Bought the Farm

by Peg Cochran

  “That would be fine.”

  Shelby was getting ready to leave when Cody came around the end of an aisle, his arms laden with purchases. He smiled at Shelby as he dumped his load on the counter.

  “I should have taken a cart, I guess,” he said with a sheepish grin.

  Shelby looked down at the counter. Cody certainly had an unusual assortment of items—bug spray, deodorant, a small bottle of laundry detergent, two cans of chicken noodle soup, a box of doughnuts, and a bottle of gardenia-scented bath oil.

  Cody pointed to the bath oil. “That’s for Paislee. She said she can’t live without it and hers is all gone.” He shrugged.

  As Shelby left the general store, she wondered if Paislee had transferred her affections to Cody now that Travis was dead.

  Although it was hard to picture Cody as a killer, she couldn’t help but think that that certainly gave him a motive for murder.

  * * *

  • • •

  The caterer Grilling Gals was on the outskirts of town in a long, low, nondescript building. According to the sign out front, they shared half the space with a beauty supply company.

  Shelby parked her car and got out. The sun was stronger now, and she felt perspiration forming on her upper lip and the back of her neck.

  A sign with an arrow directed Shelby to an entrance on the north side of the building where the glass door had the company’s logo painted on it in white—a grill with smoke rising from the top and Grilling Gals underneath in script.

  Shelby shifted the bowl to her left hand and tried the door. It was locked. She peered through the glass—lights were on, so someone must be there. She’d raised her fist to knock when she saw the bell alongside the door. She pushed it once, then again for good measure.

  Moments later, she could make out a figure coming down the hall, and moments after that, the door was opened.

  “Can I help you?”

  The woman standing in the doorway was shaped somewhat like a bowling pin—thin on top and wider on the bottom. She was wearing khakis and a red golf shirt with the Grilling Gals logo on the breast pocket. Her hair was light brown and the ragged ends reached her waist. Shelby recognized her from Kelly’s wedding, although then she had worn her hair up in a bun and covered by a hairnet.

  “I wanted to return your bowl.” Shelby held out the serving dish. “Someone must have thought it was mine and left it on my kitchen counter.”

  The woman held the door wider. “Come on in. My name’s Valerie. I’m the owner of Grilling Gals.”

  Shelby followed her down a dim hallway and into a small room crammed with mismatched office furniture.

  Valerie put the bowl down on a desk overflowing with piles of papers. She gestured toward the mess. “I’m paying bills.” She made a face.

  “I know what you mean,” Shelby said. “Not my favorite job either.”

  Dear Reader, especially not when you’re trying to stretch ten dollars to cover twenty dollars’ worth of expenses.

  “It was nice of you to bring our bowl back. Most of the time people just keep them. We’re constantly replacing our stock. We hire a lot of temps and some of them don’t pay as much attention as they should.”

  “Everything was lovely and people are still raving about the food.”

  Valerie smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. I was afraid that the murder would have left people with a bad taste in their mouth. Pun intended.” She smiled again. “A detective was around here just before you got here, questioning me and looking for the contact information for the staff who was at the wedding.”

  Shelby’s ears perked up. That must be Frank Valerie was talking about.

  “He asked me if I’d seen anything, but there wasn’t much I could tell him.”

  “But there was . . . something? Something you saw?”

  Valerie picked at a mosquito bite on her arm. “It was when one of the bartenders asked if I would dump the melted ice from his bucket. I went around to the back of the tent—I didn’t want to create a mud puddle right where people might be walking.”

  She lifted her hair off her neck and shoulders with her hands and then let it fall against her back again. “I didn’t see the body—the detective said he was strung up like a scarecrow. . . .”

  “Yes,” Shelby said. Travis’s image flashed across her mind and she saw the slumped figure, the chin on the chest, the legs buckled, and the hat perched on top of the head.

  “I didn’t see much of anything, to tell you the truth, but the detective seemed pretty excited by what I told him.”

  “What was that?” Shelby felt her palms turn clammy. What had Valerie seen?

  “I saw a man walking back toward the field where they found the body. He was wearing a hat. It had a sort of floppy brim.” Valerie made a twirling motion around her head.

  “What else was he wearing?”

  Valerie looked apologetic. “To be honest with you, I didn’t notice. I only caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye as I was bending over to dump the water out of the bucket. The only thing I really noticed was the hat. Otherwise I might not have noticed him at all.”

  Shelby’s mouth had turned dry and her palms were becoming increasingly clammy.

  “What color was the hat?”

  “The same color as my pants. Khaki, I guess you’d call it.”

  10

  Dear Reader,

  Do you know what the secret is to a really good pitcher of iced tea? A pinch of baking soda. The baking soda neutralizes the tannins in the tea, making for a much smoother taste. Next time you brew some tea—hot or cold—try it. Just a pinch will do—an eighth of a teaspoon should do the trick.

  Shelby felt sick as she walked back to her car after leaving Grilling Gals. The hat Valerie had described sounded exactly like Seth’s hat—and exactly like the one found on Travis. Was it possible that two people who had the same hat both happened to be at the wedding? Shelby didn’t think so.

  Bert was at the house when Shelby got home.

  “There you are,” she said when Shelby walked in the back door. “Jessie’s here—I sent her out to start weeding the herb garden.”

  “Thanks.” Shelby pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down.

  “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  Shelby took a deep breath. She riffled the edges of the newspaper that was sitting out on the table. If she didn’t tell anyone what Valerie had told her, then it didn’t exist, right?

  “It’s nothing. I guess I’m a bit tired, that’s all.”

  Bert looked as if she didn’t believe a word of what Shelby said. She began to open her mouth, and Shelby knew she had to forestall further questions or she would certainly cave and tell Bert everything.

  “Listen, can you watch the kids tomorrow night? Matt and I are going to the Lovett Diner for dinner.”

  A huge grin split Bert’s face. “You have a date.”

  “It’s not a date,” Shelby said, squaring her shoulders, aware that she sounded like a petulant child.

  “Is he paying?”

  “Yes, I think so. But maybe I should offer to—” Shelby held her hands out, palms up.

  Bert shook her head so vigorously her gray curls bounced. “No. If he’s paying, it’s a date. Don’t you go offering to pick up the tab. Next time you can invite him here for dinner and cook him something nice. Maybe that pot roast you make that positively melts in your mouth. I’m sure he’d like that.”

  “Do you really think . . . I mean, last time we went to dinner, he paid. . . .”

  “If you offer to pay, he’s going to think that you think he can’t afford it, and that’s emasculating. Men don’t like that.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. Besides, how much of a tab can a person run up at the Lovett Diner?”

  Shelby laughed. “That’s
true. The most expensive thing on the menu is the cubed steak with gravy and mashed potatoes and that would hardly break the bank.”

  Bert stared at Shelby, studying her so intently that Shelby began to blush.

  “Now you’re looking a little perkier. There’s nothing like a date to pick up a girl’s spirits.” Bert rubbed her hands together. “How about we start staking the plot for the eggplant and pumpkins?”

  “Good idea,” Shelby said, relieved that Bert had dropped the subject of her date with Matt.

  But she was wrong.

  “Can we call you and Matt an item now, as they say in those gossip magazines?” Bert said as she tied string to a stake.

  Shelby groaned inwardly. Bert could be like a dog with a bone when she wanted to be.

  “We’re having dinner. That’s all.”

  “This is your second dinner. I remember when he took you to that place in Allenvale. What was it called?”

  “Lucia’s,” Shelby said through tight lips.

  “That’s right.” Bert gestured to Shelby. “Here’s the string. You can tie your end now—mine’s done.”

  Shelby took the string, pulled it taut, and tied it to the stake she’d hammered into the ground across from Bert.

  “So the handsome cowboy next door is out of the picture?” Bert said as she pulled the ball of string from her pocket. “And what about Frank? He’s in love with you, you know. For a while I thought you two—”

  “Bert, please. I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Okay. Subject’s closed.”

  Shelby could tell by the stiff set of Bert’s shoulders that her feelings were hurt.

  “I’m sorry, Bert. I didn’t mean to snap. But honestly, it’s a subject that has often kept me awake at night.” Shelby pulled off her gardening gloves and wiped her forearm across her forehead. The sun was climbing in the sky and the early-morning breeze had died down.

  “You have three men interested in you. That’s every girl’s dream. I don’t see what the problem is.” Bert grinned to show she was kidding.

  “I’m hot. Why don’t we go inside and get a cold drink?”

  Bert followed Shelby back to the house and into the mudroom, which still retained some of the coolness of the morning air.

  “It feels heavenly in here,” Shelby said as she opened the refrigerator. “I have iced tea or lemonade.” She held up the two pitchers.

  “Iced tea for me.” Bert stretched her legs out under the table. “So your next-door neighbor is out of the picture. But Frank? I really thought the two of you . . .”

  Shelby sighed as she took the seat opposite Bert. She cradled her glass of lemonade in her hands, enjoying the coolness against her palms.

  “Frank is . . . Frank. That’s the problem. He’s not Bill, but he’s so much like Bill that it confuses me.”

  “Certainly they looked alike.”

  “Exactly. Is my attraction to Frank based on the fact he looks like Bill? He might not be like Bill at all.”

  “So in order to avoid disappointment, you’ve ruled Frank out?”

  Shelby turned her glass around and around in her hands. “It’s not so much that I’ve ruled Frank out. It’s more that I’ve decided to give Matt a chance.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you. Just so you haven’t closed yourself off. You’re young yet, with a lot of future in front of you. It would be nice for you to have someone to share that with.”

  Shelby realized she’d better end this conversation before things became too uncomfortable. She started to get up. “Back to work, I guess.”

  “I’ll bet the band could use something cold to drink,” Bert said. “I saw one of them getting water from the gardening hose.”

  “It must be pretty hot in the barn, too,” Shelby said, opening the refrigerator. “I’ll take them some iced tea.”

  She pulled a pitcher from the fridge and opened the cabinet next to the sink to retrieve some glasses.

  “Do you think any of Travis’s band members had anything to do with his death?” Bert said.

  Shelby paused with the pitcher of iced tea poised above a plastic carafe.

  “As far as I can tell, some of them may have had a motive, but it’s hard to picture any of them actually committing the crime.”

  “That’s true,” Bert said as she stood up. “They’re certainly what my mother would have called a ragtag bunch, but they seem harmless enough.”

  Shelby finished pouring the iced tea into the carafe and snapped the top into place. It, along with the glasses, went into her wicker basket, and she headed out the door.

  “I’ll join you in a few minutes.” She waved to Bert.

  Bitsy and Jenkins trotted along at Shelby’s heels, occasionally darting off to chase a butterfly or sniff at a clump of weeds.

  Shelby didn’t hear any music coming from the barn as she approached. The band must be taking a break—her timing was perfect. As she got closer, she heard voices coming from around the back of the barn. It was hard to make out what they were saying, but Shelby did hear the name Travis. Her ears perked up.

  She inched closer, trying to keep the glasses in her basket from rattling. For once, there weren’t any sounds of tractors plowing or mowers going.

  The voices were male and female. Shelby recognized the female voice—it was Jessie. Was it Jax she was talking to? They were quiet for several seconds and Shelby tensed, ready to move away and toward the entrance to the barn.

  The conversation started up again, and although Shelby strained her ears to the point where she thought her head would burst, she could catch only intermittent words—Travis . . . long ago . . . nobody remembers.

  At any moment, they might be finished talking and she would be caught, but Shelby couldn’t move. She had the feeling she might hear something important—something that would keep the police from sniffing around Seth and send them off in another direction.

  There was a rustling sound and Shelby tensed again. When Jessie spoke, she could tell they were moving closer.

  “Do the cops know the whole story?” Jessie said.

  Shelby bit her lip in frustration. She couldn’t hear the man’s response. But then he suddenly got louder, and Shelby recognized Jax’s voice.

  “And what about you? Do they know about . . .”

  Jax lowered his voice again and it was all Shelby could hear. She could tell they were coming closer. Any second now and they would be around the corner.

  She quickly moved away and walked through the open door of the barn.

  * * *

  • • •

  Shelby and Bert finished staking out the plot for the eggplant and pumpkins and by the time they were done, they were ready for another cold drink. They went inside through the mudroom, and Shelby dropped her mud-encrusted gardening gloves on the table she used for potting seedlings and separating plants.

  “I’m glad that’s done,” Shelby said as she retrieved the pitcher of iced tea and filled two glasses. “Thanks for your help, Bert.”

  “I’m grateful that I can help. It sure beats sitting alone in my apartment, watching the soaps on television.”

  Shelby smiled. “It sounds like you could use a little romance in your life, too.”

  “No, thanks. I’m done with that.”

  “But wouldn’t you like some companionship?” Shelby couldn’t help teasing Bert.

  “I’ve got Mable, my cat. That’s all the companionship I need.”

  Shelby brought the glasses to the table along with plates and the remains of a blueberry cake she’d made the day before.

  “When I was taking the iced tea out to the barn, I overheard Jessie and Jax talking. Something about a story and did the cops know,” Shelby said as she cut a slice of cake and passed it to Bert. “Do you have any idea what he might have meant? Do you remem
ber anything about him?”

  “I knew who his mother was to say hello to her, but I didn’t keep up with her at all. The only story I can think of is the accident that sent Travis’s brother to rehab for so long.”

  “Maybe that’s it. Maybe there’s something there.”

  “You’re good on the computer. Maybe you can look it up.”

  “I will,” Shelby said. “I definitely will.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Shelby was itching to get at the computer to see if she could find anything on a story that involved Jax and possibly Travis. She thought back to what she’d overheard. . . . Long ago . . . nobody remembers and Do the cops know the whole story? And she thought Travis’s name had been mentioned, too.

  Shelby was about to power up her laptop when the front door opened and then slammed shut and Billy came flying into the kitchen.

  “How was school?” Shelby said as he made a beeline for the refrigerator.

  Dear Reader, the amount of food that boy consumes is astonishing. I suspect we’re in for another growth spurt. His new pants are already almost too short.

  “School was okay,” Billy said as he bit into an apple.

  “What did you do?” Shelby went to ruffle his hair, but he ducked away from her hand.

  “Nothing.”

  It was the same conversation they had every day after school—school was okay and he’d apparently done nothing.

  “Can I go out and play?”

  Shelby sensed suppressed energy coming off him in waves. Sitting at a desk in a stuffy classroom all day was difficult for a boy his age.

  “Sure.”

  The screen door to the mudroom banged shut and the front door banged open almost in unison.

  Shelby saw Billy through the window streaking across the yard as Amelia walked into the kitchen.

  “How was school?”

  Amelia looked angry—her lips set in a thin grim line, her brows lowered over her eyes like shades that had been pulled down.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Amelia collapsed into a kitchen chair with a loud sigh. “Kind of.”