18

Dear Reader,

The sun is out today. Mist is rising from the puddles dotting the driveway as they slowly dry up. Yesterday’s rain also brought out the earthworms in the gardens.

Earthworms play an essential role in growing things by improving the fertility of the soil and helping with soil drainage by creating channels as they burrow.

I’ve read that the Maori of New Zealand eat certain species of earthworms and consider them a delicacy. I am grateful for the job they do in my garden, but I do not plan to cook up a batch anytime soon!

Shelby heard a car coming up her drive and peered out the window to see Bert pulling up outside the mudroom door. She quickly hid the carrot cake she’d made for Bert’s birthday in the laundry room and then went to open the door.

“Happy birthday,” Shelby said as soon as Bert reached the mudroom.

“Why, thanks.” Bert grinned broadly. “I’m grateful for every one I have. Although at my age, the sands are about done running through the hourglass, so who knows how many more I have left?”

“You’re going to live forever,” Shelby said, and she meant it even though she knew it was impossible. She couldn’t imagine life without Bert.

The door to the laundry room was open a smidge, and out of the corner of her eye, Shelby noticed Jenkins nudging it open farther. She hurried over, shooed Jenkins away with her foot, and pushed the door closed until she heard the latch click.

Jenkins looked very disappointed and went to join Bitsy in a sunbeam that was throwing light across the kitchen floor.

“You’re looking a little peaked,” Bert said, examining Shelby’s face. “Rough night?”

“You can say that again. Let’s have some coffee, and I’ll tell you about it.”

Bert retrieved mugs from the cupboard while Shelby filled the coffee machine with fresh coffee and water. She pushed the ON button, and the machine gurgled to life. Moments later, she and Bert were seated at the kitchen table, mugs in hand, picking at the remains of a coffee cake Shelby had made two days ago.

Shelby told Bert about Amelia going to Zeke’s without telling her, Amelia’s arriving home in a panic after finding the body, and Shelby’s own trip out to Zeke’s farm.

Bert whistled and put her coffee cup down with a clang. “So Zeke did kill his wife after all.”

“We don’t know that. . . .”

“If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck . . .” Bert took a sip of her coffee. “Plenty of people thought he did it, but the body was never found. For all anyone knew, Brenda had hightailed it to Alaska, where she was living in an igloo and fishing for her dinner.”

“It does seem the most obvious deduction that the body is Brenda’s,” Shelby conceded.

“Pretty stupid of Zeke to bury the body on his own property. Of course, it doesn’t matter now. She was never found while he was alive, and I suppose that means he was successful in covering up her murder.” Bert drained the remaining coffee in her mug and put it down with a conclusive bang.

“It does make me wonder about Tonya Perry,” Bert continued, picking at the last of the coffee cake crumbs. “She was convinced that Zeke murdered his wife. Maybe she finally decided to make him pay for the crime she assumed he’d committed.”

“I think you might be right,” Shelby said, thinking of the things she’d heard about Tonya.

But how was she going to prove it?

•   •   •

Shelby had decided to let Amelia stay home. The fact that Amelia and her friends had found a body would be all over school, and Shelby wanted to spare her the questions that she’d no doubt have to field. The less said about the incident, the better, and the sooner Amelia could begin to forget about it.

Amelia still hadn’t appeared downstairs when Shelby began making some mozzarella cheese. She planned to use it in a white bean, tomato, and mozzarella salad for the church’s luncheon for the Women’s Auxiliary.

Mozzarella was easy to make—milk, citric acid, and rennet produced a deliciously creamy version of the cheese.

Amelia slunk into the kitchen while Shelby was squeezing the whey from the curds.

“Gross,” she said, peering over Shelby’s shoulder. “What is that?”

“It’s the cheese you love to have on your pizza—mozzarella.”

“Oh.”

Amelia rummaged in the pantry, pulled out some cereal, and began eating it straight from the box.

Shelby opened her mouth to say something but decided against it. She couldn’t decide exactly how to approach Amelia about the previous evening. Of course, the longer she put it off, the harder it would get.

“Do you want to talk about what happened last night?”

Amelia looked at Shelby and tears sprang to her eyes.

“Do I have to? I just want to forget the whole thing. I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing the body. . . .”

Shelby looked at her daughter. There were the telltale bags under her eyes that confirmed her lack of sleep, and her face was white and strained.

Shelby put a hand on Amelia’s shoulder, and Amelia briefly put her own hand over her mother’s.

“No, you don’t. Not right now. I just thought . . .”

Shelby dropped her hand and turned back to the counter. She plopped the ball of mozzarella cheese into a waiting bowl of ice water and poured the whey into a container and put it in the refrigerator—she would use it later to make bread.

When she turned around again, Amelia had disappeared back upstairs, taking the box of cereal with her.

Shelby finished making the mozzarella and put it in the refrigerator to chill. She’d soaked some great northern beans overnight, and they’d been on the stove since she got up to feed the chickens.

All she needed to do was slice some tomatoes, snip some basil from the garden, and assemble the salad.

She looked down at herself. And she’d have to change. She couldn’t show up for the lunch in her working-in-the-kitchen-and-garden clothes!

Shelby was about to head upstairs when the front doorbell rang.

Dear Reader, why do people only show up when I’m wearing my grubbiest clothes and I have yet to comb my hair?

“Oh,” Shelby said when she saw Frank standing on her doorstep.

“I hope I’m not bothering you.”

He had his cap in his hands and was kneading the brim nervously.

“No. Come in.” Shelby whirled around. “Would you like something to drink?”

Frank shook his head. “Thanks, but I can’t stay. I have some news I thought you’d be interested in.”

“Come on. Let’s go into the kitchen, and I’ll get you a glass of lemonade. I made it this morning.”

Frank grinned. “In that case, I won’t say no.”

Shelby poured glasses of lemonade while Frank sat at the kitchen table and stretched out his legs.

“The pathologist was up half the night examining the remains,” Frank said after he’d had a sip of his drink. “He discovered there was an old break in the corpse’s femur—the leg bone,” he explained.

Shelby nodded. She knew what a femur was.

“He seemed pretty excited about it, and I couldn’t see why, but then Doreen—she’s the department secretary—pointed out that until Dr. Gregson arrived in town, everyone went to old Doc Parsons.”

“I know—we all did.”

“Exactly. Seeing as how we already suspected the remains belonged to Brenda Barnstable, Dr. Gregson agreed to check the patient files he’d inherited from Doc Parsons.”

Frank leaned his chair back on two legs, and Shelby held her breath.

“Fortunately Doc Parsons kept good records, unlike a lot of medics his age. Dr. Gregson found X-rays in Brenda’s file. Upon examination, they showed that Brenda had broken her leg in the exact same spot the corpse’s leg was broken.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Dr. Gregson had a look and then the pathologist confirmed it. Of course, we’ll have to wait on the DNA test results—fortunately Zeke Barnstable had kept Brenda’s toothbrush and hairbrush in the bathroom exactly where she’d left them.”

“So you don’t know for sure?”

“As sure as we need to be at this stage. The DNA evidence will clinch the deal if and when this ends up in court.”

Frank drained his glass. “I won’t keep you any longer. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Yes, thanks.”

Frank walked to the front door and paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“I hope you don’t think I’m making up excuses to see you.”

Shelby felt her face grow hot. “No, no. Not at all. I appreciate your stopping by to give me this news.”

Frank nodded and opened the front door.

“I guess I’ll see you,” he called over his shoulder as he headed down the walk to his truck.

•   •   •

Mrs. Willoughby was atwitter when Shelby arrived at the church hall with her salad. Her face was red and shiny with perspiration, and she was panting slightly.

“Move it a bit to the left,” she said to a woman who was positioning a vase of wildflowers—they looked as if they’d been plucked from the side of the road—on one of the long tables that had been set up end to end.

The tables were covered in half a dozen mismatched white tablecloths that were on loan from members of the Women’s Auxiliary. Places had been set with the church’s utilitarian silverware and thick white china.

Mrs. Willoughby pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and sneezed into it.

“Those flowers are wreaking havoc with my hay fever.” She tucked the tissue back up her sleeve and pointed to a long table that was apart from the others. “We’re setting up the buffet over there. Jenny Hubbard has brought three of her lemon meringue pies.” Mrs. Willoughby kneaded her doughy hands. “I do hope no one will put pepper on them this time.” She gave a high-pitched giggle.

“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” Shelby murmured soothingly.

A group of women walked in and stood chatting idly. Mrs. Willoughby bustled over to them and shooed them toward the table.

“It’s time to get started,” Shelby heard her trill at the group.

Shelby hurried over to place her salad on the buffet table, which boasted an interesting spread of food—meatballs simmering in a slow cooker, a casserole with crushed potato chips on top, a platter of deli meats and cheeses, bread and rolls, and a large pan of lasagna.

Shelby turned back to the dining table, where it looked as if a game of musical chairs was in progress, with much switching of seats and rearranging of chairs. Shelby found herself a seat between Mrs. Willoughby and Coralynne, with Isabel and Jenny Hubbard directly across the table. Isabel’s heavy gardenia perfume wafted in Shelby’s direction and she felt a slight headache beginning.

Mrs. Willoughby and Coralynne heaped a bit of each of the dishes from the buffet spread onto their plates while Isabel had some of Shelby’s white bean, tomato, and mozzarella salad, a plain green salad, and a small square of lasagna. Isabel glanced at the plates of the other two ladies, and Shelby thought she looked aghast.

As soon as everyone had returned to their seats from the buffet line, Mrs. Willoughby banged her spoon against her glass. The chatter dipped to a murmur and finally died out.

“I want to welcome everyone today to our annual luncheon. I want to remind you about the Christmas bazaar. October will be here before we know it. Time is of the essence. We need to have our ducks in a row. If you haven’t already signed up to volunteer, please do. We need all hands on deck.” She paused. “Now please go ahead and enjoy your lunch.”

Dear Reader, Mrs. Willoughby is certainly full of clichés today, isn’t she?

Mrs. Willoughby sat down and beamed at Shelby, Coralynne, Jenny, and Isabel. She rubbed her hands together.

“What a delicious-looking meal we have here—don’t you think?”

Isabel poked at her salad with her fork. She looked up, her eyes shining. “I heard that Brenda Barnstable’s body has been found at long last.”

Coralynne paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, a piece of lettuce dangling precariously from the tines. “You don’t say!”

Mrs. Willoughby leaned forward, and barely missed planting her considerable bosom in her lasagna.

“Yes. And on Zeke’s Barnstable’s property,” Mrs. Willoughby said, and Shelby envisioned the words printed in bold. “That proves it, don’t you agree?”

Coralynne shivered with excitement. “Do you think he felt so guilty that he was forced to take his own life?”

Mrs. Willoughby shot her an impatient look. “By hitting himself over the head with a hammer?”

Shelby stifled a laugh by pretending to be choking on her food. She cleared her throat loudly and followed it up with a big gulp from her water glass.

Coralynne looked momentarily miffed, but curiosity got the better of her. She turned to Shelby.

“Have you heard anything? After all, your brother-in-law is on the police force.”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Both Coralynne and Mrs. Willoughby looked at Shelby as if they didn’t believe her.

“I think it’s obvious who did it, and it wasn’t Brenda’s husband,” Jenny spoke up abruptly. She leaned closer over the table. “I think it was Tonya Perry.”

Mrs. Willoughby sucked in air through her teeth. “I have heard that she threatened Zeke when she found out that Brenda had gone missing. She’s a big woman, and although Zeke is a farmer, he’s awful skinny and not very tall.”

“That type is often surprisingly strong,” Coralynne said. “My brother is as thin as a beanpole, but that time I wanted to move my refrigerator, he picked it up as if it was nothing.”

“I can’t see Tonya getting up the energy to do much of anything,” Mrs. Willoughby said. “She’s no use as a volunteer. You have to keep after her the whole time, like a sheepdog after an errant member of the flock. I don’t know what Daniel sees in her.”

Isabel stiffened and her lips thinned into a straight line.

Jenny scowled at Mrs. Willoughby. “Did I ever tell you what Tonya did to my Tracy?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Willoughby said decisively.

“Don’t you think that proves she’s capable of almost anything?” Isabel said.

“But murder,” Coralynne protested.

Jenny toyed with her fork, poking at the remains of her lunch and scraping the tines through the last bits of macaroni salad on her plate.

Her face drooped into defeated folds. “I’m afraid that as much as I hate Tonya, she can’t have killed Zeke.”

“What?” the table gasped.

Jenny nodded. “It’s true. My Tracy decided to come to the fair. She said she wanted to see me win.” Jenny preened but then her expression grew disappointed. “And I would have if Tonya hadn’t doused my pie with pepper.”

“Go on,” Mrs. Willoughby said rather testily.

Jenny told the story Shelby had already heard—about the suspicion that Tonya had set fire to Tracy’s piece in the university art competition.

Shelby noticed Isabel’s eyes glittering as Jenny told her story.

Dear Reader, I have the sneaking suspicion that Isabel is going to run straight to Daniel with this story in order to discredit her rival for his affections.

By the time Jenny finished telling her story, her face was red and she was slightly out of breath.

Mrs. Willoughby pursed her lips. “I don’t see how that proves that Tonya didn’t murder Zeke. If anything, I would say it proves the opposite—that she’s obviously capable of it.”

Jenny scowled at Mrs. Willoughby. “Well, I’m not finished with the story, am I? I only needed to catch my breath for a minute.”

Mrs. Willoughby sat back in her chair, her posture stiff with irritation.

“Like I was telling you”—Jenny shot Mrs. Willoughby a dirty look—“my Tracy came to the fair for the pie contest. She didn’t expect to see Tonya there, and obviously Tonya didn’t expect to see her. It was right before Isabel tried that bite of my pie. As soon as Tonya clapped eyes on Tracy, Tonya took off running. If that doesn’t say something about her guilt, I don’t know what does.”

“Did Tracy catch up with Tonya?” Shelby said.

Jenny shook her head. “No, but she followed her all the way to the exit of the fair and even out into the parking lot. Unfortunately Tonya jumped in her car and took off. Tracy said she only wanted to talk to her about the incident. To have what she called closure.”

Dear Reader, it certainly sounds as if Tonya didn’t have time to murder Zeke. She was with me at the pie contest and then in Tracy’s sights the rest of the time. Unless the station wagon where Zeke’s body had been found was left unattended earlier. I will have to check with Jake.