Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page B

it from?”
    “A friend of Irene’s stepson’s.”
    “Name?”
    “Sim Koyama. She’s a mechanic—”
    “I know who she is.”
    Cam summoned up her inner adult, not an easy task in the face of his responses. “So I’m sure you already know Irene was at an event at my farm last night.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, this morning, just now, in fact, the tent guy—”
    “Tent guy?”
    “I rented a tent. Guys from the rental company are here taking it down. One of them found an envelope on the ground and . . .” She rushed on, worried he might be losing his patience. “It has what I think is a threatening note in it.”
    “You think? ”
    “Look, Detective. Am I not doing the right thing? The guy found it, I read the note, and I walked straight into my house and called the authorities. Do you want to see it or not?” Sheesh. He was the one who had accused her of withholding evidence after Mike Montgomery was murdered on her farm. No wonder she’d heard less than positive gossip about Westbury’s finest and their statie colleagues. Although Pappas didn’t live in town, this area in the northeasternmost corner of Massachusetts seemed to constitute his state police beat.
    He cleared his throat. “I’ll come pick it up. I wanted to ask you a few questions, anyway. Be there in ten.”
    Nice of him to ask if now was a good time.
    Apparently reading her mind, Pappas said, “If you’ll be available.”
    “I’m here. Separating garlic.”
    “What the . . . ? Oh, never mind.” The phone clicked off.
     
    Cam finished splitting the last bulb into cloves. The discarded papery sheaths from the bulbs floated out of the basket on a new breeze.
    The rental-agency truck was backing out when Pappas pulled in fast, nearly ramming the truck. Luckily, the driver leaned on the horn and the detective managed to swerve out of the way. Cam winced as she watched from the picnic table. The wheels of Pappas’s older-model Saab dug into the edge of the perennial flower garden Great-Aunt Marie had planted and lovingly tended until right before her death a few years earlier.
    Pappas approached Cam. His shirt, open at the neck, bore a web of wrinkles, and one side of the collar hid under his sport coat, while the other point skewed over the jacket. The laces on one of his black walking shoes flapped as he walked.
    “You want to sit down?” Cam pointed to the bench on the other side of the table. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him so disheveled. It was kind of a nice touch. In her earlier dealings with him he had always been neat to the point of fastidiousness. He seemed more human this way, less of an automaton.
    He remained standing, so Cam stood, too, and slouched against the table. She didn’t know if her two-inch height advantage bothered him or not. In her experience, most men didn’t enjoy having to look up at a woman.
    They exchanged brief greetings before Cam said, “I’ll get the note. It’s in the house.”
    Pappas shook his head. “First, show me where the dinner took place.”
    Cam gestured toward the back of the farm. She didn’t know what he expected to find. The tent and furniture were gone. This wasn’t the scene of the crime, anyway.
    “I assume the fact that you are investigating means Irene was murdered,” Cam said as they walked.
    He nodded but didn’t meet her eyes.
    The closely mowed field where the tent had stood still bore signs of trampling from the guests, servers, and rental-agency guys. Clouds threatened the hour of sunshine that had blessed the day.
    “Sim also told me Bobby Burr is missing,” Cam said. “Have you had any luck finding him?”
    Pappas walked away from her without answering, tracing the perimeter of the field. He narrowed his spiral with each cycle until he stood in the middle, his hands empty.
    “I heard this Sim person threatened Irene.” Pappas turned toward Cam. “Is it true?”
    Uh-oh. “Who did you hear that from?”
    “Did she?”
    “It was simply