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

by Peg Cochran

  “You don’t say?” Mrs. Willoughby put the tomato back in the basket. “Of course, Prudence set a lot of people’s teeth on edge—I know the members of the Women’s Auxiliary found her exasperating. But to hate her enough to kill her . . .” Mrs. Willoughby shrugged.

  “Now that I think of it, there is someone who might have hated her enough,” Grace said, looking around and lowering her voice.

  Shelby had been organizing the cash in her cashbox while the women were talking, but she stopped abruptly. “Really? Who?”

  “Jodi Walker.”

  “What on earth did Jodi have against Prudence? I didn’t think they even knew each other all that well.”

  “They don’t,” Grace said, leaning closer. “But do you remember the time vandals hung toilet paper on all the trees around the rectory?”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Willoughby folded her arms across her chest. “Prudence was beyond furious.”

  “I do remember that.” Shelby shut the lid on the cashbox. “I thought it was simply some kids being kids.”

  Grace shook her head. “Not to Prudence. You know how she was. She took it as a personal affront—said she was mortified.”

  Shelby couldn’t see what this had to do with Jodi. “Surely Jodi wasn’t the one who pulled the stunt? I can’t imagine a grown woman—”

  Grace held up her hand. “No, not Jodi, of course—her son Ned.”

  Ned. The boy Amelia had been sneaking around with, Shelby thought in panic.

  “Prudence accused Ned Walker of doing the deed. She even called the principal of the high school and got the boy suspended.”

  “The nerve,” Mrs. Willoughby exclaimed. “Why involve the school? Why not let the parents deal with it?”

  “Do you really think that would make Jodi mad enough to kill?” Shelby couldn’t imagine it herself.

  “It wasn’t only that,” Grace confided, leaning toward Shelby. “Ned was removed from the soccer team. Apparently he was a very promising player, but being suspended was against the code the coach played by. And get this.” She looked around her and lowered her voice even further. “Someone heard Jodi say that Prudence had ruined her son’s life.”

  20

  Dear Reader,

  It looks as if Amelia’s crush, Ned, is a “bad boy,” if you know what I mean. There are some women who just can’t help falling for them, and in this case, I guess she takes after me. Wild Bill McDonald wasn’t called “Wild Bill” for nothing. And I fell for him hook, line, and sinker.

  Not that toilet-papering the rectory is all that bad really. There are a lot worse things going on in the world today. But obviously Ned is the sort who doesn’t always play by the rules. I hate to admit it, but there’s a small part of me that’s proud of Amelia.

  Shelby stared at Grace. “Surely you don’t think that Jodi murdered Prudence because Prudence got her son suspended?”

  “Well, obviously I don’t know for sure,” Grace said. “All I know is that Jodi was quite furious with Prudence. It seems to me that that gives her as good a motive as any.” She turned to Mrs. Willoughby. “What do you think?”

  Mrs. Willoughby looked flustered. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  Grace touched Shelby’s arm. “I must be going. I’ll see you in church on Sunday.”

  Shelby and Mrs. Willoughby watched Grace walk away.

  Mrs. Willoughby turned to Shelby. “Grace certainly seems much happier these days.”

  “Was she unhappy before? I’ve only just met her.”

  Mrs. Willoughby frowned. “Not exactly unhappy perhaps. But not content, either.” She gave Shelby a conspiratorial look. “Her first husband left her for a much younger woman. Someone who worked in his office, I think. Grace has been determined to find a second husband ever since.”

  She certainly didn’t feel that way herself, Shelby thought. But then, she hadn’t been dumped the way Grace had.

  “Snagging Alan seems to have boosted Grace’s confidence.” Mrs. Willoughby shifted her purse to her other arm. “There was an element of desperation in the way she was going after men. She set more than one tongue wagging at St. Andrews with her behavior. I’m glad she’s finally found someone and is settling down.” She looked around Shelby’s booth. “Now, what was it I wanted?”

  She opened her purse and scrabbled inside, finally pulling out a piece of scratch paper. “Yes. Now I remember. I need a head of lettuce, some tomatoes—two would be fine—and do you have any parsley?”

  “Certainly.” Shelby filled a bag with Mrs. Willoughby’s produce. “There you go.”

  “Thank you, dear. See you Sunday.” Mrs. Willoughby waved and turned away.

  Shelby waved back and then turned her attention to her booth. She’d sold most of her produce—it was time to pack up. She thought about the conversation she’d just had as she hefted crates and baskets back into her truck. She couldn’t picture Jodi as a murderer, no matter how hard she tried. Grace must be mistaken.

  By the time Shelby got back to the farm, she was tired, dusty, and thirsty. A long, hot soak in the farmhouse’s old claw-foot tub with her homemade salt scrub sounded fantastic, but it would have to wait until later that evening. Eggs needed to be collected, and some of her root vegetables needed harvesting and some beds needed weeding.

  Shelby heard the sound of running water as she opened the door to the mudroom. Was Amelia doing the breakfast dishes? Shelby had left in too much of a hurry to wash out the pan she’d used for the scrambled eggs and had left the dirty dishes stacked on the counter because the dishwasher needed emptying.

  She hurried through the mudroom, quickly glancing away from the spot where Prudence’s body had lain. Perhaps she would rearrange the room after she and Matt had painted it.

  She walked into the kitchen, her mouth open, ready to lavish praise on Amelia for helping out, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Bert at the sink. Her mouth snapped shut as quickly as a frog’s when reeling in an unwary fly.

  “I came to pull up some of your carrots,” Bert said, placing a dripping wet dish in the drying rack. I’m going to make our poor rector something for dinner. I’m doing my mother’s famous chicken and rice casserole. It’s always a hit at potlucks.”

  Bert reached for another dirty dish and plunged it into the soapy water in the sink.

  Dear Reader, does feeling guilty and relieved at the same time that Bert is doing my dishes make me schizophrenic?

  “I thought it was Amelia doing the dishes.” Shelby pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “God gave me two hands to make me useful, didn’t he?” Bert added another plate to the ones drying in the rack. “I saw the dishes, and I know how hard you work. I couldn’t just leave them here.”

  Shelby smiled. “You’re the best, Bert.”

  “I know,” Bert shot back, plunging her hands into the soapy water again.

  “Where’s Amelia?”

  “She was here when I got here.” Bert used her arm to wipe some soap bubbles off her chin that had floated up from the sink. “She was on that cell phone of hers, gabbing away.”

  Shelby felt dread growing in the pit of her stomach.

  “But as soon as I walked in, she was off, out the door faster than a Thoroughbred out of the gate at the Belmont Stakes.”

  Shelby suppressed a frisson of irritation. Bert knew she didn’t want Amelia going off like that. Of course, Bert meant well, but she must have forgotten how stressful raising a teenager could be. Or, an almost teenager, Shelby corrected herself. Amelia was still only twelve years and eleven months.

  Of course Amelia had gone to Ned’s. Even though she was forbidden to. Even though she was perfectly aware of the fact that she was still grounded. And Shelby knew from her conversation with Jodi that Jodi saw nothing wrong in the two of them being together.


  Anger built up inside Shelby. She was going over there right now and bringing Amelia home. And while she was at it, she’d feel Jodi out about the toilet-papering incident. Jodi seemed to take a rather lax attitude toward parenting—had it really bothered her as much as Grace had said it did?

  Shelby jumped up from her chair, suddenly frantic to leave. “I’ve got to go. Leave the rest of the dishes, and I’ll take care of them when I come home.”

  “Not on your life, young lady,” Bert said as she took a clean dish towel from the cupboard. “I’ll just get these dried and put away. You have enough on your hands as it is. And then I’ll go help myself to some carrots.”

  “Save the tops,” Shelby called over her shoulder. “There’re wonderful in soups and stocks.”

  Bert stopped with her hand halfway to one of the dishes in the dish rack. “My grandma swore that they’re poisonous.”

  “That’s an old wives’ tale,” Shelby said as she stopped to fish in her purse for the keys to the truck. “They’re actually loaded with vitamins. Some people eat the tops in salads or sauté them in butter, but they’re a bit bitter for my taste.”

  “Well, I never,” Bert said as she began drying a dish. “I’ll have to give it a try. And here I grew up on a farm long before you were even a gleam in your parents’ eye.” She scraped at a spot on the dish with her fingernail. “I reckon I can use all the vitamins I can get at my age.”

  Shelby stopped abruptly halfway through the mudroom. “Bert, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even ask—can you stay with Billy till I get back? I won’t be long.”

  “You take your time,” Bert called out to her. “I’m not in any rush to leave. There’s no one waiting for me at home.”

  Shelby smiled. “You need a pet.”

  “Maybe I’ll get one of them birds that can talk. Just so long as it doesn’t start arguing with me. That’s one of the benefits of being alone—no one to disagree with you.”

  Shelby laughed as she let the back door close behind her. Bert was quite a character. Once again, Shelby realized she didn’t know what she’d do without her.

  Jodi’s house was only a few minutes away, just off the main road that ran past St. Andrews and the Lovett General Store. The edge had begun to wear off Shelby’s anger, although she was still plenty mad. She’d have to compose herself if she was going to have a mature, adult conversation with Jodi when what she really wanted to do was shake some sense into the woman.

  Shelby pulled her pickup into the driveway of Jodi’s small ranch-style house. It was surrounded by neatly trimmed bushes bordered with a small flower garden. The paint was fresh, and the lawn was well tended. Shelby felt a grudging admiration for the woman—how on earth did Jodi find the time to work, care for her children, and still maintain her home?

  Shelby heard children’s voices coming from the backyard as soon as she opened her truck door. She peered around the edge of the house. A group of children was playing on an old metal swing set, and a large black dog was running back and forth between the swings and the slide, barking joyfully. It must have sensed Shelby’s presence, because it turned and began to lope toward her.

  “Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you,” a towheaded toddler called to Shelby.

  “I’m not afraid of dogs,” Shelby reassured him as she crouched down to greet the Lab, who poked her hand encouragingly with its wet nose. Shelby looked toward the boy who had called out to her. “Is your mom home?”

  “Sure. Just go on in.” He pointed toward the back door.

  “Thanks. I’ll go around front and ring the bell.”

  The young boy shrugged as if to say please yourself.

  Shelby went to the front door and rang the bell. Her breathing had returned to near normal—perhaps petting the dog had calmed her.

  Jodi yanked open the door. “Yes? Oh, Shelby, it’s you.” She opened the door wider. “Come in.”

  “Where’s my daughter? Is Amelia here?” Shelby tried to get control of her voice. Becoming adversarial wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She could feel her chin jutting aggressively and tried to rearrange her face into a more neutral expression.

  “Is that what this is about?” Jodi closed the front door. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen?”

  Shelby was in no mood for small talk, but she followed Jodi into a small kitchen, where a Formica table was crammed into one corner. A newspaper, its edges neatly aligned, was placed at one end.

  “Would you like a glass of ice water?” Jodi gestured toward the avocado green refrigerator that appeared to be original to the house.

  Shelby shook her head. “No, thank you. I’d just like to take my daughter home. She knows she’s not supposed to visit boys at their homes, and she knows she’s still grounded.”

  Jodi sat down at the kitchen table and motioned Shelby to one of the chairs. She was silent for a moment.

  “Amelia doesn’t want to go home,” she said finally.

  Shelby willed herself not to shout or jump up from the table. “What do you mean?” she said in as normal a voice as she could muster.

  Jodi sighed. “According to Amelia the two of you haven’t been getting along. As a matter of fact, she said you’ve been at each other’s throats for months now.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “She wanted to get away,” Jodi continued as if she hadn’t heard. “And she called me to ask if she could come here.”

  “But that’s ridiculous.” Shelby’s voice got louder in spite of herself. “We have our disagreements for sure, but at each other’s throats? No way.”

  “That’s what she told me,” Jodi said matter-of-factly.

  “Then she’s lying. Like I said—we’ve had our disagreements, but I wouldn’t even call them fights.” Shelby sighed. She felt deflated. What was wrong with Amelia and why was she acting this way?

  Jodi put a hand on Shelby’s arm. “I know how you feel. Being the parent of a teenager is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But Ned is a good boy, and I do keep a watch that nothing happens. . . .” She smiled tentatively at Shelby. “I know Ned likes Amelia . . . a lot . . . but right now I think he’s comfortable being more friend than boyfriend.”

  Dear Reader, I know girls mature faster than boys. Is Ned viewing this as a friendship while Amelia is imagining it as the romance of the century? I have a terrible feeling this is not going to end well.

  “You’re right,” Shelby said. “I’m probably blowing things out of proportion. I’m sure Ned is a nice boy. . . . I can hardly blame someone for a spot of TPing, especially since . . .” Shelby trailed off. No need to admit to all her past transgressions.

  “Toilet-papering?” Jodi asked. Her voice got higher and became shrill. “Ned would never do anything of the kind.”

  Shelby tried to settle her most conciliatory look on her face. She put up a hand in a gesture of surrender. “All kids do something like that sooner or later—”

  “No.” Jodi shook her head fiercely. “Who told you that? They’re lying!”

  “Prudence Mather told Grace Swanson.”

  “And you believed it?” Jodi asked with the hint of a sneer in her voice. “You’re certainly quick to believe the worst.” She shook her finger in Shelby’s face.

  Heat began to build up inside Shelby. She wasn’t normally quick to anger, but she was tired, hot, and her nerves were frazzled—not a good combination.

  “Fine,” she said. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she was using Amelia’s favorite word. “I think I’ll be taking my daughter home now.” She put her hands to her mouth. “Amelia. Amelia, it’s time to go home.”

  Footsteps clomped on the wooden stairs from the basement-level rec room and Amelia appeared around the corner, with Ned right behind her. So much for Jodi keeping an eye on them, Shelby thought.

  “I’m not going.” Amelia stuck out her chin in a
gesture Shelby recognized as one Bill had used frequently.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to.” Shelby grabbed her purse, took Amelia by the arm, and all but frog-marched her to the front door.

  “I’ll call you,” Amelia yelled over her shoulder to Ned, who stood looking shell-shocked.

  Neither of them said a word on the way home. Amelia was plugged into the music on her phone, and Shelby didn’t trust herself to speak calmly and rationally when she actually felt like screaming.

  Amelia scrambled ahead of Shelby through the mudroom and the back door. She stopped halfway across the kitchen and turned to face Shelby. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve ruined everything. I hate you,” she ended on a sob before running up the stairs and slamming the door to her room.

  21

  Dear Reader,

  Raising children isn’t easy, is it? Especially teenagers. Especially teenage girls. I take heart in the fact that while Billy did his very best to prove the truth of the saying terrible twos, at least he will never be a teenage girl.

  And a teenage girl in love is even worse. When Amelia was little, all it took to pull her out of a funk was a trip to the ice-cream parlor. I fear it’s going to take a lot more than that now that’s she’s older.

  “She doesn’t mean it,” Bert said, walking into the kitchen holding a stack of folded laundry.

  Shelby slumped into a kitchen chair. “I know. It still hurts, though.” She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes.

  “Of course it does.” Bert held out the bundle of laundry. “Where do you want these?”

  Shelby waved a hand. “Put them on the kitchen table. I’ll put them away later.”

  “There’s one consolation, though,” Bert said.

  Shelby frowned. “I doubt that.” She picked at a bit of food that was stuck to the table. She must have missed it with her sponge.

  “Someday she’ll have kids of her own, and one of them will say I hate you to her.”