A Tine To Live, A Tine To Die Part 18

Now Cam did feel bad.

"Don't let her bark worry you. I think you're doing a super job with the farm, Cameron. And I want a tour one of these days."

Cam mentally slapped her forehead for not thinking of it herself. "Of course. And thank you. I'm working hard, and I'm trying to keep the spirit of your farm going, just with an update to organic. That's what the customer base seems to want."

"The customer base. You have all these fancy ways of referring to things." Albert smiled. "And that's good."

"Would you believe we have a Web site now, too? Alexandra, one of the younger locavores, designed it and set it up for me. I just didn't have time. I'll have to show you. They must have a computer here somewhere we can use."

"I didn't tell you? I'm online now. Right in my room."

Cam's mouth dropped open. "You are?"

"Why, yes. I ordered a laptop with the Senior Geeks group they got going here, and I took the cla.s.s. Just finished yesterday, as a matter of fact. I have an e-mail address and everything, don't you know. Web design is our next cla.s.s, and I'm thinking of blogging about my memoirs."

"Now you're the geek, and I'm the farmer." A moment of happiness washed over her, extra rosy for the lack of it lately. "How about we start a farm blog and you can write about your farming memories? You could give growing and harvesting tips. I could publish some of Marie's recipes. They're still in her recipe box in the kitchen cupboard."

"We could do that." Albert glanced toward the door of the dining room. "Well, what do you know?"

Cam followed his gaze. Stuart stood in the doorway with a woman in a blazer that sported a name tag. On Stuart's arm was an older woman, who looked around her like she had stumbled into a new and unfamiliar universe.

"There's Betty Wilson. h.e.l.lo, Betty!" Albert called to her. He turned to Cam. "Are we all done?"

Cam looked at her plate. Somewhere during their conversation she'd polished off her entire meal. She nodded. Albert was already on his feet and crutching toward Stuart and the woman, who was clearly his mother, so Cam followed.

"Betty, I haven't seen you in years," Albert said, beaming at her.

"Why, yes, Albert. How's my dear Marie?" Betty smiled sweetly, but her eyes seemed unsure. "Please tell her h.e.l.lo for me."

"I'll do that, Betty. h.e.l.lo, Stuart. I'm Albert St. Pierre." He balanced on the crutches and extended his hand. "I don't believe we've met, although I saw you at the local food thingamabob last week."

Stuart shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir. Hi, Cam." Stuart didn't smile, and a tic jumped at the top of his lip. "We're checking this place out for Mother. Aren't we, Mother?" His tone softened when he addressed her, as did his eyes.

"I'm sure you'll find a lovely apartment for yourself here, dear. Can I go home now?" She turned her face up to Stuart's.

"In just a minute, Mother." Stuart patted her hand with a wistful smile and pained eyes. He excused them and moved along on their tour with the Manor representative. Cam strolled with Albert back to his room.

"Why didn't you tell Mrs. Wilson that Great-Aunt Marie died two years ago?" Cam asked, holding open the door to his room.

"Cameron, it would just upset her. Couldn't you see she doesn't have so much going on upstairs anymore?"

"When I get old, I don't want people to lie to me."

"When you get old, you might not be able to tell the difference. Now, let me show you my new toy." Albert gestured to a chair in the corner as he lowered himself into a swivel chair at the desk. "Pull that up."

Cam sat next to Albert and watched as he showed off what he knew.

"Now, show me the farm Web site," he said.

She scooted closer and, taking over the keyboard, brought up the page. "There's an events area, a page for the CSA, and we have a customer comment area, too. See?" She clicked through the tabs. She turned to see how Albert was reacting to her baby. He looked like he'd eaten a spoiled tomato.

"What's the matter? You don't like it?"

He pointed. "Cameron, read that. It's disgusting."

Cam focused on the screen. The topmost comment was a paragraph of obscenities and slurs against her, against immigrants, against organic farming. It accused her of murder and worse.

"What! Who put that there?" She leaned in. "There's no name on it. They must have chosen the anonymous ident.i.ty. But I'm taking it down right now." Her fingers flew on the keys as she logged in as administrator.

"Wait." Albert laid his hand on her arm. "Maybe you should save it. Show it to the police. They could track who sent it."

"Good idea." Cam copied the content out to a file, saving it to the desktop. She deleted the message from the page. "E-mail me this file later, will you? I'm going to have to moderate this page, I can tell."

"What's that mean?"

"I'll have to approve every comment before it goes public. Who would have thought I'd need to do that for a simple organic farm Web site?"

"There are many unfortunate souls out there, Cameron, who have never heard of moderation." Albert shook his head slowly. "Many unfortunate souls."

Chapter 17.

Cam had just finished watering in the hoop house at eight thirty the next morning when she heard the ding of a bicycle bell. She stepped outside to see Alexandra leaning her bike against the barn.

"Hi, Alexandra. You're early for Volunteer Day."

"Yeah. Hey, funny weather, isn't it?" She gestured to the gray, overcast sky. "It's even sort of cool. For summer." She wore a red long-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt and faded jeans cut off right below the knee. "So, I have to drive my sister to the bus station in a couple of hours. I thought I'd get a head start here since I can't stay until the end of the volunteer time."

"Where's your sister headed?"

"Katie thinks she's going to break into the acting scene in New York." Alexandra c.o.c.ked her head. "I'd say it's unlikely she'll even break into a waitress job."

"She's not getting back together with Stuart?"

"No way. He's way too old for her, anyway."

Stuart certainly didn't think he was too old for Katie. Cam wondered how he would react to the news of Katie being gone.

"Uh, Cam? Are you going to give me a task to do? I'd like to get started."

Cam started. "Sorry. Of course. But first, can you add a moderation facility sometime to the comments page on the Web site? A disgusting message showed up on the page last night."

"Yuck. Really?"

"Yes. It was basically a rant against me and the world, including immigrants and organics. Actually accused me of killing Mike. And not in very nice language."

"You deleted it, I a.s.sume?"

"Yes, after I saved the file. I was with Albert at the time, so I had him e-mail it to me. I sent it off to Pappas this morning."

"Good. I'll set up moderation as soon as I get home. What's on the job list for farmwork today?"

"Do you mind turning compost again?"

"Not at all. I like doing that kind of work. Bring it on."

Cam grabbed a pitchfork from the barn and handed it to Alexandra. As they walked out back, Cam patted her pocket. No cell phone.

"I'm going to run to the house and get my phone. Last week I layered fresh manure into the new bin, you know, the one on the far left. You can turn the middle bin into the one on the right, and then turn the fresh stuff into the middle bin. That all right?"

"Got it, boss."

Cam trotted to the house and retrieved her phone from the kitchen counter. She strode back to the barn, feeling like her brain was about to explode. That flaming comment on the Web site. Pappas saying they had evidence and a witness tying Lucinda to the murder. Jake's odd departure Monday night and no word from him since. Lucinda sitting in a jail cell. And Cam with a farm to run. The overcast sky and strangely cool air added to her sense of uneasiness with the world.

At noon the volunteers finished up and straggled toward the barn and their cars. It was a smaller group this week. Stuart hadn't showed. And, of course, Lucinda wasn't there. Alexandra had flown off on her bicycle an hour earlier.

Felicity approached Cam as she wiped a weeding tool with a rag to get the dirt off before she hung it on the barn wall.

"Cam, is it all right with you if we have our first shareholders' potluck here?" Felicity tossed her braid back over her shoulder. She stood with clasped hands and a cheerful, expectant look on her face.

"That'd be fine. I don't think I have enough chairs, though."

"We'll take care of all that. Everybody can bring their own chairs. I thought we could use the share table, and then we'll bring a couple more collapsible tables."

"Sounds good, Felicity. When did you want to hold the first one?"

"This Friday. Is six o'clock okay?"

"This Friday?" Cam swallowed. "Don't you think that's kind of . . ." She stopped. Felicity's cheer had turned to dismay. Cam put up a hand. "No, it's fine. This Friday it is." She sighed inwardly. One more item to add to the list of things she had to worry about.

"Good." Felicity's balance was restored. "I'll send out an e-mail to the list." She looked around and lowered her voice. "Except to Lucinda, that is. Is it true she's in jail? For the murder of that disturbed young man, the one you had to fire?"

"It's true. I'm going to see her this afternoon with her lawyer. Believe me, they have the wrong person."

"She's such a nice woman. But you know what they say. The killers are often those quiet, normal-looking neighbors."

"Felicity." Cam frowned at her customer. "Lucinda is not a killer. Please don't think she is. And do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Don't talk about her as if she's a murderer. Will you do that for me?"

Felicity nodded. "I suppose." She brightened. "See you Friday! We'll have everyone bring their own plate and utensils, too, and I'll have tablecloths and such. We don't want to make any extra work for you while we build community."

Cam thanked Felicity, glad to see her leave. She'd had just about all the community she could stand for a while. She planned to commune with nothing more than solitude for the next couple of hours.

Cam waited in her truck at the only stoplight in Westbury at a little before three o'clock. She looked down and checked her outfit, khaki slacks and a navy blue blouse. She brushed a bit of lint off one sleeve. An official visit to a jail seemed to warrant a somber outfit. She wondered if she should have brought Lucinda anything. Maybe she needed a change of clothes or a toothbrush. She could probably use a decent meal, but Cam guessed the jail wouldn't allow that. She'd ask during the visit what Lucinda needed and what the police would let her bring.

A discreet beep from behind made her look up. The light had turned green. Cam gave a little wave in her rearview mirror and drove the last couple of blocks to the station. She pulled in and parked next to Susan's Jaguar. What a car. Cam peered in at pristine white leather seats and a red dashboard. She thought fondly for a moment of the sporty Audi she'd owned as a single software engineer, heated seats and all. She'd been single with a hearty salary. Now all her money was in the farm, and she still thought it had been a good move. Most of the time.

Cam squared her shoulders and strode into the station. Susan stood at the reception counter, tapping her enameled fingernails on the top. Today she wore a navy pin-striped pantsuit, again with the red heels and red leather case.

"There you are," Susan said to Cam in a brisk tone. "We're ready now." Susan directed this at a young officer Cam hadn't seen before who stood behind the desk.

Cam's heart rate doubled. She'd never been inside a jail before. She was glad the officer held the heavy door for her. Her palms were so sweaty, she wasn't sure she'd be able to grasp it herself. And she hadn't even done anything wrong.

The officer led them into a small conference room. The walls were painted an inst.i.tutional beige and needed a touch-up coat. Susan turned full circle, looking at every wall, then up at the corners and ceiling. She glanced sharply at the officer.

"We will not be recorded, correct?"

"No, ma'am."

"Thank you. We'll see Ms. DaSilva now." She turned her back on him. "Sit down, Cameron." Susan gestured at the table and chairs in the middle of the otherwise bare room. After the officer left the room, Susan sat across from Cam.

"They'll probably record us, anyway, even though it's illegal. At least they don't have a two-way mirror in here, although they might have a camera." She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "What can you do?"

Cam tried to still her nervous hands by clasping them in her lap. That felt silly, so she moved them to the top of the table.

The door opened. The officer ushered Lucinda in ahead of him and pointed to a chair. Dark patches caved in under her eyes, and her skin was pale. Her glorious mane of curls was twisted back in a messy knot. She wore what looked like scrubs, except Cam had never seen them in any hospital in that shade of orange.

As Lucinda sat, Cam reached her hand out to touch Lucinda's, but at the glare she got from the officer, she pulled it back.

"Hey, fazendeira." Lucinda mustered a weak smile.

Susan shot a pointed look at the officer. "Leave us now, please."

"You have twenty minutes," the officer said, then turned and left.

When the door clanged shut, Cam was as imprisoned as Lucinda.

"Thanks for bringing Cam, Susan," Lucinda said.

"I'm so sorry you're in here, Lucinda. We all know you're the wrong person to be accused of Mike's murder, but what do we do now?" Cam opened her palms.

"Let's start by going over everything we know." Susan proceeded to list Lucinda's activities in the days before the murder, as well as where she'd been that day and what her dealings with Mike had been.

"Wait," Cam said. "Do we know what this evidence is they say they have?"

Susan shook her head. "I haven't gotten that information yet."

"Or who the witness is?"

Susan shook her head again.