Farmed and Dangerous by Edith Maxwell Page A

it for her Kindle the previous winter, when she’d set herself to learning as much about organic growing practices as she could. She located the device and opened Growing Healthy Vegetable Crops. She’d start there.
    She was typing notes into slides for the forum when the old rotary phone rang on the corner of the kitchen counter. She barely reached it by the tenth and last ring. Almost nobody but Albert called her on that number. Sure enough, his voice sounded on the other end.
    â€œBad news over here.” His tone was grim.
    â€œWhat is it? Are you all right?”
    â€œI am. But another resident has died. A Miss Lacey.”
    The death couldn’t be related to Bev’s. “That’s terrible.”
    â€œEverybody’s saying it was poison again.” Albert cleared his throat.
    â€œWho’s everybody?”
    â€œThe residents. Several of the caregivers.”
    â€œNot the police?”
    â€œYou know the authorities don’t tell us what they are thinking. But the lady who died was the one who felt sick earlier in the day, the one I told you about.”
    â€œI’m so sorry to hear that.” Cam cocked her head. “Did she have any connection with Bev?”
    â€œI don’t rightly know. If she didn’t and someone murdered her, too, perhaps the killer is someone who doesn’t like old folks. We’re all getting a little nervous over here, I can tell you.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Uncle Albert. I’m sure she died of natural causes. And the police are bound to find Bev’s killer soon. I’ll come over for a visit tomorrow, and we can talk more. All right?”
    â€œI’d like that. Come at eleven. I’ll be in my room.”
    After Cam hung up the phone, she stood and stared at it. No way were these deaths related. Or maybe they were. If so, was it someone targeting senior citizens, as Albert had said? Yikes. That would mean he could be in danger, too. No wonder he was nervous.
    Or maybe it was somebody trying to frame Cam herself. Again, since the woman had eaten the same dinner Bev had. Double yikes. She couldn’t even imagine who disliked her enough to do that. Pete had better get on the stick and nail this guy before anybody else died.
    She checked to make sure the door was locked and bolted. And then checked it again.

Chapter 10
    â€œT hey ought to change this weather’s name from the Montreal Express to the North Pole Express,” Cam said out loud, rubbing her gloved hands together. Simply walking from the house to the chicken coop at seven the next morning chilled her through and through. She opened the small door to the chicken coop, but the hens were smart enough to stay puffed up inside. She slid the rubber flap over the opening so they could get outside if they wanted to. The flap, which DJ had rigged up in the fall, resembled a cat door, and it kept much of the warmer inside air inside.
    She made her way into the hoop house and latched the door firmly behind her. The wind whipped the plastic covering the high tunnel and whistled through a crack where the door met the jamb. She wished it had a human-sized rubber flap to keep the cold air a little farther at bay. DJ seemed to be able to create anything. She’d have to ask him about making one. In the meantime she could hang a woolen blanket over the entrance.
    The thermometer above the worm bins read forty-five. Not too bad, considering that the sun hadn’t yet risen. Adding worms was one of the smarter things she’d done after she’d read an article about vermiculture in the fall issue of the Natural Farmer. DJ and Alexandra had built the bins, now arrayed along the north side of the hoop house. The busy worms added warmth to the hoop house. They blocked part of the cold from the side that received little direct sunlight. And, of course, all their digesting and excreting created high-quality compost. Last winter the outside compost bins had