Berried Secrets (16 page)

•   •   •

Monica enjoyed her brunch with Greg, but for some reason, it left her feeling restless. She paced her small living room unable to settle down to anything—her book, the Sunday crossword or a favorite old movie that was showing on television.

She couldn't stop thinking about what Greg had said—that Cora and Mauricio had worked at the Cranberry Cove Diner at the same time. Now she really wished she'd had the chance to talk to Cora.

Monica was making a cup of tea when the thought struck her. She hadn't been able to talk to Cora, but maybe she could talk to someone
about
Cora. Perhaps there was someone Cora had confided in—a friend or relative. Monica had no idea who that might be, but she knew where she was going to start—Cora's next-door neighbor. She was obviously nosy and perhaps she had managed to worm some information out of Cora.

Monica had had an acquaintance like that in college. No matter how much you wanted to keep something a secret, she had a way of badgering you until you finally gave in and told her everything. More than once Monica had sworn to keep her mouth shut, but then the next thing she knew she was spilling the beans. She hoped Cora's neighbor Dawn would turn out to be the same way.

Monica finished her tea and put the empty cup in the sink. She needed to empty the dishwasher, but she didn't feel like doing it now. It wasn't something she would normally let go, but all of a sudden, she couldn't wait to talk to Dawn.

She was halfway there when she had to turn on her windshield wipers. The rain was coming down heavily, drops bouncing off the window, when she turned into Park View Estates. The narrow streets were deserted, as Monica had expected. She pulled up in front of Dawn's trailer, edging the car as close to the side of the road as possible.

Dawn was standing outside, huddled under the green-and-white striped metal awning that hung over her front door, a cigarette in her hand. She looked up when she heard the slam of Monica's car door.

Her face held a look of curiosity as she watched Monica pick her way up the uneven stone path that led to the entrance to the trailer.

“I didn't think I'd be seeing you again,” Dawn said, but her voice was friendly enough.

“I'm sorry to bother you—”

“It's no bother.” Dawn waved her hand, and smoke drifted toward Monica's face.

It was cramped with both of them sheltering under the
awning. Water dripping off the edge trickled down Monica's back.

Dawn stubbed out her cigarette with the bottom of her shoe. “Come on inside.”

The interior of Dawn's trailer was clean and tidy, with the scent of bleach lingering in the air. A large black leather sectional, placed in front of a flat-screen television, took up most of the room. A teenaged boy was stretched out on it.

The walls were hung with original paintings—stark landscapes that were very striking. A painting in progress sat on an easel in the corner of the room.

“Are these yours?” Monica gestured toward the oils.

Dawn ducked her head. “Yeah. It's a little hobby of mine. I took it up the last time I quit cigarettes in order to keep myself busy.” She shrugged. “It didn't work. I went back to smoking but continued with the painting.”

“These are very good.” Monica looked around the room again. Dawn's oils were as good as anything she had seen in galleries in Chicago. “Have you had any exhibitions?”

“You're kidding, right?”

Monica shook her head. “Not at all. There's a gallery in town. You should show them your stuff.”

“I don't know. . . .” Dawn twisted the edge of her T-shirt in her hands as if she were wringing out wet laundry. “Do you really think . . . ?”

“I do.”

“I'm sorry. I should have asked you to sit down.” Dawn turned toward the sofa. “Shoo, Terry, go watch TV in your room. And turn that off.” She pointed to the set.

The young man unfolded himself from the sofa, a sulky
expression on his face. He had long, shaggy hair with bangs that hung in his eyes.

Dawn shook her head. “I can't believe how big he's getting. He's taller than I am now. And he's eating me out of house and home.” She laughed. “Sit.” She pointed toward the sofa.

Monica perched on the edge of one of the cushions.

“You want something to drink? I got some cold beer in the fridge. . . .”

“No, I'm fine. But thank you.”

“I imagine you wanted to talk to me about something?” Dawn gestured toward the easel in the corner. “I hope you don't mind if I continue working. I don't want it to dry before—”

“No, no, not at all. I realize I'm interrupting.” Monica looked down at her hands folded in her lap.

“Hey, I'm glad for some company.” Dawn picked up a brush and applied a dab of red to the painting on the easel.

“I wanted to talk to you about Cora.”

“Cora?” Dawn jerked her head toward the trailer next door.

“Yes.”

“She was a good neighbor. Quiet. Kept her yard up. She brought us a plate of cookies every Christmas.” Dawn frowned as she dabbed the brush against her canvas. “She used to be a hairdresser, you know. She still did hair for people in the park—the older ladies would go to her for their permanents.” Dawn wrinkled her nose. “I don't know how she could stand the smell of that stuff.”

“It sounds like she was a hard worker.”

“You can say that again. Put in long hours at the diner. Did double shifts when one of the other gals didn't show up. Gus
works his employees hard.” Dawn took a step back from the painting and considered it. “Of course, she had her own business until Sam Culbert raised the rent so high she could no longer afford it. I told her she needed to raise her prices, but she said people around here didn't have that much money, and she couldn't take advantage of them. She didn't attract the summer trade.” Dawn squeezed more paint onto her palette. “She was too old-fashioned for them. Still used rollers and sat people under the dryer.” Dawn laughed. “Frankly, when I heard Sam Culbert had been murdered, I half wondered if Cora had gotten up the gumption to do it herself.”

“Did you notice if she had any visitors yesterday?”

“You know the police asked me the same thing,” Dawn said, wiping her hands on a rag. “I was hardly looking out the window the whole time, but I didn't see any cars in her driveway. And I went out every half hour for a smoke.” She jerked her head toward the far wall. “Don't want the kid breathing in all those noxious fumes. I keep trying to quit but so far no luck.”

“Did you happen to notice what time Cora got home? She told me she was getting off work at five.”

Dawn nodded her head. “She got home just a bit after. I was on the deck, and she waved hello.”

“And I got here around five thirty, maybe a few minutes later.”

“If someone had stopped by for a visit, I would have seen the car. I'm sure of it.”

“Did she ever mention someone named Mauricio?” Monica asked, holding her breath.

Dawn tilted her head to one side. “The name sounds familiar.”

“Apparently he worked at the diner with Cora.”

Dawn stabbed a finger into the air. “That's why it sounds familiar. Yeah, he worked with Cora. I remember she told me.”

“Did she say anything else about him?”

Dawn stood holding her brush in the air. “Now that you mention it, she did. She told me she thought he was taking money from the cash drawer.”

“What happened?”

Dawn shrugged. “I think she told Gus about it, but I'm not sure.”

Cora must have, Monica thought. And Mauricio had harbored a grudge. Otherwise he would have had no reason to kill her.

Monica thought about what Dawn had told her as she drove back to Sassamanash Farm. The rain had stopped, and the faintest rainbow hung over the lake. She hoped that was a good omen.

She felt conflicted. As much as she wanted to solve Sam Culbert's murder—and Cora's, if it did indeed turn out to be murder—she had been hoping the killer wasn't Mauricio. She had instinctively liked him.

Monica groaned when she saw Gina's car in her driveway.
Not now
. She was tired. But she plastered a smile on her face as she opened the back door.

Gina was sitting at the kitchen table with an open bottle of wine and a glass in her hand. Next to her were several suitcases.

The smile on Monica's face grew stiff until she was quite certain it looked more like a grimace than a smile.

“Surprise!” Gina declared.

Gina was always a surprise, Monica thought. She devoutly hoped that the bottle of wine was meant to be the surprise, but she doubted it.

“I've come to stay with you for a bit.” Gina put her glass down and jumped up from the table. “Would you like some wine?”

Monica nodded weakly and sank into one of the kitchen chairs.

“What's wrong with the Cranberry Cove Inn?” Monica resisted the temptation to put her head down on the table and bang it.

“Someone booked the suite I was in. Not to mention the entire Inn. Apparently there's a wedding next weekend at the Cranberry Cove Yacht Club, and the bride, her mother and an entire posse of bridesmaids are arriving early. There weren't any decent rooms left.” She handed Monica a glass of wine. “It's only for a bit. I hope you don't mind.”

Monica took an enormous gulp of her drink and began to choke. Gina patted her on the back.

“Where will you be staying . . . permanently?” Monica asked with extreme trepidation.

Gina's face split into a huge grin. “I'm going to have the most wonderful space,” she crowed. “Above my shop. The architect has plans to turn it into a showplace.” She looked down into her glass of wine. “I've never had my own place, you know.” She looked up at Monica with an expression of intense yearning. “Before I married your father, I shared apartments with girlfriends because I could never afford the rent myself. Then your father and I had our condo in downtown Chicago for weekends and the big house in Evanston.
But I never really owned any of it. This place is going to be
mine
!”

Monica had to ask, although she wasn't sure she was going to like the answer. “When will the apartment be ready?”

“A couple of weeks. They're going to take out a few walls to give the space a more open-plan feel. And of course, the kitchen and bathrooms need to be completely redone.”

Monica had been adding up days in her head. She switched to adding up months instead. If this renovation project was going to be like most, there would be delays, changes of plan, wrong measurements, and who knew how many other catastrophes.

It looked like Gina was going to be around for a while.

•   •   •

Monica was up early the next morning and had the first batch of cranberry muffins in the oven before six
A.M
. She was surprised when Gina wandered into the kitchen as she was taking them out thirty minutes later.

She was wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater. Her hair hadn't been combed, and she had no makeup on. It made her look strangely vulnerable.

“Coffee?” Monica grabbed the pot from the warmer and held it out.

Gina nodded.

“You're up early,” Monica said, pushing a mug across the table to Gina. “I hope you weren't too uncomfortable last night.”

Monica's guest room, if it could even be called that, was strictly bare bones. If Gina had found the only room at the Inn unacceptable, Monica couldn't imagine what she thought of these accommodations.

“It was fine.” Gina yawned and took a sip of her coffee. “I'm up early because I'm meeting the contractor at seven thirty.”

“Do you want anything to eat? I have some muffins hot from the oven.”

Gina shook her head and yawned again. “I never eat breakfast. I can't stand the thought of food before noon.”

No wonder, Monica thought. Gina usually wasn't up until noon.

Gina took her coffee upstairs with her to finish dressing, and Monica cleaned up the kitchen.

She packed up the muffins and as she added the salsa she'd made the evening before, she vowed that tonight she would get started on the product application for Fresh Gourmet.

It was the kind of crisp, clear fall day that made Monica glad to be alive. She whistled under her breath as she walked the path to the farm store. She'd never been any good at carrying a tune, and she was glad there was no one around to hear her.

Monica was approaching the store when she stopped whistling. Two people were dead. What right did she have to feel so upbeat?

Darlene had arrived just ahead of her. She was hanging up a fleece jacket that was pilled around the collar and nearly worn through at the elbows. Monica knew Darlene didn't have much, and she felt sorry for her. She smiled, trying to put a note of enthusiasm in her voice.

“Good morning. Gorgeous day, isn't it?” she said as she hung up her own jacket.

“Yes. I suppose so.” Darlene straightened her glasses. “I thought it was a little chilly myself.”

Some people would always be glass half empty, Monica thought.

The store was no longer as busy as it had been right after Culbert's murder, when sensation seekers had come to satisfy their curiosity, even making road trips from as far as two and three hours away.

Monica stowed the salsa in the refrigerated cabinet, noting that there were two containers left from yesterday. She bit her lower lip. The brisk sales they'd experienced had been nice, even if they had come at the expense of Sam Culbert's life.

Darlene wriggled her way behind the counter, and when she turned toward Monica, Monica noticed she had tears in her eyes.

“What's wrong?” She put a hand on Darlene's arm. “Has something happened?”

“It's just that I'm missing my mother.” Darlene took off her glasses and dashed a hand across her eyes. “She would have made me that special cake I liked today—German chocolate cake. I know it's not traditional for birthdays, but she knew it was my favorite.” She gave a loud sniff and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“It's your birthday?”

Darlene nodded.

“I didn't know. I'm so sorry. Happy birthday.” Monica smiled. “Do you have anything special planned?” She realized, as soon as the words were out of her mouth, that it was the wrong thing to say.

Darlene gulped back a sob and shook her head. “There's no one to celebrate with now.”

“Your friends . . . ?”

Darlene scowled. “I don't have any friends. I mean, I
know a couple of girls who were in my youth group from church, but not all that well.”

“You should throw yourself a birthday party!” Monica declared. “Invite some of those girls to go out to dinner with you. It would be fun.”

Darlene scowled again. “I can't afford to go out for dinner. I get my lunch once a week at the diner, and that's it.”

The door opened and a customer walked in. Monica was relieved that the interruption put an end to such an uncomfortable conversation. She felt sorry for Darlene, she really did. But on the other hand, she also wanted to shake her.

She decided that as soon as she could, she would run into town and pick up a little something to give Darlene as a present. Maybe that would cheer her up.

•   •   •

Shortly after ten
A.M
. Monica decided it was safe to leave the store in Darlene's hands. They'd only had half a dozen customers, and it didn't seem likely they would get much busier.

She untied the cranberry-themed apron she wore behind the counter. She'd insisted Darlene wear one as well, although Darlene had protested at first. But the aprons gave them a uniform look and kept their clothes clean.

“I'm heading into town to run some errands. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Maybe.” Darlene reached for her purse and pulled out her wallet. She counted out some singles one by one, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth and her brow furrowed as if the exercise were a particularly challenging one. “Here.” She handed the stack of bills to Monica. “I should
have enough there for a hamburger and a pop from the diner. It is my birthday,” she added somewhat belligerently.

“What do you want on your burger?” Monica asked as she stuffed the money into the pocket of her pants.

Darlene looked heavenward as if searching for inspiration. “Mustard, ketchup, mayo, lettuce and tomato and onion.” She pursed her lips. “And if there's enough there,” she pointed to Monica's pocket, “can you bring me a cola?”

Great, Monica thought. Now Darlene would be breathing onion fumes all over the customers all afternoon. She patted her pocket. She had already decided that she would treat Darlene to lunch and give her the money back. She nodded. “Got it. A cola.”

The sun made the interior of Monica's car toasty, but when she cracked a window, the brisk edge to the wind was a reminder that September was almost over.

There were few cars parked along Beach Hollow Road when Monica got there. The town was generally quiet this early in the week, with traffic building as it got closer to the weekend. Tourists would be arriving in earnest again now that the leaves were changing, and Monica planned to get most of her errands done before that happened.

There was a space in front of Book 'Em and, without thinking, Monica pulled into it. Was she hoping to run into Greg? Yes. Why not? As Gina said, Ted had been gone long enough, and it was time for her to live again. Monica glanced at her left ring finger. Upon moving to Cranberry Cove she'd put her engagement ring in a safe deposit box at the bank. The slight indention that had circled her finger had filled in, and it was no longer obvious that there had been a ring on that hand.

She got out of the Focus and beeped the door locked. She couldn't resist pausing in front of the window of Book 'Em. Greg had arranged a display of classic English mysteries—books by Josephine Tey, Dorothy Sayers, Agatha Christie, Patricia Wentworth and Ngaio Marsh. Monica remembered reading many of the titles herself.

A movement beyond the display caught her eye, and she saw Greg beckoning for her to come in.

A bell over the front door tinkled melodically as Monica pushed it open.

“This is a pleasant way to start the week,” Greg said with a smile.

Monica returned his smile. “I came into town to run a few errands.”

“I won't keep you . . . much as I'd like to.”

Greg edged his way around the counter. “I wanted to give you this.” He handed Monica a piece of paper. “We're starting a mystery book club here at Book 'Em,” he said, gesturing to the flyer. “I thought you might be interested. We'll begin in a couple of weeks.”

“I think I would like that very much.”

Greg accompanied Monica outside and waved as she walked away.

“See you soon,” he called after her.

The wind grabbed the edges of Monica's jacket as she walked out of Book 'Em. She stopped to pull up the zipper and fish her gloves out of her pocket. As usual, tantalizing smells wafted out from the Cranberry Cove Diner next door. Monica wondered if the air in front of the diner didn't permanently smell of frying bacon. She would go back for Darlene's lunch order once she'd picked out a gift.

She stood on the sidewalk for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. What to get Darlene? She glanced back at Book 'Em, but she didn't know what kinds of books Darlene liked. Or if she even read at all. So many people didn't these days.

She started walking—past Twilight, where an elaborate display of tarot cards was set up in the window. She doubted she'd find anything for Darlene in there. She continued on and hesitated briefly in front of Danielle's Boutique. The usual swimsuits and fancy cover-ups in the window had given way to hand-knit-looking fishermen's sweaters, an exclusive brand of all-weather jackets and a colorful array of silk scarves. All to tempt the tourists on color tours and the ones who would arrive at Christmastime to admire the charming decorations. Monica doubted there was much of anything in the store that she could afford or that would suit Darlene.

Next was Gumdrops. She stopped in front of the store. Perhaps a selection of candy would make a nice gift.

Hennie came rushing forward as Monica pushed open the door.

“Lovely to see you, dear.”

Hennie smoothed down her sage green cable-knit sweater. Monica wondered if the VanVelsen sisters' wardrobe changed color with the seasons.

“I need a gift for someone,” Monica said, peering into one of the cases. She looked up at Hennie. “It's for Darlene who works in the farm store.”