Murder Most Fowl Read Online Free Page B

fallen Caesar, ‘Beware the ides of March’ kept running through my head. Not that I thought anybody was going to get assassinated, but Shakespeare—”
    â€œYou know that was a real thing, don’t you? Shakespeare knew his Plutarch.”
    Cam wrinkled her nose. “Remind me about Plutarch? I didn’t have much of a humanities education, being in computer science.”
    â€œHe was a Greek biographer and historian who became a Roman citizen. He wrote about how a seer had warned Julius Caesar that he would be killed no later than the ides of March. And a different biographer and historian, Suetonius, said it was a haruspex named Spurinna who warned Caesar.”
    â€œA haruspex?”
    â€œSomeone who did divination by reading the lives of sacrificial sheep and chickens.”
    Cam stared at him and then laughed. “How in the world do you know all this?”
    â€œI like reading Shakespeare, and that led to reading about Caesar.” He grinned. “It’s a break from crime, at least from crime in our own time period. They also had their share of small-town politics then, of course.”
    â€œWe certainly have ours in Westbury.”
    â€œWe don’t get as much of that in Newburyport, since we have a mayor and a city council,” Pete said. “But we have plenty of petty-minded conflicts, for sure.”
    â€œI heard a bit more conflict up close and personal after the meeting.” She told him about overhearing the conversation between Wayne and Judith Patterson. “And then when I went over to Wayne’s farm to get some chicken advice, he and his wife were arguing. Sounds like they have money problems. Greta wants to sell the parcel of land to the Patterson woman, but he’s refusing.”
    â€œCan’t blame him for wanting to hang on to the farm.”
    â€œI agree.” Cam stood. “Excuse me a minute. Just want to wash my hands before the food comes.”
    â€œCome back soon. I’ll miss you.” Pete’s wicked grin lit up his face, which in fact did look more relaxed than Cam had ever seen him.
    â€œI promise.” She reached out and ruffled his thick hair as she passed. Spying the R ESTROOMS sign at the back of the restaurant, she headed in that direction, but slowed when she heard the same voice she’d heard earlier from behind the Escalade. The woman speaking, who had to be Judith Patterson, had her back to Cam. She shared a table with three other women, all with well-cut and expertly colored hair, Judith’s a cap of streaked ash blond. Cam continued past the table, noticing expensive rings and manicured hands holding martini glasses. Cam glanced at her own unmanicured hands, with short-cut nails, calluses, and reddened skin from constantly scrubbing out ground-in dirt.
    On her way back from the ladies’ room, Cam paused at the open doorway to the small kitchen where two men and the pink-clad chef moved in what looked like an orchestrated dance. Steam curled off a wide pot and something sizzled in a sauté pan. It smelled like heaven. As she approached the table of well-groomed women, Cam saw Judith put a long cylinder to her mouth. It had to be an e-cigarette, which Cam had never seen anyone smoke before, if that was even the right verb. Judith blew out a puff of a smoky substance as Cam tried to get a good look at her face while she passed. When Judith glanced up with piercing dark eyes, Cam resisted the temptation to throw her own gaze elsewhere, and instead gave her a stranger’s smile: not beaming, but not unfriendly, either.
    Cam slid into her seat as the waiter brought two plates of romaine spears topped with anchovies, Parmesan cheese, and a creamy dressing, with a slab of cheesy toast at the side.
    â€œWhere do you get the lettuce?” she asked him.
    The waiter frowned. “Our local source went under last fall. We’d like to get it from another farm around here but haven’t