by Peg Cochran
Monica had the feeling that that wasn’t what Nora was worried about at all, but rather that she was worried about something else entirely—something far more serious.
Monica was about to leave the shop when the door opened. Both she and Nora jumped to attention but relaxed as Jeff strode in.
“We thought you were a customer,” Monica said.
Jeff grinned. “Just a starving farmer.” He gave Monica his most persuasive look. “I was hoping my big sister could rustle up some grub for me.”
Monica couldn’t help but smile. “Of course. I’ve got some sandwich fixings stashed in the refrigerator in the cottage.” She linked her arm through Jeff’s. “Come on. I’ll fix you a ham and cheese sandwich.”
“With pickles?”
“With pickles.”
“My mouth is watering already,” Jeff said. He waved to Nora. “See you later.”
“I’ll whip up some more muffins after I feed my starving brother, but if you need anything in the meantime, just ring me and I can come right back down,” Monica said.
Nora gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Will do. But I’m sure everything will be fine.”
• • •
Monica and Jeff walked side by side down the path that wound around the cranberry bogs toward Monica’s cottage.
She turned to Jeff. “I went to my book club today,” she began.
“Another murder mystery? I’d think you’d have had enough of all that after what’s happened here in Cranberry Cove in the last couple of months.”
Monica was silent for a moment. “There’s a certain appeal to a murder mystery—at least the ones we’re reading. Justice prevails in the end, and that’s not always the case in real life. Besides, the books are more about the puzzle than the gruesome details of the crime itself.”
“I’ll stick to the sports page of the newspaper, thanks,” Jeff said.
“One of the book club members—Phyllis Bouma—mentioned that Lori Wenk had a boyfriend named Dale Wheeler.”
Jeff stopped in his tracks and turned to face Monica. “Dale? He’s worked for me a few times during the harvest on his days off.” Jeff gave a half grin. “Nearly everyone in Cranberry Cove is happy to make some extra money whenever they can.”
Monica flashed back to the harvest that fall and Jeff’s crew thigh deep in the flooded blog. There had been a young man with a red cap pulled down over a tangle of blond curls—Dale. No wonder he had looked so familiar this afternoon.
Jeff put out a hand. “Wait! You’re not thinking that Dale had something to do with this, are you? He’s a good guy.”
“Lori told Phyllis that she and Dale were dating. Phyllis got the impression that Lori thought the relationship was a serious one. But according to Dale they only went out a couple of times, and it was nothing much.”
Jeff shrugged. “Men are from Mars. . . . Just because they had different views on the state of their relationship doesn’t mean Dale had anything to do with Lori’s death.”
“You’re probably right,” Monica said. “But there have been cases where someone has murdered their partner because he or she became inconvenient.”
They walked in silence for a moment. Monica looked from left to right, enjoying the view. The delicate cranberry blossoms that filled the bogs were swaying slightly in the gentle breeze, their pale pink accented with verdant green leaves. She took a deep breath and, despite everything that had transpired, felt a deep sense of contentment wash over her. This was where she belonged.
Suddenly Jeff came to a stop. Monica looked at him curiously, but his attention was focused on something in the near distance.
“What’s that?” He pointed to a group of scrubby bushes alongside the path.
“Where?” Monica stared at the spot where Jeff was pointing.
“That,” Jeff repeated, walking toward a scraggly batch of evergreens whose gnarly roots were lifting up the edge of the path.
Monica squinted and looked again toward the spot. She thought she saw something white—some kind of cloth maybe—caught between the bushes.
Jeff approached the evergreens as cautiously as one might advance on a snake or poisonous spider.
Monica joined him, and they both peered between the bushes whose branches had been knitted together over time. She put out a hand, but Jeff stopped her.
“Wait. Don’t touch it.”
Jeff picked up a stick that was lying alongside the path and, using his good arm, poked and prodded the piece of fabric, trying to pull it through the branches of the bush.
“What is it?” Monica asked.
“I don’t know. But I don’t think we should touch it in case it’s somehow related to Lori’s death. Even though it will probably turn out to be an accident after all.”
The way Jeff said that made Monica realize he didn’t believe it was an accident any more than she did.
Jeff finally succeeded in coaxing the item from between the low-hanging branches of the evergreen. He hooked it with his stick and held it up.
“It’s some kind of glove,” Monica said, eying the object.
Jeff frowned. “Not just any glove. This is a beekeeper’s glove. And if I’m not mistaken, the rest of the outfit is tangled up in those shrubs. What odds do you want that this is Lori’s missing gear?”
“I guess we’d better call Detective Stevens.” Monica pulled her cell phone from her pocket and punched in the numbers.
Jeff waved the glove on the end of his stick. “I don’t know what this means, but it could be significant.”
Jeff stood waiting for the police while Monica ran back to the cottage and threw together a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches for him. She glanced at the clock—he should have taken a break for lunch hours ago. No wonder he was still such a long, tall string bean. Given their age difference, she had been the taller of the two of them until he’d reached his early teens, when he’d shot up like a rocket, easily surpassing Monica’s five foot eight inches.
Monica grabbed a can of cold pop from the fridge and a couple of apples and put everything in a wicker basket, along with a handful of napkins and the remains of a bag of chips she’d treated herself to and felt guilty about every time she saw them staring at her in the pantry.
By the time she got to where Jeff was sitting by the side of the path, guarding their find, she could hear a car in the distance bumping down the road that led to the farm.
Jeff had taken the first bite of his sandwich when the car came into view. It was dusty and looked like it needed a good wash, and there was a dent in the front right fender. They watched as Stevens emerged from the driver’s seat, brushed something off the front of her trousers and headed toward them. She was wearing a white blouse and as she got closer, Monica could see the rings of perspiration under her arms. She looked as if she’d had a rough couple of days.
Monica smiled sympathetically as Stevens approached.
Stevens ran a hand through her blond hair, brushing it back from her forehead, which was beaded with sweat. She looked up at the sky. “It’s awfully hot for late June.” She glanced down and picked at what looked like dried, pureed carrot or squash on her top. “You said you found something?”
Jeff pointed at the stick he’d laid down on the ground. “Yes, it’s right there.”
“What on earth is it?” Stevens looked from Monica to Jeff and back again.
“It’s a glove that the beekeepers wear when they handle the hives,” Jeff said.
Stevens’s expression sharpened. “Where did you say you found it?”
Jeff pointed to the bush. “It was stuck between those two evergreens. It’s a miracle I even noticed it.”
“Whoa.” Stevens got down on one knee and carefully separated the scraggly branches with her hands. She peered between them.
Jeff squatted down next to
her. “There’s something else stuck in there, see?” He pointed between the branches Stevens was holding apart. “I didn’t want to touch it . . . if it turns out to be important. . . .”
“Good thinking,” Stevens said. “It might turn out to be nothing, but somehow I don’t think that’s going to be the case.”
Stevens let the branches snap into place again and leaned back on her heels. She stuck her hands in the pocket of her pants and retrieved a pair of latex gloves. They made a snapping sound as she pulled them into place. She reached into the bush and eased out the bundle of white fabric. It caught on one of the branches.
“Ouch,” Stevens said, yanking out her arm and staring at the thin scratch that ran from her elbow almost to her wrist.
“I’ve got some bandages,” Monica said, making a move to go.
“Don’t bother. I’m fine,” Stevens said as she continued to disentangle the bundle of cloth from where it had been shoved.
It stuck on a branch again. “Rats,” she said, but finally the object came free and she was able to grasp it. It was obviously a garment of some sort.
Stevens stood up and shook it out. “I’m going to take a wild guess that this is a piece of the protective gear a beekeeper would use.”
Jeff nodded. “Yes, but what about the hat and veil? Are they in there, too?” He bent down and peered into the branches of the evergreens. “The hat and veil are the most important parts of the getup. According to Rick, stings to the face can be dangerous and are certainly very painful.”
Stevens gave the garment she was holding another shake. “Nothing here.” She placed it on the ground, got down on her hands and knees again and peered into the bushes. She even went around to the other side and did the same. “Nope. The hat and veil are missing.” She stood up and brushed dirt off the knees of her trousers.
“I suppose we can assume this is Lori’s missing gear?” Monica said.
Stevens brushed her hands on her slacks. “It would be quite a coincidence if it wasn’t. Still . . .”
“So whoever did this took the hat and veil with them,” Jeff said.
“Or dumped them somewhere else.” Stevens ran a hand across the back of her neck. She shaded her eyes with her hand, squinted up at the sky and watched a small plane overhead until it was out of sight.
She sighed. “It looks as if someone didn’t want us to find this.” She pointed at the beekeeper’s gear crumpled on the ground. “I’m assuming they wanted to make the whole thing look like an unfortunate accident.”
Chapter 9
“What now?” Monica said as she, Jeff and Stevens began walking toward Stevens’s car.
“I want to search the property to see if we find anything else,” Stevens said. She kicked at a stone in the path. “The trail will be getting colder every hour. I don’t want whoever did this to get away with it.”
They reached Stevens’s car and Stevens stuck a hand through the open window. She pulled out a plastic bottle of water, took a swig and made a face.
“Warm,” she said when she noticed Monica and Jeff looking at her. “Excuse me a minute.” She yanked a cell phone from her pocket, barked some orders into it and then ended the call. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to remain inside somewhere while my men canvas the grounds.”
Jeff frowned. “It won’t take too long, will it? I’ve got a ton of weeding to do.”
Stevens shrugged. “Hopefully not. The men will be complaining. It’s not getting any cooler out.” She fanned her face with her hand. “I never used to mind the heat, but ever since I had the baby, the heat has really been getting to me.”
Monica gestured toward the cluster of buildings in the distance. “Is it okay if I go back to the kitchen? I need to take inventory and order some supplies.”
“That’s fine,” Stevens said, blotting her forehead with her forearm. “We’ll try to inconvenience you as little as possible.”
Jeff fell into step with Monica as they headed back the way they had come.
“I can keep myself busy in the processing room,” he said. “I have to run the sorting machinery anyway and make sure everything is shipshape before the fall harvest.” He looked out across the flower-bedecked cranberry bog. “It will be here before we know it.”
Jeff never seemed to rest, Monica thought. She was afraid he was going to make himself ill. She remembered what Gina had said about being worried about him. Was he running away from something by working so hard?
“Is everything okay?” she asked as they approached the farm store.
Jeff wiped a hand over his face. “Sure. Just the usual worries about finances, the crop. . . .” His voice trailed off.
“And?”
Jeff’s shoulders heaved up and down in a sigh. He gave a smile that disappeared almost immediately. “I can never fool you, can I?” He kicked at the ground with the toe of his boot. “I remember the time I was dating that girl in high school—Carol—and I didn’t want anyone to know she’d dumped me. But you managed to work it out of me quite easily.”
Monica remembered how angry she had been that some teenage girl with bleached blond hair had dared to hurt her baby brother.
“It’s Lauren,” Jeff said after a pause. “I haven’t heard from her in almost a week. I’ve left messages, sent texts. . . .”
Monica thought of all the reasons Lauren might not be responding—her phone was broken, lost or stolen—but she didn’t mention them to Jeff. She knew he’d probably run through all of them in his head already and had instead decided to believe the worst.
“Maybe a quick trip to Chicago is in order?” Monica said as lightly as possible.
Jeff shrugged. “I wouldn’t want her to think I was crowding her. I’m the one who encouraged her to take this internship. I wanted her to consider all her options before settling down in Cranberry Cove. Besides, I have a ton of work to do here on the farm, and I’m probably worrying for nothing.”
Monica realized there was nothing she could say that would make Jeff feel any better. That left her feeling frustrated. Why couldn’t she wave a magic wand and make all his problems disappear?
“I guess she’ll be in touch eventually,” Jeff said unconvincingly. He looked at Monica and touched her cheek with his hand. “Don’t worry—I’ll be okay.”
“Let me know when you hear from her,” Monica said as Jeff turned to head toward the processing room. She desperately wanted to give Jeff a big hug but she knew that would only unsettle him even more.
“I will.”
Monica stood for a moment and watched as Jeff loped off around the corner of the building, and then she continued on her way toward the kitchen.
Arline was waiting for her when she pushed open the door.
“Are the police here again?” Arline asked. Her hands were coated with flour and a piece of dough was rolled out on the counter in front of her.
Monica really didn’t want to discuss it with Arline, but she knew the less she said, the more Arline would persist.
“Yes. They’re searching the property. They’ve asked us to stay inside.”
Monica hoped that would satisfy Arline, but she was wrong.
“What are they looking for?” Arline leaned her elbows on the counter.
“I don’t know . . . clues.” Monica took her apron from the hook and fastened it around her waist.
“So they think it was murder?”
“I don’t know. They haven’t confided in me.” Monica tried to keep her tone from becoming snappish, but she had the impression that this was no more real to Arline than if it were some fictional show on television.
Monica pointed at the dough rolled out on the counter. “If that sits any longer, it’s going to get too soft and you’re going to have to put it back in the fridge.”
Arline poked the dough with her finger. “It’s fine.” She flippe
d it over and dusted it with flour. “I’ll bet it was Rick Taylor.”
“You don’t really think—”
“Lori was always complaining about him. How he kept making these inappropriate advances toward her. She told him she had a boyfriend, but that didn’t stop him.” She picked up her rolling pin. “I had a boss like that once. I was too scared of losing my job to say anything.” She shivered. “He kept putting his hand—”
“I’m quite sure that Rick wouldn’t—”
“Lori was different though,” Arline interrupted. “Brave. She was going to see a lawyer about suing. She’d read about these women who’d received millions of dollars for their pain and suffering.”
The phrase you can’t get blood from a stone came to Monica’s mind. She knew the Taylors were far from wealthy. How did Lori think they would be able to come up with that kind of money?
Monica had had enough. “I’m going to start the inventory. Are those almost ready to go in the oven?” She pointed to the scones Arline was cutting from her dough.
A sulky look settled over Arline’s face, but she quickly finished cutting the dough, pulled a baking sheet from the rack on the wall, lined them all up and put them in the oven.
• • •
Monica wiped down the counters in the kitchen. She stopped for a moment, blew a lock of hair off her face and rested her elbows on the counter. She was tired and hungry and she didn’t have much of anything in her fridge or pantry for dinner. She’d used the last of the ham and cheese for Jeff’s sandwiches.
She was resigning herself to tea and cheese toast when her phone rang.
“Have you eaten?”
Greg’s voice made her smile. “No. And I’m afraid the prospects are quite grim.”
Greg chuckled. “Let me be your knight in shining armor then. I have a couple of lamb chops from Bart’s, some fingerling potatoes from that farm over by the water tower and a bag of fresh spinach compliments of the same farm. How does that sound?”
Monica collapsed against the counter. “That sounds heavenly.”