Farmed and Dangerous (24 page)

C
am found her way to emergency department bay 8C two hours later and peered around the green privacy curtain. Detective Jaroncyk had insisted on questioning her on the spot, despite Cam insisting she needed to get to the hospital.

“Anybody home?” Cam now whispered.

Pete lay on a bed with the head raised, a white blanket drawn up to his waist. His eyes were closed, and a blue sling held his forearm over a hospital johnny. She walked to his uninjured side. His hand rested on top of the blanket, with a clip on his index finger that attached him to an oxygen monitor. An IV taped to the back of his hand dripped fluid through a slim tube from a bag hanging at head level, but he didn't seem to be connected to any other machines. The air held the medicinal scent that Cam wished wasn't so familiar.

As she stroked his forehead, Pete opened his eyes. And smiled.

“Hey, good looking.” His voice came out low and slow.

“Hey, yourself.” She mustered a smile in return. “How's it going?”

“I'm alive. Been x-rayed, scanned, poked. Bullet passed right through my arm. Nicked a blood vessel . . . it's why I bled as much as I did. Didn't get the bone, though, so all I have is two big, honking holes in me. I'll heal.” He reached out his hand and found hers. He squeezed a little, then closed his eyes. “Tired,” he said.

“Then rest.” She kept hold of his hand and watched his chest rise and fall with his breaths. The fluid dripped silently out of the bag. Voices and a rolling cart hurried by outside the curtain. Beeps and buzzes sounded from other bays.

His eyes flew open. “You're still here. Good. How's Dash?”

“He's good. I left him with Ellie and Vince. I didn't want to leave him alone, and they said they'd stay until I got back.”

“Thanks. Listen, I need to apologize.”

“No, you don't.”

“I do.” He nodded. “Should have protected you. Should have kept my firearm on me.”

“Don't be silly. We didn't know Richard was going to show up with a gun. You thought the murder was all tied up, with Frank's arrest.”

Pete sighed. “Yeah. Big mistake.”

“Anyway, your awesome Dasha rescued both of us. He deserves a medal. Or at least a nice piece of steak. I'll get some on the way home.”

“You showed a lot of courage with that shovel, Cam. Bet that wasn't easy for you.” He squeezed her hand again, the flat plastic of the clip pressing against the back of her hand. “Thanks. For everything.”

Cam frowned. “Well, if I'd told you about Rosemary earlier—”

“Forget it. No second-guessing.”

“So his shots must have killed her. Ruth arrested him for her murder, and for Bev's.”

“I missed it. Shouldn't have.”

“Hey, no second-guessing, remember?” Cam tried to sound upbeat through her sadness at Rosemary being gone. She'd been an odd mix of caustic and naive, but she'd seemed happy to be with Richard. Not a mutual feeling, apparently.

A woman in a white coat bustled in, carrying a tablet device.

“Dr. Fujita,” Cam said. “I'm Albert St. Pierre's—”

“I remember you. How is your uncle doing, Ms. Flaherty?”

“He's getting better every day. He was hallucinating for a while, but that's starting to pass.”

“Did he remember how he came to fall?”

“Not yet.” She wasn't sure he ever would at this point.

“And how's our gunshot wound?” Dr. Fujita moved to Pete's injured side and adjusted the sling slightly.

“Alive,” Pete murmured. “But tired. So tired.”

“Well, you are on a narcotic for the pain, and that makes you sleepy. You're heading into surgery now to fix up that blood vessel, and then we're going to admit you for the night.” The doctor set her tablet on a tray and typed something. “But you should be able to go home tomorrow. Do you live with anyone? Have anybody who can take care of you?”

Pete glanced at Cam, who smiled and nodded. “I'm all set with that.”

 

In her house an hour later, after thanking Ellie and Vince and sending them home, Cam cubed the steak she'd picked up on the way and placed it in Dasha's bowl. She was pretty sure the dog would appreciate it more than a medal. She had also stopped by Pete's condo and had picked up Dasha's kibble and his bed, since the dog would not be going home tonight. And she'd selected a set of clean clothes, including a front-buttoned cardigan, to take to Pete in the morning. Blood had stained what he'd been wearing, not to mention the fact that his coat and his shirt had been cut off his arm.

Cam held out one of the Pawsitively Organic Gourmet dog biscuits she'd found in the pet food section of the market. “Dasha, here, boy.” Dasha trotted in from the other room and gulped down the biscuit in two bites, then hurried to his dish after she set it on the floor. Cam could swear he smiled before he started in on the meat. She watched him enjoy it. She still felt a little sick at having to crush Richard's hands, despite the necessity. Dasha showed no such remorse. From the opposite corner, Preston gave one of his tiny mews. The two animals seemed to have arrived at a cautious truce. Cam filled Preston's food bowl and stroked him a few times. She yawned. What a day it had been. Sleep threatened to take her even as she stood. But she had a couple of things to do before she rested, and the first of them was to join the animals in eating.

She found leftover stew in the fridge. Three minutes later she sat at her table with the microwaved stew and a glass of merlot. She ate and sipped for a couple of minutes, then reached for the house phone and dialed Albert, comforted by the
zzz
of the wheel as it returned after each number.

“Uncle Albert, you wouldn't believe what happened today.”

“Oh, I know all about it. They arrested Jackson wrongly, as it turned out. That Broadhurst character killed our Rosemary, as well as Beverly. And you had quite the kerfuffle in your barn.”

She pulled the receiver away from her ear for a moment and stared at it. She pulled it in. “How in the world do you already know all that? How could you?”

“My dearest Cameron. Do you remember the size of this town? News travels. Now, tell me every detail. And I also heard Broadhurst shot your detective Pappas. He's really going to be all right?”

Cam smiled to herself at the “your” and sipped the wine. Nothing escaped Uncle Albert. “He is.” She filled him in on a few details of the encounter in the barn, since he knew most of it already.

“Broadhurst is a sick man,” Albert said.

“Agreed.”

“Pete didn't have his own firearm with him, I gather?”

“No. And Richard planned to make it look like a murder-suicide.”

“You must have been so frightened, my dear.”

“I was terrified. But Pete gave a special command in Greek to Dasha, and the dog attacked Richard.” She glanced over at Dasha, feeling Richard's hand grabbing her ankle. Her desperation, her fear for Pete. Hearing the crunch of Richard's bones breaking. She took a deep breath.

“Glad to hear it. And I'm grateful that you weren't harmed, my dear,” he said. “I know your views on violence. I'm here if you want to talk about what happened as time goes by.”

Her throat thickened. “I know,” she managed to murmur.

“Oh, I have news for you, too.”

“What's that?” Cam didn't think she could take any more bad news.

“Why, I finally remembered how I fell. It was my consarn crutch getting all tangled up in my lap blanket. I simply tripped. Don't know why it took me so long to recall what happened, but there you have it. The nurse here told me my memory would come back, and sure enough, it did.”

Cam let out a breath. “That's a relief. And it ties off a piece of the puzzle. I'm glad nobody assaulted you.”

“I don't have any enemies. You know that.” He chuckled.

“I didn't think I did, either.” But being threatened three times in a year was getting ridiculous.

C
am straightened in the hoop house the next morning. She'd filled almost an entire bushel basket with dark purple mizuna, deep green tatsoi, red komatsuna, and the frilly light green shungiku. The mix of shapes and colors of the cold-hardy Asian greens made an attractive salad that the customers seemed to crave in the winter shares. Greens were about the only newly harvested vegetables Cam could offer at this time of year. She stretched her back before hefting the basket and carrying it out of the structure.

“Come on, Dasha.” He didn't seem to run off while she worked, so she'd let him accompany her without a leash. It was comforting having him nearby. He didn't make many demands and was simply a quiet companion. She was starting to understand what people saw in dogs, after all.

She paused. Every snow crystal sparkled in the mid-morning sun. Only a month after the winter solstice and already more light graced the days with the earth tilting back toward the sun. The air was still below freezing, but no wind rustled the bare branches of the tall maples and the evergreens that stood next to them, and it felt almost mild on her cheeks. She inhaled, smelling clean snow with a hint of pine and a touch of spice from the greens. Her own clear, bright mood stemmed from having the worries of the week behind her: Pete not seriously hurt and their relationship on track again, Albert recovering, a murderer in custody.

A beige Prius pulled into the drive and gave a little beep. Felicity climbed out with a wave. Dasha barked once but stayed at Cam's side.

“Need help?” Felicity called.

“Good morning,” Cam called in return. She waited until the petite woman came near. “We need to wash these and bag these. I'd love some help.”

Felicity bent down to stroke Dasha, then glanced up at Cam. “Gorgeous day, isn't it?” She shifted her large farm basket to her left hand and extended her right toward one handle of the bushel.

Cam let her take the handle. “It's lovely out. Isn't it nice to feel a little warmth and no wind?”

Felicity agreed while they strolled together toward the barn. “Heard you were attacked here last night. Pete is going to be all right? The news said he was shot.”

“He is. I talked to him this morning. In fact, whenever the doctor clears him, I need to go pick him up. Which is why I'm glad you came early. Alexandra said she would come by to help, too.”

“It all must have been terribly scary.”

“No kidding. Richard Broadhurst turned out to be a desperate man. Dasha rescued us.” Cam patted Dasha's head. “Such a good dog.”

Cam slid the wide barn door open and waited until Felicity had come inside before shutting it behind her. She carried the bushel over to the washing station, glad she'd had the forethought to include it when the barn was rebuilt. The hoop house stayed warmer than outdoors, but if she had to stand in it to wash greens in frigid water, she wouldn't be able to offer midwinter salad. Customers wanted their greens plate ready, not dusted with soil. She ran water in the deep sink, then loaded the greens into a big cloth mesh bag and submerged them. An old washing machine sat plugged in next to the sink.

“We'll let them soak for a couple of minutes, and then I'll spin the water out of them before we bag.” She'd learned the trick from chatting with another grower at the farmers' market. Spinning them like that turned out to be a brilliant way to get the water off the greens, water that, if left on, would rot them in a couple of days.

“You can help me make the rest of this look nicer than it does now, if you want.” Cam gestured to the long table where she'd dumped all the share offerings without arranging them in any kind of order or creating an attractive display.

“Hey, I wanted to tell you something Dad told me yesterday,” Felicity said, emptying a bag of potatoes into a wooden box. She began to sort through them for bad ones.

“Oh?”

“Remember he said the person he saw that day was an Indian?”

Cam nodded.

“Frank Jackson wears his hair in a ponytail. And I've seen him with a dangling earring that has a silver feather on it. I asked Dad if it was Frank he saw, and he said it was.”

“He knows Frank?”

“Sure. Frank worked for Dad in his landscaping business one summer when he was out of work. But Dad probably lost his name, you know, because of his dementia.”

“Well, we know Frank was in the building, visiting Bev that day, anyway. But he didn't kill her, after all, despite what Pete first thought.” Cam hauled the bag of greens out of the sink and lowered it into the washing machine. She turned the dial to SPIN and started the machine.

“I sure hope there's no more detergent in that machine,” Felicity said.

“I scrubbed it thoroughly and ran plain water through it a dozen times. Your greens and lettuces have been spun in this since last August.” Cam laughed. “Did you ever taste detergent on your salad?”

The barn door slid open. Alexandra and DJ, holding gloved hands, sauntered in with a rush of fresh air.

“Great to see you both,” Cam said.

Felicity waved at them.

“We read the news on
Wicked Local
about . . . ,” DJ said, frowning.

“About Pete and me being attacked by Richard Broadhurst?” Was Cam going to have to repeat this for every customer? Probably. She sighed and explained that they were fine, that Dasha took Richard down, that Pete was shot in the arm, but he was going to be all right. She left out the part about breaking Richard's hands.

“I'm really glad,” Alexandra said.

When DJ nodded his agreement, Cam was relieved they hadn't pressed for more details of the attack.

“Hey, me and DJ were talking. We're going to start a petition to keep Bev's farmland as open space. Maybe the town can buy it as conservation land or with a farming restriction. That way nobody can build on it.”

“Interesting idea,” Cam said, musing on the idealism of young adults, or of those younger than her, anyway. Who knew? Maybe it could happen. “I hope the town goes for it. I wonder what will happen to Richard's property now, though.”

“We plan to include his in the proposal,” DJ added. “They abut, and it just makes sense.”

“It's true, he's likely going to have to sell it to pay off his debts.” Cam nodded slowly. “Hard to manage an apple orchard from prison.”

“So how can we help you here?” Alexandra opened her hands.

“How about seeing if the girls produced any eggs for us?” Cam pointed to the top of the egg fridge. “Cartons are up there.”

“We're on it,” DJ said with a smile, the dimple creasing his left cheek.

Cam's cell phone rang, playing the theme song to
Star Trek: The Next Generation.

“You are a geek, aren't you?” Alexandra laughed, shaking her head.

 

Cam helped Pete into the truck an hour later. He wore the clean clothes she'd brought him, plus her down jacket, since his own winter coat was ruined. One sleeve flapped empty over his injured arm in the sling.

On the way back to the farm she told him what Felicity had said about her father describing Frank as an Indian.

“It makes sense,” Cam said. “With that silver feather earring he's always wearing. And his long hair.”

“I wondered about that,” Pete said.

“Oh, and last night Albert told me he remembered what happened to him. His blanket got tangled in his crutch, and he fell.” Cam glanced over at Pete. “So you were right about that.”

He nodded, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

“I still wonder about that house cleaner I talked to,” Cam said. “Maybe she was just scared of being reported for an infraction.”

“Let me get you all set up in the house,” Cam urged as she pulled into her driveway. She helped him out of the truck, then tucked her arm through his good one and turned toward the house. “I'll fix you a nice cup of hot tea. You can rest on the couch while I get these shares distributed. It'll be only an hour or two.”

“No.” His olive skin had started to regain some color but still looked faintly green to Cam. “I've had enough of hanging out alone. I'll keep you company.”

“It's cold in the barn,” she protested.

He held up his hand. “You have work to do and people around. I'll sit in a chair and watch. I'll be fine.” He shrugged off her arm and trod carefully toward the barn.

She had no choice but to follow. Snow crunched in the driveway. Cam darted her head around to see Lucinda pulling up behind her truck. With a toot from her horn, she jumped out and hurried toward them.

“Detective, glad to see you alive,” she said.

“Really?” he asked, pulling his mouth, as if trying not to smile.

“Really.” Lucinda patted him on the back before they entered the barn.

A chorus of “Welcome back” was followed by scattered applause from the core group of locavores. Ruth had come by with her girls, Nettie and Natalie, as well. Ellie ran to Pete and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Cam smiled at seeing the color return to Pete's face. Vince stood there grinning, with his hands in his pockets.

Pete waved everybody down with his good hand. “No fuss, now. I'm going to be fine. Dash?” he called. “Where's our real hero?”

Dasha emerged from the office. He barked and trotted toward his human. Pete squatted and put his good arm around Dasha, then gazed up at the circle of people.

“This is the guy who deserves the applause,” Pete said.

Alexandra started clapping, and soon everyone joined her.

A tiny “Yay, yay,” came from little Nettie Dodge, followed by, “Mommy, why are we clapping?”

Pete beamed and stood. “It's for this great guy here.”

Dasha sank onto his haunches and front legs. Then he turned his head sharply toward the rear of the barn and sprang to his feet, assuming an alert stance. The cat door flapped, followed by Preston streaking by. The door flapped again. Ruffles pushed his way through and chased after Preston on his dinosaur feet. Dasha barked. Preston leapt onto the top of the rototiller. Ruffles stopped short. He turned toward the group, extended his head a couple of times, and crowed as if he were onstage at the opera.

“So it's not a cat door. It's a rooster door.” Cam shook her head in amazement. “How about rooster potpie for dinner?”