Murder Most Fowl (18 page)

A
fter 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 F
IRE
Z
ONE
, N
O
P
ARKING
. 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 distance.

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.

“Love this place,” Alexandra said from her seat next to Cam. “How can you go wrong with goat cheese, roasted peppers, and mushrooms?” She wiped the corners of her mouth and took a sip of beer. Two large pizzas filled the table, with barely enough room for plates, napkins, and glasses.

“You can't,” Katie mumbled around a mouthful of same from across the table.

Cam sipped her glass of Merlot and watched Katie, whose eyes still held a haunted look, despite her apparent appetite. Her dark hair lay limp on her shoulders, and her navy blue turtleneck sweater sported a smear of tomato sauce near her collarbone.

“Katie, what's wrong?” Cam asked.

“Nothing,” she said, but didn't meet Cam's gaze.

Cam glanced at Alexandra, who mouthed, “No idea.” Alexandra's flaxen hair was tied back in a messy knot over an embroidered Alpine boiled wool jacket that made her look like a grown-up Heidi.

“Did you hear that my chicks were attacked last night by your friends?” Cam watched Katie.

“They're not my friends.” Katie finally looked up. She shook her head. “Cam, they're not my friends. It's terrible you lost your chicks. I'm so sorry those guys went to your place. I . . .” She covered her mouth with her hand.

“I lost a dozen babies, and a fox was right inside my barn eating a couple of them. I was lucky it didn't attack me.”

Katie's eyes filled but she didn't speak.

“You need to tell the police who they are,” Cam urged. “Give them names. Vandalism like that is criminal.”

Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Dude, I've been telling her this all along.”

“But it's a different group every time,” Katie nearly whispered. “It's like a cell. The one I went with, they said they don't even know the other people.”

“Okay, but did you tell the police who attacked Wayne's farm, at least?” Cam asked.

“Of course,” Katie said.

Another whoosh of cold air came from the door of the restaurant. A young man ambled in and looked around, then cast a wide, white-toothed smile at their table. Cam realized it was Tam, the guy who had shown up at her farm to volunteer the day before. He approached their table.

“Hey, guys,” Tam said. “Mind if I join you?” He slid in next to Katie and sat with a straight back, his hands neatly folded on the table.

Katie shot him a sharp glance, but moved over to give him room.

“Cam, this is my friend Tam,” Katie said.

Alexandra laughed. “Sounds like a Dr. Seuss line. Do Cam and Tam like green eggs and ham?”

Katie gave her sister a wan smile.

“How're you doing, Tam?” Cam asked. “It was great to have your help yesterday.”

“I'm good, I'm good,” Tam said.

At Katie's quizzical look, Cam explained, “He came by and mucked out the coop for Volunteer Wednesday.” She reminded herself to add him to the list of people who had been on the farm and to let the police know.

Katie's eyes went wide but she didn't say anything.

“Hungry?” Alexandra asked him.

“Actually, I am.” Tam eyed the pizza, slipping out of his jacket. “Got an extra slice or two?” He again wore a U Mass sweatshirt.

“Sure,” Alexandra said. “This one is veggie, that one has pepperoni.” She gestured.

His lip curled for an instant, and then relaxed. “I'll take a slice of the veggie, thanks.” He reached for a slice.

“We were just talking about the vandalism at Cam's farm last night,” Alexandra said. “That same radical group hit her place, left her baby chicks out to die.”

Tam shook his head as he chewed, his brow knitted. After he swallowed, he said, “Terrible. Do they know who did it?”

“Not that I know of,” Cam said. She glanced out the window at the now-dark night.
Shoot
. She hadn't closed in the hens before she left, since she hadn't thought she'd be out late. At least the chicks were locked up and safe, and if yesterday was indication, the hens would all be a-roost when she arrived home. She helped herself to another piece of the pepperoni.

“So, Cam, are your chickens certified organic along with the rest of your farm?” Tam asked.

“They are, but it's so expensive to buy organic feed, I might change that.” At Alexandra's open mouth looking like it was about to mount a protest, Cam held up a hand. “Hens that are free range, local, and chemical free satisfy the vast majority of my customers, Alexandra. You know that. I wouldn't change being certified organic for my produce, but if I charged enough for eggs and meat birds to cover my costs, nobody would buy any.”

“You could disinvest from raising livestock. Have you considered that?” Tam asked, then popped the rest of an end crust into his mouth.

“I like the girls.” At Tam's confused look, Cam added, “My hens. They're funny.”

“How can you get attached to them if you're going to kill them later?” Katie asked.

Tam raised his eyebrows and blinked attentively at Cam.

“I don't know if they'll all go to the slaughterhouse.” Cam sipped her wine. “This is my first year, remember? First half year with chickens, really. I'm still figuring things out.”

“No worries, Cam,” Alexandra said. “Hey, did anybody catch the podcast of
The Moth
finals?”

The discussion from Cam's younger tablemates washed over her. She didn't have time to listen to podcasts except while she was working, and then she much preferred to listen to the birds, insects, and other sounds of a working farm. She gazed into the sun-splashed Greek tableau on the wall instead, fantasizing about a future vacation with Pete.