Free Murder Most Fowl by Edith Maxwell Page B

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    When Pete climbed out, Cam called, “Yo, Detective.”
    He glanced over at her with a smile. “My favorite farmer.” Dasha ran up for a pet, and Cam walked up to Pete, too.
    She’d opened her mouth to speak when the farmhouse door opened.
    â€œCam?” Katie called, holding the screen door open with one hand, wineglass in the other. “The water’s . . .” She stared at Pete.
    He lifted a hand. “Nice to see you, Ms. Magnusson.”
    The screen door slammed as Katie clattered down the steps. “I heard you want to talk to me, Detective. I was part of the vandalism, but I did not kill Mr. Laitinen.” Her voice was calm as she raised her chin.
    Pete scratched between his eyebrows. “Can we go inside?”
    â€œOf course,” Cam said.
    Katie turned and strode back to the house. Pete shut the door to his car and followed Cam toward the steps, Dasha at his side, then reached out and touched her arm after the door closed behind Katie. Cam turned toward him.
    â€œYou couldn’t have known we were looking for Katie,” he said in a quiet voice. “Why did you even go looking for her? I never told you we wanted to question her.”
    â€œAlexandra called and told me. It occurred to me that, loving animals as much as she does, Katie might be over at Randall Farm. She’d talked about the llamas last fall when she was here helping build my chicken coop.”
    â€œThanks for calling about Katie.”
    Cam shivered and gazed at the warm light from the kitchen windows pushing out into the darkening night. “Want some pasta?”
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    When Pete and Cam walked into the kitchen, Dasha eagerly at Pete’s side, Katie was stirring the pasta in the big pot. Without turning, she said, “I put in the whole box, in case he’s hungry.” A pot of sauce simmered on a smaller burner, and she’d set the farm table in the eating area with three place mats, plates, and silverware.
    Cam raised her eyebrows at Pete.
    Sighing again, he said, “I am hungry. Very.” He drummed his fingers on the countertop next to him. “Okay, I’ll eat. But I do need to bring you in for questioning, Ms. Magnusson, and we’re not going to do it over dinner.”
    â€œI understand,” Katie said. “Got a colander, Cam?”
    Cam showed her where it was. “I suppose you’re working, so no wine?” Cam asked Pete.
    He shook his head. “Would love a cup of coffee, though.”
    Cam and Katie busied themselves getting dinner on the table for a few minutes as Pete retreated to the living room with Dasha. Cam started a pot of coffee, then rummaged in the refrigerator until she pulled out a small jar.
    â€œI’ll stir some of last summer’s pesto into the sauce,” she said. “The little cheese grater is in that drawer,” she told Katie, pointing.
    A couple of minutes later, Katie set the wide shallow dish full of steaming spaghetti topped with pestoed tomato sauce in the middle of the table while Cam put a chunk of Romano on the table and poured herself a glass of wine.
    â€œSoup’s on, Pete.” She grabbed a big spoon and the pasta server from the kitchen and served up the mix onto each plate, then passed around the cheese.
    Katie sat and grated in silence, Pete taking the chair opposite her. Cam sank into the chair at the end and sipped her wine. She glanced at Pete, who had delivered a forkful of pasta to his mouth. For several minutes, the only sounds were forks on china, chewing, and swallowing.
    â€œKatie, how long have you been hanging out with the llamas?” Cam asked. There had to be something neutral they all could talk about.
    Katie’s face brightened. “Every chance I get. They are so not like people. They simply sit and chew, and walk around. I feel like I can communicate with them.”
    â€œI have trouble communicating with people, myself,” Cam said.
    â€œYou