Read Online Murder Most Fowl by Edith Maxwell - Free Book Online Page A

good one,” Felicity said.
    â€œI did.” Cam smiled at her.
    â€œI know you liked Jake, but he was way too volatile.”
    â€œYeah.” A year ago Cam had met the bigger-than-life chef when she’d arranged to sell him some of her produce for his high-end restaurant, The Market. Their relationship had grown closer than just farmer-to-restaurateur, but Jake had proved to be the hot-tempered jealous sort—jealous without provocation—and Cam had stopped seeing him. When she and Detective Pete later started spending romantic time together, it was a surprise, but an exceedingly pleasant one, and she’d known she’d made the right choice about Jake.
    â€œNow, where’s the washing station?” Cam glanced around. “It’s got to be here somewhere.” The illumination from two high windows facing west let in enough light to see by as she wandered through the building with Felicity. The air smelled of old wood and a hint of manure, with an overlay of motor oil. The barn had held horses or other large livestock at some point, with a row of now unoccupied stalls lining one wall and tack cupboards set into the wall opposite. Behind the stalls an antique red tractor sat in a corner of the open central space and bags of chicken feed were stacked on a palette, still in clear plastic shrink wrap. Now that Wayne was gone, would Greta continue the poultry operation? Maybe their son would step in and take it over.
    â€œThere it is.” Felicity pointed at an industrial sink and drain board in an alcove in the far corner. A refrigerator hummed next to it.
    â€œOh, good, there’s a fridge, too.” Cam set the bucket next to the sink.
    Felicity filled the wide deep sink with water and the two women worked together, carefully scrubbing each egg, then setting the orb into twelve-by-twelve cardboard flats Cam had lifted off a stack on a shelf near the sink.
    The wide door creaked open, then closed. Cam couldn’t see it from where they worked, so she dried her hands on her jeans and walked around the corner of the alcove. Greta’s hand stretched into one of the tack cupboards.
    â€œGreta—”
    Greta whirled, eyes wide, holding a small bag in one hand. When she saw Cam, she whipped the bag behind her back. “What are you doing here?” She’d changed out of her church clothes into dark jeans and a sweatshirt.
    â€œWe collected the eggs and we’re washing them.”
    â€œWho’s we?” Greta’s voice was tight and she almost barked the words.
    â€œMy friend Felicity and me. The officer outside said it was okay.”
    â€œWell, nobody asked me. This is my farm.”
    â€œOf course it is. I called earlier and Megan said it would be fine. We just wanted to help. I thought you would be too upset by Wayne’s death to want to come out and do his chores.”
    She nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Thank you, Cam.” She edged toward the door, keeping the bag out of Cam’s sight. “I am upset and I appreciate your help. But I can handle the morning chores tomorrow. You don’t need to come back.”
    â€œWhat’s in that bag?” Cam asked.
    â€œThis?” Greta laughed and flashed it at Cam before stuffing it in her pocket. “It’s the dog’s thyroid medicine. He has to take it twice a day. Wayne and Pluto spent more time out here than in the house, but it’s easier for me to keep it in the kitchen.” She opened the door and stepped through.
    As it slid shut after her, Cam stared. If it was really thyroid medicine, why was Greta trying to hide it?
    Â 
    Cam dropped Felicity at her house and headed back toward her farm on the other side of town to put her own chickens to bed. She dutifully slowed to the posted twenty-five miles per hour going through the small center, where the Food Mart held court across the street from the Westbury House of Pizza, which was across