Farmed and Dangerous (18 page)

When the roomful of people began to sing, Rosemary and Ellie walked in. Rosemary carried a tray of cupcakes, each with a lit candle in its center. Ellie directed her to the birthday residents and set a cupcake in front of each in turn. She leaned down and gave Albert a quick kiss on the cheek when she delivered his. She met Cam's gaze. Cam needed to talk with her about her text. But this was clearly not the time.

When the last refrain had faded away, Jim said, “Don't forget to make a wish.” He smiled, but it appeared forced.

Albert exchanged a glance with Marilyn, took a deep breath, and easily blew out his candle. Rosemary brought out another tray of cupcakes, without candles, for everyone else.

Albert, Marilyn, and Cam chatted, sipped, and ate. Several friends of Albert's stopped by and said hello. The little boys began hopping on one foot, counting out loud how many times they could do it before needing to balance themselves with the other foot.

“Happy birthday, Albert,” a woman's voice said.

Cam glanced up to see the woman with the red walker. The one who'd called her a murderer.

“Thank you,” Albert said. “You know Marilyn? And this is my great-niece, Cameron Flaherty.”

“Nice to meet you, Marilyn,” the woman said, leaning on the handles of the walker, then pressing her lips together. She shot a look at Cam before wheeling away.

“What's her name? And why didn't she say hello to Cam?” Marilyn watched her disappear around the corner.

“I can never remember her name,” Albert said. “And I've met her so many times, it feels foolish to ask her now.”

“I know why she didn't greet me,” Cam said. “She called me a murderer a couple of days ago. She and a tall woman who walked with her. They both acted like I was coming after them next. With an ax, no doubt.”

“Why, that's nonsense.” Albert frowned. “I'll give her a word next time I see her.”

“I'd rather Detective Pappas found the actual murderer,” Cam said. “Then we'd all sleep better.”

 

Cam laid three tiles on the Scrabble board an hour later. “
Sex.
Triple letter for the
x
gives me twenty-four. That's twenty-six, and another fourteen for the plural of
submit.
Forty.” She glanced over at the pad of paper on which Albert kept score. “And she pulls ahead.”

“Very nice, Cam.” Marilyn smiled.

“Not so nice that she used my space,” Albert grumbled but winked.

Cam rose and walked to the window of the Moran Manor library. The crowd of visitors had cleared out of the residence pretty quickly after the birthday cupcakes were gone, paying attention to Jim Cooper's directive, no doubt. She'd adjourned to the upstairs library with Albert and Marilyn. They had decided to skip dinner after filling up on the appetizers at the party and had started a game instead. The snow fell steadily now, but the storm so far hadn't included much wind and was still light in volume. The light from a lamppost on the walkway outside showed the path covered in white and unmarred by footprints.

“How's it looking?” Albert asked.

“I should be able to get home with no problem,” Cam said, returning to the table. She reached into the bag of tiles and drew out three. “Bag's empty,” she announced.

Marilyn pondered her turn, and Albert rearranged the tiles on his rack over and over. Cam watched him for a moment. He seemed good. More tired than usual, but that was expected.

“Have you remembered anything about when you hit your head, Uncle Albert?”

He rested his chin on his hand, gazing at her. He put his hand down and shook his head.

“No. I just don't. I suppose I simply tripped over my own feet. Or foot, as the case may be.” He returned his attention to the tiles.

“That's what everyone seems to think . . . that you fell,” Cam said. “When I first found you on the floor, I said you'd fallen. And I thought you reacted to what I said and shook your head like you were saying no. I must have been mistaken.”

“Couldn't tell you.” He pulled his abundant brows together, their white tips touching in the middle. He studied his tiles.

“Bingo and out. Again,” Marilyn declared. She laid seven tiles on the board, intersecting with Cam's
x
to spell
vexingly.
She glanced up. “What can I do? It all fit so nicely.”

Albert groaned and added her eighty-two points. “You win again, Marilyn. Vexingly so.”

“And I lose again,” Cam said. “Why am I not surprised?”

Ellie popped her head in the doorway. “There you are, Cam. I just finished serving in the dining room. Mr. Cooper told me to go home. He said it's turning into a blizzard out there.”

“That's funny. Only a couple of minutes ago it was snowing lightly.”

Ellie nodded. “I can't get hold of Vince to give me a ride home, either.”

“I'll run you home.” Cam stood. She smiled at Albert and Marilyn and leaned down to give them each a kiss on the cheek.

“You be careful out there, Cameron.” Albert frowned.

“You bet. Let's go, Ellie.” They could talk while she drove.

Cam and Ellie walked down the central staircase and grabbed their coats from the rack. Jim Cooper stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing out the front door. The snow poured down in the light beyond the vestibule. A gust of wind shot the flow sideways.

“Jeez.” Cam pulled on her knit hat and stared at the storm. “It changed quickly.”

Jim stared at her. “Don't you follow the weather on television?”

“No, Jim, actually I don't. I rarely have time to watch TV.” Cam watched the snow. “And the online weather site didn't predict this at all. Same with the app on my phone.”

“It's become a blizzard.” Jim sounded almost pleased that Cam had been proved wrong.

Rosemary brushed by them. She waved at Jim. “See you tomorrow,” she called, hurrying through the doorway.

Cam looked at Ellie. “We don't have far to go. Should we make a run for the truck?”

Ellie looked up from her phone. “My mom would really like me home.” She lowered her voice. “I'm kind of in trouble for not telling her I was going to work.” She sounded like a shadow of her usual competent, assertive self.

“Then, let's get you there.” Cam swapped out her loafers for her snow boots and flipped her hood over her hat for good measure. She made sure she zipped her coat all the way up and pulled on her gloves.

Ellie wore a puffy quilted lavender ski jacket that fit snugly and didn't even cover her rear end. She tugged off her sneakers, tucked her jeans into a pair of black-and-purple Sorel boots with furry tops, and pulled on a pair of purple knit gloves.

“I'm ready.” She pulled up to her full height, still half a foot shorter than Cam.

“The highway patrol has asked everyone to stay off the roads, you know.” Jim folded his arms. “I don't think you should leave.”

“Hey, if it's not safe, we'll come back.” Cam longed to be home, and she hadn't shut the chickens in before she left. But safety came first, of course. “It might only be a squall.”

She and Ellie stepped into the vestibule, both hugging their bags to their chests, and then ran into the storm. Cam grabbed Ellie's arm when the wind smacked her in the face. They hurried toward Cam's truck. During the two hours that she'd been parked, several inches of snow had coated the Ford. She used her gloved hand to brush the white stuff off above the passenger door and then opened it. She tossed in her bag.

“Hop in and stay warm. I'm going to start it and then brush off the windshield.”

Ellie climbed in but emerged a moment later with Cam's snow brush and the small broom Cam had stashed on the floor.

“I'll help.” Ellie kept the long-handled brush and began clearing the windshield from the passenger side. On the opposite side Cam got the engine running and then broomed the snow off the top of the cab. Headlights sprang to life and shone in Cam's face. She held up a hand to shield her eyes. An engine gunned, and the sound of tires spinning filled the air. The vehicle seemed to gain traction. It started to spin.

Cam's heart thudded. She got ready to dive into the snowbank.

The headlights spun away, and the rear of the car swung. Now the car sat sideways, blocking Cam's truck. The engine cut out. Cam stared. The car was the same black sedan that had almost hit her at Richard's. The one with the jeweler bumper sticker. Cam exhaled.

Rosemary climbed out of the car and slammed the door. “Damn snow.” She caught sight of Cam. “Better change your plans. Nobody's going anywhere.” She raised her voice to be heard over the howling storm.

“Did you have to block me?” Cam shouted in return. “We were trying to get out.”

“I didn't mean to block you. I couldn't control the car. Bald tires are worthless.”

“Can't you move it?”

“No. Give it up.” Rosemary stomped with bent head to the building.

So it had been Rosemary at Richard's. Twice she'd driven straight for Cam. Accidentally or on purpose? A wild gust blew a new load of snow right back onto Cam's truck, where she'd brushed it off. Ellie's efforts to clear the windshield were almost as Sisyphean as trying to roll a boulder uphill. Cam trudged around to the passenger side.

“We're not going to make it out, Ellie. And if we did, I wouldn't be able to see where I was driving. Let's go in and stay warm. It has to subside sometime. Then I'll drive you home.”

Ellie nodded with wide eyes. Cam stashed the brush and the broom in the truck and grabbed their bags, along with Albert's
pastéis
. She didn't bother locking the doors. She didn't have anything inside to steal, anyway.

C
am and Ellie shed their coats. Cam held hers out in front of herself and gave it a shake to rid it of snow. Ellie followed suit. Snow coated Cam's hat. Brushing it off, she glanced over to see Jim Cooper standing with arms folded, wearing a satisfied look. She turned away from his smarmy face and changed into her loafers again. Ellie went through the same motions. In the few minutes Cam had been outside, snow had blown into her boots, so now her socks were damp.

“Make yourselves comfortable in the common room,” Jim said with the magnanimity of the victor. “Help yourselves to tea, hot chocolate, or whatever.”

“Thanks, Mr. Cooper,” Ellie said. “I'm for some hot chocolate after I call my mom.” She turned to Cam. “My uncle can help her if she needs something. He lives next door.” She headed for the common room.

“You have one awesome employee there, I hope you know,” Cam said. She watched Ellie walk away.

“I know.” Jim turned toward his office. “Oh, and the television is tuned to the weather station in there. In case you're interested.”

“Thanks a million,” Cam muttered to herself as she followed Ellie. Being stranded here for hours to come wasn't her plan for a good time. She yawned. It had been a long, full day, and all she wanted was to snuggle with Preston on her own couch and talk to no one. With any luck, this would be one of those fast-moving storms that blew through and headed out to sea in short order.

In the common room, Ellie already sat in the corner of a couch, with her feet tucked under her, her phone to her ear, a steaming mug on the table beside her. Only a few residents occupied chairs. One man bent over a table, reading a newspaper. Two women sat in easy chairs and chatted softly while they knitted. A television mounted to the ceiling emitted pictures and sound and was indeed tuned to the weather station. Cam fixed a cup of peppermint tea in the snack area. She helped herself to a packet of pretzels and stood in front of the screen. The time in the lower corner read six thirty. A commercial finished, and a chyron for the current local weather appeared.

“This nor'easter has settled in for the night, folks,” said a weather woman in a sleek lavender dress. She gestured at the map behind her. Her hand followed the circle of the storm, illustrated with shades of blue, except for patches of purple way out to sea.

Cam groaned.
Blue for snow.

“We can expect the heavy snow, with wind and drifting, to continue until at least the early hours of the morning,” the broadcaster went on, her tone bright and her manner perky despite the dire forecast. “Please stay indoors and safe. Keep those flashlights and batteries handy. If you lose power, never use a generator indoors, and don't grill food indoors, either. We'll be back after the break.” She smiled into the camera.

Cam sank into an easy chair near Ellie, who was still chatting away on her phone. Cam munched the pretzels and sipped her tea.
Preston.
Poor kitty was going to be hungry tonight, but he would have enough sense to stay indoors, even though she'd left his cat door open. And with any luck the chickens would stay inside the coop, as well, despite their unlatched door. If Ruffles ventured out and died in the storm, well, he would be one more frozen chicken for the stew. She grabbed a
New Yorker
from the end table and leafed through it, scanning the cartoons, but her thoughts were on those headlights coming straight at her. She wasn't sure she should believe Rosemary's explanation that her car had spun out of control, not after what had happened at Richard's farm. Which had been only this morning. It seemed like days ago. But why in the world would the cook be after Cam? It didn't make sense.

The night promised to be a long one. As soon as Ellie got off the phone, Cam would find somewhere to talk with her in private. Then she could use part of the time she was stuck here to sort out the mess that was Bev's murder. She carried Albert's
pastéis
up to his room, but when she saw he was on the telephone, she left them with a little wave and returned to the common room.

The room began to fill. The residents must have just finished in the dining room. The two suspicious ladies walked in and glanced at Cam, the tall one whispering to the one with the walker. They turned around and left the room. The girl Felicity had introduced as Ray walked in, bent her head down to talk with Ellie, and the two also left. A game of dominoes started among three men at a small table, and two couples began to play cards in the corner. An article on the ethical implications of the latest technological inventions had caught Cam's attention: if someone wearing Google Glass took a video of a person without his or her knowledge, did that violate the person's privacy? She raised her head at a noise.

Jim Cooper stood in the wide doorway, Ginger Montgomery at his side. He clapped his hands twice. “May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen? As you know, many of us who do not live here missed our chance to get home safely before the blizzard hit. Ms. Montgomery is one of those, and she's agreed to provide us with another concert this evening. Let's give her our full attention.” He turned to Ginger. “Thank you, and take it away.”

The man reading the newspaper frowned. “What if we liked it nice and quiet, like it had been?”

Jim scowled at him but left the room without responding. Ginger pulled a stool to the front of the room and extracted her guitar from its case. She started to tune it.

Cam had no idea why Ginger was even still here. She could have left earlier with all the other guests. Her mother was no longer alive. She and Jim seemed kind of chummy. Could be that a romance was brewing there or was already under way. Cam shrugged. Not her business. But she agreed with the man, who now rose, folded his paper, and stomped out. Well, she could read just as well with music in the background. She returned to the article, which raised several intriguing questions.

“Oh, Cam,” Ginger called, beckoning to her.

Cam rose with a sigh and walked to Ginger's side.

“I can't seem to find my music. Would you mind getting it out of my car for me? If my hands get cold, I won't be able to play.”

“Out of your car? You want me to go out into a blizzard to get sheet music? Don't you know any songs by heart?”

“I promised to make this a special concert, and I need my music.”

“What happened to your music from this afternoon?” Cam's voice rose.

Ginger waved a hand. “I'd already put it back in the car before I decided to stay and eat with Jim. Please?” She raised her voice a notch. “I won't be able to produce anything for these nice people with frozen fingers.” She threw on a smile and took in the dozen waiting seniors who were listening. Several nodded their heads.

“I suppose,” Cam muttered. “I hope you're parked near the door.”

“I am. I'll get my keys for you.” She walked with Cam to the coatrack.

While Cam suited up again and changed her footwear, Ginger rummaged in the pockets of her winter coat. She produced a set of keys.

“It's the Lexus in the first spot to the right. The music should be on the backseat. I thought I'd put it in my case, but I must have—”

“I'm getting your damn music, all right?” Cam jammed her hat down with both hands until it fully covered her forehead and ears.

Ginger turned on her heel and stalked away. Cam pushed through the inner door into the entryway and then through the outer door into the storm. She glanced behind her into the brightly lit lobby. Ginger was nearly to the common room. The warm, dry common room.

The wind and the snow blew even more fiercely now than they had before. The precipitation fell heavily and stuck to everything. Within seconds the cold penetrated her warm coat and chilled her cheeks. She found the car, which Ginger had, in fact, parked as close to the entrance as it could be. She unlocked the car, slipped the keys into her pocket, then located the music and tucked the folder inside her coat, hugging it to her so it didn't drop. As she fumbled for the keys to lock the car again, they caught on a thread and then came out of her pocket with such momentum that she dropped them in the snow. She tried to fish them out, but it was too cold and dark. She only hoped nobody would think of stealing a luxury vehicle in a blizzard.

She trudged back to the building and grabbed the outer door handle. The door didn't budge. She tugged at it. She rattled it. It wouldn't open. She knew the staff locked the residence after a certain time of night, but she didn't believe they normally locked it until eight or so.

She pounded on the door, but the noise of the storm stole the sound of her knocking. She peered inside. No one moved anywhere near the door. She saw only one woman slumped in a chair on the far side of the lobby, a woman who seemed to doze in that chair every day and evening. Cam started to panic. Her teeth chattered until she clamped her mouth shut. With this cold, she was in real danger out here.

But the place must have some kind of doorbell. She searched the right side of the doorway. No bell button. She moved to the left. A doorbell. Her hands were already thick from the cold, and she couldn't manage to press it with her gloves on.

As she drew off one glove to free a finger, the lights inside went off. As did the outer light. She swore. The residence had lost power. She pressed her face against the glass in the door. Red exit signs glowed. Then a few low lights came on. An emergency generator must have kicked on.

Cam pressed the doorbell over and over. But no one came. Doorbells operated on electricity, she realized with a sinking heart. Surely Ginger would wonder where she was any minute now. But no one appeared.

She abandoned pressing the bell and pulled her glove on again. Her heart raced. She beat on the door again, but nobody came. How would she survive this? Her cell phone sat safely in her bag, which lay next to the chair where she'd been warm and reading only minutes ago. She could sit in Ginger's car. She could even start the engine and crank the heater if she could find the keys in the snow. But she'd heard of people dying in cars from inhaling exhaust because their tailpipe was buried in snow. And if she sat in the car without heat, she'd freeze. She didn't know why Ginger hadn't come after her. Unless she'd meant to lock Cam out. Maybe Ginger was involved in her own mother's murder and knew Cam had been trying to find the killer. That was a prospect too terrifying even to contemplate.

But Cam had long, strong legs and a good coat. Oscar might be out on the back porch, having a smoke. The rear door could have been left unlocked. She needed to find that porch. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the rambling building. Which way around would be the shorter? It had to be the right side, since the left side held the extra wing for the Alzheimer's and dementia residents. She pulled her hat down as far as it would go, snugged her scarf around her neck, and began wading through the snow, always keeping the building to her left. She didn't think she should even attempt to find the path that circumnavigated the property. She could end up wandering into the woods that surrounded the facility or, worse, into the stream that ran through the woods. She stuck her left hand out, keeping it in contact with either the shrubs or the building itself. Her right hand she kept in her pocket, which warmed it ever so slightly. The folder of music slipped out of Cam's coat, the sheets scattering into the storm like abandoned wishes. She let them go.

Almost no light came from the windows, only the red glow of the exit signs and a few dimly lit areas. She trudged, struggling through snow up to her knees. She felt like Pa in Laura Ingalls Wilder's
On the Banks of Plum Creek.
He'd held tight to the rope they'd looped over the clothesline between the barn and the house on his way to and from milking the cows. It ensured that he wouldn't wander out on the prairie and be found frozen in a snowbank when the weather thawed in April. Her left hand grew numb from holding it out and from brushing it through the snow on the bushes. The blizzard stung Cam's exposed eyes and cheeks.

The dim light from the building disappeared. She must be at a section with no windows. All of a sudden the shrubs fell away. She reversed a step and found the last one. She cautiously moved forward and felt to her left. The row of shrubbery stopped, but no solid building took the place of the bushes. She stepped back, trying to visualize how the property had looked in October, when she'd pushed Albert in his wheelchair on a colorful fall walk around the perimeter of Moran Manor. She cursed. This had to be the pathway lined with rhododendrons that led out from the building. She'd just plowed her way through a bunch of extra steps. What she had to do now was go around the end of the row and follow the other side of the shrubs back to the building.

As she struggled in the snow, Cam decided that her first task after getting inside and warming up was going to be wringing Ginger Montgomery's slender throat. That satisfying image disappeared when her foot caught on an obstacle under the snow. She lost her balance and fell forward. She reached for the branches but grasped nothing. Two wild, stumbling steps and her head hit something solid. She collapsed in a heap. She shut her eyes. She must have tripped on a root, or maybe on an electrical cable, and hit the building. It felt good to sit here. Her extremities were chilled through, but under her sweater she sweated from the exertion. On top of her exhaustion, now her head hurt. She could just sit here and rest for a while. After all, hadn't Pa survived a different blizzard by digging a snow cave?

A damp cold began to creep up from her rear end. Her body heat melted the top layer of snow and soaked her pants. She pushed herself to standing, scolding herself aloud.