After breakfast the next morning, Monica flipped open her laptop and powered it up. She brought up her favorite search engine and typed in shooting ranges. She thought she’d seen signs for one nearby.
It didn’t take her more than a minute to find it. Kooistra’s Shooting Range. It was near Lake Ottawa, not far out of town.
Monica bundled up in a jacket, scarf, gloves and a hat but she still flinched when she opened the back door and was hit with a blast of frigid air. It didn’t deter Hercule in the least and he bounded ahead of her until he reached the end of his leash. Monica stamped her feet against the cold and waited while he did his business. He wanted to dawdle on the way back in but she convinced him that a treat was in the offing if he hurried up and he finally condescended to follow her inside.
Monica doled out dog treats to Hercule, cat treats to Mittens, said goodbye and pulled the door closed behind her.
The drive to the shooting range was pleasant with occasional shafts of sunlight piercing the clouds. Monica passed Lake Ottawa—a small lake that was now deserted but would be alive with boaters, swimmers and tubers in the summer. A small sign nailed to a fence post pointed the way to Kooistra’s Shooting Range.
The range was down a dirt road frozen into ruts and Monica felt every jolt even though she’d slowed her speed to under twenty miles an hour. She had a moment of panic thinking about the effects the bouncing might have on the baby even though her doctor had assured her the baby was well-cushioned inside the womb.
She was relieved when a low wooden building came into view. It was surrounded by a wire fence with a rusted metal sign attached that read Beware: Guns. Stuck into the ground was another sign, this one announcing Kooistra’s Shooting Range.
Monica pulled into the gravel parking lot, got out of the car and walked toward the small building. It was weathered-looking and a few shingles were missing from the roof. Monica opened the front door cautiously and stepped into the cramped room, which was furnished with some tired-looking armchairs, a potbelly stove belching heat and various guns mounted on the walls. There was a bucket in the middle of the room, no doubt strategically positioned to catch the drips from the rotting roof.
A man stood behind a chipped and stained Formica counter. He had long hair going gray, a large handlebar mustache and was wearing a plaid shirt tucked into jeans. He had weary blue eyes and smelled of smoke.
He smiled at Monica and leaned his elbows on the counter.
“What can I do for you, young lady?”
Monica took a deep breath. She’d planned what to say on her way over in the car but suddenly the words deserted her.
“I wanted to learn how to shoot,” she said finally. “And my cousin recommended your place.”
The man looked her up and down. “Do you have your own gun? Because we don’t rent to single people. We don’t want any suicides.” He smiled, showing tobacco-stained teeth.
“Uh, no. I mean, I didn’t bring it with me. I was in the vicinity and thought I’d check this place out. My cousin, Lacey Van Der Zee, said she comes here for target practice and she told me it was quite reasonable.”
“Nice lady, your cousin. Used to be married to that football player. What a shame that was.” He cracked the knuckles of his right hand and the sound reverberated around the room like a gunshot. “She’s just learning, of course, but she’s improving.”
“How long has she been coming here?”
“About a month or so, I’d say.” He sneezed, pulled a red bandana from the pocket of his jeans, blew his nose and reached for a clipboard with a stack of papers attached. He pushed it toward Monica and pointed at it with a stubby finger.
“This here is our application for membership to the range. You’ll need to fill this out if you want to join.”
Now that she had the information she wanted, Monica wasn’t quite sure how to extricate herself from the situation. Should she fill out the form with a phony name?
Fortunately for her, the man pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.
“You don’t mind if I step out for a minute to have a smoke? You can leave the application right here when you’re done.” He rapped the counter with his knuckles.
Monica smiled and plucked a pen from the container on the counter.
As soon as his back was turned, she put down the clipboard, replaced the pen, picked up her purse and all but ran toward the door. She didn’t breathe easily until she was in her car and on her way back down the dirt road toward Lake Ottawa.
Monica gritted her teeth as she bounced back down the rutted dirt road. She was surprised when she noticed a car coming toward her. Were they headed to the shooting range? As far as she could tell, there wasn’t much of anything else in the vicinity. She felt her stomach drop to her feet as the car got closer. It was a Lamborghini. There weren’t a lot of people in Cranberry Cove who drove a Lamborghini. As a matter of fact, she could think of only one—Lacey Van Der Zee.
Monica put a hand up to shield her face as the two automobiles passed each other on the narrow road. Had Lacey seen her? Panic overwhelmed her and she nearly steered the car into a ditch.
Would the fellow at the shooting range tell Lacey her “cousin” had been in asking questions? And had then taken off without even bothering to fill out the membership application form? If Lacey was indeed the killer, then Monica had put herself in a very precarious position.
She looked in her rearview mirror. What if Lacey turned around and came after her? Throughout the entire ride home, she kept an eye out for a flashy Lamborghini suddenly appearing behind her. The thought gave her goose bumps and she nearly collapsed with relief when she pulled into the driveway of her cottage.
• • •
“Where is everyone?” Monica said when she arrived, somewhat breathless, at the farm kitchen.
“Your mother is running an errand.” Kit jerked his head toward the door. “And Janice has gone to deliver some product to the farm store.”
“You’ve been busy this morning,” Monica said as she slipped her apron on and joined Kit at the counter.
“No more than usual,” Kit said.
Monica felt a slight sting. Was Kit saying she wasn’t needed? That she wasn’t holding up her end? She sighed and vowed to spend more time baking and less time investigating.
“Sean and I went out to dinner last night,” Kit said as he tipped flour into the mixer. “We were walking down that alley next to the Pepper Pot, the one that leads to the parking lot, and we thought we heard someone coming up behind us.” He gave an exaggerated shiver. “I suddenly thought of that killer—the one who shot that fellow in his car—what if it was him?”
“Or her,” Monica said without thinking.
“Oh?” Kit’s voice went up an octave. “Do you know something?” He folded his hands together as if in prayer. “Do tell.”
“I’m only saying it could be a her. Rip Taylor left behind some angry women. His ex-wife, for instance.”
“What about that woman who was killed and her body dumped in a ditch. Could there be two killers on the loose in Cranberry Cove?”
Monica found that thought quite alarming. She rolled the idea around in her mind. If she was right and Lacey had killed Rip, why would she kill Kayla as well? Because Kayla was the one who took Rip away from her? Lacey seemed to have put that behind her, but perhaps it was all an elaborate act.
Maybe she was wrong and Lacey wasn’t the culprit. Maybe it was Tyler or Kayla herself and there really was another killer in Cranberry Cove. And then there was Jax Johnson. She’d almost forgotten him. But what reason would he have for killing Rip? Could someone really carry a grudge for that many years?
She shook her head. She was getting nowhere. It was time to focus on work.
• • •
Monica spent the rest of the afternoon on her feet, kneading dough, pulling sheets of cookies from the oven and mixing batter. By the time she got home, she ached from her head to her toes. She threw her jacket over one of the kitchen chairs, went into the living room and flopped down on the sofa.
She felt something wet on her cheek and turned her head to see Hercule’s black button nose. She reached out a hand and scratched his ears before dropping her arm back on the sofa next to her.
She thought of soaking in a nice warm bath to ease the aches and pains. Maybe she’d phone Greg and ask him to get some take-out from the diner. Their hot turkey and gravy with mashed potatoes and green beans was actually quite good.
The telephone rang and she groaned. What now? It had better not be a robocall, she thought as she sat up and retrieved her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans.
“Hello?”
“It’s me, Gina,” Gina said in a breathless voice.
Monica frowned. “Gina? Is something wrong? You sound . . . strange.”
There was a pause. “No, nothing serious. But my car broke down. I called Hal’s towing and now I’m on the side of the road waiting for them. I was hoping you could come pick me up? I would call Mickey but this is his busiest time of the day. I tried Nancy but she isn’t answering.”
Monica closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten.
“Sure, I’ll come get you,” she said with more enthusiasm than she felt. “Where are you?”
Gina gave her directions and Monica promised to be there as soon as she could.
Of all the things, Monica thought as she put on her jacket and got into her car. Poor Gina though. Stuck on the side of the road in these freezing temperatures.
The address—actually it was just the intersection of two streets—was outside of town. Large trees grew on either side of the road with sparsely scattered houses set way back, down long driveways. What was Gina doing all the way out here? Monica wondered.
The sun was going down and Monica flicked on her lights. So far, she hadn’t passed any other cars and the silence was eerie. Surely Gina would be around the next bend.
Monica breathed a sigh of relief when she finally saw Gina’s car on the shoulder a short distance ahead. She put on her blinker and pulled off to the side of the road ahead of Gina’s car. She switched on her flashers. While there was virtually no traffic, the shoulder wasn’t very deep and she wasn’t taking any chances.
She was surprised the tow truck hadn’t arrived yet to haul Gina’s car to the garage. She would have to wait till it came, she supposed. She looked out the rearview mirror expecting to see Gina walking toward her car but Gina appeared to still be sitting behind the wheel of her own vehicle.
Monica waited a few more minutes, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel and fiddling with the radio, unable to settle on any particular station. Finally, she decided to call Hal’s Towing and find out how much longer it would be before they got there. It was nearly dark now and Greg would be home soon. She hadn’t thought to leave a note, assuming she’d be back before him, and she hated to think of his worrying.
She sighed as she pulled her cell phone from her purse and punched in the number of the towing company.
“Hal’s,” a voice answered tersely.
Monica was surprised to hear Hal’s gruff voice. She’d been expecting to get the answering service. Shouldn’t he be on the road already? Gina had called him before Monica had even left the house.
She asked him how much longer he’d be. There was a pause.
“Who did you say this was?”
“I’m calling for Gina Albertson. She called for a tow about half an hour ago.” Monica gave him the address.
Hal cleared his throat, a vast rumble that made Monica think of a volcano erupting. She heard him flipping through some papers.
“I’m sorry, miss, but your friend didn’t call here. She must have called some other towing company, otherwise I’d be there by now. I haven’t had a call for at least an hour. Not since I went to tow old Mrs. Singleton’s Buick. That’s the second time in two weeks she’s called me. I told her she needed to take the car in for a tune-up but she’s a stubborn old gal.”
Monica heard him take a drag on his cigarette and waited while he blew out the smoke.
“But Gina must have called you. There isn’t any other towing company in town.”
“You sound like a nice lady, and I don’t want to argue with you, but I’m afraid she didn’t call here. Like I said, the phone hasn’t even rung for the last couple of hours.”
Monica was forced to admit defeat. She thanked Hal and hung up.
Who on earth did Gina call if not Hal’s Towing? She thought back to their conversation. She was positive Gina had said Hal’s Towing. She wouldn’t lie about something like that. It made no sense.
Suddenly a chill crept up Monica’s spine and her breath caught in her throat. Unless . . .
She glanced in her rearview mirror again. Gina still hadn’t moved. She appeared to be clutching the steering wheel, and even though Monica couldn’t make out her expression, there was something in her posture that told Monica she was frightened.
What did she have to be frightened of? Unless this was a trap with Gina as the bait and Monica had walked right into it.
She didn’t know what to do. She toyed with her cell phone, picking it up and putting it down multiple times. Once she began dialing, but before entering all three digits, she abruptly ended the call. She’d feel awfully stupid if she called the police and everything turned out to be perfectly innocent.
Another five minutes went by. Still no sign of a tow truck and Monica wasn’t surprised. But Gina hadn’t gotten out of her car yet and had barely moved from her previous position.
Monica tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. What should she do? Call the police after all? And what would she say? Not only that, but would they believe her? Fortunately, Cranberry Cove was normally a fairly sleepy town, so the police would probably come out of curiosity if nothing else.
She picked up her cell phone and held her breath as she punched in the numbers nine-one-one.
The dispatcher’s calm voice was very soothing and she reassured Monica that a patrol car would be on its way immediately. Monica was relieved the woman had taken her seriously but that didn’t solve the problem of what was going on with Gina.
Knowing the police were on their way gave Monica a dose of courage. She opened her door, got out and began to walk toward Gina’s Mercedes. It wasn’t until she had nearly reached the car that she noticed someone sitting behind Gina.
And she had the muzzle of a gun up against the back of Gina’s head.
Monica’s limbs turned leaden and she froze in place, watching in horror as Lacey Van Der Zee slowly repositioned the gun, taking direct aim at Monica instead.