave town sooner or later.” Mrs. Wilson’s sweet tone turned suddenly sour. “Good riddance, after she dropped my Stuart for that poor boy.”

  “Poor boy? Who was that?”

  “Oh, girlie, let me tell you.” Mrs. Wilson lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. She leaned toward Cam.

  Cam reciprocated the lean. Was this going to be the piece of information she needed? Her heart was drinking at a nightclub with a really loud band. Its pounding drowned out the chorus of crickets and the periodic buzzing of cicadas in the background.

  “The way they move me around every night, I don’t know who sees whom, or even who I’m seeing,” Mrs. Wilson said. “They move all my stuff, they put it back in exactly the same place, but when I wake up, I’m in a different room. Every damn morning.”

  Disappointed, Cam smiled politely. She hoped. “Who are ‘they’?”

  Mrs. Wilson looked left and right, and then back at Cam. “You know. They’re trying to confuse me.” She tapped her forehead. “But I know what’s up. I can tell.”

  “I’m sure you do. Getting back to Stuart, was he upset Katie started going out with someone else?” Cam silently urged the lucid part of Mrs. Wilson’s brain to wrest power from the confused part.

  Mrs. Wilson leaned back in her chair. She nodded. “Yes. Poor Stuart has always had a little problem with his temper. He comes by it honestly. Got it from his father, rest his soul.”

  “Oh?”

  “Why, yes. Could be that’s why young Katie left him for the Montgomery boy. Didn’t make things any better, though.”

  “The Montgomery boy. You mean Mike?” Cam’s thoughts raced. Could that be who Katie left Stuart for?

  “My old friend Beverly is in great pain now.” Mrs. Wilson nodded again.

  Cam narrowed her eyes. Which part of the old woman’s brain held sway now? Of course. Small town. Everybody was friends or at least knew everyone else. “Mrs. Wilson, did Stuart confront Mike, Bev’s son?”

  The older woman did not respond. She began to rock with a steady rhythm. The claws of her hands gripped the chair’s arms like she was about to take off in flight. An unevenness in the porch floor made the rockers give a ba dump, ba dump, ba dump.

  Cam glanced at her watch. That was apparently all she was going to get out of Stuart’s mother. “Well, I have to run now. It was nice talking with you.”

  Stuart’s mother met Cam’s eyes for a moment, then resumed staring at a memory beyond Cam’s reach.

  Cam had just stepped off the last stair when a car tore around the corner and blasted up the drive. Stuart.

  He threw open his car door and was shouting at Cam before he even got out. “What are you doing here? Are you harassing my mother? Can’t you see she’s got dementia?” He strode toward Cam.

  She could almost see the smoke pouring out his ears. He must have gotten off work early. She kept her eyes on him as she moved toward her truck and thought fast. “Hi, Stuart. I brought you the rest of your share.” She pointed to the bag on the porch. “Remember you left it Saturday? And I wanted to tell you about the farm potluck tomorrow night.” She smiled the smile of a confident farmer and hoped it came through. “Your mother and I just had a nice chat about her and her old boyfriend, my great-uncle.”

  “I’ll bet that’s not all you talked about.” Stuart now stood face-to-face with Cam, except that his red face and boiling eyes were a couple of inches below hers. “And don’t you remember? You told me about the potluck yesterday.” He folded his arms and glared. “I didn’t realize dementia was catching.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Cam lightly smacked her forehead. “It’s such a busy time of year, I forgot about that. Well, I’ll be going. See you tomorrow.” Cam slid to the side. She took one step before Stuart’s hand shot out and grabbed her right arm. The cool evening air turned suddenly cold despite the heat of his meaty hand on her bare bicep.

  “What else did you talk with my mother about?” Without taking his eyes off Cam’s, he raised his voice. “Mother? What did you tell Cam?”

  The bumping of the rocker was the only response. The cicadas’ buzz zoomed to a crescendo and then fell silent again.

  “Excuse me, Stuart. Let go of my arm.” Cam kept her voice calm as she returned his gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He squeezed her arm in a vise grip before releasing it, then dusted his hand on his pants as if he’d touched fresh manure. “Get out of here,” he spat. He turned and stalked toward the house.

  Cam drove away as fast as was safe, bumping along the country lane until she reached the main road. He was right, of course. She had taken advantage of a senile old lady. She took one arm off the wheel and tried to rub the impending bruise from where Stuart had gripped her. Her heart didn’t relax until she was almost home.

  Chapter 19

  The reds and blues on the screen mocked Cam. She’d thought displaying all the facts in the spreadsheet graphically would help her brain get a handle on who did what and why. But that was stupid. She shook her head. She didn’t process things graphically. Hers was a brain that hungered for numbers and algorithms, not pictures.

  She pushed back in her chair and took a sip of the scotch she’d poured. The time display in the corner of the screen read nine thirty. She ought to climb those stairs and go to bed. Dawn was going to show up early. But the image of Stuart’s angry face in front of hers nagged at her. Was he just protective of his elderly mother, or had he been afraid his mother had let Cam in on a secret? Trouble was Cam hadn’t learned what the secret was.

  She replayed the conversation with Mrs. Wilson. She’d said all the girlfriends left eventually. And that Stuart had a temper. That didn’t seem so earthshaking. The question Cam had really wanted an answer to—whether Stuart had confronted Mike about stealing Katie from him—had gotten only rocking from Stuart’s mother.

  The house phone rang into the silence. Cam jumped in her chair. Who was calling a farmer this late in the evening? A quick jolt of panic buzzed through her. She pictured a person out in the darkness, peering over the top of the café curtains, watching her answer.

  She reached for the phone. As it continued to ring, she checked the caller ID, but it read only PRIVATE NAME, PRIVATE NUMBER. Might as well get it over with.

  She pressed the TALK button. “Hello?”

  “Cameron? Pappas here, returning your call.”

  Cam blew out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Hello, Detective. Any news?”

  “I thought you had information for me.” His voice was terse. “Your message was cut off while you were in the middle of a story about Lucinda becoming ill. I don’t understand how it relates to the case.”

  “Well, the thing is, I was sick after the festival, too. It just seemed odd. Plus, Stuart had gone home with—”

  “I know that.” Pappas cut her off. “I’m sure you both just ate a bad dish from one of the vendors. There was apparently no food permit pulled for the event, by the way.”

  “I didn’t organize it.” Cam didn’t enjoy being scolded.

  “So what other critically important facts have you uncovered?” Pappas didn’t sound like he believed Cam could have come up with anything even remotely useful.

  “I found out Alexandra’s sister, Katie, was dating Mike Montgomery. Did you know that?”

  “Alexandra Magnusson, your subscriber?”

  “Right. Her sister had been seeing Stuart Wilson but apparently dropped him for Mike. Stuart has a bit of a temper, and I thought you might want to check it out.”

  “Why would that be? We have a suspect in custody, as you are well aware.”

  “Maybe Stuart went to see Mike. Or maybe he has information about the real murderer. Lucinda did not kill Mike. I am sure of that. Also, what if Mike told Katie something? What if she heard about a person who was after Mik
e or had been threatening him?”

  “Does Katie live at home with her sister?”

  “She did, but she left town yesterday.” Cam leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on her desk.

  Pappas’s groan came through loud and clear. “Where did she go? And why didn’t you tell me earlier about this Katie?”

  “I just found out tonight that she was dating Mike. Anyway, Alexandra said Katie went to New York.”

  “State or city?”

  “City. Maybe Alexandra knows where Katie is staying.” Or maybe not, Cam thought.

  “I’ll check it out. Anything else?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Cam’s eyes fell on the infrared light where it sat on the counter. Should she tell him about it? She should have turned it over earlier. She wasn’t in the mood for more reprimands. “No, that’s it.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” Pappas disconnected.

  Cam splashed just a little more scotch into her glass. She sipped it as she paced from one end of the house to the other and then back. Pappas certainly hadn’t given a moment’s credibility to her idea that maybe she and Lucinda getting sick the same night might be related. She didn’t know how if it wasn’t from food poisoning. She stopped still. Poisoning. Maybe it had been deliberate. But by whose hand? She had no idea who would want to get both her and Lucinda out of the way at the same time.

  She resumed her pacing and her thinking. As usual, Pappas hadn’t answered any of her questions. Although he at least had the grace to act surprised about Katie going to New York City.

  She thought of Katie, a young person exploring a big city. She almost envied her, with no responsibilities to customers, no murders to solve, no jailed friend to free.

  A ray of light jabbed Cam in the eye as the mockingbird ran through its repertoire on a branch outside her bedroom window. She groaned and closed her eyes again. It had to be near six if the sun was already aiming at her pillow. A late start for a farmer. That last scotch had been one too many. Still, work called.