Sowed to Death

by Peg Cochran

  There was no reason why Frank’s having a woman over for dinner should have bothered her. No reason at all.

  She cut several hefty pieces of basil and forced a smile on her face as she entered the kitchen.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing the herbs to Frank. “Don’t they smell divine?”

  “Let’s hope I do them justice.” Frank smiled. “And now I’d better get to it. Who knows how long this is going to take me?”

  Shelby and Bert were silent for several long minutes after Frank’s departure. Billy had gone to play outside and they were alone in the kitchen.

  “Has that sexy neighbor of yours been by lately?” Bert said.

  “Jake? He was here the other day.”

  Shelby turned her back and began wiping down the already-clean counter. Suddenly she whirled around to face Bert.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Nothing.” Bert was the picture of innocence. “I don’t want to see you hurt, that’s all,” she added after a minute.

  • • •

  After Bert left, Shelby went out to the garden to pick the last tomatoes clinging to the vines. They were bright red and looked ready to burst. She savored the warmth they had soaked up from the sun as she held them in the palm of her hand.

  There were too many for her to use, and she wasn’t sure they’d last until the next farmers’ market. Matt had said he’d be glad to have them.

  Shelby carried the basket of tomatoes inside and put them on the counter. She glanced at the clock. She would ask Amelia to stay with Billy while Shelby ran to the general store.

  Shelby went to the foot of the stairs and called Amelia. Amelia burst into the kitchen seconds later.

  “Is there anything to eat?” Amelia asked with her head in the fridge. “I’m still hungry.”

  “There’s fresh mozzarella, if you want some of that sliced with a tomato.” Shelby put her hand on the basket of tomatoes.

  Amelia turned around with an appalled look on her face. “I’m starved. There was hardly any peanut butter left in that jar. I need real food. Lunch today was disgusting.”

  She made what Shelby thought of as her ewwww face.

  “What was it? Liver and onions?” Shelby said dryly, knowing the school cafeteria did its best to provide food the students would enjoy—such as pizza, hamburgers, and macaroni and cheese.

  “Worse. Tuna sandwiches.”

  While Shelby’s children ate things a lot of other children would turn their noses up at, such as Brussels sprouts, kale, and beets, they still had their unique likes and dislikes. Amelia happened to dislike tuna.

  “There’s some leftover macaroni and cheese. You can heat it up in the microwave.”

  Amelia had already pulled the container out of the refrigerator and was eating it cold.

  “Can I go to the movies with Katelyn on Saturday?” she asked, stuffing another forkful of macaroni into her mouth.

  “Katelyn? I thought you two weren’t friends anymore. Because of Ned.”

  Dear Reader, I highly disapprove of girls breaking up their friendship because of a boy. Girls need one another at this age more than they need a boyfriend, don’t you think?

  Amelia gave an exaggerated sigh. “That was before. She and Ned have broken up.”

  “Seriously?” Shelby turned around and leaned back with her elbows on the counter.

  Amelia slid into a chair at the table and continued wolfing down the macaroni and cheese. “Yeah. It happened right after the fair.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Amelia picked up a piece of elbow macaroni that had fallen off her fork onto the table and held it down for Jenkins, who was hovering underneath the table, waiting for just such an opportune moment. “She said she’d tell me today.”

  Amelia’s spoon made a scraping sound as she scooped up the last bits of macaroni and cheese in the container. “She even threw away that hideous stuffed animal Ned won for her at the fair.”

  “What? You mean that stuffed woolly mammoth?”

  Amelia looked surprised. “Yeah. They had a fight on the way home from the fair, and Katelyn threw it into some bushes.”

  • • •

  Just because Ryan Archer could conceivably have found that stuffed woolly mammoth that Katelyn had tossed into the bushes didn’t mean he hadn’t been at the county fair, Shelby rationalized as she carried her basket of tomatoes out to her car.

  It wasn’t proof he hadn’t been there, and it wasn’t proof he had. She was back to the beginning.

  And she was afraid that Jake was still at the top of Frank’s suspect list, but she didn’t know what she could do about it.

  When Shelby arrived at the Lovett General Store both Matt and Margie Dale were behind the counter. A customer was standing in front of a display of canned soup, and Shelby heard someone else at the back of the store. The general store was never too busy at any given time—except maybe Saturday mornings—but served a steady stream of customers all day long.

  “What have you brought me?” Matt said as Shelby approached the counter.

  “The last of the tomatoes.”

  Shelby put the basket down on the counter.

  “Those are beauties,” Margie said.

  “We might get a few more before the first frost, but not many. I’m afraid this is the end of the season.”

  “It always makes me sad to see summer go,” Margie said, straightening a display of herbal cough drops. “But then the leaves start to turn those beautiful reds and yellows, and I forget all about it.”

  Matt leaned his elbows on the counter. “Has there been any news about the murder?”

  “Zeke Barnstable, you mean?” Margie said, her eyes widening.

  “I thought I had it figured out, but I was wrong,” Shelby said. “Ryan Archer—his father’s a farrier—had a beef with Zeke and Zeke was killed with a farrier’s hammer. That points a pretty big finger at Ryan.”

  “But?” Matt said, grinning.

  Dear Reader, I don’t think he’s taking me seriously!

  “He claims not to have been at the fair, but I saw he had a stuffed woolly mammoth in his car—”

  “A what?” Margie said.

  “A woolly mammoth—a long-extinct creature.” Shelby picked a tomato out of the basket and began rolling it back and forth between her hands. “Billy tried to win one at the fair. Ryan claims it had been thrown away and he found it, but I think it’s more likely that he won it at the county fair.”

  “Did he win it?” Matt said, frowning.

  Shelby shook her head. “No. According to Amelia, her friend tossed it into the bushes after a fight with her boyfriend.”

  “And Ryan picked it up?” Matt said.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “But it’s not necessarily true.” Matt pulled a basket out from under the counter and began arranging Shelby’s tomatoes in it.

  Shelby’s shoulders sagged. “No. I really thought I’d eliminated him as a suspect.”

  “I know Ryan Archer,” Margie said.

  Both Matt and Shelby turned in Margie’s direction. Shelby was surprised.

  “You know Ryan?”

  “Yes. I knew his mother, too, before she passed away. If she had lived that boy would have turned out differently, mark my words.”

  “Differently?” Shelby said.

  “You’ve heard about what he did at the cemetery—defacing those gravestones. People pay good money for those. Besides, look at what they represent—the memory of their loved ones.”

  “I understand Zeke was the one who turned him in,” Shelby said.

  Margie nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. “Zeke’s wife’s gravestone was damaged, although at the time no one really knew if she was dead or alive.” She narrowed her eyes. �
�I feel bad because I never should have trusted Ryan.”

  “What do you mean?” Matt sounded alarmed.

  “The day of the fair he came in here to buy some beer. I know he’s of age but I made him show me his driver’s license anyway.” Margie looked down and drew circles on the counter with her index finger. “I shouldn’t have. He left with two six-packs, and when I looked out the window”—she gestured over her shoulder—“I could see a bunch of kids—they couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old—waiting outside.”

  Shelby held her breath although she suspected she already knew what happened.

  “Ryan passed the beers all around and then they jumped in his car and took off.” Margie looked at Matt. “I’m sorry.”

  Matt put his hand over hers. “It’s not your fault.”

  Shelby cleared her throat. “What time was this, do you remember?”

  Margie shrugged. “About two o’clock?”

  Shelby looked at Matt. If Ryan was busy buying some underage kids beer at the Lovett General Store at two o’clock, there was no way he’d had time to get to the county fair, murder Zeke, and stuff his body in that Volvo.

  “Poor Ryan,” Margie said, her voice breaking. “He was always trying to fit in somewhere. I suppose he thought giving in to those kids would make him a hero in their eyes.”

  There was a rustling sound and the customer Shelby had heard poking around in the back of the store came around the end of an aisle. She was surprised to see it was Jim Harris. He smiled at Shelby, and put two bottles of weed killer down on the counter.

  “Billy was a big help this afternoon,” he said to Shelby as he reached into his pocket for his wallet. “He’s a good boy.”

  Shelby felt the glow that a parent does when someone praises their kids.

  Margie rang up the sale, and Jim handed her the money.

  “Nice to see you,” Jim said as he carried his purchase out to his car.

  Margie slapped her hands down on the counter and looked at Matt. “Since you’re here now, I guess I’ll take off.”

  “Thanks, Margie.”

  Margie untied her apron, bundled it up, and stuck it under the counter. “Say hello to Bert for me,” she said to Shelby as she collected her purse and headed toward the door.

  “It sounds as if that effectively removes Ryan as a suspect,” Matt said as the door closed behind Margie.

  “Yes, and I’m glad. I would hate to think of someone so young doing something so horrible.” Shelby glanced at the tomatoes on the counter and they made her think of Frank, his marinara sauce, and his female dinner companion.

  Shelby gave Matt a flirtatious smile. “Last time I saw you, you promised me dinner.”

  A huge grin spread across Matt’s face. “I certainly did.”

  “Are you going to make good on your promise?”

  Dear Reader, what on earth has gotten into me?

  “You bet.”

  “Okay,” Shelby said with a nervous edge to her voice.

  “How about tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Shelby was horrified by the way her voice squeaked.

  “Do you have other plans?”

  “I . . . I need to get a sitter.”

  “I’m sure your friend Bert would be happy to oblige. I’ll call and make a reservation at Lucia’s for seven o’clock, and I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”

  “Okay.”

  23

  Dear Reader,

  Even though the growing season is winding down, there are still lots of things to do on the farm. Soon I will be clearing out some of the beds and planting cover crops. A cover crop protects and enriches the soil. A cover crop also suppresses weeds and helps prevent soil runoff.

  I will probably plant oats, which will provide a quick cover but still allow me to plant early in the spring. The plants can become quite tall, and I love watching their golden stalks sway in the wind when everything else is barren or snow covered.

  Shelby stumbled out of the store and into the parking lot in a daze. She had just said yes to a date. Her first real, official date since Bill died. Her stomach clenched and she felt nauseated. What had she done?

  She headed toward her car, her heart beating hard against her ribs, her breath coming in short gasps as if she had been running.

  Someone slammed the door of the car next to hers, and Shelby looked over. Rebecca Barnstable stood next to her dusty and dented Kia. She blew out a stream of smoke, then dropped the butt on the ground and stubbed it out. Her hair was greasy and lank as usual, and she was wearing a tank top and a pair of cutoffs.

  She nodded at Shelby as she walked by, heading toward the door to the general store.

  On an impulse, Shelby called her name.

  Rebecca spun around, a surprised look on her face.

  Shelby felt her mouth go dry. What was she going to say? None of it was really any of her business.

  “Yes?” Rebecca said, staring at Shelby, her eyes narrowed.

  “It’s only that I think you should tell the police what your alibi is. They might be wasting precious time when they could be pursuing the real killer.”

  Rebecca’s face crumpled as if she was going to cry.

  “I told you I can’t.”

  And she ran toward the door of the general store.

  • • •

  Shelby was relieved when she pulled into the driveway of Love Blossom Farm. She was still in such a daze that she didn’t trust her reflexes. She’d driven back to the farm, going five miles per hour under the speed limit and waiting an extra couple of beats at stop signs to be completely sure no one was coming.

  Jenkins and Bitsy gave Shelby a warm welcome when she got home—the dogs always acted as if she’d been gone for weeks, not just a couple of hours. Of course they were also anxious for their dinner, so Shelby knew their exuberance wasn’t entirely about her return.

  She filled the dogs’ bowls and then picked up the telephone to call Bert.

  Bert’s voice was exceptionally gleeful when Shelby asked if she could stay with the kids that evening.

  And even though Shelby kept claiming it wasn’t a date, Bert insisted on calling it one.

  Shelby looked at her watch. She’d better hurry if she was going to be ready by six thirty. She was getting out of the shower when Amelia yelled upstairs.

  “Bert’s here.”

  “I’ll be right down,” Shelby yelled back, clutching a towel around her, her hair wrapped turban-style in another towel.

  “Take your time,” Shelby heard Bert shout from the foyer.

  Shelby did take her time—at least more time than usual. Her hair—dark and curly—wasn’t easily subdued into the sleek hairstyles that were in vogue, but she did her best. She thought she had at least come close to achieving what fashion magazines had taken to calling beachy waves.

  Shelby stared into her closet in dismay. Lucia’s, despite serving excellent food, wasn’t an extremely fancy restaurant, so there was no need to fret about not having designer clothes. But when you had almost no clothes . . .

  Shelby bit her lip and pawed through the hangers. She came upon a long, gauzy skirt her mother had sent her, purchased from some hippie commune in California. Shelby had never worn it.

  It was a kaleidoscope of colors in a paisley print, so Shelby chose a slim-fitting black T-shirt to top it off.

  Bert gave a sharp whistle when Shelby walked into the kitchen.

  “You clean up real good,” she said as she grated zucchini. She gestured to the pile of zucchini on Shelby’s counter. “I thought I’d whip up some muffins for you and the kids.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’ll sneak some vegetables into them.”

  “So I look okay?” Shelby said, suddenly feeling insecure.

  “You look beautiful.”

  A car
pulled into the driveway and Shelby ran to the window to look out.

  “He’s here. I’d better get going.”

  Bert gave her a stern look. “You stay right where you are. He can get out of the car and ring the bell like a gentleman.”

  Shelby couldn’t help but smile.

  Moments later the doorbell pealed. Shelby forced herself to wait a couple of beats before opening the door.

  The sharp intake of Matt’s breath and the way his eyes lit up told Shelby she had, indeed, cleaned up real good, to use Bert’s words.

  • • •

  The evening had turned cool and dry, and they made the trip to Allenvale with the windows down, enjoying the lightly scented air that streamed in. Conversation was, as always, easy with Matt, who was interested in a myriad of things and happy to converse about any of them.

  “I don’t know much about your family,” Matt said, quickly glancing at Shelby.

  “There’s not much to know, really. I don’t have any sisters or brothers. My parents were older when I was born. My father had been an electrical engineer and my mother managed an art gallery in Chicago. But then with my grandparents getting older, they decided to come back home to run Love Blossom Farm. By then they’d become very interested in ecology and sustainability even though those ideas were still in their infancy back then.”

  “Interesting. So they weren’t always farmers.”

  “No, although they did grow up on a farm. But the idea of a simple life, living with nature, appealed to them after the stress and hubbub of high-powered jobs in the city. They leased their pasture to a dairy farmer and concentrated on creating a sort of boutique farm with lots of herbs, exotic lettuces, and enough vegetables to feed their family. And of course they jumped on the organic bandwagon.”

  Shelby realized she’d been doing all the talking, and turned to Matt. “What about you? Where is your family?”

  Matt was quiet for a moment as he negotiated a left turn.

  “My father was a lawyer, and my mother took care of the house and their complicated social life. My father passed away from a heart attack—stress induced, most likely—almost fifteen years ago and my mother got remarried, to a writer, a biographer. They live in Westport, Connecticut. I hardly ever see them.” He glanced at Shelby and smiled. “Not because I don’t want to, but our lives don’t intersect much anymore.”