Murder Most Fowl

by Edith Maxwell

“Work at Judith’s?” Cam asked.

  “She gets wicked upset if I’m late.”

  “I can imagine. I dropped by to see her this morning.”

  “Why would you do that?” Katie’s face scrunched up in bewilderment.

  “Oh, I’ll tell you later.” Cam cleared her throat. “But she said you do a good job.”

  “I would hope so.” Alexandra sounded protective. “I need to get back to my work, too.”

  “Thanks for the ride, A.” Katie smiled at her sister.

  “No probs. See you Wednesday, Cam.” Alexandra waved and started for the barn.

  “Wednesday?” Cam asked.

  “Volunteer day, right? Or don’t you need me this week?”

  “I almost forgot. Of course. I can always use your help. Thanks,” Cam said.

  Dasha ran up with the stick in his mouth. Alexandra laughed and threw it toward the driveway.

  After Alexandra left, Cam turned to Katie. “Did Pete seem satisfied with your answers to his questioning?”

  She didn’t meet Cam’s gaze. As Cam’s cell phone rang in her back pocket, Katie turned away.

  “Can you wait a minute?” Cam asked.

  Katie shook her head as she almost ran toward the barn. She didn’t look back. Cam watched her go as she retrieved the phone and connected to find one of her favorite people on the other end.

  “Lucinda, cool to hear from you.”

  “You know what today is, fazendeira?” Her Brazilian friend always called Cam “farmer” in Portuguese.

  “Monday?”

  “No, silly. Saint Patrick’s Day. Let’s go to the pub tonight.”

  “I guess I’d better, with a name like Flaherty.”

  “Yeah, and you know I’m really O’Silva.” Lucinda DaSilva’s laugh was as big as her personality. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “I’ll be wearing my green overalls. See you tonight.” Cam disconnected. Not that she owned green overalls, but she had a green sweater somewhere. A relaxing night at the pub, with Irish stew and green beer, was just the ticket for taking her mind off murder. Katie didn’t seem to want to dwell on it, either. But she’d avoided Cam’s eyes. Why?

  After a couple of hours of pruning, Cam was about to make lunch in the house when Dasha alerted, then ran to the door barking. She pushed up from the chair at her computer to see Pete climbing out of his car. As she opened the door, Dasha ran out. Cam waited, watching dog and human exchange greetings, before calling out her own.

  “Done for the day?”

  Pete glanced up from Dasha. “I only wish.”

  “Well, come on in for a minute.” Pete, carrying a paper bag, trudged up the stairs like it took his last ounce of energy. His hair was as rumpled as his shirt, and a dark growth was emerging on his usually clean-shaven face. She held the door open, then wrapped her arms around him once they were inside. They stood together for several moments of respite before Pete disengaged, shucked off his coat, and sank into a chair.

  “Have you slept at all?” Cam asked.

  He gazed at her with his chin on hand. “I got a few hours last night. I wanted to thank you for that tip about the nicotine cartridge.”

  “That’s what it was? I wondered why Dasha was drawn to it.”

  “We haven’t learned whose it was, but if whoever dropped it was nervous or frightened, Dash would have been attracted to that. Dogs are expert at picking up the chemicals we leave behind.”

  “I read somewhere that smelling is to dogs as seeing is to us.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “Anyway, the information came in time to check for nicotine in the autopsy.”

  “In the lungs?” Cam sat opposite him.

  “No, in the blood. Wayne was poisoned with nicotine.” He shook his head and leaned back in his chair.

  “So it definitely wasn’t a heart attack. Any kind of poison sounds nasty.”

  “Very. Smoke shops now sell little vials of pure liquid nicotine. It’s highly toxic. Two are enough to poison a grown man.” He rapped his fingers on the table.

  Cam whistled. “Why is it even legal?”

  “Shouldn’t be. But you know how people are in this country. Can’t step on individual rights and all that.”

  “And vaping keeps smoke out of the air. That’s gotta be good, right? Although I wonder if it introduces chemicals into the body.”

  “Whatever.” He waved a tired hand. “Any chance of a cup of coffee? I brought lunch.” He held up the bag.

  “Sure. I’m hungry.” Cam rose and headed to the kitchen. After she ground the beans, she called back to him, “Wouldn’t they automatically check for any poison in the blood?”

  “No. There are hundreds of toxins that can kill, and lots of the tests are different. They only test for what’s suspected. Thanks to you, we had a suspicion of nicotine.”

  Preston ambled into the kitchen as Cam poured milk into her mug. He gave his tiny mew, then reared up to rub his head against Cam’s knee. “One minute, Mr. P.” She poured a little milk into his food dish. When Dasha let out a bark and trotted in, Cam dug a dog biscuit out for him. “Treats for all.”

  She brought Pete a mug of coffee along with one for herself, then carried plates to the table. Pete drew two subs out of the bag and handed her one. “Turkey and cheese for you, an Italian for me.”

  “Thanks. This is perfect. House of Pizza?”

  “You nailed it,” Pete said before taking a big bite of his sandwich. “Think they use local turkey?” he asked after he swallowed, with the first smile Cam had seen on him since yesterday morning.

  She laughed. “I doubt it, but they make great subs.” She dug into her own lunch.

  They ate without speaking for a minute to the sound of Dasha crunching his biscuit and Preston lapping up his milk.

  Cam washed down a bite with a sip of coffee. “How are you going to find out who poisoned Wayne?”

  “The usual way. Hard work. Interviews. Searching for evidence, motive, possibility.”

  “Speaking of interviews, how did it go with Katie last night?”

  “She stuck to her story. Which I don’t have any good reason to doubt. Except . . .”

  “Except what?” Cam set her chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

  “I don’t know. There’s something she’s not telling me. I don’t know what and I don’t know why.” A pulse beat in Pete’s temple and his jaw worked. “In addition, my new boss is breathing down my neck to close this case quickly. Him and his protégé, Ivan. I don’t have the best working relationship with either of them. The commander is ambitious, and I think being stuck north of Boston isn’t his idea of getting ahead.”

  “So he’s taking it out on you?”

  “Something like that. He implied that I’ll be demoted if I don’t make an arrest by the end of the week.” Pete’s mouth pulled to the side.

  “Maybe this will help you. Remember I told you I saw Judith Patterson at Phat Cats when we were there?”

  He frowned. “Yes.”

  “She’s a vaper. She was doing it that night, and also this morning when I visited her.”

  “What? Why did you go to see her?” Pete set down his mug and stared at Cam.

  She cleared her throat. “Well, Wayne and his wife had had that argument about selling to Judith. I wanted to bring Katie’s bike over there since she said she works for Judith. And while I was there I asked for some financial advice.”

  “Cam. That’s police business.” He leaned toward her across the table. “You’re acting like an investigator again. Please leave it to us. Please?” He reached out his hand and covered hers. “It’s great when you tell me things—like about the cartridge, like about Ms. Patterson being an e-cig user. I can always use another set of eyes and ears in the community. But you can’t go around visiting someone who may very well be a suspect. Or a murderer.” He squeezed her hand.

  “You’re right. I guess.”

  “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  �
�All right. But let me tell you what Judith said. For one thing, she thinks Katie is completely incapable of killing someone, and I agree.” When Pete opened his mouth, she held up a hand. “And Judith also said Wayne had asked her over for breakfast the morning he was murdered, like I texted you. She hoped it was to tell her he’d changed his mind about selling.”

  “Did she go?” Pete’s voice quickened and the look in his eyes lightened.

  “She wouldn’t tell me. If that e-cig cartridge is hers, maybe she did.”

  “Maybe. I hate to say it, but this is useful information. Thanks, agapi mou.”

  Cam scrunched up her nose. “What did you say?”

  Pete laughed. “Means ‘my love’ in Greek.” He rose, bent over to plant a kiss on Cam’s head, and turned toward the door, sliding his arms into his coat.

  Cam smiled as Dasha trotted in from the kitchen and looked up at Pete expectantly.

  “Sorry, my friend. Still working.” Pete ruffled Dasha’s head. “Still okay to have him?” he asked Cam from the doorway.

  “Always. Agapi mou,” she added softly.

  Chapter 10

  Cam finished the apple pruning after another hour of work. She gathered up all the clippings into the garden cart and dumped them on the rapidly growing brush pile at the edge of the woods. The branches were too thick and woody to compost, and the pile provided shelter for birds until the wood dried out enough to burn in the fall. She could use the wood ash to amend the asparagus bed, which benefited from a slighter higher alkalinity, and also sprinkle it around several of the other beds, since her soil ran a bit too acidic except for the blueberry bushes and the potato plants. She hated having to set a fire, given her past bad experiences, but it was the only way to sensibly dispose of the brush. She’d burned the brush last November on a windless day with the hose nearby and survived it. Maybe this year she’d corral a volunteer to do it.

  She hadn’t collected her hens’ eggs in a couple of days, so after she hung the pruners and loppers on their hooks on the barn wall, she grabbed a small bucket and headed into the coop through the people door. Then stopped and wrinkled her nose. She hadn’t cleaned the bedding in a while either, apparently. The odor of chicken waste was nearly overpowering and she tried to breathe only through her mouth. At least the hens didn’t seem to mind. Hillary jumped out of a nesting box when Cam approached, but she had to nudge a few others out of the way to collect the eggs from underneath them. All around her they made their funny noises, scratched in the bedding, bumped into each other, and ran in and out the small door.

  She latched the door behind her, gazing at the eggs. Yesterday she had collected eggs for Greta but had been told quite plainly not to come back to help. What if Cam, instead, brought over a friendly condolence casserole? It was only four o’clock. She had time to put a dish together and deliver it before she was to meet Lucinda at the pub. And maybe she could find out what Greta had been trying to hide. That wouldn’t violate Pete’s ban on investigating.

  But what could she cook on short order? A quiche? No, bringing an egg-based dish to a poultry farm was a bit redundant. Cam put the eggs to soak in cold water in the barn and headed to the house. Dasha trotted beside her.

  “Almost your dinnertime, too, isn’t it, boy?”

  Dasha cocked his head and barked his agreement.

  Once inside, Cam fed him and then stood in front of the open refrigerator. The rest of last night’s pasta dish sat in a small container. Pasta. That was it. She could whip up a fast vegetarian lasagna, since she’d picked up the cheeses last night as well as extra sauce. She checked the cupboard, glad she always kept a box of lasagna noodles on hand. She set a pot of water on the biggest burner, started the oven, and began to prep the other ingredients.

  As she chopped parsley and grated Parmesan, she thought about Judith refusing to tell Cam if she’d gone to breakfast with Wayne. Why not simply say if she had or not? Maybe Judith had poisoned Wayne with her nicotine. Greta had said she cooked his breakfast before she went to church. Judith could be trying to frame Greta. But if Judith was trying to hide her breakfast with Wayne, she never would have told Cam about the invitation. Unless she was trying to appear innocent.

  Cam dumped the noodles into the boiling water and stirred so they wouldn’t stick together. Preston wandered over and rubbed his head against her knee.

  “Sorry, P, no pets right now. I’m cooking.” She broke two eggs into the ricotta, added the parsley, and mixed it a little harder than necessary. The facts of this case seemed just as mixed up. Katie was hiding something, too, Cam was sure, as was Pete.

  The timer went off for the noodles, and in five minutes the lasagna was in the oven. Time for a shower. With any luck she could wash these roiling thoughts down the drain, too.

  Cam drove up to the entrance to the Laitinen farm with caution, but the reporters as well as the police were gone. It was nearly six o’clock, and even though the sun didn’t officially set for another hour, it was well below the tree line and the shadows were blue and cold.

  Leaving her bag in the car, she made her way with her offering toward the farmhouse. At the side door, which opened into a screened porch, she juggled the towel-wrapped Pyrex pan full of warm lasagna onto one arm so she could ring the doorbell with the other hand. Nobody answered. Cam tried to peer through the porch screening into the window of the house, but the curtains were drawn. A sliver of light shone from within, though, so she rang again.

  After another minute, she shifted the casserole to both hands. What was she going to do with this hot dinner if they weren’t home? She couldn’t just leave it on the stoop here or animals would surely find it. She shifted it back to the other hand and tried the doorknob, letting out a sigh of relief when it turned. At least she could leave it inside the porch and then call to let Greta and Megan know it was there.

  Cam stepped in. A small table sat at the end of the space. But the sliver of light she’d seen was from the inner door being slightly ajar. Maybe Greta hadn’t heard the doorbell. Cam moved toward the door, but stopped when she heard a voice. It was Megan’s, not Greta’s.

  “You have to come home, Henry. Daddy’s gone and Mom’s acting . . .” Megan’s voice was anguished.

  Cam heard only sniffling for a moment.

  “I know it’s a big deal to be at Disney World, but our father was murdered, for God’s sake!” A sound of something slamming down came through the door, then silence.

  Should Cam interrupt Megan, or slide the lasagna onto the table and leave her to her troubles? She took a step backward and knocked into a chair with her hip. The chair fell over with a clatter.

  “Who’s there? Mom?” Megan called out. The overhead light flashed on and Megan pulled the door open. “Oh! It’s you.” She knit her brows together. “What are you doing here?”

  Extending the lasagna, Cam said, “I made a casserole for you all. It’s still hot.”

  Megan’s face crumpled. “That is so sweet of you.” Tears streaked her cheeks and she sniffled. “Come on in.” She gestured to the open door.

  Cam followed her in and set the lasagna on a straw hot pad on the long weathered table, now cluttered with papers, empty coffee cups, a juice glass half full of wine, a large bottle of Jim Beam, and a flower arrangement. Only two days ago she had sat here with Wayne. It felt like a month had gone by.

  “Please sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee? Or a glass of wine? Whiskey?” Megan swept the papers into a pile and set the whiskey bottle on the countertop. “I’m having wine.”

  “That sounds good.”

  A moment later Megan handed Cam another juice glass filled with red wine and sat across the table from her. “Sorry about the glasses. Mom isn’t much into wine.” Megan’s reddened nose matched her eyes, and she blew her nose on a tissue. Her fine blond hair lay in disarray on her shoulders. Pluto emerged from the hall and sat alert next to Megan’s chair.

  “You’re having a tough time,” Cam said.

  “I’ll s
ay. My brother won’t come home from his vacation. Mom is out somewhere. You’re like almost the only person who has done a kind thing for us.” Megan took a deep, ragged breath and blew it out. “And my father is dead. He was so sweet. Who could have . . .” She stared at Pluto, stroking his head.

  “I’m so sorry.” Cam took a sip of wine. “Wayne was a decent, gentle man. How is your mom taking it?”

  Megan wiped her eyes. “She’s really angry. I don’t think she’s cried at all for him. I don’t get it.” Looking like a lost dog, she gazed at Cam. “I mean, I know she and Dad weren’t getting along that great, but still. They’d been married for thirty years.” She picked up her glass and took a long drink. “Cam, would you help us?”

  “You mean with the chickens?”

  “No. I mean help find who killed Daddy. I know you’ve been sort of involved in a few cases this last year. The police won’t tell me anything. And since you’re not official, maybe you can find out things they can’t.”

  “Well, it’s their responsibility, really, not mine.”

  “And that other guy, Detective Pappas’s partner? He never smiles. He’s so abrupt, he’s almost mean.”

  Cam pulled her mouth to the side. “I’m sure Detective Hobbs is only trying to do his job.”

  “Please, Cam? We need your help.”

  Cam blew out a breath. “I’ll try.”

  Megan scribbled her cell phone number on a piece of paper and slid it across the table to Cam.

  “So has your mom been taking care of the hens?” Cam asked after pocketing the slip of paper. “And the cow?”

  “I don’t think so. I offered to help with the hens but she wouldn’t let me. I’ve been milking Betsy so far. And then today Mom took off in the car. I keep thinking she’ll come back and we can talk, but it’s been a few hours and she’s not answering my texts. I need to go home at some point. I’m taking this week off work, but I have an unhappy cat at my house.”

  “I could help Greta with the hens, although yesterday she asked me not to. Do you know who Wayne usually sold the eggs to?”

  Megan sipped her wine. “No idea. Once I went off to college, I stopped being involved in the poultry business. When I was in high school, he sold them to a cooperative, I think.” She looked at Cam. “Should we at least go out and make sure they have food? Mom can’t object if you’re with me. Although you’re dressed kind of nice. I wouldn’t want you to get dirty in there.”