Murder Most Fowl by Edith Maxwell Page A

dig up anything about a couple of high school boys, one apparently a straight arrow, one not so much.
    Twenty minutes later she sat back again and kicked the leg of the desk. Nothing. She hadn’t been able to uncover any news articles about Paul or Wayne being arrested, being charged, getting in a fight, nothing. Their names weren’t in the police logs. Not in Westbury, not in Newburyport, not in Boston. If she wanted more, she’d clearly have to spend time in the microfiche at the library, since the local paper wasn’t digitized that far back.
    Cam’s phone rang in her bag on the kitchen table. In her dash to find it, she cracked her knee on the desk leg as she stood. Swearing, she limped to the table and scrabbled in the bag. Sure enough, it stopped ringing by the time she held it in her palm. The ID showed Alexandra’s name. Cam grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and sat with it pressed against her knee, then poked Alexandra’s number.
    â€œSorry I missed your call. What’s up?”
    â€œCam, they’re looking for Katie. And I don’t know where she is.” Alexandra’s voice rose.
    â€œCalm down. Who’s looking for her?” Cam asked.
    â€œThe police! Detective Pappas.”
    Oh . “Did he say why?”
    â€œNo. I hope she hasn’t done something really stupid,” Alexandra said.
    â€œWas she part of the vandalism last night?”
    â€œProbably, knowing Katie. She said she was going to spend the night at a friend’s, so she wasn’t home, anyway. I have to find her.”
    â€œCall her friends. Think about where she likes to hang out. Coffee shops, parks, whatever. Okay?”
    â€œYou’re right.” Alexandra exhaled over the phone. “I will. I hope she doesn’t think she needs to hide or something.”
    â€œLet’s assume she’s not hiding. That she’s at the mall trying on boots with a girlfriend. Or out having coffee. It’s Sunday, so she’s not at the library, but—”
    â€œLibrary? My big sister?” Alexandra barked out a laugh. “Katie’s not exactly the library type.”
    â€œI’m just trying to help.”
    Alexandra didn’t speak for a moment, then said, “She might be at a farm gazing at animals, though. That’s how she got into this whole mess with those fanatics. She loves animals more than she loves people, and hates the thought of them being penned up or hurt.”
    â€œYour parents might be able to help you find her,” Cam said.
    â€œThat’s not going to happen. They’re on vacation on Saint John.”
    â€œOh. If I think of somewhere she might be, I’ll take a look, okay? Or if I see her around town, I’ll make sure she calls you.”
    Alexandra agreed and disconnected.
    Pete was good at his job, Cam thought. If he wanted to speak with Katie, he must have good reason to.
    Â 
    On the way to pick up Felicity, Cam realized Pete had never called back. But she knew by now that when he was on a case, she might not see him for days on end. And Dasha was fine with her. She’d taken to keeping kibble, food and water bowls, and a spare dog bed at her house, and Dasha was good company. Not to say that Preston wasn’t, but dog and cat energy couldn’t be more different. Maybe she’d see Pete at the Laitinens’, anyway.
    â€œYou were asking me about Paul Underwood earlier,” Felicity said as they drove. “I know he was a rowdy teen, but he’s sure settled down. Did you know he’s a single dad?”
    â€œI don’t really know anything about him.”
    â€œHe’s raising three boys all by himself. I heard his wife went off the deep end after his youngest was born.”
    â€œPostpartum depression?” Cam asked.
    â€œMore like postpartum psychosis. She’s still in an institution.”
    â€œThat’s so sad. At town meeting he said the children were all young,