Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) (13 page)

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! In fact I had to apply them suddenly when some idiot ran a red light. I know it’s an old truck, but there was nothing wrong with the brakes.”

“Where is the vehicle now?”

“I had it towed to SK Foreign Auto, right there on Main Street.”

“Ms. Koyama’s shop.” He drew out Sim’s last name like he didn’t give her much credibility.

“Right. She’s a good mechanic. She serviced the truck on Monday, in fact.”

“Oh? Maybe she’s the one who messed with the brakes.”

“No! Why would you say that?” Although, of course, she’d had the same thought.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll send someone over there to take a look. I’ll get back to you.”

Cam thanked him and disconnected as Alexandra sailed up the drive on her bicycle for Volunteer Day.

“How’s the head?” Alexandra asked, dismounting.

Cam shrugged. “I’ve been better, but I’m up and around. It actually feels good to be moving again. But Preston is missing.” She knew what a huge heart the younger woman had for animals.

Alexandra looked stricken. “That’s terrible. Are you sure he’s not out hunting?”

“I haven’t seen him in twenty-four hours. He’s usually back eating by now when he’s stayed out all night before. Which he rarely does, anyway.”

“We’ll make posters and put them up everywhere.” Alexandra placed hands on hips. “Did you call Madeline?”

“No, but I guess I should.” The animal control officer kept a menagerie of found, foster, and abandoned animals at her own farm, including several rescue sheep.

“You don’t think he’s been kidnapped, do you?”

Cam stared hard at her. “You mean somebody might have taken him?”

“I don’t know. There’s been a lot of bad stuff going down around here lately, right?”

Cam’s core turned to ice. The thought of Preston being in malicious hands was even worse than picturing him lost in the woods. “Who would do something like that?”

A car pulled up, and three shareholder volunteers piled out. Lucinda arrived in her own car right behind. Their eager faces and energetic stances reminded Cam she had a farm to run.

Alexandra patted her arm. “He’ll be back.”

Cam nodded. “Will you organize out here? You know what needs to be done. I’ll go in and call Madeline and print up some posters. I have a nice picture of Preston I took a few months ago.”

Alexandra nodded and turned to greet the arrivals.

“Good morning,” Cam called to them as she headed for the house. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes. Alexandra will get you started.”

After a quick conversation with Madeline, Cam e-mailed her Preston’s picture. She created a file for the poster. She pasted in the picture of Preston standing on the back porch that she’d taken on a sunny morning in July, and added a big heading that read,
LOST. LAST SEEN AT
8
ATTIC HILL ROAD. PLEASE CALL OR E-MAIL IF YOU SEE PRESTON
. She finished with her cell phone number and the farm’s e-mail address. She sent ten of them to print in color and on the highest-quality setting. To heck with how much ink cartridges cost.

The house phone rang from its anchored spot at the end of the kitchen counter. Cam couldn’t quite bring herself to give up the old black phone, its receiver connected to the heavy base with a curly cord. The telephone, the numbers on its rotary dial now faded, had been there for as long as she could remember. When she’d first been at the farm, they’d only had to dial the last four numbers to reach someone in town, and now she had to include the area code to call somebody across the street.

The device was a connection not only to the farm’s past but to her great-aunt Marie. Cam could still picture the petite woman, a flowered bib apron tied around her tidy midsection. She would take a quick break between farm chores and making dinner to chat with a friend as she sipped a cup of coffee. Since the cord didn’t stretch too far, she’d either stand at the corner of the counter or pull up a chair. A sharp pang nicked Cam’s heart. She missed her great-aunt, who’d been more of a mother figure to her than her own mother. Marie had been unfailingly warm and nurturing, firm and fair, present and loving. Mom, on the other hand, had barely been present, even when she wasn’t off on a research trip with Cam’s father on the other side of the world.

Cam walked the few steps from her desk to the counter. The only people who used this number now were the older residents of town. Everyone else called her on her cell. Even though she’d added a voice mail service to the line, she nearly always picked up when it rang. The device couldn’t display caller ID, but she could trust that a friend would be on the other end.

“Uncle Albert, how nice to hear from you.” Cam smiled at the phone. Friend or family, that is.

“I’m surprised you’re indoors on such a beautiful morning, Cameron.”

The weather hadn’t even registered on Cam this morning. Was it a beautiful morning? Were her troubles so many that her farmer’s instinct to pay attention to the weather above all else had crumbled like a dry leaf?

“How are you?” Albert went on. “You said something about an accident.”

“I’m all right. A little sore. I have a crew of volunteers out there and was inside . . .” Cam realized she didn’t feel up to sharing her woes about Preston right now. “Uh, getting something.”

“Well, now, why don’t you stop up at the place here when you get done this afternoon? I think we have a few things to catch up on.”

Cam agreed. “I’ll ride my bike over at about four o’clock.”

Before Albert disconnected, he added, “And bring me a six-pack of that Ipswich beer you like so much, will you?”

Cam raised her eyebrows but agreed. She hung up. She knew he liked a glass of wine with his dinner, but didn’t think she’d ever seen him even taste a beer. A late afternoon Ipswich IPA with her favorite octogenarian? Well, why not?

Cam borrowed Lucinda’s car and posted Preston’s picture at the Food Mart, the library, and the post office. She stapled five more to telephone poles and signposts at intersections. She added one a mile down the road in either direction from the farm.

She’d just arrived back at the farm when Pappas pulled in behind her. Cam unfolded her long legs out of Lucinda’s car and leaned against the open door, watching him.

“Nice car, Detective. I mean, Pete,” Cam said as he approached.

Pappas, in a crisp plaid shirt and dark slacks but no tie, turned and glanced at the Saab with a little smile and then turned back to Cam. “It’s my indulgence.” He cocked his head. “And it’s twenty years old.”

“Looks like you take pretty good care of it.” The car, like its owner today, was tidy, clean, and without dents or scratches. Cam looked down at her black Johnny’s Selected Seeds T-shirt and her work pants, with stains on the left knee and a hole in the right, the knee she routinely knelt on. She suddenly felt like the odd woman out.

He stretched his left hand out to rest on the open driver’s-side door of Lucinda’s car, effectively blocking Cam in. She glanced at the untanned band on his ring finger.

“I’ll take you for a spin sometime if you’d like. It runs like a beaut, and the leather seats are softer than you can imagine.” He slid his hands into his pockets. The little smile again played across his face.

He wanted to take her for a spin? “Did you come all the way over here to ask me out for a driving date?”
Oh, no.
What a stupid thing to say. She’d never gotten the knack of conversation, to say nothing of flirting. And was that what this was? A flirtation? If so, what about Jake? She felt a blush creep over her neck and cheeks.

Pappas, meanwhile, appeared to have the grace not to notice her gaffe.

“Why not?” He smiled at her.

He had asked her out. Sort of. “It sounds like fun.” She’d never noticed the dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. Maybe because she hadn’t seen him smile much until now.

“Actually, I heard about your accident,” he went on. “I was passing by and wanted to see how you were doing. Looks like you’re up and around, anyway.”

“I am. I’m kind of achy, but I feel a lot better today than I did yesterday. As long as I don’t touch my head.” Her hand stole to the bump on her temple.

“Frost told me you think someone tampered with your brakes. And this would have been while you were at the fair?”

Cam nodded and repeated her story about how her brakes had worked perfectly on her way south. “But what I don’t get is why anyone would want to do that to me.”

Pappas nodded like he was thinking. “I’ll work on it.”

“But why? Aren’t you on the murder case?”

“We don’t always know what’s related to what. Something like this could end up being connected. I don’t know how yet, but the rule is to exclude nothing.” He stared beyond the barn for a moment and back at her. “For example, the murderer might think you saw something. Or overheard a conversation that would implicate him. Or her.”

Cam gazed at him, the horror of the logical next step dawning on her. “I wasn’t meant to survive the crash. Is that what you’re saying?”

“That is one possible scenario, yes.”

Cam shivered despite the sunlight. Pappas moved toward her and stopped. It felt like he had meant to put his arm around her and then had thought the better of it.

“Do you think I’m still in danger?” She hugged herself. “Am I a walking target for the killer to aim at?”

“I would recommend caution, Cameron. Go about your business, but keep your door locked and your phone with you. And don’t do anything silly, all right?” Concern knit his heavy brows together.

Cam cleared her throat and stood tall. “Going to the county fair is hardly silly. But I promise. If you promise to find this maniac. And soon.”

“Deal.” He gave her a thumbs-up gesture and walked to his car. Before he climbed in, he called, “Let’s get that joyride in one of these days.”

She waved as he pulled out, hoping there was, in fact, some joy coming along soon. But that pale band on his ring finger. Was he just recently divorced? Or maybe even still married? He seemed much friendlier toward her now than he had last June. She already had an overcontrolling man in her life. Did she also need one on the rebound?

C
am worked here and there alongside the volunteers for the next couple of hours, being careful not to bend down. She sat for a rest every twenty minutes or so. She found herself looking over her shoulder at odd noises and startling at the least thing. She wished she’d told Pete about Preston’s disappearance.

Her feelings were at odds with the weather. It had turned out to be a sunny day with a mild breeze, perfect for ripening the pumpkins and winter squashes where they lay in the field and for sweetening up the apples. Deep purple eggplants and reddening peppers hung from branches, although the first frost would spell their end. She set one younger shareholder to sift through the potato beds to be sure they hadn’t missed any tubers at harvest time the week before. Lucinda and another volunteer took on the final weeding in the lettuce and greens beds.

Cam joined Diane Weaver in her assigned task of picking up windfall apples. “I know it’s a bit backbreaking, but I can take them over to Cider Valley Farm and put them through their press,” Cam said. “I hate to waste them in the compost if we can get juice from them.”

“No problem. It’s great to be out in the fresh air.”

“What do you do for work, Diane? I know a lot of people can’t get away on a weekday morning to work on a farm.”

Diane was silent for a moment. She picked up another handful of apples and laid them in the wooden box Cam had supplied her with earlier. “I’m a consultant. I can fix my own hours, within reason.” She stood to stretch.

“What do you consult about?”

“I work for the government.” Diane bent to pick up more apples from the ground and did not elaborate.

Cam let the subject drop. She was grateful for the free labor and didn’t really care what her volunteers’ day jobs were. She watched Diane’s eyes fix on a field beyond and to the left of the small apple orchard. Cam followed the trajectory to see Wes Ames bent over a row of Brussels sprouts.

“Have you known Wes long?” Cam asked, remembering the look Wes had shot Diane on Saturday.

Diane paused again. “I don’t actually know him. I’ve heard him speak about the Old Town Hall at meetings, that’s all.”

“When he was leaving Saturday, he gave you kind of a dirty look.”

“Oh, we might have been on opposite sides of an issue once or twice.” Diane’s laugh seemed forced. “Nothing personal. Has he been a subscriber long?”

“This is my first year of having a CSA, actually. But his wife, Felicity, signed them up early last winter, and they’ve been active members. He told me she’s away helping her sister right now.”

“Interesting.”

Cam started to work alongside Diane until she realized bending down to pick up apples was not the best thing for her head. She spied Alexandra at the compost piles and strolled in that direction instead.

“Thanks once again for tackling compost duty,” Cam said to Alexandra. There was plenty of new material to add almost every day now. “The weather is still warm enough to cook it down if it’s turned often enough.”

“No worries. It’s great exercise.” Alexandra stuck her pitchfork in the ground.

At a sudden rustling from the grapevine behind Alexandra, Cam whirled but saw only a squirrel chasing another up a nearby tree.

“So Madeline didn’t have any news about Preston?”

Cam shook her head. “No news. I put the poster up all over town and on this road, too.” She patted the phone in her back pocket. “No calls yet, either.”

Alexandra reached out an arm and squeezed Cam around the shoulders. “He’ll show up. I’m sure of it.”

“I hope so,” Cam said, tears pricking her eyes. “I can only hope so.”

As the sun reached its apex, she wandered the fields and asked each person working to keep an eye out for Preston. Most expressed their sympathy. All the volunteers knew the farm cat, and several had grown quite fond of him. She also made sure everybody knew they were welcome to pull up as many cornstalks as they wanted to take home for fall decorations. A sheaf of cornstalks next to a bale of hay and a couple of pumpkins was apparently an obligatory decoration in town. Cam herself didn’t bother. She had all the cornstalks she’d ever want to see a few short yards away.

She headed out to the field where Wes was working. She gave him her spiel about Preston.

“You know cats,” Wes said. “He’s out catching songbirds somewhere. He’ll either be back or he won’t. He’s an animal, isn’t he?” He didn’t meet Cam’s eyes, and he didn’t sound as if he cared if the kitty was found or not.

She thought about how he’d reacted to Preston on the most recent pickup day, almost as if the feline was disgusting. “You don’t like cats, do you?” She stuck her hands in her back pockets. Certainly some people were not cat people, but she’d rarely encountered a person who appeared to actively dislike them.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Wes bent over a stalk and began to hack at it with the machete-like knife he held.

The knife wasn’t one of hers. He must have brought his own. Cam shivered as she wondered why. At least today he didn’t seem stoned.

“It looked like you were enjoying yourself at the fair yesterday,” she said.

“I was.” He straightened and arched his lower back into his hands. “It’s one of the perks of being retired. You can have fun when you choose to, not when the boss tells you to.”

Wes turned his back on Cam and began whacking the stalk with excess force. Green chips flew every which way until the plant split. Wes tossed it on the wheelbarrow full of other stalks and threw the knife in on top.

“See you Saturday,” he called over his shoulder as he marched toward the barn.

Cam followed him at a stroll.

As they filed back to their cars, Lucinda and the woman she’d been working with paused to say good-bye to Cam.

“Hey,
fazendeira.
Any news about Bobby? He still in jail or what?”

“I’ve been so worried about Preston being gone and about what happened to my brakes, I almost forgot about Bobby.”

The other woman, a local named Fiona, said, “Bobby Burr is in jail? He’s the talented carpenter, right? I was going to call him about an addition to my kitchen.”

“I think he’s in jail. I haven’t heard anything about him getting out. I’m sure they’ll realize soon enough that he isn’t the killer.”

“Killer?” Fiona covered her mouth with a pale hand, her eyes wide. “You mean he’s in jail for his stepmother’s death?”

Cam nodded. Fiona must have been hiding under some rock if she didn’t know this biggest local news story of the season. Who was the real murderer, anyway? And would he attack again before Pappas arrested him? Or her?