by Peg Cochran
By the time they got back home, Billy was sleepy, dirty, and sticky. Shelby sent him off to take a bath and went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Amelia was sitting at the kitchen table, texting furiously on her phone. Shelby pushed the small cup of vanilla ice cream she’d brought home toward her daughter.
Amelia barely lifted her eyes from her phone as she peeled the paper off the flat wooden spoon that came with the ice cream.
“I know who took Billy’s zucchini,” Amelia said without raising her eyes from her texting.
Shelby stopped with her glass under the stream of water from the faucet. “What did you say?”
“I told you,” Amelia said with an exasperated sigh. “I know who stole Billy’s zucchini.”
Water was now spilling over the side of Shelby’s glass. She shut the faucet off quickly and turned to stare at Amelia. “Well, who?”
“Mrs. Gardener,” Amelia said smugly. “Ned and I saw her take it during the potluck.”
“Liz Gardener? What on earth would she want with Billy’s zucchini?” And what on earth was Amelia doing in the back garden with Ned, where they were obviously hidden from view?
“I don’t know.” Amelia took a bite of her ice cream. “Maybe she was afraid Billy would win the county fair contest this year instead of her son.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Shelby watched in exasperation as Amelia shrugged and rolled her eyes.
“You know how much winning that contest means to your brother!”
Amelia gave Shelby a look that nearly froze her to the spot.
“You don’t care, do you?” Shelby said to her daughter, realization dawning. Amelia was resentful—of her brother!
Shelby was shocked when Amelia brushed at her eyes. They were glistening with tears.
Amelia pushed away from the table, her chair making a loud discordant scraping noise against the floor. “It’s always about Billy, isn’t it?”
“Amelia. What on earth do you mean?”
“Ever since Billy was born, it’s been all about him. Billy this . . . Billy that . . . ,” she mimicked with a sneer in her voice. “Suddenly Dad had the son he’d always wanted, and I wasn’t his girl anymore.”
Shelby put her arms around her daughter. “Is that what this is all about?” She could feel Amelia struggle, but she didn’t let go—just hugged her tighter. “Your father adored you. You were Daddy’s girl, and Billy coming along didn’t change that. Nothing could change that.”
Amelia gave a loud sniff, and Shelby noticed she’d stopped struggling. “But Billy and Daddy did everything together—hunting, fishing, hiking.”
“You and your dad did some of those things together, too,” Shelby said, leaning her cheek against the top of her daughter’s head. Her hair smelled like strawberry shampoo.
“Yeah, but then Billy started horning in.”
“I know your father loved you both very much.”
Amelia gave a loud sniff.
“And I love you.” Shelby put a finger under Amelia’s chin and tilted her face up. “I love having a daughter I can do things with.”
This time Amelia did pull away. “Well, I don’t want you. I want Dad.”
She ran out of the kitchen, stomped up the stairs, and slammed her bedroom door.
Shelby stood stock-still for several long moments. She knew Amelia didn’t mean what she’d said, but that didn’t stop the tears from pricking the back of her eyelids.
The kids didn’t understand that she wanted Bill back as much as they did. And hopefully they would never have to know what that kind of loss was like.
19
Dear Reader,
I know you probably think it’s extreme that someone would steal a zucchini just so their son could win the largest vegetable prize at the county fair, but we take these things seriously around here. The kids pride themselves on their skills, whether it’s growing vegetables or raising chickens, pigs, or rabbits, and the county fair is their chance to show off what they’ve been doing.
Not that they don’t love technology and the latest gadgets like kids all over (case in point—Amelia and her cell phone), but farm life is full of so many things to do and so many things to learn that they tend to spend their time—in the warmer months at least—outdoors. Of course in the winter, there’s sledding and ice-skating, so it’s a rare day that they spend it all inside.
Shelby didn’t look forward to talking to Liz Gardener about the zucchini she’d stolen from Love Blossom Farm’s garden. But she couldn’t just let it go, either. Besides, it was possible that Liz might have seen something while she was in Shelby’s garden. The back door to the mudroom was plainly visible from the zucchini patch.
It was just unfortunate that Shelby had to be at the farmers’ market right after her visit to Liz’s, and that meant taking the pickup truck. Shelby tried to rise above the embarrassment of rattling down Liz’s fancy street with the truck sounding as if it was losing parts of itself with every inch it traveled.
Liz’s development was outside Lovett and offered a completely different sort of lifestyle. The houses were enormous brick Tudors, Georgians, and Colonials with vast and perfectly manicured front lawns and meticulously designed gardens. It was home to the professionals who supplied the local hospital with doctors and the local courts with lawyers.
Shelby couldn’t imagine living in a place like this. This was the sort of place where, in order to keep up with the neighbors, you had to have your hair done, your nails done, your wardrobe up to date. Shelby couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her nails done, was months overdue for a haircut, and spent most of her time in jeans or cutoffs.
She felt herself shrinking inside as she made her way farther down the street, on the lookout for Liz’s number. She found it attached to a stately Georgian with a circular drive. She pulled the pickup to the front door, cringing at the noise the brakes made when she applied them.
Shelby smoothed down her shirt and patted her hair as she waited for Liz to answer the doorbell.
The door was flung open, and Liz looked astonished to find Shelby on her doorstep. A frigid blast of air wafted from the house, making Shelby even more conscious of the perspiration on her upper lip and the back of her neck. The truck’s air-conditioning didn’t work. Dear Reader. Correction. The truck never had air-conditioning in the first place.
Liz was wearing a pair of white jeans and a pale pink cashmere T-shirt. Shelby didn’t even know that T-shirts came in cashmere. Liz’s black patent leather thong sandals had a large gold horse bit on the top strap, and her toes were done in the French manicure style.
Shelby scrunched up her own toes inside her white sneakers, which were still a bit green around the edges from the last time she’d worn them to cut the grass.
“Shelby, what a lovely surprise,” Liz said, managing to make it sound as if it was anything but. “Won’t you come in?”
What Shelby really wanted to do was turn tail and run, but she dutifully followed Liz into the house and down the hall to the kitchen. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, and Shelby found herself nearly drooling over the double ovens, a stainless refrigerator that was the size of a small car, and the six-burner cooktop.
“Can I pour you a cold drink? Some iced tea?” Liz asked with her hand on the refrigerator door handle.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Perhaps something to drink would help unstick Shelby’s tongue from the roof of her mouth, where it seemed to have lodged itself the moment she stepped inside Liz’s house.
Liz handed Shelby the glass of iced tea. “Shall we go into the living room?”
She led Shelby into a vast room that ran from the front of the house to the back. All the furniture was upholstered in varying shades of white and cream. Shelby devoutly hoped the seat of her shorts was clean. The pickup was way ov
erdue for a good wash, both inside and out.
She tried as discreetly as possible to brush off her cutoffs before perching on the edge of one of the white sofas.
Liz sat in one of the chairs and leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, her sandal dangling from her perfectly painted toes.
“Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?” Liz looked at Shelby over the rim of her glass as she took a sip of her tea.
Shelby cleared her throat. This was it. In for a penny, in for a pound, as her grandmother used to say. “Billy’s prize zucchini is missing—the one he was growing for the county fair.”
Liz’s eyes widened slightly, but other than that, she didn’t move a muscle. “I’m very sorry to hear that, but I don’t see what that has to do with me. . . .”
Shelby cleared her throat again—she must sound as if she was coming down with something. “Amelia—my daughter—saw you in the garden. She saw you steal Billy’s zucchini.”
Liz looked as if someone had dumped an entire bucket of ice water on her. She gasped and both hands flew to her cheeks, which were slowly turning the color of ripe beets.
“She’s . . . she’s . . . lying,” Liz sputtered.
“I don’t think so. Besides, someone else saw you as well.”
No need to tell Liz that Amelia was in the backyard with a boy.
“Oh, all right,” Liz snapped. “I did take it. Kenny needs to win that competition.”
“What about Billy? He had his heart set on entering that contest.”
Liz waved a hand as if that was completely inconsequential. “Kenny needs to develop a taste for winning. He won’t get ahead otherwise. And right now he’s too . . . too easygoing. He has to develop a lust for victory.”
Shelby didn’t know what to say.
“Anyway, I’m sure you understand.” Liz took another sip of her tea.
Shelby decided that the better part of valor was to accept Liz’s explanation. Especially since she had another agenda in talking to Liz.
Shelby couldn’t quite bring herself to say she understood, so she contented herself with giving a brisk nod, which Liz fortunately seemed to take for acquiescence.
Shelby took a sip of her iced tea and tried to cultivate a cozy, conspiratorial tone. “Did you happen to see anyone while you were in the garden? You can see the mudroom from there, and it’s just possible you saw something that might be important to the police.”
“Do you think so?” Liz preened herself. “I did see someone go into the mudroom while Prudence was in there. Of course at the time, I didn’t think anything of it.”
Shelby felt her heartbeat speed up. Liz had actually seen someone, and it seemed quite likely that that person was the murderer.
“Did you happen to see who it was?” Shelby asked as if the answer was of no interest to her whatsoever.
Liz looked at Shelby over the rim of her glass, a coy look on her face. “It was a woman,” she said breathlessly.
Shelby was momentarily startled. That wasn’t the answer she had been expecting. She’d been ready to put her money on Wallace. And Wallace was most certainly not a woman. “Are you sure? Could it have been a man perhaps? With longish hair?”
Liz frowned. “I don’t think so. You know how you can tell a man from a woman even from a distance, and even when you can’t see them clearly? They walk differently, carry themselves differently.”
“Did you see who it was?”
Liz gave a practiced pout. “I didn’t. I’m afraid I’m a bit vain. Dr. Strong has prescribed glasses for me, but I never wear them.”
“So maybe it was a man after all?” Shelby said, clutching at the proverbial straw.
Liz shook her head vehemently. “No. I’m quite sure it was a woman. Dark hair. I couldn’t tell how tall from that distance, but definitely a woman.”
Shelby was more relieved to leave Liz’s house than she normally was leaving the dentist’s office. Vendors were just beginning to set up for the farmers’ market when Shelby backed the truck into her usual space. She had a bumper crop of fresh-from-the-vine tomatoes along with radishes, summer squash, and heads of butter lettuce to sell.
Shelby had just finished serving her first customer when she thought she saw a familiar figure in the distance ambling toward her.
“Hey,” Kelly said when she came abreast of Shelby’s booth.
She carried with her the unmistakable odor of manure. Shelby wrinkled her nose.
Kelly tilted her head to one side. “Do I smell?”
“Yes. Like you might have stepped in something.”
Kelly put a hand on the booth for balance and, lifting up one foot, stared at the bottom of her shoe.
“I think you’re right. I was over at Jake Taylor’s farm checking on one of his cows. He suspected milk fever, and he was right. Hopefully the intravenous calcium I administered will cure it. I’ve had a high success rate with it so far.”
“You’ve lost me, I’m afraid.”
Kelly picked up a ripe tomato and sniffed it. “That’s okay. But I obviously stepped in something while I was there. I’m beginning to smell it myself.” She handed Shelby the tomato. “I’ll take this tomato and some of your lettuce.”
Shelby selected a head of butter lettuce and held it out. “Will this do?”
Kelly nodded.
“Is this a special occasion? I’m more accustomed to seeing you feasting on a granola bar than on a real meal.”
“Seth is coming for dinner. I plan to wine and dine him and then pry out of him where he went to when he was supposed to be at the potluck.”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
Kelly lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Yes. I don’t know. All I know is it’s driving me crazy.”
“You can breathe a sigh of relief on one account at least. He didn’t have anything to do with Prudence’s murder.”
Kelly looked up sharply.
“Apparently Liz Gardener saw a woman go into the mudroom shortly before Prudence was murdered.”
A slow smile spread across Kelly’s face. “But that’s wonderful.”
“I know. The only downside is it rules out Prudence’s son as the murderer. Earl’s already been eliminated, so we’re back to square one.”
Kelly shrugged. “As long as Seth is out of the hot seat, I say let your brother-in-law do the investigating.”
“Amen,” Shelby said, although as soon as the word left her mouth she realized she didn’t mean it. She’d been bitten by the investigative bug and wasn’t willing to let go yet.
Before she could think about it any further, a woman approached her booth. She was wearing a denim skirt and a loose-fitting plaid shirt.
“Do you have any parsnips?” She began fingering Shelby’s tomatoes.
“Not yet. The parsnips will be a lot sweeter after the first frost, so I won’t be harvesting them until then.”
The woman put down the tomato she’d been looking at. “Thanks.” And she walked off.
Shelby shrugged. You couldn’t please all the people all the time.
She was rearranging the heads of lettuce when she noticed Mrs. Willoughby approaching. She was wearing a cotton dress and had a handkerchief pressed to her forehead, which glistened with perspiration.
“Hello, dear,” she said when she arrived at Shelby’s booth. “Hot enough for you?” She tucked the handkerchief into the purse that hung from the crook of her arm.
“I’ve got some water bottles if you’d like one?” Shelby began to turn away.
“That would be just what the doctor ordered. But I don’t want to take your last one.”
“You’re not.” Shelby smiled and held up two bottles. “See?” She handed one to Mrs. Willoughby and twisted the cap off the other one for herself.
“Hello, ladies.” The voice came from
over Mrs. Willoughby’s shoulder.
“Grace,” Mrs. Willoughby exclaimed. She put her hand on the other woman’s arm. “Have you met Shelby?” She tilted her head toward Shelby.
“Yes,” Grace said in her deep voice. “At the church potluck, and we’re both in the knitting group at St. Andrews.”
Grace was wearing the same plaid shorts she’d worn to the potluck but with a red top this time.
“Do you have any beets?” Grace scanned the produce in the baskets on Shelby’s table.
“I do.” Shelby reached underneath the table and pulled out a crate filled with the ruby red vegetable.
“I’m trying that recipe I saw on your blog—the cold beet salad with leeks and goat cheese.”
Mrs. Willoughby laughed and her double chin wobbled playfully. “My, you’re ambitious. But I suppose being in the first blush of married life, you still want to impress your new husband.”
“Well, we are newlyweds.” Grace smiled coyly. “And you’re right. I still enjoy making him nice dinners. I thought the beet salad would go nicely with the porterhouse I bought to do on the grill.”
For some reason, the thought of the deep red beet salad reminded Shelby of the stain on Grace’s husband Alan’s white shirt, and she thought Grace ought to tell her husband to be careful. Beet stains were almost impossible to get out.
Mrs. Willoughby took a sip of her water and fanned herself with her hand. “Have you heard anything new about poor Prudence’s murder? There’s been nothing in the paper—nothing at all. You’d think they’d keep us informed,” she said waspishly.
“No, not really.” Shelby dropped several beets into a bag for Grace.
“I thought maybe with your brother-in-law being on the force and all . . .” Mrs. Willoughby absentmindedly picked up one of Shelby’s tomatoes and began to rub it as if it were a worry stone. “I still think that useless son of hers had something to do with it.”
Shelby shook her head. “I don’t think Wallace could have done it. I just found out from . . . someone . . . that a woman was seen going into the mudroom while Prudence was in there, so it seems very likely that the murderer was female.”