“What’s in that bag?” Cam asked.
“This?” Greta laughed and flashed it at Cam before stuffing it in her pocket. “It’s the dog’s thyroid medicine. He has to take it twice a day. Wayne and Pluto spent more time out here than in the house, but it’s easier for me to keep it in the kitchen.” She opened the door and stepped through.
As it slid shut after her, Cam stared. If it was really thyroid medicine, why was Greta trying to hide it?
Cam dropped Felicity at her house and headed back toward her farm on the other side of town to put her own chickens to bed. She dutifully slowed to the posted twenty-five miles per hour going through the small center, where the Food Mart held court across the street from the Westbury House of Pizza, which was across the parking lot from the post office. And that was about it for downtown, except for a barber shop, an insurance company and, a little farther down, SK Foreign Auto, her friend Sim’s car repair shop.
Cam approached Church Street, appropriately named as it was flanked on one side by the Catholic Church and on the other by the Congregational. Alexandra’s idea that Katie might be out somewhere communing with livestock flashed in Cam’s brain. She jerked the wheel and veered sharply to the left off Main Street. The car behind her blasted its horn. Cam ducked her head and waved a sheepish hand as she headed downhill on Church Street toward the bridge over the Merrimack River. On the other side of the river was Randalls’, the llama farm, on the outskirts of the city of Haverhill. When Katie had helped out building the coop for Cam’s rescue hens last fall, she’d mentioned how much she loved the graceful big-eyed South American beasts. Maybe Katie was finding peace communing with the llamas.
The sun angled low on the wide river as Cam drove over the historic Rocks Village Bridge, which looked like it was built by a giant playing with an Erector Set. Cam smiled to herself. She’d overheard a local at town meeting refer to it as the Mother-in-Law Bridge because someone was reputed to have tossed his mother-in-law off it into the Merrimack. In a few more minutes she arrived at the farm, which advertised its own pork, grass-fed beef, honey, maple syrup, and hay.
She parked in the lot, empty now that the farm store was closed because it was March. The Randall corn maze was a big draw in the fall, and in the winter they sponsored horse-drawn sleigh rides. But this month in New England, otherwise known as mud season, was a slow time at farms that had branched out into the entertainment business to make ends meet. Cam grabbed her phone before she set out in search of the llamas, and Katie, too. She supposed it wasn’t a good sign that no cars were parked in the lot, but for all she knew, Katie didn’t have a car. She and Alexandra had ridden bicycles that time last fall when the volunteers built the coop.
Making her way around the edge of the fenced-in field, Cam was glad for her muck boots. It was definitely mud season. The fence led up a gentle slope, with woods to Cam’s left, the bare bark of the deciduous trees black and ominous. She’d better find the llamas soon. If Katie wasn’t here, Cam didn’t want to be outside in an unfamiliar setting after sunset, with the temperature dropping quickly to a more seasonable chill.
She crested the hill and spied several tall necks sticking up in a clump of furry bodies a dozen yards away. Inside the fence surrounding the field, a tall-backed woman sat cross-legged as if in meditation. She faced the animals but had her back to Cam. A rainbow-striped knit cap covered her head, with two dark braids trailing out of it down her back. She looked a lot like Katie.
Cam thought about calling Pete or Alexandra, but it would be dark soon. She thought she could talk Katie into coming with her and then they could make the call. Cam examined the fence, on which leaned a mud-spattered bicycle. The four-foot-high welded wire barrier didn’t appear to have an electrified top. She pulled her sleeves over her hands just in case before clambering over the top and nearly caught her toe in the fencing on the way down, ever ungraceful. As she approached the woman and the llamas, a white one turned its head and regarded Cam with dark eyes that drooped at their corners. Katie turned her head, too, and then slumped as if deflated.
“Hey, Katie.” Cam squatted next to her.
Katie pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “What are you doing here?”
Cam gazed at the llamas, who watched her now from their position with all four legs tucked underneath them. “Beautiful animals. They seem to like you.” She’d never been so close to one before and hoped they wouldn’t get nasty. Her parents had ridden camels, a relative of llamas, in West Africa and had said they could be mean. But she had to find a way to reach Katie. And if it meant sitting here a few feet away from a big cud-chewing animal, so be it.
Katie nodded without speaking.
“Do you come here a lot? Do they have names?” Cam asked.
“Yeah. Paloma’s that one. Carlos is there, and Francisco is the dark one. Javiera is the little guy.”
“This is a peaceful spot.”
The sad-eyed white llama named Paloma chewed in a figure-eight pattern as it watched Cam. Javiera extended its long neck until its face was inches from Cam’s, way too close for her comfort, so she scooted back a little.
Katie let out a long breath through her lips, facing Cam at last. “I know I have to go back. I’m only postponing it.”
“Why?”
“I did something really stupid last night. I never should have gone to Laitinen’s with those idiots. They talked me into helping with their action,” she said, surrounding the last word with finger quotes. “But Wayne is a good farmer, and it was just stupid. At least I kept them from shooing all the hens outside.” She rolled her eyes. “Those guys don’t know anything about animals. They thought four hundred hens would want to go wild and roost in the trees. Ridiculous.”
“Alexandra told me Detective Pappas wants to speak with you. Do you know why?”
Katie sighed again. “I have an idea why. I went back to the farm this morning.”
Cam stared at her. No wonder Pete wanted to talk with Katie.
“I felt bad about the vandalism, and wanted to apologize to Mr. Laitinen. But that pesticide guy was there—”
“Paul Underwood?”
“Yeah. He saw me and, I don’t know, I freaked out and left before I saw Mr. Laitinen. And then when I heard on the news that he was dead, I had to get away. I seem to screw up everything I do lately.”
“Listen, why don’t you come home with me. We’ll have a bite to eat, and I’ll call Pete, I mean Detective Pappas. You didn’t do anything wrong besides the vandalism.” Cam stood and extended a hand to Katie. When she didn’t take it, Cam said, “Come on. It’s getting dark and cold. We’ll throw your bike in the back of my truck. And call Alexandra so she stops worrying about you.”
Two of the llamas rose, too, and took a step toward Cam.
Katie crossed her legs again and stood in one fluid motion. She stroked each llama on the nose, murmuring soft words, then straightened and faced Cam. “Let’s go. Time I faced the facts.”
Cam pulled into the Food Mart parking lot and turned off the truck. “I need to pick up a few things for dinner. Want to come in?” She looked at Katie in the passenger seat.
“I guess.” Katie reached for the door handle.
“I’ll bet you’re a vegetarian.”
“But not a vegan.”
“Me, I eat everything.” Cam held up a hand when Katie started to speak. “But I try to mostly eat meat from Tender-crop Farm, so I know it was raised running around in the fresh air and treated well.” She glanced at Katie. “And Laitinen’s chicken, of course.”
“Look, I said I was sorry.” Katie’s nostrils flared. “You don’t have to keep rubbing it in.” She wrenched open the truck door and slid out.
Cam leaned across the seat. “I need to call Detective Pappas. He’ll want to know where you are. I’ll see you in there.” The door slammed on her last word.
By the time Cam got into the small grocery store, she spied Katie’s hat heading toward the wine aisle. Good. They both could u
se a glass, although if Katie had to talk with Pete soon, maybe that wasn’t the best of ideas. He’d thanked her for the call and said he’d be over as soon as he finished up something.
Cam grabbed a basket and ambled toward the aisle that held pasta and jars of sauce. She added several of each to her basket, a packet of chocolate cookies from one aisle over, and then headed for the cheese section, picking up a block of Romano for grating, and ricotta and pregrated mozzarella just to have around. That was plenty for a simple, quick supper.
When she reached the checkout line, Katie had already paid for a bottle of red, and the steel-haired cashier was sliding it into a narrow paper bag. Katie looked around the woman behind her in line at Cam. “Okay?”
Cam laughed as she set the contents of her basket onto the rolling checkout belt. “We’re both over twenty-one.” She could caution her about not overindulging once they got home. Cam was digging in her bag for her wallet when the woman standing in between Katie and Cam spoke to Katie.
“I heard you were with that vandalism group last night up at Laitinens’. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young lady.”
The cashier stood with her hand on Cam’s box of spaghetti and pursed her lips, nodding.
“Them are good folks, and now Wayne’s dead,” the woman continued. “What, did you kill him off? Wasn’t enough to try to freeze all them hens?”
Katie stared. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Turning, she rushed out the door.
The customer muttered to the cashier about liberals and no-good young people as she swiped her card with more force than was necessary. Cam kept her own mouth shut, as well. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with her. Nobody was going to change that woman’s mind. Besides, Cam agreed with her about the vandalism. She waited as her own purchases were rung up. She paid and made her way out.
Outside the temperature had indeed plummeted as the sun made its descent, forecasting a night with the mercury dipping below freezing. Katie stood at the back of Cam’s truck talking with Greta. And by the looks of it, Greta wasn’t a bit happy, her finger pointed at Katie’s chest. Uh-oh. And what was Greta doing out shopping the night her husband had been killed?
“That Detective Pappas thinks you killed my husband. Either you or one of your crazy friends.” She glanced at Cam. “What are you doing driving a murderer around?”
“A murderer? What’s going on in this town?” Katie asked. “I didn’t kill Mr. Laitinen.” She shook her head, hard. “I wouldn’t do that. He was a nice man. I don’t even kill animals to eat. Why would I—”
“You’ll have to ask Pappas that.” Greta whirled and stalked toward the store. She called back to Katie, “I’m warning you. Don’t you ever go near my property again or you might end up the dead one.”
Chapter 7
Cam latched the door of the coop after making sure Ruffles and all the hens were safely inside. She’d left Katie and her glass of wine waiting for the pasta water to boil as Katie spoke with Alexandra. Maybe they could have a calming dinner before Pete showed up. As Cam walked toward the farmhouse, with Dasha poking around the yard, the full Worm Moon lifted its bright, cold head above the trees. The Worm Moon was the name the Algonquins had taught the colonists for the month when the soil softened and worms began to come alive. With tonight’s temperatures chilling the ground, though, Cam expected the worms were going to remain in hiding for a few more days. New Englanders preferred to call the first full moon in March the Sap Moon because it heralded the movement of the maple sap in the trees’ veins.
Dasha barked and trotted to the driveway, and the crunch of gravel made Cam turn her head. The motion detector light outside her back door sprang to life, illuminating Pete’s old Saab. So they wouldn’t be having a quiet dinner first, after all.
When Pete climbed out, Cam called, “Yo, Detective.”
He glanced over at her with a smile. “My favorite farmer.” Dasha ran up for a pet, and Cam walked up to Pete, too.
She’d opened her mouth to speak when the farmhouse door opened.
“Cam?” Katie called, holding the screen door open with one hand, wineglass in the other. “The water’s . . .” She stared at Pete.
He lifted a hand. “Nice to see you, Ms. Magnusson.”
The screen door slammed as Katie clattered down the steps. “I heard you want to talk to me, Detective. I was part of the vandalism, but I did not kill Mr. Laitinen.” Her voice was calm as she raised her chin.
Pete scratched between his eyebrows. “Can we go inside?”
“Of course,” Cam said.
Katie turned and strode back to the house. Pete shut the door to his car and followed Cam toward the steps, Dasha at his side, then reached out and touched her arm after the door closed behind Katie. Cam turned toward him.
“You couldn’t have known we were looking for Katie,” he said in a quiet voice. “Why did you even go looking for her? I never told you we wanted to question her.”
“Alexandra called and told me. It occurred to me that, loving animals as much as she does, Katie might be over at Randall Farm. She’d talked about the llamas last fall when she was here helping build my chicken coop.”
“Thanks for calling about Katie.”
Cam shivered and gazed at the warm light from the kitchen windows pushing out into the darkening night. “Want some pasta?”
When Pete and Cam walked into the kitchen, Dasha eagerly at Pete’s side, Katie was stirring the pasta in the big pot. Without turning, she said, “I put in the whole box, in case he’s hungry.” A pot of sauce simmered on a smaller burner, and she’d set the farm table in the eating area with three place mats, plates, and silverware.
Cam raised her eyebrows at Pete.
Sighing again, he said, “I am hungry. Very.” He drummed his fingers on the countertop next to him. “Okay, I’ll eat. But I do need to bring you in for questioning, Ms. Magnusson, and we’re not going to do it over dinner.”
“I understand,” Katie said. “Got a colander, Cam?”
Cam showed her where it was. “I suppose you’re working, so no wine?” Cam asked Pete.
He shook his head. “Would love a cup of coffee, though.”
Cam and Katie busied themselves getting dinner on the table for a few minutes as Pete retreated to the living room with Dasha. Cam started a pot of coffee, then rummaged in the refrigerator until she pulled out a small jar.
“I’ll stir some of last summer’s pesto into the sauce,” she said. “The little cheese grater is in that drawer,” she told Katie, pointing.
A couple of minutes later, Katie set the wide shallow dish full of steaming spaghetti topped with pestoed tomato sauce in the middle of the table while Cam put a chunk of Romano on the table and poured herself a glass of wine.
“Soup’s on, Pete.” She grabbed a big spoon and the pasta server from the kitchen and served up the mix onto each plate, then passed around the cheese.
Katie sat and grated in silence, Pete taking the chair opposite her. Cam sank into the chair at the end and sipped her wine. She glanced at Pete, who had delivered a forkful of pasta to his mouth. For several minutes, the only sounds were forks on china, chewing, and swallowing.
“Katie, how long have you been hanging out with the llamas?” Cam asked. There had to be something neutral they all could talk about.
Katie’s face brightened. “Every chance I get. They are so not like people. They simply sit and chew, and walk around. I feel like I can communicate with them.”
“I have trouble communicating with people, myself,” Cam said.
“You don’t feel any need to open their gate and let them out into the wild?” Pete asked.
That wasn’t fair. He’d said no questioning during dinner.
Katie tilted her head to the side before she answered. “No.” She gazed at Pete with her mouth set in a determined expression.
Cam racked her brain for what other safe topic she could bring up, since that one had clearly bombed. “What do you
do for work, Katie?” she finally asked.
“I’m an assistant for Judith Patterson. A flunky, more so. She works from home and needs somebody to be her secretary. But I also pick up her cleaning and such.” She shrugged. “It’s a part-time job. She pays me well for my afternoons, but it’s not my life’s work or anything.”
“What’s her profession?” Pete asked.
“She’s a consultant, does something with finance. She only goes into Boston once a week.”
“Did you ever hear her talking about wanting to buy part of Wayne and Greta’s land for her daughter’s horse?” Cam glanced at Pete before she looked at Katie.
“For sure. She was wicked focused on that. Said Greta wanted to sell but Wayne didn’t.” Katie pushed her half-finished plate away. Her wineglass still held half its contents, too. “Thanks for dinner, Cam. I guess I’m ready when you are, Detective.”
Pete made fast work of the rest of his pasta. “Thanks from me, too. Didn’t expect to get a hot home-cooked meal tonight,” he said. “A delicious one, too. Now, happen to have a travel mug I can borrow?” Dasha barked as Pete stood. He leaned down to stroke the dog’s head. “You’re going to stay here, boy, if it’s okay with Cam.”
“You know it is.” She stood, and a minute later brought him a mug full of black coffee with a lid firmly screwed on. She moved to Katie’s side near the door, where Katie was buttoning up her coat.
“Are you okay to do this alone?” Cam spoke in a low voice. “Do you want me to come, or to call Alexandra again?”
Katie looked down. “You’re right. I’ll call my sister. But I didn’t kill him. I’m sure I’ll be home soon.”
“Does she need a lawyer, Pete?” Cam asked.
“It’s up to her.”
Katie pulled her knit hat on, tugging it down over her ears, and glanced up. “I’m going to leave my bike here, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.”
Katie set her jaw and faced the door. “Let’s get this over with.”
Murder Most Fowl Page 6
