by Peg Cochran
“Would you like one of them?” Hennie smiled at Monica.
Monica had never thought about having a pet. She’d been too busy in Chicago to contemplate anything more needy than a houseplant. But now, why not? A cat would love being on the farm with so many mice and other small creatures to chase.
“I don’t know which one to pick.” There were three in the litter—the black one and two black-and-white ones.
“You don’t have to choose now. They have to stay with their mother for a few more weeks.”
“Yes,” Hennie added. “They’ll have more personality then, and you can see which one suits you the best.”
Monica gave a last look at the kittens and bid the sisters good-bye, the white Gumdrops bag swinging from her hand. The information they’d given her put Mauricio in the clear for Cora’s murder. So now she was back to square one. But was she looking for one killer or two?
Chapter 17
Monica was walking back toward her car when she heard someone call her name. She turned to see Gina waving furiously at her.
She walked over to where Gina was waiting on the sidewalk, wearing a construction helmet, which she somehow managed to make look feminine and like the latest fashion. She was standing in front of an empty store, and Monica could hear the sounds of banging and drilling coming through the open door.
“Come see what we’re doing,” Gina said, taking Monica by the arm and leading her into the building.
Monica followed, stepping carefully over a couple of two-by-fours. The smell of sawdust filled the air, and she could see particles of it floating in the beam of sunlight coming through the dusty front window.
Two burly construction workers in jeans and flannel shirts nodded at Monica.
“What do you think?” Gina asked. “This is going to be my new shop. I’m calling it Making Scents.”
“It’s kind of hard to tell what it’s going to look like at the moment.” Monica glanced around. The interior of the shop had been gutted down to the studs, with only two-by-fours creating the suggestion of separate rooms.
“The stockroom will be back here.” Gina walked through a roughly sketched opening. “I’m going to have a small kitchen area where I can make coffee and have a bite to eat without having to leave the shop.”
She grabbed Monica’s arm and led her to a staircase. “These stairs will go up to my apartment above the shop. They’ll be starting on that next week. It will be an open-plan kitchen and living room. I’ll be able to see the lake through the living room windows. There’ll be a bedroom, of course. Not very large, but I wanted room for a walk-in closet and an en suite bathroom. I’ll have a small powder room for guests off the kitchen.”
“It sounds lovely,” Monica said, wondering how long all of this was going to take. The renovations seemed extensive to her.
The two workers had stopped momentarily and were leaning against one of the beams sipping coffee from Styrofoam cups.
Gina gave Monica a coy look. “I saw you talking to that fellow who owns the bookstore. He seems like a nice guy. Kind of cute, too. I went in there the other day to pick up a book Jeff had ordered.”
“Greg Harper,” one of the workers spoke up. “He’s the owner, and he is a nice guy. Ran for mayor a couple of years ago.”
The other worker put down his cup, took off his construction helmet and ran his hands through his hair. “Wasn’t there some big flap about the election?”
“Yeah,” his coworker answered. “There were rumors that Culbert cheated. That he bought votes or something like that.”
“Frankly, I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Knowing what Culbert had done to Jeff, Monica wouldn’t put it past him, either.
“I voted for that Harper guy. He had some great plans for Cranberry Cove. All Culbert wanted to do was ride around on a float in the Memorial Day and Fourth of July parades and wave to the crowd.”
The two of them snickered.
Obviously there were any number of people in Cranberry Cove who weren’t sorry that Sam Culbert was gone.
Gina followed Monica outside to the sidewalk, where she nudged her in the side playfully.
“So are you two going out?”
Monica was confused. “What two? What do you mean?”
“You and the fellow from the bookstore. Are you dating? Or is that too old-fashioned a word? I think the kids call it hooking up these days.”
“No!” The word burst from Monica before she could stop it.
“Why not? He seems nice enough, and he’s rather cute with the way his hair is always a little rumpled.”
“We had brunch together on Sunday, but I don’t think that—
“So you are going out!”
“I don’t think it was a date exactly. We ran into each other, and we were both hungry so . . .”
“So you went to brunch together. He wouldn’t have suggested it if he didn’t like you.”
“True,” Monica said, her lips curving into an involuntary smile.
Gina nudged Monica again. “Give him a little encouragement, and I’m sure he’ll ask you out.”
Monica started to protest but then closed her mouth. Why not? She liked Greg, and she wouldn’t mind spending more time with him. She was a little unsure as to how she was supposed to encourage him beyond being friendly, but she knew better than to ask. She doubted she would like Gina’s answer.
Monica bid her stepmother good-bye and headed to the diner to pick up Darlene’s lunch. It looked as if Cora had left rather large shoes to fill. The new waitress, a young girl with a tattoo of a butterfly on her ankle, looked harried and flustered. A lock of hair was matted to her cheek with perspiration, and she kept looking over her shoulder at Gus, who glowered at her from behind the counter.
Monica placed her order and decided to treat herself to a hamburger, too. They were both ready with astonishing swiftness, and Monica picked up her package from the takeout window and left.
She was about to head to her car when she had a flash of inspiration. She would stop at the bakery and pick up a couple of cupcakes. Darlene would have her birthday party after all.
• • •
Before Monica even reached Sassamanash Farm, the interior of her car was redolent of the smell of hamburger and French fries, subtly overlaid with the scent of sugary buttercream icing. She parked in the farm store parking lot and was headed toward the door when she noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye.
Someone was standing in the field to the right of the store. Monica squinted. Two someones. One of them was Jeff. She didn’t have to see him clearly to recognize his stance and his movements—the way he tilted his head when he was listening and used his hands when he was talking.
Jeff stepped to one side, and Monica could see that his companion was a female. She was quite sure it was Lauren. Maybe they were hashing things out? Monica crossed her fingers. She hoped so.
Darlene was leaning on the counter with a sulky look on her face when Monica entered.
“I’m hungry,” she said, reaching for the white bag from the diner that Monica handed her.
“Sorry,” Monica felt compelled to say. “I guess I took longer than I meant to.”
Darlene sniffed, peered inside her bag, and pulled out her burger. “Did you bring me a cola?”
“Yes. I think our drinks are in this bag.” Monica pushed it toward Darlene. She dug in her pocket and pulled out the bills Darlene had given her earlier. “Here, lunch is on me since it’s your birthday.”
Darlene looked truly startled and, Monica thought, almost touched as she put out a tentative hand to reach for the money. She ducked her head as if to say thank you.
The shop was empty so they unwrapped their burgers and fries and ate them side by side at the counter. It was the most companionable Monica had ever felt with Darlene. Finally they
were finished and Monica scrunched up the wrappings from their meal and tossed them in the trash.
“Thanks,” Darlene said, looking as if the words stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Monica waved a hand. “You deserved a birthday treat so . . .” She pulled the white bakery bag out from under the counter like a conjurer performing a magic trick.
Darlene’s mouth dropped open. “What . . . what . . .” was all she could manage to say.
Monica then pulled the Gumdrops bag out from where she had stowed it. Darlene was agog; her eyes as round as saucers, her mouth in a startled O.
Monica handed the Gumdrops package to Darlene. “Just a little something to say happy birthday.”
Darlene dashed at the tears that had formed in her eyes, and pulled the bag toward her. She peered inside and then pulled out the box of Droste chocolates.
“This is for me?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Monica assured her.
Darlene started to fumble with the box.
“But wait. Before you open that . . .” Monica pulled the cupcakes out of the bakery bag. “I think I have some plates in the back.”
Darlene rubbed her eyes. “I’m really having a birthday after all.”
Monica smiled. She was glad she had gone to the trouble of arranging something for Darlene.
They finished their cupcakes, threw their paper plates and wrappers in the trash, and Monica swept the last of the crumbs from the counter into her hand.
“I hope you enjoy the chocolates. I thought of getting you a book, but I wasn’t sure what you liked to read.”
“That’s okay.” Darlene held the box of candy to her chest as if Monica was going to snatch it back. She fingered the velvet bow tenderly. “You know that guy who owns the bookstore?” she asked suddenly.
Monica nodded.
“He ran for mayor against Sam Culbert a couple of years ago.”
“Yes, I’ve heard. Someone told me.”
“Did they tell you that Culbert cheated in the election? Paid people to vote for him, I heard.”
“They did mention something about that. But they were just rumors.”
Darlene gave her a sly look. “I don’t know about that.”
Monica raised her eyebrows. “Why do you say that?”
Darlene shrugged her shoulders. “On account of the fight.”
“Fight?” Monica wanted to scream. Couldn’t Darlene just come out with it? She was like a miser with a purse full of coins—reluctantly doling them out one at a time.
Darlene nodded. “Yes, they got into a fight.”
Monica suppressed a sigh. “Who is ‘they’?”
“Sam Culbert and that bookstore owner, of course,” Darlene said with exaggerated patience.
Monica felt herself become very still. “Sam Culbert and Greg Harper got into a fight?”
“Yes. Right in the middle of Beach Hollow Road. They were shouting something fierce and circling each other like two dogs ready to attack. And you know what?”
“No,” Monica said, trying not to grind her teeth.
“That Harper fellow threatened to kill Culbert.”
“Don’t you think that was just an idle threat? Made in anger in the spur of the moment?”
Darlene looked confused and pulled at her lower lip.
“What I’m saying is that Greg probably didn’t mean it,” Monica said. “People say things in anger that they have no intention of carrying out.”
But how well did she know Greg Harper, really? A couple of brief conversations and one brunch together hardly meant you knew someone.
Monica decided it might be best to change the subject. “Are you still cleaning for the Culberts?” she asked. “I guess I should say for Mrs. Culbert now.”
“Yes, of course.” Darlene turned toward Monica. “I don’t make enough money working here, do I?” She looked at Monica accusingly.
Monica stiffened. How had Darlene managed to go from making her feel warm toward her to being aggravated with her in the space of a couple of minutes?
Darlene seemed able to handle the slow flow of customers that began to arrive toward late afternoon, so Monica decided to head back to her cottage to work on the product application form for Fresh Gourmet.
Darlene gave Monica a panicked look when Monica began to put on her jacket.
“We’re not very busy,” Monica said pulling up her zipper. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Darlene had her deer-in-the-headlights look, but Monica ignored it and said a firm good-bye. She drove back to her cottage, sun streaming through her windshield. She knew the weather would be changing soon—the nip in the air told her that—and the landscape would be covered in snow. Fortunately Monica enjoyed all the seasons and looked forward to each in turn.
A familiar car was in the driveway when Monica pulled in. Stevens was leaning against the hood, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her open coat.
“Please don’t say it,” Stevens said with a smile as Monica pulled alongside her and got out of the car. “If one more person says ‘oh, you’re still here,’ I will positively scream.”
Monica laughed but inside she was worrying. What did Stevens want now? “Would you like to come inside?” she asked the detective.
“Please.” Stevens turned up the collar on her coat. “It’s getting rather chilly. The temperature must have dropped a good ten degrees since this morning.”
Monica led the way into her tiny living room. Once again Stevens eschewed the overstuffed sofa and chose one of the armchairs.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Monica said as she sat down opposite Stevens.
“Now that’s something I don’t hear very often.” Stevens smiled.
“I have some information for you.”
Stevens raised her eyebrows and pulled a battered spiral notebook from the pocket of her raincoat.
“It’s about Mauricio,” Monica began.
Stevens removed the ballpoint pen that was stuck through the spiral on the notebook and clicked it. She held it poised above the paper.
“It makes sense that the same person that killed Culbert also killed Cora, don’t you think?”
Stevens shrugged noncommittally.
Monica knitted her fingers together in her lap. “I mean, it seems somewhat incredible that Cranberry Cove could have two murderers on the loose.” She took a deep breath. “I have proof that Mauricio couldn’t have killed Cora.” Monica looked down at her hands. “I should have called you right away. I’m sorry.”
“Seriously?” Stevens’s expression changed from one of near amusement to something more serious.
“Yes. I talked with the VanVelsen sisters—”
“Who are—”
“They’re the twins who own Gumdrops on Beach Hollow Road.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“Their cat Midnight had been missing for almost a week when a young man returned her the night Cora was killed. They were so grateful that they invited him to dinner. The young man was Mauricio.”
“And I’m gathering that the timing puts him at the house of these sisters during the period when we suspect Cora was killed?”
Monica nodded.
“Do you mind if we go over a few things? I just want to check some facts.” Stevens smiled.
“Certainly.” Monica tried to relax her hands in her lap. She didn’t want Stevens to see how nervous she was.
“You arrived at Cora’s home when?”
What had she told her? Monica momentarily panicked. But then she realized she had nothing to fear. She was telling the truth. “It was around five thirty P.M. or a little after.”
Stevens made a note. “And you went directly to Cora’s, knocked on her door and then opened it?”
“Yes. No. I had a brief conversation with
that neighbor of hers—Dawn. She said she had noticed Cora arriving home from work and hadn’t seen her go out again.”
“And Cora’s car was in the driveway?”
“Yes. If she’d gone out it would have had to have been on foot.”
“Dawn tells us that she didn’t see anyone in or around Cora’s trailer between the time when Cora got home from work and when you arrived.”
What was she getting at? Monica wondered.
Stevens suddenly changed tack. “The ME performed the autopsy.” She pinched the skin on the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “Of course it’s inconclusive. Everything rests on the toxicology report now. However . . .” She paused and looked Monica in the face.
“Yes?”
“I managed to get him to hazard a guess. And that’s not easy, I can tell you. It appears as if she had a seizure before she died. That, combined with the puncture mark on her arm, suggests she might have been injected with something. Something like insulin, maybe. An overdose would cause extremely low blood sugar, which could lead to a seizure and ultimately death.”
Monica nodded to show she was listening.
“So Cora arrived home and apparently did not leave her house. And,” Stevens rubbed a hand over her stomach, “we suspect she had a visitor based on the mug found in her sink. But the neighbor didn’t see anyone go in or out.” She leveled a gaze at Monica. “Except you.”
“Me?” Monica pointed at herself. “Why would I want to kill Cora? I didn’t even know her.”
“Please.” Stevens held up a hand. “I’m not saying you killed Cora. But it does seem rather odd, doesn’t it?”
Chapter 18
Monica set her laptop on the kitchen table and powered it on. She brought up the product application from the Fresh Gourmet website and began scanning the questions. She rubbed her forehead. She was finding it hard to concentrate. Detective Stevens’s visit had unnerved her more than she wanted to admit.
Half an hour later, Monica was no further along than when she had started. She was about to turn off her computer and put the task off until another day when she decided to visit her long-neglected Facebook page. She rarely posted anything, but it was amusing to see what old friends from Chicago, or even as far back as high school, were doing.