Bought the Farm

by Peg Cochran

  “I’m taking him right away.” Shelby turned to Billy. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go see Dr. Gregson.”

  Shelby wasn’t sure if the look on his face was indicative of his embarrassment at her using a term of endearment in front of someone else or his dislike of visiting the doctor.

  Billy had dozed off in his seat, his head lolling over his right shoulder, by the time they pulled into the parking lot of the building where Seth’s practice was located. Shelby hated to wake him, but he was too big to carry. That thought gave her a pang—where had the time gone? Before she knew it, he would be a teenager and would no longer need her for certain things—like tucking him in at night and checking to make sure he’d washed behind his ears.

  She shook him gently and his eyes fluttered open, closed, and then finally open again.

  “Come on, bud. We’re at Dr. Gregson’s.”

  “I won’t have to get a shot, will I?”

  Shelby took a deep breath. She tried not to lie to her children, but occasionally a half-truth was called for.

  “Probably not. You’ll probably only have to swallow some icky medicine.”

  Shelby put her arms around his shoulders. She could feel the heat of his body through his shirt and panic clutched her.

  “Here we go.” She held the door open.

  The waiting room was empty except for a well-dressed woman sitting in the corner, reading a magazine. She lowered it and peered over the top at Shelby.

  “Nancy,” Shelby blurted.

  “Shelby,” Nancy said at the same time.

  Nancy was wearing navy-and-white-print pants with a navy blouse, a navy-and-white scarf, and white shoes trimmed with navy. As usual, she made Shelby feel sloppy, ill put together, and slightly grubby.

  Shelby got Billy situated in a seat. He shook his head when she asked if he wanted to look at any of the issues of Highlights strewn across the table in front of the sofa. Shelby watched as his eyes slowly closed, and his head dropped to his chest.

  “I hope everything is okay,” Nancy said.

  Shelby took a deep breath. “I hope so. Billy has a high fever and a strange rash. It can’t be measles—he’s been vaccinated.”

  Nancy raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “It could be roseola. It’s a virus you don’t hear much about, but I remember Seth getting it when he was around Billy’s age.”

  Shelby looked at Nancy in alarm. “It’s not serious, is it?”

  Nancy shook her head. “Give him something for the fever and let him rest, and I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  “Are you here to see Seth?”

  Nancy put her magazine down in her lap. She looked around the waiting room, but they were still alone.

  “I came to talk to him,” Nancy said in a low voice. “Kelly told me that the police have questioned him about that dreadful incident at their wedding.”

  “I think they’ve spoken with everyone,” Shelby said.

  Nancy stuck her nose in the air. “I told him not to say anything unless Glen Crawford was there.”

  Shelby raised her eyebrows.

  “He’s our attorney. Very clever man. I don’t know what we’d do without him.”

  “I don’t think Seth needs an attorney, do you? The police can’t possibly believe he had anything to do with Travis’s death.”

  “One can’t be too careful, you know.” She lowered her voice further. “Kelly told me the police were asking about an argument between that singer and someone who looked like Seth. Or at least someone told the police it looked like Seth. All because of that silly hat of his. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve begged him to get rid of it.”

  “But anyone could have picked up Seth’s hat and put it on—he said he left it on a table somewhere and forgot about it.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to Seth about. I saw the man who was arguing with that fellow who was killed.”

  “Really?”

  Nancy nodded slowly and her ash brown hair brushed across her cheek.

  “Who was it?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve never seen the man before. All I know is it wasn’t Seth.”

  “Did you see what he looked like? Can you describe him?”

  “You’re certainly taking an interest in this, aren’t you?” Nancy smoothed the front of her blouse. “But I suppose that’s natural since all of this took place on your property.”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly.”

  Dear Reader, do you think she can see my fingers crossed behind my back?

  Nancy pursed her lips. “I only saw the fellow from the side, but I knew it wasn’t Seth. He wasn’t wearing linen pants like Seth, and he wasn’t wearing blue jeans like the others in that dreadful rock group. Besides, I should think I would know my own son.” Nancy cocked an eyebrow at Shelby.

  “What was he wearing? Do you remember?”

  Shelby glanced over at Billy, but he was still asleep, his head resting against the back of the chair.

  “Of course I do. He had on a pair of khaki trousers that were desperately in need of a good pressing and a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I don’t understand why men insist on putting on a perfectly good button-down shirt, then ruining the whole effect by messing about with the sleeves.”

  Shelby was picturing Kelly and Seth’s wedding in her mind. As Nancy had said, Travis and the group were in blue jeans and Seth was in linen pants. For a moment Shelby was stumped. Then she remembered Brian—the first time she met him, he was in khakis and he was still wearing khakis when the group performed at the wedding.

  He must have been the one arguing with Travis. What had they argued about? Shelby wondered. And had the argument been serious enough to lead to murder?

  * * *

  • • •

  Amelia was up early on Sunday morning—almost early enough to feed the chickens. Shelby had just come back from the barn when Amelia appeared in the kitchen, sleepy-eyed, with her hair in a tumble of curls around her face.

  She slid into a seat at the table and propped her chin in her hands.

  “I hope everything goes okay with the campaign kickoff today.”

  “You still haven’t told me what the big surprise is,” Shelby said as she broke two more eggs into the sizzling fat in her frying pan.

  “It’s going to be epic, like I told you.” Amelia smiled, a fleeting look of doubt crossing her face. She poked at the fried eggs Shelby put in front of her. “I have to text Katelyn to see what she’s wearing,” Amelia said suddenly, pulling her cell phone from her pajama pocket.

  Dear Reader, I know I’m always joking about it, but it looks like she really does sleep with her phone!

  Amelia poked at her eggs some more, eating a few bites that would barely keep a sparrow alive, before bolting to her room to get ready.

  Shelby scraped the rest of the eggs into Jenkins’s and Bitsy’s bowls and put the dish in the dishwasher.

  Billy stumbled sleepily into the kitchen.

  “How are you feeling?” Shelby asked, touching Billy’s forehead with the back of her hand. It was cool—his fever had broken.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Eggs?”

  Billy grunted.

  Shelby scrambled an egg for him, which he downed in practically one gulp. Children certainly recuperated quickly, Shelby thought. Yesterday he had fallen asleep before dinner and he hadn’t woken up until this morning.

  Shelby supposed she ought to get ready, too. She didn’t want to embarrass Amelia in front of her classmates, although that was practically a given, considering her wardrobe. Amelia accused her of wearing “mom” jeans, which puzzled Shelby. She was a mom and they were jeans—she couldn’t imagine any way to get around those two facts.

  Neither Amelia nor Billy wanted to go to church, but Shelby insisted, although both of them fidget
ed so much during the service that Shelby wondered if either of them had heard a word Reverend Mather had said. Shelby wished Billy could have stayed home in bed, but there was no one to stay with him, and besides, he insisted he felt fine and was completely better, although the dark circles under his eyes worried Shelby.

  Finally, it was time to file out of church and head to the high school.

  Katelyn was waiting outside the school by the main entrance when they arrived. She clapped her hands when she saw Shelby pull around the circular drive to let Amelia off.

  “Hi, Mrs. McDonald,” Katelyn said as Shelby zapped down her window.

  “I hope your kickoff is a big success,” Shelby said.

  Katelyn rolled her eyes. “I hope so. I hope the band shows up. They promised Amelia they would.”

  Shelby felt her mouth go dry. “Band?” Maybe Katelyn was referring to a group of students who’d formed a rock group?

  Shelby caught a glimpse of Amelia’s face out of the corner of her eye. Amelia had gone white and was fiddling with the door handle, accidentally locking the door in her haste to get out of the car.

  “What band?” Shelby said.

  A look passed between Amelia and Katelyn, and Katelyn began to stammer.

  “The band that’s been practicing in your barn. You know—Travis Cooper’s backup musicians.” She glanced at Amelia in confusion. “I thought you knew.”

  “Amelia!”

  “We’ve got to go, Mom. We have a lot to do.”

  Shelby gripped the steering wheel, heat flooding her face and roaring in her ears.

  “Does the principal know about this, Amelia? Does he know it’s the same band that might be involved in two murders?”

  “Mr. Danbury doesn’t care,” Amelia said as she slammed the car door in back of her and took off at a trot.

  Doesn’t care? Shelby thought to herself. Or doesn’t know?

  * * *

  • • •

  Shelby was pulling into a parking space in the rapidly filling lot when she noticed the Lovett General Store truck maneuvering into a spot at the entrance of the lot. She got out of the car and stood by the door, squinting into the distance. That was definitely Matt opening the back doors of the truck.

  “Can I go into the gym, Mom?” Billy said, hanging back.

  “Sure. You go help your sister.”

  Shelby had barely finished speaking before Billy dashed off.

  She walked over toward where Matt was continuing to off-load cartons. As Shelby got closer, she could see the boxes were filled with bottles of pop and individual bags of chips.

  Shelby’s stomach was in knots, and she regretted the scrambled eggs and bacon she’d made herself for breakfast. She didn’t know what to do. Should she hunt Mr. Danbury down and warn him about the band? The parking lot was filling rapidly with a line of cars waiting to get in. It would be a huge embarrassment to Amelia if the show didn’t go on as planned. She doubted Mr. Danbury would want to cancel the event now.

  “What’s wrong?” Matt said when Shelby reached him.

  Shelby explained the situation.

  Matt furrowed his brow. “I think you’re worrying for no reason,” he said, placing a hand on Shelby’s arm. His palm was warm against her skin, which had suddenly gone cold. “You don’t know for sure that the band members were involved in the murders. And besides, it seems likely that Travis and Cody were targeted specifically. It’s not like there’s a serial killer on the loose.”

  “True.”

  “I’m sure everyone will be perfectly safe.”

  Shelby sighed. “I’m furious with Amelia for not telling me. She said she wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Matt’s eyebrows lifted. “A surprise?” He laughed. “It sounds more like she was afraid you’d say no to the idea.”

  “Darned right I would have.” Shelby’s fists clenched at her sides.

  Matt rested his hand on Shelby’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure everything is going to be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Shelby said. She gestured toward the cartons Matt was pulling from the truck. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  “I agreed to donate some snacks to the effort. Amelia said they’re hoping to raise some money from the sales for their campaign.”

  Matt pulled a red handcart from the back of the truck and began stacking the cartons on it.

  “Can I help with anything?” Shelby asked.

  “Thanks, but I think I’ve got it.”

  They began walking toward the front of the school. Shelby held the door open as Matt wheeled the boxes inside and down the hall.

  The auditorium was already half-filled, and excited high-pitched chatter echoed from the rafters. Amelia had a clipboard clutched to her chest and was talking to a young man. She appeared to be giving him instructions. In spite of her anger, Shelby couldn’t help but be impressed with how Amelia was handling herself and with all the work she had done to pull off this event.

  The band had straggled in, pulling their instruments on a large cart with Lovett High School written in black marker on the side. They began setting up on the stage. Shelby wandered into the hallway. Matt was busy organizing his wares outside the doors to the auditorium, and more and more students were filing in, clutching cans of pop and bags of chips. Matt gave Shelby an encouraging smile and she gave a shaky one in return.

  Shelby went back inside the auditorium. The band had their instruments set up on the stage. Peter, the guitarist, was perched on an amplifier, tuning his instrument. He strummed his fingers across the strings a few times, made an adjustment, and began picking out a tune. Jax, who was fiddling with the microphone stand, began to hum along. The mic was live, and his humming, albeit muted, carried out across the auditorium.

  Shelby thought she recognized the tune as one the band had played at the wedding. She didn’t think they’d recorded it, because she’d never heard it on the radio, although she had heard one or two other songs that Travis had recorded.

  The tune also reminded Shelby of the song she’d heard on the radio the other day—the oldie that had brought back such clear, bittersweet memories of her husband and their courtship. She stopped and listened more carefully to the music.

  The melody was the same as the song she’d heard in her car the other day. Without the different lyrics, the similarity was more obvious. She glanced toward the band again. Brian was mounting the steps to the stage, his hands clenched at his sides. Shelby noticed that unlike the rest of the group, he was wearing khakis again and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up his thick forearms.

  He strode toward Jax and Peter, waving his arms frantically. As soon as they saw him, Peter’s strumming and Jax’s humming stopped abruptly.

  What was that all about? Shelby wondered.

  Paislee wasn’t onstage yet, but Shelby found her in front of the mirror in the girls’ bathroom down the hall from the auditorium. Shelby noticed that nothing much had changed there since her day. The metal stalls were slightly skewed after years of students banging the doors shut. Some of the tile was chipped and the industrial beige paint was grubby around the light switch.

  Paislee was leaning toward the mirror, lining her eyes in bright aquamarine eyeliner that contrasted with the mascaraed black fringe of her eyelashes. Her cosmetic bag was open on the counter in front of her.

  Shelby went to the sink next to Paislee and turned on the tap.

  “It looks like you’ve got a good crowd out there.” Shelby gestured toward the door of the washroom with her shoulder.

  Paislee gave her a shy smile. “I’m glad. This will give me and Jax a chance to iron out any kinks in the new song we’ve been practicing.”

  Shelby pumped some soap onto her hands from the dispenser on the wall.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Shel
by said, turning toward Paislee.

  “Sure.”

  “Peter and Jax were playing a song just now—maybe not playing—Peter was strumming on his guitar and Jax was humming along. Travis sang the same song at the wedding. For some reason, it seemed to have made Brian angry. It reminds me of an old song I heard on the radio the other day, but the words are different and the melody is a bit slower.”

  Paislee made a face. “No kidding it sounds familiar. Travis and Brian had such an argument over it.”

  “Why?” Shelby reached for one of the folded brown paper towels stacked in the dispenser attached to the wall with a rusted screw.

  “It’s pretty obvious, don’t you think? Travis stole the melody from that old song, dashed off some new lyrics, and tried to pass it all off as his own. Brian was furious when he found out.”

  Paislee retrieved a tube of mascara from her cosmetic bag. She pulled out the wand and began adding a second coat to her already heavily made-up eyelashes.

  “And it’s not like Travis couldn’t write his own music.” Paislee turned toward Shelby and pointed the mascara wand at her. “Take that song he wrote for me.” She put a slight emphasis on the word me. “It’s pure Travis’s and it’s brilliant. He had no need to steal someone else’s melody. Not when he could write music like that.”

  “How did Brian find out that Travis had plagiarized that song?”

  “The woman who wrote the original got herself a lawyer, and the lawyer called Brian and told him that the band had better stop playing the song or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  Paislee shrugged. “I don’t know. Or else they would sue, I suppose.”

  “So Brian and Travis fought about it.”

  “Yeah.” Paislee dropped her tube of mascara into her open cosmetic bag. “Travis kept insisting that he hadn’t stolen the melody—that he’d written it himself.” She pulled a pot of eye shadow and a cosmetic brush from her bag and began swiping the dark blue color across her lids. “Brian didn’t believe him—that’s exactly the sort of thing Travis would do. Besides, it wasn’t worth the expense and legal hassle if that woman did get her lawyer to sue.”