by Peg Cochran
She straightened her shoulders. “That’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll wait here.”
Frank walked toward where the officers were clustered together without looking back. They talked in low voices, only an indistinct murmur reaching Shelby.
Frank walked over to Chip, who still stood by the grave, his posture stoic although Shelby saw the faint tremor in his limbs. Frank clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Why don’t you go back and wait in your car, son? I’ll be along to talk to you shortly.”
Chip didn’t need any further encouragement. He gave a shuddering sigh, turned on his heel, and began thrashing his way back through the bushes toward the road.
Finally, Frank turned to Shelby. “Were you the one who found . . .” He gestured toward the makeshift fire pit.
“No. Amelia and her friends did.”
Frank looked around. “Where are they?”
“I sent them to sit in my car.”
“What was Amelia doing out here so late?”
Shelby bristled at the note of censure in his voice.
“She certainly didn’t have my permission, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Frank hung his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply . . .”
“That’s okay.”
“I’m going to need to talk to the kids.” He ran a hand along the back of his neck.
The rain had slowed to a mere drizzle, and darkness was descending fast.
Frank went first, holding back branches and making a path for Shelby to follow. Chip was sitting in his own car, his arms folded on the steering wheel with his head resting on them.
Amelia, Brad, Hannah, and Lauren were in Shelby’s car, the girls in front—Amelia behind the wheel—and the boys sitting far apart in the back.
“Go sit in my truck,” Frank said to Shelby. “You look like you’re freezing.”
“I’m okay.”
Frank shrugged, opened the front door of Shelby’s car, and crouched down.
“Are you girls okay? Amelia?”
They nodded their heads, their eyes wide and their lips quivering.
“We only wanted to make a fire pit,” Hannah burst out.
“What brought you out here to Zeke Barnstable’s farm?”
The girls looked at one another. Finally, Lauren spoke, her voice so tiny, Shelby could barely hear her.
“We didn’t have anywhere else to go, and we knew Zeke wouldn’t be coming after us. . . .” Her voice trailed off as if she’d suddenly realized what her words meant.
Frank nodded his head. “How did you choose the spot to dig?”
One of the boys in the back cleared his throat. “We looked for a clearing in the trees and a spot that was pretty flat.”
“I take it you have no idea whose remains those are?”
Frank glanced from the occupants of the front seat to the back. They all shook their heads.
Frank’s knees gave a loud crack as he stood up. He put a hand on the roof of the car and bent down. “I’m going to send one of the officers over to take down your names. Then you all go on home, okay?”
A look of relief washed over the teens’ faces.
“Take Amelia home,” Frank said to Shelby. “I’ll be by when we’re finished here.”
• • •
Shelby was quite certain that never before in her life had she been so grateful to walk through her own back door. She grabbed the old fleece that she kept on a hook in the mudroom and pulled it on, breathing a sigh of relief at the instant warmth that enveloped her.
With a grunt, Bitsy got up from the corner of the kitchen where she was curled up in Jenkins’s dog bed, her head hanging off one end and her feet the other. Jenkins ambled in from the living room, yawning widely. They surrounded Shelby, and she bent down to accept their warm, sticky kisses.
Amelia went straight to her room. Shelby decided this was not the time to talk to her; she’d had a bad shock, and she was cold and wet—no good was likely to come of it. She’d save that conversation for the morning.
As soon as she heard Amelia’s door close, she tiptoed up the stairs and peeked into Billy’s room. He was sprawled on his bed, still in his shorts and T-shirt, a book splayed open on the floor. She hated to disturb him even though his hands and face were grubby and needed washing. She maneuvered the covers out from under him, laid them lightly on top of him, and tiptoed back out of the room.
Back in the kitchen, Shelby filled the kettle with water and plunked it down on the stove. She dug around in the pantry, found a box of chamomile tea, and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.
She jumped when the kettle whistled and quickly pulled it off the stove. It was probably going to be quite a while before Frank was finished at Zeke’s farm. She took her tea into the living room and tried to find something to watch on television but nothing held her interest. Too many questions were revolving around and around in her mind: Whose body had the kids found? Was it even human? It had certainly looked like it to Shelby, but she was far from an expert. The medical examiner would be able to tell for sure.
Shelby was dozing when Frank knocked on the front door. For a moment, she couldn’t remember why he was there, but then it all came rushing back to her. She hobbled to the door—stiff from being curled up on the sofa—and pulled it open.
Frank looked wet, cold, and tired.
“Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?” Shelby asked as she held the door wide.
Frank’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Do you have anything stronger? It’s been quite a night.”
He followed Shelby out to the kitchen, where she rummaged in the pantry and pulled out a slightly dusty bottle of Knob Creek bourbon. She poured a splash into a tumbler.
“Ice?” She held the glass toward Frank.
He shook his head. “I’ll take it neat.”
Shelby put the drink down on the table in front of him and took a seat opposite, pulling her legs in to avoid his long ones, which were stretched out under the table.
Dear Reader, Frank looks so comfortable sitting at my kitchen table—as if he belongs there. I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not.
Frank took a big gulp of the bourbon and sighed. “I needed that.”
“What did you find out about that grave and the . . . body?”
“The ME confirmed the remains were human. We won’t know much more until the autopsy is completed. He promised to get on it right away.” He shook his head. “Pathologists get all excited about cases like this. He’s going to start on it tonight.”
Shelby shivered. “So, you don’t have any idea whose body it might be?”
“It doesn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that it’s Brenda Barnstable’s. She’s been missing now for a couple of years and suddenly a body turns up in a shallow grave on Zeke’s farm.”
“Do you think Zeke killed her?”
“Seems pretty likely, don’t you think?”
18
Dear Reader,
The sun is out today. Mist is rising from the puddles dotting the driveway as they slowly dry up. Yesterday’s rain also brought out the earthworms in the gardens.
Earthworms play an essential role in growing things by improving the fertility of the soil and helping with soil drainage by creating channels as they burrow.
I’ve read that the Maori of New Zealand eat certain species of earthworms and consider them a delicacy. I am grateful for the job they do in my garden, but I do not plan to cook up a batch anytime soon!
Shelby heard a car coming up her drive and peered out the window to see Bert pulling up outside the mudroom door. She quickly hid the carrot cake she’d made for Bert’s birthday in the laundry room and then went to open the door.
“Happy birthday,” Shelby said as soon as Bert reached the mudroom.
; “Why, thanks.” Bert grinned broadly. “I’m grateful for every one I have. Although at my age, the sands are about done running through the hourglass, so who knows how many more I have left?”
“You’re going to live forever,” Shelby said, and she meant it even though she knew it was impossible. She couldn’t imagine life without Bert.
The door to the laundry room was open a smidge, and out of the corner of her eye, Shelby noticed Jenkins nudging it open farther. She hurried over, shooed Jenkins away with her foot, and pushed the door closed until she heard the latch click.
Jenkins looked very disappointed and went to join Bitsy in a sunbeam that was throwing light across the kitchen floor.
“You’re looking a little peaked,” Bert said, examining Shelby’s face. “Rough night?”
“You can say that again. Let’s have some coffee, and I’ll tell you about it.”
Bert retrieved mugs from the cupboard while Shelby filled the coffee machine with fresh coffee and water. She pushed the ON button, and the machine gurgled to life. Moments later, she and Bert were seated at the kitchen table, mugs in hand, picking at the remains of a coffee cake Shelby had made two days ago.
Shelby told Bert about Amelia going to Zeke’s without telling her, Amelia’s arriving home in a panic after finding the body, and Shelby’s own trip out to Zeke’s farm.
Bert whistled and put her coffee cup down with a clang. “So Zeke did kill his wife after all.”
“We don’t know that. . . .”
“If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck . . .” Bert took a sip of her coffee. “Plenty of people thought he did it, but the body was never found. For all anyone knew, Brenda had hightailed it to Alaska, where she was living in an igloo and fishing for her dinner.”
“It does seem the most obvious deduction that the body is Brenda’s,” Shelby conceded.
“Pretty stupid of Zeke to bury the body on his own property. Of course, it doesn’t matter now. She was never found while he was alive, and I suppose that means he was successful in covering up her murder.” Bert drained the remaining coffee in her mug and put it down with a conclusive bang.
“It does make me wonder about Tonya Perry,” Bert continued, picking at the last of the coffee cake crumbs. “She was convinced that Zeke murdered his wife. Maybe she finally decided to make him pay for the crime she assumed he’d committed.”
“I think you might be right,” Shelby said, thinking of the things she’d heard about Tonya.
But how was she going to prove it?
• • •
Shelby had decided to let Amelia stay home. The fact that Amelia and her friends had found a body would be all over school, and Shelby wanted to spare her the questions that she’d no doubt have to field. The less said about the incident, the better, and the sooner Amelia could begin to forget about it.
Amelia still hadn’t appeared downstairs when Shelby began making some mozzarella cheese. She planned to use it in a white bean, tomato, and mozzarella salad for the church’s luncheon for the Women’s Auxiliary.
Mozzarella was easy to make—milk, citric acid, and rennet produced a deliciously creamy version of the cheese.
Amelia slunk into the kitchen while Shelby was squeezing the whey from the curds.
“Gross,” she said, peering over Shelby’s shoulder. “What is that?”
“It’s the cheese you love to have on your pizza—mozzarella.”
“Oh.”
Amelia rummaged in the pantry, pulled out some cereal, and began eating it straight from the box.
Shelby opened her mouth to say something but decided against it. She couldn’t decide exactly how to approach Amelia about the previous evening. Of course, the longer she put it off, the harder it would get.
“Do you want to talk about what happened last night?”
Amelia looked at Shelby and tears sprang to her eyes.
“Do I have to? I just want to forget the whole thing. I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing the body. . . .”
Shelby looked at her daughter. There were the telltale bags under her eyes that confirmed her lack of sleep, and her face was white and strained.
Shelby put a hand on Amelia’s shoulder, and Amelia briefly put her own hand over her mother’s.
“No, you don’t. Not right now. I just thought . . .”
Shelby dropped her hand and turned back to the counter. She plopped the ball of mozzarella cheese into a waiting bowl of ice water and poured the whey into a container and put it in the refrigerator—she would use it later to make bread.
When she turned around again, Amelia had disappeared back upstairs, taking the box of cereal with her.
Shelby finished making the mozzarella and put it in the refrigerator to chill. She’d soaked some great northern beans overnight, and they’d been on the stove since she got up to feed the chickens.
All she needed to do was slice some tomatoes, snip some basil from the garden, and assemble the salad.
She looked down at herself. And she’d have to change. She couldn’t show up for the lunch in her working-in-the-kitchen-and-garden clothes!
Shelby was about to head upstairs when the front doorbell rang.
Dear Reader, why do people only show up when I’m wearing my grubbiest clothes and I have yet to comb my hair?
“Oh,” Shelby said when she saw Frank standing on her doorstep.
“I hope I’m not bothering you.”
He had his cap in his hands and was kneading the brim nervously.
“No. Come in.” Shelby whirled around. “Would you like something to drink?”
Frank shook his head. “Thanks, but I can’t stay. I have some news I thought you’d be interested in.”
“Come on. Let’s go into the kitchen, and I’ll get you a glass of lemonade. I made it this morning.”
Frank grinned. “In that case, I won’t say no.”
Shelby poured glasses of lemonade while Frank sat at the kitchen table and stretched out his legs.
“The pathologist was up half the night examining the remains,” Frank said after he’d had a sip of his drink. “He discovered there was an old break in the corpse’s femur—the leg bone,” he explained.
Shelby nodded. She knew what a femur was.
“He seemed pretty excited about it, and I couldn’t see why, but then Doreen—she’s the department secretary—pointed out that until Dr. Gregson arrived in town, everyone went to old Doc Parsons.”
“I know—we all did.”
“Exactly. Seeing as how we already suspected the remains belonged to Brenda Barnstable, Dr. Gregson agreed to check the patient files he’d inherited from Doc Parsons.”
Frank leaned his chair back on two legs, and Shelby held her breath.
“Fortunately Doc Parsons kept good records, unlike a lot of medics his age. Dr. Gregson found X-rays in Brenda’s file. Upon examination, they showed that Brenda had broken her leg in the exact same spot the corpse’s leg was broken.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Dr. Gregson had a look and then the pathologist confirmed it. Of course, we’ll have to wait on the DNA test results—fortunately Zeke Barnstable had kept Brenda’s toothbrush and hairbrush in the bathroom exactly where she’d left them.”
“So you don’t know for sure?”
“As sure as we need to be at this stage. The DNA evidence will clinch the deal if and when this ends up in court.”
Frank drained his glass. “I won’t keep you any longer. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Yes, thanks.”
Frank walked to the front door and paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“I hope you don’t think I’m making up excuses to see you.”
Shelby felt her face grow hot. “No, no. Not at all. I appreciate your stopping by to give me this news.”
> Frank nodded and opened the front door.
“I guess I’ll see you,” he called over his shoulder as he headed down the walk to his truck.
• • •
Mrs. Willoughby was atwitter when Shelby arrived at the church hall with her salad. Her face was red and shiny with perspiration, and she was panting slightly.
“Move it a bit to the left,” she said to a woman who was positioning a vase of wildflowers—they looked as if they’d been plucked from the side of the road—on one of the long tables that had been set up end to end.
The tables were covered in half a dozen mismatched white tablecloths that were on loan from members of the Women’s Auxiliary. Places had been set with the church’s utilitarian silverware and thick white china.
Mrs. Willoughby pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and sneezed into it.
“Those flowers are wreaking havoc with my hay fever.” She tucked the tissue back up her sleeve and pointed to a long table that was apart from the others. “We’re setting up the buffet over there. Jenny Hubbard has brought three of her lemon meringue pies.” Mrs. Willoughby kneaded her doughy hands. “I do hope no one will put pepper on them this time.” She gave a high-pitched giggle.
“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” Shelby murmured soothingly.
A group of women walked in and stood chatting idly. Mrs. Willoughby bustled over to them and shooed them toward the table.
“It’s time to get started,” Shelby heard her trill at the group.
Shelby hurried over to place her salad on the buffet table, which boasted an interesting spread of food—meatballs simmering in a slow cooker, a casserole with crushed potato chips on top, a platter of deli meats and cheeses, bread and rolls, and a large pan of lasagna.
Shelby turned back to the dining table, where it looked as if a game of musical chairs was in progress, with much switching of seats and rearranging of chairs. Shelby found herself a seat between Mrs. Willoughby and Coralynne, with Isabel and Jenny Hubbard directly across the table. Isabel’s heavy gardenia perfume wafted in Shelby’s direction and she felt a slight headache beginning.
