by Peg Cochran
“Is it dangerous?”
“Mmmm, not really,” Shelby said as she stirred the creamed corn in the skillet.
“So, what is it?”
“I’d rather tell you in person.”
“This is beginning to sound very mysterious. Count me in.”
“Can you come by after dinner? Around seven thirty? I want to make sure Billy has a bath tonight.”
“Sure. As long as none of the animals in my care inconveniently decide to give birth tonight and need my assistance.”
Shelby laughed. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”
“Can you give me a tiny hint, at least? My curiosity is killing me.”
“I’ll tell you everything when you get here.”
Shelby heard Kelly groan and then the click as she ended the call.
• • •
Shelby began to doubt the advisability of her plan as she sat at the kitchen table, staring at the clock, waiting for Kelly to arrive.
On the one hand, they would probably be perfectly safe—Zeke was dead, after all. On the other hand, it would be hideously embarrassing if they were caught, and she had no idea how she would explain what she and Kelly were up to.
Dear Reader, that should be what I was up to. Poor Kelly is merely along for the ride. If things go south, it will be all my fault.
Shelby had pleaded, argued, and bargained with Billy until she finally got him in the tub and made him promise to actually use soap while he was in there. She sniffed him as he ran past her, wrapped in a towel, his hair wet and dripping down his back, and she thought she caught a whiff of Ivory Soap. She breathed a sigh of relief. Billy’s idea of bathing was to spend half an hour playing with his toy boats and then getting out of the tub nearly as dirty as when he got in.
Amelia had promised to watch Billy while Shelby was out of the house. Shelby was a little nervous about leaving Amelia in charge at night, but she didn’t anticipate things taking longer than an hour. Amelia had promised to leave her bedroom door open so she would hear her little brother if he needed anything.
Shelby jumped when she heard Kelly’s car come down the driveway and pull up outside the mudroom door.
“Where are we going?” Kelly asked as she burst through the door.
Her red hair was haphazardly pinned into a knot on top of her head, and her cutoffs were fraying badly on the bottom. Shelby regarded her friend with affection—even with no makeup and her hair in a jumble, she was a beautiful woman. A light that spoke of kindness and empathy shone from her eyes.
Shelby heard a noise in the hall and put her finger to her lips.
“I’ll tell you when we’re under way,” she said as Amelia walked into the kitchen.
Amelia nodded at Kelly and wrinkled her nose at the smell that seemed to follow Kelly around no matter what she did.
“We’re heading out,” Shelby said, her purse slung over her shoulder and her car keys in hand.
“Where are you going?” Amelia asked, her head in the open door of the refrigerator.
“Out,” Shelby said.
She heard her daughter sigh and sensed Amelia’s frustration as she let the mudroom door close behind her and Kelly.
Touché, she thought with a certain amount of glee.
“Now will you tell me where we’re going?” Kelly asked as she buckled her seat belt.
“We’re going to Zeke Barnstable’s farm.”
“Why?” Kelly said, swiveling around to face Shelby.
“I have a hunch.” Shelby put on her blinker and turned right.
The road was deserted, although they soon met up with a farmer driving an ancient tractor at a speed that even a snail could have outpaced. Shelby put on her brakes and slowed her car to under twenty miles an hour, trying not to fume with impatience. There was a double yellow line, so she couldn’t even pass.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the farmer finally turned onto a dirt road and she was able to step on the gas again.
“You’re being quite maddening, you know,” Kelly said.
Shelby laughed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m going to feel really stupid if I’m wrong. And I want to put that off as long as possible.”
“Hmmph,” Kelly said, settling into her seat.
Shelby flipped down her visor—the sun had dropped lower in the sky and was shining directly through the car window. It was still light out, but shadows were deepening as dusk fast approached.
Shelby’s heartbeat sped up as she turned down the rutted lane that led to Zeke’s farm. There was no reason to expect anyone to be on the property, but what if Rebecca had decided to move in now that the house was hers?
There were no signs of life in Zeke’s old farmhouse. No lights glowing from the windows, no voices or sounds of music. Shelby jounced down the rutted drive, past the house, toward the garage in the back.
The garage looked as if it had originally been a storage shed. There were two bays, each with double doors that opened outward and were crisscrossed with wood like an old stable door. Shelby was relieved to see that neither door was padlocked.
“Now will you tell me what we’re looking for?” Kelly stood next to Shelby’s car with her hands on her hips.
“We’re looking for a car,” Shelby said as she approached the garage.
“I guess we’re looking in the right place, then, this being a garage.” Kelly pointed at the weathered and worn structure.
Shelby put her hand on the door handle, closed her eyes, and said a short prayer. She pulled and the door opened. She exhaled in a rush as dust motes wafted on the stale air that billowed out.
The bay on the right of the garage was empty except for some old and rusted rakes and hoes propped against the wall. A car was in the left bay—an older model Chevrolet TrailBlazer.
“Is this what you were hoping to find?” Kelly whispered. She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know why I’m whispering. No one is about.”
Shelby made her way around to the front of the SUV. Its bumper was nearly touching the back wall of the garage and she had to squeeze into the small space inch by inch. She pulled a flashlight from her shoulder bag and shone it at the front of the car.
She couldn’t restrain a shout of triumph as she examined the TrailBlazer.
“Look.” She motioned for Kelly to join her.
Shelby pointed at the front bumper of the car.
“The headlight is smashed.” She ran her hand along the dent in the fender. “This car has been in an accident.”
“So have a lot of other cars,” Kelly said, examining the damage. “What does that have to do—”
“I think Zeke’s wife, Brenda, is the person who hit Jim Harris’s brother, Sid, while she was on her way home from the Dixie Bar and Grill. Sid had had a fight with his brother and, in a fit of anger, stomped out of the restaurant. Brenda’s friends said she’d been drinking more than usual. They were concerned about her driving. And with good reason, it seems.” She traced the dent with her finger.
Shelby heard the sharp intake of Kelly’s breath.
“So Brenda is the one who ran Sid down.”
“And didn’t even stop.” Shelby turned to her friend. “I thought maybe Brenda had seen the accident and the driver had come after her and killed her. But that obviously wasn’t the case. Brenda had been the driver herself.”
“Do you think Zeke helped her hide the car?”
“He must have. I don’t see how she could have kept it from him. I imagine he didn’t want her to go to jail—she cooked his meals, cleaned the house, helped out on the farm, and worked part-time to bring in some extra money.”
“So . . .” Kelly held her hands out in front of her and spread her fingers wide. “What does this have to do with Zeke’s murder?”
“I don’t know.” Shelby’s shoulders slumped. “I
got so caught up in finding out if my theory was right.”
“It’s one mystery solved, at least. Are you going to let Frank know?”
Shelby shuddered. “I have to. Although I know I’m going to get a lecture about snooping around—something I promised I wouldn’t do.”
“Frank is right. It could be dangerous.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. Nothing is going to happen.”
27
Dear Reader,
I love garlic. Don’t you? I grow it in my garden, so I always have plenty on hand. If you’re buying garlic in the store, look for bulbs with firm tissuelike skin. The garlic shouldn’t be shriveled or dried out.
If your garlic has sprouted—meaning you find slender green shoots inside when you cut it—remove the shoots. They add bitterness to a dish when cooked.
While I love garlic, I don’t love smelling it on my hands after I’ve been cutting or slicing it. Here’s a neat trick to get rid of the odor: Wet your hands with cold water (not hot), pour a generous amount of salt into your palm—kosher salt is best, if you have it—then rub your hands together as if you were washing them. Finally, rinse with cold water.
Voilà! The only garlic smell will be the delicious scent coming from your cooked dish.
Shelby looked in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes. She’d spent too much time last night tossing and turning, trying to make sense of Brenda and Zeke Barnstable’s deaths.
She took a quick shower—their ancient water heater didn’t allow for long, luxurious ones—then briefly switched the water to cold. She gasped. The bracing spray shocked her awake more efficiently than several cups of coffee would.
Shelby rummaged in her closet for what she thought of as her church outfit. It was one of four—two for the summer and two for the winter. This time she chose her coral-colored A-line skirt and a cream blouse in a fabric that could almost pass for silk. The weather was turning cooler in the mornings, so she added a cardigan sweater and opted for pumps instead of sandals.
Billy was ensconced in front of the television, watching Sunday morning cartoons when Shelby got downstairs. He was still in his pajamas, and his persistent cowlick was more obvious than usual.
“Billy, go get dressed. I’ve put your clothes out on the bed for you.”
Billy dragged his feet—which Shelby noticed were getting bigger and were quite dirty on the bottom—but finally she got him upstairs to change. She could hear Amelia moving around above and hoped that meant that she, too, was preparing for church.
Shelby was sweating by the time she hustled everyone into the car. Amelia sat in the front seat, her fingers flying over her cell phone while Billy bounced around in the back as far as the limits of his seat belt would allow.
Shelby breathed a sigh of relief when they pulled into the church parking lot. They were early enough to get a decent space since Amelia had to get to church ahead of the service in order to change into her choir robe and warm up with the choir.
Billy shot out of the car almost before Shelby had it in PARK, throwing a “See ya, Mom” over his shoulder as he headed toward his Sunday school classroom.
Shelby took a deep breath and made her way down the path and into church in a leisurely fashion. She always enjoyed the Sunday service—the familiar hymns, the beautiful voices of the choir, the soothing repetition of words she knew by heart. Reverend Mather’s sermons were always surprisingly both thoughtful and thought-provoking, leaving Shelby feeling uplifted for days.
Shelby was surprised to see Earl Bylsma standing in the back of the church, a clutch of programs in his hand.
She smiled as she approached him. “I thought you had stopped ushering,” she said, holding her hand out for a program.
Earl smiled. “I had, but I decided to take it up again. I love greeting everyone on Sunday mornings. I missed it.”
Shelby squeezed his arm and followed him down the aisle to her customary pew. It was funny how people tended to gravitate to the same seat every Sunday—almost as if the church had assigned them their own spot. Shelby knew the family in front of her—the Pecks, whose daughter was in Amelia’s class and whose son had a speech impediment that he was getting therapy for. And behind her sat the Van Duzers, an elderly couple whose children had decided to pursue careers in Chicago. They’d had to sell their farm, since it was impossible for the two of them to manage it alone. They’d moved into a local retirement community and, much to their surprise, were enjoying it thoroughly.
The organist struck a chord, the doors swished open, and the choir marched in. Shelby always felt a thrill when she saw Amelia in the procession, her curly blond hair giving her the look of an angel.
Shelby opened her hymnal and joined the choir in song. Before she knew it, the service was over, the pews rattling as the congregation stood up to leave. Shelby followed on everyone’s heels as they filed out of the church and crossed the courtyard to the church hall for coffee and cookies.
The soft murmur of adult voices, punctuated occasionally by a child’s shout, drifted toward Shelby as she neared the hall. Knots of people were clustered around the large coffee urn and platter of cookies that sat out on a cloth-covered table at one end of the room. Shelby made her way toward it.
The coffee smelled heavenly, and she could do with a second cup. This morning she’d only had time to heat up what was left over in the carafe from yesterday, so the idea of a freshly brewed pot was doubly enticing.
Delicate oval-shaped cat’s tongue cookies—golden brown around the edges and pale in the center—were arrayed on a doily-covered platter.
Mrs. Willoughby sidled up to Shelby as Shelby’s hand hovered over the plate.
“Lovely, aren’t they?” she said as she palmed two for herself. “Isabel made them.”
“Isabel?” Shelby raised her eyebrows.
Mrs. Willoughby let out a gusty sigh. “Yes. She’s taken over as the provisional rector’s wife.” She nibbled the end of one of the cookies. “Poor Daniel. He didn’t stand a chance.”
Shelby glanced toward the door, where Daniel was greeting parishioners. Isabel was standing close by his side, her expensive silk dress and high-heeled sandals out of step with the garb of the rest of St. Andrews’ congregation.
Her arm was linked possessively through Daniel’s, and her beatifically smiling face was turned toward his.
Mrs. Willoughby nodded her head in their direction. “See what I mean? She won’t let anyone come near him.”
“He doesn’t look unhappy,” Shelby mumbled with her mouth full of cookie.
“He’s intoxicated.”
“Must be her perfume,” Shelby said, referring to the heavy gardenia scent Isabel was known to drench herself in.
Mrs. Willoughby gave a shriek of laughter and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
“We’ll see if it lasts,” Mrs. Willoughby said, adjusting her belt around her broad waist. She reached out a hand toward the cookie tray. “I really shouldn’t, but I can’t resist. These are delicious.” She gave a girlish giggle.
Someone bumped into Shelby from behind and she whirled around to see Billy fly past with another boy in hot pursuit. Both of their shirts were coming untucked and Billy had red punch down the front of his. They weaved in and out through the assembled crowd, bumping more than a few people on their way.
“Excuse me,” Shelby said to Mrs. Willoughby. “I think it’s time to leave now.”
Shelby took off after Billy and his friend as they continued to run in a circle around the room. Finally Shelby got close enough to grab Billy’s shirttail. He came up short, squirming and panting.
“That’s enough,” Shelby said. “It’s time to go home.”
The other boy, whose cheeks were bright red, quickly took off.
“It would be a shame to waste all that energy.”
Shelby
looked up to see Jim Harris standing in front of them. Mrs. Harris was deep in conversation with Coralynne.
“How about you come over to the stables after you’ve had your lunch and lend me a hand?” Jim said.
“Can I ride Blackjack after?” Billy said, his face lighting up.
“Sure thing. As soon as we finish with the stalls.” Jim smiled at Shelby. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you first. Is it okay with you?”
“Sure. Billy loves being around the horses.”
“I’ll see you after lunch then, buddy.” Jim lightly punched Billy on the arm.
Billy’s grin broadened until his whole face lit up.
Shelby watched as Jim turned, went up to his wife, and slipped an arm through hers. She turned to Billy.
“Have you seen your sister?”
“She was over there.” Billy pointed across the room. “She’s talking to some boy,” he said in tones of great disdain.
The crowd shifted, and Shelby caught a brief glance of curly blond hair.
“Can we go now, Mom? Mr. Harris is going to be waiting for me.” Billy tugged on Shelby’s arm.
Shelby ruffled his hair and Billy quickly ducked away from her hand.
“Sure, let’s round up your sister and then we’ll be off.”
• • •
Billy could barely sit still long enough to eat the sandwich Shelby made him. Shelby had gotten him to change out of his church clothes first—she wanted to treat his fruit punch–stained shirt as soon as possible, before the stain set.
Dear Reader, why do they make punch in such bright fluorescent colors? Don’t the manufacturers know how hard it is to get those stains out?
Billy finished his lunch in record time and was already in the car when Shelby walked through the door to the mudroom, her keys in hand. She slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and headed down the drive.
Billy was quiet on the drive out to the Harrises’ stables. He spent the ride leaning forward against his seat belt, as if that would get him to the stables faster.
