Dead and Berried

by Peg Cochran

  A large gold SUV with a Keep Calm and Play Lacrosse sticker on the back window was pulling out of a space in front of Gumdrops. Monica waited patiently while the car backed out and then pulled her Focus into the spot.

  She turned off the engine and got out, ready to head to the drugstore and hardware store. She glanced at the front of Gumdrops and stopped. She hadn’t heard anything new about Gerda and she knew Hennie had been very worried. She had been worried herself. Cranberry Cove wasn’t the same without a matching set of VanVelsens manning the counter of the candy store.

  Midnight, the VanVelsens’ cat and mother of Monica’s kitten, Mittens, greeted her at the door, weaving in and out of Monica’s legs as Monica approached the counter. Hennie had her back to the store, and the hunch of her shoulders worried Monica.

  “Hennie,” she said softly so as not to scare the woman.

  Hennie whirled around and plastered a welcoming smile on her face—something she had become adept at after running the store for decades now.

  “Monica! How lovely to see you. What can I get for you?”

  “Nothing right now, thanks. I was wondering how Gerda is?”

  Hennie’s shoulders sagged a little more. “She’s getting better, but it’s so hard not having her here.” She gave a bittersweet smile. “We’ve never been apart you know.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I know some people find that peculiar and can’t imagine it, but for us it’s normal.” She smiled again, a genuine smile this time. “Having a twin is like being born with a built-in best friend. At least that’s how it’s been for me and Gerda. Neither of us chose to marry—having each other was enough.” A sob caught in her throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  Monica spoke softly. “What is troubling Gerda?”

  “It’s her lungs, as usual. Sometimes with twins, one of them gets short shrift in one area and the other in another area. For Gerda, it has always been her lungs.” She looked at Monica. “I’m afraid she’s in the hospital, down with pneumonia. With all the antibiotics at our disposal today, people no longer fear pneumonia as they once did, but at our age, and with Gerda’s weakness . . .” She shrugged. “You can see why I’m concerned.”

  “Is she allowed visitors?”

  “Oh, she would like that.” Hennie clapped her hands. “That would be so dear of you. The only restriction is that the doctor has asked that visitors not stay too long. Pneumonia can cause profound fatigue in the patient, you know.”

  Monica smiled. “I won’t stay any longer than is comfortable for her. Is there something I can take her?”

  Hennie gave an abrupt laugh, and Monica was surprised to see her face turn pink. “She loves those magazines that are all about gossip and the stars even though neither of us recognizes half of the names anymore. None of them can hold a candle to Bette Davis or Doris Day.”

  “You mean like Star and OK?” Monica asked.

  Hennie nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. We hardly ever buy them but we enjoy them when we have our weekly set at the beauty parlor.”

  “I think they sell them at the drugstore, and I’m on my way there now. I’ll pick up a couple to take to her.”

  “She’ll be so delighted.” Hennie clasped her hands in front of her chest. “And not only because of the magazines, but because of your company. It will mean a lot to her and no doubt will do her a world of good.”

  Monica said good-bye and left to run her errands—the hardware store first. It still had wooden floors that creaked when you walked on them and the smell peculiar to such stores—a combination of wood and metal.

  Monica quickly made her purchases and headed down the street to the drugstore. The magazine rack was full and the current issues ran the gamut from news magazines to the gossip rags Gerda was interested in, along with periodicals about boating, fishing and hunting—a triumvirate of pastimes beloved by tourists and locals alike.

  Monica scanned the headlines of the celebrity magazines. It seemed as if everyone in Hollywood was sporting a baby bump—which appeared to be the newest must-have accessory—was getting engaged or divorced or was snapped on vacation in a bikini. She found it hard to picture the staid VanVelsen sisters enjoying these sorts of stories but she supposed everyone had their guilty pleasure.

  Monica chose several magazines that she thought would be appealing, picked up her shampoo and the other items on her list and headed back to her car.

  • • •

  She was pleased to see, when she arrived at the hospital, that Gerda was propped up in bed watching a lively game show on television. She was thinner than usual and her cheeks were not as pink, but she didn’t look as ill as Monica had feared she would.

  Her pale blue eyes lit up when she saw Monica.

  “Hello, dear. How nice of you to come by.”

  “I’ve brought you something to while away the time.” Monica held out the stack of magazines. Gerda’s eyes brightened even more and the palest pink blush washed over her face.

  “How kind of you. I suppose Hennie gave away our little vice?”

  Monica nodded.

  “Don’t worry. We don’t believe half of what they print. But it is fun, don’t you think?”

  “And perfectly harmless,” Monica said as she took a seat in the chair next to the bed.

  “I’ve heard about the excitement out at Sassamanash Farm,” Gerda said, her eyes lighting up again.

  Obviously being in the hospital wasn’t enough to keep Gerda out of the loop, Monica thought.

  “I’m not sure I would call it exciting—more like frightening.”

  “Yes, of course,” Gerda said. “And that poor girl—way too young to die. She was always very kind to me whenever I visited the library.”

  “You knew Lori?”

  Gerda nodded and gave a smug little smile. “Between us, Hennie and I know nearly everyone in Cranberry Cove.” She frowned. “The permanent residents, of course, not the summer visitors. Although we have gotten to know some of the ones who come back every year for their annual holiday.”

  “How well did you know Lori Wenk?”

  Gerda pulled the blankets up to her chest with her gnarled, blue-veined hands. “Not terribly well really. But over the years I have heard a few things about her.”

  Monica’s heart rate sped up with excitement. “Such as?”

  Gerda picked at a loose thread on the blue hospital-issue blanket. “Do you know Charlie Decker?” she asked finally.

  “Yes. She runs Primrose Cottage.”

  Gerda nodded. “Charlie and Lori were about the same age and in the same grade at school. They both started jobs at the Cranberry Cove drugstore at the same time and the next thing anyone knew, they were doing everything together—sitting with each other at high school football games, having sleepovers and walking to school together. They were almost inseparable until . . .”

  Gerda paused dramatically and Monica held her breath. Gerda was as adept at keeping her audience in the palm of her hand as a professional entertainer.

  “Until?” Monica finally prompted. She realized she’d been holding her breath.

  “Until it became obvious someone was stealing merchandise from the Cranberry Cove Drugstore. Things that would be attractive to a teenager—makeup, hair color, nail polish . . . little items like that.”

  Monica tried to imagine where this was going, but couldn’t.

  “Obviously the owners—Fred Macgillicutty and his wife, Gladys—kept a keen eye on the store and didn’t think customers were pilfering the stock. They were convinced it was a member of the staff.”

  Gerda began to cough, and Monica waited on pins and needles until her coughing fit subsided and she’d wiped her mouth with a tissue.

  “They began questioning the employees who were working there at the time and when they came to Lori, she claimed to know for a fact that it was
Charlie Decker who had been doing the shoplifting.”

  There was a lengthy pause and Monica finally asked, “What happened then?” She hoped she wasn’t tiring Gerda unduly with her questions.

  “Gladys fired Charlie. Fred tried to convince her to investigate further, but Gladys had had it in for Charlie from the beginning. She’d noticed what an interest Fred had taken in Charlie and how he would look at her whenever she was in the shop.”

  Monica made a noise, and Gerda held up a hand.

  “Fred was a decent man, and he never would have taken advantage of the situation, but he had an eye for the young girls and took pleasure in looking at them.”

  “Was Charlie really the thief?” Monica asked, thinking of the woman she knew—hardworking, principled and kindhearted.

  “Probably not,” Gerda said, pausing to cough again, a tissue pressed tightly to her mouth. “The assumption was that Lori was the thief and had thrown suspicion on Charlie to save herself.”

  Monica’s breath caught in her throat. If Lori was responsible for Charlie losing her job, not to mention her reputation, would that still rankle so many years later? Would Charlie murder her because of it? The idea of Charlie Decker being responsible hardly made Monica happy.

  “What happened after Charlie was fired?” Monica asked Gerda whose eyes were beginning to flutter and close and whose breathing was becoming more labored.

  “Obviously the friendship between Lori and Charlie was over. I’d heard that Charlie vowed to get even, but I don’t think she ever did. I don’t think it’s in her nature.”

  But maybe it was, Monica thought. Had Charlie waited all this time to get her revenge against Lori?

  Chapter 11

  Tempest motioned through the window at Monica as Monica went past Twilight.

  “Good morning,” Tempest said when Monica stepped into the shop.

  Unlike most of the people in Cranberry Cove who wore serviceable jeans and T-shirts to go about their day, Tempest had donned a loose, nearly floor-length purple dress with bat-wing sleeves.

  Twilight was crowded with merchandise scattered everywhere. The glass counter in front of Tempest was filled with tarot cards, crystals, candles and incense.

  “I heard the news about that woman’s death out at your farm. This must be so distressing for you and your brother. Do they know what happened?”

  “The police are still waiting for lab reports. That should help them to determine if it was an accident or not.”

  “What do you think?”

  Monica paused. “Detective Stevens seems to think some sort of foul play was involved and I’m inclined to agree with her. The facts don’t add up any other way.”

  “I didn’t know this girl. Was she the sort someone would want to kill?”

  Monica explained about Lori and Charlie.

  “Do you really think Charlie would have held a grudge this long?” Tempest fiddled with the ornate medallion necklace she was wearing. “Besides, that doesn’t sound like the Charlie Decker we know.”

  “I didn’t think so, either,” Monica said.

  “Do the police have a suspect—assuming it really was foul play?” Tempest pulled out a pack of tarot cards and began shuffling them.

  “Not that I know of. Detective Stevens always gives the impression of being completely candid, but I seriously doubt that’s the case.”

  “Do you have any theories?” Tempest smiled as she laid out the cards from the tarot pack.

  Monica suspected Tempest was teasing her because of her involvement in the previous murders in Cranberry Cove.

  “I’m empty-handed, I’m afraid. There’s the boyfriend. . . .”

  Tempest raised her dark, arched brows. “That sounds promising.”

  Monica leaned on the counter. “I don’t know. It’s the same old, same old—she was pushing for a more serious relationship and he was trying to keep things casual.”

  Tempest snorted. “Typical male. Still, that’s hardly a reason to murder someone.”

  “That’s what Gina said.”

  “Maybe there’s more to it than that,” Tempest suggested. “Are there people who knew her that you can talk to?”

  “I may have a chat with Lori’s mother. Apparently she has some memory issues, but she still might be able to tell me something.”

  Tempest had continued to lay out the tarot cards while they talked. She pointed to one. “The Lovers. Romance. Of course, eligible men are a little thin on the ground here in Cranberry Cove, but I think I may have found an interesting one.”

  “Really?”

  Tempest nodded. “His name is Xavier Cabot. He’s a writer, and he recently moved to Cranberry Cove to work on his latest book.”

  Monica stifled the words that rose to her lips. Should she tell Tempest she wasn’t the only woman in town going after Cabot? She decided against it. Tempest would find out soon enough.

  Gina was going to be furious. It looked like Cranberry Cove was in for a match worthy of the WWE.

  Monica just hoped no one got hurt.

  • • •

  Monica made a quick call to Arline and Nora to make sure that everything was going well in the kitchen and at the farm store. She’d decided she would visit Lori Wenk’s mother before doing anything else. She got the address from Arline and scribbled it down on a piece of scrap paper she managed to find in the bottom of her purse.

  Mrs. Wenk lived several blocks in from the lake in a blue house with a three-season porch that faced the street. Despite the mild weather, the glass panels had not yet been exchanged for screens, and they were smeared with fingerprints, splashed with mud and in need of a good scrub.

  Monica rang the doorbell and waited. She peered through the smudged glass. She thought she glimpsed a shadow moving around inside the house—hopefully it was Mrs. Wenk.

  After a few minutes, a figure came out of the house and stood at the door to the porch. She looked at Monica through the glass. Monica smiled encouragingly.

  “Yes?” the woman said as she opened the door a crack. She had dyed brown hair with gray roots that was cut short, and she was wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt with a Harley-Davidson logo on it.

  “I’m Monica Albertson. I knew your daughter.”

  That wasn’t quite true, but Monica thought it would put Mrs. Wenk at ease.

  “You might as well come in then.”

  Mrs. Wenk led Monica into a living room with knotty pine paneling, a brick fireplace and worn but clean upholstered furniture. A reproduction of a painting of Lake Michigan hung over the mantelpiece.

  “I’ve hardly taken it in,” Mrs. Wenk said, her voice trembling slightly. “Lori gone. Sometimes I think it’s all been a bad dream.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Please sit down,” Mrs. Wenk said as she plopped into a floral print armchair.

  Monica perched on the edge of the matching sofa.

  Mail was scattered across the scratched surface of the oak coffee table. Most of the envelopes appeared to be bills and some had Urgent! stamped on them or Past Due. Monica wondered whether Mrs. Wenk was short of cash or if paying the bills was something Lori had taken care of for her because she couldn’t manage.

  “Did you say you wanted to ask me something?” Mrs. Wenk said, pulling on her left earlobe. “I’m afraid I’ve already forgotten what you said.”

  “I’m looking for information that might help sort out what happened to Lori.”

  “Oh, you’re with the police then.”

  “No, I’m—” Monica started to say, but Mrs. Wenk wasn’t listening.

  “The police have been here already. A nice lady with short blond hair.” Mrs. Wenk held a hand up to the level of her chin.

  “Detective Stevens?”

  “Yes, that’s who it was. Do you know her?”

&nb
sp; “Yes—”

  “She asked me all sorts of questions about Lori. She seemed to take a real interest in her.”

  Mrs. Wenk was quiet for a moment, plucking at the knees of her jeans. “What was I saying?” She looked at Monica blankly.

  “You were telling me about your daughter, Lori.”

  “She had a boyfriend—did I tell you that?”

  Monica shook her head.

  A worried look crossed Mrs. Wenk’s face. “I can’t remember his name, I’m afraid. Maybe it will come to me. Anyway, they were planning on getting married. Lori’s been keeping a scrapbook of wedding ideas since she was a teenager.” She smiled at Monica. “Most girls dream about their wedding, don’t they?”

  Monica realized she had never fantasized about her wedding or being married. Was that really so unusual?

  “She got herself a real nice young man.”

  Mrs. Wenk couldn’t possibly be talking about Dale, Monica thought. When she’d talked to him, he’d made it quite clear that his and Lori’s relationship was strictly no strings attached.

  “Lori clips pictures from bridal magazines and posts them on her bulletin board in her room. Turquoise—that is going to be the color. She wants a beach theme—the bridesmaids in turquoise gowns and the tables set with turquoise cloths with white overlays. It’s going to be so pretty.”

  “It sounds like it.”

  Monica was still trying to reconcile what Mrs. Wenk was telling her with what she already knew about Lori and what she’d learned from Dale. Either Lori had been delusional or she was seeing someone else on the side—someone no one knew about?

  “She’s even bought her gown. They were having a sale at a bridal shop in Grand Rapids, and she didn’t want to miss her chance to get the dress she’d fallen in love with at such a good price.” Mrs. Wenk’s face brightened. “Would you like to see it?”