No Farm, No Foul (Farmer's Daughter Mystery)

by Peg Cochran

  Kelly must have sensed her hesitation. “If you’re busy, just say so, and I’ll call someone else. I’m over at the Mingledorffs’ farm, and I need a hand with something.”

  Shelby couldn’t imagine how she could lend a hand with anything veterinary-related.

  “My assistants are both tied up over at the Clarks’ place. Another heifer is giving birth, but it’s an uncomplicated one this time, so I’m letting them handle it. It’s the only way they’re going to learn.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “The Mingledorffs’ mare, Lorelei, has colic again. It seems to strike her as regularly as the full moon, poor thing. I keep telling them more fiber in her feed, but . . . anyway, I want to administer some mineral oil via a nasogastric tube, and I need someone to hold the twitch for me.”

  Shelby knew a little about horses—she’d been riding since she was five years old—but they’d never kept horses on the farm. She did know that colic was potentially very dangerous, though. But what on earth was a twitch?

  “Where do the Mingledorffs live?” Shelby asked as she scrounged around in a junk drawer for a piece of paper and a functioning pen or pencil.

  Kelly gave her the address.

  Shelby scribbled it down and hung up. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed a hunk of cheese, but a real lunch would have to wait until she got back. She tucked the scrap of paper with the Mingledorffs’ address on it in her purse and headed out.

  The Mingledorffs weren’t far, and Shelby was pulling into their drive barely ten minutes later. She parked her car in front of their weather-beaten farmhouse and began walking across the field toward the stable in the distance.

  As she got closer, she heard neighing overlaid with Kelly’s soothing tones. The stable was in considerably better condition than the house had looked to be—it was obvious where the Mingledorffs’ priorities lay. Shelby pushed open the door. All the stalls but one were empty—Shelby had noticed the other horses out in the field on her walk over.

  “Is that you?” Kelly’s head, with its mop of unruly red hair, popped out of one of the stalls. “Thanks so much for coming.”

  “I hope I can help. I know next to nothing about horses.”

  “You don’t need to. I just need an extra pair of hands.” She gestured toward the horse. “Lorelei has colic, and I need to administer a dose of mineral oil, but I need someone to hold the twitch for me.”

  “Twitch?”

  Kelly waved what looked like a stick with a loop on the end of it at Shelby. “This. It attaches to the horse’s upper lip and applies pressure. It’s hard to believe, but for some reason it calms them down.”

  Kelly attached the twitch to Lorelei’s upper lip. “Here, hold this.”

  Shelby did as she was told and held on to the rod while Kelly began threading a nasogastric tube through the horse’s nose. The mare stood patiently while Kelly worked.

  “I hope it’s not an impaction,” Kelly said as she readied the mineral oil. “That might require an enema.”

  Shelby felt herself go pale. She really wasn’t up for that. Kelly would have to wait for one of her assistants if she was planning on that procedure.

  “Seth’s mother has been asking me when I’m going to start looking for a wedding gown.”

  Shelby made a face.

  “We haven’t even set a date yet. I can’t imagine myself in a gown—jeans and a T-shirt are more my style. I’ll probably trip and fall flat on my face at the altar.”

  “I suppose you could get married in jeans if you really wanted to shock Seth’s mother. But I’m sure you’ll find something that suits you. There are a lot of cute short gowns out there now.”

  Kelly snorted and it was obvious she wasn’t convinced. “Have you heard anything new about Prudence’s murder?”

  Shelby told her about her cheese-making class and the women’s gossip about Prudence.

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Kelly said, tight-lipped. “I always thought she had a mean streak underneath that holier-than-thou exterior.”

  “Oh, and I had a visit from Frank.”

  “An official visit?”

  “Yes.”

  Kelly paused. “Really? What did he want?” She stroked the horse’s velvety brown neck. “All done, sweetheart,” she murmured in its ear. “You should feel better soon.” She turned to Shelby. “It seems to me Frank already asked every question in the book on Sunday.”

  “It’s very odd. He said that they found a thousand dollars in cash in Prudence’s purse. He wondered if I had any idea what she was doing with so much money—that maybe it was the money we’d collected from the potluck.”

  Kelly’s hand jerked, and the horse tossed its head. Shelby turned to look at her, and Kelly’s face had drained of color.

  “What’s the matter?” Shelby asked.

  7

  Dear Reader,

  The last thing I expected to find myself doing today was helping Kelly with the Mingledorffs’ colicky horse. I was a bit nervous, but the procedure went smoothly, and there was nothing particularly gross or disgusting about it. I just felt very sorry for the poor horse. I hope it feels better soon.

  I used to ride when I was younger, but it’s been ages since I last did it. Billy and Amelia have had lessons, but neither of them really took to it. Amelia is far more interested in counting down the years, months, days, and hours until she is old enough to start driving. Don’t worry—I will warn you to get off the roads in plenty of time! Hopefully by then the farm will be doing a little better, and we’ll be able to afford a second car. Last year was tough, and we’re still recovering.

  Kelly is acting rather oddly, and I don’t know what to make of it. We’ve been friends ever since she opened her veterinary practice here in Lovett and I had to take Bitsy in the time she caught that toad and it made her sick to her stomach.

  Shelby looked at her friend. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.”

  Kelly gave a weak smile and brushed a hand through her hair. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. You got all white all of a sudden. Something’s wrong.”

  A tear escaped Kelly’s eye and slid down her cheek. She brushed at it impatiently. “That Prudence is a horrible woman,” she said, and burst into tears.

  Shelby searched the pockets of her cutoffs, but all she could find was a used tissue that had obviously been through the wash a couple of times. She was always forgetting to check pockets before doing the laundry. One time Billy had left a green marker in one of his, and their clothes had come out looking like some form of pop art.

  Kelly gave a final sniffle and smiled at Shelby. “I guess I’d better tell you the whole sordid thing.”

  “I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

  Kelly laughed. “I’ll let you be the judge.”

  “Why don’t we go outside? The air is getting rather stuffy in here.”

  “Good idea.” Kelly gave a smile—a genuine one this time. “We definitely don’t want to be in here when that mineral oil does its job on old Lorelei’s internal plumbing.”

  Shelby shuddered. “Definitely not.” She did not even want to think about what that would entail.

  They opened the stable door and stood, breathing in the fresh air.

  “Should we go sit down?” Shelby gestured toward an old bench that sat rotting in the sun.

  “Think this will hold us?” Kelly asked as they perched gingerly on the worn wooden slats.

  Shelby waited, but Kelly didn’t immediately say anything. Finally Kelly gave a small groan and turned toward Shelby.

  “It all started with Prudence’s cat. A Cornish rex.”

  Shelby raised her eyebrows. “What’s that? It sounds fancy.” She was used to the common garden variety of cat, like their calico, Patches.

  “Cornish rexes were first bred i
n Cornwall, England, in the early 1950s,” Kelly explained. “They have a very distinctive coat—short and slightly curly. Not exactly your run-of-the-mill barn cat.” Kelly massaged her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “Anyway, Prudence found the cat through a breeder in Bloomfield Hills and brought it to me for a checkup. She was shelling out some big money for it and wanted to be sure it was healthy. Not that it would really have mattered—Prudence was already crazy about it—named her Cleopatra and bought her toys, a fancy bed, a scratching post, and one of those cat-condo things.”

  Poor Patches, Shelby thought. She had to be content with napping on their old sofa and sharpening her claws on their already tattered armchair.

  “Prudence was obviously going to keep the cat no matter what I said about its health, and I don’t blame her—it was a sweet little thing and so pretty.” Kelly chewed on her bottom lip. “Unfortunately I was distracted—Seth and I had had an argument the night before and after sleeping on it, I’d decided he was right after all. I couldn’t wait to call him and apologize.”

  Kelly scratched at a spot on her faded T-shirt. Shelby noticed there was a small hole by the hem—had a dog or cat gotten its claws into it, protesting having its temperature taken or the indignities of some other procedure?

  “So obviously I was distracted. It’s no excuse, I realize that. But I completely missed the fact that poor Cleopatra was deaf.”

  “Is that such a tragedy?” Shelby didn’t understand. Kelly said Prudence already loved the cat.

  “Prudence accused me of being in cahoots with the breeder—I had recommended them—another client had purchased Rexes from them and had been very satisfied. She claimed the breeder was paying me to give a false report.”

  “But you said Prudence kept the cat anyway. . . .”

  Kelly sighed. “I know. It doesn’t make any sense. All I know is that Prudence threatened to ruin my practice if I didn’t pony up the money she’d spent on the cat and then some . . . for pain and suffering, as she put it.”

  Shelby thought of the money found in Prudence’s handbag. “Did you—”

  “No,” Kelly said immediately. “I wasn’t about to let Prudence blackmail me—because that’s what it was—blackmail. Although she felt she was merely getting what she was owed.”

  “But no one would blame you—”

  Kelly spun around toward Shelby. “But don’t you see? It makes me a perfect suspect for Prudence’s murder.” She stifled a sob. “And even worse, I told Seth about it, and I think he . . . he . . . might have given her the thousand dollars that was found in her purse.”

  “Do you really think Seth would go so far as to do that?”

  “I’ll admit, it’s not like him. We’re a lot alike, and I expect he would refuse to let Prudence blackmail me. But what other explanation could there be for Prudence running around with so much money on her?”

  Shelby ran her fingers gently over the rough boards of the bench, feeling the shards of splinters beneath her touch. “Let’s say Seth did give her the money, just for argument’s sake. Then you’d have no reason to be suspected of killing Prudence, right? She promised not to say anything as long as she got her money.”

  “But what if Seth never planned for her to keep the money? What if he followed her to the potluck and killed her? But then you found Prudence’s body before he had the chance to retrieve his cash?”

  “But Prudence didn’t have her purse with her in the mudroom.”

  “Exactly. Seth could have killed her there and been looking for her purse when you found Prudence dead and all hell broke loose.”

  Shelby threw back her head and laughed out loud. “Honestly, Kelly, you’ve been watching too much television. Besides, Seth is your fiancé. Surely you know he’s not capable of something that . . . that heinous?”

  Kelly stuck her finger in a hole in her jeans and ran it around and around the frayed edges. “You’d like to believe you know someone. I certainly thought I knew Seth. But when I asked him where he was during the potluck—why he didn’t come—he . . . he refused to tell me.”

  Kelly clasped her arms and hunched over as if in pain. “You’ve got to help me, Shelby.”

  “Me?” Shelby pointed at herself. “You know I’d do anything for you, but what on earth could I do?”

  Kelly turned her head so she was looking at Shelby. “I may be the dog whisperer, but humans talk to you—they tell you things. Maybe you can find out who did kill Prudence.”

  The thought of playing detective would have amused Shelby if she hadn’t been so worried about Kelly. Her friend was still looking rather shaken when Shelby left her.

  Shelby had read all the Nancy Drew books as a child—the long winter nights in Michigan were conducive to reading, especially since they hadn’t had cable and the selection of shows on the television was quite limited.

  But Shelby had no illusions about her detective skills. Besides, this wasn’t a book—this was real life. She had no idea how to go about searching for clues and questioning people. She was quite certain the police would solve the mystery of Prudence’s murder all by themselves without any help from her.

  Bitsy and Jenkins came running down the drive as Shelby pulled in. They followed her into the house and headed straight for the large metal bowl of water Shelby kept in the kitchen. She had water dishes on the porch, by the back door, and in the barn, but the dogs seemed to prefer the one in the kitchen. And of course Bitsy always had to shake her head vigorously after a good long drink, sending water and saliva spraying all over. Shelby had long since given up on keeping the kind of spotless kitchen you saw in magazines and on television sitcoms. Besides, she suspected those people never used the stove or microwave to do anything messier than heat up takeout or boil water.

  Shelby rummaged in the fridge, found some leftover tuna salad, and grabbed a fork from the silverware drawer. She sniffed the container briefly—it smelled okay—and took several bites before picking up the phone and dialing Amelia’s cell phone number.

  “What’s up?”

  “Amelia?”

  “Yes, Mom, it’s me. This is my cell phone you dialed—were you expecting someone else?”

  Shelby gritted her teeth. It was a stage, she reminded herself. One she’d most likely gone through herself. No sense in making a big deal of it—keep that for the important stuff.

  “I wanted to remind you that you have choir practice tonight. I’ll need to pick you up around five so you have time for dinner.”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, and then Shelby heard a voice—a boy’s voice—in the background.

  “Amelia? Amelia, who is that? It sounds like a boy. You told me you were at Kaylee’s house.”

  Was she getting paranoid? Shelby wondered. Just because Amelia had been talking to Jodi’s son at the potluck didn’t mean she had progressed to sneaking around.

  Amelia’s exaggerated sigh was loud and clear. “Mom,” she said in that tone that never failed to set Shelby’s teeth on edge. “Kaylee has a brother, okay? We’re playing a game together. Okay?”

  Shelby immediately felt foolish. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean . . . Anyway, I’ll pick you up at five, so be ready.”

  “Fine.” The line went dead.

  Shame on her for being so suspicious, Shelby thought as she rinsed out the tuna container. She stopped with her hand halfway to the faucet. Amelia had never mentioned Kaylee’s brother before. Why not? She gave herself a shake. She was being ridiculous. She had no reason not to trust Amelia.

  Shelby pulled her slow cooker out of the cabinet and set it up on the counter. She poured in a gallon of milk and turned it to low. As soon as it reached the right temperature, she would add some starter—half a cup of yogurt she’d saved from a previous batch—and then wrap the pot in a large towel and let it sit overnight. Tomorrow she would strain it and add herb
s to make yogurt cheese.

  Shelby was wiping down the counter when the front doorbell rang and the door opened almost immediately afterward.

  “Yoo-hoo, I’m here,” a voice came from the foyer.

  “In the kitchen, Bert,” Shelby called back.

  A tall, spindle-thin woman with steel gray hair bustled into the room. Shelby had known Roberta “Bert” Parker for as long as she could remember. She’d been coming around to Love Blossom Farm ever since Shelby was a little girl, helping out with whatever was necessary, whether it was running the vacuum cleaner or planting seedlings. She was a widow now—her husband had died a good ten years ago of a heart attack. He had been called Ernie, and Bert had never failed to get a kick out of introducing the two of them as Bert and Ernie.

  Bert was born and raised in Lovett and liked to brag that she’d never been outside the state. As far as she was concerned, you could find anything you wanted in Michigan—from the Big Lake, as Lake Michigan was known, to the wilds of the Upper Peninsula to college towns like East Lansing and Ann Arbor. Shelby’s father used to joke that Bert had been born with gray hair, and no one knew how old she really was. Shelby guessed her to be in her late seventies at least, although she had the bustle and energy of someone much younger.

  Today she was helping Shelby with canning. Love Blossom Farm had produced a bumper crop of beets this year and Shelby wanted to put some of them away for the winter. Fortunately, as the children had been eating beets since they were babies, they didn’t protest like many of their peers when they appeared on the dinner table.

  “What are we doing today?” Bert asked, reaching for the apron Shelby kept on a hook by the refrigerator. She tied it on over her elastic-waist jeans and her T-shirt that read GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN ARE A GIFT FROM GOD.

  “Canning beets.”

  Bert rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. Getting ready for the winter, are you?”