by Peg Cochran
“That good, huh?” Shelby smiled at her daughter. Seeing Amelia happy made her happy—a sentiment only parents could really appreciate. “So what’s put you in such a good mood?”
“The kids at school are getting excited about our antibullying campaign. Katelyn and I have invited a few people to join our committee. Even Bailey O’Keefe has agreed to be on it.”
“And who is Bailey O’Keefe?” Shelby said as she began folding the bundle of towels she’d pulled from the dryer and piled on the kitchen table.
Amelia rolled her eyes. “She’s Luke Armstrong’s girlfriend.”
“Isn’t he the new quarterback?”
“Yes. Can you believe it? Bailey’s practically royalty.”
“Just because she’s dating the quarterback? Surely she has some merits of her own.” Shelby added a folded towel to the growing stack on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Of course she does.” Amelia got a glass from the cupboard, filled it at the tap, and took a gulp. “Today at lunch, someone threw a meatball at Lorraine. It would be one thing if they started throwing meatballs at everyone and it was only a random food fight, but they didn’t—just Lorraine. I got up to tell them to stop and Katelyn stood up with me. Then Bailey jumped up. I couldn’t believe it. Then Roger Peacock—he’s in my English class—stood up, too. Pretty soon there were ten of us standing up for Lorraine. They wouldn’t have done it if Bailey hadn’t done it first.”
Dear Reader, talk about sheep mentality. It pretty much describes teens.
Amelia took another drink of water and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “This campaign is going to be positively epic.”
“So how is your brilliant idea for the kickoff shaping up? Still not going to give me any hints?”
“It’s going great. I’m just waiting for them to—” Amelia clamped her mouth shut. “I’ll tell you about it when it’s all set.”
“Somehow I don’t think it has anything to do with the theme week and the raffle I suggested.”
Amelia didn’t say anything. She pulled open the fridge, retrieved a can of pop, and grabbed a granola bar. Clutching both in her hands, she started toward the door.
Shelby was left feeling decidedly uneasy although she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
* * *
• • •
“What’s that you’re making? I thought you were going out to dinner.” Bert walked into the kitchen, her beige patent leather purse—what she thought of as her summer bag—swinging from the crook of her arm.
“I am, but the kids have to eat, don’t they?”
“I could have put something together for them.”
Shelby stopped with her wooden spoon in her hand. “You’re already doing enough for me, Bert. I can’t ask you to do that, too.”
“I could have ordered a pizza for them. There’s that new place out by the highway that delivers. The kids would like that.”
“I’m sure they would,” Shelby said, continuing to stir the macaroni and cheese bubbling on the stove. “But they get pizza for lunch at school now, believe it or not, and I try to make sure they’re getting at least one healthy meal a day. I’ve put some cut-up broccoli in here, so they get their veggies as well as a boatload of fat and carbs.”
“Pizza for lunch? We had to make do with what our mothers sent in our lunch sacks. I remember having butter sandwiches, because that was all my parents could afford, although my mother, bless her heart, would cut the bread into fancy shapes, which made all the other kids jealous.”
Shelby glanced at the clock. She could feel the steam from the pot of boiling water curling the hairs around her face. She hoped she would have time to wash her face, put on some fresh makeup, and maybe take a flat iron to her hair.
“Why don’t I keep an eye on that while you get ready?” Bert said almost as if she could read Shelby’s mind.
Shelby’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thanks, Bert.”
“I’m sure you want to spend some time primping for your date.”
Shelby was about to open her mouth to protest it wasn’t a date—at least not a date date—but if it pleased Bert to think it was, why should she be the one to snatch her happiness away?
Bert took over supervision of the pot of macaroni and cheese, and Shelby dashed upstairs to make herself presentable as quickly as possible.
Shelby grabbed a blue-and-white flowered sundress from her closet and slipped into it, then nearly changed her mind. She didn’t want to appear as if she was trying too hard. But she had to admit, the dress did good things for her—it brought out the auburn highlights in her dark hair and looked attractive against the tan she’d acquired working outside.
After fussing with her hair for ten minutes, Shelby decided it would have to do. She had achieved some semblance of neatness and that was about all she could hope for. She powdered the shine off her nose, swiped on some lipstick that left a berry-colored stain on her lips, flicked off the light in the bathroom, and went downstairs.
Bert had put out the place mats and was rummaging in the kitchen drawer for silverware.
Shelby peered into the pot of macaroni and cheese. She picked up the spoon and gave it a couple of stirs.
Bert took the spoon out of her hand and glared at her. “I’ve been cooking since before you were born, missy, so no need to go worrying about the kids’ dinner.”
Shelby put her hands up in surrender. “I can see you’ve got it under control.”
The doorbell rang just then, and Shelby’s heart jumped.
Bert gave her a slight push. “Have a good time.”
“Thanks,” Shelby called over her shoulder as she headed toward the foyer.
“Hey,” Matt said when Shelby opened the door.
He was wearing a pair of khakis and a blue-and-white-striped shirt. He smelled of laundry starch and crisp men’s cologne and Shelby was glad she’d taken the time to put on a dress.
“Shall we go?”
Matt led Shelby to his car and opened the door for her.
“I’m sorry it’s only the diner for dinner. You have to promise to let me take you to Lucia’s again soon.”
“I will.”
Half a dozen cars were parked in the diner’s lot. Most locals had already been in for their main meal and were headed home to catch the evening news. Dining out wasn’t something Lovett residents did on a regular basis, but every now and then even the thriftiest of farmers made a trip to the diner for lunch or dinner or to the Dixie Bar and Grill for a greasy hamburger and fries and a cold beer.
“Let’s sit in the back away from the fan.” Matt pointed to an industrial-sized freestanding fan that stood in the corner by the front door.
He led Shelby to a table and waited while she slid into the booth.
Matt picked up the menu and laughed. “I don’t know why I look at this.” He waved the plastic-coated paper in front of Shelby. “I know perfectly well everything that’s on it.”
“I don’t think it’s changed since they opened this place,” Shelby said, setting her menu aside.
The waitress, a harried-looking older woman with dyed red hair and a pencil stuck behind her ear, appeared at their table.
“Coffee?” she said, arching severely plucked brows as she turned over their coffee cups and held a coffeepot over them.
Both Matt and Shelby nodded.
“Has there been any news about that poor fellow’s murder?” Matt said as he stirred cream and sugar into his coffee.
“Not really. I haven’t talked to Frank since shortly after it happened.” Shelby picked up her empty sugar packet and began to pleat it. “It seems Travis had a fair number of people who had reason to dislike him—both in the band and here in Lovett.”
“But to kill someone.” Matt shook his head. “You’d have to be plenty mad.”
“True. It’s hard to imagine.”
The waitress returned with a pad and pencil. “Ready to order?”
Shelby and Matt ordered and were quiet until the waitress moved away to wait on the table by the door.
“Who are your suspects?” Matt said, and grinned.
Shelby put up a hand. “I’m staying out of this one, believe me.”
“Mmm-hmmm.” Matt made a noncommittal sound.
“Seriously,” Shelby protested.
Matt fiddled with his spoon. “You must have an opinion, though. Who’s your chief suspect?”
Shelby thought. “I don’t know. Maybe Jessie? Travis left her at the altar—literally—and that’s bound to leave a deep scar. Of course she seems happily married now, so maybe not.” Shelby blew on her coffee—the diner prided itself on providing a scalding-hot brew for its customers—and took a sip. “Of course Jax—he’s Travis’s brother and Jessie’s husband—has a motive as well. Travis was driving when they were in an accident that put Jax in rehab for months and cost him his singing career.”
“Isn’t he the fellow who’s taken Travis’s place in the band? That would certainly strengthen his motive.”
“I agree. Plus maybe there’s some lingering resentment over Travis’s treatment of Jessie? I don’t know.”
The waitress appeared at their table with a huge tray balanced on her shoulder. She slid a plate of chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes drowning in gravy in front of Matt and a potpie in front of Shelby.
“So,” Matt said when he’d almost finished his meal. “What about us, Shelby? Where are we going with this?”
Shelby looked up, startled. “I . . . I . . . What do you mean?”
Matt pushed his plate away and rested his folded hands on the table.
“I mean you and me. I think you like me.” He gave a crooked, self-deprecating grin. “And I know I like you.”
“I do like you,” Shelby blurted out, feeling her face get hot.
“I’m not getting any younger,” Matt said. He laughed. “I never thought I’d hear myself say that.” He reached out and took Shelby’s hand. “But I mean it. I’ve been through a lot, but I’ve made my peace with it, and I’m ready to settle down.” He looked away from Shelby. “I’d like a family to come home to at night.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Shelby stammered.
Matt squeezed Shelby’s hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I just need to know that that sort of relationship isn’t out of the question someday. Will you think about it?”
Shelby took a deep breath. “Yes. I’ll think about it.”
* * *
• • •
The sun was setting when Matt dropped Shelby off at home. The shadows in the corners had deepened and a light shone through the front window of the house.
Shelby was walking up the front path when she noticed a figure standing at her front door. It was Frank.
She was embarrassed that he had seen her with Matt, although she knew it was perfectly reasonable for her to be out with a man. She was no longer a wife, after all—she was a widow.
“Hello,” Shelby called as she approached the front door.
Frank watched her as she walked toward him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were out.” Frank kicked at a loose pebble with the toe of his boot. “I wanted to check on you and the kids. Make sure you’re okay.”
“Come on in.” Shelby pulled open the screen door, and it squeaked loudly.
“You should let me oil that for you. A good squirt of WD-40 and it won’t make a sound.”
Bert was asleep in a chair in front of the television, her knitting abandoned in her lap.
Shelby smiled and put a finger to her lips. “Shhhh.”
Frank grinned back.
“Coffee?” Shelby asked as she led Frank down the hall to the kitchen.
“Sure.” Frank massaged his forehead between his eyes. “I’ve been up since four a.m. Bad accident out by the Dixie. Your neighbor Jake was called out, too. He had to use the Jaws of Life to extricate one of the victims.”
“What happened?” Shelby filled the coffee carafe with water and poured it into the machine.
“It’s still under investigation, but as near as we can tell, the driver of the Durango was texting on his phone when he ran a stop sign and T-boned a Chrysler Sebring. Not the sort of car you usually see out here.” Frank shook his head. “It wasn’t pretty.”
Shelby could imagine. She lived in fear of the moment when Amelia got her license. She was sure she’d never have a moment’s peace again.
The coffee machine had stopped gurgling, and Shelby retrieved two mugs from the cupboard. They didn’t match, but she figured they would hold the coffee all the same.
“Was the driver drinking?”
“I don’t know. He had to be airlifted to the hospital, where they’ll run some tests, of course. But one of the patrolmen thought he smelled marijuana.”
Shelby shuddered. She handed Frank his mug of coffee.
“Texting, drugs, and driving are a deadly combination.”
Shelby pulled out a chair and sat down. She took a sip of her coffee. It was hot and burned going all the way down.
“Any news on the murder investigation?” Shelby said when she could talk again.
“Nah. Not much. We’re following up a couple of leads, but so far all the leads we’ve had have taken us nowhere.” Frank stirred his coffee absentmindedly. “No one saw or heard anything, it seems.”
Shelby thought about Valerie of Grilling Gals seeing someone in Seth’s hat—she refused to believe it was Seth himself. Valerie had said she’d told the police about the hat—if Frank really thought Seth was the person Valerie had seen, surely Seth would have been arrested by now.
Frank was quiet, stroking the side of his mug with his thumb.
“Did you have a nice time tonight?” he said finally. He didn’t look at Shelby but stared into his coffee mug.
It wasn’t what Shelby had expected. “Yes,” she said after a long pause. She picked up her coffee, hoping the mug would hide her face.
“Wasn’t that Matt from the general store?”
“Yes, it was.”
Frank smiled. “He’s a good guy.”
“Yes,” Shelby said again, not knowing what else to say.
Her heart was practically beating out of her chest as she looked at Frank. He was so like Bill, she longed to reach out and touch his face and run her fingers over his lips. She shook herself. She’d decided Frank was off-limits. How would she ever know if she really loved him? It wasn’t fair to him. It was time for her to move on—Matt was part of her future; Frank was part of her past.
Frank must have sensed her change in mood because he pushed back his chair, scraping it across the linoleum with a loud screech.
“I’d better be going. I wanted to make sure you and the kids were okay.” He shrugged. “You know, given that someone was murdered right here on your farm.”
“I appreciate that, Frank. I really do.”
“I’ll be going, then.”
“Frank?” Shelby called after him.
He turned around, a hopeful look on his face.
“Thanks.”
13
Dear Reader,
Did you know there are different types of dawn? Twilight, too. Civil dawn is the brightest and occurs when the center of the sun is six degrees below the horizon. At nautical dawn, the center of the sun is twelve degrees below the horizon. The sky is completely dark before astronomical dawn, which is when the center of the sun is still eighteen degrees beneath the horizon.
At civil twilight the sky is still light enough for outdoor activities to be carried out. It’s not unusual to find farmers still out in their fields working until the sun finally dips lower in the sky.<
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Shelby slept uneasily that night with images of Frank, Bill, and Matt invading her dreams. When she woke, the bedclothes were in a tangle, and her nightgown was damp with perspiration.
No sun was peeking around the edges of the blinds. Shelby glanced at her alarm clock. It was only five in the morning. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and grimaced when they hit the cold floor. Nights were still cool, although during the day it was warm enough to go swimming if you were courageous enough to brave the chilly waters of the lake.
The chickens would be fed early this morning, Shelby thought as she slipped into the jeans and T-shirt she’d left on her chair the day before. But she knew she wouldn’t hear any complaints from them.
Shelby flicked on the kitchen lights and winced slightly at their brilliance. She’d gotten dressed in the dark and her eyes had yet to adjust.
It was dark out, but there was the suggestion of the faintest light at the edge of the horizon. It didn’t matter—Shelby knew the way to the barn with her eyes closed, every bump, twist, and turn.
Shelby pulled open the barn door. The customary squeak had been remedied with some WD-40 before the wedding. Matt had helped her drag the feed bags and farm implements back to their usual places. They looked at odds with the musicians’ amplifiers, cords, and microphones.
Shelby filled her pail and, with the chickens squawking around her ankles like a gaggle of unruly children vying for her attention, distributed their feed.
The sky was getting lighter as she walked back to the farmhouse. The children would be asleep for another hour and that would give her time to work on her blog.
Today she was writing about Kelly’s wedding. She’d promised her readers a detailed description of the events. Shelby bit her lip. What to do about the murder? Her readers might have seen the story in the newspaper and would wonder why she hadn’t mentioned it. Perhaps she could touch on it only lightly and that would be satisfactory. She hoped that someday she could think about the joy and beauty of Kelly and Seth’s wedding without also having Travis’s murder come to mind.