Chapter 4

Monica had to really scrub to get the stains from the cranberry juice off her hands. Occupational hazard, she thought, as she ran a nailbrush foaming with soap over her fingers. But she’d finished the salsa for the order from Fresh Gourmet, and she still had time to get ready for the dinner she’d planned for the evening. In her mind, that was a win-win.

Monica wasn’t much for fashion and makeup, but since Greg was coming, she did take a few moments to dab some powder on her nose and change out of her jeans and T-shirt—her usual uniform while working in the kitchen.

Her hair refused to cooperate so she pinned it up in a loose knot on top of her head. She glanced in the bathroom mirror. A touch of lipstick and she would be ready.

The dinner she’d planned was a simple one—she didn’t have all that much time for fancy cooking. A couple of good steaks, cooked to a perfect medium rare, was always a hit. She had fixings for a salad and she would grill some zucchini and toss it with balsamic vinegar to bring out the vegetable’s sweetness.

Dessert would be equally no fuss—vanilla ice cream layered with some store-bought pound cake and cranberry preserves.

Monica was slicing the zucchini when there was a knock on her back door. Before she could even yell come in, Gina burst into the kitchen, her arms laden with grocery bags.

Her expensively highlighted blond hair—Gina made regular trips back to Chicago to shop and have her hair done—was in its usual deceptively simple looking twist. She was wearing black leggings and a leopard-print tunic along with leopard-print, pony hair ankle boots.

Gina had come to Cranberry Cove for a visit and had decided to stay, opening an aromatherapy shop called Making Scents on Beach Hollow Road, right next to the hardware store.

“I think I’m finally becoming one of you,” Gina said as she put the bags down on Monica’s kitchen table.

Monica managed to stifle a snort. “What makes you think that?”

“I went into the Cranberry Cove Diner, and Gus nodded at me. It was a very tiny nod, but I definitely saw him nod.” Gina plunged a hand into one of the bags.

Gus Amentas was the rather taciturn short-order cook at the Cranberry Cove Diner. He had no use for the tourists who flocked to Cranberry Cove in the summer and fall, and refused to acknowledge anyone he didn’t consider a local. To get even so much as a nod from Gus meant you were slowly becoming accepted in Cranberry Cove.

“What’s all that you’ve brought?” Monica said, watching Gina produce items from the grocery bags with the same flourish a magician uses to produce a rabbit from a top hat. “I am planning on giving you dinner, you know.”

Mittens, who had been sleeping in the late rays of the sun coming through the window, tired from her afternoon outdoors, jumped onto the kitchen table and pounced on one of the empty grocery bags, knocking it on its side. She then proceeded to curl up inside the bag, purring loudly.

“I thought it would be nice to have a little something beforehand. I went out to Fresh Gourmet and picked up a few things.” Gina waved a hand over the items spread out on the table. “I’ve got some pâté, a few different cheeses and,” she paused dramatically, “some champagne.”

“Are we celebrating something?” After the events of the afternoon, Monica was hardly in the mood to celebrate. To her mind, champagne was something reserved for New Year’s Eve and very special occasions like weddings and notable birthdays.

Gina shook her head. “Not really. But one doesn’t need an excuse to pop the cork on some bubbly.” She opened the refrigerator. “I’ll put these in here to chill.”

Monica sliced the last zucchini, spread the slices out on a plate and drizzled them with olive oil.

“Is your boyfriend coming?”

Monica felt herself bristle. “I think I’m a little too old to have a boyfriend,” she said mildly.

“Okay, your beau then. Is that better?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Good. I always enjoy talking to Greg. When are you two going to move in together?”

Monica felt herself color. “We’re perfectly happy the way we are. I live here on the farm, and he has his place over his shop. It’s convenient.”

Gina snorted. “Love is never convenient.” She looked over at Monica. “Your hair looks good like that, by the way. You should wear it up more often.”

Monica was relieved when the front doorbell rang.

“Do you want me to get it?” Gina asked.

“That’s okay.” Monica wiped her hands on her apron and headed down the hall to the living room and the small front foyer.

She opened the door to find Greg on the doorstep, clutching a paper-wrapped bundle of flowers.

He bent and kissed Monica then handed her the flowers. “For my hostess,” he said with a smile.

Monica buried her nose in the bouquet and sniffed. “They’re lovely.” She took Greg’s arm. “Come on back. Gina’s here.”

Monica returned to the kitchen to discover Jeff had arrived via the back door. He’d changed into a clean shirt and pair of jeans and his hair was still slightly damp from his shower.

“Jeff just told me about what happened this morning,” Gina said. “That poor woman.”

Greg looked from Gina to Monica. “What happened this morning?”

Monica explained about the bees and finding Lori dead from their stings.

Greg whistled. “I had no idea. The village grapevine must be malfunctioning.”

“They’re performing an autopsy to determine the exact cause of death,” Monica said.

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the steaks she’d bought from Bart’s. They were wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with string. Bart believed in doing things the old-fashioned way.

“An autopsy?” Gina said, mirroring Monica’s earlier tone when Stevens had mentioned the word. “Does that mean they suspect it wasn’t natural causes?”

Monica undid the paper wrapped around the pieces of meat. “According to Detective Stevens, it’s standard operating procedure in the case of any unattended death.”

Gina looked slightly disappointed, but then perked up. “Maybe it will turn out to be murder after all. We could use a dose of excitement. And here I thought living in a small town was going to be dull.”

“There’s nothing dull about it,” Greg said, arranging the flowers in the vase Monica had handed him. “I think there’s as much intrigue in small towns as there is in big cities.”

“You’re probably right,” Gina said. “Who’s up for some bubbly?” She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the bottle of champagne.

“Here, let me open it for you,” Greg said, taking the bottle from Gina. The outside was frosted with condensation.

Monica retrieved a couple of mismatched champagne glasses from the cupboard and dusted them off with a towel. She could no longer remember how she’d come by them. Champagne wasn’t something she had very often—and when she did, more often than not, it was in a restaurant.

Greg filled their glasses, and they nibbled on the treats Gina had brought.

Monica glanced at the clock. “I think it’s time I put the steaks on.”

She took the meat outside to the small brick patio Jeff had created for her as a surprise last year. It was bordered by a white trellis covered with pink climbing roses, and was just big enough for her new gas grill, a café table and a chaise longue.

Monica turned on the gas and lit three of the burners. Her parents had had a charcoal grill and her father had always had trouble getting the fire going. Monica had decided she would make it easier on herself and go for gas. She was glad she had—she’d grilled out almost every night since she’d bought it.

Once the grill reached the right temperature, Monica put on the steaks. The meat sizzled and spat and soon good smells were drifting on the air.

When she returned to the kitchen, she discovered that Gina had cleaned and set the table. Monica mixed the salad and tossed it with dressing while the steaks rested.

Finally they were all seated around the table with full plates and a glass of the red wine Monica had bought for the occasion.

“There’s another mystery I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” Monica turned to Greg.

He raised his eyebrows.

“You know that abandoned cottage on the right just before you head into Cranberry Cove?”

Greg nodded.

“I noticed smoke coming from the chimney and a truck parked out front.”

“I know the place you mean,” Gina said, pointing her fork at Monica. “There was a Dumpster out back last week filled with building materials.”

“Well. . . .” Greg leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach.

“Don’t tease us,” Monica said, lightly punching him on the arm. “You know something. I can tell.”

Greg let out a laugh. “You’re right. For once I know something before the VanVelsen sisters do. You’ll have to excuse me while I bask in that glory for a moment.”

Monica snorted. “Hennie didn’t know this morning when I asked her, but I’ll bet they know by now.”

Greg put on a comically sad face. “Please! Don’t puncture my balloon.”

Monica felt Gina jiggling her foot under the table.

“I don’t think you know anything,” Gina said, giving Greg a challenging look. “You’re stalling so you can make up some tall tale to tell us.”

Greg straightened up and put both hands on the table. “Au contraire, madame. I do happen to be in possession of the information you are so desperately seeking.”

“Then tell us before I pull my hair out,” Gina said, putting her hands to her head threateningly.

“Okay.” Greg relaxed back in his chair. “It was almost closing time when this fellow walked in.”

“What did he look like?” Gina immediately asked.

Greg held up a hand. “I’m getting to it, don’t worry. He was tall and . . . I can only say robust looking.”

“Fat?” Gina inquired.

Greg shook his head. “No, not fat. Muscular.” He pretended to flex the muscles in his arms.

“Age?” Gina’s foot was still going a mile a minute under the table.

Greg held his hands out, palms up. “Middle-aged? He had a full gray beard and thick hair. And very blue eyes. He reminded me of an old-fashioned ship’s captain.”

Gina raised her eyebrows.

“Which is ironic actually. He’s a writer, and he’s holing up in that old cottage to finish his latest book. It’s going to be on the famous shipwrecks in the Great Lakes like the Edmund Fitzgerald.”

Gina’s eyes widened. “Did he mention his name?”

Greg nodded. “Xavier Cabot.”

Gina gave a pretend shiver. “Oooh. I am definitely going to have to meet Mr. Xavier Cabot.”

And Monica didn’t doubt for a minute that Gina would find a way.