Chapter 10

Monica thought about Greg the next morning as she rolled out dough for scones and beat batter for muffins. Why hadn’t she taken him up on his invitation to spend the night? She was well over the death of her former fiancé, and it was certainly time to move on.

She sighed as she took off her apron and hung it on the hook. If Greg asked again, she wasn’t saying no.

Arline was wrapping small squares of cranberry-printed fabric around the tops of the jars of homemade cranberry jam and affixing them with cranberry grosgrain ribbon. The print matched the cranberry pattern that bordered the Sassamanash Farm label affixed to each jar. Arline had flour on the front of her apron and in her short dark hair, giving the illusion of a broad white streak above her left eye.

“Will you be okay?” Monica asked as she ran a hand through her own hair—her go-to method of combing it. “I need to run into town to pick up a few things.”

Arline looked up from the jar she was concentrating on, the tip of her tongue caught between her front teeth—something Monica noticed she did when she was focusing on a task. “Sure. Go on. I think we’re on top of everything.”

“Is there anything you need?”

Arline shook her head, and some of the flour in her hair flew into the air. “No, but thanks for asking.”

“I’ll stop in when I get back.”

“Fine.” Arline went back to the ribbon she was attempting to secure around the jar.

Although the farm kitchen was equipped with a sophisticated cooking system, it still heated up when the ovens were going full blast, which was most of the time. Monica was grateful to step outside, where it was early enough that a cool breeze was still blowing. She dropped off the batch of baked goods Arline had made that morning at the farm store and headed toward downtown Cranberry Cove.

Traffic in town was beginning to pick up with the warmer weather. Tourists came to spend an afternoon at the lake, although the water was still cold enough to deter all but the hardiest of swimmers or those wearing wet suits, like the surfers hoping for some waves. Soon the summer people would be arriving in full force and all the dark and shuttered cottages would be bursting with occupants, music drifting from porches and open windows, people enjoying their vacation by the shores of the lake.

Monica needed to pick up some shampoo and soap at the drugstore and a paintbrush at the hardware store—she was hoping to finally find time to paint the bathroom. At the moment it was a plain and serviceable white, but she had picked out a color called English Apple Green that she hoped would give the room a spa-like feel, despite the fact that it lacked any of the amenities of a spa and instead boasted an antique claw-foot tub with rust stains around the drain and a small pedestal sink with a chip in the basin.

A large gold SUV with a Keep Calm and Play Lacrosse sticker on the back window was pulling out of a space in front of Gumdrops. Monica waited patiently while the car backed out and then pulled her Focus into the spot.

She turned off the engine and got out, ready to head to the drugstore and hardware store. She glanced at the front of Gumdrops and stopped. She hadn’t heard anything new about Gerda and she knew Hennie had been very worried. She had been worried herself. Cranberry Cove wasn’t the same without a matching set of VanVelsens manning the counter of the candy store.

Midnight, the VanVelsens’ cat and mother of Monica’s kitten, Mittens, greeted her at the door, weaving in and out of Monica’s legs as Monica approached the counter. Hennie had her back to the store, and the hunch of her shoulders worried Monica.

“Hennie,” she said softly so as not to scare the woman.

Hennie whirled around and plastered a welcoming smile on her face—something she had become adept at after running the store for decades now.

“Monica! How lovely to see you. What can I get for you?”

“Nothing right now, thanks. I was wondering how Gerda is?”

Hennie’s shoulders sagged a little more. “She’s getting better, but it’s so hard not having her here.” She gave a bittersweet smile. “We’ve never been apart you know.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I know some people find that peculiar and can’t imagine it, but for us it’s normal.” She smiled again, a genuine smile this time. “Having a twin is like being born with a built-in best friend. At least that’s how it’s been for me and Gerda. Neither of us chose to marry—having each other was enough.” A sob caught in her throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Monica spoke softly. “What is troubling Gerda?”

“It’s her lungs, as usual. Sometimes with twins, one of them gets short shrift in one area and the other in another area. For Gerda, it has always been her lungs.” She looked at Monica. “I’m afraid she’s in the hospital, down with pneumonia. With all the antibiotics at our disposal today, people no longer fear pneumonia as they once did, but at our age, and with Gerda’s weakness . . .” She shrugged. “You can see why I’m concerned.”

“Is she allowed visitors?”

“Oh, she would like that.” Hennie clapped her hands. “That would be so dear of you. The only restriction is that the doctor has asked that visitors not stay too long. Pneumonia can cause profound fatigue in the patient, you know.”

Monica smiled. “I won’t stay any longer than is comfortable for her. Is there something I can take her?”

Hennie gave an abrupt laugh, and Monica was surprised to see her face turn pink. “She loves those magazines that are all about gossip and the stars even though neither of us recognizes half of the names anymore. None of them can hold a candle to Bette Davis or Doris Day.”

“You mean like Star and OK?” Monica asked.

Hennie nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. We hardly ever buy them but we enjoy them when we have our weekly set at the beauty parlor.”

“I think they sell them at the drugstore, and I’m on my way there now. I’ll pick up a couple to take to her.”

“She’ll be so delighted.” Hennie clasped her hands in front of her chest. “And not only because of the magazines, but because of your company. It will mean a lot to her and no doubt will do her a world of good.”

Monica said good-bye and left to run her errands—the hardware store first. It still had wooden floors that creaked when you walked on them and the smell peculiar to such stores—a combination of wood and metal.

Monica quickly made her purchases and headed down the street to the drugstore. The magazine rack was full and the current issues ran the gamut from news magazines to the gossip rags Gerda was interested in, along with periodicals about boating, fishing and hunting—a triumvirate of pastimes beloved by tourists and locals alike.

Monica scanned the headlines of the celebrity magazines. It seemed as if everyone in Hollywood was sporting a baby bump—which appeared to be the newest must-have accessory—was getting engaged or divorced or was snapped on vacation in a bikini. She found it hard to picture the staid VanVelsen sisters enjoying these sorts of stories but she supposed everyone had their guilty pleasure.

Monica chose several magazines that she thought would be appealing, picked up her shampoo and the other items on her list and headed back to her car.

•   •   •

She was pleased to see, when she arrived at the hospital, that Gerda was propped up in bed watching a lively game show on television. She was thinner than usual and her cheeks were not as pink, but she didn’t look as ill as Monica had feared she would.

Her pale blue eyes lit up when she saw Monica.

“Hello, dear. How nice of you to come by.”

“I’ve brought you something to while away the time.” Monica held out the stack of magazines. Gerda’s eyes brightened even more and the palest pink blush washed over her face.

“How kind of you. I suppose Hennie gave away our little vice?”

Monica nodded.

“Don’t worry. We don’t believe half of what they print. But it is fun, don’t you think?”

“And perfectly harmless,” Monica said as she took a seat in the chair next to the bed.

“I’ve heard about the excitement out at Sassamanash Farm,” Gerda said, her eyes lighting up again.

Obviously being in the hospital wasn’t enough to keep Gerda out of the loop, Monica thought.

“I’m not sure I would call it exciting—more like frightening.”

“Yes, of course,” Gerda said. “And that poor girl—way too young to die. She was always very kind to me whenever I visited the library.”

“You knew Lori?”

Gerda nodded and gave a smug little smile. “Between us, Hennie and I know nearly everyone in Cranberry Cove.” She frowned. “The permanent residents, of course, not the summer visitors. Although we have gotten to know some of the ones who come back every year for their annual holiday.”

“How well did you know Lori Wenk?”

Gerda pulled the blankets up to her chest with her gnarled, blue-veined hands. “Not terribly well really. But over the years I have heard a few things about her.”

Monica’s heart rate sped up with excitement. “Such as?”

Gerda picked at a loose thread on the blue hospital-issue blanket. “Do you know Charlie Decker?” she asked finally.

“Yes. She runs Primrose Cottage.”

Gerda nodded. “Charlie and Lori were about the same age and in the same grade at school. They both started jobs at the Cranberry Cove drugstore at the same time and the next thing anyone knew, they were doing everything together—sitting with each other at high school football games, having sleepovers and walking to school together. They were almost inseparable until . . .”

Gerda paused dramatically and Monica held her breath. Gerda was as adept at keeping her audience in the palm of her hand as a professional entertainer.

“Until?” Monica finally prompted. She realized she’d been holding her breath.

“Until it became obvious someone was stealing merchandise from the Cranberry Cove Drugstore. Things that would be attractive to a teenager—makeup, hair color, nail polish . . . little items like that.”

Monica tried to imagine where this was going, but couldn’t.

“Obviously the owners—Fred Macgillicutty and his wife, Gladys—kept a keen eye on the store and didn’t think customers were pilfering the stock. They were convinced it was a member of the staff.”

Gerda began to cough, and Monica waited on pins and needles until her coughing fit subsided and she’d wiped her mouth with a tissue.

“They began questioning the employees who were working there at the time and when they came to Lori, she claimed to know for a fact that it was Charlie Decker who had been doing the shoplifting.”

There was a lengthy pause and Monica finally asked, “What happened then?” She hoped she wasn’t tiring Gerda unduly with her questions.

“Gladys fired Charlie. Fred tried to convince her to investigate further, but Gladys had had it in for Charlie from the beginning. She’d noticed what an interest Fred had taken in Charlie and how he would look at her whenever she was in the shop.”

Monica made a noise, and Gerda held up a hand.

“Fred was a decent man, and he never would have taken advantage of the situation, but he had an eye for the young girls and took pleasure in looking at them.”

“Was Charlie really the thief?” Monica asked, thinking of the woman she knew—hardworking, principled and kindhearted.

“Probably not,” Gerda said, pausing to cough again, a tissue pressed tightly to her mouth. “The assumption was that Lori was the thief and had thrown suspicion on Charlie to save herself.”

Monica’s breath caught in her throat. If Lori was responsible for Charlie losing her job, not to mention her reputation, would that still rankle so many years later? Would Charlie murder her because of it? The idea of Charlie Decker being responsible hardly made Monica happy.

“What happened after Charlie was fired?” Monica asked Gerda whose eyes were beginning to flutter and close and whose breathing was becoming more labored.

“Obviously the friendship between Lori and Charlie was over. I’d heard that Charlie vowed to get even, but I don’t think she ever did. I don’t think it’s in her nature.”

But maybe it was, Monica thought. Had Charlie waited all this time to get her revenge against Lori?