Murder Most Fowl

by Edith Maxwell

  Cam puttered around the kitchen, spooning the uneaten pasta into a small container, storing the cheese. She poured herself another glass of wine and sipped it in between washing plates, pots, and silverware. Albert and Marie had never gotten around to installing a dishwasher. Living alone, Cam didn’t see the need for one, either.

  But her thoughts were elsewhere as her hands worked in the warm soapy water. On Katie being questioned. Pete couldn’t think she had motive to actually murder Wayne, could he? Cam also mused at Greta’s anger, seemingly at the world. Cam could have mentioned the bag and Greta’s assertion that it was thyroid medicine to Pete while he was here, but she hadn’t wanted to talk about that in front of Katie. She pulled out her phone and texted him about it.

  Cam’s mind jumped to Judith pressuring the Laitinens to sell, and the couple not being in agreement about the decision. And then there was Paul Underwood driving away from the farm yesterday in a huff. He was also the one who found Wayne’s body this morning. Why had he gone back?

  After she wiped down the counters, Cam dried her hands and fed Preston and Dasha, then took Dasha out on a leash until he’d done his business. Back inside, she took her wine to her laptop on the desk tucked in a corner of the living room. She found the digital world a comfort, a familiar, logical place to hang out. And, often, to find answers. She’d already struck out trying to discover anything about Paul’s younger life. She did a search on Judith Patterson, but all seemed to be as it was. A divorced single mother with a high-powered job. Nothing there.

  Greta Laitinen was next. Greta Carlson Laitinen, apparently. A search for Greta Carlson yielded a notice about graduating Phi Beta Kappa with honors in biology from Wellesley College. Wow. The chicken farmer’s wife had brains. Cam stared at a picture of a much younger Greta in gown and mortarboard beaming next to Wayne. Had her dreams been dashed? Maybe they’d started a family a little sooner than they’d intended and Greta hadn’t seen her way clear to pursuing her own career. Working as an aide in the library wouldn’t be much of a challenge for a star biologist, and resentment often led to anger.

  Cam thought of the cylindrical object Dasha had uncovered. How to describe it? She typed, “canister three inches” and hit Enter. Nope. She got “kitchen canisters” and “three-inch gun ordnance.” The thing had been more like a cartridge, but those results yielded cartridges for guns and printers. It looked a bit like a shotgun shell, but slimmer. She changed the size to four inches, but nothing looked like the cylinder Dasha had dug up. She sat back and sipped her wine.

  Preston wandered over and rubbed against her leg while Cam spent a few minutes checking her e-mail and the farm’s Web site. She hadn’t posted to the blog in a couple of weeks, but March wasn’t much of a news month in the life of a New England farm. She’d take pictures tomorrow of the pruning. She checked the time in the corner of the screen. Nine o’clock and time to curl up with an old movie. She’d figure out that cylinder later. Or let Pete do it. It was his job, after all, not hers.

  “Come on, Preston.” Cam curled up on the couch with her wine, Preston jumped up to join her, and she switched on the television and selected a movie. The TV was one appliance she had definitely upgraded when she moved in, bringing her flat screen with her from Cambridge. Dasha trotted over and settled on the floor next to the couch. The familiar images of Casablanca calmed her. It had been a rough couple of days, and she deserved an hour and a half of escaping into the world of the last century.

  She’d been enjoying the movie for a while when a white-tuxedoed Humphrey Bogart lit a cigarette. Cam sat up straight and startled Preston, who leapt to the floor.

  A cigarette. Bogart smoked a traditional cigarette. But the cylinder Dasha had found was an e-cigarette cartridge. Like the one Judith Patterson had been smoking in the restaurant last night.

  Chapter 8

  Cam awoke to sunshine warming the old floorboards in her upstairs bedroom, which meant it was after seven, sleeping in for a farmer. She had texted Pete about the e-cigarette the night before, then had resumed watching the movie. She yawned, feeling distinctly unrested. Her sleep had been punctuated by unsettling dreams and several periods of lying awake, wanting to get back to sleep but being afraid she’d slide back into the last dream sequence.

  But now she had work to do, since she’d accomplished essentially nothing on the farm yesterday. Twenty minutes later she was dressed, caffeinated, at least the initial dose, and outside opening the chicken coop, with Dasha sitting in front of the barn. Hillary came strutting out, followed by a wing-flapping Ruffles, who flew to the top of the fence and announced the day. Cam freshened up their food and water, glad she had only forty, not four hundred like Wayne and Greta. No, only Greta, now.

  Inside the barn, Cam checked on the chicks in the office. The little puffs seemed to have grown overnight. She gave them fresh food and water, too, and added a few handfuls of new bedding. She smiled and cooed to them in their box, laughing when a couple pecked at her fingers.

  She wandered into the hoop house and stretched. She needed to do the pruning, start more seeds, and harvest a load of compost from the worm bins. But it was still chilly out and she’d rather prune during the midday hours when she could catch the warmth of the sun. What she wanted to do was go ask Judith if that was her e-cig cartridge that ended up under the Laitinens’ shrubbery. It could be innocent. Judith must have visited the farmhouse trying to convince Wayne to sell. Would she go so far as to kill Wayne to get the land, though? Even though Cam had come in contact with more than one murderer over the last year, she still didn’t understand how someone could be driven to commit such a horrible deed.

  She turned on the hose and watered the greens growing in the long beds, watching the gentle spray from the watering wand wet the variously shaped and colored leaves of the Asian greens, spinach, and lettuces. She didn’t have any reason to pay Judith a visit, since she didn’t actually know her. And surely lots of people used e-cigarettes these days. When the plants and seedlings were all watered, Cam spent half an hour starting two flats each of Asian eggplant and assorted hot peppers, including the superhot orange habanero and the fiery Bangkok, a tiny red Thai pepper. She wheeled the garden cart over to the worm bins and shoveled out the finished castings, then sprinkled them over the greens to feed their need for nitrogen.

  As she walked back to the house for breakfast and more coffee, Preston streaking ahead of her and Dasha trotting at her side, Cam spied Katie’s bike in the back of the truck. Katie, who worked for Judith. Cam snapped her fingers. Now she had a plausible reason for going to see Judith. But first she needed to call Great-Uncle Albert. Despite an assisted living residence being his home and despite his eighty-six years, he still had the pulse of the town, even though he hadn’t been at the town meeting.

  After the last bite of cheese omelet and toast, Cam dialed Albert’s number on the old house phone, which had an actual dial.

  “Cammy, what a pleasure,” Albert said after greeting her.

  Cam smiled to herself at her childhood nickname.

  “What’s this I hear about our friend Wayne? Gone too soon, and murdered, apparently.”

  “It’s terrible news.” She wasn’t surprised that Albert already knew.

  “Does your Pete have a suspect in custody?”

  “Not yet. Listen, how about if I come over for a visit this afternoon? I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks.”

  “I’d be much pleased, but I’ve got computer club this afternoon. How about tomorrow at four, instead? Bring me some of that—”

  “Ipswich IPA. You bet. Four o’clock?”

  “We’ll have our own private happy hour.”

  Cam stood at the front door to Judith’s designer home. Most of the houses in this part of town were farmhouses several centuries old, some renovated, some, like the Laitinens’, not. But Judith had either torn down the prior residence or had cleared woods to build this Colonial-style mansion. A three-car garage connected at the left side, and e
very detail looked expensive, from the beveled glass of the entryway to the impeccable landscaping of the front lawn and the curved borders of the still-dormant gardens. No cracks marred the driveway pavement, no dirt lurked in the corners of the windows.

  Taking a deep breath, Cam pressed the backlit doorbell. She’d waited until nine-thirty before driving here, and had changed out of her work clothes into clean jeans and a sweater. She stood at the door and listened to chickadees beeping as they flitted around one of the pines at the edge of the lawn. The sunshine was rapidly warming the air.

  No one appeared at the door. Cam glanced at a small black device mounted above the door. Was that a camera? She took a step back on the pad of irregularly shaped paving stones. Should she ring again, or leave? She should have called first. She’d turned to go when she heard the faint sound of heels clicking inside. Cam faced the door again as it swung open.

  “Yes?” Judith also wore jeans and a sweater, although hers were designer versions. She raised her thin eyebrows. “Can I help you?”

  Cam stepped forward, extending her hand. “I’m Cam Flaherty, from up on Attic Hill Road. I’m a friend of your employee Katie Magnusson. We had dinner last night and it was too late for her to ride home. I have her bike in the truck. Is she here working?”

  Judith pursed her lips, finally reaching out to shake Cam’s hand with a firm touch. “Judith Patterson. But Katie isn’t here.” She pulled her hand back.

  “I guess I’ll take the bike back home then. She told me you’re a financial planner. Do you suppose I could ask you a few questions?”

  “I suppose. Come in.” Judith led the way down a long hall toward the back.

  Cam pulled the door shut behind her and followed, ending up in a huge pristine kitchen lit by skylights and a wall of windows facing a small garden in front of the woods. What looked like a modest stable on the left appeared to be attached to the back of the garage. Inside, stone countertops gleamed and the black-and-white motif was unwarmed by any splashes of color. Cam couldn’t even see a refrigerator, so a collection of goofy magnets and family photos wasn’t part of the scene, either.

  Judith pointed to a long cherry table at the side of the room. “Sit. Coffee?”

  “I’d love some, thanks.” Cam pulled out a chair and lowered herself into it.

  Judith inserted a pod into a single-serving brewer, brought over milk, sugar, and a spoon in a modern silver set, then set a steaming mug in front of Cam. With an erect back, Judith sat across the table.

  “You’re the organic farmer, right?” Judith tapped a long red nail on the table.

  Cam added a little milk to the dark rich brew, took a sip, then set down the mug. “I am. That’s how I know Katie. Her sister, Alexandra, is one of my volunteers and customers.”

  “Katie’s a good girl. So did you see the local news yesterday?”

  “About the vandalism at Wayne’s farm, and his death?” Cam asked.

  “Poor Wayne.” Judith shook her head. “I’ve heard gossip that he was killed, that it wasn’t a heart attack.”

  “I heard the same thing.”

  “I don’t like the thought of a murderer in our small town. Wayne’s farm is right through the woods from here, in fact.”

  “I know.” Cam took a deep breath. She had to give this a try. “Listen, about Katie. I think she’s a decent girl, but I wondered if you thought she was—”

  Judith interrupted. “Capable of murder?” She barked out a laugh. “Are you kidding? If she finds a fly or a mosquito inside, she traps it and sets it loose outdoors. Kill a person? No way. Impossible.”

  “Good. I feel the same way.”

  Judith rose and picked up something from a shelf across the room. She returned to the table holding a slender e-cigarette. “Do you mind if I vape?”

  Vape? So that was the verb, for vapor, she guessed. Cam shook her head. “Anyway, my portfolio is small, but I’d love some advice about where to invest it.”

  “I’m a consultant in the financial sector. I work in high net worth wealth management, primarily. But I could recommend someone, if you’d like.” Judith put the tip of the black cylinder to her mouth. As she took a long drag, a purple light shone at the tip and vapor curled into the air. She pulled out the e-cig and inhaled deeply, then said, “I’m fortunate to work from home, and Katie’s a big help.”

  “She appreciates the job.” Cam sipped her coffee. “Wayne was a friend of mine, helping me with my small flock of chickens. I heard Greta and him talking about your offer to buy a parcel of their land.”

  “It’s a generous offer, and it’s still on the table.” Judith sniffed. “It was ridiculous of him to refuse, although I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. He and Greta needed the money badly. But he had a silly notion of keeping all that unused land in the family.”

  “Does Greta feel differently about it?”

  “Yes, but now it will be tied up in the disposal of his estate. I still want that land for my daughter’s horse.” She gestured with the e-cig toward the woods beyond the yard. “Their property line is only a few yards into the trees there. My Isabella is growing up fast.” She put the e-cig to her lips again. “And all she cares about is horses. Not Harry Potter, not ballet, not science.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Eleven going on twenty.” Judith barked out another laugh.

  “So you must have been over at Wayne’s talking with them about your offer.” Cam cringed inwardly. She knew she was at risk of sounding like a busybody, but maybe she could help Pete by learning what Judith and Wayne’s dealings had been.

  “Yeah. We’re neighbors.” Judith raised a shoulder and let it drop. “In fact, he had asked me over to breakfast the morning he was killed.”

  “Oh? Did you go?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” She cocked her head, gazing at Cam. “You’re awfully curious about all this. Why do you care if I buy part of the Laitinen property or not?” Her dark eyes pinned Cam.

  “I don’t care, particularly. But they’re friends of mine. Anyway, as you said, the land will probably be tied up in probate for a while.” Cam stood. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “If you see Katie, tell her I’ll need her at the usual time today.” Judith stood as well. She led Cam down the hall, heels tapping a sharp rhythm.

  As the door to her Ford creaked open, Cam glanced back at the house. Judith remained in the doorway, arms folded, her raptor gaze focused only on Cam.

  Chapter 9

  Cam lopped a sucker off the apple tree an hour later, then stood back to figure out where to cut next. The book open on the ground next to her said to prune only at the junction of one branch with another, to remove any branch that rubbed on another, and to open up the canopy. She looked from book to tree to book. Where was the apprenticeship system when she needed it? Learning pruning would be so much easier with an experienced orchardist showing her how.

  Dasha picked up the long thin sucker in his jaws and looked expectantly at her. Cam laughed, wrested it out of his mouth, and hurled it far across the field toward the woods at the back of her property. The sun warming the air was a welcome blessing on the day and lightened her mood, which had darkened from her visit to Judith. Cam didn’t know why she’d wasted her time following up on the e-cig cartridge. Judith had every reason to visit Wayne and she could have dropped the e-cig at the house. True, killing him removed the obstacle of his objection to selling, but now it didn’t appear that Greta would be able to sell for a while, at least according to Judith.

  Cam shook her head. She’d texted Pete about the e-cig, and about Judith’s saying Wayne had invited her for breakfast. Let him deal with it. Cam’s work was farming, not detecting. She aimed the long-handled loppers at a thick branch, but they only went halfway through. She twisted the branch, and when it finally came free it took a strip of bark from where it was attached. Her virtual teacher, the book, specifically said to avoid doing that, as it opened the tree to infection.
/>
  Cam blew out a breath. This apple tree was the last to survive of the small orchard of antique varieties that Albert and Marie had planted when they’d first married sixty-some years ago. It yielded delicious if somewhat misshapen winey fruit, but it was a lot of work maintaining it organically, and she should have sharpened the old loppers before starting this task. She set down the loppers and picked up her hand pruners. These she’d ordered new in the winter, so they were sharp and nicely oiled, and the smooth red handles felt perfect in her palm. She focused on the smaller branches, clipping the suckers that shot straight up in the middle.

  “Yo, Cam!” a female voice called after she’d been working about twenty minutes. Alexandra and Katie appeared from behind the barn and strode toward her. Alexandra was taller than her older sister but they shared the same forthright gait.

  Cam waved her pruners. When they reached her, she greeted them.

  “You survived last night?” she asked Katie.

  Katie shoved her hands in the pockets of her navy pea coat and nodded. “They let me go home, so I guess I survived it.”

  “What kind of questions did they ask you?” Cam asked.

  “They went over and over the vandalism, how I knew those people, and why I went back in the morning.” Katie’s face was pale under her knit hat and she chewed on her lower lip.

  “She kept telling them the same thing,” Alexandra added. “That she felt bad, went back to apologize, and then freaked out when she saw Paul Underwood.”

  “I wonder what he was doing there.” Cam frowned. “I know he and Wayne were old friends. Felicity told me they hung out together in high school, anyway.”

  “No idea,” Alexandra said. “I was just glad when she called for a ride. It was late, almost ten o’clock.”

  “I came to pick up my bike.” Katie pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked it. “I need to get to work by noon and it’s already eleven-thirty.”