by Peg Cochran
3
Dear Reader,
Our potluck is a success. Although the money we’re raising will be a mere drop in the proverbial bucket compared to what is needed to repair the church roof. And after the roof is fixed, there will still be the issue of the ancient electrical wiring in the older wing of the church.
The children are all running around kicking a soccer ball. Billy is right in the middle, of course. I swear, my son is a dirt magnet. His shirt has come untucked, and the knees of his pants are green from grass stains. He will definitely need a bath tonight, although I know it will be a struggle to get him into the tub. He wears dirt like it’s some sort of badge of honor.
I don’t see Amelia . . . oh, there she is over by the house. She is talking to a . . . boy!
For a moment Shelby felt as if a stake had been driven through her heart. Amelia was a month away from turning thirteen—hardly old enough to date. At her age, Shelby had been more interested in catching frogs than catching boys. Not so fast, a little voice whispered inside her head. Even back then she’d been aware of the charms of Bill McDonald, although her idea of flirting had been to throw paper airplanes at him in English class.
Shelby saw Amelia reach out and touch the boy’s hand. She frowned, ready to head over there and break things up if they went any further. Who was that boy anyway? She squinted. He had floppy bangs that he kept brushing out of his eyes and was wearing black high-top sneakers. She didn’t recognize him, but not everyone at the potluck was from St. Andrews. Prudence had persuaded all the shops in town to put up posters advertising the event and had even taken an ad in the local weekly paper.
Shelby noticed someone waving at her and turned to see Prudence coming toward her.
“There you are,” Prudence exclaimed when she reached Shelby, as if Shelby had been purposely hiding from her. “We’ve certainly got quite the crowd, haven’t we? I’m so pleased. I put a lot of effort into this event.”
Shelby could recognize a hint as well as the next person. “You really have done a spectacular job,” she said on cue.
“Why, thank you.” Prudence beamed. “It’s not easy when you’re new to a parish and have all these unknown personalities to deal with. Being a minister’s wife is far from easy. Of course, I knew what to expect when I married Daniel. My brother-in-law was a minister at a church in North Dakota, and I know how much work that was for my sister, even though he was the one employed, not her. He’s retired now, thank goodness. They bought a very nice home in Florida. We hope to visit them one day, but it’s so hard for Daniel to take any time off.”
Shelby nodded, looking around for an avenue of escape. Once Prudence got going, she was hard to stop.
A shout from the far corner of the yard drew both Prudence’s and Shelby’s attention. A couple of boys Shelby recognized from the Sunday school class she taught had opened the Plexiglas doors to the bright red-and-yellow popcorn machine the church had rented for the event. The corn hadn’t finished popping, and it was now spewing out over the grass. The boys had their cupped hands out, catching handfuls of popcorn and shoving it into their mouths.
Prudence and Shelby both headed in their direction, steaming along like a ship going at flank speed with all engines running at capacity.
“Boys, boys,” Prudence yelled weakly.
Shelby had had more experience with mischievous little boys. And big boys, she thought to herself, flashing back on some of her husband’s escapades. She put her index and middle fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The boys froze instantly.
Prudence and Shelby reached them just as another couple did. Shelby recognized the woman from church, although she looked different in her plaid Bermuda shorts and yellow golf shirt. She had her arm linked through that of a man whom Shelby had never seen before.
By now the popcorn had finished popping. The grass near the machine was littered with the fluffy kernels.
“Boys,” the fellow said sharply, but with a twinkle in his eye, “you’re going to have to clean this up.” He reached over and shut the doors to the popcorn machine, although the damage had already been done.
The boys looked sulky, but they obeyed, looking over their shoulders as they snuck handfuls of popcorn into their mouths.
The woman in the plaid shorts laughed. “They’re going to have stomachaches tonight.” She turned to Shelby and Prudence. “I’m Grace Swanson, by the way.”
“I’m Shelby McDonald.” Shelby held out her hand. She hated introducing herself for the first time. It wasn’t lost on her that she lived on a farm and her last name was McDonald, but so many people still found it necessary to point it out, as if it couldn’t possibly have occurred to her.
“Alan.” The woman reached for the man, grabbing him by the arm. “This is my husband, Alan.”
The man turned around and smiled at them.
Shelby waited for Prudence to introduce herself, but she didn’t. Instead she said, “You’ll have to excuse me,” and turned on her heel. Shelby saw her dig her cell phone out of the pocket of her capris as she walked away.
Shelby was shocked. That wasn’t like Prudence. Had she and Grace had a run-in over something? Shelby couldn’t imagine Prudence having a run-in with anyone.
Shelby didn’t have time to think about it anymore. She headed back toward the tent to check on things. The food set out on the tables was almost gone—a couple of bites remained here and there, although a few of the dishes were still full. Her pie plate was empty—people had obviously enjoyed her cottage cheese pie. The recipe originally came from her grandmother on her mother’s side, and was an old German one handed down through the generations. She planned to share it on her blog as soon as she had the chance.
Shelby picked up her empty plate and started toward the house. She might as well get it washed now. She had the feeling that after the potluck was over, all she would want to do was put her feet up and read. She sighed. It didn’t matter what time she went to bed—the chickens expected to be fed bright and early every morning. She’d tried getting Amelia to do it—using everything from bribes to threats—but so far she had been unsuccessful.
Shelby was about to open the back door when Prudence caught up with her and tapped her on the arm. She was clutching her empty slow cooker.
“Yes?” Shelby asked, trying unsuccessfully to disguise the weariness in her voice.
Prudence’s mouth moved for several seconds before she actually spoke. “I was wondering if there was somewhere I could rinse this out before I take it home.” She held the slow cooker toward Shelby.
Shelby almost said she would wash it out for her but then bit her tongue. She was too tired. She’d been on the go since five o’clock in the morning. Running a farm was a twenty-four-hour-a-day job.
“Come on in.” She held the door for Prudence and led her into the combination utility room, mudroom, and gardening room. Hooks along one wall held a selection of yellow slickers, and three pairs of rubber boots in various sizes were lined up underneath. A rough wooden worktable was cluttered with terra-cotta pots, bags of potting soil, clippers, and soiled gardening gloves.
“There’s a sink over there.” Shelby pointed to a large tub with a high-arc faucet.
She left Prudence to it and went through to the kitchen. The clock over the sink read ten minutes after five. Shelby was surprised—it felt later. Her back was starting to ache, and she longed to kick off her shoes and stretch out on the sofa.
Instead she rinsed out her pie plate and put it in the dishwasher. She glanced into the living room, where Jenkins was asleep on the back of the couch and Bitsy was sprawled out on the couch itself. Shelby had been determined to train them to stay off the furniture, but a lot of luck she’d had with that one. At first she had draped the sofa and chairs in old sheets, but soon realized that was pointless. The furniture was already old and worn—what difference did a few more st
ains make? She gave one last look around and went back out through the front door.
The crowd on the lawn was diminishing. The children had slowed down and were sitting on the grass playing quieter games while their mothers packed up their dishes and began carrying them to the cars, which were parked in the empty lot next door.
Grace and her husband came up to Shelby to thank her for hosting the potluck. Shelby was embarrassed and apologized for Prudence’s uncharacteristically abrupt behavior earlier, but Grace just laughed it off. Shelby noticed that Grace’s husband’s pristine white polo shirt had a smudge of sauce of some kind on it. She herself had long ago made it a rule to never wear white to a picnic, a barbecue, or an Italian restaurant. Odds were good she’d end up ruining her outfit.
The older boys were breaking down the tent under Daniel’s supervision. Taking it down was going better than putting it up had gone, although Daniel was still running to and fro like a terrier chasing a mouse.
Finally the tent was collapsed on the ground, the last poof of air bellowing out as the fabric settled on the grass. Daniel looked around and then, spying Shelby, walked over to her.
“Have you seen Prudence?” He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his khakis and swiped it across his brow. “The ladies need some help with the tables.”
“She was washing out her slow cooker.” Shelby gestured toward the house. “But she ought to be finished by now.”
Was Prudence one of those women who liked to snoop? Was she checking out the contents of Shelby’s medicine chest?
Daniel ran the handkerchief over his face again. He looked over his shoulder, where a handful of women from the Women’s Auxiliary were standing around idly, waiting for directions.
“Would you mind checking on her? She really needs to handle this.”
Shelby smiled. “Not at all.”
Shelby went back through her front door. Jenkins and Bitsy lifted their heads, but, with their tummies full and a soft place to sleep, they weren’t about to rouse themselves any further. Shelby went over to give each of them a pat, relishing the silence of the old house after the hubbub outside. Jenkins tried to prolong the moment by rolling onto his back so Shelby could rub his tummy. She gave him a few more pats, then went out to the kitchen.
She groaned when she saw the dirty dishes littering the counter. She’d been in too much of a hurry to get ready for the potluck to clean up from breakfast. There was a cereal bowl and spoon sitting next to the range. Obviously Amelia had decided to help herself to something to eat but had found it too burdensome to put her dirty plate and cutlery in the dishwasher. Shelby sighed and rolled her eyes.
She didn’t hear the sound of running water coming from the mudroom, so Prudence must have finished washing out her slow cooker. It was now almost twenty-five minutes after five. It shouldn’t have taken Prudence that long. How funny it would be if she had been going out the back door while Shelby was coming in the front?
Shelby stuck her head into the mudroom but didn’t immediately see anyone. The water was off and there was no sign of Prudence’s slow cooker. Shelby was about to leave when something caught her eye.
It was Prudence—she was crumpled on the flagstone floor. Shelby’s first completely irrational thought was that Prudence would hate to be caught in such an immodest position—her blouse had bunched up to show a broad swath of her midriff.
Shelby knelt on the floor next to Prudence and was about to feel for a pulse when she noticed the electrical cord embedded in Prudence’s neck.
Shards of ceramic glazed pottery were scattered across the floor. It looked as if someone had strangled Prudence with the cord from her own slow cooker.
Shelby stumbled to her feet and ran through the house. She nearly tripped on the throw rug by the front door but managed to grab the banister at the last minute. She threw open the front door and dashed down the steps to the porch.
“Someone call nine-one-one!” she yelled to the astonished crowd.
4
Dear Reader,
Our potluck, which had been going so well, came to an unexpected and tragic close. I will spare you the gruesome details, but Prudence, the wife of the rector of St. Andrews, met with an unfortunate end in my mudroom.
Our peaceful little existence here on Love Blossom Farm has been interrupted by a swarm of police and Detective Frank McDonald, my brother-in-law. Billy is, of course, fascinated by all the goings-on and tries to tag along behind the officers, but they shoo him away like a pesky fly. As you can imagine, Amelia is feigning boredom, but there is one young policeman—so young he is still wet behind the ears—who is awfully cute and has attracted her attention. It reminds me of when I was thirteen and mooning over rock stars twice my age. Hopefully they will put a swift end to this mystery. Who would want to kill a harmless woman like Prudence Mather?
Shelby collapsed onto the front porch steps as people began rushing toward her in a hazy wave. Sound was muted, and she felt as if she were viewing everything in slow motion—old Mrs. Willoughby pulling her purse out from under one of the tables, Jake reaching into his pocket for his cell phone, Daniel dropping the folding chair he was holding.
Suddenly her vision cleared and noise rushed back at her like a tsunami.
“What’s happened? Is someone ill? Has there been an accident?” Everyone was talking at once.
Jake brandished his cell phone above the heads of the crowd. “Ambulance is on the way.”
The beautiful, blue-skied, fresh-aired day had suddenly turned ominous, and the landscape tilted precariously. Shelby felt herself sway.
“You’re white as a sheet,” Matt said, pushing his way through the people crowded around Shelby.
Mrs. Willoughby marched toward them, her red patent leather purse hung over her arm, her gray curls quivering in excitement with each step. She undid the clasp on her capacious handbag and pulled out a handkerchief and a small vial.
“Make way, make way,” she said, her considerable bulk cutting through the crowd like an ice cutter through frozen water. “Here.” She shoved the vial under Shelby’s nose. “Take a deep breath.”
Shelby pushed the bottle away. “I’m fine. I am not going to faint.” She coughed and raised her chin as if to say so there.
“What’s going on? What’s happened?” Grace Swanson’s querulous voice rose from the back of the group gathered around Shelby.
“It’s Prudence,” Shelby managed to choke out. Her mouth had become as dry as Texas during a drought.
Daniel rushed over to Shelby. He grabbed her by the arm. “Is she sick? Is there something wrong with Prudence?” He looked around him distractedly. “I must go to her.” He squeezed Shelby’s arm again. “Where is she? Where is Prudence? Tell me what’s happened.”
“She’s in the . . . the . . . the mudroom.” Shelby pulled her arm away and rubbed the spot where Daniel had been clutching it.
Daniel began to mount the front steps.
Shelby held up a hand. “You might not want to—” she began, but Daniel wasn’t listening.
She felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder and looked up to see Jake standing over her.
“I’ll go with him,” he said, taking the front steps two at a time.
Kelly sidled through the crowd that had gathered and plopped down on the steps beside Shelby. She didn’t say anything but put an arm around her friend and squeezed protectively.
It wasn’t long before the men returned, Jake supporting a clearly distraught Daniel.
“I don’t think we need an ambulance,” Jake said to Shelby. “I think we need the police.”
As if on cue, a patrol car pulled into the driveway. The front doors opened, and everyone watched as the two officers emerged—one short and stubby and the other tall and lanky. They both trotted across the wide lawn toward the crowd that was still gathered around Shelby.
Billy, who had been uninterested in what was going on and who was busy flinging the horseshoes the adults had abandoned at a tree, flew at breakneck speed toward his mother.
“Whoa,” Matt said, grabbing Billy by the shoulders. “Why don’t we go see if there are any more Popsicles left? Assuming that’s okay with your mother?”
Matt smiled at Shelby, and she managed a smile back. She waved her hand. “Sure.”
Billy obviously did not want to leave the excitement, but he capitulated under Matt’s firm grip. Shelby breathed a sigh of relief. How horrible if Billy was to witness something as awful as the sight of Prudence lying dead on the mudroom floor.
The two officers stood in front of Shelby, feet braced apart, arms folded across their chests. The shorter one had a buzz cut and muscles that bulged out from beneath his short-sleeved shirt. The taller one was much younger—so young Shelby wondered if this wasn’t his first day on the job. His dark hair was carefully slicked back, making him look as if he was ready for picture day in grade school.
“Ambulance should be here shortly,” the older officer said, still slightly breathless. “Where’s the victim?”
“I’ll show you.” Jake stepped forward and ushered the officers up the stairs and into the house.
Shelby sagged against the steps. The day had turned surreal. Daniel, who was the one usually comforting others, was being comforted by the formidable Mrs. Willoughby. She worked part-time as a secretary at St. Andrews and presumably knew Daniel better than anyone else.
The younger policeman came back out of the house. His face was ashen, and for a moment Shelby wondered if they were going to need Mrs. Willoughby’s smelling salts after all. He spoke into his shoulder radio.
“Cancel the ambulance. We have a homicide on our hands.”
For the next several minutes, people stumbled around in shock, not able to settle to anything. Earl sorted through the trash—putting aside cans and bottles for recycling. Grace was folding the dime store plastic tablecloths that they had planned to throw out anyway. Jodi had corralled the remaining children as far away from the scene as possible. They were all tired, dirty, and sticky from the Popsicles, but she managed to engage them in a game of duck, duck, goose. Their laughter sounded odd ringing out in the air that had suddenly become so somber.
