Farmed and Dangerous (16 page)

Who else would miss her? Pete? Not if he stuck to his guns about not seeing her until they found the murderer. Sometimes Lucinda dropped by to help prepare the shares, but Cam didn't expect to see her until after work on Friday or even Saturday morning. She had a date with Lou Friday night. When he came to pick her up and she wasn't there, he'd just think she'd stood him up. Cam pressed her back against the wall and sank to sitting, chin on arms, arms resting on knees. She knew she wouldn't freeze, since the below-ground temperature stayed at a nearly constant forty degrees. But cold from the concrete seeped through her pants, and she didn't carry a lot of extra padding in that area. The humidity in here stayed high by design, so the air felt not only chilly but damp, too. Hypothermia was a real possibility.

When a whimper escaped her lips, she shook her head hard and said aloud, “No whining, Flaherty. You'll never make it out of here by feeling sorry for yourself.”

To keep warm, she rose and paced the length of the cellar and back, over and over, counting the laps aloud until she reached a thousand. She activated the phone. Almost an hour had passed. Still no bars. She had to do something. She wished she'd had the carpenter add an exit to the outside, but she hadn't asked for one. Maybe he'd built one, anyway, without telling her. Her hopes soaring, she creaked to her feet. She pressed the flashlight icon again. Searching for a way out merited using up part of the battery life. She examined every inch of wall. Behind the shelving. Behind the stairs, which didn't even make sense, since they weren't on an outside wall. Behind the mostly empty wine rack.

And her hopes crashed again. Bobby hadn't built a door. No escape. She switched off the light and made her way as far up the stairs as she could before bumping her head on the doors. She beat on the unforgiving wood and rattled the doors. But they were as solidly jammed in place as they'd been an hour before. She held the phone as close to the top as she could. Still no bars. She swore, descending into the cellar again.

Her stomach growled, but she wasn't ready to start eating sandy carrots to survive. She sniffed the air again. She'd had a particular terror of burning buildings ever since she'd been rescued from one just in time as a child. The incident last summer hadn't helped. But the air was still fresh. Still no smoke.

Fresh air. From the inlet pipe. Of course.
She used another few seconds of light to find the PVC pipes. They were set into an outer wall of the barn and angled upward toward the outside. The inlet pipe had been placed about a foot above the floor, and the air outtake had been inserted at eye level. If she got the phone closer to fresh air, she'd be that much closer to being picked up by the closest cell tower. She eyed the size of the opening. Her arm might fit. She shrugged her bulky coat off her right arm and pushed her sweater sleeve as far as it would go toward her shoulder, grateful for once for her long, skinny limbs.

Her heart racing, she switched the phone to its speaker function. She could call Pete, but what if he felt he couldn't respond? Lucinda would be working. She was afraid that if she called 911, it would be too hard to explain her situation.
Ruth.
She'd call Ruth's cell. Her friend would see the call whether she was on the job or not. She pressed Ruth's number and then extended her arm as far into the outlet pipe as she could. It stopped at the elbow.

Her smile almost hurt when she heard the phone ring and then Ruth's voice say, “Cam?”

“Ruth, I need help. I'm trapped in my own root cellar in the barn.”

“What? This is a terrible connection.”

Cam raised her voice. “I need help. I'm locked in.” The phone started beeping. The battery was almost dead. Despite the damp cold, Cam began to sweat.

Ruth laughed. “How did you manage that?”

“Just come and get me out.” Cam didn't know if she should scream or giggle. Her voice sounded like a mix of the two.

“Problem is, I'm at work. I won't be off until three today. Can you wait? And where are you again? You sound like you're in a cave.”

“Ruthie, I told you. I'm in my root cellar.”

“Say again. The reception is breaking up.”

Cam's heart sank. She could hear Ruth perfectly. Why wasn't it reciprocal? She breathed in deeply and spoke as clearly as she could, whether that made sense or not. “Somebody pushed me into my root cellar here. In my barn. They locked me in and left.”

“Oh.” The laugh disappeared from Ruth's voice. “That's serious. We'll be right over.”

“We?”

“It sounds like a crime scene to me. I'm bringing backup.”

Cam was about to tell her to hurry when the phone went dead.

“W
as that your shovel they wedged through the door handles?” Ruth gazed at Cam. They sat in the barn's office half an hour later with the door closed and the space heater on.

“Yes. I planned to check on the stored crops in the root cellar. The lights down there didn't come on.” Cam hugged herself. “Believe me, I wasn't going down there without a flashlight. But someone pushed me down the stairs. Then the doors shut above me, and I heard a scraping noise. That must have been whoever it was jamming the shovel handle through the door handles.”

“But you didn't hear anybody arrive or drive away? No clue at all about who might have done this?”

“No on both counts. I did hear a small noise before I went down the stairs. I thought Preston was swatting his cat door, because then he came through it. I definitely didn't hear a vehicle arrive or leave.”

“How long were you down there?” Ruth tapped something into her iPad and then looked at Cam.

“More than an hour.” Cam moved closer to the heater, still chilled to her core. The illumination from the grow lights and the lamp on the desk had never felt so comforting.

“Why didn't you call earlier?”

“I tried. Don't you believe—”

“Calm down, Cam.” Ruth patted the air with her hand in the gesture officers made to drivers who were going too fast. “I'm just trying to get the story, okay?”

Cam swallowed. “I didn't call, because I couldn't get any cell reception. After I paced for a while, I finally thought of extending my phone out the air pipe. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before.”

An officer poked his head in. “Nothing much to see. Dozens of prints on the bulkhead doors, the handles, and the barn door, half of them smudged. No way to tell which prints belong to the bad guy.”

“Lots of people come through this barn. Including all my subscribers,” Cam said.

“Haven't found any dropped objects.” The officer shrugged. “The guy was probably wearing gloves. And was careful.” He held out two light bulbs in his gloved hands. “Found these in a corner. I'll have to print them. Do you have spares?”

Cam pulled two bulbs out of the desk's bottom drawer. “But what about footprints outside?” Cam asked. They had to find who did this to her. And why.

“We'll look. But with the ice—”

“Got it. Thanks,” Ruth said.

He closed the door behind him.

Cam hugged herself. “What if he's still out there? Or she?”

“The guys will check the area. Don't worry about that.” Ruth checked her iPad again. “You have no idea who might have trapped you down there?”

“I don't think I have any enemies.” Cam set her chin in her palm, her elbow on her knee. “But I have been trying to figure out who could have conked Albert on the head. I asked around at Moran Manor a bit.”

“Cam.” Ruth sounded stern. “You are supposed to leave that to us. Us and Pete Pappas. Besides, there is no evidence that Albert didn't simply black out and fall.”

“I don't believe he fell.” Cam stared at Ruth. “And it has to all be tied in with Bev's murder. I'm sure it is.”

As she was speaking, the door opened again.

“What are you sure of?” Pete stood in the doorway, wearing faded jeans and a leather jacket, a black wool scarf wrapped around his neck. He held Dasha on a leash. Dasha barked twice at Cam and then sat, panting.

“Dasha,” Cam said. Smiling, she reached out to stroke his head. She'd kind of missed him. He sat and soaked up the attention. She glanced at Pete. “Dog time?”

His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and his hair was tousled. In those jeans and that jacket he looked good enough to eat. She reminded herself that a murder investigation was in progress.

“I'm off today, and we both needed fresh air,” Pete said. “When I heard your address on the scanner, I came right over. Hope you don't mind, Ruth.”

“Not at all.”

“Are you all right?” Pete looked at Cam.

Cam nodded. She patted Dasha again. “Or I will be when I can go to the house and drink a cup of hot tea. And eat lunch.” She glanced at his snow-free shoulders. “Apparently, it isn't snowing yet.”

“Only a few flakes,” Pete said. “Supposed to get a pretty good storm tonight, though.”

And Cam had to be at Moran Manor in an hour or two. She didn't want to disappoint Albert. She should be able to get home before the storm hit with full force.

“What have you got so far?” Pete asked Ruth.

“The guys haven't found anything. No prints, no other evidence.”

“So are we all done?” Cam gazed at Ruth.

“I don't know why you're such a crime magnet, Cam.” Ruth sighed.

“I'm not. But right now I need to get warm.” Cam stood, nearly knocking over her chair.

Dasha jumped to his feet.

“I think he wants to walk you to the house,” Pete said. “May we?”

“Sure. Thanks for the rescue, Ruthie.”

“All in a day's work.” Ruth blinked at Cam. “Go. I'll let you know if we find anything more.”

In the house a few minutes later, Cam set two mugs of steaming tea on the table. “Did you eat lunch?”

“I'm all set. Thanks.” Pete remained standing, jingling the keys in the pocket of his jeans.

“Well, sit down, already.” She brought a turkey sandwich to the table and sank into a chair.

Dasha moved to Cam's side and lay on the floor at her feet. She swallowed her first bite of the sandwich and sipped her tea before she spoke again.

“So when am I going to be off the person-of-interest list?”

Pete finally sat. He cleared his throat. “Effectively, you are already cleared.”

“Oh? And when were you going to tell me?”

The furnace in the basement kicked on with a clunk. Warm air began to blow out from the register behind Cam.

Pete sighed. “Look. I haven't found the murderer, and you're pissed off at me. And now somebody's after you.” He drummed on the table with his fingertips. “You can't imagine how I felt when I heard your address on the scanner. I might have sounded casual out there in the barn. But I don't feel casual about you. Not one bit.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

The skin of his hand warmed hers. He smelled of aftershave and wood smoke. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Do you want to talk about it? The case, I mean.”

“I want to. But the most I can do is ask if there's anything else you have learned. About anybody, anything.” His face pleaded for understanding.

“Well, we didn't get much out of Nicholas Slavin. It might be worth talking with him again.”

He pulled out his phone and tapped in a few words.

“This morning I bought apples from Richard Broadhurst. Somebody tore out of his driveway,” Cam said. “And almost ran me down. But I doubt it's related to anything.” She withdrew her hand reluctantly and pulled a pad of paper off the counter behind her. She jotted down the license plate number she'd memorized, then slid the paper across the table. “That was the car. It seemed sort of familiar, but I can't place who drives it.”

“I'll check it out. We have to investigate every angle, whether it seems important or not. What else?”

“Let's see. I heard Richard is a gambler.”

Pete nodded.

“You look like you already knew that. On Saturday, the day before the murder, he took Bev out for dinner. But they were farmer friends. I'm sure there was nothing wrong with that.”

Pete just raised his eyebrows and kept working with his phone.

“I told you about the maid on Uncle Albert's floor.”

“Yes. Anything about Oscar?”

She shook her head. “He said he didn't see anybody go into Uncle Albert's room that day. And he was collecting trays on that floor. He said he's being targeted as a suspect because of his skin color.”

“He can think what he likes. There are several reasons to check him out, and none of them are to do with his being African.” He reached down and stroked Dasha.

Cam watched his hand, the same hand that had stroked her in a different way only a few days ago. Her cheeks grew hot and her body tingled. She swallowed hard and finished her sandwich, washing it down with tea. She felt her cell phone in her pocket. She'd left the charger plugged in on the kitchen counter, near the table. She reached over and connected it to the phone. As soon as she did, the text alert sounded. She peered at the screen.

“It's from Ellie. Shoot, I was supposed to return her call. She must have just gotten out of school. Let me check this.”

“Be my guest.”

She read the message.
Need to tell you smthing. Heard dude in bevs room.

Eyes wide, cheeks suddenly cool, Cam extended the phone to Pete. The power cord popped out of the wall, and the device emitted its low-battery noise. She swore. She stood and plugged the power cord in again, then motioned Pete to come closer. “You need to see this.” She held the phone up.

His arm pressed warm into hers. He read the message aloud. “I wonder what dude she's talking about.” He drummed his fingers on the countertop.

“Hmm. Richard took Bev out to dinner on Saturday. And Frank Jackson visited Moran Manor on Sunday. Bev didn't want to see him. But he whispered something in her ear, and they both went right up to her room after that.” She moved away from Pete. If she couldn't have him, she did not need to torture herself with touching him, no matter how good it felt.

“We've been searching for Jackson, for sure.”

“Could he have killed Bev?” Cam asked.

“I wish I knew. So much for my day off. Actually, Ellie could have heard any male. Oscar. Jim Cooper, even.”

“Did I ever tell you that Ginger Montgomery arrived after Frank did on Sunday? And she went up to Bev's room at the same time Frank was there.”

“Interesting. You could have told me that a little earlier.”

“Right.” Cam jammed her hands into her pockets. “It didn't seem important at the time.”

“I need to act on some of this information. But I don't want to leave you alone here.” Lines creased his forehead.

“I'll be fine. I'm heading over to Moran soon, anyway.”

“Let me check the house for you.”

Cam nodded and followed him around while he examined every corner, opened every door.

“Should I be worried that the person who trapped me is going to come back?”
And do worse than lock me away and then leave.
She shuddered and then shook off the feeling. No, she would not live in fear.

“I hope not. Your house is clear, anyway.” Pete turned to her. “Do you want to keep Dasha with you for company?”

“I can't. I'm going over to see Uncle Albert. I'll be okay at Moran.”

“Call me when you get home.”

Cam nodded.

“Thanks for the tea. And—” He looked wistful.

“Just go. You're welcome.” She gave him a little push toward the door. “Let me know what you find out. If you can.”

He walked to the door, calling Dasha. “Be careful. Please.”

She watched them leave and locked the door, checking it twice. She brought the mugs and her plate from the table to the kitchen. The tea had warmed her but had not settled her nerves. She poured wine from an open bottle of merlot into a glass. Preston flapped in through his cat door, clearly having waited until the dog left.

If Ellie had been frightened before, how must she be feeling now? She pressed Ellie's number. It rang three times. Four. When Cam was about to disconnect, Ellie answered in a breathless voice.

“Cam? Did you get my text?”

“I did. We should talk about it. Are you okay? Where are you now?”

“I'm good. Just on my way to work.”

“At Moran Manor?”

“Yeah. I couldn't stand not going in.”

“How's your mom feel about that?”

Ellie didn't answer for a moment. “I'll call her when I get there. Vince is giving me a ride.”

Cam sighed. “You didn't tell her you were going.”

“No. She'd only get upset. It'll be okay, Cam.” A low voice rumbled in the background. “Hey, Vince says hi.”

“Hi, Vince. Listen, Ellie, I'm going over to see Uncle Albert at four. If you get a break, find me and we can talk about what you overheard. How are you feeling about that?”

“I'm down with it.” Her voice stayed light. Vince's voice sounded again, and Ellie laughed. “I gotta go, Cam. See you at the Manor.” Ellie lowered her voice and warbled the last two words like a horror film announcer.

“See you soon, then.” Cam disconnected.
Rats.
She'd planned to tell Ellie that Pete had read the text. He'd want to talk with her about it, certainly. Well, she'd see her in an hour. At least the girl didn't seem freaked out about what she had observed—another example of her resilience.

Cam sipped her wine and munched a couple of cookies. She wandered throughout the downstairs. She needed to shower off after being trapped in the root cellar, and get over to see Albert before the snow started. She checked the door lock one more time.