No Farm, No Foul (Farmer's Daughter Mystery) Read online

  “That sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to try everything.”

  By now the women had the tables set up and covered in plastic cloths. Napkins, paper plates, and plastic silverware were set out, along with some flowers Shelby had picked earlier.

  Prudence glanced at her watch. “I guess we should start bringing out the food.” She looked toward the group of women for confirmation. One of them, an older woman with tightly permed gray hair, nodded approval.

  “I need to know where your outdoor outlet is,” Prudence said, looking down at Shelby.

  Prudence was of average height, but Shelby barely made five feet and even soaking wet wasn’t much over a hundred pounds. Amelia was already almost as tall as her mother, and Shelby knew Billy wasn’t far behind.

  “It’s over here.” Shelby led Prudence across the lawn toward the side of the house. “I have extension cords and a couple of surge protectors, too.”

  “I’ll need to plug in my slow cooker,” Prudence said. “I’ve made some meatballs.” She frowned. “I do hope they’ll be okay. The telephone rang while I was making them and in the end I couldn’t remember whether I’d put any salt in them or not.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Shelby said.

  She left Prudence to deal with her slow cooker and scurried away as quickly as she could. She noticed Billy had come out of the house and was wearing a fresh outfit. Never mind that the shirt and pants clashed wildly—at least they were clean. He was amusing himself by weaving in and out of the tent poles. Shelby looked around, but Amelia was nowhere to be seen. She was probably still in her room, polishing her nails or fussing with her hair.

  A woman was headed across the grass toward Shelby. She was clutching a bowl covered in plastic wrap.

  Shelby waved to her. “Hi, Jodi.”

  “Hey,” Jodi said. She held the bowl out toward Shelby. “I brought some potato salad. I hope it’s okay—it comes from the General Store here in town. I just didn’t have time to make anything. I felt kind of bad when I saw what everyone else brought, though.” She jerked her head in the direction of the tables.

  “It’s perfect. Everyone loves the General Store’s potato salad.”

  “If you’re sure. You’re always posting those great recipes. Someday when I have time . . .”

  Jodi Walters had a full-time job in the local dentist’s office, a husband who was a long-distance trucker, and three young boys to look after. It was hard to imagine how she found the time to sleep, let alone cook something for a potluck.

  Cars were beginning to pull into the empty lot next to Shelby’s house. Among them was a small truck with LOVETT GENERAL STORE written on the side. It maneuvered into a space next to a red pickup. Shelby noticed Matt Hudson get out of the driver’s seat, walk around to the back, and open the double doors. He wrestled several large coolers from the truck. A couple of men rushed to help, and they carried them over to Shelby’s front lawn.

  “Any particular place you want these?” Matt asked when he came abreast of Shelby.

  “What are they?”

  “Popsicles for the kids. Compliments of the Lovett General Store.” Matt grinned.

  Shelby looked around. “Maybe under that tree?” She pointed toward a large maple whose branches would provide some shade.

  It was so like Matt to think of the kids. She walked alongside him as he made his way to where she was pointing. He bent and put the cooler down with a grunt.

  “We’re almost out of your herbed yogurt cheese,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

  Matt had purchased the Lovett General Store from the previous owner who had operated it ever since Shelby could remember. He was slowly introducing some gourmet food items—particularly Shelby’s homemade cheeses and homegrown lettuces and herbs—among the packages of macaroni and cheese and canned spaghetti and rakes, snow shovels, kayaks, and all manner of other things the store carried. The nearest big-box store was forty miles away, so people depended on the Lovett General Store to meet their needs.

  Matt always had a slightly sad look about him, but Shelby thought it was slowly lifting. He had come to Lovett to escape from memories of September 11. At that time, he had been working as an investment banker at a firm in Lower Manhattan. He counted himself lucky to have survived when some of his friends hadn’t been as fortunate. He had stayed in Manhattan for almost another ten years before deciding that he needed to get away in order to heal completely.

  Shelby knew he liked her and that with a little bit of encouragement would probably ask her out. Someday, she said to herself again.

  “Looks like you’ve got a good turnout.” Matt shaded his eyes and looked around at the growing crowd. A line was beginning to form at the food table.

  “Yes. I think Reverend Mather is going to be quite pleased.”

  2

  Dear Reader,

  Our church potluck is well under way. The front lawn of Love Blossom Farm is crowded with people chatting and enjoying the food. Several of the men brought their barbecue grills, and the scent of hamburgers and hot dogs sizzling over the coals is filling the air. Fortunately the breeze is coming from the west, so the odor of manure from Jake’s farm is mercifully faint. The kids are running around the lawn playing tag, their faces colored red, purple, and orange from the Popsicles donated by the Lovett General Store. . . .

  The sound of someone calling her name brought Shelby out of her reverie. Her good friend Kelly Thacker was hurrying across the lawn carrying a large dish holding a quivering green gelatin mold. Kelly was the local vet—her specialty was farm animals, but once a week she set up a clinic in a trailer in downtown Lovett and treated the residents’ dogs and cats. She was considerably taller than Shelby and had curly carrot-red hair. True to form, she was wearing jeans that looked as if she’d slept in them, a T-shirt advertising the Lovett Feed Store, and no makeup—not even a hint of lip gloss.

  “Hi,” she said when she caught up to Shelby. “Is there somewhere special I should put this?” She held out her dish and made a face. “I’m afraid a gelatin mold was all I could manage. But I did mix in some mandarin oranges to make it fancier. I hope that counts. Perhaps I can get an A for effort if nothing else.” She grimaced again. “I was called out early this morning to the Clarks’ farm over on Bridge Road. One of their heifers was about to calve. She’s a little young—only a year—and has a rather narrow rump. Plus the calf was in a posterior position—” Kelly stopped abruptly. “You’re looking a little pale.” She slapped Shelby on the back.

  “TMI,” Shelby said. “Too much information.”

  “But you’ve had babies,” Kelly countered.

  “Yes, but they were barely seven pounds each, not half a ton.”

  “The calves aren’t that big.” Kelly laughed. “They’re rarely over a hundred pounds.”

  “Please.” Shelby held up a hand. “I don’t want to think about it.” She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and looked around. “Where’s Seth? Isn’t he coming?”

  “I don’t know. He said he’d be here. But you know what the doctor’s life is like.”

  Kelly was engaged to Seth Gregson, who had set up a family medicine practice in Lovett.

  “So, tell me about your dinner last night—did you wow your future in-laws?”

  Kelly snorted. “The main course was fine—I did a roast chicken and a salad with some of your delicious butter lettuce—but dessert was a complete disaster.”

  “Oh no. What happened?”

  “I know I should have listened to you and done something simple like your tiramisu sundaes—I mean, even I can scoop ice cream and soak some ladyfingers in coffee.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Although I’m not sure I could find ladyfingers at the Lovett General Store.”

  “You can’t. But I’ve found that lightly crushed vanilla wafers work just as well.” Shelby swatted a
t a fly that was attempting to land on her arm. “But why did you change your mind?”

  “Prudence Mather heard me talking about the dinner and insisted on giving me her recipe for a foolproof chocolate cake.” Kelly put air quotes around the word foolproof. “You know how earnest she is. I tried to say no, thanks, but she looked so crestfallen that I found myself agreeing to try it. Besides, Seth’s father adores anything chocolate.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “She must have left something out of the recipe! The cake came out nearly flat and as hard as a rock.” She shook her finger at Shelby. “I’ve heard that women do that—omit an important ingredient so that your recipe doesn’t turn out as well as theirs.”

  “Somehow I can’t imagine Prudence doing that.”

  Kelly tilted her head. “Neither can I, but you never know about people. I imagine you’re right, though. I suppose I must have done something wrong. Like forgetting the baking powder.” She laughed and shrugged. “Oh well. I think Seth will marry me anyway. It’s not as if he’s going to be surprised by my lack of cooking skills.”

  “I think our little potluck is a success.” Daniel came up to Shelby. He was smiling broadly. “We can’t thank you enough for your generosity in letting us use your property like this.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and jiggled his change. “And it’s not only that we’re raising money. Events like these bring our little church community together, and that’s even more important.”

  A little girl whose face was all red and whose pigtails were quickly coming undone ran up to Daniel. “Come play tag with us, Reverend Mather. Please?”

  Daniel gave Shelby an apologetic look. “Never turn down an invitation from a lady,” he said, starting across the lawn.

  Shelby headed toward the far corner of the yard where a group of men were playing a rousing game of horseshoes. The clank of metal against the stakes and the dull thuds as the horseshoes hit the ground rang out among the triumphant shouts and groans of the players.

  A fellow in jeans and a short-sleeved plaid shirt was bent over slightly, a horseshoe in his hand. He swung it a few times as if judging its heft.

  “Come on, Earl! We haven’t got all day,” a man wearing a Detroit Tigers baseball cap yelled. He was sipping from a can of Dr Pepper.

  Earl swung the horseshoe. It made a loud clang as it hit the stake and bounced off.

  “Better luck next time.” The man in the cap handed his can of pop to the guy next to him, picked up a horseshoe, and got into position.

  “Earl,” Shelby called out.

  Earl swung around and, when he saw Shelby, smiled shyly.

  “I haven’t seen you in church lately. Is everything okay?”

  Earl’s face turned slightly red. “Sure, sure, everything’s fine. The kids are growing. Earl Jr. is off to college next year. The wife is still working part-time at the feed store. Everybody’s fine.”

  “Are you still an usher at St. Andrews? The last couple of Sundays we’ve had someone else.”

  “Nah, I’ve been doing it for ten years. I thought it was time to give someone else a chance.”

  “Oh.” Shelby was surprised. It had always been obvious that Earl took great pride in his role in the Sunday service. It was odd that he had decided to give it up.

  “Hey, Earl,” the man in the cap yelled, holding out a horseshoe. “It’s your turn.”

  “Nice to see you,” Earl said before scurrying back to his game.

  Shelby took the opportunity to check on the food to see what needed refilling. Prudence’s meatballs were almost gone, so they must have turned out okay after all. Someone had brought a tray of miniature quiches. They were certainly more elegant than any of the other fare. She plucked one from the tray and took a bite.

  “What do you think?” a woman who had come up to the table asked. It was Liz Gardener, whose husband was an orthopedic surgeon at the regional hospital. Her blond hair was perfect as always and she was wearing a pink-and-green-flowered cotton dress.

  “Very good,” Shelby said, somewhat indistinctly as she swallowed the bite of quiche.

  “Really? I’m so glad you like them. They’re mine.” Liz clapped a hand to her chest. “I follow your blog religiously, and I love your recipes. And everything else, too. That tip you had for getting stains out of suede absolutely saved my life.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “There are so many people here today,” Liz said, looking around. She pointed to a woman in a flowered sundress and squinted. “Is that Lisa?” She fluttered a hand in the air. “I’m afraid I’m very naughty and don’t always wear my glasses.”

  They chatted for a bit longer and then Shelby touched Liz’s hand lightly. “I’d better replenish this salad.” She picked up a serving dish.

  Shelby was on her way back to the kitchen with the nearly empty bowl of salad she’d made with roasted beets and red onion from her garden sprinkled with her homemade feta cheese when Prudence ran up to her and grabbed her by the upper arm. She began to tug Shelby back toward the tent.

  “What are you doing?” Shelby asked as she tried to wrench her arm free from Prudence’s grip.

  “You’ve got to help,” she begged. “I don’t know what to do. It’s the dogs. I’m afraid of them.”

  By now they had reached the tent, and Shelby saw what had Prudence in such a tizzy.

  “Oh no!” Shelby yelled. “Bad doggies, bad.”

  Her West Highland white terrier, Jenkins, and her mastiff, Bitsy, were feasting on the remains of a platter of hamburgers. The tablecloth covering the spot where the hamburgers had been was bunched up, and it was obvious that Bitsy had pulled the whole plate right off the table and was sharing the spoils with Jenkins.

  Both dogs looked at Shelby with quizzical expressions while they chewed the last of the meat and then licked their lips happily.

  Shelby put her bowl down and grabbed the two by their collars—not easy given their disparate sizes—and dragged them away from their ill-gotten gains.

  “Thank you so much,” Prudence said. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  Shelby could see Prudence’s hands were trembling. She was tempted to laugh. There was nothing to be afraid of. Knowing her dogs, Bitsy would have knocked Prudence down and the two of them would have licked her face until she cried uncle. Vicious attack dogs, they were not.

  “How did you two get out?” she scolded affectionately as she made her way toward the back door.

  Suddenly she noticed Amelia walking toward her, wearing a sundress and a pair of ridiculously high wedge sandals. That was one mystery solved, Shelby thought. Amelia must have left the door open . . . again. Normally it didn’t matter—Bitsy and Jenkins roamed the property but always stayed out of trouble and came when called—but obviously the lure of a table filled with food had proven to be too much for them.

  Shelby called to Amelia. “Please take the dogs back inside for me. And be sure you close the door.”

  Amelia complied but with a sulky look on her face as she tottered back toward the house with the two naughty canines in tow. Shelby watched her go. Where on earth had she gotten those sandals? She must have bought them with the Christmas money her grandparents sent. They were in Oregon the last she’d heard, but they never forgot holidays or Amelia’s and Billy’s birthdays.

  Shelby retrieved her dish and went into the house to refill it. She checked the refrigerator and noted that there was one pitcher of iced tea left and two of lemonade. That ought to last them for a bit longer. Matt had also brought a cooler filled with cans of pop. There was a nice breeze, but the sun was warm, making everyone thirstier than usual.

  Her salad bowl newly refilled, Shelby headed back outside. As she got closer to the tent, she noticed a heavy floral scent in the air that hadn’t been there before. It was too intense to be coming from the pink climbing roses along the fence.

>   She noticed Daniel talking to a woman in a short, strapless sundress and wide-brimmed straw hat. She was wearing a pair of stiletto sandals, and Shelby couldn’t imagine how she had made it across the lawn in those heels. She hardly ever wore heels herself, and she found it rough enough walking around inside. The closer Shelby got to the couple, the stronger the flowery scent became. The woman must have drenched herself in perfume.

  Kelly came up alongside Shelby. She had a plate in her hand and was finishing the last bite of pie. She held the dish toward Shelby. “Was this your pie?”

  “Yes. I made it this morning.”

  “It’s delicious.” Kelly licked the last bits of pastry off her fork. She tilted her head in Daniel’s direction. “Isn’t that the woman who always lingers after the church service on Sundays?”

  Shelby nodded. “She seems to be making a big play for Daniel. He doesn’t look very happy about it.”

  Kelly frowned. “Neither does Prudence.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  Prudence was standing several feet away, twisting a handkerchief around and around between her fingers. Tears clung to her lashes, and her mouth was downturned. Shelby didn’t think she had anything to worry about—Daniel looked decidedly uncomfortable and appeared to be trying to edge away from the woman, who had put a hand on his arm as if to restrain him.

  Shelby turned to Kelly. “Did you say anything to Prudence about the cake recipe?”

  Kelly made a face. “I did. She got all flustered the way she does and apologized over and over that my cake hadn’t turned out.” She laughed. “But despite all the hand wringing and tut-tutting, she never really acknowledged that her recipe might have been at fault. It was pretty obvious that she thought I had either copied it down wrong or that I had made a mistake in putting the cake together.”

  “No offense, but . . .” Shelby punched Kelly’s arm.

  Kelly laughed. “I know, I know. I’m not the greatest cook in the world. But I still wonder if she didn’t leave something out of the recipe on purpose.”