Farmed and Dangerous by Edith Maxwell Page A

seems sweet. And smart.”
    â€œShe’s quite the gal, I agree. We’ve taken to dining together every evening. You’ll join us sometime soon, I hope.”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œThe dinner tasted fine, by the way. Very nice winter stew, excellent stuffed squash. Not many residents partook of the salad, but Marilyn and I very much enjoyed it. The almonds in it were a nice touch. And the apple-almond cake? A perfect ending.”
    â€œI forgot to even ask. I’m glad it went well. The cook must have decided to throw in the almonds on the salad. Nonlocal ones, of course.”
    â€œI should think the residence will want to buy from you regularly once the season gets under way. But that’s not my decision, of course.”
    â€œThanks. Well, good night, Uncle Albert.”
    He said good night and disconnected.
    â€œSorry. Rules of conduct.” Pete let out a heavy breath. “Don’t share scanner news with civilians. Which you are.” He drummed his fingers on his knee. “It won’t be easy hanging out with me, Cam. You might want to reconsider this, whatever we’re doing.”
    â€œI quite like this whatever. ” Cam snuggled into his arm. The poor soul at Moran Manor wasn’t Albert or, apparently, Marilyn. Cam’s jitters were gone. She noticed that Pete’s weren’t. His work still loomed.
    â€œHe didn’t know who died, I gather?” he asked.
    â€œNo. He said an ambulance had taken someone away. Oh, and that Ruth Dodge is there.”
    He nodded. “She must be the officer on duty tonight. You’re friends with her. Remind me how you know her.”
    â€œI spent every summer with Great-Aunt Marie and Great-Uncle Albert. I stayed with them on the farm from the time I was six until I went off to college. Ruth grew up nearby, and we played together all summer long. Playing when we were teenagers involved hanging out at Salisbury Beach and hunting for boys, of course, and getting in various kinds of minor trouble.”
    â€œMinor trouble?”
    Cam snorted. “I was the foolish geek, and she was the clown, but a sensible clown who kept our trouble to the minor sort.”
    Pete’s phone sat on the coffee table. It vibrated twice, then twice again, then twice again. He gave Cam a baleful glance and sat forward to answer it.
    â€œPappas.” He listened for a moment. “I’ll be there in twenty. Thank you, Officer.” He disconnected. “The life of a statie is never really his own. I hope you can get used to this.” He held out his arms to Cam.
    She sank into them. She burrowed her face into his neck and inhaled his scent—a combination of olive oil, aftershave, and man—and murmured, “I have so far.”
    He kissed her and then untangled the two of them. He tossed down the rest of both coffees.
    â€œI’ll clean up in the kitchen,” Cam said. “You go on.”
    â€œYou’re a treasure.” He squeezed her hand and stood.
    â€œCall me when you can.” She also stood. “And stay safe.”
    â€œYou give me great motivation to do exactly that.”
    Â 
    â€œI know Frank,” Cam said to Ruth Dodge over the telephone line. She’d called her the moment she arrived home from Pete’s at a little after eight. “I’m not mistaken.” She leaned over from where she sat on her couch to stroke Preston as she spoke.
    â€œI haven’t seen him or heard from him since last summer. Did you get any idea of where he’s been living, or what he’s living on, for that matter?”
    â€œNo. I didn’t talk to him directly. He sort of demanded to see Bev Montgomery.”
    Ruth didn’t respond for a moment. “That’s interesting,” she said at last.
    â€œI didn’t realize he did art photography. He has a real talent for it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThere’s a black-and-white photograph of Moran Manor