Page 64 of Christmas Mittens Murder

Cam drove us back to Colinas at a bit after noon the next day after visiting the Permaculture Skills Center and farm in Sebastopol.

“Do you want to grab lunch together?” I asked.

“Sure. Where do you recommend?”

“Edie’s Diner is great, and the owner is a friend of Allie’s.”

“Sounds perfect. Tell me where to go.”

We were still ten minutes from town, but I pointed her in the right direction. “Cam, I’m curious,” I said. “Do you make actual money as a farmer?”

She laughed. “Depends on what you mean by actual. I bring in money, but I also lay it out for seeds and equipment. I’m lucky to have a dedicated group of subscribers to my CSA. They love the farm share program, they’re absolute fanatics for local eating, and they volunteer with weeding and helping me harvest. I don’t have to hire any employees.”

“They’re lucky. I try to buy from the farmers’ market near my house, but I can’t always get there when they’re open.”

“I hear you. Anyway, I’m grateful to have a husband with health insurance for the family. Compared with what I earned as a software engineer? No, I’m not making much actual money. But I’m happy and around my kiddo. I’m growing food for my family and for others, and I’m doing good things for the earth.”

“The place we just toured is, too, right?” I asked. “I know zero about permaculture, despite my having been a home gardener for a long time.”

“It’s pretty cool stuff, with the water management techniques and permanent food plantings. Permaculture is really a big step beyond sustainability.”

“Take the next turn,” I said.

A few minutes later, Cam parked in front of the shiny silver diner. A big sign proclaimed, “God bless America and Edie’s Diner, too.”

Soon we were seated on red banquettes in a booth as retro-fifties as the rest of the place. Ed Ramirez, a big man of about sixty with barely any silver in his full head of dark hair, approached with menus and a broad smile.

“Cece, I heard you were back. I’m delighted. I’m Ed Ramirez,” he said to Cam. “Welcome to Edie’s Diner.”

“Thank you, Ed. My name is Cam Flaherty. I’m visiting from Massachusetts.”

“And she’s staying at Allie’s,” I added.

“Then you’re in good hands, Cam,” Ed said. “Can I get you both coffee, or something else?”

“He has a liquor license,” I explained to her. “I’d like an oatmeal stout, Ed.”

“Perfect for a chilly day,” he said. “You, Cam?”

“Why not? I’m on vacation. What do you have for IPAs?”

“We don’t have draft, but I can get you a pint can of Bodega Head.”

“Perfect,” Cam said.

Ed said he’d give us a couple of minutes to decide on food. I read through the menu, but I’d already decided on a cheese-and-chili tamale with a side of black beans. Talk about comfort food in cold weather.

“Last night Val didn’t seem to appreciate the garden club member trying to bring the organization into the current decade by including speakers on permaculture,” Cam murmured.

“She didn’t. Thea somebody, wasn’t it?”

A woman seated near us at the counter swiveled on her red vinyl stool. “What was that?”

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“My name’s Thea. As far as I know, I’m the only Thea in Colinas. And I’m vice president of the garden club.”

“Thea Robinet?” Cam asked.

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