Murder Most Fowl (4 page)

“Her name is Katie Magnusson.”

“I'll let the team who handles that kind of thing know.”

“Maybe a quick brush with the law will keep her from becoming more radical. I hope the group wouldn't resort to violence against people.”

“Sometimes they do.” He swiped the last of his omelet up with a piece of toast. “Breakfast was outstanding, thank you. Those fresh eggs make all the difference.”

“I'll say.”

A buzzing sound came from Pete's coat on the rack by the door and he groaned.

“Aren't you off duty?” Cam asked, stroking his hand.

“Yes. But, you know . . .” He rose and hustled to his coat, extracting his phone.

“When duty calls?”

Pete pressed his lips together before saying, “Pappas.” As he listened, his face darkened. He glanced at Cam and then turned away.

“Who made the discovery?” After a few moments, he said, “Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. Have to let my dog out first.” He disconnected. Picking up his shoes where he'd left them next to the door, he padded back to the table. He bent to kiss Cam's forehead, then sat.

She opened her mouth to ask what the news was. She shut it again. He'd tell her if he could, and when he was ready.

When both shoes were on and tied, Pete straightened. He laid his hand atop hers.

“Wayne Laitinen is dead.” He watched her.

“Oh, no! The poor man.” She brought her other hand to her mouth. “Did he . . . was it . . . wait.” She watched him back. “If they called you, that means it's murder.”

“We don't know. The local force's preliminary inspection doesn't show a wound of any kind. He could have had a heart attack. But with this PETA action, the Westbury police asked us to step in.”

“He's such a gentle soul. I hope it was a natural death. Was his wife there? Greta?”

“He seems to have been alone. I've got to go let Dasha do his stuff and get over to the death scene.”

“Let me handle Dasha. I haven't seen him in a while. I'll bring him over here, like I did before. How's that?”

“That's the offer of an angel. Thanks.” He stood. Pulling her up with him, he encased her in one of his signature bear hugs.

“Hey, I can't breathe!” Cam laughed and pulled away enough to plant a big kiss on him, one that lasted longer than she'd intended.

He broke it off. “I'll call you when I can. Please keep this information to yourself for now.” He pulled on his coat.

“Of course. Now go,” Cam said, shutting the door firmly behind him. After he pulled his old Saab out of the drive, she gazed out the window at the sun glistening on his footprints in the snow. Wayne Laitinen wouldn't be leaving any more footprints on this earth.

T
he sun was melting the snow fast as Cam drove back from Newburyport with Pete's husky, Dasha, in the cab of the truck with her. He perched on the bench seat and gazed out the window as the road dipped down next to the Artichoke Reservoir and then rose steadily again at Westbury's eastern border. A sign quietly announcing the Saint John the Evangelist monastery and Emery retreat house was on the right. Cam had never driven down the lane that led to the monastery, but she pictured robed monks walking the grounds in silence.

She came up to All Saints Episcopal Church on the left and slowed. The service must have recently ended. A dark-skinned white-robed priest stood on the front steps greeting parishioners as they emerged from the brick building, and families were loading into cars parked along both sides of the busy state route. Cam spied Greta walking away from the church with a woman a little taller than Greta's five foot five. Cam pulled over on the far side of the road. If Greta had been in church for an hour or more, she couldn't have heard the news yet.

Cam watched for a moment. It would be horrible for Greta to arrive home not knowing that Wayne was dead. The police should tell her, but she imagined they were looking for her and couldn't find her. If Cam told her, surely Pete wouldn't count Cam performing this terrible act of kindness as violating his request to keep the information of Wayne's death confidential. This was Wayne's wife, after all. She had a right to know. Or maybe Cam should call Pete and have him come and tell Greta. Cam had never delivered news of a death before and she wasn't close friends with Greta. Her thoughts pulled back and forth like a tug-of-war.

Across the road, Greta opened the passenger door of a small sedan in the church parking lot. The younger woman climbed into the driver's seat and a minute later they were headed toward town, making Cam's decision for her. She pulled onto the road after them. If they went straight home, then that was that, although they were driving away from the poultry farm. If they went out for breakfast or something, she could call Pete and tell him where they were.

Sure enough, less than five minutes later, the car pulled into Daisy's Donuts, the traditional donut shop that also made surprisingly good coffee. Cam pulled in, too, but parked at the far end of the lot. She watched them walk into the donut shop as she pressed Pete's number.

“Pappas,” he answered tersely.

“Pete, I just saw Greta Laitinen come out of church with somebody who looked like her daughter. I thought of telling them about Wayne's death, but decided you should do that.”

“Thank you, Cam. Where are they now?”

“I followed them to Daisy's Donuts and they went inside.”

“If they come out before I get there, can you find a way to stall them?”

“Sure. You know where it is?”

“I do. And then stick around, will you. They'll need a friendly face.”

He disconnected and Cam kept her eyes on the door. The front windows were large and clean, and she could see the two women at the counter. When they headed for the exit, white cups in their hands, Cam slid out of her seat. Pete hadn't yet arrived. She told Dasha to stay and then rushed over to the door of the shop, slowing to a normal pace as Greta and the younger woman emerged. The full aroma of coffee mixed with the tantalizing scent of fresh donuts escaping before the door closed behind them.

“Morning, Greta,” Cam said.

“Hey, Cam. How's it going?” The buttons of Greta's black coat strained over her full figure.

“Not too bad.” With raised eyebrows Cam glanced toward Greta's companion as she tried to block the women's path toward their car. Looking like a female and younger version of Wayne, the younger woman was clearly the couple's daughter and appeared to be in her late twenties. Her light hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she had Wayne's slender, wiry build.

“Have you met my daughter, Megan?”

“No.” Cam held out her hand. “Cam Flaherty. Nice to meet you, Megan.”

“Good to meet you, too.” Megan smiled as she shook Cam's hand.

“Getting your morning coffee?” Cam asked. Which sounded trite, but she needed to keep them here.

Megan laughed. “After that sermon? We both need it.” “Absolutely,” Greta said, with a fond smile for her daughter.

“I thought he would never stop talking,” Megan continued. “Forgiveness instead of revenge was the topic of the day.”

Cam tried to scan the lot while she nodded and smiled at Megan. Still no Pete.

“I haven't been to church since high school,” Cam said, grasping at a topic, any topic, to make sure they didn't leave. “I used to go to Saint Ann's with my uncle and aunt.” She pointed down Main Street in the direction of the Catholic Church a couple of miles away.

“How is Albert these days?” Greta asked. “He was real nice to us when Wayne started up the poultry business. Gave him a few tips on how to raise hens and on how to keep the books.”

“Albert's doing very well, thanks.”

Megan gently elbowed her mother. “I wanted to show you my new kitten, Mom, remember? At my apartment?”

“I remember,” Greta said. She looked at Cam. “We need to get going.”

At a crunch of gravel, Cam glanced over to see Pete pull into a parking space in a dark unmarked car. Just in time. Thank goodness he hadn't brought a cruiser. Pete, in gray slacks and a navy blazer, walked up to the three of them.

Greta cocked her head at him. “Friend of yours?” she asked Cam.

“Yes,” Cam said, her gaze on Pete. She could hear Dasha barking from the truck across the parking lot. He must have spied his human.

“Excuse me, Ms. Laitinen. I'm State Police Detective Peter Pappas. I'm afraid I have some very bad news.” He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, and his dark eyes were more somber than Cam had ever seen them.

“A detective? What news?” Greta barked out a laugh. “Is this more about those fool vandals? I told Wayne he ought to just shoot them next time.”

The younger woman watched Pete with worried eyes. “Mom, I don't think he's talking about the vandals.”

“If we could step over here.” He ushered them to an outdoor seating area at the side of the building where four round cement tables were surrounded by curved benches. Since it was in the shade on the north side, soft mounds of snow still topped the tables. Cam followed slowly. Pete had asked her to stick around, but this wasn't going to be an easy conversation.

“No, I'm not talking about the vandals,” Pete said. “I'm afraid Wayne has—”

“What's that idiot done now? I'll bet he ran his foot over with the manure spreader, or got knocked down by the cow.” Greta folded her arms.

Megan winced, but Greta didn't seem to notice. Cam winced, too, inwardly, at Greta's insensitivity to her daughter. Cam took a step back. Maybe she shouldn't even be here. Pete glanced at her and made a little stop motion, so she stayed.

“Or did he find one of those stupid protesters and slug them in the mouth?” Greta asked. “It's what they deserve.”

A well-dressed older couple strolling past the seating area glanced at Greta with an alarmed look and then walked briskly toward their car. Megan shivered and hugged herself.

Pete didn't speak until the couple was out of earshot. “Ma'am, I'm very sorry. Your husband was found dead this morning.” He reached out and touched Greta's arm.

Greta's eyes widened and her daughter gasped.

“Dead?” the daughter asked. “Daddy's dead?” She looked from Pete to Cam and back to Pete.

“That can't be.” Greta drew out her words. “I left him eating the breakfast I cooked him. He was fine. He was alive. Fine.” She shook her head, looking into the distance as if she could conjure him up. A spot under her eye twitched with a fast beat.

“Was it a heart attack?” the daughter asked in an anguished tone. “I kept telling him to stop eating bacon, but he never listened to me.”

“We don't know,” Pete said. “I'm so very sorry to have to tell you. We've been trying to reach you, and your son, as well.”

Pete did look sorry. What a hard thing to have to do, to notify a family someone had died. Cam was glad she'd decided not to tell them herself.

“My phone was off because we were in church.” Megan scrabbled in her purse and drew out her phone, then pressed the On button.

“My son's away. Took my grandchildren to Florida this morning. Disney. We were out to breakfast and then at church. Anyway, maybe it's a mistake.” Greta shook her head with a quick move. “Maybe he just fainted or something.”

“It's not a mistake,” Pete said softly.

Greta swayed. She reached back and grasped the edge of the closest table, her knuckles turning white. Megan embraced her mother, arms clasped tight. A sob burst out of Megan and she buried her head in Greta's shoulder. Several customers gazed at the scene through the shop windows. Cam reached over and lightly rubbed Greta's back.

“I need to see him. I need to see Wayne,” Greta said fiercely. “Did he die at home? Who found him?”

“He died at home. I'll drive you both to the house.” He gestured to his car.

Who did find him? Pete clearly didn't want to tell them.

“What about my car?” Megan asked.

Greta looked at Cam. “Will you bring her car, Cam?”

Cam glanced at Pete, and after he nodded, she said, “Of course.”

Megan handed Cam the keys.

“Come on, honey.” Greta gently guided Megan into the backseat of Pete's car, then climbed into the back after her.

Cam headed for the truck to get Dasha, and glanced back over her shoulder before Pete drove out. The sun silhouetted the figures of the two women, heads together in grief.

 

Even before she arrived at the Laitinen farm, Cam saw the blue lights flashing at the end of the drive. An unoccupied Westbury police car was parked sideways, with just enough room for Pete to drive around it and for Cam to squeeze Megan's car past it, too.

A darkened, quiet ambulance was parked in front of the house, along with a half dozen other marked and unmarked cars. Cam's childhood friend Ruth Dodge, a Westbury police officer, stood near the cruiser facing the house, hands clasped behind her back. Dasha barked at the sight of Pete exiting his car.

“It's okay, Dasha.” When Cam reached out a hand and patted his head, he quieted.

Pete had just walked over to Ruth when Megan's car crunched on the gravel as Cam braked. Ruth whirled. She held a hand up, palm out, and waved it in a
no
gesture. She hurried toward Cam, slowing when she saw her at the wheel. Cam opened her door and unfolded herself from the driver's seat.

The back door on Pete's car opened. Cam peered past Ruth to watch Megan ease out and then extend a hand to her mother. Ruth went to them, and Cam leaned her head back into the car.

“You stay here, boy,” she told Dasha before shutting the door. The poor dog was doing a lot of waiting in vehicles this morning.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Ms. Laitinen,” Ruth said.

“Thank you,” Greta said.

“You must be Megan Laitinen,” Ruth addressed Megan.

“Yes.” Megan's tearstained face contrasted with Greta's dry one.

“I'm very sorry about the loss of your father,” Ruth said with kindness.

“We need to see Wayne,” Greta demanded. “I need to see my husband.”

“Can we see my father?” Megan asked. She tucked her arm through Greta's.

“I'll need to check,” Pete said. “Just a moment.” He disappeared around the side of the house.

“Why are all these police cars here?” Megan's voice rose in a plaintive note.

“I'm going inside. You can't stop me.” Greta pulled Megan toward the house. “It's my home.”

“Ma'am.” Ruth took two long strides until she stood in front of the women. “I'm afraid you're going to need to wait until I clear that.”

Ruth was as tall as Cam, although she carried a good deal more weight on her hefty frame. Cam knew a lot of it was muscle. Not all, but a lot. In her dark uniform and black boots, brown hair pulled back into a bun, Ruth was an imposing presence. She fixed her brown-eyed gaze on Greta. “We're going to wait to hear from Detective Pappas. I need you to stay right here.” Ruth glanced at Cam, raising her eyebrows.

Cam nodded, not that she thought she could keep Greta from entering her own house, but at least Greta halted. Pluto trotted around the corner of the house and up to them. Greta leaned down to pet him as Dasha barked from inside the car.

Ruth turned her back, took a few steps away, and spoke quietly into the mike on her shoulder. It crackled back an answer, and Cam thought she heard “living room.”

Ruth faced Greta and Megan again. “All right, you can go into the living room. And only the living room.”

Another officer appeared at the front door of the house, the door no New Englander ever used, especially not farmers. Everybody used the side door, or the back entrance. He waved the women toward him.

Cam watched them make their way, Megan clinging to her mother, Pluto following, toward the house where, somewhere, Wayne lay lifeless.