Berried Secrets (17 page)

“Darlene Polk?” Hennie sniffed. “I doubt that girl will ever make anything of her life. Her mother's fault, you know. She babied her. While all the other kids in town worked at summer jobs, she sat around reading romance novels.” Hennie
sniffed again. “Putting notions into her head that she didn't need—waiting for Prince Charming to come riding down Beach Hollow Road on a white horse, no doubt.”

“I do feel sorry for her though,” Monica said. “Losing her mother. She doesn't seem to have any other relatives or even any friends.”

Hennie nodded curtly. “I know. It is a sad case. Her mother passed way too young. She had the sugar, you know. Diabetes. Never did take proper care of herself. It led to her heart attack, I heard.”

Monica smiled. She doubted there was much of anything that happened in Cranberry Cove that Hennie and Gerda didn't
hear
.

“Now what should you get for your gift?” Hennie furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. “Chocolate is always good. We have De Heer chocolate bars—milk chocolate and dark.” She pointed to a selection of candy bars in orange wrappers in the glass case. “Or the Verkade milk chocolate.”

Monica peered into the glass. The candy bars were arranged with near military precision, and she suppressed a smile.

“Of course there are always the Droste pastilles.” Hennie gestured toward the pyramid of colored boxes. “It's a shame Droste doesn't make their chocolate orange balls anymore. Of course they didn't come out until the holidays. We used to get them in our stockings at Christmastime.”

“I think the pastilles are a wonderful idea. The boxes are so pretty and colorful. Perhaps a selection?”

“Excellent choice.” Hennie beamed at her like a teacher regarding an exceptionally bright pupil. “We do have a box of assorted flavors.” Hennie pointed to a stack on the shelf
behind the counter. “That way you get some of each, and the box makes a lovely presentation.”

“Perfect. I'll take one of those.”

“Would you like me to wrap it, dear?”

“If you wouldn't mind.”

“Not at all. It would be my pleasure.”

Hennie turned to a roll of wrapping paper behind the counter and tore off a piece.

Monica heard the beaded curtain to the stockroom move and glanced over to see Gerda entering. She had been wondering where Hennie's twin was. She couldn't recall ever having seen one without the other.

“So lovely to see you,” Gerda said when she noticed Monica. “Have you come for some of your peppermints?”

“Not this time.” Monica pointed to the box Hennie was wrapping. “I needed a gift for someone.”

“That Darlene Polk,” Hennie said over her shoulder. “You remember her, don't you?”

“Of course. She used to come in every week with her allowance to pick out something. Odd girl.” Gerda shook her head.

Monica looked down to see a glossy black cat weaving its way in and out of Gerda's legs.

“Midnight's come back!” Monica exclaimed.

“Yes.” Gerda swooped the sleek black cat up in her arms. Midnight looked less than pleased about being held captive. Her long tail swished back and forth impatiently.

“Where was she? Where did you find her?”

“We didn't exactly find her ourselves,” Hennie said, brandishing the beautifully wrapped package. “A young man brought her back.”

Gerda nodded. “Imagine that! He found her in a deserted barn outside of town. How she got there, we'll never know. It's a good five miles away.”

Hennie put the box of chocolates in a Gumdrops bag and set it on the counter. “Someone took her, I'll bet, and then let her loose out there. We've had threats before, you know. Just because poor Midnight doesn't have a smidge of fur on her that isn't black.”

“That's horrible.” Monica fished in her purse for her wallet. “Do you think the fellow that brought her back is the one who took her? Maybe he felt guilty?”

“Oh, no,” Gerda said as Midnight jumped down from her arms and went to take up a position in the sunbeam slanting through the front door. “He was terribly kind and most concerned.”

“He said he saw some of Gerda's posters around town. That's how he knew where to bring our precious baby.”

They all glanced in Midnight's direction. The cat preened and began to groom her front paw.

“Did you know this fellow?” Monica asked. There wasn't anyone in Cranberry Cove that the VanVelsens didn't know.

Hennie leaned her arms on the counter. “No. We'd never met him before. But he reminded me of that young man you were asking about a couple of days ago.”

“Yes. The foreign-looking one with the dark hair,” Gerda said.

“Mauricio?”

“Yes,” the sisters chorused. “That was his name.”

“When was this?” Monica asked with a sinking feeling.

“Yesterday.”

“You don't happen to remember what time do you?”

“Must have been near a quarter after five,” Hennie said. “We were getting ready to go home. I was counting out the register while Gerda swept the front steps. You should have heard her scream when she saw the young man walking towards her with Midnight in his arms.”

“I didn't scream,” Gerda said huffily.

Hennie ignored her.

“How long did he stay?” If the sisters found Monica's questions odd, they were much too polite to say.

“We invited him to dinner,” Gerda answered. “We were so thrilled that he'd brought our Midnight back.”

“He looked like he could use a good meal,” Hennie added, taking the twenty-dollar bill Monica handed her. “I think he may have been roughing it out in that barn.”

“So he got here at around five fifteen and went home with you for dinner?”

“Yes.” Hennie handed Monica her change. “We'd made a big pot of erwtensoep, so there was plenty.”

Monica must have looked confused because Hennie added, “Pea soup.”

“So Mauricio was with you from five fifteen until . . .”

“After seven, I would say, wouldn't you, Gerda?”

“Oh, yes.
Jeopardy
was just coming on as he was leaving.”

“It's our favorite show,” Hennie explained.

“But you must see our surprise,” Gerda said, clapping her hands. She gestured for Monica to follow her into the stockroom.

Midnight rose from her spot in the sun and scooted past them, her tail twitching and swishing briskly in the air.

The stockroom was every bit as neat and organized as the front of the shop, which didn't surprise Monica in the
least. Gerda took her arm and led her over to a large cardboard box.

Midnight leapt over the side of the box and curled up in the corner, giving them all a disapproving look.

Monica peered into the box. “Oh!” was all she could say.

“Aren't they darling?” Gerda bent and stroked one of the tiny kittens. “This one looks just like Midnight.” She pointed to a black kitten sleeping in the corner.

“So Midnight was pregnant!”

“Yes, we had no idea. Thank goodness that young man found them. With the weather getting colder . . .” Gerda shivered.

“Would you like one of them?” Hennie smiled at Monica.

Monica had never thought about having a pet. She'd been too busy in Chicago to contemplate anything more needy than a houseplant. But now, why not? A cat would love being on the farm with so many mice and other small creatures to chase.

“I don't know which one to pick.” There were three in the litter—the black one and two black-and-white ones.

“You don't have to choose now. They have to stay with their mother for a few more weeks.”

“Yes,” Hennie added. “They'll have more personality then, and you can see which one suits you the best.”

Monica gave a last look at the kittens and bid the sisters good-bye, the white Gumdrops bag swinging from her hand. The information they'd given her put Mauricio in the clear for Cora's murder. So now she was back to square one. But was she looking for one killer or two?

Monica was walking back toward her car when she heard someone call her name. She turned to see Gina waving furiously at her.

She walked over to where Gina was waiting on the sidewalk, wearing a construction helmet, which she somehow managed to make look feminine and like the latest fashion. She was standing in front of an empty store, and Monica could hear the sounds of banging and drilling coming through the open door.

“Come see what we're doing,” Gina said, taking Monica by the arm and leading her into the building.

Monica followed, stepping carefully over a couple of two-by-fours. The smell of sawdust filled the air, and she could see particles of it floating in the beam of sunlight coming through the dusty front window.

Two burly construction workers in jeans and flannel shirts nodded at Monica.

“What do you think?” Gina asked. “This is going to be my new shop. I'm calling it Making Scents.”

“It's kind of hard to tell what it's going to look like at the moment.” Monica glanced around. The interior of the shop had been gutted down to the studs, with only two-by-fours creating the suggestion of separate rooms.

“The stockroom will be back here.” Gina walked through a roughly sketched opening. “I'm going to have a small kitchen area where I can make coffee and have a bite to eat without having to leave the shop.”

She grabbed Monica's arm and led her to a staircase. “These stairs will go up to my apartment above the shop. They'll be starting on that next week. It will be an open-plan kitchen and living room. I'll be able to see the lake through the living room windows. There'll be a bedroom, of course. Not very large, but I wanted room for a walk-in closet and an en suite bathroom. I'll have a small powder room for guests off the kitchen.”

“It sounds lovely,” Monica said, wondering how long all of this was going to take. The renovations seemed extensive to her.

The two workers had stopped momentarily and were leaning against one of the beams sipping coffee from Styrofoam cups.

Gina gave Monica a coy look. “I saw you talking to that fellow who owns the bookstore. He seems like a nice guy. Kind of cute, too. I went in there the other day to pick up a book Jeff had ordered.”

“Greg Harper,” one of the workers spoke up. “He's the owner, and he is a nice guy. Ran for mayor a couple of years ago.”

The other worker put down his cup, took off his construction
helmet and ran his hands through his hair. “Wasn't there some big flap about the election?”

“Yeah,” his coworker answered. “There were rumors that Culbert cheated. That he bought votes or something like that.”

“Frankly, I wouldn't put it past him.”

Knowing what Culbert had done to Jeff, Monica wouldn't put it past him, either.

“I voted for that Harper guy. He had some great plans for Cranberry Cove. All Culbert wanted to do was ride around on a float in the Memorial Day and Fourth of July parades and wave to the crowd.”

The two of them snickered.

Obviously there were any number of people in Cranberry Cove who weren't sorry that Sam Culbert was gone.

Gina followed Monica outside to the sidewalk, where she nudged her in the side playfully.

“So are you two going out?”

Monica was confused. “What two? What do you mean?”

“You and the fellow from the bookstore. Are you dating? Or is that too old-fashioned a word? I think the kids call it hooking up these days.”

“No!” The word burst from Monica before she could stop it.

“Why not? He seems nice enough, and he's rather cute with the way his hair is always a little rumpled.”

“We had brunch together on Sunday, but I don't think that—

“So you
are
going out!”

“I don't think it was a date exactly. We ran into each other, and we were both hungry so . . .”

“So you went to brunch together. He wouldn't have suggested it if he didn't like you.”

“True,” Monica said, her lips curving into an involuntary smile.

Gina nudged Monica again. “Give him a little encouragement, and I'm sure he'll ask you out.”

Monica started to protest but then closed her mouth. Why not? She liked Greg, and she wouldn't mind spending more time with him. She was a little unsure as to how she was supposed to encourage him beyond being friendly, but she knew better than to ask. She doubted she would like Gina's answer.

Monica bid her stepmother good-bye and headed to the diner to pick up Darlene's lunch. It looked as if Cora had left rather large shoes to fill. The new waitress, a young girl with a tattoo of a butterfly on her ankle, looked harried and flustered. A lock of hair was matted to her cheek with perspiration, and she kept looking over her shoulder at Gus, who glowered at her from behind the counter.

Monica placed her order and decided to treat herself to a hamburger, too. They were both ready with astonishing swiftness, and Monica picked up her package from the takeout window and left.

She was about to head to her car when she had a flash of inspiration. She would stop at the bakery and pick up a couple of cupcakes. Darlene would have her birthday party after all.

•   •   •

Before Monica even reached Sassamanash Farm, the interior of her car was redolent of the smell of hamburger and French fries, subtly overlaid with the scent of sugary buttercream icing. She parked in the farm store parking lot and was headed toward the door when she noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye.

Someone was standing in the field to the right of the store. Monica squinted. Two someones. One of them was Jeff. She didn't have to see him clearly to recognize his stance and his movements—the way he tilted his head when he was listening and used his hands when he was talking.

Jeff stepped to one side, and Monica could see that his companion was a female. She was quite sure it was Lauren. Maybe they were hashing things out? Monica crossed her fingers. She hoped so.

Darlene was leaning on the counter with a sulky look on her face when Monica entered.

“I'm hungry,” she said, reaching for the white bag from the diner that Monica handed her.

“Sorry,” Monica felt compelled to say. “I guess I took longer than I meant to.”

Darlene sniffed, peered inside her bag, and pulled out her burger. “Did you bring me a cola?”

“Yes. I think our drinks are in this bag.” Monica pushed it toward Darlene. She dug in her pocket and pulled out the bills Darlene had given her earlier. “Here, lunch is on me since it's your birthday.”

Darlene looked truly startled and, Monica thought, almost touched as she put out a tentative hand to reach for the money. She ducked her head as if to say
thank you
.

The shop was empty so they unwrapped their burgers and fries and ate them side by side at the counter. It was the most companionable Monica had ever felt with Darlene. Finally they were finished and Monica scrunched up the wrappings from their meal and tossed them in the trash.

“Thanks,” Darlene said, looking as if the words stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Monica waved a hand. “You deserved a birthday treat so . . .” She pulled the white bakery bag out from under the counter like a conjurer performing a magic trick.

Darlene's mouth dropped open. “What . . . what . . .” was all she could manage to say.

Monica then pulled the Gumdrops bag out from where she had stowed it. Darlene was agog; her eyes as round as saucers, her mouth in a startled
O
.

Monica handed the Gumdrops package to Darlene. “Just a little something to say happy birthday.”

Darlene dashed at the tears that had formed in her eyes, and pulled the bag toward her. She peered inside and then pulled out the box of Droste chocolates.

“This is for me?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Monica assured her.

Darlene started to fumble with the box.

“But wait. Before you open that . . .” Monica pulled the cupcakes out of the bakery bag. “I think I have some plates in the back.”

Darlene rubbed her eyes. “I'm really having a birthday after all.”

Monica smiled. She was glad she had gone to the trouble of arranging something for Darlene.

They finished their cupcakes, threw their paper plates and wrappers in the trash, and Monica swept the last of the crumbs from the counter into her hand.

“I hope you enjoy the chocolates. I thought of getting you a book, but I wasn't sure what you liked to read.”

“That's okay.” Darlene held the box of candy to her chest as if Monica was going to snatch it back. She fingered the
velvet bow tenderly. “You know that guy who owns the bookstore?” she asked suddenly.

Monica nodded.

“He ran for mayor against Sam Culbert a couple of years ago.”

“Yes, I've heard. Someone told me.”

“Did they tell you that Culbert cheated in the election? Paid people to vote for him, I heard.”

“They did mention something about that. But they were just rumors.”

Darlene gave her a sly look. “I don't know about that.”

Monica raised her eyebrows. “Why do you say that?”

Darlene shrugged her shoulders. “On account of the fight.”

“Fight?” Monica wanted to scream. Couldn't Darlene just come out with it? She was like a miser with a purse full of coins—reluctantly doling them out one at a time.

Darlene nodded. “Yes, they got into a fight.”

Monica suppressed a sigh. “Who is ‘they'?”

“Sam Culbert and that bookstore owner, of course,” Darlene said with exaggerated patience.

Monica felt herself become very still. “Sam Culbert and Greg Harper got into a fight?”

“Yes. Right in the middle of Beach Hollow Road. They were shouting something fierce and circling each other like two dogs ready to attack. And you know what?”

“No,” Monica said, trying not to grind her teeth.

“That Harper fellow threatened to kill Culbert.”

“Don't you think that was just an idle threat? Made in anger in the spur of the moment?”

Darlene looked confused and pulled at her lower lip.

“What I'm saying is that Greg probably didn't mean it,” Monica said. “People say things in anger that they have no intention of carrying out.”

But how well did she know Greg Harper, really? A couple of brief conversations and one brunch together hardly meant you knew someone.

Monica decided it might be best to change the subject. “Are you still cleaning for the Culberts?” she asked. “I guess I should say for Mrs. Culbert now.”

“Yes, of course.” Darlene turned toward Monica. “I don't make enough money working here, do I?” She looked at Monica accusingly.

Monica stiffened. How had Darlene managed to go from making her feel warm toward her to being aggravated with her in the space of a couple of minutes?

Darlene seemed able to handle the slow flow of customers that began to arrive toward late afternoon, so Monica decided to head back to her cottage to work on the product application form for Fresh Gourmet.

Darlene gave Monica a panicked look when Monica began to put on her jacket.

“We're not very busy,” Monica said pulling up her zipper. “I'm sure you'll be fine.”

Darlene had her deer-in-the-headlights look, but Monica ignored it and said a firm good-bye. She drove back to her cottage, sun streaming through her windshield. She knew the weather would be changing soon—the nip in the air told her that—and the landscape would be covered in snow. Fortunately Monica enjoyed all the seasons and looked forward to each in turn.

A familiar car was in the driveway when Monica pulled
in. Stevens was leaning against the hood, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her open coat.

“Please don't say it,” Stevens said with a smile as Monica pulled alongside her and got out of the car. “If one more person says ‘oh, you're still here,' I will positively scream.”

Monica laughed but inside she was worrying. What did Stevens want now? “Would you like to come inside?” she asked the detective.

“Please.” Stevens turned up the collar on her coat. “It's getting rather chilly. The temperature must have dropped a good ten degrees since this morning.”

Monica led the way into her tiny living room. Once again Stevens eschewed the overstuffed sofa and chose one of the armchairs.

“I'm glad you're here,” Monica said as she sat down opposite Stevens.

“Now that's something I don't hear very often.” Stevens smiled.

“I have some information for you.”

Stevens raised her eyebrows and pulled a battered spiral notebook from the pocket of her raincoat.

“It's about Mauricio,” Monica began.

Stevens removed the ballpoint pen that was stuck through the spiral on the notebook and clicked it. She held it poised above the paper.

“It makes sense that the same person that killed Culbert also killed Cora, don't you think?”