by Peg Cochran
“Yes, thank you,” Monica said obligingly.
The conversation was giving her a bizarrely unsettled feeling. Mrs. Wenk had acknowledged her daughter’s death when Monica first arrived, but now she was talking as if Lori was still alive. Monica felt like Alice must have after falling down the rabbit hole.
With an effort, Mrs. Wenk heaved herself out of her chair, accidentally banging her knee against the coffee table. A number of envelopes slid off it and onto the floor.
“I’ll get them,” Monica said.
Monica squatted to pick up the scattered envelopes and noticed that one appeared to be a bill from a mortgage company and another a letter from a local bank. She replaced them on the table. Hopefully someone would step in and help Mrs. Wenk with her finances soon. Maybe Arline would be willing to do it?
Mrs. Wenk led Monica down a short hallway to a small bedroom at the end. A twin bed covered in a ruffled pink spread more suitable for a girl than a grown woman was pushed against the wall. A collection of dolls in ornate satin dresses sat on top of a worn-looking dresser and pictures of bridal gowns and wedding decorations were pinned to the bulletin board hanging above it.
The door to the closet was cracked open. Mrs. Wenk made her way toward it. She opened it and stuck her head inside. Monica heard hangers clacking against each other as Mrs. Wenk rifled through the garments hanging on the rod. A moment later she pulled out a large garment bag with a zipper up the front. Monica could see yards of white satin and lace through the clear plastic.
Mrs. Wenk laid the bag down on the bed and began fumbling with the zipper. She finally got it open and managed to wrestle the dress from the confines of the bag. The gown slowly doubled in size as it was released from its protective plastic.
“It’s a Disney Princess gown,” Mrs. Wenk said as she smoothed out the lace bodice and fluffed the skirt. “It’s Belle’s gown from Beauty and the Beast.”
The dress was strapless with a sweetheart neckline and a full skirt that reminded Monica of a tiered wedding cake with ruffled icing.
“It’s lovely,” she said as Mrs. Wenk looked at her expectantly.
A pleased expression spread across Mrs. Wenk’s face. “I’ve remembered the young man’s name finally. It’s Dale.” She twisted her hands together. “Of course I’ve forgotten his last name. I’ll have to find out from Lori for the invitations.”
Mrs. Wenk carefully stuffed the dress back into its bag and hung it in the closet.
“Were Lori and Dale engaged then?” Monica asked as she followed Mrs. Wenk back to the living room and took a seat on the sofa again.
Mrs. Wenk frowned. “I think they had an understanding. It wasn’t official yet, and he hadn’t given her a ring, although Lori said he would soon. She’d already picked it out. She wanted a marquise cut and a diamond wedding band to go with it.” Mrs. Wenk twisted the thin gold band on her finger around and around. “They planned to make the announcement at Christmas.”
Monica didn’t want to burst Mrs. Wenk’s bubble so she chose her words with care.
“I talked to her boyfriend, Dale, and he . . .” She hesitated. “He seemed to think the relationship was actually quite casual—he said that he and Lori had gone out a few times but that was all. He didn’t mention an engagement ring or a wedding.”
Mrs. Wenk nodded. “I know. That’s okay. Lori told me she was positive she could bring him around. She’s a smart girl, my Lori.” She tapped a finger to her own head. “She said she had a plan.”
• • •
Monica had a lot to think about as she drove back to Sassamanash Farm. What kind of plan did Lori have to force Dale into marriage? Who would want to do that anyway? She couldn’t imagine being married to someone who had dragged his feet down the aisle to the altar. How long would a marriage like that last?
Monica turned into the drive that led to Sassamanash Farm, her tires kicking up dust and gravel as she traversed the ruts and bumps. She pulled into the lot in front of the farm store and parked the car. She thought she’d better check on Nora before heading to the kitchen. She was going to be up to her elbows in flour for the rest of the day.
The shop was empty when Monica opened the door, but she was pleased to see that the trays of baked goods were nearly empty, with only the odd muffin or scone left gracing them.
Nora wasn’t behind the counter, but just then the door to the restroom opened and she came out. Her eyes looked as if she hadn’t slept well—bloodshot with dark circles underneath—and the tip of her nose was red. Monica suspected she had been crying.
Nora gave a broad smile when she saw her, but it didn’t fool Monica. It was plain to see that Nora was upset. Monica didn’t want to intrude—while she and Nora had gotten to know each other over the months, they were hardly confidantes yet. But she didn’t feel she could or should ignore the fact that Nora had obviously been crying.
“We had a busy morning,” Nora said with forced cheerfulness.
“I can see that. I’d better get back to the kitchen and start getting some things going and in the oven.”
“I was about to have my lunch,” Nora said, pulling a brown paper bag from underneath the counter.
She took out a sandwich wrapped in wax paper and an apple and placed them on the counter. She unwrapped the sandwich and was about to take a bite when she put it down abruptly.
“I guess I’m not really all that hungry,” she said.
Monica hesitated for a second. “Is everything okay?”
“Sure.” Nora rolled the wax paper from her sandwich into a ball and squeezed it as if it were a rubber stress ball.
Monica didn’t want to force Nora to reveal anything she wasn’t comfortable with and was about to turn away when Nora blurted out, “Yes, something is wrong. I don’t know what to do or think.” She buried her face in her hands.
“What is it?” Monica put a hand on Nora’s shoulder. She could feel it shaking.
“Detective Stevens,” Nora began before she started to cry again. She looked at Monica, her eyes wide and brimming with tears behind her round glasses. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What to do about what?”
“Rick.” Nora unraveled the piece of wax paper, spread it out on the counter and began to methodically shred it into thin strips.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened.”
Nora took a gulp that turned into a hiccough. “Detective Stevens came to the house to question me. I can’t begin to imagine what the neighbors are thinking.”
Monica pictured Stevens’s car in her mind’s eye.
“Her car is unmarked. There’s nothing on it to indicate that she’s from the police. I’m sure your neighbors never guessed.”
“You’re probably right.” Nora sniffed. “I’m probably worried for nothing.”
“What did Stevens want?” Monica asked as gently as possible.
“She wanted to confirm that Rick was with me around the time of the murder.” She tugged at her curly brown hair. “Monica, I couldn’t lie. I had to tell her the truth—that I had no idea where Rick was at the time because he wasn’t with me.”
Monica could sympathize, and understood completely. She wouldn’t have been able to lie, either.
“And now both Rick and I are suspects again.” Nora picked at the crust on her sandwich. “It’s even worse for Rick. Arline told Detective Stevens that Rick asked her to tell Lori he needed help with the hives. He denies it, of course, but there’s no way to prove it.”
“If Rick wasn’t here at the farm, he must have been somewhere, right? And that would give him an alibi. Did you ask him where he went after leaving here?”
“That’s the problem,” Nora said, twisting the paper bag in both hands. “I did ask him. But he refused to tell me.”
• • •
Monica couldn’t imagine what could be so secret th
at Rick didn’t want to tell his own wife. He hadn’t been gone from the farm all that long when Lori’s body was discovered. He couldn’t have gone far. Surely someone had seen him or passed him on the road and would remember?
She said good-bye to Nora and made the short walk around the building to the kitchen. She realized she hadn’t eaten yet and was starving. Fortunately she kept lunch fixings in the refrigerator so she wouldn’t have to go all the way back to her cottage.
Arline was pulling a baking sheet from the oven when Monica walked in. It was a new recipe Monica had been toying with—chocolate chip cranberry cookies.
“They smell good,” Monica said as she peered over Arline’s shoulder.
As soon as they were cool enough to handle, she’d taste one. She had her fingers crossed that this would be a successful new product for the store.
Arline removed the cookies from the baking sheet and placed them on a rack to cool.
“How are your classes going?” Monica asked as she tied an apron around her waist.
Arline shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I’ll know for sure after I take my finals. I think I’m doing pretty well in nineteenth century English literature, but chemistry”—she rolled her eyes—“is really kicking my butt.”
“I saw Lori’s mother today,” Monica said as she rummaged around in the refrigerator for the container of leftover vegetable soup she knew was in there somewhere. “You’re right—she does seem to be suffering from some memory loss, poor thing.”
Arline was scooping pale dough dotted with ruby red cranberries and brown chocolate chips into mounds and placing them on a cookie sheet.
“Sometimes she’s okay, and other times . . .” Arline shrugged. “Not so much.”
“I noticed a stack of bills on the coffee table. . . .”
Arline laughed. “I hope she remembered to pay the mortgage or we’ll both be evicted.”
“Is there no other family member who can help her?”
Arline opened the oven door and a rush of heat blasted out. She averted her face briefly. The ends of her hair curled slightly from the warmth.
“Not that I know of. I think there’s a brother somewhere—Lori mentioned him once or twice—but I know he doesn’t live around here. At least he hasn’t been to visit since I’ve been boarding there.”
“You’ve met Dale, the boyfriend, right?” Monica put the container of soup in the microwave and turned to Arline. “What did you think of him?”
“I can’t say I liked him very much. He couldn’t be bothered to shave before they went out and he was always wearing that ratty baseball cap turned backward. I guess he thought it made him look cool or something.”
“Mrs. Wenk seemed quite positive that Lori and Dale were going to get married. She showed me the wedding dress that Lori bought and talked about all the plans for the reception.”
Arline snorted. “If you ask me, Dale wasn’t the marrying type.”
“Mrs. Wenk said that Lori had some sort of plan to entice him into marrying her.”
Arline laughed. “Entice him? I think you mean force him. An age-old technique women have been using to trap men for years.”
Monica was confused. She furrowed her brow. “What’s that?”
“Seriously?” Arline laughed again. She held her hands out in front of her stomach. “I found a pregnancy testing kit in the bathroom wastebasket a couple of weeks ago. Along with the test strip.”
“Was it positive?” Monica paused with one hand on the microwave door.
“Yup. It was as clear as day. I checked the directions on the box to be sure I was reading it right.”
Monica pushed the start button on the microwave and stared at the turntable spinning her container of soup around and around as it heated it up. So Lori had been pregnant. No wonder the girl had looked so ill when she came to the farm that day—she must have been suffering from a bout of morning sickness.
And if she was pregnant, that was surely why she’d been so positive she could convince Dale to marry her that she’d already gone out and bought her wedding gown.
Chapter 12
“What a nosy thing she is,” Gina declared when Monica told her about Arline finding the pregnancy kit in Lori’s wastebasket.
They were sitting in a booth at the diner having a cup of coffee and sharing a piece of blueberry pie.
Gina stabbed her fork in the air for emphasis. “I mean, I can see glancing into the trash and noticing that the kit had been tossed in there, but she had to have gone digging for the test strip.” Gina shuddered. “Imagine! Amongst all those used tissues and whatnot.”
“True.”
“Does she strike you as the nosy type?” Gina forked up another bite of pie.
Monica stopped chewing while she thought. “I don’t know. Not really.”
“Well, does she ask a lot of questions?” Gina dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin.
“No. Yes—sometimes.”
“Sounds to me like she was living her life through her friend. Does she date or have friends do you know?”
“She’s never said.”
Monica realized that she knew very little about Arline. The thought made her feel guilty. She ought to take more of an interest in her and take the time to be friendlier. She made a mental promise that she would do that in the future.
“Do you think the pregnancy gives this Dale an even stronger motive for murder?” Gina asked.
Monica put her chin in her hands. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “He’s not the only suspect. There’s Charlie Decker, too. Was she still holding a grudge over what Lori had done to her when they were in high school?”
“You know what they say.” Gina pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“Well this dish is certainly cold. It’s practically frozen. It’s been years since the episode at the drugstore. Why choose now to exact revenge?”
Gina shrugged as she applied a slick of bright red lipstick to her mouth. “Who knows? Maybe something happened that made Charlie mad?”
“You mean like Lori doing something more recently that heated the whole thing up again?” She paused. “No pun intended.”
“Could be. Then again, you might be right and the killer is the boyfriend after all.” Gina put the top back on the lipstick tube and dropped it into her cavernous and obviously expensive leather hobo bag.
“Well I refuse to believe that either Nora or her husband Rick had anything to do with it,” Monica said with a stubborn set to her jaw.
“I’ve met Nora, and she does seem like a nice person. Still, you never know.”
“True.” Monica tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach at the idea that either Nora or Rick could be responsible for such a cold-blooded crime.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to dash,” Gina said, digging her wallet from her purse. “The woman I have watching the shop has to leave in five minutes for a dentist’s appointment.” She tossed a handful of dollar bills on the table. Monica tried to protest.
“My treat,” Gina insisted.
Monica had to suppress the uncharitable thought that if it weren’t for Gina’s alimony from Monica’s father, she couldn’t afford to be so generous. Sales at Making Scents were picking up, but Gina had recently confided that the store was still operating in the red.
Monica felt a frisson of pleasure when, as she was paying her bill, Gus looked up from his griddle and gave her a quick smile. It was short-lived—barely a second or two—but it was a first, and it meant that she was becoming recognized as one of the locals. And in record time, too. It normally took years to elicit a smile, however small and brief, from Gus.
Monica stood on the sidewalk, momentarily undecided. A group of four teenaged girls in tight T-shirts, cutoffs and flip-flops and with brightly colored and patterned tote
bags flung over their shoulders parted and went around her, giggling. Monica could see grains of sand stuck to the back of their thighs—they must have come off the beach after a day in the sun. The scent of suntan lotion lingered on the air for several minutes after they’d passed.
Monica’s thoughts swiveled from warm, languid days at the beach back to the death at Sassamanash Farm. The fact that Lori was pregnant when she died changed everything. Had she confronted Dale with the fact of the baby? And had he panicked and murdered her after she tried to pressure him into marriage?
Monica wondered if Lori’s mother knew about the pregnancy. She would have to pay her another visit.
She didn’t want to go empty-handed, so she popped into Gumdrops for a tin of Wilhelmina mints. Hennie was still alone in the shop but Gerda, after having taken a brief turn for the worse, was now much better. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long before she’d be released from the hospital and back behind the counter at Gumdrops.
Once again, Monica drove out to Mrs. Wenk’s house. She rang the doorbell and stood on the doorstep hoping the woman wouldn’t feel as if Monica was hounding her. The flap to the mailbox alongside the door was open and the box was stuffed with mail. Monica pulled out the envelopes.
Mrs. Wenk greeted her with a smile and invited her inside. Monica couldn’t tell if she remembered her from her earlier visit or not. Monica refused an offer of iced coffee or a cold can of Mountain Dew and followed Mrs. Wenk into the living room.
Monica handed her the envelopes and the small white paper bag. “Here’s your mail. It was in your box. And I brought you some Wilhelmina Mints from Gumdrops.”
“Thank you, dear.”
The same untidy stack of bills was scattered over the coffee table. Mrs. Wenk added the new mail Monica had just brought in and pushed the pile away from the edge. She collapsed into an armchair while Monica took a seat on the couch.
“It’s so nice of you to visit again so soon,” Mrs. Wenk said. “I don’t get many visitors anymore. It’s nice to have a bit of company.”
