by Peg Cochran
“Fine. I’ll take two of those then.”
The double swinging door to the processing area opened, and Jeff stuck his head out.
“Monica? Could you come in here, please?”
He looked worried, Monica thought. What was going on?
“Can you manage by yourself for a minute?” she asked Darlene.
A look of panic crossed Darlene’s face, but she nodded yes.
“I’ll only be a minute, I’m sure.”
As soon as Monica walked into the screening room behind Jeff, she realized whose car she had recognized outside. Detective Stevens was perched on a desk chair Jeff had wheeled out from the office for her.
She gave Monica a brief smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt your workday. But I need to get this case wrapped up as soon as possible.” She indicated her belly with a rueful smile. “For more reasons than one.”
Monica was too tense to even smile at the joke.
Stevens looked toward Monica. “I understand you were helping your brother with the cranberry harvest when the body was found, correct?”
Monica nodded. Her mouth had suddenly dried up, and her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth.
“You had a crew member by the name of Mauricio.” It was a statement, not a question. “I also understand that this Mauricio took off before the police arrived on the scene.”
Jeff looked as uncomfortable as Monica felt. He gave a small nod.
“And yet nobody thought to mention it to me?”
Monica cleared her throat. “We were all in shock. I’m sure you can understand that.” She wasn’t about to let this detective browbeat them, even if she and Jeff had been in the wrong. Monica shot a glance at Jeff then turned back to Stevens. “How did you . . .”
Stevens frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t say. But I’m hoping you can give me some information. We’re trying to track this Mauricio down. It’s quite possible he’s completely innocent, but until we talk to him, we can’t rule him out as a suspect. Do you have his address? Has he been back to the farm here?”
Jeff ran a hand across his forehead. “No, he hasn’t. And I’m afraid I don’t know where he lives. All I have is his name and social security number.”
Stevens raised her eyebrows.
Jeff shrugged. “We hire a lot of seasonal help. Some of them may not have a permanent address.”
Stevens looked doubtful but didn’t press the point. Monica almost opened her mouth to say something about Charlie Decker, but bit her tongue.
“Do you have any idea why Mauricio would be trying to avoid the police?”
Jeff quickly shook his head, and Monica hoped her face wasn’t turning red. She figured it wouldn’t be too long before Stevens put two and two together. She was obviously a bright woman.
Stevens looked from one to the other of them and then began to struggle to her feet.
“I hope you will be in touch if you hear from Mauricio.” She handed them each a business card.
“We will,” Monica assured her as she tucked the card into the pocket of her jeans.
Stevens nodded and made her way to the door.
The interview left Monica with a decidedly unsettled feeling. Was it because she knew more than she had admitted to the detective? She was definitely going to make a clean breast of it eventually. But if Stevens continued to focus on Mauricio, then she would leave Jeff alone. And Monica would have the chance to do a little investigating of her own.
• • •
Monica had invited Gina and Jeff for dinner that evening, but Gina had insisted on taking them to the restaurant at the Cranberry Cove Inn instead—her treat.
Monica pulled a deep green knitted dress from the back of her closet. She had a pair of black suede boots she’d purchased on impulse after seeing them in the window of a shop on Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. That was when she was still with Ted, and their dates had often included fancy, five-star restaurants.
The dining room at Cranberry Cove Inn was as close as Cranberry Cove came to having a five-star restaurant. Monica hadn’t been yet, but she’d heard people talking about it. Tourists dined there regularly—locals only went for special occasions like engagements, silver wedding anniversaries and fiftieth birthdays. And most of them avoided the place during tourist season, when they were apt to feel out of place despite the fact that the Inn was in their own backyard.
The Inn dated from the late 1800s, when tourists first discovered Cranberry Cove. It had been added on to and shored up many times in the intervening years. Some of the additions had been more successful than others. The main part of the Inn was white with black shutters and had a picket fence running along the front. It stood on a bluff above the lake and had a commanding view of the water.
Gina roared up to Monica’s cottage in her Mercedes, half an hour late. She was in one of her over-the-top outfits with a short skirt, plenty of cleavage and her hair in its usual casual, but artfully arranged, disarray.
“Jeffie, darling, you don’t mind driving, do you? I always think it’s peculiar to see a car pull up with a woman driving when there’s a perfectly capable man riding shotgun.”
“No problem.”
Jeff slid behind the wheel, and Monica thought he looked uncomfortable in his unaccustomed sport coat and tie.
Fifteen minutes later, Jeff pulled up in front of the Cranberry Cove Inn. The Inn boasted valet parking so Jeff handed the keys to an attendant in a short black jacket and white shirt.
“You be careful with my car, now,” Gina called after him as he got behind the wheel of her Mercedes.
Monica couldn’t help but notice Jeff wince slightly. Gina’s perfume left a trail behind her as they followed her into the lobby, where one of the staff immediately came rushing forward.
“Good evening, Mrs. Albertson. How are you tonight?”
Monica felt the jolt she always did at someone other than her mother being called Mrs. Albertson.
“We’ve got reservations in the dining room,” Gina said. “Although I’m afraid we’re a wee bit late.” She pouted prettily.
“No problem. The maître d’ is holding your table. If you’ll come this way.”
The young man escorted them to the door of the dining room and, with a flourish, turned them over to the care of the maître d’.
The maître d’ led them to a table for four, which was strategically situated in front of a large window that overlooked the lake. If it hadn’t been overcast, they would have had a beautiful view of the last rays of the sun as it set over Lake Michigan. Lights were coming on along the promenade that ran the length of the beach in back of the hotel, and they twinkled in the twilight.
“Isn’t this nice? All of us together,” Gina said as she took her seat.
Jeff ran a finger around the collar of his shirt and smiled wanly.
A waiter appeared to take their drink order, and Gina ordered a bottle of champagne.
The waiter reappeared in minutes bearing a silver ice bucket on a stand. The neck of a bottle of expensive champagne poked out the top. He set it down, deftly removed the cork and filled their glasses.
As soon as the waiter was finished, Gina raised her flute in a toast. “Here’s to my new venture,” she said before taking a sip of her drink.
Jeff choked slightly on his champagne. “New venture?”
Gina nodded. “Yes. I’ve really gotten to like it here in Cranberry Cove, and I don’t have anything tying me to Chicago anymore.”
By now Jeff was beginning to look really alarmed, and Monica, too, felt a sense of unease. They exchanged surreptitious glances.
“So I’ve decided to stay here.” Gina punctuated her announcement with a sip of her drink.
“You mean for a couple of weeks?” Jeff asked hopefully.
Gina shook her head. “No. Permanently.”
&nb
sp; “But what will you do?” Monica asked, thinking of all the things that Gina was used to having at her disposal in a big city like Chicago.
Gina waggled her finger at them playfully. “I’m going to open an aromatherapy shop.”
For a moment, Monica and Jeff sat in silence, stunned by Gina’s announcement.
“What’s aromatherapy?” Jeff asked, breaking the awkward pause.
“It’s kind of hard to explain, but aromatherapy uses the scent of essential oils to bring harmony to the body and to make you feel good.” Gina leaned forward, warming to her topic. “For instance, lavender relieves stress and is marvelous if you have a migraine. I absolutely swear by it when I get one of my headaches.”
“But . . . but . . . where is this shop going to be?” Jeff fanned himself with the pages of his menu.
“You know that empty space down by the hardware store? I signed the lease today, and the carpenters begin work right away.”
“This is so sudden,” said Monica. The very thought of plunging into a venture like this with so little forethought made her panic. She could practically feel her throat closing up.
“You have to seize the moment.” Gina picked up her menu. “Now, what are you all planning on ordering?”
They were halfway through the first course when one of the busboys approached Jeff.
“Aren’t you living the high life tonight?” He slapped Jeff on the back.
Jeff’s face broke into a broad smile. He jumped up from his seat and pumped the young man’s hand. “Kevin! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“And I sure didn’t expect to see you,” Kevin shot back.
Monica thought she had seen the young man before, but she couldn’t place him. There was something about his curly blond hair that seemed familiar.
“Picking cranberries doesn’t pay all that much,” Kevin said with an impish glint in his blue eyes. “I have to moonlight.”
Jeff hung his head. “I know. I wish I could pay you guys more, but until Sassamanash Farm is in the black . . .”
Kevin slapped Jeff on the back again. “It’s alright, old man, don’t worry about it. It’s just that my girlfriend is out of work at the moment, and there’s the rent to pay.”
Jeff turned toward the table. “Gina, Monica, this is Kevin. He’s on my crew at the farm.”
Kevin nodded toward each of the women in turn. Suddenly Monica recognized him—he was the worker she had noticed who wore a knitted cap pulled down low over his curly blond hair.
“Didn’t Ashley used to work here?” Jeff asked.
“Yeah. But that wretch Culbert got her fired.”
Jeff’s eyebrows shot up. Monica leaned closer so she could hear their conversation.
“She was having a bad night. Had stomach cramps and was coming down with a fever. She wasn’t at her best. She accidentally spilled a drop of a drink on Culbert, and he was furious. Called the manager over—the whole show. Culbert insisted Ashley be let go. He’s a big customer here—the manager didn’t have any choice.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Kevin shrugged. “She’ll find something else. Maybe something better. She’s a trained fitness instructor. There just isn’t much call for them around here.”
Kevin shot a look over his shoulder. He slapped Jeff on the back again. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He took off at a trot.
“He seems like a nice young man,” Gina said.
They were quiet for a moment as they waited for the rest of their meal.
Monica had finally decided on the duck a l’orange. It wasn’t something she ever made for herself, despite the fact that it was one of her favorite dishes.
Finally the waiter appeared, and slipped their entrees in front of them.
Gina lifted a forkful of salmon with dill sauce to her mouth. “It certainly seems that there were plenty of people out there with a reason to wish Sam Culbert six feet under.”
“Let’s talk about something else, alright?” Jeff threw his napkin down on the table. “Excuse me for a moment, please.”
“Well!” Gina said as she watched Jeff walk away. She turned to Monica. “I hope you can be excited for me and my plans.”
For a moment Monica couldn’t find the words to respond. “Yes. Certainly.”
Gina caught and held Monica’s gaze. “It’s just that there’s nothing left for me in Chicago. I never planned to be a divorcee again at my age.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m a little old to go back on the market. The only men who would be interested in me now are octogenarians, I’m afraid.” She made a face. “And I can’t bear being alone. Here I’d have you and Jeff.”
Monica swallowed a piece of duck, and it went down the wrong way. She began to cough. She gulped some ice water. “Of course we’re pleased for you, Gina. And I’m sure we’ll both enjoy having you here.” The words stuck in Monica’s throat much as the duck had done.
Gina beamed. “That’s wonderful then!” She snapped her fingers and called for the waiter.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile.
“Another bottle of champagne, please. We’re celebrating.”
Chapter 10
Monica woke with a slight headache the next morning. That would teach her to overindulge in champagne. But it had been fun to get out for the evening and away from all the problems of Sam Culbert’s murder, as well as the dwindling finances of Sassamanash Farm.
Sam Culbert’s funeral was being held at St. Andrew’s Episcopal church early that morning. Jeff felt he ought to go since he’d known Culbert and also because his absence would set tongues wagging. The townspeople didn’t know Jeff had been cheated by Culbert, and he wanted it to stay that way. Not to protect Culbert’s reputation, of course, but to keep people from realizing that Jeff had a good motive for Culbert’s murder. Monica offered to go with him even though she’d never met Culbert, because she suspected Jeff could use some moral support.
Monica drove them in her Focus. The sun was shining, which seemed at odds with the solemnity of the occasion. She glanced at Jeff, who looked just as uncomfortable in his jacket and tie as he had the previous night at dinner. His face was pinched, and she could see the muscle working in his jaw.
Beach Hollow Road was crawling with traffic, and their progress was slow.
Jeff pointed out the window. “Look at all these cars. You’d think it was the height of summer.”
“I can’t imagine sleepy little Cranberry Cove crowded with strangers.”
Jeff turned to Monica. “You’ll see when June gets here.” His tone was ominous.
The parking lot was already filling up when they arrived at the church. For someone so disliked, it looked as if Culbert would have quite a crowd at his funeral.
St. Andrew’s was set on a slight hill, back from the road, and surrounded by large trees that created a colorful canopy of red and yellow leaves over the old church’s slightly leaky roof. A winding, badly cracked and uneven cement path led to heavy, ornate wood doors that had been thrown open for the occasion. Soft organ music drifted out as Monica and Jeff made their way up the path.
“Let’s sit toward the back,” Jeff whispered as they paused just inside the door.
An usher, whom Monica recognized as Bart Dykema from the butcher shop, came toward them. He looked odd without his white apron. He was wearing a black suit, and the buttons of his jacket strained against his ample stomach, as if he had purchased the suit when he was considerably slimmer. He led them to an empty pew.
Monica looked around the church. She was surprised to see Darlene up front. But then she remembered that Darlene cleaned for the Culberts. Monica supposed she didn’t want to miss the funeral. It looked as if everyone in Cranberry Cove had stopped what they were normally doing in order to attend.
Monica was reading through the program when she sensed someo
ne sitting down beside her. She looked up to see the VanVelsen sisters sliding into the pew. Today they were wearing muted gray dresses and matching coats and hats.
Hennie smiled when she recognized Monica. “Quite a turnout, isn’t it?”
“I’m rather surprised considering . . .” Monica hesitated.
“You mean considering Culbert wasn’t very well liked?” Hennie shook her head. “Weddings, funerals, Fourth of July parades—anything that gives the residents of Cranberry Cove an opportunity to get together is going to be well attended.” She waved a hand around the church. “I’m afraid all this has nothing to do with Sam Culbert.”
There was a bit of a commotion at the front of the church, and Monica strained to see over the heads blocking her view. A woman was being led to the front pew. A tall, thin gray-haired man held her elbow solicitously. She slid into the pew, and he followed her.
Gerda touched Monica’s arm. “There’s Andrea Culbert, Sam Culbert’s wife.” She pointed to the woman. A handful of people had filed in behind the couple. “I wonder who that man is?”
Hennie leaned forward. “That must be her brother,” she said with a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “You know Deirdre—she’s the receptionist at the Cranberry Cove Inn?”
Gerda straightened her shoulders. “Of course I know Deirdre,” she said, sounding slightly miffed. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I was talking to Monica,” Hennie said with great dignity. “Deirdre came in yesterday for a bag of those Swedish fish her sister likes, the poor thing. Her sister’s been in a wheelchair ever since she had that accident in high school,” she explained to Monica. “Deirdre told me that Andrea Culbert’s brother had just arrived and had checked into the Inn.”
Gerda scowled. “You didn’t tell me that.”
Hennie pulled her coat more closely around her shoulders. “I’m certain I did, dear. You just don’t remember. You haven’t been quite yourself lately.”
Monica hid a smile. The VanVelsen sisters presented a united front to the world, but there was obviously some dissension between them in private.
