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

by Peg Cochran

  “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can’t get it out of my mind. I thought we knew each other quite well, even though it has been something of a whirlwind courtship. Neither of us is getting any younger. . . .”

  Shelby had known that Bill McDonald was the one for her almost from the first moment she set eyes on him. They were married three months after they officially started dating in a small ceremony at St. Andrews. Shelby had worn cowboy boots under her wedding gown and they’d celebrated with a large picnic of fried chicken and homemade potato salad on the front lawn of Love Blossom Farm.

  Shelby leaned her chin in her hands, mirroring Kelly’s pose. “I was hoping to have better news for you.” She sighed.

  Kelly looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “You know Isabel Stone? The woman with all the flowery perfume who is constantly batting her eyes at Daniel and generally throwing herself at him?”

  Kelly choked slightly on her sip of wine. “I think everyone knows her by now. Not exactly subtle about her intentions, is she? My daddy always said it wasn’t necessarily the fisherman with the flashiest lure who caught the biggest fish.”

  Shelby went on to explain about Bert finding the note from Daniel to Isabel stuck on the bottom of her shoe.

  Kelly’s face brightened immediately. “But that makes her the perfect suspect! She murdered Prudence so she could sink her well-manicured claws into Daniel.”

  “I hate to burst your bubble . . .” Shelby traced the base of her wineglass with her finger.

  “But?” Kelly’s look of elation turned to one of disappointment.

  “I checked the agenda on Mrs. Willoughby’s computer, and . . .” Shelby made a face. “The assignation is more like an appointment, since it’s noted on the church calendar.”

  Kelly slumped in her seat. “You’re supposed to be finding suspects, not eliminating them.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Kelly brightened slightly. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t an assignation. Perhaps Daniel had Mrs. Willoughby put it on the calendar to throw people off the scent.”

  Shelby groaned.

  “Hey, no pun intended,” Kelly assured her with a smirk.

  Shelby paused with her glass halfway to her mouth. “But you know, you could be right—about Daniel attempting to fool people into thinking he’s seeing Isabel for a legitimate reason.”

  “Yes, when it’s really for an illegitimate affair.”

  Shelby stared at a spot on the opposite wall for a minute. “I still can’t picture Daniel having an affair. It wouldn’t be like him at all. He’s a man of the cloth.”

  Kelly shrugged as she tossed back the last glug of her wine. “Okay, who’s our murderer, then—if not Isabel Stone?” She laughed. “Besides Seth, of course. Who would want Prudence dead? What was there to gain? Anything? Maybe it was a random killing.”

  “What? A killer decided to buy a ticket to the St. Andrews potluck in the hopes of finding an accommodating victim?”

  “Well, when you put it like that . . .” Kelly slid off her stool.

  “What we need to do is find out more about Prudence. It’s always possible that someone from one of Daniel’s former churches nursed a grudge of some sort.”

  Kelly shivered. “It’s still so hard to believe. Someone committing murder here in Lovett.”

  9

  Dear Reader,

  If you don’t understand the term “getting up with the chickens,” you certainly would after a few days on a farm! My Rhode Island Reds wake as soon as there’s the merest glimmer of light in the sky and immediately begin scratching and squawking for their food. It doesn’t matter if it’s your birthday, Christmas morning, or the day after you stayed up all night with a colicky baby—they demand to be fed, and pronto. Fortunately I have to be up early anyway if I’m going to get everything done in the daily twenty-four hours allotted to us.

  Last night I took the fresh yogurt I’d made and placed it in a sieve lined with multiple layers of cheesecloth. It had been sitting in a bowl in the refrigerator draining overnight. By this morning, all the whey had drained off (remember—save the whey for baking!), leaving the yogurt the consistency of cream cheese—but with much less fat! I will be adding fresh herbs to create a variety of yogurt cheeses. It’s wonderful spread on crackers, bagels, toast, or even fresh vegetables.

  It’s so easy. You can start with commercial yogurt if you want. It’s such a good feeling to create something fresh in your own kitchen.

  Shelby spooned the drained yogurt into a bowl and put it back in the refrigerator. She grabbed a woven wicker basket from the counter, slipped on her gardening clogs, and headed out the front door. The morning air was still cool and damp. Light mist swirled above the wet ground—Shelby had woken up briefly during the night to hear rain pounding on the roof. She was always happy when Mother Nature watered her gardens for her.

  Love Blossom Farm boasted an extensive herb garden with orderly rows of basil, rosemary, parsley, thyme, and more. Some of the plants were perennials and came back every year, while others had to be planted anew each season.

  Shelby snipped some herbs, breathing deeply and enjoying the heavenly aroma that arose from their crushed stems. They would be delicious chopped and mixed in with the yogurt cheese.

  Back in her kitchen, Shelby stripped off her gardening gloves, kicked off her clogs, sending them spinning in the direction of the blocked-off mudroom, and pulled her knife from the knife block. She sharpened it carefully and set it aside. First she had to wash and dry the herbs, pressing them carefully between several sheets of paper towels.

  She was going to add the basil to one batch of cheese, and the parsley and thyme to another. She made short work of chopping the herbs, splitting the yogurt cheese into two batches and carefully folding them in. You had to be gentle and couldn’t stir the yogurt too vigorously or it would separate.

  Once that step was completed, Shelby got out a batch of plastic containers she ordered regularly from a factory in northern Michigan and which she had pasted a Love Blossom Farm label on. She filled them carefully and placed them in the basket she’d used to collect the herbs. Now they were ready to be delivered to the Lovett General Store.

  At the last minute, she dashed into the downstairs powder room—which doubled as a pantry with rough wooden shelves running along one wall, where Shelby kept some of her canned goods—and ran a powder puff across her nose, slicked on some lip gloss, and stared hopelessly at the tangle of dark curls she optimistically called a hairstyle.

  She paused with her comb halfway through a hunk of hair. What had come over her? She rarely worried about her personal appearance. She knew she was attractive, but she had other, more important concerns—like running the farm and bringing up her children. More often than not, she had dirt on her face and under her fingernails.

  The thought that seeing Matt Hudson might have something to do with this sudden interest in grooming stopped her in her tracks. She took a deep breath. She wasn’t uninterested in dating again right now. She liked men—she just wasn’t sure the time was right. The kids needed her, the farm was an enormous amount of work, and she still dreamed about her late husband almost every night.

  No matter. She had to go and face Matt Hudson because he was waiting for his herbed yogurt cheese.

  Shelby snuck into Billy’s room—he was still sleeping soundly. She watched him for a moment—he looked so young and vulnerable with his worn stuffed teddy under his arm. Shelby planted a whisper of a kiss on his forehead.

  Amelia was asleep as well—one arm slung over her head and the other tucked under her chin. Shelby shook her gently.

  Amelia groaned softly and swished her legs back and forth restlessly.

  Shelby shook her again.

  “Whaaat?” Amelia said without opening her eyes.

  “I’m g
oing to the General Store to deliver some things. Will you keep an ear out for Billy?”

  Amelia exhaled heavily. “Fine.”

  Shelby decided to take the car and backed it down the driveway—she had an old, barely functioning pickup truck as well for when she needed supplies that wouldn’t fit in the trunk of a car—but her load was light today and she decided she didn’t need it.

  The mist that had hovered near the ground earlier had cleared as the sun rose higher in the sky and warmed the air. Shelby rolled down the windows and enjoyed the smell of freshly mown hay, wildflowers, and sunshine as she drove into downtown Lovett.

  The Lovett General Store was located at the intersection of the two main roads in town, with the Lovett Feed Store right next door. Shelby pulled into the gravel parking lot that, despite all of Matt’s plans, had yet to be paved and parked near the entrance.

  She retrieved her basket from the backseat of the car and balanced it on her hip as she pushed open the door to the Lovett General Store. Grocery items were stacked at the front of the shop, seguing to a hardware area, a car parts section, a couple of gardening aisles, some sewing and craft supplies, and finally, at the very back, several racks of outerwear and rain gear. Two bright red kayaks hung from the peaked wooden ceiling.

  Matt stood behind the counter, thumbing through a seed catalogue. He rushed to take the basket from Shelby. “What have you brought me?” He peered inside. “Great, some of your yogurt cheese. It’s been a big hit. Even Liz Gardener stopped in for some the other day. She said her neighbor had told her about it, and she wanted some for a cocktail party they were throwing.”

  “I suppose I ought to be impressed that the very elegant Liz Gardener is serving my homemade spread at her party.”

  Matt laughed, and the crinkles around his eyes deepened. “You’ve really hit the big time, it looks like.” He leaned on the counter. “Has there been any news from the police? About poor Prudence’s murder?”

  Shelby shook her head. “Not a word. I’m still waiting to get my mudroom back, although after what’s happened I don’t know if I ever want to go in there again.” She shuddered.

  “How about I give you a hand painting the room?” Matt offered. “If it looks different, it may take away some of the bad associations.”

  “That’s a great idea. That’s kind of you to offer.”

  Matt grinned. “My pleasure.”

  Shelby had been thinking about doing some redecorating—the house was pretty much as her parents had left it. It was time to put her own stamp on it. And what better place to start than the mudroom?

  “Shall we go pick out some paint?” Matt pointed toward the back of the store.

  Shelby was startled. Redecorating and painting were just pleasant things to think about—like when she couldn’t fall asleep at night. But maybe Matt was right. Why not actually do it? And why not start now?

  Matt led the way to the paint section, where the store carried a selection of brushes, rollers, and painter’s tape and had a small display of stacked paint cans and a tiered shelving unit stocked with paint chips.

  “What colors did you have in mind?” Matt’s hand hovered over the paint chips. “Unless you want something basic like white or cream, I’ll have to order it for you. We don’t have room to stock much. Doesn’t take long to get it in, though.”

  Shelby hesitated. Until now she hadn’t given it much thought. Correction—she hadn’t given it any thought. Suddenly she wondered how she could have let things slide for so long. No sense in beating herself up over it—the key was to start somewhere. “I do a lot of planting in the mudroom, so I’m thinking maybe something like a sage green?”

  Matt turned to the wall of paint chips and selected several cards with glossy dabs of color on them. “Do any of these strike your fancy?”

  “Any of these would look lovely.” Shelby caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I think I like this one best.” She pointed toward a shade in the middle of the other two.

  “How about a touch of terra-cotta as an accent?” Matt turned to the paint chips again, selected one, and handed it to Shelby.

  “Oh! That’s a wonderful idea.” She studied the paint sample. “This is the shade of my flowerpots.”

  Shelby was so busy envisioning the changes to her mudroom that she nearly ran into a display of cream of mushroom soup on their way back to the checkout counter.

  “Whoa,” Matt said as he steadied the cans.

  Shelby grinned. “I guess I’m excited about your idea.”

  “I’m glad.” Matt slipped behind the register. “As soon as the paint comes in, I’ll let you know, and we can get started.”

  We—the word took Shelby aback for a moment. It had been too long since she’d been part of a we with anybody. She had to admit, she rather liked the idea.

  “Good morning,” Matt called out to someone.

  Shelby turned to see a customer had entered. It was a woman, and Shelby thought she remembered her from the potluck—she had a brace on one knee and walked with a slight limp because of it.

  “Let me know if I can help you with anything,” Matt said to the woman before turning back to Shelby, gesturing at the paint chips in her hand. “Hopefully we can turn your mudroom back into your sanctuary again and not a place where a . . . murder was committed.” He frowned. “I still don’t get it. Who on earth would have wanted to murder Prudence, and why?”

  Shelby explained her theory about Isabel Stone. “Even though Daniel noted their appointment in the church calendar, that doesn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t for . . . other purposes.” Shelby willed herself not to turn red. “There could still be something going on between them.”

  “And you think she might have killed Prudence to pave the way for her to become the second Mrs. Daniel Mather?”

  The customer had filled her basket by now with a number of canned goods, a bottle of laundry detergent, and two dozen finishing nails. She approached the counter.

  Matt took the basket from her and began ringing up the items as he unloaded them.

  Shelby was about to say good-bye when the woman turned to her.

  “That was a lovely potluck, wasn’t it? I’m sorry I had to leave before all the excitement.” Her eyes twinkled. “I wouldn’t have gone so early except I’d given a ride to my neighbor Isabel and the heat was affecting her and she wanted to leave. She was feeling a bit poorly. She’s rather delicate—not like me.” The woman laughed.

  “Isabel?”

  The woman nodded as she opened her purse and dug out her wallet. “Yes. Isabel Stone. She’s a member of St. Andrews—she’s the one who wears all those flouncy dresses and drowns herself in perfume?”

  “So you left with Isabel before the police arrived?”

  The woman nodded again. “Before Prudence was murdered. We said good-bye to her on our way to the car.” She gave Shelby a shrewd look. “That’s what they’re saying—that Prudence was murdered. I heard it at the library yesterday afternoon. Is that even true, do you think?”

  Shelby was at a loss for words. If Prudence was still alive when Isabel Stone left the potluck, then Isabel was now out of the running as a suspect.

  10

  Dear Reader,

  I don’t know why I hadn’t thought about sprucing up the farmhouse before. I guess it takes someone from the outside to see the obvious. It is so kind of Matt to offer to help—I have to admit that I’m looking forward to doing the project with him.

  Now that Isabel Stone has been eliminated as a suspect, I don’t know where to turn. Daniel? It’s hard to picture such a mild-mannered man resorting to something so drastic as murder. Besides, would he have asked me to go looking for Prudence if he was guilty? I suppose he might have done it to throw me off, but I can’t picture his being so conniving.

  I hope the children are up. I need their help weeding some of th
e gardens today. Instead I will probably find their breakfast dishes waiting on the counter for me, since it never occurs to either of them to put the dirty plates and silverware in the dishwasher. Bert thinks I let them get away with too much, and I suppose I do. I think I’m trying to make it up to them for the loss of their father. I don’t imagine this is exactly the right way to go about it. I will have to learn to put my foot down before something goes wrong. Now that Amelia is approaching her teenage years, there are more dangers lurking than ever before. Sometimes I long for the days when it was so much simpler—my biggest concern was getting her to eat her vegetables. Now we have that whole subject of b-o-y-s to worry about.

  Shelby spent the ride back to Love Blossom Farm envisioning her new—in her mind it would be new—mudroom. She realized she hadn’t given a single thought to finding Prudence’s body in the room—had that been Matt’s intention? If so, it was working like a charm.

  Bert’s dusty and dented old van was parked in the driveway when Shelby arrived home. The vehicle was almost twenty years old and so much paint had rusted off that it was almost impossible to tell what color it had been, but Bert continued to nurse it along. She often joked that she planned to be buried in it.

  Bert was in the kitchen when Shelby walked in. She had a basket on the counter filled to the brim with large brown eggs.

  “Those Rhode Island Reds sure do know how to produce,” Bert said, holding up one of the oversize eggs in her palm. “We’ve got a couple dozen beauties here.” She shook the egg at Shelby. “The Krommendykes who have that farm back behind the Feed Store insisted on buying some exotic breed—Buttercups, I think they’re called. Completely useless when it comes to egg laying. I told them so, but they wouldn’t listen. Now, you take your Rhode Island Reds like you’ve got, or your Delawares, and you’re going to get good egg production all year long—even in the winter.” She made a face. “Except for that useless one you named Paris. I can’t help thinking she’d be far more useful to you as Sunday dinner.”