Berried in the Past

by Peg Cochran

  Greg looked momentarily shocked but quickly assumed a more neutral expression.

  “Shaken or stirred?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in inquiry and a smile playing around his lips.

  “Frankly, I don’t give a hoot. Lots of gin and only a whisper of vermouth,” Gina called after him as he headed into the kitchen.

  Gina let out a sigh, sounding not unlike a horse snorting its displeasure. She looked at Monica. “The dinner wasn’t a total loss at least, even if I do get killer heartburn later from that dish they had the nerve to call steak au poivre.”

  “Oh?” Monica raised her eyebrows.

  “I got him to talk about the farm and the development he’s planning. Although I have to say it wasn’t easy. He wanted to talk about us. He actually thought I was going to go back to his cheap motel room with him, which probably smells of stale cigarette smoke, all because he bought me a couple of drinks and a twenty-dollar dinner.”

  “But what did he say about the farm and the development?” Monica was feeling impatient and anxious at the same time.

  “He said he plans to build a mall with all kinds of shops and an upscale chain restaurant.” Gina snorted. “Not that he knows a thing about good restaurants.”

  Monica found herself clenching her fists and forced herself to relax.

  “I can’t imagine a mall in Cranberry Cove, can you? We’re a sleepy little town, not a big city. Why would we need a mall?” Monica simply couldn’t picture it. “And what about all the merchants along Beach Hollow Road? It will put them out of business. Mall stores can offer a larger selection and often at a better price.”

  Monica jumped out of her seat. “We have to convince Jeff not to sell! It would ruin Cranberry Cove.”

  “As much as I’d love to have a mall so close at hand—you know how I love to shop—I have to agree with you. Unfortunately, it’s not just a matter of Jeff refusing to sell the farm.”

  Monica stopped pacing. “Oh?”

  “The developer has his eye on another piece of property as well. It’s a matter of convincing all the siblings to sell, he told me. When they couldn’t give him an answer right away, he went looking for another spot to develop. That’s how he came to be interested in Sassamanash Farm.”

  That must be the Kuiper land, Monica thought.

  “So it’s a choice between Jeff’s farm and this other property?”

  “I’m afraid so. Even if Jeff won’t sell, those other people probably will, and there will be nothing to stop the wretched Bob Tapper from building his mall.”

  • • •

  Sunday morning it was overcast and rather dreary. Greg lit a fire in the fireplace while Monica made cranberry pancakes and fried bacon for their breakfast. They finished their meal and adjourned to the living room, which was cozy and warm from the now glowing logs in the fireplace.

  Greg had brought in the Sunday papers and within minutes the sections were spread all over the carpet. He was relaxing in his favorite chair and Monica was curled up on the sofa, Mittens at her feet and a throw pulled up over her legs.

  She flipped through the Lifestyle section of the paper but stopped when she came to a Macy’s ad for baby clothes—darling onesies, cozy pajamas and colorful play clothes.

  She suddenly felt a strong pang that nearly took her breath away. Should she and Greg consider having a child? She could picture a darling little boy with Greg’s thick thatch of dark hair. Or an adorable little girl with curls like hers.

  But what if she set her heart on a baby and it didn’t come to pass? Wouldn’t that be even worse than putting the whole idea out of her mind once and for all?

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Greg said, smiling.

  Monica quickly closed the section of the newspaper and tossed it on the coffee table.

  “Daydreaming,” she said. “Of warm blue waters and cloudless skies.”

  “Can I join you?” Greg said.

  “Of course.”

  • • •

  Monica overslept on Monday. It wasn’t something she normally did, but she’d been so tired lately for some reason. She supposed it was the stress of everything that had happened. It wasn’t every day that someone showed up on your doorstep claiming that somebody was trying to kill them.

  She had to hurry. She glanced at the clock over the stove. She’d promised to deliver the cranberry compote to the Pepper Pot first thing in the morning.

  “Need a hand with that?” Kit said, appearing from the storage room when Monica arrived at the farm kitchen. He yawned and swept a hand through his hair.

  “You still haven’t made up with Sean?” Monica said in disbelief.

  “Not yet.” Kit stiffened his shoulders. “I’m still quite mad at him. I’m waiting until I cool off a bit, otherwise, my dear, I have no idea what might come out of this mouth of mine.”

  Monica laughed. “I still hate to think of you sleeping in the storage room.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Kit flapped a hand. “I’m fine.”

  Kit grabbed several jars of compote off the shelf and transferred them to the box Monica had open on the counter.

  “But today is your day off,” Monica said. “It’s Monday.”

  Kit shrugged. “I don’t have anything pressing to do. I’m happy to lend a hand.”

  Monica took a deep breath. She hated being rushed but there was nothing she could do about it.

  The drive into town didn’t take long. She drove down the narrow alley that led to the back of the Pepper Pot and the delivery entrance. She parked and wrestled the first carton out of the car.

  The back door was propped open and the aroma of garlic and onions sautéing made her mouth water.

  Mickey Welch, the affable new owner of the restaurant, met Monica halfway. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing his powerful forearms. He had a youthful face but his age was apparent in his thatch of silver gray hair.

  “Here, let me take that,” he said when he saw Monica struggling with the box.

  He easily hefted the carton under his arm and led Monica into the storeroom, where he placed it on a shelf.

  “Are there more?”

  “Yes, but there’s no need—”

  He gave a big smile, showing a gap between his front teeth. “My mama taught me better than to let a lady—and a pretty one at that—carry something when I’m empty-handed.”

  He was flirting with her! Monica was taken aback. It had been a long time since that had happened. She hoped she wasn’t turning red.

  Welch finished unloading the boxes and putting them on the shelf. He tapped one of them.

  “Our new dessert with your cranberry compote has been a big hit. You’ll have to come in and sample it sometime.”

  “I will,” Monica said, suddenly anxious to leave. The way he was looking at her was making her feel as awkward as a teenager.

  “Do you mind if I leave my car here while I run to the hardware store?” Monica said.

  “Not at all. I’ll keep an eye on it for you.”

  Since she was in town, she might as well run a few errands, Monica decided. She needed some picture hooks to hang the painting she and Greg had purchased on a trip to Traverse City and which they had not yet found a spot for. Finally they had agreed to hang it over the sofa.

  Monica strolled down Beach Hollow Road toward the hardware store. The sun was out and she could feel its warmth on her face. It seemed to promise better days to come.

  She was almost to the diner when someone coming in the opposite direction slammed into her hard. It felt intentional and Monica quickly glanced up to see who it was.

  A rather scruffy-looking man, unshaven and smelling of alcohol, was wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up so that it shadowed his face. He shoved a piece of folded paper at Monica and continued on toward the other end of the street.

  Monica was so stunned she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. A woman in a red beret with a pompom on top gave her a reproachful
look as she uttered well under her breath and walked around Monica.

  Monica moved closer to the buildings and stood under the awning of Twilight as she unfolded the piece of paper.

  The note was written in block letters and was short and sweet but no less chilling.

  Tell Jeff not to sell the farm. Or else.

  Or else what? Monica shivered. She quickly turned and looked down the street but the man had already disappeared from view. There was something familiar about him but Monica couldn’t place him. Her hands began to shake and she dropped her purse. Her lipstick rolled out of the open top and she chased it across the sidewalk.

  “Is something wrong?” Tempest Storm swept out of her shop in a swirl of burgundy velvet, the various amulets and chains around her neck clinking and clanking.

  “I’m fine,” Monica said, although she knew her voice was unsteady. “I haven’t eaten,” she fibbed, “and I think I got a bit shaky.”

  “Come on inside. I have some organic protein bars stashed in a drawer. You do look rather pale.”

  Monica shook her head. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

  All she could think about was running down to Book ’Em to talk to Greg.

  Finally reassured, Tempest went back into the shop and Monica continued down the street toward the bookstore. She’d forgotten all about the hardware store in her panic over the note.

  She stood outside Book ’Em for a minute or two to try to pull herself together. The words or else kept running through her head like a musical refrain.

  She felt a bit calmer as she opened the door to Book ’Em. This might simply be someone’s idea of a not-so-funny practical joke.

  “What a lovely surprise,” Greg said as he came out from behind the counter where he’d been filling out some papers. He took Monica’s hands, pulled her close, and gave her a quick kiss.

  Monica had waited until her breathing had slowed but it suddenly increased again.

  Greg looked at her curiously. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” Monica fished in her pocket and pulled out the note. “Someone bumped into me on the sidewalk and handed me this.”

  Greg’s eyebrows shot up and he took the piece of paper Monica was holding out. He opened it up and read the message.

  “What the . . .” His hand tightened on the piece of paper. “We need to go to the police with this.” He flicked a finger against the note. “No one should be allowed to try intimidation tactics like this and get away with it.”

  “What would the police be able to do?” Monica said. “There’s no name and I have no idea who the guy was who handed it to me. Someone obviously slipped him a few dollars to do it.”

  Greg’s arm dropped to his side. “You’re right. But I think it would be good to let them know.”

  “I’ll give Detective Stevens a call,” Monica promised, although she really couldn’t see any point to it.

  But she did feel better as she left the shop. She smiled. Greg seemed to have that effect on her.

  She still couldn’t imagine someone writing a note like that. What was the purpose? Had someone in town learned about the offer for Jeff’s farm and the possible development being planned?

  As Monica walked toward the Pepper Pot, something else occurred to her. According to Gina, the developer was interested in two properties—Jeff’s and the farmland belonging to the Kuipers. But he was only in the market for one of them, not both.

  If John Kuiper was really in deep financial trouble, the sale of the family farm could save him from bankruptcy. But only if Jeff decided not to sell.

  Monica could easily imagine someone like John writing that note and then paying someone to deliver it.

  She shivered. She had no doubt that John could be a ruthless enemy and she had the terrible feeling that he was aiming his wrath at Jeff and Sassamanash Farm.

  • • •

  Kit was starting on a batch of cookies when Monica got back to the farm kitchen.

  He gave Monica a slightly peculiar look. “Is everything okay, dear?” He frowned. “You look positively peaked.”

  “A bit tired is all,” Monica said, quickly turning her back and reaching for her apron.

  Kit didn’t look convinced, but he went back to spooning dough studded with cranberries and chocolate chips onto a cookie sheet.

  An hour later, Monica had filled several boxes with baked goods. She put them on the cart, said goodbye to Kit and trundled them down to the store.

  The store was empty. Nora was leaning on the counter with her head propped in her hands. She looked up quickly when she heard Monica open the door.

  She helped Monica arrange the cookies, scones and slices of cranberry apple cake in the case.

  Nora was normally very quick, with swift and efficient movements, but today she seemed to be dragging. There were lines of weariness around her eyes that weren’t usually there.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Monica asked as she straightened a doily on one of the display trays.

  “I suppose I should tell you, although it’s early days yet, and we’re really not telling anyone. You never know what might happen.” Nora leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s going to be a new little one in the family come August.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Monica hesitated. “Isn’t it?” she said, giving Nora a hug. She looked at Nora’s face. “You’re not happy about it.”

  “It’s not that I’m unhappy,” Nora said. “It’s just not the best timing. I’ve got two little ones who already tire me out. I can’t imagine coping with a baby as well. Just the thought of midnight feedings and all the laundry makes me want to burrow under the covers and sleep.” She smiled. “But I am sure it will be a blessing when it arrives. It always is. Besides”—she straightened some jars of cranberry jelly on the counter—“is there ever really a perfect time to have a baby?”

  Monica thought about that as she checked the shop’s inventory of cranberry preserves and packages of dried cranberries. Nora was right—was there ever really a perfect time to have a baby? If everyone waited for the perfect moment, the human race would have died out a long time ago.

  Monica was about to leave the store when the door opened and Dana walked in.

  “Oh,” Monica said, surprised to see her. Dana seemed slightly rattled—her face was paler than usual and her hair was slightly rumpled.

  “Can we talk?” Dana said, taking Monica by the arm.

  “Sure.” Monica glanced at Nora. “But let’s go back to my cottage.”

  “Let me take you to lunch. We could go to the Cranberry Cove Inn. Is it still as popular as it used to be?”

  “I’m really not dressed—”

  Dana waved a hand. “You look fine, but if you’d rather change and meet me there in an hour?”

  Monica raced back to the cottage, slipped into her good black slacks, a merino wool sweater, and put a gold chain around her neck. She ducked into the bathroom and powdered her nose and freshened her lipstick.

  She arrived at the Cranberry Cove Inn just as Dana was getting out of her car.

  “I appreciate your joining me,” Dana said as they walked toward the door of the restaurant.

  The maître d’ greeted them with a flourish and showed them to a table by the window. They had a view of the lake, where a layer of fog hovered just above the surface and the water was gray and chilly-looking.

  The Inn had recently redecorated the dining room, and Monica assumed it was in response to competition from the Pepper Pot. Everything had been updated, from the curtains to the tablecloths, and was sleek and modern. It made a good contrast to the pub-like feel of the Pepper Pot but was still elegant enough for the special occasions like anniversaries and birthdays that Cranberry Cove residents generally splurged on there.

  The waiter stopped at their table, filled their water glasses and handed them menus. He took their drink orders, a glass of Chardonnay for Monica and an old-fashioned for Dana.

>   “The special of the day is potato encrusted walleye with garlic mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables,” he said when he’d finished writing down their drink order. “I’ll give you a few minutes to decide. Take your time, ladies.”

  “Thank you for meeting with me,” Dana said, turning her fork over and over. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve gotten some of my memory back.”

  “Oh?” Monica sat up a little straighter.

  “Not everything, I’m afraid, but enough to scare me silly.”

  The waiter appeared with their drinks and placed them at their elbows.

  “Ready to order, ladies?”

  Dana tapped her menu. “I’ll have the walleye.” She handed the menu to the waiter.

  “And you, miss?”

  “I’ll have the butternut squash soup and a house salad with vinaigrette, please.”

  “Very good.”

  “What have you remembered?” Monica said as the waiter walked away.

  Dana took a sip of her drink. “I remember being at Marta’s house now. That part is much clearer. She wasn’t downstairs and she didn’t answer when I called her, but I knew she had to be home since the front door was unlocked. I went up to her bedroom. It was early afternoon so I suppose she was taking a nap since she was lying in bed. Someone was bending over her with their back to me.”

  Monica could see Dana’s chest rise and fall as she became more agitated and her hands shook as she raised her glass to her mouth. She took a gulp of her old-fashioned and coughed.

  “I asked them what they were doing. Was something wrong with Marta?”

  “Who was it? Could you see their face?”

  Dana shook her head. “Not then. But they did turn around. I think they must have come after me. That’s why I was driving the way I was, trying to escape.” Dana shook her head. “But that’s where my memory fades, I’m afraid. I can’t seem to remember who it was or what they looked like.”

  “Could you tell if they were male or female?”

  “Not even that, unfortunately.” Dana looked down into her cocktail glass. She rubbed the skin on her forehead. “I’ve tried and tried but all I’ve managed to do is give myself a headache.” She gave a small smile that disappeared so quickly Monica wondered if she had imagined it.