by Peg Cochran
She frowned. “I used my pass key to open the door. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The woman was sprawled on the bed and the bedclothes were a mess, half on the floor. They looked as if someone had had a tug-of-war with them. At first I thought she was sleeping, but then I realized she must have passed out. I found two empty bottles of vodka on the counter in the bathroom.”
“Was the man in the room?”
“No. There was no sign of him—no clothes in the wardrobe, nothing.”
“Did you see him leave?”
“No. I asked Bianca and Mauricio but neither of them saw him either.”
Monica thanked Charlie and left.
That had certainly been a worthwhile trip, she thought as she headed home. If Cheryl was passed out drunk the day Marta was killed, then John could have easily slipped out undetected.
And that meant that John did not have an alibi.
• • •
Monica was taking the shepherd’s pie she’d made for dinner out of the oven when there was a knock on the door.
“Jeff,” Monica said, surprised to see him. “Is everything okay?”
“No, I’m afraid it’s not.”
“Come in.”
Jeff stamped his feet to rid his boots of the snow that was caught in the treads.
“What smells so good?” he said as he walked into the kitchen.
“Shepherd’s pie. Would you like some.”
He gave a sheepish grin. “I sure would.”
“Your timing was perfect,” Monica teased as she put the casserole on the table.
“I swear I wasn’t angling for a dinner invitation,” Jeff said with a cheeky grin.
Greg got another plate from the cupboard and silverware from the drawer and placed them on the table.
“Was it the smell that lured you to our kitchen?” Greg said as he passed the casserole to Jeff.
“Not exactly.” Jeff’s expression turned somber. “I wanted to see if you were going to the meeting at the town hall tonight. I don’t dare go myself—I’m afraid they might pelt me with rotten eggs—but I’d like to know what is being said.”
Monica and Greg exchanged a glance.
“We hadn’t planned on it,” Monica said, “but I’ll go if you like.” She glanced at the clock. “It doesn’t start for an hour and a half.”
“I’ll go with you,” Greg said.
“Thanks. I would really appreciate it,” Jeff said. “Although I’m sure I’m not going to like what they have to say.”
• • •
The evening was bitterly cold and Monica wondered how many people would be willing to leave their warm homes and their favorite evening television programs to attend this meeting. She was therefore quite surprised to see that the parking lot of the town hall was nearly full. Greg had to drive around twice to find an empty space.
The hallway was filled with people, their chattering voices echoing off the walls. Someone opened a door and the crowd began to flow into the room, yelling greetings to each other as they jostled for seats.
Several people carried homemade signs with slogans like No Developments in Cranberry Cove and Ban the Sale.
Monica and Greg found a spot in the back. Several people obviously recognized them because they shot her and Greg strange looks, as if they wondered how they had the nerve to show up.
Mayor Laninga tapped his microphone and the crowd slowly hushed. A baby began to cry and a woman in the back muttered an apology as she carried the infant out of the room and into the hall.
“It’s nice to see our citizens getting involved at a young age,” Laninga said and everyone laughed politely.
The mood quickly changed and soon voices were raised in heated arguments when Laninga indicated that unfortunately there was nothing in the current zoning laws to prevent a developer from turning Sassamanash farm into a mall.
“Then change them,” a man in jeans and a flannel shirt yelled from the audience.
The crowd quickly took up the cry. “Change them. Change them,” they chanted in unison.
Laninga’s face got beet red and he began to look flustered. A deputy in the back of the room moved away from the wall, where he had been casually leaning, suddenly on the alert.
Finally the crowd settled down and the meeting continued. Monica was relieved when it was over. Her arms ached and she realized she’d been clenching her fists the entire time.
“I don’t think this bodes well for Jeff,” Greg said as he beeped open the Volvo. “Those people sounded as if they were out for blood.”
“I have to admit I felt slightly frightened,” Monica said, latching her seat belt.
Greg yawned. “I’m glad that’s over. What are we going to tell Jeff?”
Monica chewed her lower lip. “I don’t know. The truth? I don’t want to upset him but he should know what he’s up against. I don’t think we should sugarcoat it. I’m just afraid it might sway his decision about whether to sell or not.”
It was almost ten o’clock by the time they pulled onto the road that led to the farm. The streetlights quickly retreated behind them and the darkness in front of them was inky black and nearly impenetrable.
Monica had left a few lights on in the cottage and they made a welcome glow in the dark night as they went around the bend and the cottage came into view.
Greg pulled up to the cottage and turned off the engine. Monica got out and was walking toward the back door when she felt something brush her face.
She looked up and screamed.
Chapter 17
“What is it?” Greg raced to Monica’s side, his face pale in the light above the back door. “Are you okay?”
Monica’s teeth were chattering and she could barely talk. She pointed to the branch of the maple tree that hung over her small garden.
“What on earth?” Greg said. He reached up and looked at Monica incredulously. “It’s a noose.”
By now Monica was shivering uncontrollably. “Yes.”
“Let’s go inside,” Greg said, putting his key in the lock. “We need to call the police.”
Monica fell into a chair without even bothering to take her jacket off. She couldn’t stop shaking. Anonymous notes were one thing and so was painting graffiti on the wall of the shed, but a noose had a far more sinister meaning altogether. It was an outright, unmistakable threat.
Greg opened a cupboard and got out a bottle of whiskey. He poured a bit into a glass and handed it to Monica.
“Have a sip of this. You’ve had a shock. This should help.”
Monica raised the glass to her mouth and touched her lips to the liquid. She grimaced and put the glass down.
“I can’t,” she said, putting her head in her hands. She looked up suddenly. “Should we tell Jeff?”
“I suppose we’ll have to.”
“This is really going to upset him. And he’s already upset enough as it is.”
Greg had his cell phone out and was dialing 9-1-1. “He’ll find out anyway. And he won’t thank you for keeping it from him.”
Monica huddled in her jacket, her fingers nervously playing with the tab on the zipper, until they saw lights coming down the driveway.
“They’re here,” Greg said, reaching for his jacket.
Monica already had her hand on the doorknob. She swung the door open and stepped back outside into the frigid air.
A patrol car was parked in back of Greg’s Volvo, the rotating light on its roof sending ribbons of color scudding across the swathes of white snow.
A patrolman got out of the car and walked toward them. Monica recognized him from the farm store—he often stopped by in the morning before his shift for a coffee and a muffin. He must have pulled night duty this week. They knew him as Danny. Monica didn’t know his last name.
Danny smiled and nodded at Monica. “What seems to be the problem? Some sort of vandalism, they said?”
“It’s by the tree.” Monica led him to the low-hanging branch and pointed to the noose.
/> He whistled. “Someone sure was trying to send you a message.” He pushed his hat back on his head. The tips of his ears were red from the cold.
Monica explained about Jeff’s plan to possibly sell the farm and how the townspeople were up in arms over it.
Danny let out a loud exhale and a puff of steam formed in the air like a conversation bubble in a cartoon.
“Not sure what we can do.” He looked around. “There are a couple of footprints in the snow—at least I assume they aren’t yours.” He looked at Greg, who shook his head.
“I’m wearing boots.” Greg lifted up a foot. “Those look like prints from a pair of running shoes.”
“We’d have no way of identifying them as it is,” Danny said, scratching the back of his neck. He gave an apologetic smile. “The best we can do is send a patrol car by from time to time to check on things. Maybe the perp will come back to try something else and we’ll catch ’em in the act.” He spread his hands out palms up. “It’s probably just a prank. A couple of kids who thought it would be funny given that the feeling in town is running against your brother selling the farm.”
Greg frowned. “We didn’t find it funny in the least, I’m afraid.” He sighed. “But I suppose you’re right—there’s not much you can do. But we did want to report it and get it on the record.”
“Sure.” Danny straightened his hat. “Don’t hesitate to give us a call if anything else happens,” he said as he opened the door to his patrol car and slid into the driver’s seat. He gave a brief salute and began to back out of the driveway.
Greg put his arm around Monica. “Come on. Let’s get inside and get warm. I’ll make us some hot cocoa.”
• • •
Monica woke up feeling as tired as if she hadn’t slept at all, which is what it had felt like—tossing and turning and startling awake every time she thought she heard a noise. The police might have dismissed the noose hanging from the tree as a prank, but how could they be sure the perpetrator didn’t plan to escalate their attacks?
Monica was surprised to see that Kit had a visitor when she arrived at the farm kitchen. He was older than Kit and was wearing worn jeans dusted with sawdust, scuffed work boots and a plaid flannel shirt with frayed cuffs and collar. He had a full beard that looked as if it needed a trim.
Kit smiled when Monica entered. “Monica, I’d like you to meet Sean.” He put his arm around Sean’s shoulders.
“Very nice to meet you.” Sean held out an enormous rough-looking hand. He had a deep, rather pleasant voice.
So this was Sean, Monica thought as she hung up her jacket. He wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Certainly he was as unlike Kit with his fastidious fashion sense and ultra-modern haircut as he could possibly be.
“Sean is a carpenter,” Kit said with a hint of pride in his voice.
“So have you two made up?” Monica said.
They both looked slightly sheepish. Sean looked down at his feet.
Kit smiled. “Yes. Everything is rosy in paradise again.”
If possible, Sean looked even more embarrassed.
“But Sean has something to tell you, don’t you, Sean?”
“Yeah. I came by here last night to see Kit, I wanted to . . .”
He mumbled something Monica couldn’t quite catch but she thought she heard the word apologize.
“A car was coming down the drive in front of me. I couldn’t see the make on account of it being so dark and all, but I think it was some kind of sports car. Not something I would recognize anyway.” He gave a crooked grin. “I’m a pickup kind of guy myself.”
“Tell her what you saw,” Kit prompted.
“The car pulled into the driveway of this little cottage. A couple of lights were on but it didn’t look like anyone was home. Kit said that’s your place.” He looked at Monica as if for confirmation.
She nodded.
“I saw a man get out of the car. I couldn’t see his face and probably wouldn’t have known him if I had. But when he went by the light over the back door I did see he had real silver hair.”
Monica immediately thought of John Kuiper.
“He didn’t ring the bell or nothing and that made me a little suspicious. I thought he might be trying to break in so I stopped my truck behind some trees and watched him for a couple of minutes. I figured I could call the police if I saw him smash a window or something.”
He took a deep breath, as if he wasn’t used to talking this much. “I don’t know what he was doing, but he had a rope with him. He flung it over a tree branch that was hanging over the driveway. And I know this sounds crazy but . . .” He looked down at his feet. “I could have sworn it was a noose.”
Monica felt the color drain from her face.
Kit put a hand on her arm. “Are you okay? Do you want to sit down? Should I make you a cup of tea?”
“That’s okay. I’m fine.” Monica rubbed her forehead. “Last night when Greg and I got back from the meeting at the town hall, a noose was hanging from that tree branch by our back door.”
Kit gasped and put his hand over his mouth. “Oh, darling, you poor thing.”
“So that is what I saw,” Sean said, sounding satisfied. He kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot. “I knew I should have called the police. I had the feeling the guy was up to no good.”
“Why would someone do something like that?” Kit said, his eyes huge. “That’s horrible.”
“I think it was meant to be a warning,” Monica said. “People found out that Jeff is thinking of selling the farm. He’s only thinking about it—he hasn’t made any decision yet. And people are against it.”
“But why would he sell?” Kit looked stricken.
“There’s an experimental treatment that might restore the function to his arm. Insurance won’t pay for it but if he sells the farm . . .”
“I guess you couldn’t blame him then,” Kit said. “Still . . .” He stuck his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “I’ve loved working here.”
Monica smiled. “And I’ve loved working with you. But let’s wait to see what Jeff decides, shall we?”
Sean left and she and Kit got down to work. Monica began preparing the Sassamanash Farm cranberry salsa. She’d taken some cranberries from the freezer to thaw and had put out the rest of her ingredients. The salsa was still selling well and had carried the farm through some lean times. Monica was grateful.
Monica was thinking through things as she worked and by the time she’d finished the first batch of salsa, she’d decided she was going to go to Detective Stevens and tell her what Sean had seen. She would also share her own conclusions about who had killed Marta. Stevens might laugh at her amateur attempts at detection, but knowing her, Monica had a feeling she wouldn’t.
• • •
Detective Stevens was on her way out but the desk sergeant said she would see Monica anyway, but she warned her not to take too long.
Stevens was in her coat when Monica knocked on her office door.
“Come in,” Stevens said.
“I’m sorry. I’m keeping you from something.”
Stevens waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It can wait. I’m interested in hearing what you have to say. You’re not the sort to give in to hysterical theories.”
Stevens’s desk was as burdened with files and papers as it had been the last time Monica was there. The partially eaten doughnut was gone and had been replaced by a paper plate crusted with the remains of a breakfast sandwich.
“I assume you’ve heard about the incident at my house last night,” Monica said.
Stevens shoved her hand through her blond hair, leaving it standing on end. “I heard about it briefly, but I’m afraid I’ve been so busy . . .” She waved a hand at her desk.
“A noose was found hanging from a tree branch in my back garden. We found it when we got back from the meeting at the town hall.”
Stevens nodded. “Any idea why someone would do something like that?” Her look turn
ed hopeful. “It could have been some sort of prank, although it’s not in the least bit funny.”
Monica took a deep breath. “Jeff—he’s my half brother—is considering selling Sassamanash Farm.”
Stevens’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
Monica explained about the experimental treatment that could possibly restore some function to Jeff’s arm.
“I see.” Stevens slipped her coat off her shoulders and loosened her scarf.
“A developer made him an offer. The same developer also made an offer on the Kuiper property, but that sale hinged on all three siblings agreeing to sell. Marta Kuiper was the only holdout.
“The developer only wants one of the properties. Marta dying has removed one obstacle for the Kuipers. But there’s still the chance the developer will opt for Jeff’s farm instead. The noose, along with a threatening note someone handed me as I passed them on the sidewalk and the graffiti on the shed, appear to have been meant to discourage Jeff from selling.”
Monica shifted in her chair. “I think the killer—because I think the same person is responsible for all of this—decided to piggyback on the fact that the town is in an uproar over the possibility of Jeff selling.” Monica picked a piece of lint off her coat. “The townspeople don’t seem to have gotten wind of the fact that the Kuipers might sell their land, which would result in the same thing—a mall they are dead set against being built in Cranberry Cove.”
“Do you have a theory as to who this person is?” A small smile played around Stevens’s lips.
Monica knew Stevens was simply humoring her, but she didn’t care. “John Kuiper,” she said succinctly. “He appears to be in need of money so it’s no surprise he would be anxious for this sale to go through.”
“Hmmm,” Stevens said.
“You will look into it, won’t you?”
Stevens looked surprised. “We are looking into it, believe me.”