Berry the Hatchet (16 page)

Monica turned the page over to the Thursday before the Winter Walk began. A note in slanted handwriting was written horizontally across the page.

Monica stuffed the paper in her pocket, paid her bill and went out the door. As soon as she was outside, she retrieved the calendar page and read the note scrawled across it.

Ryan, meet me at the gazebo on the village green at 3:30 pm Saturday. It's important. P. S. Don't tell anyone.

It was signed
Candy.

Monica knew the gazebo was a popular place for courting couples to meet—but in the summer, not when the temperatures were below freezing. Candy must have had something very important to tell Ryan.

Or else . . . at 3:30 pm on the day of the Winter Walk, Ryan was supposed to be tending to the horse that was going to pull the sleigh bearing Candy and Preston Crowley. Did Candy know Ryan was going to be in charge of the sleigh? And did she lure him away on purpose?

What now?
Monica wondered. Where did this information fit in with everything else she already knew?

Monica stood on the sidewalk, lost in thought, until someone brushed against her.

“Sorry,” the young man called over his shoulder.

Monica smiled at him. “My fault,” she yelled as she headed down the street.

She decided she would talk to Candy, although she wouldn't be at all surprised if Candy denied knowing anything about the note. Candy worked part-time at Bijou—perhaps she'd be lucky and catch her there.

Monica was about to step off the curb when a pickup truck blared its horn at her as it rumbled down Beach Hollow Road. She jumped back. She'd better pay more attention to what she was doing or she would end up as dead as poor Preston Crowley.

Monica finally made it safely across the street and
headed toward Bijou. She was disappointed when she pushed open the door to the shop to discover that Jacy was alone behind the counter, showing an older woman a selection of gold crosses.

The woman finally decided on her purchase and left the store. Jacy looked up and gave a smug smile when she saw Monica. “I knew you'd come back,” she said as she began to reach into the glass display case. “This necklace was made for you.” She placed the strand of amber beads on the counter.

Monica was flattered and embarrassed at the same time. She looked longingly at the necklace.

“I'd love to purchase the piece this minute, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to wait a bit longer.”

Jacy looked confused. She drummed her pink nails on the counter. “Is there something else I can show you? Do you need a gift? We have an array of options—Christening presents, wedding presents, birthdays, Valentine's Day. . . .” She stopped when she saw Monica's face.

“Actually I'm looking for someone.”

“Looking for a gift for someone?”

“No, looking for a person.”

Jacy looked around the shop as if to verify that it was empty. “Who? I'm afraid I'm the only one here.”

“I wanted to speak to Candy—your assistant.”

Jacy looked momentarily startled and then snorted. “Calling her an assistant is a bit of a stretch. She's always late and still hasn't figured out the cash register.” She studied her nails and picked at the cuticle of her index finger. Jacy sighed. “I guess it's better than nothing. Otherwise I'd be here all day, six days a week, with no break. At least I can visit the little girl's room or go out and pick up something to eat.”

Monica wasn't sure what to say, so she said nothing.

Jacy looked at Monica and the expression in her eyes was sharp. “What do you want with Candy?”

Monica felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn't thought that far ahead—she'd just barged into the shop without a suitable excuse. She stuttered briefly, desperately trying to think.

“I wondered if she'd like to pick up some more hours—we need some help at the farm store—”

“That girl? She doesn't exactly have what you call a work ethic. She's on the lookout for easy money—some guy with a wallet full of cash who'll fall for her dyed blond hair, big blue eyes and complete lack of an IQ.”

“Do you know where Candy lives? I'd like to speak to her anyway.”

Jacy gave Monica an appraising stare. “I'm not sure,” she said.

That was strange, Monica thought. Most employers took down the address, social security number and contact info of their employees. Then she remembered Mauricio, who had worked for Jeff. Difficulty finding workers sometimes led to a lackadaisical attitude toward the appropriate papers.

“Do you have a telephone number for her?”

“Probably. But I don't have time to look for it right now.” Jacy turned her back on Monica and began to rearrange a display of jeweled clocks on the shelf behind her.

Monica sighed. Detecting was certainly never easy. No wonder Detective Stevens had those deep lines bracketing her mouth even though she was only in her forties.

The VanVelsen sisters knew Candy and her mother—
perhaps they would know how Monica could get in touch with her.

•   •   •

Monica left Gumdrops with Candy's address on a scrap of paper tucked firmly into her pocket.

She backed the Focus out of the parking space and headed north down Beach Hollow Road, following the directions from the VanVelsen sisters. At the end of Beach Hollow, where the road forked, she took a right as instructed. She passed an empty field dotted with scrubby grass and gnarled bushes on her right and a stand of tall, sand-dusted pines on her left. She continued to climb until she reached the street the VanVelsens had indicated. Monica retrieved the slip of paper from her pocket and checked it to be sure.

Candy had a room in one of the tangle of houses crammed together on the hill overlooking the lake. Most of the homes were gold mines for their owners—rented out weekly or monthly to tourists who wanted to spend the summer, or at least part of it, within walking distance of the lake and downtown Cranberry Cove. The owners usually didn't rent rooms to people year-round—certainly not someone like Candy who couldn't possibly afford to pay very much.

When Monica saw the house, she understood how Candy had been able to handle the cost. The house looked as if it hadn't been renovated in decades, and the entire structure appeared to be listing to the right. The owner might have been able to get some college students to take it on for their summer break, but it wasn't the sort of place people would bring their families.

Some sort of reconstruction was under way. A truck
was parked out front with several two by fours sticking out the open back door, and Monica heard the whine of a saw coming from somewhere inside the house.

Before she could even knock, a woman opened the front door. She was obviously intent on something because she seemed startled to see Monica on her doorstep. She was wearing peach scrubs and had a mass of frizzy light brown hair. The hospital ID pinned to her top read
Carrie Zeilstra, Nurse Aide
. She was older than Candy—probably close to Monica's age.

“Can I help you?”

Monica cleared her throat. “Is Candy here?”

“She lives here if that's what you're asking, but she's not home at the moment.”

“Do you know when she'll be back?”

“Probably soon. She wanted to get away from the noise.” The woman jerked her head in the direction of the house. The whining of the saw had stopped, only to be replaced by the sound of hammering. “I inherited this place from my grandparents. They hadn't done a lick of work on the house in years. I swear the appliances in the kitchen were the original ones installed when they moved in.” She brushed some hair out of her eyes. “Over the years the damp from the lake warped the floors so that if you dropped something it would roll to the other side of the room.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I couldn't rent it out the way it was.”

“But Candy—”

The woman shook her head. “She'll have to leave come summer when the house is finished. Meanwhile she has a place to stay, and I make a few bucks to put toward that.” She cocked her shoulder in the direction of the truck.

“Candy claims she's going to get a nice place of her own
now that she's going to have some money. I can't imagine where it came from—maybe someone died, I don't know. But she's been talking about it for a couple of days now,” the woman said.

“Do you remember when she first mentioned it?”

The woman frowned. “I think it was right before the Winter Walk started, but I'm not sure. When you're picking up shifts for everyone who's sick, and even pulling double shifts, the days start to run together. This is my first day off in ten days.”

“Was Candy planning on moving out right away?”

“No, and I'm glad—this old place gets a bit creepy at night.” She laughed. “Maybe I've read too many Stephen King novels.” Her expression turned serious. “Although Candy has been acting a little jittery the last day or two. It's not like her. Maybe I infected her with my own fears.”

“So that was unusual for her?”

“Yeah, she's normally a pretty laid-back type, if you know what I mean.”

Monica thanked the woman, declined to leave a message and walked back to her car. Candy had come into some money and at the same time she'd begun acting jittery. Were the two related? Did they have anything to do with Preston's death? Monica had no idea. Maybe if she let the facts stew in the back of her mind, something would come to light.

•   •   •

Monica backed out of the driveway. The truck was behind her—it looked as if the workmen were calling it a day. She gave the house one last glance. She didn't know much about construction, but in her opinion, it would be a miracle if the place was ready for the summer trade.

She was headed down the hill when the truck pulled out in front and passed her. Monica shrugged. She wasn't in any hurry. She was enjoying the view of the lake, the rays of the lowering sun glinting off the ice floes.

She passed the field again, on her left this time, and the cluster of pine trees on her right. She caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. She had no idea what it was, but it looked out of place enough for her to pull over to the side of the road and stop.

Something red lay at the base of one of the tall trees. Monica squinted at it—it looked like a purse. She stared at it for a few moments longer, then turned the car off, unbuckled her seat belt and got out. The wind immediately grabbed hold of her scarf and tossed it into the air. Monica grabbed it and tucked the ends into her coat.

Now that she was closer, she could see that the object was definitely a purse. Had it been there on her way up the hill? She wasn't sure—she might have been looking at the field on the other side of the road.

How strange that someone had lost their purse in such an isolated spot. Monica couldn't be sure from such a distance, but the purse looked like red corduroy with a long strap—the kind that can cross over the body.

She wasn't sure what to do. Would someone come back for it? Should she take it to the police? She walked closer and closer to the handbag until she was near enough to see that something was wrapped around the strap.

It was a hand—a hand attached to a body that looked an awful lot like Candy's.

Candy was sprawled on her back, her right knee bent, her left arm outstretched and her blond hair splayed across the snow-covered ground. She was wearing a lavender parka with white fake fur around the collar, a scarf, mittens and boots.

Monica called Candy's name but the rational part of her brain knew she was already dead. She sidled closer to get a better look. There was a smear of blood across Candy's forehead and an ominous-looking dent in her temple.

Monica stifled the scream that rose unbidden to her throat and scuttled back to her car. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and she turned the dial on the heater to high as she dug her cell phone out of her purse.

She waited several long, frustrating minutes while the operator at the police station attempted to locate Detective Stevens, but finally Monica was put through. Their
conversation was short and Stevens promised to be on the scene as quickly as humanly possible. Stevens ended the call with a warning to Monica to not touch anything.

Monica wondered if she ought to get out of the car and stand by Candy. Not that she could do anything, but she hated to think of the poor girl lying there all alone on that frozen windblown field. But Monica was still shivering from the cold and shock and decided she would stay in the car a little longer.

It looked to her as if Candy had been headed into town. Her landlord had said she wanted to get away from the noise of the construction at the house. Had the killing been random—some drifter looking for cash? Monica could picture the scene in her mind with great clarity, as if it were etched there permanently—Candy's purse on the ground and her fingers still curled around the strap. The purse itself was closed and latched so it was unlikely someone had been after her credit cards and her money.

Monica had almost stopped shivering by the time the first patrol car arrived, spewing loose bits of macadam as it came to an abrupt stop on the shoulder of the road. Monica recognized the first officer who got out as having been at the scene when Crowley's body was discovered—the other, thinner one looked familiar but she couldn't place him. Most likely she'd seen him directing traffic somewhere.

They both hastened to the body and stood looking down at it for several minutes. They were gesturing to each other, but Monica couldn't make out what was going on. Finally the heavier one headed toward Monica's car.

She rolled down her window and waited, her breath making clouds in the cold air.

“Are you the person who called us?” he asked,
pushing back his hat and leaning over so he was level with Monica's window.

She nodded. Her teeth had begun to chatter again as the cold air from the open window rushed into the car. Shock was making her react more strongly than usual to the frigid temperature.

“Detective Stevens should be here shortly. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to wait.”

“That's fine.”

The officer walked off to help his partner with the bright yellow-and-black tape that would rope off the scene and warn people to stay away. The brisk wind was whipping it around and it took both officers to secure it.

Monica averted her head from the sight of Candy's lifeless body. Who would do such a thing? Random crime was unheard of in Cranberry Cove, which made it likely that someone had targeted Candy for a specific reason. Had Candy been a danger to someone? To the same person who had murdered Crowley?

Monica was thinking about it when Detective Stevens pulled up. She tightened the belt of her coat as she made her way over to Monica's car. The wind blew a strand of her short blond hair across her face, and she swiped at it impatiently. There were lines of fatigue around her eyes.

“You look tired,” Monica said when she rolled down her window.

“The baby's teething.” Stevens smiled briefly. “And I've got a murder case on my hands.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Two cases now, from the looks of things. What can you tell me about this?” She waved a hand toward the roped-off area of the field.

“I was driving past when the bright red of Candy's
purse caught my eye. At first I thought someone had lost their handbag.” Monica's voice began to shake. “Then I saw . . . then I saw Candy.”

“The woman's name is Candy? Do you know her last name?”

Monica shook her head. “No. But she worked at Bijou, the jewelry store in town, and she's renting a room in a house up the hill.”

Monica scrambled in her purse and pulled out the scrap of paper with Candy's address on it. She handed it to Stevens. “Here's the address. It's not far.” She pointed up the hill behind her.

“Hey.” A shout came from one of the officers and Stevens whirled around.

“Be right there.” She tapped Monica's car door. “Mind waiting a few more minutes?”

“No.”

As soon as Stevens walked away, Monica put her window back up. She sat thinking. Candy had obviously been a danger to someone. Why? Did she know something? Perhaps she had seen someone or something the day of the Winter Walk and the killer had found out? According to the note Monica had found, Candy was meeting Ryan in the gazebo on the village green. Could she have seen something then? If so, was Ryan in danger as well?

Monica jumped when Stevens tapped on her window. She shivered as she zapped the window down again.

“We found something,” Stevens said, holding out a plastic evidence bag. “It's a napkin from that new restaurant in town—the Pepper Pot.” She rubbed her eyes with her other hand. “Since the baby, we haven't gotten out much,
but I thought the place hadn't opened yet. I'm pretty sure it was closed the opening day of the Winter Walk.”

“It's still closed,” Monica said glancing at the crumpled napkin visible through the clear plastic.

“I wonder how she got hold of this then?” Stevens said, almost to herself.

She looked at Monica, but Monica didn't have an answer either.

•   •   •

Monica was on her way back to Sassamanash Farm when she stopped at a light. Hers was the only car at the intersection. She looked behind her, down the hill in the other direction and to both sides. There wasn't another vehicle in sight. Monica glared at the red light ahead of her and wondered who had decided that a traffic light was needed at this particular spot. She was still waiting when she heard her phone ding from the depths of her purse, indicating she had a message.

As she pulled out her cell, the light turned green. She looked around but she was still the only one waiting at the intersection. She took a second to read the text before dropping the phone back into her purse and transferring her foot from the brake to the gas pedal.

The text was from Jeff, and he had something he wanted to show her. He didn't say what, and Monica was curious.

She headed down the hill to where the farm could be seen in the distance. A few minutes later, she was pulling into her driveway. Her mother's car was there, so Nancy obviously hadn't gone out.

As soon as Monica opened the back door, Mittens skittered over to say hello. She picked the kitten up and held her close, relishing the softness of Mittens's fur against her skin. Mittens soon twisted from Monica's grasp and leapt to the floor, where she amused herself by chasing a piece of fluff that was being blown about by the air from the heating vent. The kitten's antics made Monica smile and briefly forget the horror of finding Candy's body.

Monica was hanging her jacket on the coatrack when her mother walked into the kitchen.

“Hello, dear,” Nancy said, her finger holding her place in a book. She brandished it at Monica. “I've been enjoying my book—it's an intriguing mystery set in World War Two London. I think you'd enjoy it. It's so peaceful and quiet out here on the farm that in spite of everything I've found myself relaxing.”

She looked at Monica, who had begun to shiver.

“What's wrong? Are you cold? Let me make you a cup of tea.” Nancy put her book facedown on the table and reached for the kettle on Monica's stove. “Has something happened?” She twisted around to look at Monica as she placed the kettle under the tap.

Monica nodded and told her about finding Candy's body.

“How dreadful,” Nancy said as she turned on the burner.

“I'm sorry.” Monica sniffed. “I didn't mean to ruin your peaceful afternoon.”

“Nonsense. I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

“Has Jeff been around? He messaged me that he had something to show me.”

Nancy shook her head as she poured steaming tea into a mug, added some sugar and handed it to Monica. She
wrapped her hands around it gratefully, suddenly realizing they were as cold as the ice that now covered the cranberry bogs.

Monica finished her tea and put the mug in the dishwasher. “I'd better go find Jeff. He rarely ever texts me, so it must be something he considers important.” She turned to Nancy. “And you can get back to your book in peace.”

“Are you sure you want to go out again? You were shaking like a leaf.”

“I'm fine. The tea has warmed me up. Besides, I'm curious about what Jeff found.”

Monica bundled up in her down parka, scarf, heavy gloves and knitted hat. She was still freezing—it must be from the shock. She'd never gotten her lunch either but fortunately she was no longer hungry. She began to walk briskly, hoping the exercise would warm her up.

The sun was lower in the sky, lengthening her shadow on the path in front of her. Monica assumed Jeff was still out on the bogs doing the sanding. She could hear the faint drone of the sander in the distance. She left the path and headed in the direction of the sound.

The sound got louder as Monica approached the distant bog, where she could make out two sanders going back and forth methodically across the ice. They were laying down a half-inch layer of sand as neatly as if they were rolling paint on a wall.

Monica waved as she approached. One of the crew was standing at the edge of the bog. He had a knit cap pulled down over a wreath of blond curls. Monica thought she recognized him as a regular member of Jeff's team.

He smiled as Monica got closer. He was drinking from
a stainless steel thermos and swiped a hand across his mouth. “Hey,” he said. “Looking for Jeff?”

“Yes.” Monica looked toward where the sanders were swishing back and forth across the bog. Neither driver looked like Jeff. “Do you know where he is?”

The fellow pointed to a spot in the distance. “See those piles over there? That's sand.” He jerked a thumb toward the sanders behind him. “Jeff's been loading the sand onto the trucks to bring out to the bogs. He ought to be over there now. Dennis has just gone for another load.”

“Thanks,” Monica said and headed off in the direction the worker had indicated.

The spot he'd pointed to didn't look that far away, but by the time Monica got there she was quite warm and actually loosened her scarf a bit. Jeff was standing at the base of a large pile of sand, talking to another crew member. A truck filled with more sand idled nearby.

“Sis,” Jeff called when he saw Monica walking across the field.

The other fellow—Monica assumed he was Dennis—slapped Jeff on the back, hopped into the cab of the truck and began to pull away.

Despite the cold, Jeff had shed his jacket and was working in a dark green sweatshirt. His brows were drawn together in a frown and his expression was serious when Monica reached him.

“I'm glad you're here.”

His expression made him look vulnerable and younger than his twenty-five years. Monica felt her heart constrict at the sight of him. She'd felt protective of her baby brother from the moment she first saw him, and that hadn't changed over the years.

“I got your text. You found something?”

Jeff nodded and ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah, but I don't know what to make of it. That's why I was hoping you could. . . .” He trailed off.

“Why don't you show me what it is.”

Jeff led her over to a blue plastic tarp he'd spread out on the ground. On top of it was a woman's coat. It was cream-colored wool with a shawl collar and two ornate cut crystal buttons, rimmed in red stones and shaped like flowers. There were two other buttonholes but the buttons themselves were missing.

Jeff poked at the garment with the toe of his boot. “I was loading sand into the truck when I found this buried in the pile.” He jerked his head in the direction of the sand. “I don't know what to make of it.” He looked slightly embarrassed. “Obviously someone was trying to hide it, but why?” He looked at Monica.

She knelt down beside the coat, careful not to touch it. There was a rust-colored stain down the front—blood? Something about the garment looked familiar, but Monica couldn't quite place it. Maybe it would come to her later.

“What should we do?” Jeff shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. “Do you think it's okay if I toss it in the trash?”