26

Dear Reader,

I had an exciting e-mail this morning. Another company is asking me to promote their cookware. They sell cast-iron pots and pans for very reasonable prices.

Cast iron offers durability (I have my grandmother’s Wagner Ware set and still use it!) and excellent heat retention, making it the perfect choice for searing or frying.

And it goes from stove top to the oven with no trouble.

Some pans come preseasoned and others will need a bit of oil rubbed into them. Be sure to clean them with mild soap so as not to remove the seasoning—a popular method of cleaning is to use coarse salt and a paper towel to rub out the pan.

Shelby sat for a moment after hanging up with Kelly. Was there a connection between Brenda’s and Zeke’s murders? An idea—little more than a wisp—floated just out of reach. She sighed. Perhaps if she turned her mind to something else, she would be able to grasp the idea—whatever it was.

She jiggled her computer mouse, and her computer sprang to life again. She devoted time every Saturday afternoon to writing at least two or three blog posts in case the week became too busy and time got away from her.

She was a creature of habit, she supposed—like the other people in Lovett Bert had mentioned: Jim and Zeke at the Dixie on Thursdays, then Jim with his brother, Sid, there on Friday nights—the same night Brenda and her friends headed to the Dixie for their weekly girls’ night out.

Shelby paused with her fingers hovering over her computer keys. Something had suddenly struck a chord. What was it? The thought came to her so swiftly, she almost jumped—Jim, Sid, and Brenda all at the Dixie on the same night of the week. Was there any significance in that?

She picked up a pencil and began tapping it against the desk. Bitsy and Jenkins obviously took that as some sort of signal, because they both showed up at her side, panting heavily against her bare legs.

“Sorry, guys. False alarm. It’s not time for dinner yet.”

Jenkins tilted his head this way and that as if he was really listening. Bitsy made her way through the tangle of chair legs and plopped down under the table with a deep sigh that Shelby imagined signaled her disappointment.

For a moment Shelby lost her train of thought and nearly groaned in frustration. She’d been thinking about Brenda, Jim, and Sid at the Dixie . . . That was it. She snapped her fingers, but this time the dogs merely lifted their heads and stared at her quizzically.

What if . . . Shelby got so excited, she jumped up from her chair and began to pace up and down the kitchen. What if Brenda saw who hit Sid the night he was killed? And what if that person knew she’d witnessed the hit-and-run? Had they tracked her down and killed her to keep her from going to the police?

Of course it was possible that Brenda hadn’t even been at the Dixie that night. She might have stayed home, laid up with a headache, the flu, or a stomach upset. Shelby picked up her pencil and began drumming it again. Who would know? She dropped the pencil suddenly, and it rolled off the table and onto the floor. Bitsy and Jenkins both watched it with curiosity but without stirring from their comfortable spots under the table.

Tonya Perry would know. She and Brenda had been best friends—surely Tonya was part of the group that went to the Dixie every Friday night.

Shelby almost reached for the phone but then thought better of it. It would be awkward enough approaching Tonya with these questions—it might be better to do it in person.

Shelby had learned from her mother and grandmother never to go somewhere empty-handed. She would need an excuse to call on Tonya. She’d pick some Macs from the tree out back. Tonya was a whiz at baking—surely she would appreciate having the fruit for a pie.

Shelby sighed as she looked at the blank screen on her computer. She’d not gotten very far with her blog. She’d have to forgo some reading tonight in order to make up for it. She turned off her computer, grabbed a wicker basket from the kitchen counter, and went out the back door with Bitsy and Jenkins happily trotting at her heels.

Shelby took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of apples that drifted toward her on the breeze long before she even reached the small group of fruit trees.

It didn’t take her long to fill her basket with ruby red Macs—enough for at least two apple pies. She hoped Tonya would be pleased.

Shelby washed her hands, transferred the apples to a brown paper bag, refilled the dogs’ water dishes, and headed out the door.

•   •   •

Tonya’s house wasn’t far from what passed for downtown Lovett. Kelly had said that Tonya had inherited it from her grandmother. The house was fairly close to the street, with weathered white paint and scrubby grass in the front yard. Shelby headed up the cracked concrete walk and rang the bell.

The door creaked as Tonya opened it. If she was surprised to see Shelby standing on her doorstep, she didn’t show it. She put up a hand to fluff her blunt-cut bangs as she pulled the door wider and gestured for Shelby to go in.

“I’ve brought you some apples.” Shelby held out the paper bag. “I thought you might like them for some pies.”

Tonya took the bag and held it to her chest as if she feared Shelby would snatch it back again. They went into an old-fashioned parlor at the front of the house. It looked as if Tonya had inherited her grandmother’s furniture along with the house. The sofa was stiff and the fabric scratched the backs of Shelby’s thighs.

“Would you like some lemonade?”

“Yes, thank you, but please don’t go to any trouble.”

Tonya smiled. “It’s no trouble.”

Shelby heard Tonya opening and closing the refrigerator door and rummaging in the kitchen cupboards. Moments later Tonya reappeared with two sweating glasses of lemonade. She handed one of them to Shelby.

Shelby hadn’t worked out how to broach the reason for her visit. She stalled, taking several sips of her drink.

Tonya’s smile was beginning to wear thin when Shelby finally brought up the subject of Brenda’s death.

Tonya lifted the hem of her shirt and dabbed at her eyes.

“I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Do you still go to the Dixie on Friday nights?”

Tonya shook her head. “It’s not the same without Brenda. I haven’t been there since the night she died.”

Shelby looked around for a place to put her empty glass, but there weren’t any coasters so she continued to hold it.

“Were Sid and Jim there that night, too? Do you remember?”

Tonya was already nodding her head. “Yes. They were always there on Friday nights. One of Brenda’s friends—I didn’t know her real well—used to talk to Sid. I think she was hoping he would ask her out, but he never did.”

“Had Sid had a lot to drink that night? I understand he and Jim had a fight.”

“That’s what he and Jim fought about. Sid was ordering another beer with a whiskey chaser—his usual—when Jim tried to tell him he’d had enough. They began quarreling and got quite loud. I remember the bartender shot Sid a look, and that’s when he got up and stormed out. He bumped into this couple’s table on his way to the door, and knocked over the woman’s beer. It spilled all over her lap, and she was furious. But Sid didn’t even stop to say he was sorry or anything.”

“Brenda was still there when that happened?”

“Yes, but she said she had to go. Zeke would be waiting for her.”

“She drove herself to the bar?”

Tonya squirmed in her seat, obviously uncomfortable. “We didn’t want her to leave. She’d had a couple of beers over her usual limit. Our friend Kathy said she’d take her home, but Brenda insisted she was fine and would drive herself.”

Shelby was silent while Tonya chewed her bottom lip.

“Brenda was all worked up about Zeke—I think that’s why she drank more than her usual. She was complaining about how he didn’t pay any attention to her and didn’t appreciate her and how all she did was work all the time. I think she was unhappy at that Laundromat, where she had a part-time job, and wanted to quit, but Zeke wouldn’t hear of it.”

Tonya paused to take a breath.

“Afterward we were . . . we were worried that Brenda might have . . . We were afraid that Brenda might have done it. That she might have been the one who hit Sid.”

Tonya pulled at her bottom lip with her fingers. “Next thing we hear that Brenda’s disappeared.”

“Was that right after—”

“No. It was a couple of days later. On the Wednesday after Sid’s funeral.”

“She didn’t tell anyone where she was going?”

“Not that I know of. She didn’t tell me—I know that. Not Kathy, either, or any of her other friends, or they would have said.”

Tonya put her empty glass down on the carved wooden coffee table, and Shelby winced. She was afraid it was going to leave a ring.

“It sounds terrible, but we figured she might have run away because—you know—she was the one who’d killed Sid.”

Tonya tugged at the hem of her shirt. “And here she’s been dead all along.” She wiped her sleeve across her eyes. “I always said that Zeke must have done it. Brenda made it sound like the two of them weren’t getting along. Maybe Zeke decided to do something about it.” Tonya sniffed. “With all that property Zeke had, he probably figured they’d never find the body.”

•   •   •

Shelby was so preoccupied while making dinner that she nearly set fire to the bacon fat she was heating for the creamed corn. Amelia rescued the pan just in time and gave her mother an appraising look before going back upstairs to her room.

Shelby couldn’t stop thinking about what Tonya had told her. Had Zeke killed Brenda and then buried her body, telling everyone that she had run off somewhere? Or had Brenda witnessed the hit-and-run accident that killed Sid and the driver had come after her, killing her and then burying her on her own property? If her body was found, Zeke would have been the first and most logical suspect.

But then who had killed Zeke and why? Maybe the two murders weren’t connected after all, and she was wasting her time.

Shelby stood over the stove, stirring the corn mixture. She looked at the situation from every angle she could think of. She was ready to give up when a thought came to her. It was so startling, she accidentally hit the side of her arm against the frying pan.

She quickly shoved her arm under cold running water, watching as a thin red line formed on her forearm. She grabbed a paper towel, blotted off the water, and picked up the phone. She waited breathlessly for Kelly to pick up.

“Kelly,” Shelby said when her friend finally answered. “Are you up for an adventure?”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Mmmm, not really,” Shelby said as she stirred the creamed corn in the skillet.

“So, what is it?”

“I’d rather tell you in person.”

“This is beginning to sound very mysterious. Count me in.”

“Can you come by after dinner? Around seven thirty? I want to make sure Billy has a bath tonight.”

“Sure. As long as none of the animals in my care inconveniently decide to give birth tonight and need my assistance.”

Shelby laughed. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

“Can you give me a tiny hint, at least? My curiosity is killing me.”

“I’ll tell you everything when you get here.”

Shelby heard Kelly groan and then the click as she ended the call.

•   •   •

Shelby began to doubt the advisability of her plan as she sat at the kitchen table, staring at the clock, waiting for Kelly to arrive.

On the one hand, they would probably be perfectly safe—Zeke was dead, after all. On the other hand, it would be hideously embarrassing if they were caught, and she had no idea how she would explain what she and Kelly were up to.

Dear Reader, that should be what I was up to. Poor Kelly is merely along for the ride. If things go south, it will be all my fault.

Shelby had pleaded, argued, and bargained with Billy until she finally got him in the tub and made him promise to actually use soap while he was in there. She sniffed him as he ran past her, wrapped in a towel, his hair wet and dripping down his back, and she thought she caught a whiff of Ivory Soap. She breathed a sigh of relief. Billy’s idea of bathing was to spend half an hour playing with his toy boats and then getting out of the tub nearly as dirty as when he got in.

Amelia had promised to watch Billy while Shelby was out of the house. Shelby was a little nervous about leaving Amelia in charge at night, but she didn’t anticipate things taking longer than an hour. Amelia had promised to leave her bedroom door open so she would hear her little brother if he needed anything.

Shelby jumped when she heard Kelly’s car come down the driveway and pull up outside the mudroom door.

“Where are we going?” Kelly asked as she burst through the door.

Her red hair was haphazardly pinned into a knot on top of her head, and her cutoffs were fraying badly on the bottom. Shelby regarded her friend with affection—even with no makeup and her hair in a jumble, she was a beautiful woman. A light that spoke of kindness and empathy shone from her eyes.

Shelby heard a noise in the hall and put her finger to her lips.

“I’ll tell you when we’re under way,” she said as Amelia walked into the kitchen.

Amelia nodded at Kelly and wrinkled her nose at the smell that seemed to follow Kelly around no matter what she did.

“We’re heading out,” Shelby said, her purse slung over her shoulder and her car keys in hand.

“Where are you going?” Amelia asked, her head in the open door of the refrigerator.

“Out,” Shelby said.

She heard her daughter sigh and sensed Amelia’s frustration as she let the mudroom door close behind her and Kelly.

Touché, she thought with a certain amount of glee.

“Now will you tell me where we’re going?” Kelly asked as she buckled her seat belt.

“We’re going to Zeke Barnstable’s farm.”

“Why?” Kelly said, swiveling around to face Shelby.

“I have a hunch.” Shelby put on her blinker and turned right.

The road was deserted, although they soon met up with a farmer driving an ancient tractor at a speed that even a snail could have outpaced. Shelby put on her brakes and slowed her car to under twenty miles an hour, trying not to fume with impatience. There was a double yellow line, so she couldn’t even pass.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the farmer finally turned onto a dirt road and she was able to step on the gas again.

“You’re being quite maddening, you know,” Kelly said.

Shelby laughed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m going to feel really stupid if I’m wrong. And I want to put that off as long as possible.”

“Hmmph,” Kelly said, settling into her seat.

Shelby flipped down her visor—the sun had dropped lower in the sky and was shining directly through the car window. It was still light out, but shadows were deepening as dusk fast approached.

Shelby’s heartbeat sped up as she turned down the rutted lane that led to Zeke’s farm. There was no reason to expect anyone to be on the property, but what if Rebecca had decided to move in now that the house was hers?

There were no signs of life in Zeke’s old farmhouse. No lights glowing from the windows, no voices or sounds of music. Shelby jounced down the rutted drive, past the house, toward the garage in the back.

The garage looked as if it had originally been a storage shed. There were two bays, each with double doors that opened outward and were crisscrossed with wood like an old stable door. Shelby was relieved to see that neither door was padlocked.

“Now will you tell me what we’re looking for?” Kelly stood next to Shelby’s car with her hands on her hips.

“We’re looking for a car,” Shelby said as she approached the garage.

“I guess we’re looking in the right place, then, this being a garage.” Kelly pointed at the weathered and worn structure.

Shelby put her hand on the door handle, closed her eyes, and said a short prayer. She pulled and the door opened. She exhaled in a rush as dust motes wafted on the stale air that billowed out.

The bay on the right of the garage was empty except for some old and rusted rakes and hoes propped against the wall. A car was in the left bay—an older model Chevrolet TrailBlazer.

“Is this what you were hoping to find?” Kelly whispered. She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know why I’m whispering. No one is about.”

Shelby made her way around to the front of the SUV. Its bumper was nearly touching the back wall of the garage and she had to squeeze into the small space inch by inch. She pulled a flashlight from her shoulder bag and shone it at the front of the car.

She couldn’t restrain a shout of triumph as she examined the TrailBlazer.

“Look.” She motioned for Kelly to join her.

Shelby pointed at the front bumper of the car.

“The headlight is smashed.” She ran her hand along the dent in the fender. “This car has been in an accident.”

“So have a lot of other cars,” Kelly said, examining the damage. “What does that have to do—”

“I think Zeke’s wife, Brenda, is the person who hit Jim Harris’s brother, Sid, while she was on her way home from the Dixie Bar and Grill. Sid had had a fight with his brother and, in a fit of anger, stomped out of the restaurant. Brenda’s friends said she’d been drinking more than usual. They were concerned about her driving. And with good reason, it seems.” She traced the dent with her finger.

Shelby heard the sharp intake of Kelly’s breath.

“So Brenda is the one who ran Sid down.”

“And didn’t even stop.” Shelby turned to her friend. “I thought maybe Brenda had seen the accident and the driver had come after her and killed her. But that obviously wasn’t the case. Brenda had been the driver herself.”

“Do you think Zeke helped her hide the car?”

“He must have. I don’t see how she could have kept it from him. I imagine he didn’t want her to go to jail—she cooked his meals, cleaned the house, helped out on the farm, and worked part-time to bring in some extra money.”

“So . . .” Kelly held her hands out in front of her and spread her fingers wide. “What does this have to do with Zeke’s murder?”

“I don’t know.” Shelby’s shoulders slumped. “I got so caught up in finding out if my theory was right.”

“It’s one mystery solved, at least. Are you going to let Frank know?”

Shelby shuddered. “I have to. Although I know I’m going to get a lecture about snooping around—something I promised I wouldn’t do.”

“Frank is right. It could be dangerous.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. Nothing is going to happen.”