Sowed to Death

by Peg Cochran

  “And they never found the person who did it?”

  “That’s the worst of it,” Dawn said. “It’s haunted Jim ever since. For the longest time he couldn’t put it out of his mind, but now—”

  Dawn broke off when she realized Jim was right behind them. The ring was empty—Billy must have taken the horse back into the stable.

  “Sid’s death was a crime,” Jim thundered, slamming his fist into the palm of his other hand. “The worst thing is that justice wasn’t done.” He looked at Dawn.

  “Maybe karma will catch up with whoever—” Shelby began, but Jim stopped her.

  “I believe in an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, like it says in the Bible,” Jim said loudly, sounding like a preacher in church.

  Shelby shrank in her seat. She’d never seen Jim so upset before. He’d always struck her as easygoing and laid-back.

  Shelby noticed Dawn raise her eyebrow at her husband. He dropped his hands to his side and slowly opened his clenched fists.

  “Sorry.” He gave Shelby a sheepish look. “It still rankles, especially on the anniversary of the day it happened.”

  He smiled at Shelby, turned on his heel, and walked off.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him,” Dawn said, putting her hand on Shelby’s. “He’ll be back to normal tomorrow or the day after. It happens every year.”

  Shelby nodded and smiled, but inside she was quite shaken. She was glad when Billy appeared in the open door of the stable and they were able to head back to the farm.

  • • •

  Amelia was home when Shelby got there. She was sitting at the kitchen table opposite Bert, and there was a bowl of popcorn between them. It was made from some of the small crop of corn Shelby had planted this year—the Tom Thumb variety, which grew quickly and didn’t need a lot of space. Popped in a pan with some olive oil, it was tender and delicious.

  “Don’t eat too much of that,” Shelby warned Amelia. “I’ll be cooking dinner soon.”

  “I’m starving,” Amelia said with her mouth full of corn.

  Shelby reached into the bowl and helped herself to a handful. She leaned against the counter and munched it one piece at a time.

  “By the way, did you ever talk to Mr. Campbell about that girl copying from your paper? What was her name— Brittany?”

  Amelia shook her head and her long blond hair whipped back and forth. “I told you, Mom, I can’t.”

  “Of course you can. It’s not fair that Brittany is doing this to you.”

  Bert was looking back and forth between them as if she was watching a tennis match.

  “Justice is awfully elusive sometimes,” Bert said, reaching into the bowl for more popcorn.

  She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. “I’d better shove off. Poker is at my house tonight.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m feeling lucky.”

  “I hope you win,” Shelby called after her as Bert slipped out the front door.

  “So do I,” Bert called over her shoulder.

  Shelby faced Amelia and wet her lips. Why was she so scared of asking her own daughter to help her? “Would you help me bake a cake after dinner? It’s Bert’s birthday tomorrow, and I’d like to surprise her with a carrot cake—it’s her favorite.”

  Amelia scrunched up her nose. “Some of my friends are going to have a bonfire tonight. Mrs. Quinn said she’d help us make s’mores.”

  Shelby hesitated. She knew the Quinns from church. Mrs. Quinn was on the grounds committee, and Marcia was in the choir with Amelia. Still, she didn’t like Amelia going out so late—especially on a school night. And who knew who else would be there? Maybe boys?

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  “Mom,” Amelia said, drawing out the word so that it became multiple syllables and not just the one. “It’s fine. Mr. and Mrs. Quinn will be there. Nothing is going to happen.”

  Shelby sighed. She knew this was only one of the many battles ahead of her during the coming years. She had to pick and choose carefully.

  “I suppose it’s all right. But get your homework done first, okay?”

  Amelia’s face lit up. “Thanks, Mom. I won’t be late, I promise.”

  “Do you need me to drive you?”

  Amelia shook her head. “Viola’s going. Her mother said she’d pick me up.”

  Her eyes slid away from Shelby’s. Shelby felt a frisson of alarm but decided she was imagining things. As Amelia had pointed out to her many times—she would be just fine.

  Still, as Shelby cleaned up the dinner dishes and began measuring flour for Bert’s carrot cake, she couldn’t shake the sense of uneasiness that hovered over her like a persistent cloud.

  16

  Dear Reader,

  Bonfires are a popular activity here in Michigan pretty much year-round. Even summer nights get cool enough that the heat from a fire actually feels good. Instead of standing around in someone’s overdecorated living room with a fancy cocktail, we prefer to be outside, watching the sun leave a fiery path in the sky as it plummets toward the earth, and warming our hands in front of the blaze from someone’s fire pit.

  Bill and I spent many evenings cuddled together in front of the roaring flames. Believe me, it’s more romantic than going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant . . . tucked into a sleeping bag watching the sparks light up the sky . . .

  Shelby stopped typing suddenly. A montage of images and sensations went through her mind: cuddling together with Bill, his hands warm on her body . . . passionate kisses hotter than any fire—what had she been thinking, letting Amelia go to this bonfire?

  There was nothing she could do about it now. Showing up at the Quinns’ would embarrass Amelia—she knew it would be a long time before Amelia forgave her if she did that. Besides, she was probably being ridiculous.

  Shelby decided she needed to take her mind off the endless loop it was on, and making Bert’s cake was the perfect way to do it. She measured flour, sugar, and baking powder. She grated carrots. She stirred and stirred until the batter was silken and smooth.

  She was pouring it into cake pans when the front door opened so abruptly, it ricocheted off the wall and slammed shut again.

  Shelby put down her spatula, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried toward the foyer.

  Amelia threw herself into Shelby’s arms. Her face was streaked with tears, and bits of leaves and twigs were caught in her hair.

  Shelby held her tight, rocking back and forth and murmuring there, there like she used to when Amelia was a baby.

  Finally, Amelia’s sobs abated until all that was left was a case of the hiccoughs.

  She looked up at Shelby with red-rimmed eyes and swiped a hand across her nose, which had started to run.

  “You have to come. We don’t know what to do. It’s horrible.”

  “Where’s Mrs. Quinn? Who drove you home?” Shelby was confused.

  “Chip. He’s waiting outside. I said you would know what to do.”

  Dear Reader, that’s very flattering but I’m too alarmed at the moment to appreciate it.

  Amelia began tugging on Shelby’s sleeve.

  “Wait. Where are we going?”

  “To the field behind Zeke Barnstable’s farm.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  Amelia just shook her head and tugged harder on Shelby’s arm.

  “Chip is waiting.”

  “I don’t know who Chip is, but I can assure you, we’re not riding with him. We’ll take my car.”

  Shelby was startled when Amelia didn’t argue.

  “I have to get Billy. I don’t want to leave him here alone.”

  “No!” Amelia said. “You can’t take Billy there. Can’t he stay home by himself this once?”

  Shelby stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Billy,” she yelled. “I
have to go out for a minute. Will you be okay?”

  Billy’s blond head popped over the bannister. “Sure, Mom. I told you, I’m old enough to stay by myself. Everyone does it.”

  Shelby rather reluctantly followed Amelia out to the car. Her hands were shaking as she inserted the key in the ignition. She had no idea what had happened or what she was going to find. Surely if there had been an accident of some sort, the kids would have had the smarts to call 9-1-1.

  A light drizzle had started falling and Shelby switched on the windshield wipers. She usually found their rhythmic whoosh, whoosh across the window soothing, but not tonight.

  She followed the pinpricks of red that were the taillights of Chip’s car through the falling dusk.

  “Who is Chip?” Shelby asked.

  “Some boy.”

  “I gathered that. Do you know him from school?”

  “Yes. He’s a junior.”

  Shelby opened her mouth to say something but snapped it shut. This wasn’t the right time to discuss it. Amelia was clearly in distress and didn’t need to hear a lecture.

  The rain picked up in intensity as they neared Zeke’s farm. Shelby switched the windshield wipers to a higher speed and turned on the rear-window defogger. The windows were steaming up, and with the interior of the car darkened, she felt claustrophobic.

  “You still haven’t told me what you were doing at Zeke’s farm,” Shelby said, her fingers tense on the steering wheel.

  “The Quinns wouldn’t let us have a bonfire. Mrs. Quinn had a migraine and Mr. Quinn said we would be too noisy, and besides, the smoke would bother her.”

  “You said Viola’s mother was picking you up from our house. I’m guessing she didn’t.”

  Amelia shook her head and her hair swished back and forth against the back of the seat.

  So Chip must have driven her, Shelby thought. No point in worrying about it now—they’d obviously made it safely.

  Dear Reader, have you ever taken too big a bite of something and then couldn’t swallow it? That’s how I feel right now.

  Shelby glanced at Amelia out of the corner of her eye and saw that she was biting her nails—something she had stopped doing two years ago.

  Chip’s car turned onto the dirt road that ran past Zeke’s farm and Shelby followed him. The road was rutted and she had to take it slowly. As the needle on the speedometer dropped, her heart rate sped up. She couldn’t imagine what she was going to find. And Amelia was still unable to tell her.

  They passed Zeke’s plain white farmhouse. The front porch listed to the right, and the siding was weathered and badly in need of painting. One of the upper windows was crisscrossed with tape meant to mend a long, jagged crack.

  “Where are we going?” Shelby asked as Chip continued down the road.

  Amelia pointed out the window. “To those trees behind the cornfield.”

  The dirt road ended at the edge of the small group of trees. Shelby came to a stop behind Chip’s car and got out. It was still raining—although not heavily—and she wished she’d thought to bring her slicker with her. She glanced at Amelia in her sodden T-shirt and shorts—she must have been freezing.

  Chip went ahead of them, cracking twigs underfoot and rustling the leaves that had already started to dry and turn color. Shelby and Amelia followed behind.

  Shelby was surprised when Amelia grabbed her hand and held it like she used to when she was a little girl.

  Chip pushed aside a sinewy branch that was in their path, and it whipped back, slapping Amelia in the face.

  She let out a cry, and her hand flew to her face.

  “Are you okay?” Shelby asked in hushed tones. She didn’t know why she was whispering.

  By now they had reached the center of the cluster of trees. A cloud floated in front of the moon and the shadows created by the trees intensified the darkness. Shelby felt the ground with her feet and held an arm out in front of her as she walked, much like a blind person might negotiate unfamiliar terrain.

  They were in a small clearing. Two girls and a boy were huddled together on a rotting log. They were soaked through from the rain, their faces ashen. A girl with long hair plastered to the back of her wet T-shirt jumped up when Shelby and Amelia approached.

  “You won’t tell, will you, Mrs. McDonald?” she said. Her teeth were chattering.

  Shelby recognized her from one of Amelia’s birthday parties. Hannah, she thought her name was. She was a pretty girl, but right now her face was creased with concern, and she looked frightened out of her mind.

  “What’s going on? What’s happened?” Shelby looked at the white, frightened faces that surrounded her. “Someone needs to tell me what is going on,” she said with a heavy feeling of dread.

  The boy jumped to his feet. He was wearing a sports jersey with the number twenty-five on it and sagging jeans with holes in the knees.

  “It’s like this. Chip and I began digging a pit for our bonfire.” He jerked his head toward where Hannah and the other girl were standing close together, holding on to each other. “Hannah and Lauren started collecting rocks so we could circle them around the pit.”

  He stifled what sounded to Shelby like a sob, and then lifted his chin and swiped a shaking hand across his eyes.

  “Then we found it.”

  “Found what?” Shelby asked.

  “Come and see for yourself,” the boy said, gesturing toward the rough circle dug into the ground.

  Shelby edged closer. She was bracing herself for what she would find in the hole. A dead animal of some sort, maybe? She peered into the shallow pit. Even in the near dark she could tell what it was. And it wasn’t an animal.

  She put a hand over her mouth and staggered backward.

  17

  Dear Reader,

  Did you ever have one of those moments when things appear to be going in slow motion? And you’re seeing everything through a fog so that lines are blurred and edges softened? That’s what was happening to me. They say it’s your brain’s way of protecting you from a terrible shock. I think that’s true. And I couldn’t be more grateful for it.

  Shelby dug her cell phone from the pocket of her shorts with shaking hands. It took her three tries to punch in the numbers 9-1-1.

  The dispatcher answered on the first ring, and Shelby explained the situation. She was proud that her voice barely trembled as she recounted the scene.

  The woman listened patiently and asked the occasional question. It was obvious she was as shocked by the situation as Shelby and the teens were.

  “Human remains, you say?”

  “Yes. There’s a shallow grave, and there are bones,” Shelby said, her voice quavering.

  “Could they be from an animal, perhaps? Someone’s pet dog or cat?”

  Shelby shook her head violently. “No. I’m quite certain they’re human bones. The . . . the skeleton is still intact.”

  The dispatcher on the other end drew in her breath sharply. “A patrol car is on its way.”

  “Thank you.”

  Shelby ended the call and punched in another number.

  “Frank McDonald,” the husky voice drawled when the call went through.

  Frank sounded tired, Shelby thought—as if she had woken him. She felt guilty. The police were on their way—perhaps there was no need to bring Frank out at a time like this.

  “Frank.” She tried to keep the quaver out of her voice, but she wasn’t successful—she was wet, cold, and frightened, and it was obvious.

  “Shelby? What’s wrong?” Suddenly Frank’s voice became brisk and businesslike.

  Shelby explained about the teens digging a fire pit and uncovering what looked to her like human remains.

  “I’ll be right there. You’re at Zeke Barnstable’s farm, right?”

  Relief flooded Shelby. “Yes. Take the gravel drive past
his house as far as it goes. We’re in that small copse of trees at the end of it.”

  “Hang on. I’m coming.”

  “What should we do?” Hannah asked as Shelby stuffed her cell phone back in her pocket.

  She’d wrapped her thin arms around herself and was shivering.

  “You kids go wait in my car.” Shelby pointed toward the road.

  “I’ll stay here with you,” Chip said, raising his chin and squaring his shoulders.

  He was a good deal taller than Shelby although as thin as a willow branch, with the faintest suggestion of facial hair on his chin and upper lip.

  They waited in silence until, several minutes later, car headlights pierced the darkness created by the canopy of trees. Shortly after that, they heard twigs snapping and leaves rustling. Two uniformed patrolmen burst through the bushes into the small clearing.

  Shelby sagged with disappointment. She had hoped that Frank would be the first to arrive.

  One of the officers turned on his flashlight and aimed the powerful beam at the shallow hole in the ground.

  Shelby turned her head quickly. She’d already seen as much as she wanted to.

  Shock set in and Shelby began to shiver. She yearned to go home, crawl under her down comforter, and not come out again until this was all over. She tried not to think of that because it only compounded her misery and unfortunately wasn’t an option.

  The sound of someone stumbling followed by a muffled oath announced Frank’s arrival. He burst through the tangle of bushes, putting up an arm to ward off the low-hanging branches on the saplings nestled between the larger trees.

  “Shelby!”

  Shelby moaned and threw herself into Frank’s open arms. He stroked her hair with his hand and tightened his other arm around her. She stood like that for a few minutes, letting her muscles relax, giving in to the tears that were hot behind her eyelids. Then she made herself push away from the warm circle of his arms.

  “Frank,” one of the officers called. “Come take a look, would you?”

  “Why don’t you go wait in the car?” Frank whispered in Shelby’s ear.