No Farm, No Foul (Farmer's Daughter Mystery)

by Peg Cochran

  Shelby listened politely. Bert had an opinion on just about everything, and it did no good to argue with her.

  Shelby laid the paint chips out on the counter and considered them again in the light from the kitchen window.

  Bert pointed at the chips. “What’s that you’ve got there?” she asked, her tone suspicious.

  “I’m going to do some redecorating—starting with the mudroom. Matt helped me pick out these colors.”

  Bert peered at the chips, her eyebrows lowered, her mouth a thin, tight line. “I don’t see what’s wrong with things the way they are now.” She threw her hands in the air. “Young people! Always wanting to change things.” She shook a finger at Shelby. “This place was fine for your parents and your grandparents before them. No need to go messing with stuff. Leave things well enough alone.” And she nodded once as if to say that that was that.

  Shelby tucked the paint chips away in the kitchen drawer as Bert went back to her eggs. Once the room had been painted, she was quite sure Bert would like it. She certainly wasn’t going to let Bert’s opinion stop her.

  Bert suddenly wheeled around to face Shelby again. “And look at St. Andrews,” she said.

  Shelby was hard-pressed to make a connection between painting the mudroom and St. Andrews, so she waited with interest to hear what Bert had to say.

  “Changing rectors on us, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “They didn’t do it on purpose,” Shelby said. “Reverend Bostwick retired. He had a heart attack and his doctor told him he needed to rest. They had no choice but to find someone new.”

  “And who did they get?” Bert asked, raising her eyebrows. “A minister who’s changed churches three times in three years. What’s the matter with him—he have ants in his pants or something? Can’t stay in one place long enough to get to know people?” She shook her finger at Shelby again. “Mind you, there’s a reason those churches wouldn’t have him anymore, and it will come out—don’t you worry.” With a final sniff, she went back to boxing up the eggs.

  Shelby began helping Bert with the eggs. She doubted that there was anything sinister in Daniel Mather’s past that led him to change churches three times in as many years. Most likely there was a completely innocent explanation.

  A thought occurred to Shelby while she was working, and she nearly dropped the egg she was holding. What if the Mathers hadn’t left those churches because of something Daniel had done? What if they had left because of something Prudence had done?

  Shelby felt the stirrings of excitement—was she onto something? She’d need to find out what church Daniel had been at before coming to St. Andrews. She had a vague recollection of reading his bio on the St. Andrews Web site. She would check it as soon as she and Bert were finished.

  “Have you seen Billy and Amelia?” Shelby asked as they put the last of the eggs in a carton stamped with LOVE BLOSSOM FARM.

  Bert grunted. “Billy came down and got himself a bowl of cereal. When he was done, I sent him out to weed the back garden where you’ve got your green beans growing. Amelia had a piece of cold leftover pizza she found in the refrigerator and then took off, saying she was going to her friend Kaylee’s house. I assumed that was okay with you.”

  “Yes,” Shelby said, hoping Bert didn’t seize on the slight hesitation in her voice. She had to stop being so suspicious of Amelia—it wasn’t fair. Amelia had done nothing wrong, because even though it had alarmed Shelby, she had to admit that talking to a boy was hardly a crime.

  As soon as Bert left, Shelby made herself a cup of tea and powered up her computer. She found the St. Andrews Web site easily enough and spent a minute or two watching the slide show of the impressive stained glass windows the church boasted. The roof might cave in before they could repair it, but at least the parishioners had their windows to brag about.

  Shelby clicked on the tab for administration, and Daniel Mather’s picture popped up. She thought the photo must have been taken quite a while ago—Daniel looked younger, with a fuller hairline, and much calmer and less harried than he had the last time she’d seen him.

  Shelby read through the brief bio beneath Daniel’s picture. There were the usual mentions of college and seminary, plus the names of family members. She found the information she was looking for near the end—Daniel had been the rector of Calvary Church in Cranberry Cove, a town on Lake Michigan that was not quite an hour’s drive away.

  Shelby briefly thought about all the things that needed to be done that day. And what excuse could she possibly give for showing up at a strange church asking questions about their former rector? She thought of pretending to be new to town and interested in joining the church, but she didn’t think she could bring herself to lie like that. She’d be sure to be found out.

  On impulse, Shelby brought up her favorite search engine, entered Calvary Church, and clicked on the link. She scrolled through Calvary Church’s Web site. It was very similar to the one for St. Andrews. She was about to click off when something caught her eye. She leaned forward to read. VENDORS NEEDED FOR THE ANNUAL CALVARY CHURCH BAZAAR, the headline said. Shelby scanned the rest of the article quickly. A meeting was being held that very afternoon at two to discuss the upcoming bazaar, which, despite being labeled a Christmas bazaar, was actually held at the end of October. The last line read VENDORS WELCOME.

  Shelby jumped up from her seat and began pacing the kitchen. What could she offer to sell? Perhaps some of her strawberry and blueberry preserves . . . and maybe some canned vegetables and fruits would be appreciated. She could prepare some cheese, too.

  Shelby glanced at the clock. Hopefully Bert could come back and look out for Billy and Amelia when Amelia got home from Kaylee’s house. Amelia had been spending an awful lot of time with Kaylee lately. Shelby would have to suggest that next time Amelia invite Kaylee to their house.

  Shelby grabbed the phone and dialed Bert’s number. Bert grumbled that she needn’t have wasted the gas if she’d known Shelby was going to want her to come right back. Shelby smiled—Bert lived barely a mile away, so the trip had hardly drained her gas tank. She murmured copious apologies and hung up.

  She needed to make herself presentable—no easy task, she thought, staring into the mirror in her bathroom. Her face was clean even if her hair was going every which way. She pulled it back into a ponytail and pinned it into a reasonable resemblance of a twist.

  Shelby opened the drawer where she kept her little-used makeup. She was surprised it hadn’t all dried up since the last time she used it. Bill had claimed he never noticed whether she wore makeup or not, which was fine with Shelby.

  She glanced in the mirror again. A dash of powder and perhaps some mascara were in order. She was about to go whole hog and apply eye shadow when Billy called from downstairs.

  “What’s for lunch? I’m starved.”

  Shelby dropped the eye shadow back in the drawer and slammed it shut.

  “Coming,” she yelled down the stairs as she slipped out of her shorts and T-shirt and exchanged them for a clean pair of jeans and a white blouse. She looked down at her feet in dismay. She would have to wash them if she planned to wear her sandals. But meanwhile she had a hungry boy to feed.

  Shelby got under way slightly later than planned but hoped to make up the time en route to Calvary Church. She enjoyed the ride—she was rarely alone in the car, as most of her time behind the wheel was spent ferrying Billy or Amelia to or from something.

  Calvary Church was relatively easy to find—Cranberry Cove was a small town with one main street and only one traffic light. The parking lot, which was quite small, was filling up as Shelby pulled in. She followed a young woman in a blue-and-white gingham sundress, which made her look like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, around to the side of the building and through a door that led into the kitchen.

  “Going to the bazaar meeting?” the woman asked as she held
the door for Shelby.

  “Yes. Do you know where it is?”

  “Sure. Just follow me.”

  They ended up in what looked like an old-fashioned parlor with scratchy overstuffed furniture, dark gloomy wallpaper, and portraits of severe-looking men with varying degrees of facial hair on the walls.

  All the armchairs and sofas were already taken, but someone had brought in a number of metal folding chairs and arranged them in a rough circle. Shelby perched on one of them and looked around her. The women were casually dressed, which was a relief. There were no Liz Gardener types in attendance, making everyone else feel worn and dowdy in comparison to her fancy clothes. A number of women were gathered together chatting, but others were sitting by themselves and appeared to be new to the group.

  An older woman with sparse white hair came in pushing a walker. She parked it next to one of the folding chairs and maneuvered her way into the seat.

  One of the women on the couch jumped to her feet. She was middle-aged with graying hair and wire-rimmed bifocals.

  “Velma,” she called to the older woman, who had just sat down. “You come sit here.” She patted the sofa cushion and bustled over to where Velma had perched on the folding chair.

  She helped Velma to her feet, got her ensconced on the sofa, and then went back to sit next to Shelby.

  “I couldn’t see letting Velma sit on this hard chair,” she confided in a whisper. “She had a hip replacement last year, and it’s still painful for her. She’s so thin, too—I’ve got a lot more padding than she has.” She laughed and patted her ample hips.

  Before Shelby could say anything, she continued. “Personally I don’t think her surgeon did a good job. Not a good job at all. She should be healed by now and not still in pain. Dr. Franken, his name is. He did old Mr. Dykesterhouse’s hip the year before last, and he’s still using a walker. That shouldn’t be, you know? I would consider a malpractice suit myself, but that’s just me.”

  Shelby smiled to herself. She’d certainly landed next to the right person. She doubted it would take much prodding to get this woman talking.

  “I’m Virginia, by the way.” The woman turned toward Shelby and extended her hand. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Shelby squirmed in her seat a bit. “No, I’m from Lovett. It’s about an hour away. Reverend Mather told me about your Christmas bazaar.” Shelby crossed her fingers behind her back.

  “Reverend Mather? He was our rector before the one we’ve got now.”

  “He seems like a very nice man.”

  “Oh, he is,” Virginia gushed. “We were so sorry to see him leave.”

  “He wasn’t here very long, was he?”

  “No, but it wasn’t his fault. It was because of Doris Buiten making such a stink about it.”

  Shelby hoped she looked interested—but not so interested that she scared Virginia off.

  A woman seated in an armchair at the head of the rough circle of chairs began rustling papers and fishing her half glasses from her purse. Shelby hoped she’d hear the rest of Virginia’s story before the meeting was called to order.

  Shelby lowered her voice to a whisper. “What happened? Why was someone making a stink?”

  “It was that wife of his,” Virginia hissed back. “We weren’t sorry to see the back of her—I can tell you that.”

  “Prudence? What did she do?” Shelby held her breath as the woman at the head cleared her throat experimentally, obviously preparing to open the meeting.

  Fortunately Virginia ignored the attempts to call the meeting to order and continued with the story. “She accused Doris’s husband, Boyd, of pocketing money from last year’s bazaar.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Can you imagine? And there wasn’t a shred of truth to it.”

  “Really?”

  Virginia nodded emphatically. “And she accused the sexton of helping himself to some of our church gardening equipment.”

  “I gather that wasn’t true, either?”

  “Not a word of it.” Virginia’s eyes gleamed. “The poor sexton—he’s from some foreign country, but he’s been here for years working for the church—didn’t know what to do. But Doris certainly did. There’s no stopping Doris Buiten when she’s taken something on. You didn’t falsely accuse her husband and get away with it.” Virginia paused, lost in thought for a moment.

  The woman seated at the head of the group had now started speaking. Conversation slowly died down as she welcomed everyone to the meeting.

  “What did Doris do?” Shelby whispered.

  “Went straight to the bishop.” Virginia pounded one fist into the palm of her other hand. “And he sent the Mathers packing. Offered them a brand-new start somewhere else. It wasn’t fair that Daniel had to move because of that wife of his, but what else could be done?”

  The woman sitting alongside Shelby and Virginia swiveled around in her seat and gave them a stern look.

  Shelby shot back what she hoped was a winning smile and sank lower in her chair. She missed much of what the meeting leader was saying as she thought over what Virginia had told her.

  It looked as if the bishop had given Daniel and Prudence their brand-new start in Lovett. But did that necessarily mean Prudence had changed?

  11

  Dear Reader,

  The drive out to Cranberry Cove was certainly worth it! It looks as if Prudence was the reason the Mathers have been assigned to three churches in three years and it wasn’t because of Daniel at all. I’ve not only learned an interesting fact about Prudence, but I’ve also arranged to have a booth at Calvary’s Christmas bazaar to showcase some of Love Blossom Farm’s delicacies. I thought of making some wreaths from the many boxwood bushes planted around the farm, but the bazaar is too early in the season for that. Boxwood is notoriously slow growing, but the bushes here have had a hundred years or more to mature.

  This afternoon is my knitting circle at the church. I am completely hopeless at knitting, but I’m desperate to learn. The click-clack of the needles is so soothing, and it’s something you can do while watching television so that you don’t feel as if you are being totally unproductive while catching up on your favorite shows. The lovely ladies of the church have taken me in hand and are showing me the ropes. So far I’ve created a scarf with irregularly placed holes that I am insisting are part of the design, although I’m quite sure I’m not fooling anyone but myself! I have no idea what I will do with my masterpiece when it’s done—maybe Jenkins and Bitsy would like to have it to play with? Both of them love a good game of tug-of-war. The other ladies are all knitting hats, scarves, and gloves for a sister church in Guatemala, where I suspect it is too warm to need them, but I’ve never been, so I can’t be sure. Perhaps the people living high up in the Andes will be able to use them.

  Billy was in the living room watching a movie on the television when Shelby got back to Love Blossom Farm. She stopped and said hello, but he didn’t take his eyes from the show. Gone were the days when he’d run to greet her, tackling her around the legs in a warm hug. The thought made her slightly sad—time was going by too quickly.

  Shelby found Bert sitting at the kitchen table, reading the local paper when she walked into the room. It was an unaccustomed sight—Bert rarely sat for long. She was always on the move, performing some task or other. When she’d done everything that needed doing, she’d invariably grab the broom and start sweeping the kitchen floor.

  Bert pointed to the front page of the paper. “The Journal is full of talk about the murder, although as far as I can tell, the reporters don’t know much and as usual are making things up. According to this, the police are . . .” Bert paused and slipped on the glasses that hung from a chain around her neck. She traced a paragraph on the front page of the paper with her index finger, and then continued. “The police are pursuing a promising lead.” She dropped the paper on the table and pu
lled off her glasses, letting them rest on her chest. “What do you suppose they mean by that? Do you think they’ve got their eye on someone?”

  Shelby sighed. “I don’t know.” She thought of Seth and felt a moment of panic. Surely the police weren’t pursuing him?

  “Can’t you pump your brother-in-law for info?” Bert folded up the newspaper and pushed it to one side.

  Shelby chewed on a ragged edge of her thumbnail. “I’m sure he wouldn’t tell me a thing.” She’d never known Frank to talk about his work—even at family gatherings and even after a couple of ice-cold beers.

  Shelby suddenly glanced at the clock. She’d forgotten all about the time. “Is Amelia home?” She looked toward the ceiling, half expecting to hear music coming from Amelia’s bedroom.

  “Nope. I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

  Shelby bit her lip. Should she call Amelia and check up on her? That was her first instinct. But would that make her one of those helicopter parents people were always talking about? She decided a quick text was the perfect middle ground.

  Shelby was drying her hands when her phone dinged, indicating a message. Amelia had returned her text and was asking if she could stay at Kaylee’s for dinner. Shelby sighed. She had been hoping Amelia could stay with Billy while she went to her knitting group, but it didn’t seem fair to constantly stick her with babysitting duties. Fine, she texted back, wondering if Amelia would catch the irony.

  “Billy,” Shelby yelled as she walked into the living room. “You’re going to have to come with me. Please turn off the television and go wash your hands and face.”

  “Do I have to?” Billy answered in a wheedling tone.

  “Yes, now go.” Shelby gave him a push in the direction of the powder room.

  Bert was folding up her paper. “I’d stay and keep an eye on him, but tonight’s my poker night. It’s at my house, so I have to go by the General Store and pick up some chips and pretzels.”