Bought the Farm Read online

  It looked like Paislee, but the figure wasn’t close enough yet for Shelby to be sure. Cody wasn’t much taller than Paislee and was equally slender, so it could be either of them.

  Shelby waited by the back door, holding it open with her shoulder, wondering what the person wanted. Probably the bathroom—the portable toilets had been picked up by the rental company.

  As the figure got closer, Shelby saw that it was definitely Paislee. The rain had flattened her long hair around her face and had plastered several strands across her forehead like a bald man’s bad comb-over. She had on a thin white blouse with colorful embroidery on the front. The wetness had rendered it nearly transparent and it stuck to her as if it were glued on. She must have been cold, because she had her arms clasped across her chest and was shivering.

  She was nearly to Shelby’s door when she stumbled and fell to her knees. Shelby rushed out to help her up, supporting her the rest of the way to the mudroom door.

  Paislee was shaking violently and leaned heavily against her as Shelby maneuvered her inside and into a chair in the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Are you ill?”

  Paislee’s eyes were glazed and out of focus. She didn’t answer.

  Shelby bustled around, putting a mug with water in the microwave and getting out a tea bag and the sugar bowl. She didn’t try to talk to Paislee until she’d steeped the tea and added plenty of sugar. She passed the mug to Paislee, who clutched it with both hands.

  Shelby knelt beside her chair. “Can you tell me what’s happened? Something is obviously terribly wrong.”

  Paislee opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead she gave a loud wail that ended in racking sobs.

  Shelby waited patiently. She realized she’d promised Frank that she would keep the band members out of the house, but surely Paislee didn’t count. She’d obviously come to Shelby because she was upset and not because she planned to commit murder.

  Paislee’s crying finally slowed and then shuddered to a stop. Shelby grabbed a clutch of tissues from the box on the counter and handed them to her.

  “Thank you,” Paislee said, mopping her eyes. She blew her nose.

  She didn’t say anything more, and Shelby did her best to quell her impatience to find out what was wrong.

  “Cody’s dead,” Paislee said finally, her voice flat.

  Shelby stopped in her tracks and was so still she might have been a statue. She couldn’t process Paislee’s words. It was impossible.

  “What?” Shelby said finally. “What do you mean?”

  “Cody’s dead,” Paislee repeated. “I guess we need to call the police.”

  “What do you mean? What about an ambulance? Are you sure he’s dead?”

  “Yes.” Paislee’s eyes were still glazed—her gaze far off in the distance somewhere.

  Shelby grabbed the phone and dialed 911. She spoke to the dispatcher, then ended the call.

  “The police are on their way,” she said. Paislee nodded listlessly.

  “What happened? Was it an accident?”

  Paislee didn’t answer.

  “Do you want to stay here? I’d better go outside and wait for the police. They will need to know where to go.” Shelby began to shiver herself and grabbed her fleece from the back of one of the kitchen chairs and pulled it on. “Is anyone else with . . .” She paused. She didn’t want to say the body. “With Cody?”

  The hot tea seemed to be having a modest effect on Paislee. She’d stopped shaking and her eyes looked less vacant.

  “Yes. Brian’s there and so is Jax. And Peter, too.”

  “Did Cody come with you this morning? I saw your van go by. It’s only been a few minutes since you got here. How could Cody possibly be dead?”

  Paislee shook her head. “No, Cody wasn’t with us. He didn’t answer his door when we knocked this morning. He’d stayed behind last night to fix something with one of the amplifiers, so Brian loaned him his car.”

  “The Taurus?”

  “Yes. And when Brian went out to the parking lot this morning, his car was gone.”

  “So Cody had to have come here first thing this morning. Before the rest of you were up.”

  “I guess so.” Paislee brushed at one of the wet strands of hair still plastered across her forehead. “But I’m not sure, because I remember I didn’t hear him in his room last night. Our rooms are next to each other, and the walls are ridiculously thin.” She rolled her eyes. “The place is a dump, if you ask me.”

  “You would normally hear Cody in his room?”

  “With walls like that? Sure. I’d hear the water running in his bathroom. Even the bedsprings squeaking. And he hadn’t turned on his air conditioner at all.”

  “It wasn’t very hot last night—”

  “The rooms are horribly stuffy. We’ve had to turn them on every night.” Paislee fiddled with the beaded string bracelets on her wrist. “I hope we don’t have to stay here much longer.”

  Dear Reader, I don’t want to say anything, but Paislee is likely to be stuck here even longer now.

  Shelby heard sirens in the distance.

  “Will you be okay?” She touched Paislee on the shoulder. Paislee jumped as if she’d been asleep.

  “Yes. Can I wait here?” Her voice was plaintive. “I don’t want to have to see Cody again.”

  “Of course. I’ll be back when I know more.”

  Shelby had no desire to see Cody either, but she had to be there to direct the police. She wondered if Frank had been notified. Probably. Doreen would have filled him in on the situation.

  The rain had stopped, but the air was still heavy with moisture. Brian, Jax, and Peter were standing outside the barn, waiting. Brian was leaning against the wall, one leg crossed over the other. Jax was sitting on the damp ground, his head in his hands, and Peter was pacing back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back.

  The rain had abated somewhat, but by the time Shelby reached the barn, she was still wet and miserable.

  “Where’s Cody?” she said as she approached the group standing outside.

  Jax lifted his head and jerked it in the direction of the open barn door. “In there. But you don’t want to go in there. It isn’t pretty.”

  Shelby shouldered past him and went into the barn anyway. It wasn’t curiosity driving her but a feeling of responsibility.

  She didn’t see Cody at first—just the usual bulky pieces of equipment and jumble of wires. Then she noticed feet sticking out from behind one of the amplifiers.

  It was Cody. He was wearing a pair of black running shoes. They looked new—the bottoms were fairly clean. He obviously hadn’t walked across the field to the barn this morning. The rain had started during the night and by morning the ground was dotted with puddles and oozing patches of mud. It would have been impossible for him to keep his sneakers so clean.

  He must not have left after Shelby had talked to him the day before.

  Shelby approached the body cautiously for a better look. Cody’s face was contorted and she noticed something around his neck—a string of some kind? It was partly obscured by flesh and she couldn’t be sure.

  It was clear Cody was dead—his eyes were open and already had a milky film over them. Shelby backed away and ran out of the barn.

  She took a few minutes to breathe deeply of the fresh air and to wait for her heartbeat to return to normal.

  She felt a strong sense of déjà vu as two patrol cars came barreling down the path and across the field to the barn, skidding to a stop outside the open doors.

  Two patrolmen jumped out of the car and trotted over to Shelby.

  “We got a call that there’s been a fatality? Is that right?” the older one said.

  Shelby’s voice suddenly deserted her and she pointed to the interior of the barn in response to the offic
er’s question.

  As Shelby had suspected, Frank wasn’t far behind. He jumped out of his truck almost before it had completely rolled to a stop behind the patrol car. His expression was grim as he walked toward Shelby.

  “I don’t like this,” he said when he reached her. He scowled, tugged at the brim of his cap, and turned to look at the open barn doors. “I wish you and the kids could go somewhere until this is all over.”

  “You know I can’t,” Shelby said. “There’s too much work to be done. I’d lose everything. This is the most critical time of year for a farm. You know that.”

  Frank grunted. “I didn’t get much out of Doreen over the radio. Another murder?” He pushed his cap back on his forehead.

  “Yes.” Shelby’s voice shook. “It’s Cody. He is . . . was . . . a guitarist with the band. He’s . . . It’s awful.”

  “Guess I’d better take a look. ME is on the way.” He put a hand on Shelby’s shoulder. “I’ll need to talk to you. Do you mind waiting here? Will you be okay?”

  Shelby nodded and Frank walked over to the barn and through the open doors.

  Five minutes later Shelby heard the engine of a car. Unlike Frank’s pickup or Shelby’s own car, it purred smoothly as it negotiated the dirt path and came to a halt in back of Frank’s truck.

  Frank must have heard the car, because he came out of the barn, his hat in his hands. He motioned to the ME as he picked his way across the field toward the barn.

  The ME flashed his gap-toothed smile at Shelby and disappeared into the barn behind Frank.

  Shelby decided that if Frank needed to talk to her, he could certainly find her in her own kitchen. He was a detective, after all. And she felt she really ought to check on Paislee. The girl had been terribly distraught. She shouldn’t be alone.

  Brian, Jax, and Peter continued to hover near the entrance to the barn. Brian had lit a cigarette, holding it pinched between his thumb and index finger. He was now the one pacing back and forth, following the same path with near military precision.

  Shelby was pretty sure that nobody noticed when she turned and walked away.

  * * *

  • • •

  It was well over an hour later when Frank showed up at Shelby’s back door. Paislee had fallen asleep on the sofa in the living room, where Shelby had left her with a second cup of tea. She looked young and so defenseless—her head tipped back, her eyes closed, her long lashes making crescent-shaped shadows on her cheeks, her long hair—still slightly damp—spread out over the cushions.

  Shelby hated to wake her, but Frank needed to talk to her. He’d already talked to the rest of the band, and Shelby had heard them leave, going very fast down the drive, the van bouncing and rattling over each rut it hit. They’d obviously forgotten about Paislee in their haste to get away.

  Shelby could hear the low voices coming from the living room—Paislee’s occasionally rising to a nearly hysterical pitch followed by Frank’s soothing tones. She was putting on a pot of coffee when Frank stuck his head into the kitchen.

  “I’m giving Paislee a ride back to the motel. Will you be here a little longer? I still need to talk to you.”

  “Sure.”

  As soon as Shelby heard the door close, she poured herself a cup of coffee, stirred in some sugar, and sank into one of the kitchen chairs. The horror of everything that had happened suddenly washed over her like a wave, and her hand shook as she raised the cup to her lips.

  She didn’t know how long she sat there, but suddenly Frank’s truck was coming back down the driveway.

  Shelby jumped up, debating whether to run into the powder room to comb her hair, when Frank’s knock sounded on the screen door.

  “Come in.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt.

  “Are you okay?” Frank frowned.

  “Yes. A little shaken is all.”

  “I don’t blame you. Anyone would be. It still rattles me sometimes.”

  Shelby couldn’t picture Frank rattled.

  “Is that coffee I smell?” Frank asked with a smile.

  “Yes. Let me get you some.”

  Shelby was glad to have something to do and she quickly retrieved a mug, filled it, and brought it over to the table.

  Frank ran a hand through his hair. “This has been a terrible business.”

  Shelby sat in the chair opposite. “Do you know what happened? I saw Cody, but I wasn’t sure . . . How did he die?”

  “Strangulation.” Frank ran a finger around his own collar. “There was a wire wrapped around his neck. The medical examiner thinks it’s most likely a guitar string.”

  Shelby found her hand going to her own neck.

  Frank sighed and put down his mug. “I gather this Paislee found the body?”

  “Yes. This morning—well, right before we called you.”

  “How did she seem?”

  “What do you mean? She was obviously terribly upset. I couldn’t get a word out of her until I’d gotten her calmed down a bit.”

  “So she arrived with the rest of the crew that was here?”

  “Yes. With Brian, Jax, and Peter.”

  “Peter’s an odd fellow. Doesn’t say much.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk with him. He’s mostly stayed in the background.”

  “So they all arrived this morning. But obviously Cody was already here. I assume he was also already dead.”

  Frank traced the rim of his coffee cup with his finger, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed.

  “They were all here yesterday, too. Is that right?”

  Shelby nodded. “Yes. They were practicing. They all left together, but Cody stayed behind.”

  Frank looked up sharply. “He did? Why?”

  “He was fixing some of the equipment. An amplifier, I think.”

  “Did they come back and get him?”

  “No. Brian left his car—the Taurus—for Cody. Brian was in the van with the others.”

  “Did you hear Cody leave?”

  “No. I didn’t see the Taurus when I went to feed the chickens, but Cody usually pulled it around in back of the barn, so I wouldn’t have.”

  “Was Cody in the barn then?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see him. The bag of chicken feed is by the door, so I didn’t go very far inside.”

  “Maybe he was outside having a smoke?”

  “He couldn’t have been. I happened to notice how clean his sneakers were. If he’d been outside, they would have been muddy.” Shelby got up to refill Frank’s coffee cup. “I think he was hidden by those huge amplifiers and that’s why I didn’t see him.” Shelby smiled briefly. “Besides, I’m never fully awake at that hour. It’s possible I didn’t notice him.”

  “So it looks as if he was killed sometime yesterday afternoon or evening.” Frank’s hand tightened around the mug. “Did you hear anything? A car? Voices? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Frank pinched the bridge of his nose. “Somebody knew Cody would be out in the barn alone.”

  “That would be anyone in the band.”

  “Yes. And at some point one of them came back here to kill him. It can’t have been too late at night. They couldn’t count on Cody being here that long.”

  “I’d already told them they had to leave by three o’clock. He was finishing up when I went out to talk to him yesterday.”

  Frank’s eyebrows shot up. “You talked to him?”

  “Yes.” Shelby looked down at her hands, which were clasped on the table. “Like I told you, I asked him about the day of the wedding and whether he’d noticed that anyone’s clothes were wet.”

  Frank closed his eyes, and Shelby could see the muscles in his jaw working. Finally he opened his eyes again.

  “When I think of the da
nger you put yourself in . . .”

  “Well, nothing happened, and Cody said he hadn’t noticed anyone.” Shelby paused. “But he did get this very strange look on his face.”

  “Strange, how?”

  Shelby held her hands out, palms up. “I don’t know. I can’t describe it. Sort of like he’d thought of something suddenly.”

  “So maybe he did notice someone who’d been wet.” Frank shook his head, his eyes on Shelby. “Promise me you’ll stay out of this from now on? Please?”

  “I promise.”

  Frank turned his coffee cup around and around in his hands. “The killer took quite a chance of being seen. If you’d been looking out your kitchen window . . .”

  “If it was one of the band members, they could have said they were only coming to see how Cody was doing. I probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it.”

  “True. Maybe the autopsy will tell us something. Although I doubt it. The manner of death seems pretty obvious to me.”

  “And the guitar string certainly points to someone in the band.” Shelby ran a hand through her hair and was horrified to find how tangled it was.

  “Not necessarily. It might have been the handiest thing available.”

  “Do you think killing Cody was a spur-of-the-moment decision?” Shelby twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “Maybe there was a fight?”

  “Could be. Or not. This case is proving to be very frustrating.” Frank smiled. “Most of what we deal with around here is pretty straightforward.” He sighed and pushed away from the table. “I’d better be going. The medical examiner promised to perform the autopsy this afternoon, and I’d like to be there.”

  Frank stood up, then paused and put a hand on Shelby’s shoulder. “Be careful, okay? Keep an eye on the kids. Especially Billy. I know he likes to wander all over the farm on his own.”

  “I will. Don’t worry. Billy is going to be under strict orders to keep to the backyard.”

  16

  Dear Reader,

  When I was pregnant with Amelia and Billy, the doctor assured me that any pregnancy cravings I might have were perfectly normal. Of course there’s the old joke about a woman craving pickles or sending her husband out into a raging storm to buy a carton of her favorite ice cream, but cravings can be quite individual.