by Peg Cochran
Shelby picked a handful of different herbs—thyme, rosemary, and some basil. She planned to make chicken baked with lemon and herbs for dinner with a salad of red butterhead lettuce, oven-roasted carrots, and buttered potatoes. She would share the recipes on her Farmer’s Daughter blog the next day.
She stood up with a slight groan and moved to another section of the garden, where she picked some of the tender leaves of red-tinged lettuce, then carried her bounty into the kitchen. She was washing the lettuce when the telephone rang.
“Hello?”
“Shelby? This is Peter. Peter Baskin. I’m Kelly Thacker’s cousin. It’s about the band. Kelly said I should call you.” His voice rose up at the end as if he was nervous.
“Hi, Peter.”
“Listen. I . . . we . . . were wondering . . .” His voice trailed off.
Shelby held the phone between her ear and her shoulder and continued dunking the leaves of lettuce in the cold water in the sink.
“It’s like this, see. We’ve decided to keep the band together. Our manager—that’s Brian—thinks it’s a good idea.”
“Yes.” Shelby couldn’t imagine what on earth this had to do with her.
“But we need a place to practice. We’re bringing in a new lead singer, and we haven’t worked together before. We have to iron the kinks out, if you know what I mean. Before we perform our first gig.”
“Oh?”
“The police aren’t letting us leave town yet and there’s no way we can set up in our motel room.”
Shelby still wasn’t sure where this was going. With the phone still clamped to her ear, she gathered the leaves of lettuce together, removed them from their cold-water bath, and dropped them into the salad spinner.
“So we wondered,” Peter said again, “if we could use your barn? Just for a few days—the police have to let us go soon.” He paused. “We’ll pay you.”
It was the last thing Shelby had expected and for a moment she was at a loss as to what to say. What if it was one of the band members who had killed Travis? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. Then again, Peter was Kelly’s cousin, which practically made him family. And the extra money would be a bonus. For a moment she allowed herself to dream of taking the kids to Disney World.
Then a thought occurred to her, and she giggled. Would the music put Jake’s cows off giving milk? Maybe they would like the band’s signature blend of country and rock.
“I guess that would be okay.” Shelby began spinning the lettuce dry. “The generators are still here. The rental company isn’t picking them up until next week.”
“Really? You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks so much. Kelly said you’re the best, and she’s right,” Peter said.
Shelby heard Peter say something to someone in the room with him and suspected he was giving the other band members the good news.
“There’s just one thing,” Shelby said, fidgeting with the handle of the salad spinner. “I don’t know how late you’re planning on practicing, but you’ll have to stop by nine o’clock. People around here go to bed early.”
All she needed, Shelby thought, was complaints from her neighbors, although she doubted whether the sound would even carry that far. But she didn’t want to be kept up until midnight herself listening to the band rehearse, and the kids had to be up early for school.
“That’s fine. Can we come over now, then?”
“Sure. I don’t see why not. If you need anything from me, just knock on the door. I’ll be home.”
* * *
• • •
Shelby heard the noise of an engine and when she looked out the window, she saw the band’s dusty van, with Cody at the wheel, followed by Brian’s rusted and dented Taurus coming down the drive. Shelby let the curtain fall back into place and took a seat at the kitchen table. Her chicken was all prepped and in the refrigerator ready to cook for dinner. She opened up her laptop and scrolled to the blog she had started and quickly typed in the recipe for the chicken, trying to remember exactly what proportion of herbs she’d used. Once again she swore that next time she would take notes while creating a recipe.
She added some of the pictures she’d taken as she’d prepped the meal, and once the chicken was baked, she’d get some photos of the end result with the skin glazed and golden brown from the oven.
Shelby was finishing up her blog entry when she heard faint strains of music floating in the open kitchen window. Shelby moved closer until she could hear guitar notes and drumbeats. A voice joined in, but it wasn’t Paislee’s—it was a male voice.
Curious, Shelby stepped out the back door. She could hear the music more clearly now and someone singing. Was that the new lead singer Peter had mentioned?
Without realizing it, Shelby began walking toward the barn. The person singing sounded eerily like Travis, but perhaps it was the fact that she was hearing him sing one of Travis’s biggest hits that made it seem that way.
Shelby reached the barn and stood listening for another moment, tilting her head back to catch the rays of the sun on her face. After a moment, she went over to the open barn door and looked in. A young man was standing at the microphone—tall and willowy just like Travis had been. Was it an illusion or did all young men look the same? Shelby wondered. The thought made her suddenly feel old.
The young man looked like the same fellow Jessie had been talking to—arguing with, it looked more like—at the wedding.
The song ended and the band began playing another one—something Shelby hadn’t heard them play before. Paislee joined the young man at the microphone. They were singing a love song and Paislee’s beautiful voice was filled with longing and heartache. Shelby wondered if the emotion was real and she’d actually been in love with Travis, or if she was simply an accomplished performer able to call up different emotions at will.
The song gave Shelby goose bumps and she rubbed her bare arms. She found herself thinking of Bill and how much she missed him. She felt tears spring into her eyes—she’d thought she was over the worst of the loss, but perhaps the pain never went away completely.
The last notes of the song died away and for a moment everyone was still, wrapped in the spell conjured up by the music. To Shelby, it looked like a scene in a movie being put on pause.
“Okay, everybody, let’s take a break,” Brian called out, breaking the spell, and the band scattered like marbles flung on a bare floor.
Paislee wandered over to where Shelby was standing by the open barn door.
“That was beautiful,” Shelby said. She dashed at a tear that had formed at the corner of her eye.
Paislee shrugged. She looked embarrassed. “I’m glad you liked it. It still needs a little work.”
“I thought it was perfect. You sounded as if you’d spent hours practicing it already.”
Paislee looked slightly uncomfortable and began fiddling with the beaded bracelets around her wrist.
“How did you find a replacement for Travis so quickly? And he sounds so much like Travis.”
Paislee’s discomfort intensified. She drew circles on the floor with her toe. “The singer is Jax. He’s Travis’s brother.”
No wonder he looked and sounded so familiar, Shelby thought. He was certainly as talented as his brother.
She wondered why Travis had become a star when his brother hadn’t. And had that caused problems between the two of them?
7
Dear Reader,
Did you know it’s easy to store your root vegetables for the winter? First, leave them in the ground as long as possible, but do pick them before the first black frost, which occurs when the temperatures are low and the humidity is very, very low. Harvest them in the morning and let them dry throughout the day.
You shouldn’t wash them after picking, and you should pick the best specimens—no nicks or
bruises. They need a cool, moist, dark environment like your unheated cellar, your garage, or under the back porch. You can pack them in sand, sawdust, or dry leaves. And be sure not to crowd them.
By canning, storing, or freezing your late fall crop, you can enjoy the bounty of homegrown vegetables all winter long.
Billy shot into the house as Shelby was peeling carrots in the kitchen. His face and hands were filthy, his shirt had acquired another hole, and the knees of his jeans were caked with mud. Shelby smiled—in other words, it was business as usual.
She was glad that Billy didn’t seem to have been too affected by Travis’s death. His eyes had widened when he saw the police pull into the driveway, and Shelby knew he had been disappointed when Bert had shooed him inside the house.
Amelia had reacted more strongly, and Shelby suspected that the crush she’d developed on Travis had made her feel his death more keenly, even though she didn’t actually know him. She was at the age when girls’ emotions were easily triggered.
Shelby cut the carrots into strips. She planned to toss them with olive oil, salt, pepper, and some thyme and roast them to bring out their sweetness.
She glanced out the kitchen window. The low-hanging clouds had parted to reveal patches of bright blue sky. Shelby felt a sense of contentment wash over her—no matter what happened at Love Blossom Farm, the place would always bring her peace.
Shelby leaned across the counter and flipped on the radio—Amelia thought she was a dinosaur for having one in the first place when everyone was now playing music on their phones—and one of Travis’s songs came on. She stopped for a moment to listen. He really had been very talented.
She knew he’d been on America Can Sing, but it wasn’t a program she usually watched. Shelby washed and dried her hands and slid into a chair at the kitchen table, where her laptop was still sitting out. She jiggled the mouse and the screen sprang to life.
Shelby typed in Travis’s name and numerous entries popped up. There was the usual Wikipedia paragraph along with Travis’s own Web site and a link that led to America Can Sing’s site.
Shelby clicked on the Wikipedia site. Not for the first time, she wondered how they’d gotten along before the Internet.
The entry on Travis wasn’t particularly detailed—he was born in Lovett, had a brother and a sister, and had dropped out of college before graduation to be on America Can Sing. Nothing really new there.
Shelby scrolled down until a line caught her eye—Travis and his brother, Jax, began performing while in high school and were on the fast track to success when they were in an auto accident. Travis sustained minor injuries, but Jax spent several months recovering in a rehab facility while Travis went on to win the title on America Can Sing. The duo never did get back together even after Jax recovered, and Travis went on to pursue a solo career with his backup band.
Shelby sat and stared at the words for a moment. Then she quickly clicked on the America Can Sing site.
She read through the brief biography of Travis posted there—there was no mention of Jax or his and Travis’s former partnership. Shelby leaned back in her chair and stared at the screen. How must Jax have felt about that?
There was a knock on the mudroom screen door and Shelby jumped, wincing when her knee banged against the edge of the table. She pushed back her chair and went to see who it was.
“I’m sorry to bother you.” Paislee hesitated outside the door. “But I wondered if I could use your bathroom.”
“Of course. Come in.” Shelby stepped aside to let Paislee in. “It’s down the hall.” She gestured toward the kitchen door and the hallway beyond.
Paislee smiled. “Thanks.”
Shelby read through a few more of the entries on Travis—a piece in a Michigan newspaper, a photograph and a one-paragraph story in People magazine, and an item in Star that had a picture of Travis with his arm around Paislee as they left a well-known restaurant in Nashville.
Shelby was so engrossed in her reading she didn’t hear Paislee come into the kitchen and she was startled when she realized the girl was standing in back of her.
Paislee looked over Shelby’s shoulder and tapped the screen with her finger.
“I see you’re reading about Travis. It’s still so hard to believe. . . .”
She began to cry and buried her face in her hands.
Shelby stood up and patted Paislee on the shoulder. “Let me get you some water.”
She went to the sink, filled a glass, and handed it to Paislee.
“Thank you.” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Shelby noticed her fingernails were jagged and bitten.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Shelby said, resuming her seat at the table.
“Thanks.” Paislee pulled out the kitchen chair opposite Shelby.
“I have been reading about Travis,” Shelby said, fiddling with her computer mouse. “I didn’t know he used to sing with his brother.”
Paislee nodded. “He did until the accident at any rate. Jax gave it up after that.”
“What happened?” Shelby leaned across the table toward Paislee.
“That was before I met Travis.” Paislee began playing with some frayed strings that had come loose from one of her beaded bracelets. “I guess Jax took a corner a little too fast and . . .” She shrugged. “Travis wasn’t too badly hurt, but Jax spent ages in the hospital.”
“So Jax was driving.”
“Yeah.” Paislee took a sip of her water. “That’s what Travis told me.”
“Did Jax resent the fact that while he was struggling to recover from the accident, Travis’s career was taking off? I mean, it sounds like Jax had been expecting the two of them to perform together.”
Paislee shrugged again. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Jax is pretty laid-back, and he and Travis have always been close.”
After Paislee left, Shelby began to wonder. Wouldn’t it have been normal for Jax to resent his brother’s success?
But did Jax resent his brother enough to kill him?
* * *
• • •
Shelby was drying the last of the pots and pans when the front doorbell rang. She’d sent Billy up to take a bath and Amelia was in her room finishing up her homework. Or so she said—judging from the sound of the music drifting down the stairs, Shelby wondered how she was able to concentrate.
The song was familiar. For a moment Shelby couldn’t place it, but then she realized it was Travis singing. She felt a sudden pang—a merciless killer had snuffed out a very bright light. Travis had had a great future ahead of him before someone snatched it away.
Shelby couldn’t imagine being driven to murder—what on earth had Travis done to make someone hate him enough to feel justified in killing him? she wondered as she scurried to the foyer.
Frank was standing on her doorstep when she pulled open the front door. As always, the sight of him gave her pause—he looked so much like her late husband that she often thought her mind was playing tricks on her and it really was Bill standing there.
Shelby smoothed the front of her T-shirt, which had a wet splotch on it.
Frank twirled a baseball cap around and around in his hands.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
Ever since Frank and Shelby had kissed—a moment Shelby half regretted and half never wanted to forget—there had been an invisible barrier between them, an awkwardness neither of them seemed to be able to get over.
“No.” Shelby tucked her hair behind her ears. “Come in.” She led Frank into the kitchen. “I was just finishing the dishes.”
Frank took a deep breath. “It smells wonderful in here.” He gave a half smile. “A lot better than my frozen microwaved dinner.”
“There’s plenty left—chicken with lemon and herbs, roasted carrots, and buttered potatoes. I could heat some up for you. I
’m afraid the salad is all gone, though.”
Frank’s smile became a full grin. “You’ve twisted my arm.” He frowned. “As long as it’s not too much trouble.”
Before Shelby could answer, Billy skidded into the room.
“Uncle Frank,” he yelled before throwing himself into Frank’s arms.
Billy’s hair was damp, but the stubborn cowlick on top of his head still stood up like a rooster’s comb. He was wearing his Superman pajamas, and Shelby noticed that they’d gotten short on him since the last time she’d looked.
“Billy,” Frank said, lifting his nephew into the air. “How’s my favorite young man?”
Billy squealed in delight. “I took a bath and washed behind my ears and everything, just like Mom said to.”
“Good for you.” Frank put Billy down and patted him on the back. “I need to have a word with your mother in private, okay, champ? But how about I come over next weekend and you can practice your pitching?” He looked over at Shelby. “I hear you’re almost as good as your old man was.”
Billy’s face turned red with pride. “That would be super, Uncle Frank.”
After Billy left the room, Frank turned to Shelby and laughed. “I figured he wouldn’t leave without some sort of bribe.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t—”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll look forward to it.”
Shelby turned away and opened the door of the refrigerator. She pulled out several foil-wrapped bundles and retrieved a plate from the cupboard.
“White or dark?” She opened one of the packages and looked at Frank, her fork poised over the chicken.
“Dark for me.”
Bill had been a dark-meat fan, too, Shelby thought as she arranged the food on a plate and slipped it into the microwave.
Frank pulled out a kitchen chair and sank into it with a groan.
“Tired?” Shelby said as she pushed the appropriate buttons on the microwave.
