by Peg Cochran
Monica examined the woman who had been identified as Culbert’s wife. Even from a distance, she could tell that Andrea’s clothes were well made and expensive. Just then, Andrea raised a hand to her carefully coiffed hair, and the large diamond ring on her finger winked in the light coming through the stained-glass windows.
“I don’t imagine she’s any sorrier to see the end of Sam Culbert than the rest of us,” Hennie whispered to Monica.
“Who? His wife?”
Hennie was about to answer when the organ music, which had been playing softly in the background, swelled, and the congregation rose to its feet. A hush settled over the crowd as a highly burnished wood casket was rolled down the aisle.
Hennie whispered in Monica’s ear. “Culbert treated his wife very badly. Old Doc Hadley said one time he was called out to—” Hennie put a hand over her mouth. “I really shouldn’t be telling tales out of school. Suffice it to say that any tears Andrea Culbert sheds will be crocodile tears.”
• • •
Talk in the Sassamanash Farm store later that afternoon centered around Culbert’s funeral and that evening’s fundraiser—the spaghetti supper for Charlie’s mother. To Monica, it sounded as if the whole town was going to be there, much as they had turned out en masse for Culbert’s funeral. The event ought to bring in plenty of money for Debbie’s medical bills.
Monica had been hoping to get Jeff to go with her. He needed to do something to take his mind off of everything that had happened, but he claimed he was too tired. He and his crew were still harvesting the crop and had several more bogs to do before the season would be over.
Gina had offered to pick Monica up, and Monica couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough to say no. She just hoped Gina would wear something appropriate. Now that Gina was going to live in Cranberry Cove, she was going to have to give her wardrobe a makeover if she didn’t want to stand out among the locals.
Then again, Monica had never known Gina to not want to stand out.
Gina arrived fifteen minutes late—early for her—and Monica was pleased to see that her outfit was at least partially appropriate. She was wearing her leopard-print trench coat but underneath she had on dark slacks and a bright red silk blouse. As far as Gina’s outfits were concerned, this one was almost subdued enough for a funeral.
The supper was being held at the Central Reformed Church, where a lot of events in Cranberry Cove took place—from wedding receptions to funeral luncheons to meetings of the Women’s Garden Club. The church was a large, redbrick building just off the village green—as solid and stalwart as the members of its congregation.
Gina maneuvered her car down Beach Hollow Road. All the parking spaces were already taken, and cars lined the streets branching off from the village green.
“Looks like the whole town has turned out,” Gina said as she went around the block again, hoping a space would appear.
“That’s good news for Charlie, I guess.”
“Oh, look.” Gina pointed ahead of her, where there was an open space along the curb. She hit the gas, and they flew forward.
“Rats,” Gina said when they got closer and noticed the bright yellow fire hydrant. “I have half a mind to park here anyway.” But she continued slowly down the street, her eyes scanning the parked cars for an opening.
In the end they had to leave the car in the parking lot of the Cranberry Cove High School. It was a bit of a walk to the church, and Gina complained every step of the way.
“Maybe you should have worn different shoes,” Monica finally said when Gina twisted her ankle on a bit of uneven pavement.
“I didn’t realize we were going to have to hike to the supper,” Gina shot back.
Monica was glad she’d worn loafers, and she was grateful for the pair of gloves she found tucked in the pocket of her jacket. The evening air was growing colder.
Finally they were in sight of the church.
“I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for the fact that I’m about to open a business here,” Gina grumbled. “I would have gladly settled for writing a check and sending it in, but I have to show the locals that I’m one of them.”
Monica looked at Gina and her leopard-print coat, high-heeled peep-toe shoes and casually upswept hair and stifled a laugh. She had a feeling that Gina could live in Cranberry Cove for the next couple of centuries and still not fit in.
A handmade poster-board sign outside the church directed them around to the back, where a door was propped open and another handmade sign announced the spaghetti supper.
Monica and Gina descended the three cement stairs leading to the open door. Dried leaves were caught in the door well and crunched under their feet. The entrance led to another, longer set of stairs—metal with a bright red railing—that took them to the floor below.
Noise rose up the stairs to greet them—chattering voices, clattering plates and crying babies.
“Sounds like Kleinfeld’s when they have their annual sale,” Gina said as they paused in the open doorway.
It was a large room with windows placed high on the cinder block walls. Long tables were covered in white plastic cloths, with aluminum folding chairs placed as close together as possible around them. Another long table was set up at the back of the room in front of a pass-through to a kitchen. Several women stood behind it dishing out the evening’s fare of spaghetti, salad and garlic bread on paper plates.
Monica and Gina hesitated in the entrance. Monica scanned the crowd for anyone they knew. The tables were crowded but there were still a few seats scattered here and there.
A woman with very dark hair, the sort of blue eyes that only came from colored contact lenses and bright red lipstick swept toward them. She was wearing a purple caftan and had a large crystal on a black silk cord around her neck. If possible, she looked even more out of place than Gina.
“You must be the new girl out at Sassamanash Farm,” she said, shaking Monica’s hand.
Monica was no longer surprised that everyone knew who she was. “Yes. I’m Monica.” She turned to Gina. “And this is my stepmother, Gina.”
The woman stuck out her hand to Gina. “Tempest Storm,” she said in her deep voice. “I run Twilight, the New Age shop in town. I’m the town oddball, as I imagine you’ve already guessed.” She smiled at them. “Welcome to Cranberry Cove.”
She swept a hand around the room. “Looks like you’ll get to meet all the locals at once. Sort of baptism by fire. They’re not a bad bunch though—just suspicious of anyone who hasn’t been here for at least three generations. Not that I blame them. Wait till summer when the tourists arrive from the four corners of the globe. We resent them at the same time we acknowledge we depend on their business.” She fingered the crystal around her neck. “I hope you’ll stop by the shop one day. We have yoga classes, too, if you’re interested.”
Monica made a noncommittal reply.
“There are some empty seats at my table. Why don’t you join me?” She looked at Gina and smiled. “You look like a kindred spirit.”
“I’d like to think so,” Gina said. “I’m opening an aromatherapy shop. It’s going to be down by the hardware store.”
“You don’t say?” Tempest said as they made their way through the packed tables.
Monica noticed more than one head swivel in their direction, following their progress across the crowded room.
A small boy with red hair and freckles came around the corner full tilt and ran smack into Monica. A young woman in a faded flower-print dress was right behind him. She grabbed him by the strap of his overalls and pulled him to a halt. “Now, Freddie, apologize to the lady.” She smiled shyly at Monica.
“That’s okay—”
“No, no. He needs to learn to watch where he’s going.” The woman gave the boy a slight shake.
His face had turned bright red so that all his freckles looked
as if they had blended together. “I’m sorry,” he said, more to his shoes than to Monica.
“That’s okay,” Monica said again.
The woman beamed. “Good boy, Freddie. Now let’s go get you some ice cream.”
As soon as she let go of Freddie, he was off again as if he’d been catapulted from a slingshot. His mother gave Monica a rueful glance as she took off in pursuit.
They caught up with Tempest, who had turned to wait for them. “I’m right over there.” She pointed to a table with three empty seats. “You go get your food, and I’ll save you a place.” She put a hand to her mouth. “I don’t mean to strong-arm you. If you’d rather sit somewhere else, please feel free.”
“We’d love to sit with you. Thanks for asking us.”
Monica was glad of Tempest’s invitation. She had been hoping to find Greg Harper there, but she didn’t see him and was disappointed. Perhaps he had changed his mind about attending.
Monica and Gina joined the line of people waiting for their meal.
“I would still have rather sent a check,” Gina whispered to Monica as they held out their plates.
A woman in an apron and a hairnet, her round face red and perspiring, ladled a serving of spaghetti and meatballs onto each of their plates.
“Salads are over there. Help yourself.” She looked up. “Oh. You’re out at Sassamanash Farm, aren’t you? How are you getting on? Got the crop harvested yet?”
Once again, Monica realized that living in a small town was not unlike living in the proverbial fishbowl.
“My brother is harvesting now.”
“Got a good crop, has he?” The woman picked up a paper towel and wiped a spot of sauce off the tablecloth. She looked Gina up and down curiously. “We heard about the body.” She put her hands on her hips and blew a piece of hair that had escaped from her hairnet off her forehead. “Not surprised. Nobody around here liked Sam Culbert. Threw his weight around if you know what I mean.”
Monica nodded and smiled. “That’s what I’ve heard.”
“Practically everyone in town had a reason to want to see him six feet under. Especially that wife of his, poor thing.”
“Really?” Monica could sense Gina’s impatience to get moving, but she didn’t want to lose any opportunity to learn more about Culbert.
The woman laughed. “I guess every woman would like to see her husband six feet under at some point. Still, we didn’t expect Culbert to come to such an untimely end.” She gave another laugh that shook her ample belly. “That enough for you?” She gestured toward Monica and Gina’s plates.
Monica looked at the generous serving. “Plenty, thank you.”
The woman nodded and reached for her spoon to serve the next person in line.
“Looks like everyone knows you already,” Gina said as they heaped salad onto their plates.
“That’s small town living for you.”
A slightly worried look creased Gina’s brow and was immediately gone. She probably didn’t want to wrinkle her forehead, Monica thought. It was unnaturally smooth as it was, and Monica strongly suspected that Botox had been involved.
They made their way through the crowded room and back toward where Tempest was sitting.
They had just settled in with their plates when Tempest turned to Gina. “So you’re opening an aromatherapy shop? It will be interesting to see what the locals make of that. I don’t think a single one of them has ever darkened the doorway of Twilight. I’m sure they think I have two heads and cast spells turning men into toads.” She laughed. “Although that’s not such a bad idea if you ask me.” She shook her head. “Even the yoga classes scare them, although I have a small but loyal following. I’ve assured the few others who have dared to ask about them that there’s nothing necessarily mystical or pagan about twisting yourself into downward facing dog or triangle pose. If it were a couple of centuries ago, I’m sure they’d have burned me at the stake by now.”
“Why stay in Cranberry Cove then?” Monica put her napkin in her lap.
Tempest leaned back in her chair and folded her hands on top of the table. “It’s a long story. Short version—I spent the last three years caring for my mother. When she finally passed away, I wanted something completely new and different. I liked the idea of living by the lake, the shop was available and . . .” She spread her hands open. “Here I am. And you? I’ve heard you’ve come to help your brother with the farm.”
Monica nodded.
“Do you think you’ll put down roots here permanently?”
“I honestly don’t know at this point.”
“And what brings you here?” Tempest turned to Gina.
Gina patted her lips with her napkin. “The usual. Divorce. Finding myself at loose ends. Wanting to be near my son.” She frowned. “I hope I’ve made the right decision.” Gina looked around the room. “I must say, the people here sure do help their own.”
Monica nodded. “It looks like they’re going to raise a lot of money.”
“It will help. But these suppers don’t really bring in all that much money. Not when you consider the work involved. I tried to tell Karla that, but she didn’t want to listen.”
Tempest must have noticed the blank look on Monica’s and Gina’s faces.
“Karla organized the whole affair. She’s Debbie’s oldest friend. They met in the womb, or so they would like you to believe, and haven’t been apart since. Organizing is what Karla does best. She’d organize the leaves falling off the trees in the fall if it were possible.” She shrugged. “At least it looks as if we’re making an effort to help, and I suppose that’s what counts.” She speared the last meatball on her plate, then glanced up at Monica and Gina. “I hope it isn’t all in vain.”
Monica stopped with a forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”
“They had to rush Debbie to the hospital the other night. I was still at the shop putting out some new stock when I heard the ambulance go screaming past. Charlie’s beat-up old van wasn’t far behind.”
Monica was very still. “When was this?”
“Oh.” Tempest blew out a puff of air. “It was the night before Culbert’s body was found. I remember thinking about that old saying that things come in threes. I couldn’t help but wonder what would be next.”
“Do you remember what time it was?”
“Around ten o’clock maybe?” Tempest pushed her empty plate away. “I live above the shop—it isn’t fancy but it sure is convenient. It was after midnight when I heard Charlie on her way home. That old rattletrap she drives makes a heck of a noise. I’d just turned off the television and was getting ready for bed when I heard it clanking and screeching down the street loud enough to wake the dead.”
Monica and Gina exchanged glances. If what Tempest said was true, and Charlie was at the hospital with her mother that night, then Mauricio didn’t have an alibi. Who was to say he didn’t sober up long enough to leave Primrose Cottage, drive out to Sassamanash Farm and murder Culbert?
Chapter 11
Monica and Gina lingered at the table even after Tempest had excused herself and left for home. The noise level in the room had diminished slightly and people were sitting with their empty plates pushed away from them, their elbows on the table, enjoying quiet conversation with those around them. It was obvious no one was in any hurry to leave. Monica had the sense that they were waiting for something.
Gina turned to Monica. “How do you suppose Mauricio knew that Sam Culbert was going to be out at the farm?”
“He didn’t have to. Mauricio could have called Culbert himself and told him he had something important to discuss with him and could they meet out at Sassamanash.”
Gina pursed her lips. “I suppose it’s possible. It seems like a strange place to meet someone at night.” She shivered. “It would certainly creep me out.”
“But not the two of them. They were both familiar with the farm, and they knew no one would see them there. Mauricio wouldn’t want anybody to know about their meeting. Especially if he planned on killing Culbert. You’ve already seen how nosy a small town can be.”
Gina straightened the collar on her silk blouse. “That’s for sure.”
A clanking noise came from the far corner of the room, and they both turned in that direction. The huge pots of spaghetti had been cleared from the table, and a very tall and robust-looking gray-haired woman was setting up a couple of deep fryers in their place.
“What do you suppose those are for?” Gina wrinkled her nose.
Monica shrugged. “I have no idea, but I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.” She smiled. “This has been fun, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so. The pasta couldn’t hold a candle to the farfalle with Bolognese sauce at La Traviata though.”
Monica laughed. “I don’t imagine it could. But I like the feeling of community. It’s nice after being anonymous for so long in Chicago. Even the people who came to Monica’s on a regular basis rarely ever acknowledged that we recognized each other.”
Someone got up from one of the tables—a man with a very broad back in a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Monica peered through the gap his absence had created.
“Oh, there’re the VanVelsen sisters.”
“The who?” Gina looked in the direction Monica was pointing.
“The VanVelsen twins. They own Gumdrops, the candy shop on Beach Hollow Road.”
Gina squinted into the distance. “My goodness, the two of them look exactly alike!”
“They’re identical twins.”
“I thought I was seeing double,” Gina said, echoing the reaction that Monica had had on her first visit to Gumdrops.
“I’m going to go over and say hello. Do you want to—”
Gina was already shaking her head. “I’ll wait for you here. To be honest with you, I’m starting to get a headache.”
“I’m sorry. Should we—”
