by Peg Cochran
“That’s fine.” Shelby held the front door for Bert. “Have fun tonight.”
“I will if I win,” Bert said with a wink as she walked toward her car.
“Billy,” Shelby yelled. “Let’s go.”
Sometimes she felt as if all she did was yell. She opened the front door and gave a sharp whistle. Jenkins and Bitsy came bounding up the front steps, their tongues hanging. Jenkins must have been digging again, because his front paws were all muddy. “Inside, you two. I’ve got to go out.”
Billy finally appeared. He’d missed a spot of dirt on the side of his nose. Shelby licked her thumb and rubbed at it. Billy tried to squirm away, but she persisted until it was gone.
“Do I have to go with you?” Billy whined from the backseat of the car, where Shelby had made sure he was buckled in. “Zach’s mom lets him stay home alone sometimes.”
The phrase If Zach jumped off a cliff, would you, too? sprang to Shelby’s lips, but she squelched it. How many times had she heard her mother say that? And her grandmother, too?
Shelby decided no answer was the best answer and turned her attention to driving. She had to brake suddenly a mile from the church when a group of five wild turkeys decided to waddle slowly across the road. Soon she’d have to be on the lookout for deer. Shelby tapped the steering wheel impatiently. She didn’t want to be late.
Billy was still sulking by the time they got to the church, but one of the other women had brought her son along and the two of them took off together to play.
Shelby hesitated leaving the boys to their own devices, but then Bojan, St. Andrews’s sexton, came around the corner carrying a broom. He smiled at Shelby and gestured toward the two boys. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on them.” He gave a wicked grin. “Maybe I’ll put them to work, eh?”
The boys looked momentarily panic-stricken and Bojan threw his head back and laughed.
The knitting group was already assembled in the church parlor—a comfortable spot with ancient, overstuffed, chintz-covered sofas and chairs. The click, click, click of the needles punctuated the women’s soft conversation. Knitted garments of all sorts dangled from their needles—a blue baby bootie for Coralynne, whose daughter was expecting her first baby in three months, a red scarf for Eleanor, and the very beginnings of a multicolored hat for Mrs. Kendrick.
Shelby was surprised to see Grace Swanson sitting at the end of the sofa. She’d joined the group in the beginning but hadn’t been to the meetings in ages. She was working on a red sweater with elaborate cables on the front. She smiled when she saw Shelby and patted the sofa cushion next to her.
The springs on the old couch had given their all a long time ago, and Shelby felt herself drop nearly to the floor as the sofa cushions curved up and enveloped her on either side. Eleanor was on her left, her needles moving with lightning speed. Grace’s lips moved silently as she counted stitches.
Shelby pulled her knitting from her bag with a sheepish expression. She’d done barely anything on it since the last time the group met, and what she had accomplished was full of holes and seriously askew. She held it up and regarded it balefully. She’d followed the instructions—what had she done wrong?
“Oh my, dear.” Eleanor leaned toward Shelby, her face puckered in concern. “What do we have here?” She fingered the bit of knitting descending from Shelby’s needles.
“A scarf?” Shelby said with a complete lack of conviction. She sighed. She was never, ever going to master this knitting thing, so why not stop now?
“Dear, you’re dropping stitches.” Eleanor pointed to the holes. She sounded like a disapproving schoolteacher.
“I seem to have trouble keeping my stitches on the needles,” Shelby said apologetically.
“That’s because you’re not holding your needles right. Here, let me show you.” Eleanor picked up her own knitting. “Like this.” She held the needles toward Shelby. “Hold them like you would a pencil.”
Coralynne stopped what she was doing and leaned toward Shelby and Eleanor, her reading glasses swinging on their chain. “That’s not how I hold mine,” she said authoritatively, her face inches from Eleanor’s.
“It’s the way my grandmother taught me,” Eleanor shot back, “and it’s served me well all these years.” She stared at Coralynne as if challenging her to a duel.
Shelby looked from one to the other of them, wondering how to defuse the situation before it escalated into full-blown war. She giggled hysterically at the vision she had of Eleanor piercing Coralynne with a knitting needle and Coralynne retaliating by putting Eleanor’s eye out with one of hers.
Coralynne gave an exasperated sigh, her enormous bosom rising and falling like a bellows. “Dear.” She put a hand on Shelby’s arm. “Find a position that’s comfortable for you. That’s the important thing.”
Dear Reader, Shelby thought, I don’t think that the way I’m holding my needles is the problem here. I think it is my complete and utter lack of skill and talent as it relates to knitting that’s the problem.
Eleanor began to open her mouth again, and Shelby knew she had to do something to stop this argument or there might be a very unseemly fight in the parlor of St. Andrews Church. She had another vision of the two older women rolling around on the worn Oriental rug, wrestling each other, and had to stifle a laugh.
“I heard something interesting today about Reverend Mather.” Shelby looked around to make sure Daniel wasn’t lurking nearby—tucked in a closet or hiding behind one of the overstuffed chairs.
The click-clack of knitting needles ceased all at once, and the silence in the room became nearly palpable.
“You know how the Mathers have been assigned to three different churches in the last three years?” Shelby asked, looking around.
The women nodded, all their attention now focused on Shelby.
“I couldn’t imagine why, since Reverend Mather seems to be such a fine rector and certainly a very nice man,” Shelby said.
A murmur of agreement went around the group, and several women nodded at each other.
“I think he does an excellent job,” Eleanor said, her face taking on a look that dared anyone to disagree with her.
Clearly Coralynne was up for the challenge. She sniffed loudly. “I don’t know about that—I do believe things ran more smoothly when Reverend Bostwick was in charge.”
Shelby hastened to continue. “Well, I mistakenly assumed that Reverend Mather must have done something to upset or anger his congregations. Something serious that caused him to be removed from his posts.”
“That’s what we all thought,” Eleanor said, her knitting forgotten in her lap, her eyes focused on Shelby.
“But it wasn’t Reverend Mather who was causing the trouble.” Shelby paused for breath and looked around the room. “It was his wife, Prudence.”
“I have to say I’m not surprised,” Coralynne said with relish, puffing out her rather ample chest.
“Nor am I,” Eleanor said, for once in agreement with Coralynne.
They both leaned toward Shelby.
Mrs. Kendrick suddenly spoke up. “I agree that Prudence’s personality could be a bit . . . annoying at times. All that hand wringing is terribly tedious, but that’s hardly cause for dismissing her husband.” She looked around as if seeking support.
“It seems that Prudence was given to accusing others of things they didn’t actually do,” Shelby said. “When they were at Calvary Church in Cranberry Cove, she accused one parishioner of siphoning money from the proceeds of the church’s annual Christmas bazaar, and she blamed the sexton for some missing garden equipment.”
“I wish I could say that surprises me, but it doesn’t,” Grace said suddenly, her lips thinned to a grim, straight line. “She accused Earl Bylsma of skimming from the collection plate here at St. Andrews. It upset the poor man so much he resigned his position as head usher.�
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So that was what had happened to Earl! Shelby had suspected there was more to it than what he’d admitted to her. Shelby didn’t believe Prudence’s accusations for a minute—Earl had been a pillar of the church for almost as long as Shelby had been going. But she could see how it could easily cause trouble for Earl—even if nothing was ever proven, the lie would linger and tarnish his reputation.
Eleanor picked up her knitting again. “I can see how Prudence’s penchant for spreading rumors could cause trouble within Reverend Mather’s parish. No wonder the poor man was asked to move on.”
“And not just that,” Coralynne said, pointing at Shelby and Eleanor with her knitting needle. “Imagine the secrets the wife of a minister is privy to!”
“You don’t think Reverend Mather would—” Eleanor began, but Coralynne interrupted her.
“Pillow talk,” she said smugly. “Besides, I doubt Reverend Mather could stand up to the sort of relentless urging Prudence was capable of to get him to reveal what went on behind his closed office door.”
Eleanor sniffed. “Urging? Bullying is more like it.”
Suddenly the church bells began to peal loudly.
The ladies all looked at one another.
“What on earth?” Eleanor put down her knitting and stood up. “Why are the bells ringing? It can’t be six o’clock already.”
Mrs. Kendrick looked at her watch. “It isn’t. And there’s no service in the church today that I know of.”
They all looked up when they heard someone dashing past the open door of the parlor. It was the sexton, Bojan, with Mrs. Willoughby right behind him, her face flushed and her breath coming in huge gulps. Almost as one, the ladies abandoned their knitting to follow the two down the hall, out the door, and across the courtyard to the church itself. They certainly made a strange procession, Shelby thought as she brought up the rear.
The bells continued to peal, albeit to a strangely irregular rhythm. Who on earth could be ringing them? Shelby thought. The answer that came to mind nearly brought her up short, and she stumbled on the uneven edge of one of the pieces of slate that made up the path between the parish hall and the church itself.
Grace put out a hand and grasped Shelby’s elbow. “Do be careful. These stones are treacherous.”
Shelby’s suspicions were confirmed when they trooped into the church to find Billy, rope in hand, energetically pulling it up and down, ringing the church bell with youthful vigor.
While her knitting group tut-tutted, Shelby dragged Billy away from the bell and out the door. She was too furious to even speak as she marched him back to the parlor to retrieve her abandoned knitting. She nodded good-bye to the ladies. She knew her face was flaming red, both from anger and embarrassment.
Shelby stomped toward the car, where she wordlessly held open the car door and pointed inside.
Billy’s expression was sulky, but he didn’t protest.
“You know you’re grounded for the rest of your life,” was all Shelby said as they made the trip back to Love Blossom Farm.
Billy did not seem particularly distressed by her pronouncement, but he bolted from the car as soon as they pulled into the driveway and promptly disappeared around the back of the farmhouse.
Shelby was opening the front door when she heard a car bumping over the ruts in the driveway. She looked over her shoulder to see Frank getting out of his pickup truck. Once again he was casually dressed in jeans, a short-sleeved oxford shirt, and a baseball cap, and looked like anything but the razor-sharp detective he was.
Shelby waited for him on the front steps, watching as he approached. It was almost like seeing Bill walk toward her. She forced that thought from her mind.
Frank touched the brim of his hat briefly and smiled. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“No, not at all. Come on in.”
Shelby led him into the living room, where she had to chase Bitsy and Jenkins off the furniture. Frank took the chair recently vacated by Jenkins, and Shelby perched on the edge of the sofa. She couldn’t imagine why Frank wanted to talk to her—maybe there was some news?
“I have some good news,” Frank said, almost as if he’d been reading Shelby’s mind.
Shelby raised her eyebrows. She could use some good news.
“We’re finished with your mudroom, and you can take down the police tape. I hope it hasn’t been too much of an inconvenience.”
“Have you discovered anything?” Shelby asked with a bit of trepidation. She couldn’t tell from the expression on Frank’s face—he had a well-developed poker face, unlike his brother, Bill, who had been an open book.
Frank scowled. “Nothing, unfortunately. Despite all the hours we’ve been putting in. Nancy is complaining that I’m never home. We’re still trying to find out why Prudence was carrying so much money around in her purse. Her husband said he had no idea what she was doing with it.” Frank paused. “If he’s to be believed. . . .” He put both hands flat on his thighs and stood up. “Then again, the money might have nothing to do with her murder at all.”
Shelby gave a tight smile. She couldn’t help thinking about Kelly and the possibility that Seth had paid Prudence off. “Didn’t you find any fingerprints or anything like that?”
Frank shook his head. “No such luck. We think the killer may have used your gardening gloves. They were sitting out by the sink. We’ll get them back to you as soon as we’re finished with them.”
Shelby thought a pair of her gloves had been missing. She hadn’t realized the police had taken them as evidence. She shuddered to think that something of hers had played a part, no matter how small, in Prudence’s murder. “Please throw them away when you’re done with them. I don’t want them back after . . .”
“Sure. I understand.” Frank flashed a quick smile and put his arm around Shelby’s shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay? This can’t be easy for you.”
They were at the front door, and Shelby opened it. “I’m okay.” She put a hand on Frank’s arm. “Say hello to Nancy for me.”
A funny look came over Frank’s face. “Sure,” he said as he began walking back to his pickup.
Shelby closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment. She gave a sigh of relief, then headed toward the mudroom. She couldn’t wait to rip down the yellow-and-black crime scene tape and begin to return the room to normal. If only their lives could be returned to normal that easily.
Shelby heard the front door open and stopped halfway through the kitchen. They never did lock their doors during the day. The one time her parents had taken her on a weekend trip to Mackinac Island, they had had to hunt for a key to the front door. Lovett was that sort of place, and it hadn’t changed much over the years. Although now, with Prudence’s murder, Shelby wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Shelby?”
Shelby heard Kelly’s voice coming from the living room, followed by her footsteps in the hall.
“You just missed Frank,” Shelby said when her friend came into the room.
“I know. I saw his truck in your driveway and parked down the road until I saw him leave. I’m afraid he’ll start asking me questions.” She rolled her eyes. “Is there anything new?”
“Not really, but I can take down the crime scene tape and get my mudroom back.”
“Wonderful. Want some help?”
“Sure.”
They went out to the mudroom, where they started tearing down the black-and-yellow tape.
“This is surprisingly satisfying,” Shelby said as she gathered the tape together and stuffed it into a garbage can.
“I’ll be glad when this nightmare is over,” Kelly said, plopping into the wicker rocking chair next to the door to the kitchen.
“Be careful,” Shelby warned her. “The seat on that chair is starting to go. I keep meaning to get it fixed, but—”
> “I’m thinking of calling off the wedding,” Kelly blurted out. “Or at least postponing it.”
“But why?” Shelby turned from her gardening table, where she had righted a toppled flowerpot and was sweeping up the spilled dirt. Had it been overturned in Prudence’s struggle with her killer? Shelby shuddered. She couldn’t wait till she and Matt transformed the room—perhaps the redecorating would help slay the ghosts that had taken possession of it.
“Seth refuses to tell me where he was during the potluck. I don’t know why. If it was something innocent, why not just tell me, for goodness’ sake?” Kelly picked at a loose piece of wicker on the edge of the chair.
“Are you still worried that he might have given Prudence that cash the police found in her purse?”
“Yes. No.” Kelly wrung her hands. “I don’t know.” She buried her face in her hands. “He’s hiding something, I know that.” She looked at Shelby and there were tears in her eyes.
Shelby took a broom from the corner where it had been leaning, and began sweeping around the gardening table. “Maybe it’s something he’s embarrassed about?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” In Shelby’s experience it took an awful lot to embarrass a man unless it related in some way to his athletic prowess or anything else where competition was involved. Walking out of the men’s room trailing a long strand of toilet paper wouldn’t embarrass him—it would just make him laugh.
Kelly groaned and ran her hands through her long tangle of red hair, dislodging a couple of pieces of hay.
“I did find out something interesting,” Shelby said as she swept the accumulation of soil, dust, and dried, curling leaves into a pile. She reached out with the broom and snagged the hay that Kelly must have brought in with her. “You know how we wondered why Daniel had been assigned to three different churches in three years?”
“Yes. It seemed . . . odd. He’s doing a good job here at St. Andrews, or so everyone says.”
Shelby leaned on her broom. “It turns out it wasn’t Daniel’s fault that things didn’t work out in his other parishes.” She paused dramatically. “It was Prudence’s.”