Farmed and Dangerous by Edith Maxwell

child. If something were to happen to you—”
    â€œI have to do my homework. See you, Cam.” Ellie stomped out of the room.
    â€œI don’t know what’s come over her the past few months.” Myrna’s gaze followed Ellie’s departure. “She used to be so sweet.”
    â€œThat tends to happen with teenagers. I know I got pretty difficult for a few years there.”
    â€œI suppose. She’s both my eldest and my youngest. It’s tough.” Myrna cocked her head and gazed at Cam. “All I want to do is keep her safe.”
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    As Cam drove home, she bet that look of Myrna’s had referred to the barn fire she and Ellie had barely survived the previous June. Ellie’s employment at Moran Manor didn’t have anything to do with the murder. Cam wanted the girl to stay safe, too. She thought her parents’ prohibition against returning to work until the killer had been apprehended was wise, even if Ellie didn’t much like it.
    Interesting that Oscar had been working in the kitchen and had delivered the meal. He certainly had the means to add poison to Bev’s portion. But why would he?
    As she locked the house door behind her, her cell phone rang. She greeted Lucinda on the other end.
    â€œHey, Cam. I got a great gig for you.” Lucinda sounded breathless. “Tomorrow night.”
    â€œSlow down a little. What kind of gig?” Cam reached down to pet Preston. He turned his head up, and he headed for his dry food dish, his expression asking, as always, that he be stroked while he ate. She obliged, listening to Lucinda at the same time.
    â€œIt’s a forum with a guy from the company that makes the herbicide that has glyphosate in it, that G-Phos we were talking about. The event is kind of like a debate. Remember, I told you about it?”
    â€œSort of.”
    â€œA representative from an organic seed company was going to come, but he broke his leg. Can you do it?” Lucinda asked.
    â€œWait. What?” Cam straightened. “Me? Debate a giant agrochemical company? I’m only a farmer. And a beginner, at that.”
    â€œBut you’re smart. You decided to farm organic because you believe in it, right?”
    â€œSure, but—”
    â€œIt’s in the library at my school. Lots of people will be there. You have to do it.”
    â€œAren’t there any more experienced organic farmers to ask?”
    â€œI called Zeke up in Londonderry, but his mother is ill and he has to go out of town.”
    Cam sighed. “I suppose I’ll do it. The guy will eat me alive, though.”
    â€œCool. I’ll give you each fifteen minutes to do a presentation, and then you can talk with each other. I’m going to moderate. I’ll e-mail directions. It starts at seven, so come around six thirty. And bring your farm brochures. Consider it a marketing opportunity.”
    Cam said good-bye and disconnected. Sheesh. She hated public speaking. She disliked having to defend her views. She avoided conflict at all cost. And tomorrow night would involve all of those. She’d better muster her facts tonight. And eight thirty had already come and gone.
    She headed for her desk in the corner of the living room, fired up the computer, and opened a browser. Her home page opened to Weather.com, a farmer’s best friend. Or worst. She groaned. A Montreal Express would approach the region tonight and tomorrow. That meant arctic air was heading their way straight down from Canada. The old farmhouse was poorly insulated, and frigid air plus wind meant she’d be using a lot of heating oil this month. And getting mighty cold fingers while she worked.
    She navigated to the Web site of the Massachusetts chapter of the Northeast Organic Farming Association. NOFA had a good set of links to information about growing organically. When she saw the NOFA Organic Principles and Practices Handbook series, she remembered she’d bought