by Peg Cochran
Amelia picked up her bowl and was about to leave the room when Shelby called out to her, “Look after Billy for me, would you? I have to run a quick errand.”
Dear Reader, I fear it’s going to be more of an inquisition than an errand.
“Fine,” Amelia said, then gave Shelby a look as if Shelby had somehow tricked her into talking.
Shelby grabbed her purse, ruffled Billy’s hair, and dashed out the back door.
The rain started as she was backing out of the driveway. As a farmer she always welcomed rain—it was nature’s watering system. The downpour grew heavier as she neared the rectory. Her wipers were going at full speed and still she had to strain to see through the rivers of water cascading down her windshield.
There was a car in the rectory’s driveway. Shelby hoped she wasn’t intruding on someone’s counseling session. The rain hadn’t abated at all and was pinging off the roof and hood of Shelby’s car. She glanced in the backseat and then remembered the last time she’d used her umbrella, she had forgotten to put it back in the car. She’d have to make a run for it.
It was only a short distance to the front door of the rectory, but by the time Shelby reached the protection of the portico, she could feel the rain soaking through her thin T-shirt and splashing against her bare legs.
She paused for a moment and was shaking some water from her hair when she smelled an unpleasant odor. It smelled like smoke—cigarette smoke. Had Wallace been standing out here earlier, having a cigarette?
Shelby tried to pat her hair into some semblance of a hairstyle but suspected she had failed miserably. She stuck her hand in the pocket of her shorts and was relieved to find a hair elastic. She pulled her wayward strands into a loose ponytail and then finally rang the bell.
She half expected Coralynne to answer, but then remembered that Coralynne drove a Focus and the car in the driveway was a Kia. Instead it was Daniel who came to the door.
His shirt was rumpled and he was wearing a pair of worn corduroy bedroom slippers. His clerical collar was fastened around his neck and there was a smudge of something along the very edge. Shelby’s first thought was that if Prudence were still alive, she would never let him go around looking so unkempt, let alone answer the door in his slippers.
“Shelby.” He looked surprised, but his voice was flat and emotionless.
He motioned Shelby inside, and she followed him into the parlor of the old house. There was an odd musty smell in the air, almost as if the place hadn’t been dusted in years, although Shelby knew Coralynne came regularly to help with the cleaning.
Shelby found the sofa was no more comfortable than it looked, the rough fabric scratching the back of her bare legs. She suddenly became conscious of the fact that she was wearing a pair of cutoffs that were frayed on the edges and a white T-shirt that had been through the wash a few times too many and had lost whatever shape it had originally had.
Daniel took a seat in an armchair perpendicular to the couch and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t imagine you have any news,” he said before Shelby could say anything.
“I’m afraid not.”
Daniel scowled. “I can’t help thinking that Wallace had something to do with it. He came here looking for money from his mother—Prudence had inherited a small sum from a maiden aunt, and I insisted she keep the money for herself. But she found it hard to refuse her son. Right before the potluck she went to the bank and withdrew some cash. She planned to give it to him that afternoon. I had a talk with her and managed to change her mind.” He sighed. “I think she finally realized she needed to stop supporting him in his idleness. After all, how long would it be before he came back for more?
“I suppose I shouldn’t think ill of him. I’ve tried hard to like him. After all, as it is written in John 15:12, This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Wallace just has a way of trying one’s patience, I’m afraid.” Daniel gave a sad smile.
No wonder Wallace had lied about being at the potluck, Shelby thought. She imagined he and Prudence must have argued about the money. She couldn’t imagine Wallace giving up without a fight. And if anyone had heard them, it would have made Wallace a prime suspect. But if he had killed her, he would certainly have taken the money that had been found in her purse. She didn’t have the heart to tell Daniel the money hadn’t come from Prudence’s account but from the church collection plate.
“I don’t think Wallace had anything to do with it,” Shelby said. “At the potluck, Grace Swanson was introducing Prudence and me to her new husband. Suddenly Prudence excused herself, pulled her cell phone from her pocket, and walked off.” Shelby fiddled with a thread hanging from the hem of her shorts. “Matt Hudson said he heard Prudence speaking to someone on the phone—someone who sounded very angry.”
Daniel’s eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead. “At Prudence?”
Shelby dipped her head. “We don’t know. But we . . . I . . . am wondering if the call had anything to do with Prudence’s . . . murder.” The word stuck in her mouth.
Daniel ran a finger around his clerical collar as if it had suddenly become too tight. “Is there a way to find out, do you suppose?”
“Do you have Prudence’s cell phone?” Shelby asked.
“Yes,” Daniel said eagerly. “Do you think it will tell us something?”
“Possibly,” Shelby said, sounding far more sure than she felt. “Can I see it? I’d like to take a look at the numbers she dialed before she . . . the day of the potluck,” she amended hastily.
Daniel nearly sprang from his chair, showing more energy than he had since Shelby had arrived. “I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and returned with the cell phone in his palm, holding it out to Shelby as if it were a rare, precious jewel.
It was an old-style flip phone—the same kind Shelby had herself. She powered it on and began pressing buttons, her lower lip caught between her teeth. The cell sprang to life and the front panel lit up.
Daniel stood over Shelby as she pushed the buttons. He was gripping one hand with the other and wringing them both as if he were squeezing out a wet washcloth. Shelby tried to ignore him as she fiddled with Prudence’s phone.
She found the call list and began scrolling through it. The potluck had been on June 21, and she quickly found the list of calls for that day. The early-morning ones she ignored, looking instead for the ones that were made during the hours of the potluck. She couldn’t remember exactly when it was that she saw Prudence pull out her cell phone, but she had a general idea.
Shelby soon found several possibilities. She rummaged in her purse, but in her haste, she had managed to forget about bringing paper and a pen. She looked at Daniel with a pained expression on her face.
He backed away from her immediately. “I’ll nip into my study and get a pad and something to write with, shall I?”
He reappeared moments later with a scratch pad with Morgan’s Plumbing written at the top and a ballpoint pen.
Shelby quickly copied down the few telephone numbers that fell within the correct time frame. She tore off the sheet of paper and handed the pen and pad back to Daniel.
She was stuffing the notes she’d made into her purse when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. Wallace? Shelby looked up to see Grace Swanson standing at the entrance to the living room, her purse hanging from the crook of her arm.
“I’ve put the pot pie in the oven.” She looked at her watch. “It probably needs another ten minutes to warm it. Dessert is in the refrigerator—chocolate pudding.” Grace smiled.
“You’re very kind,” Daniel said, fussing with his clerical collar.
“Hello, Shelby,” Grace said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Her expression was quizzical. “Have you brought the reverend some food?”
Shelby shook her head and felt her p
onytail swish against the back of her neck. “No, I had . . . had something to discuss with him.”
Grace turned to Daniel and cocked her head to one side. “Will you be all right now?”
“Yes. I’ll be perfectly fine,” Daniel said with uncharacteristic firmness.
Grace’s smile grew somewhat forced as she said good-bye.
Daniel turned to Shelby. “Thank you for not bringing me something to eat. Everyone seems to think I need feeding, and frankly I don’t have much of an appetite to speak of.” He held up Prudence’s cell phone. “You’ll be sure to let me know if you find out anything. . . .”
“I certainly will.” Shelby stood up and began to move toward the foyer.
Daniel let her out and shut the door behind her. Shelby breathed a sigh of relief. The smell of cigarette smoke was even stronger now than it had been before. She looked around, but there was no sign of Wallace. She wondered how long he was going to stay in Lovett and whether or not he even had someplace else to go.
Shelby waited until Billy was in bed—she’d had to nearly drag him into the tub for a bath—before getting out the list of phone numbers she’d retrieved from Prudence’s cell. Amelia was already in her bedroom, continuing to sulk. She had her own television in her room—something Shelby was beginning to regret—and there was little chance she would decide to come downstairs and join her mother in the living room.
Shelby held her phone in her hand for several minutes, rehearsing what she was going to say. No matter what words she came up with, it was going to be awkward. The fact that the people she was calling might hang up on her occurred to her as well. But she’d have to try.
Shelby’s hands were slightly damp as she dialed the first number. No answer. She was partly relieved and partly frustrated. There were a total of three numbers on her list—she tried the next one wondering whether this was going to lead to anything. Maybe Prudence’s phone call had had nothing to do with her murder.
The phone rang for the fifth time and Shelby was about to hang up when the call was picked up. She heard fumbling noises and finally a woman’s feeble voice came over the line.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“This is Shelby McDonald. I was a friend . . . ” Shelby hesitated over the use of that word. “. . . of Prudence Mather’s.”
“That poor thing. Terrible, isn’t it? What’s the world coming to? We didn’t have things like that happening in Lovett back in my day. It was a good community with decent people.”
Shelby wondered how she could break into the conversation and gently lead the woman around to the point of her call. Fortunately she eventually ran out of steam if not breath. “You were one of the last people Prudence called before she . . . before she died.”
Shelby couldn’t imagine how the woman on the other end of the phone could have anything to do with Prudence’s murder. The whole idea suddenly seemed ridiculous to her.
“Yes, dear, she did call me. I had no idea it would be the last time we spoke.”
“Do you remember what the conversation was about?” Shelby hoped the woman’s memory was stronger than her voice.
“It was about the altar cloth I’m embroidering for St. Andrews. She called me with the measurements. This will be the fifth cloth I’ve made for our church, but I misplaced the piece of paper with the dimensions on it.”
Shelby was quiet for a moment.
“Is there something you wanted to ask me, dear?”
“No,” Shelby said hastily. “Reverend Mather wanted me to check to be sure you had everything you needed.”
“Yes, dear, I’m all set. The cloth will be ready in a few weeks. I’m afraid I’m not as fast as I used to be.”
“That’s fine, then,” Shelby said, itching to hang up. “If you need anything, let Reverend Mather know, okay?”
“I will, dear. You have a good evening, now.”
Shelby breathed a sigh of relief and clicked off the call.
One more call left. Shelby stared at the numbers for a moment before punching them in. She mentally crossed her fingers as she waited for the ringing to start.
This time someone answered so quickly Shelby was startled.
“Hello?” The woman’s voice was sharp and abrupt.
Shelby cleared her throat. This task wasn’t getting any easier. She cleared her throat a second time. The woman’s impatience was nearly palpable.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Shelby began, “but I was a friend of Prudence Mather’s. It seems you were one of the last people to talk to her before she died.”
“Worst day of my life,” the woman answered.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you and Prudence were such good friends.”
“We weren’t. Her husband was the former rector of our church.”
“Then what—”
“Listen, I don’t want to talk about this on the phone. Can you come here?”
Shelby did some mental calculations. It would be late when she got back—she didn’t want to leave Billy and Amelia all alone. She’d have to call Bert. “I think so. I need to call someone to stay with the kids, but I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Good,” the woman said with a certain bitter satisfaction. “It’s quite a story.”
23
Dear Reader,
I have a feeling that things are about to draw to a close. Although I hate going around asking questions of people, I think I am going to get some answers—answers that may lead to the discovery of Prudence’s murderer.
Hopefully things will soon get back to normal in sleepy old Lovett. We’ve had enough drama to last a lifetime. I have been neglecting things a bit at the farm—despite my best efforts, my lettuce patch is overrun with weeds, and I have a batch of rhubarb that I’ve already picked but haven’t gotten around to canning. I left a few leaves on the stalks to help retain moisture, but they won’t last too much longer. You must be careful with the leaves, though—they’re poisonous.
Bert came banging through the back door shortly after Shelby called her.
“Have you canned that rhubarb yet?” she asked before she even put down her purse.
Shelby felt guilt wash over her. “Not yet. Tomorrow.”
Bert grunted. “Where did you say you were off to?”
Shelby wasn’t going to tell Bert the truth about where she was going. She had the feeling Bert would not approve. “To Kelly’s. She asked me to help her decide on a menu for a dinner she’s planning with her future in-laws. She got herself into a complete panic over it, and I promised to come over and calm her down.”
Bert grunted again. “You go on, then. I’ll keep an eye out. Amelia is in her room, I assume?”
“Yes, and not likely to come down any time soon.”
“She’ll get over it—don’t worry.”
Shelby grabbed her purse, said good-bye to Bert, and headed out the back door. The sun was still bright—one of the benefits of living on the most western side of the eastern time zone.
There was little traffic on the roads—most people had long since arrived home from work, and few people were headed anywhere at this hour. Shelby made good time and arrived in Cranberry Cove a good fifteen minutes sooner than she’d anticipated.
The woman, who had said her name was Marcia, lived on a cul-de-sac a couple of miles inland from Lake Michigan. Shelby drove down the street, scanning the numbers as she passed houses that must once have looked all the same but were now distinguished by different landscaping, paint colors, and upkeep—or lack of it.
Marcia’s bi-level was painted a subdued taupe with brown shutters. Shelby parked on the street, being careful not to block anyone’s driveway, and walked up the path to the house.
She rang the bell and waited, her heart thumping. The door was answered by a thin, middle-aged woman in turquoise capri pants, a white tank top, and whit
e slip-on sneakers.
“Come in,” she said, opening the door wide.
Shelby stepped into the foyer, where a small table was stacked with unopened mail.
The woman turned to Shelby and held out her hand. “I’m Marcia Swanson.”
This couldn’t be a coincidence, Shelby thought as she returned the handshake—two women with the same last name and both somehow involved with Prudence?
She followed Marcia into the living room, where a mauve sectional took up nearly all the space and matching elaborate mauve drapery blocked most of the light. There was a glass of wine with a smear of pink lipstick on it sitting on the coffee table.
“Would you like some wine?”
“No, thank you.” Shelby wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible and head back home. She was suddenly bone-tired.
Marcia sat on the sofa, near her drink, and motioned for Shelby to take a seat.
“Your phone call took me by surprise.” Marcia crossed one leg over the other, her foot swinging back and forth. “I heard about Prudence’s murder—it’s been all over the news in this part of the state. Is there anything new?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Marcia contemplated her folded hands for a moment, then looked up. “You asked me why Prudence called me the day she was murdered.”
“Yes—I don’t know if it’s relevant to her murder or not, but I have a feeling it might be.”
“Are you some sort of private investigator?”
Shelby felt her face turn red. “No. I’m only trying to find out what happened.”
That seemed to satisfy Marcia. She sighed and looked down at her hands. “The phone call from Prudence was very strange to say the least.” Marcia reached for her glass and took a sip of her wine. “Perhaps I should start at the beginning.” She glanced at the ceiling as if expecting to find the story written there.
Shelby made an encouraging noise.
“I married later in life,” Marcia began. “I’d been engaged in my early twenties, but we decided to break it off.”
