Bought the Farm Read online

  Praise for the Farmer’s Daughter Mysteries

  “With witty and personable writing, Cochran’s new series is off to a great start!”

  —RT Book Reviews (starred review)

  Praise for the Cranberry Cove Mysteries

  “A fun whodunit with quirky characters and a satisfying mystery. This new series is as sweet and sharp as the heroine’s cranberry salsa.”

  —Sofie Kelly, New York Times bestselling author of the Magical Cats Mysteries

  “Cozy fans and foodies, rejoice—there’s a place just for you, and it’s called Cranberry Cove.”

  —Ellery Adams, New York Times bestselling author of the Books by the Bay Mysteries, the Charmed Pie Shoppe Mysteries, and the Book Retreat Mysteries

  “I can’t wait for Monica’s next tasty adventure—and I’m not just saying that because I covet her cranberry relish recipe.”

  —Victoria Abbott, national bestselling author of the Book Collector Mysteries

  “First-class mystery fun.”

  —Suspense Magazine

  Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Peg Cochran

  Gourmet De-Lite Mysteries

  ALLERGIC TO DEATH

  STEAMED TO DEATH

  ICED TO DEATH

  Cranberry Cove Mysteries

  BERRIED SECRETS

  BERRY THE HATCHET

  DEAD AND BERRIED

  Farmer’s Daughter Mysteries

  NO FARM, NO FOUL

  SOWED TO DEATH

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2018 by Peg Cochran

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9780698198128

  First Edition: June 2018

  Cover art © Betsy Ross Koller

  Cover design by Emily Osborne

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  Version_1

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I want to thank my editor, Sarah Blumenstock, for all her help in making this book the best it could be. I’d also like to thank my writing buddies Janet Bolin, Allison Brook, Janet Cantrell, Laurie Cass, Krista Davis, and Daryl Wood Gerber for all their help in cooking up diabolical plot twists, clever clues, and misleading red herrings!

  CONTENTS

  Praise for the Farmer’s Daughter Mysteries

  Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Peg Cochran

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Recipes

  1

  Dear Reader,

  Spring is one of my favorite times at Love Blossom Farm. The flowers in my front garden are thriving, and the pink of the begonias with the purple and white of the petunias creates a beautiful kaleidoscope of color that never fails to cheer me up.

  The earth is giving off a rich, fertile fragrance and the vibrant greens of grass and leaves provide the perfect backdrop for Mother Nature’s riot of color.

  Shelby’s dogs wove in and out between her legs as she clomped across the muddy and rutted field that was drying rapidly in the warm rays of the sun. For days on end, every time she had pulled aside the curtains in the morning, the windows had been streaming with rain and the skies dark with swiftly moving clouds. Dear Reader, hardly auspicious weather for a wedding, don’t you agree? Everyone had been praying the storm would pass on, and it looked as if their prayers had finally been answered.

  This wasn’t the first wedding to be held at Love Blossom Farm—she and William “Wild Bill” McDonald had stood under the twisted branches of the old apple tree in the backyard and made their vows. She remembered the day so clearly—how could it have been so many years ago already?

  She hadn’t wanted a long gown—the wedding had been too informal for an elaborate organza or tulle creation. She’d found a pretty white eyelet tea-length dress with a fitted bodice and a full skirt. She’d worn it with an elbow-length veil and carried a basket of wildflowers.

  She shook her head. No use thinking about the past—Bill was gone now and it was time for her to move on. Today was meant to be a joyous day—the day her best friend, Dr. Kelly Thacker, tied the knot with Dr. Seth Gregson.

  Shelby headed toward the old red barn in the distance. It was faded from all the years of bright sun and strong wind and was listing slightly. It had taken a lot of work, but it had been transformed into the perfect spot for Kelly and Seth’s reception. Kelly had had her heart set on a real country wedding, and Seth had paid to bring in electric generators and for a rough wood floor to be laid.

  There was a rustling sound in a nearby clump of tall grass, and Jenkins, Shelby’s West Highland white terrier, dove into its midst in pursuit of whatever small creature was trying to make its home there.

  Shelby was relieved when Jenkins backed out of the long, waving grass, his mouth empty. She knew it was in his nature to go after mice, chipmunks, and the like, but she hated seeing anything so small and helpless killed.

  Bitsy, a giant lumbering mastiff, had no interest in hunting and was lying in the sun, her pink tongue lolling out of her mouth and her eyes closed in the blissful warmth.

  “Hey, Mom,” Shelby’s nine-year-old son, Billy Jr., called from the distance. “I’ve found a frog. Can I keep it? Please?”

  Shelby smiled as she walked toward Billy. So far this spring, he’d brought home a turtle, which had promptly escaped; a wounded sparrow, which they had nursed back to health; a garter snake, which Shelby had made him take right back outside again; and a very frightened baby rabbit.

  “Look how big he is.” Billy held out his hands as Shelby reached him.

  “He is very handsome. But don’t you think we should let him go?”

  A stubborn look came over Billy’s face—one Shelby knew well. This
was when he looked most like his late father.

  “I really think we should let him go.”

  “But I’ve already named him. I’m going to call him Bob.”

  “That’s nice, Billy, but where would we keep him? It’s not fair to lock him up inside. He would be miserable. He belongs outside.”

  Billy opened his mouth, but before he could argue any further, Bob the frog squirmed out of his grasp and hopped briskly away.

  “Awwww,” Billy cried, looking after him.

  “Come on,” Shelby said. “You need to take a bath and get dressed for the wedding. You have an important job to do—you’re the ring bearer.”

  Billy looked as if he was about to protest, but then he saw Shelby’s face—she could put on a pretty decent stubborn expression herself—and gave in and started to run toward the house.

  Shelby was about to follow when she heard a slobbering sound—the kind of noise Bitsy made when she was drinking out of her water bowl. She turned around to see Bitsy lapping up rainwater from an old rusted trough that was left over from when Shelby’s parents used to raise dairy cows.

  Shelby and Bill had taken over the farm when her parents decided to retire and tour the country in their secondhand RV. The cattle had been too much work for her after Bill died, so she’d leased most of the pasture to Jake Taylor, a dairy farmer who looked more like a movie star than a farmer.

  Shelby now grew herbs and a variety of lettuces and heirloom tomatoes and other vegetables. She kept a kitchen garden that supplied her family with fresh produce in the summer and canned in the winter.

  Bitsy had finished drinking, and after shaking vigorously and splattering drops of water thither and yon, she caught up with Jenkins and the two of them ran ahead of Shelby toward the farmhouse. Shelby gave a last look at the old trough—maybe she would clean it up and use it as a planter. When you lived on a farm, your motto was “Waste not, want not.”

  Shelby had her hands on the door handle when a dusty and dented green van pulled into the driveway. The doors opened and a number of people spilled out, putting Shelby in mind of one of those clown cars in the circus. She supposed this must be the band Kelly had arranged to play at the reception.

  One woman and three men stood next to the van, looking around and talking quietly. An equally dusty Taurus came down the drive and pulled up in back of the van. The man that got out was older than the others, with thinning hair at the crown of his head. He was the only one of the five not wearing ripped and faded jeans, but rather a pair of neat khakis and a blue-and-white-striped oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up his thick forearms.

  Shelby recognized Travis Cooper, the band’s front man, right away. He’d grown up in Lovett and made a name for himself by taking first place on the television show America Can Sing. He had long since left Lovett behind. He’d already been on a tour of the country, scored a record deal, and had more than one song playing on the radio. Peter, the band’s guitarist, was Kelly’s cousin, and he had convinced Travis to play at Kelly and Seth’s wedding. Kelly had been thrilled when they said yes. She hadn’t told Seth about it—only that she’d booked a band for the reception—and she was looking forward to surprising him.

  Shelby wasn’t sure which of the other men was Kelly’s cousin—probably the one with hair the same reddish hue as Kelly’s.

  Shelby heard the door to the mudroom slam and turned around to see Bert, a longtime family friend and a second mother to Shelby, walking toward her, wiping her hands on her red-and-white-checked apron. Although Kelly’s wedding was being catered, Bert was helping put together a few of Shelby’s signature side dishes that Shelby had promised to make.

  She stopped alongside Shelby, her eyes trained on Travis.

  “That is a good-looking specimen of a man if I’ve ever seen one. Although sadly way too young for me. Just who is that long, tall drink of water?”

  Shelby looked at Travis. Bert was right. It wasn’t just his voice that had attracted his legions of fans. He was tall and slim with blond hair that flopped over his forehead and that he was continually pushing back. He was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans that were tight in all the right places and a snug T-shirt that made it obvious he spent plenty of time in the gym working out. No wonder women were attracted to him and threw love notes onto the stage at his concerts.

  Shelby caught Bert looking at her with a peculiar expression on her face.

  “What?” Shelby said.

  “Nothing.” Bert shook her head. “But don’t you think he’s attractive?”

  “Yes,” Shelby agreed. “But . . .”

  Shelby already had enough men in her life. She’d been casually dating Matt Hudson, who owned the Lovett General Store, and then there was her neighbor Jake Taylor, who had made it more than plain that he was ready to ask her out anytime she gave the sign.

  And then there was Frank. Frank was her brother-in-law, and he had made it very clear that he was in love with Shelby. Shelby thought she might be in love with him, too, but she wasn’t sure whether that was because of who he was as a person or it was because he looked so much like her late husband.

  “Who are all these people?” Bert said, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked at the group gathered in the driveway.

  “The cute one with the blond hair is Travis Cooper.” Shelby nodded in Travis’s direction. He was leaning against the van, chugging from a bottle of designer water.

  “Should I know who he is?” Bert said. “I can’t keep up with everything that’s going on these days.” She sighed. “My grandkids call me an old coot.”

  “I don’t know much more than you do,” Shelby said. “Only that Travis is a local boy who came in first on that television show America Can Sing. And those must be his musicians. I think that girl sings with him sometimes.” Shelby pointed to a slender girl in ripped jeans, a purple tank top, and enormous dangling earrings that looked like dream catchers. “Kelly wants to surprise Seth.”

  “Oh, good heavens,” Bert exclaimed. “That’s Debbie Coster’s boy. I knew he looked familiar. What was his name? Robert—that’s it. But they used to call him Butch.” Bert snorted. “Travis Cooper, indeed.”

  “I guess he’s reinvented himself. He’s quite an up-and-coming star now.”

  Shelby watched as a young man with dark hair buzzed short and the tattoo of a guitar peeking out of the right sleeve of his T-shirt muscled a huge amplifier out of the van while Travis stood and watched.

  The fellow looked around helplessly. “Where are we setting up, Travis?”

  Shelby thought it was time she introduced herself.

  “I’m Shelby McDonald.” She held out her hand.

  She waited for the usual joke about the fact that her last name was McDonald and she was a farmer, but no one said anything and she gave a sigh of relief.

  “Cody Baldwin,” the young man said in return. “I’d shake your hand, but . . .”

  “You’re fine,” Shelby said. She pointed past the house. “The reception is back there in the barn.” Shelby pointed to a far-off blur of red.

  Cody stared into the distance with a look of dismay on his face. He shifted the amplifier in his arms, resting the edge on his hip.

  “You can pull the van closer. That should make it easier to unload.”

  Cody smiled. “A lot easier.”

  He shot a dirty look over his shoulder at Travis, who continued to lean languidly against the van.

  “There’s a dirt path,” Shelby said, pointing beyond the driveway. “You can see it’s been worn into the ground. If you follow that, it will take you out to the barn, where you can set up.”

  Shelby glanced toward the house, hoping Billy had started to get ready. They had only one full bathroom and had to take turns.

  “I can come and show you if you want,” Shelby said when she saw the confused look on Cody’s face.

>   “If you don’t mind,” Cody said.

  Cody maneuvered the amplifier back into the van, and Travis, Cody, the girl, and the other man piled in. The older fellow got into his own car and started the engine. Shelby pointed toward the path, then followed behind the van as it jounced over the rutted ground toward the barn.

  Cody, who was driving, stopped in front of the open barn doors.

  “You can pull the van around back,” Shelby said. “That way it will be out of sight of the guests when they arrive.”

  The double barn doors were folded back, and each was adorned with a wreath of baby’s breath and ivy, wound with a pale pink ribbon tied in a bow. Shelby couldn’t believe how the interior of the barn had been transformed. It was no longer a dusty, creaking structure with bags of feed stacked in the corner and rusty farm implements leaning against the wall, but the perfect spot for a cozy country wedding.

  Kelly hadn’t wanted anything too fancy. She and Shelby had pored over wedding magazines and Pinterest boards online, looking for ideas. Barn weddings were all the rage, it seemed, but most were very elaborate with chandeliers hung from the rafters, long white tablecloths, massive flower arrangements, and silver candelabras.

  Instead, simple strings of white lights were looped from the rafters, and long wood trestle tables were set with white runners down their middles. Bouquets of colorful flowers had been set in mason jars, surrounded by squat white candles in antique birdcages that Kelly had scrounged from barn sales. An old-fashioned bright red-and-yellow popcorn machine stood in one corner and a cotton candy machine in the other.

  Shelby was expecting the caterers to arrive any minute. They would be setting up industrial-sized grills outside the barn for barbecuing the chicken and ribs. Kelly had ordered gallons of potato salad, homemade coleslaw, and plenty of corn bread with honey to go along with the main course. Bert would help Shelby make several huge green salads with lettuce from Shelby’s garden. And then, of course, there would be wedding cake and an ice cream sundae bar complete with whipped cream, hot fudge sauce, sprinkles, and maraschino cherries.