“I’ll be there at the start, too. See you soon, then.”
“Love you.” Albert disconnected.
Cam looked around the office, then closed the door on the chicks and surveyed the rest of the barn. It looked as though the entire space was covered in powder. Dark surfaces like the tools and an old table were dusted with a light-colored powder, and light objects, like the light switch and a couple of white plastic chairs, were smeared with black. How could the police possibly eliminate the dozens of people who’d been through her barn in the last nine months since it’d been constructed?
A heavy rapping at the outer door made her whip her head. Now what? Her heart raced.
“Cam Flaherty?” The rapping resumed. “It’s the locksmith.”
Oh! Cam slid the door open. Her mouth slid open, too. Bobby Burr stood in front of her with a big grin on his face.
“Hey, Cam.” He held a hand up, palm out, still smiling.
“Bobby! What a nice surprise. I haven’t seen you since, when, last November? Come on the heck in.” It finally registered that he held a plastic bag in one hand and had a heavy canvas bag slung over the other shoulder. “Wait. What are you—”
“You didn’t know I work for Bill’s Locks in the wintertime? Outdoor building slows way down when there’s snow on the ground.”
“I didn’t know.” Cam smiled. “Glad you have employment, though. Is there anything you can’t do?” Bobby had expertly rebuilt this very barn after the terrible fire last June.
“I can’t bake a pie to save my life.” He laughed, his dark eyes flashing. He’d been quite the flirt last summer and fall and his attractive looks hadn’t diminished.
Cam cleared her throat but kept smiling. “Neither can I.”
“Now that that’s settled, let’s get locks installed.”
Cam turned to the door she’d slid open. “The slider is the main one. I got vandalized last night and it’s time to be able to lock up this barn good and tight. I told Bill on the phone.”
“I heard.” Bobby turned serious. “Hope you weren’t hurt.”
“No, but a bunch of my chicks were. And now I’m going to have to paint over those letters.” She pointed to the spray-painted message.
“Yeah. It’s got to be soaked into the wood by now. Want me to do it for you? I have primer in the truck.”
“Well, that would be fantastic. Do you have time?”
“You’re my last job of the day. Let me get these locks done first—you want the back door, too?”
“You bet.”
“And then I’ll throw some paint up there. You don’t want to have to look at that every day.”
“I sure don’t. Thanks so much.”
“For the slider I brought a vintage-looking barn lock that’s keyed on the outside and has a thumb turn on the inside. And a regular dead bolt for the small door.”
“What’s a thumb turn?”
Bobby laughed. “One of those little levers you turn to lock the door. With your thumb.”
Chapter 20
Lucinda and Cam walked up the steps of the funeral home a few minutes past five toward a black-coated man holding the door open for them, Cam with a shiny new barn key on her key ring. Once inside, they joined the mourners already lined up in the hallway where somber music played softly from a hidden sound system. Cam bent over to sign the guest book, spying Albert’s and Marilyn’s names near the top of the page, but she couldn’t see them ahead of her in the line. People spoke in low voices as the line moved slowly forward.
Cam glanced down at her black skirt and brushed a few of Preston’s hairs off it. “Can’t take me anywhere,” she said to Lucinda in a whisper.
Lucinda smiled. “How are the rest of those chicks of yours doing? They going to be my dinner next year?”
Cam had told her about the vandalism on the way over. “I expect they will. At least I finally got a good lock on the barn door. You wouldn’t believe who works as a locksmith in the wintertime.”
“Who?”
“Bobby Burr, that’s who. He did a great job, too.”
“No kidding. He’s cute, that one.” She elbowed Cam as she grinned.
“I know. I think he knows it, too.”
A voice from behind them said, “Hey, guys. What is this, the farm contingent?”
Cam turned to see a grinning Alexandra next to a pale Katie. She greeted them. “Katie, are you all right?”
Katie nodded slowly, but the skin below her eyes was dark and she chewed on the inside of her lip.
“Ready?” Lucinda asked, pointing. The last people in front of them had gone in.
Cam took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.” She wasn’t that comfortable around groups of people generally, and having to speak about sympathies was not her favorite activity. But it was what one did, and she knew grieving families took comfort in the words. She and Lucinda moved into the room where a man stood next to Megan and Greta. Cam glanced around. She was glad there wasn’t an open casket. There wasn’t any casket, in fact. The police must not have released the body yet. The air was heavy with the scent of lilies.
Cam introduced herself to the man. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He extended a remarkably cold hand. “Thank you. I’m Henry, by the way, Wayne’s son.” He resembled Greta more than Wayne, with a robust build and dark eyes now shadowed by grief.
As Cam shook his hand, Megan glanced over. “Oh, Cam, thanks for coming. You met Henry? He’s just in from Florida.”
Cam took another step and took Megan’s hand, but Megan pulled her in for a hug.
“Still no news?” Megan murmured in Cam’s ear.
Pulling back, Cam shook her head. “Sorry.” She patted Megan’s arm, then glanced at Greta, her next stop. Greta wore a black knit dress covered in small white flowers, with low black pumps. Cam waited until the man talking to Greta moved on before approaching her, but Greta gazed away from the incoming line of people toward a large framed casual portrait of a smiling Wayne. Cam glimpsed a look of such sadness on Greta’s face it tore at her heart.
Cam took one more step and cleared her throat. “How are you doing?” she asked Greta, holding out her hand.
Greta looked at Cam but kept her arms at her sides. “As well as can be expected with my life in shambles.” It looked like her hand had slipped when she applied a deep red lipstick, and a line of white edged her scalp at her hairline. “At least Henry came home. I told him he had to.”
“Good. Please let me know how I can help you.”
“You can tell your detective over there to find the person who killed my husband.” Greta spit out the words in a harsh whisper, the look of sorrow instantly replaced by flared nostrils and angry eyebrows.
Over there? Sure enough, Pete stood in the far corner in front of a long table laden with appetizers and glasses of wine at the ready. He was leaning over talking with Great-Uncle Albert. Marilyn was at Albert’s side, perched on the seat of her red walker next to Albert’s wheelchair. Rows of chairs were lined up, with only a few occupied by chatting mourners.
Cam moved on to the table filled with framed pictures of Wayne and the family, which stood in front of several tall flower arrangements. She gazed at Wayne as a skinny white-blond boy in overalls. Wayne with an unfortunate swooping haircut, long sideburns, and a frilly dress shirt at what had to be a high school prom. Wayne and Greta in wedding attire, him looking adoringly at her as she faced the camera unsmiling. Wayne pushing a little boy and a little girl on a swing set. Wayne holding a hen in one arm and a blue ribbon in the other hand in front of the Poultry Building at the Middleford County Fair.
Lucinda came up next to her. “Such a loss.”
“I’ll say.”
Lucinda glanced up. “Oh, look at that. It’s a teacher from my school. I’m helping her learn Portuguese.” Lucinda waved at a woman across the room. “We’re not in any hurry to leave, right?”
“Not at all.” Cam watched Lucinda make her way to her friend,
then turned herself toward Pete, Albert, and Marilyn.
“There’s my favorite girl,” Albert said when she walked up. He pulled her down for a kiss.
“What am I, chopped liver?” Marilyn asked with a smile.
“You’re my other favorite girl.” Albert patted Marilyn’s hand. “And you know it.” Albert had knotted a narrow knit tie at his neck and wore the same dark suit Cam had seen him don for previous somber events like this one.
“Nice to see you, Cam, despite the circumstances,” Marilyn said. Her pink sweater, worn with a string of pearls under a black cardigan, matched the color in her cheeks.
“Same here,” Cam said to Marilyn, then squeezed Pete’s hand unobtrusively. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” Pete gave her a hint of a smile.
“A sad week for this family,” Albert said.
“Indeed,” Cam said as she glanced at the receiving line. A steady stream of locals moved slowly past the family.
“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Pete asked. At Albert’s nod, Pete gestured to Cam to follow him to two unoccupied seats.
“Any news?” Cam spoke softly.
“A little. I had quite an interesting conversation with your Catriona—” Pete clapped his hand to his waist. “Sorry, have to get this.” Standing, he pulled his phone out and walked out of the room.
Cam waited a few moments, the hubbub of the room flowing past her, but Pete never returned. She rose and filled a couple of small plates with miniquiches and minicarrots with dip, then brought them to where Albert and Marilyn sat.
“Snacks, anyone?”
Marilyn reached for the plates. “Thank you, dear. Now sit down and tell us what you’ve been up to, won’t you?”
“Yes, do. But first, I’d take a nip of wine, if you would.” Albert winked at Cam, who brought three cups of red wine to where they sat.
Albert thanked her. “Cam’s been trying to figure out what happened to poor Laitinen. Those same radicals who hit his farm came and vandalized hers, too,” he told Marilyn, then gazed at Cam. “I hope you didn’t run into them.”
Cam sipped her wine. “No, thank goodness. But I lost a dozen of my brand new chicks.”
Marilyn shook her head. “The people who do that kind of thing are misguided, but they must have had an unhappy childhood.”
“Marilyn always takes the side of the underdog.” Albert gave her a fond smile, his pale blue eyes twinkling.
Cam glanced up at the sight of Judith sweeping into the room, heels clicking, trailed by a petulant long-legged preteen girl with a phone in her hand. Cam watched as Judith greeted first Henry and then Megan. When Judith approached Greta, she held out a hand and Cam was surprised to see Greta take it. They spoke for a moment, although Cam was too far away to hear what was said. After Judith pulled her daughter forward and the daughter spoke to Greta, the daughter wandered off, thumbs flying on her phone. Judith leaned in and said something into Greta’s ear, then sauntered over to the table of pictures.
With narrowed eyes and tightened lines around her mouth, Greta stared after her.
Chapter 21
After a few minutes of visiting, Albert and Marilyn said their good-byes. Before they made their way toward the door, Albert said, “We want to get home before dark.”
“I still own a car and drive all over town,” Marilyn added, “but only during the daylight hours. I am eighty-something, after all.”
Cam smiled, grateful that Albert had a ride, and a prudent one, too.
Judith and her daughter hadn’t lingered at all after paying their respects. The chairs in the room were nearly full now, with folks having turned them around here and there to make small circles better suited for conversation. And the line of mourners kept on coming. Cam sat alone, still pondering what Judith had said to Greta. It had to be about the land decision. Didn’t it?
Lucinda strolled over to Cam. “I know we were going to get something to eat. But my friend needs to practice her Portuguese before her test tomorrow,” Lucinda said. “Okay with you if I cut out on dinner?”
“Of course. Great you’re helping her.” Cam stood. “I ought to get home, myself.” After Lucinda left, Cam spied Alexandra and Katie near the end of the drinks table. Alexandra seemed to be trying to convince Katie of something, who shook her head. Cam caught Alexandra’s eye and waved to them, then tossed her wine cup in a trash receptacle. She was in the hallway when Ivan Hobbs strode in from the outside. He saw her and extended his hand.
“Ms. Flaherty, I think? Detective Ivan Hobbs.” His short-cut hair was perfectly combed and the nostrils of his narrow nose flared slightly as he gazed at her out of oddly dark eyes. He didn’t smile.
Cam shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Detective. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Wait. Did he know about her and Pete? How much should she say?
He cocked his head. “Is that so?”
Surely Pete was allowed to have a personal life? But he likely wasn’t supposed to be discussing the case with her. Or departmental politics.
“Oh, you know.” She waved a hand in a vague gesture. “Tongues start wagging whenever someone new shows up in a town like this.”
“Actually, I don’t know. But I’ve noticed you watching the principals in this murder case, and I believe I don’t have to tell you to leave the police work to the police. Which means Detective Pappas and myself. As you well know.” His voice, reedy and nasal, grated.
“Of course.” Everything by the book, Pete had said. Ivan did everything by the book. And that sounded a lot like a warning, straight from the book. “Good luck with it, then.” She slid past him and headed for the door.
It was still cold and cloudy out, and the impending twilight made her long for hot cocoa and a good book as she slid into her truck and turned the key. The engine made a weak grinding sound but didn’t catch. She pressed the accelerator to the floor twice, as Albert had taught her when he handed off the ownership of the Ford. She took the key out and put it in again, and turned. This time nothing happened except a click. She swore and whacked the steering wheel with the flat of her hand. The battery had been getting a little balky lately and must have finally given up the ghost.
Now what? She drew out her phone and pressed the number for SK Foreign Auto. If Sim was still at work, maybe she could come and give Cam a jump-start, but the mechanic didn’t pick up. And Cam didn’t have AAA, either—not a smart move for somebody driving a thirty-year-old truck. She climbed out. Maybe Alexandra and Katie could give her a lift home, if they’d come in their parents’ car, that is. She’d reached the top step of the funeral home when a black sedan pulled in and parked in the area labeled FIRE ZONE, NO PARKING. As she glanced over, Cam recognized Paul Underwood’s car. She waited, half turned on the step, one hand on the railing.
Paul emerged wearing a black wool coat. He walked swiftly toward the building, but put the brakes on when he saw Cam. “You again.” He crossed his arms, gazing up at her. “The overcurious one.”
“Can we talk a minute?”
“Aren’t we?”
She walked down the steps so she could face him. She swallowed. “Megan, Wayne’s daughter, asked me to help her. If I knew what happened between you and Wayne when you were in high school . . .” I could what? That was the wrong approach. She was already making a mess of this chance to get him to talk.
“You could help Megan find Wayne’s killer?” Paul asked. “Well, it wasn’t me. I told the police that and it’s the truth.”
“Okay. But your friend Catriona said something to me yesterday about Fionnoula.”
“Oh, God.” He groaned and dropped his arms. “She didn’t.”
“She did.” Cam glanced around to be sure no one was about to walk by, but the parking lot and entry to the building were both devoid of people. The doorman appeared to have left his post, too.
“She said, and I quote, ‘We all killed her and none of us killed her.’ Or something like that.” She watched him turn his head to look into the d
istance.
He faced her again. “There was an accident. A bad accident. And we all covered up for each other. But it was an accident. We didn’t kill her.”
“Will you tell me what happened?”
“No. But Wayne was ready to go public about it. That would have ruined me, ruined all of us.”
“Going public about an accident that happened thirty-some years ago?” It was Cam’s turn to cross her arms. “Really?”
“Really. On Saturday I was trying to talk him out of it. And that’s why I went back on Sunday. But he was already dead.”
The door to the funeral home burst open. Alexandra clattered down the steps with Katie trailing behind. They stopped when they saw Cam and Paul.
“Excuse me.” Paul pushed by them and headed through the door they’d come out of. He glanced back once at Cam, shaking his head, before the door closed.
“What up with him?” Alexandra asked.
“Nothing.” Cam pressed her lips together. Damn. She’d been so close.
“Hey, we’re going to get a bite at the House of Pizza,” Alexandra said. “Want to come?”
“Do you have a car?”
“Yeah, we have our dad’s.”
“My truck battery died. I’d love to come if you can give me a ride home after. Or maybe we could jump it.”
“Of course we’ll give you a ride, or we can jump-start the truck if you have cables. Do you?”
“Only if Albert left a set in here.” Cam turned back to the truck and rummaged under the seat. She straightened, turning back to Alexandra. “Nope. Do you?”
“No way. My dad’s is almost a new car. And he is the least handy person in the universe. He wouldn’t even know what to do with jumper cables. Let’s go eat and we’ll drop you home afterward.”
Cam lifted a piece of pizza laden with pepperoni and artichoke hearts and took a bite, then snagged a string of cheese that escaped and popped it in after. The pictures on the walls showed sunny Greek whitewashed villages with bushels of olives sitting in front of blue-splashed doors. The warm scene contrasted with the cold air she, Alexandra, and Katie had come in from. The only available booth was near the door, and whenever someone entered the three women got another dose of chill. In between, the air was redolent with the aroma of fresh-baked crusts, the spice of tomato sauce, and the delectable smell of chicken sautéing, all overlaid with the deep richness of olive oil.
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