by Peg Cochran
“I’m going to visit your charming stepmother’s shop for some essential oils. I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, and they say that lavender works wonders.”
As soon as Kit left, Monica began putting together her ingredients. She needed dried cranberries, walnuts, flour and, she thought, maybe some maple syrup instead of sugar.
Monica had crafted her first bars and was ready to put them in the oven when there was a frantic knocking on the door and it burst open.
Monica spun around, nearly dropping the sheet of breakfast bars.
Lauren was standing on the threshold with a panicked look on her face. She was wearing a pair of denim overalls, which she managed to make look chic, and had her long blond hair pulled back into a tortoiseshell clasp.
“Monica,” she said, obviously near tears. “I don’t know what to do.”
And at that she began to sob and put her hands over her face.
“What’s wrong? It’s not Jeff, is it?” Monica asked as she peeled off her gloves.
Lauren shook her head. “No, Jeff is fine. But he’s going to kill me.”
“Did you have a fight?” Monica put a hand on Lauren’s arm.
Again, Lauren shook her head. “No. Not yet at least.”
“Then why are you so upset? Please tell me.”
All sorts of terrifying scenarios went through Monica’s mind, and she warned herself not to jump to conclusions.
“I’ve done something terrible,” Lauren said, bursting into a fresh torrent of tears.
“I’m sure it can’t be that bad, whatever it is.”
Monica wondered if wedding jitters weren’t getting to Lauren. The stress of all the planning would get to anyone.
“It’s terrible.” She looked up at Monica. “I’ve somehow managed to lose my engagement ring.”
Monica’s first reaction was relief. No one was hurt or sick. But then she thought of how long and hard Jeff had saved for that ring.
“How did you lose it?” She tried not to sound accusatory.
Lauren looked down at her hands and burst into tears again.
“I went to visit Jeff while he was working on the bog today. I brought him a thermos of hot coffee and a sandwich.” She twisted her fingers together. “I don’t think he’s eating enough. He’s looking awfully thin to me.”
Monica nodded. She had noticed the same thing.
“Of course, he loses weight every harvest season. There’s so much work to do in such a short period of time. And there’s always the danger of a frost damaging the berries before they can pick them and that always keeps him on edge.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t have anything I had to do this afternoon so I thought I would help him out. I put on some waders and Jeff loaned me a pair of gloves.” She looked at Monica and gave a crooked smile. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”
Monica laughed. She’d learned that lesson herself the hard way.
“Anyway, I did what I could—which I’m afraid wasn’t very much at all—and then I took off the waders and pulled off the gloves to give them back to Jeff. I’m afraid the ring came off with the gloves.” She looked down at her feet. “Jeff isn’t the only one who’s lost some weight. They say it’s normal for a bride to drop as much as ten pounds before her wedding. I guess that means I’ll have to have my dress altered again at the last minute. At any rate, I do know my ring had become slightly loose.”
Monica was thinking. “Is there any chance the ring is inside the left glove? That it came off along with it?”
Lauren shook her head and looked at the ground. “No. I already checked.”
She looked at Monica and reached out to touch her arm. “I don’t want Jeff to know. Not unless or until I absolutely have to tell him.”
“We’ll find it,” Monica said with more confidence than she felt.
We have to, she thought.
• • •
The crew had finished and gone home for the day. The bog was still flooded and only a few stray berries floated here and there on the surface. Monica glanced at the sky. The sun was quite low and dropping quickly. They’d have to hurry while there was still daylight left.
Lauren was silent as they walked along the dirt path. The ground was muddy around the perimeter of the bog and Monica felt it sucking at her shoes.
“Where were you standing when you took the gloves off?” Monica said.
Lauren ran a hand over her face. She looked confused.
“I can hardly think. I’m so upset.” A sob caught in her throat.
Monica put an arm around her. “We’ll find it. But we have to look in the right place. Try to remember where you were standing.”
Lauren looked around and pointed halfway around the bog. “I think it was over there.”
“Okay. That’s where we’ll start.”
They walked over to where Lauren had indicated. Monica toed the damp ground to see if the ring was embedded amid the blades of grass.
She turned to Lauren. “Why don’t I go around the bog clockwise and you search counterclockwise.”
“Okay.”
Lauren had pulled her hands up inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Her face looked haunted. She and Monica began walking in opposite directions, their eyes trained on the ground. Monica realized she was walking too fast—her mind was filled with all the things she still wanted to get done—and she went back to the starting point and began again.
“Anything?” Lauren called, her tone mournful.
“Not yet.” Monica tried to sound upbeat. “We’ll find it. Don’t worry.”
Assuming that this was where Lauren had lost it, Monica thought. But she didn’t want to say that to Lauren. It would only upset her.
Monica was beginning to feel discouraged when she noticed something glinting in the grass. She bent down to examine the object closer. When she saw what it was, her breath caught in her throat and, in spite of herself, she uttered a cry.
“You’ve found it?” Lauren exclaimed, rushing over to where Monica was bent over, looking at the ground.
“No. Not your ring. I’m sorry. It’s something else.”
Monica toed the grass in an attempt to uncover the object without touching it.
“What is it?” Lauren leaned over, her hands on her knees, and peered at the ground. She turned to Monica. “It looks like a knife.”
“It is.”
“Maybe one of the guys brought it with his lunch. To peel an apple or something.”
“Or,” Monica said quietly, “someone disposed of it here.”
Lauren tilted her head. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Because they didn’t want it found. Because maybe they’d used it to kill someone.”
“Oh my gosh,” Lauren said, stepping back away from the knife.
“Then again, you could be right about one of the workers bringing it with his lunch,” Monica said, peering at the knife again. “But since Bruce Laszlo was stabbed and they haven’t yet recovered the knife, I think we should take this to the police.”
“You’re probably right,” Lauren said. “I still wish it had been my ring we’d found.” She started to cry again.
“Let’s keep looking awhile longer, then I’ll call Detective Stevens and ask what we should do about the knife. Perhaps we’d best leave it where it is for now.” Monica looked around, picked up a sturdy stick and stuck it into the ground next to the knife. She looked at Lauren. “That way we won’t forget where it is.”
Lauren pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose. “Okay.”
They began their slow circling of the bog again. Monica glanced at the sky. Clouds had rolled in and the light was fading. She was beginning to give up hope when she heard Lauren yell.
“I’ve found it!”
Monica looked up to see a radiantly smiling Lauren slipping her engagement ring back on her finger.
“That’s wonderful,” Monica said, rushing over and giving Lauren a hug. She not
iced that Lauren was shivering. “Why don’t you go get warm? I’m going to call the police to come look at the knife.”
Chapter 14
Monica was tired and chilled by the time Detective Stevens arrived at the farm. She’d been standing by the bog for half an hour praying that Jeff wouldn’t come along and see her. She didn’t know how she would explain having found the knife when she’d promised Lauren not to breathe a word to him about the temporarily lost engagement ring.
Stevens carefully picked her way across the field, holding a steaming foam cup aloft. Monica smelled the coffee as soon as Stevens got closer. The aroma was heavenly and she could imagine how deliciously warm it would be.
“Sorry it took me so long,” Stevens said when she reached Monica. “I had to testify in court this afternoon.” She scanned the area. “This is quite remote. If this is the murder weapon in the Laszlo case, the killer really went out of their way to dispose of it.”
“It’s possible it’s only an ordinary knife. I hope I haven’t brought you out here on a wild-goose chase.”
Stevens held up a hand. “Don’t apologize. I’d rather it turn out to be nothing than to miss something important. Half . . . no, three-quarters of police work often turns out to be a wild-goose chase. But we usually get our man . . . or woman . . . in the end.”
Monica led Stevens over to the knife. Stevens bent over and looked at it for a moment then removed a pair of gloves and a plastic evidence bag from the pocket of her trench coat. She slipped the gloves on and picked up the knife.
“Interesting,” Stevens said as she examined the knife. “I was expecting a switchblade or something equally vicious-looking, but this looks like a somewhat ordinary kitchen knife.”
Monica pointed at it. “The blade is rather long and thin.”
Stevens turned the knife this way and that. “It looks like a boning knife. The sort a butcher would use.” She must have noticed the surprised look on Monica’s face. “My father was a butcher back in Iowa. He had a number of knives like this of various sizes and blade lengths.”
“You don’t think Bart, the butcher in town, had anything to do with this?” Monica was horrified at the thought. Bart was . . . Bart. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Stevens laughed. “Knives like these are a dime a dozen. Anyone can order one online. The fact that it’s a butcher’s knife doesn’t mean anything.”
Stevens slipped the knife into the plastic bag she’d been holding and sealed it up.
“I can see some residue on the blade, but it could be anything. The lab should be able to tell us whether it’s blood or not.” She paused. “And whether the blood is human or animal.”
“Will that take long?”
Monica knew that Andrea would continue to be under suspicion if not arrest until it was proven that someone else had killed her husband.
A small smile played around the edges of Stevens’s mouth.
“Normally it would take several weeks, but let’s just say I know somebody.”
Monica knew Stevens’s husband had left her right after their son was born. Had she found herself someone new?
• • •
Dusk was rapidly falling as Monica walked back to the farm kitchen. The sky was streaked with pink and purple and the clouds swirled back and forth over the setting sun. She was tired and would have rather gone home, but she’d left her first batch of breakfast bars cooling on the counter and wanted to taste one and then package the others up and put them away.
She flicked on the lights in the kitchen and grabbed her apron from the hook. She’d left the bars on a wire rack next to the oven. They looked good, she thought, and the smell was certainly enticing. She picked one up. It held together well, which was important. She nibbled a bit off the end and closed her eyes so she could concentrate on the taste. Moist yet crunchy with a nice tang from the dried cranberries. Monica took another bite and chewed thoughtfully.
They would do, Monica decided. Actually, they would more than do, she thought as she rolled the taste around in her mouth. She’d make a big batch in the morning and get them over to the farm store right away.
Monica hung up her apron again, flicked out the lights and shut the door. She’d started along the path to her cottage when she remembered she’d left her car in the parking lot. She turned on her heel and began walking back in the other direction.
She thought about dinner as she drove the short distance to her cottage. She was tired and longed to do what she’d normally have done when she lived alone—make some toast and a cup of tea and dine in front of the television.
Greg was already home when Monica pulled into the driveway. She found him in the living room playing laser tag with Mittens. It was Mittens’s favorite game and she could barely spare Monica a glance when Monica walked in.
“You look tired,” Greg said.
“I am,” Monica admitted.
She told Greg about Lauren’s missing engagement ring and about their finding the knife while they were looking for it.
“You’ve had quite a day,” Greg said, clicking off the laser pointer. “Why don’t we go to the inn for dinner tonight. It’s buffet night.”
Monica’s spirits lifted at the thought. “Give me a chance to freshen up.”
Greg and Mittens were playing again as Monica walked upstairs. She took a little extra time fixing her hair and putting on some makeup. Her choice of outfits was fairly limited given that she spent most of her days in jeans and sweatshirts, but she did manage to unearth a pale pink cashmere sweater that she’d splurged on when she’d lived in Chicago and that, along with her good black slacks and the silk scarf her mother had given her for her birthday, made a very nice outfit.
Greg’s reaction when Monica came back downstairs made the extra primping especially worth it.
“Shall we go?” Greg said, holding out Monica’s jacket.
• • •
Monica wasn’t surprised to find the parking lot at the Cranberry Cove Inn quite full. Their Friday night buffet was very popular—the tourists loved it and locals often planned special celebrations around it.
“I hope we can get a table,” Greg said. “It’s unfortunate they don’t take reservations on buffet night.” He straightened his collar and brushed some lint off his jacket.
They wound their way through the parked cars toward the flagstone path leading to the doors of the inn. A stiff breeze was blowing in off of Lake Michigan and Monica felt a few grains of sand stinging her face.
“Are you cold?” Greg put his arm around her and pulled her close.
Monica happened to glance into a late-model white Escalade as she brushed past it, trying not to rub up against it.
The beam from one of the fluorescent lights in the parking lot glinted off of something in the backseat of the Escalade. Monica put out a hand to stop Greg and peered more closely through the car’s window.
At first she thought she must be mistaken, but when she looked again, she realized she wasn’t. There was a large gold trophy in the backseat of the car.
“Look.” Monica turned to Greg.
Greg peered through the window. “Looks like someone got lucky and won something.”
Monica pressed her nose as close to the glass as possible. Her breath fogged the window and she wiped it away with the edge of her jacket sleeve. There was an engraved plaque on the front of the trophy, and she strained to see what it said.
“Do you have a flashlight?” she said to Greg.
“Only that little one that hangs on my keychain.”
“That ought to work.”
Greg dug in his pocket and brought out his keys. They jingled as he flipped through them looking for the flashlight.
“Here you go.” He handed them to Monica.
Monica flicked on the flashlight and trained the meager beam through the car window at the trophy lying on the backseat.
“It’s hard to see, but I think I can read it. It says,” she said, squinting at the writing on the p
laque, “First place in the annual Cranberry Cove to Chicago Race.” Monica turned to Greg, her mouth open. “This is the trophy that was stolen from Andrea’s house the morning her husband was murdered.”
“So whoever owns this car is the thief. Should we call the police?”
“Not yet,” Monica said. “I’d like to know who this car belongs to.”
“That could be tricky.”
Monica paced back and forth in the parking lot. Suddenly she stopped and snapped her fingers.
“I’ve got it.”
Greg looked amused. “Okay, let’s hear it, Miss Marple.”
“We go inside.” Monica pointed at the lit windows of the inn.
“So far I like it.”
Monica punched him on the arm. “We tell the receptionist that someone in the parking lot has left their lights on. And we give them this license plate number.” She pointed toward the Escalade. “Then we wait out of sight to see who comes rushing out of the inn to turn off their lights.”
“Good idea. I think that might work.”
“I’m sure it will.”
Monica began digging in her purse. She pulled out a pen and a small notebook and walked around to the back of the car. She scribbled the license plate number on a blank piece of paper.
“Got it,” she said, clicking her pen closed and dropping it into her purse.
“Let’s go then.”
The heat from the huge stone fireplace felt good when they entered the inn. The temperature had dropped with the sun going down and the evening had grown chilly. Monica wondered if Jeff would be awakened by alarms in the middle of the night. He would have to hurry to flood the bogs remaining to be harvested to protect the berries from the ruinous frost.
The receptionist was on a telephone call when they approached the desk and they had to wait for her to hang up. She replaced the telephone receiver in the cradle and turned to Monica and Greg.
“Can I help you?” She had very light blond hair in braids that were wound around her head and pinned in the back. She made Monica think of Heidi.
“We noticed that someone in the parking lot left their lights on,” Monica said, gesturing toward the door. “I would hate to think of their coming out to a dead battery.”
