Farmed and Dangerous by Edith Maxwell Page A

you need help with the girls.” DJ surveyed the yard. “Everybody else inside?”
    â€œThe smart ones are,” Cam said. “As you can see, it’s only our dear, dim TopKnot and a couple of her friends who don’t possess the sense to go in. Or the brains.”
    Alexandra gazed at Cam. “We heard Bev Montgomery died after eating your vegetables. That’s bad.”
    News traveled fast in a small town. “It’s bad, all right. But everybody at the residence ate the same dinner, so my produce didn’t kill her, obviously. Or I hope it will become obvious to the police. They had me in there for an hour today, grilling me. I arrived home only a little while ago.”
    â€œThat poor lady. Hey, picked you up another bag of organic feed.” DJ raised his eyebrows. “Dude, that stuff is expensive.”
    â€œI know,” Cam said. “I’m losing money on the eggs, even charging six-fifty a dozen. I’m not sure offering organic eggs is worth it.”
    â€œI’ll stick it inside the barn.” He detached from Alexandra and carried the bag around the corner of the barn.
    â€œSo maybe Bev died from a heart attack.” Alexandra frowned. “She was pretty old.”
    â€œI wish. And she wasn’t that old, you know.” Then Cam remembered herself a decade earlier, when she was Alexandra’s age. A sixty-five-year-old woman seemed a lot more ancient then than one did now. “Anyway, she didn’t have a heart attack. Someone murdered her.” Oops. She probably shouldn’t talk about what Pete had told her. Too late now.
    DJ reappeared. “What did you say?”
    â€œSomeone apparently poisoned Bev Montgomery. Murdered her.”
    â€œOh, Cam. Not again.” Alexandra slung her arm around Cam’s shoulder and squeezed. They were nearly the same height. “What’s up with you and murderers?”
    Cam rolled her eyes. “I’d be happy never to even hear about another murder, let alone one that seems to have a connection to me.”
    â€œThat’s totally bad news,” DJ said.
    â€œNo kidding.” Cam shivered again. “DJ, mind shooing those birdbrains inside? I need to get out of this wind. Can you both join me for a hot toddy in the house?”
    They glanced at each other and seemed to exchange a silent message.
    â€œSure,” Alexandra said.
    DJ stepped into the enclosure and made clicking noises at the hens. Cam had called him the Chicken Whisperer when she’d first seen him do that in the fall. He seemed to be able to communicate with them in a way she couldn’t. He convinced them to go in and latched the door behind them.
    â€œYou guys should take home a dozen eggs.” Cam stepped into the barn and drew an egg carton out of the refrigerator.
    Alexandra followed her. “Totally.”
    â€œThe production is way down, of course, but I still collect about four dozen eggs a week.”
    Alexandra, carrying the eggs, and DJ followed Cam to the house. Once they were inside, Cam put on the teakettle and drew honey and cognac out of the cupboard.
    â€œHave a seat,” she said, waving at the table.
    Alexandra pulled out a chair and sat.
    Cam brought over a tin. “Oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies, anybody? They’re not local, but I make them with whole-wheat flour, and they’re relatively healthy.”
    DJ shrugged out of his green winter jacket, which sported a six-inch piece of duct tape covering a rip in one sleeve. He helped himself to a cookie and took a bite as he wandered around the room, examining the several pieces of art and the framed pictures decorating the walls. He popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth and picked up the mallets to a small wooden instrument that sat on a bookshelf in the living room. He tapped out a simple melody. The music carried a rich, round tone.
    â€œNice, isn’t it?” Cam said. “My parents brought that from