Chapter 12

“What a nosy thing she is,” Gina declared when Monica told her about Arline finding the pregnancy kit in Lori’s wastebasket.

They were sitting in a booth at the diner having a cup of coffee and sharing a piece of blueberry pie.

Gina stabbed her fork in the air for emphasis. “I mean, I can see glancing into the trash and noticing that the kit had been tossed in there, but she had to have gone digging for the test strip.” Gina shuddered. “Imagine! Amongst all those used tissues and whatnot.”

“True.”

“Does she strike you as the nosy type?” Gina forked up another bite of pie.

Monica stopped chewing while she thought. “I don’t know. Not really.”

“Well, does she ask a lot of questions?” Gina dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin.

“No. Yes—sometimes.”

“Sounds to me like she was living her life through her friend. Does she date or have friends do you know?”

“She’s never said.”

Monica realized that she knew very little about Arline. The thought made her feel guilty. She ought to take more of an interest in her and take the time to be friendlier. She made a mental promise that she would do that in the future.

“Do you think the pregnancy gives this Dale an even stronger motive for murder?” Gina asked.

Monica put her chin in her hands. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “He’s not the only suspect. There’s Charlie Decker, too. Was she still holding a grudge over what Lori had done to her when they were in high school?”

“You know what they say.” Gina pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“Well this dish is certainly cold. It’s practically frozen. It’s been years since the episode at the drugstore. Why choose now to exact revenge?”

Gina shrugged as she applied a slick of bright red lipstick to her mouth. “Who knows? Maybe something happened that made Charlie mad?”

“You mean like Lori doing something more recently that heated the whole thing up again?” She paused. “No pun intended.”

“Could be. Then again, you might be right and the killer is the boyfriend after all.” Gina put the top back on the lipstick tube and dropped it into her cavernous and obviously expensive leather hobo bag.

“Well I refuse to believe that either Nora or her husband Rick had anything to do with it,” Monica said with a stubborn set to her jaw.

“I’ve met Nora, and she does seem like a nice person. Still, you never know.”

“True.” Monica tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach at the idea that either Nora or Rick could be responsible for such a cold-blooded crime.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to dash,” Gina said, digging her wallet from her purse. “The woman I have watching the shop has to leave in five minutes for a dentist’s appointment.” She tossed a handful of dollar bills on the table. Monica tried to protest.

“My treat,” Gina insisted.

Monica had to suppress the uncharitable thought that if it weren’t for Gina’s alimony from Monica’s father, she couldn’t afford to be so generous. Sales at Making Scents were picking up, but Gina had recently confided that the store was still operating in the red.

Monica felt a frisson of pleasure when, as she was paying her bill, Gus looked up from his griddle and gave her a quick smile. It was short-lived—barely a second or two—but it was a first, and it meant that she was becoming recognized as one of the locals. And in record time, too. It normally took years to elicit a smile, however small and brief, from Gus.

Monica stood on the sidewalk, momentarily undecided. A group of four teenaged girls in tight T-shirts, cutoffs and flip-flops and with brightly colored and patterned tote bags flung over their shoulders parted and went around her, giggling. Monica could see grains of sand stuck to the back of their thighs—they must have come off the beach after a day in the sun. The scent of suntan lotion lingered on the air for several minutes after they’d passed.

Monica’s thoughts swiveled from warm, languid days at the beach back to the death at Sassamanash Farm. The fact that Lori was pregnant when she died changed everything. Had she confronted Dale with the fact of the baby? And had he panicked and murdered her after she tried to pressure him into marriage?

Monica wondered if Lori’s mother knew about the pregnancy. She would have to pay her another visit.

She didn’t want to go empty-handed, so she popped into Gumdrops for a tin of Wilhelmina mints. Hennie was still alone in the shop but Gerda, after having taken a brief turn for the worse, was now much better. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long before she’d be released from the hospital and back behind the counter at Gumdrops.

Once again, Monica drove out to Mrs. Wenk’s house. She rang the doorbell and stood on the doorstep hoping the woman wouldn’t feel as if Monica was hounding her. The flap to the mailbox alongside the door was open and the box was stuffed with mail. Monica pulled out the envelopes.

Mrs. Wenk greeted her with a smile and invited her inside. Monica couldn’t tell if she remembered her from her earlier visit or not. Monica refused an offer of iced coffee or a cold can of Mountain Dew and followed Mrs. Wenk into the living room.

Monica handed her the envelopes and the small white paper bag. “Here’s your mail. It was in your box. And I brought you some Wilhelmina Mints from Gumdrops.”

“Thank you, dear.”

The same untidy stack of bills was scattered over the coffee table. Mrs. Wenk added the new mail Monica had just brought in and pushed the pile away from the edge. She collapsed into an armchair while Monica took a seat on the couch.

“It’s so nice of you to visit again so soon,” Mrs. Wenk said. “I don’t get many visitors anymore. It’s nice to have a bit of company.”

Monica smiled. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to ask you a question.”

Mrs. Wenk slapped her hands down on her knees. “Certainly. Whatever you like.”

“Did Lori ever mention to you that she might be . . . expecting?”

“My Lori? No. Although I know she wanted to start a family. As soon as she and Dale were married she said. If she was expecting, I guess it happened sooner than she expected.”

“But she never told you about it?”

“Not that I remember. Of course my memory isn’t as good as it used to be. Dr. Flikkema keeps trying to fool me—asking me if I know what day it is and who’s the president.” She shook her head. “I’m a little forgetful is all. Nothing to make such a big deal over.”

“Is there someone Lori might have confided in about the pregnancy? A girlfriend maybe? She must have been quite excited about it.”

“Let me think. There’s the one friend—they’ve known each other since they were at school together.”

“Do you know her name?” Monica mentally crossed her fingers.

Mrs. Wenk looked doubtful for a moment and then her face cleared. “Shannon. I remember thinking it was a lovely name.”

“Do you know her last name?” Monica thought it was probably too much to ask of the universe that Mrs. Wenk would remember.

“Sparks it was. Shannon Sparks.”

“I don’t imagine you would know where I could find her?”

“Sure. She works at Hair Magic. It’s near the harbor somewhere.”

“I think I know it. Is Shannon a hairdresser?”

“Yes. She does color, too. She always does Lori’s hair for free. Lori said they always have a wonderful time talking and gossiping—more like a party than an appointment at the beauty parlor.”

Monica was about to get up when Mrs. Wenk began fumbling with the mound of bills on the coffee table.

“Could you do me a favor, dear?”

“Certainly.”

Mrs. Wenk handed an envelope to Monica with shaking hands.

“Can you tell me what this means? I’ve read the letter, but I don’t understand it.” She clasped her hands tightly and put them in her lap.

Monica cringed. She felt like she was prying as she opened the envelope, but Mrs. Wenk had asked for her help. She pulled out the piece of paper inside and scanned it quickly.

“This is from your bank, Mrs. Wenk. I’m afraid it says you’re overdrawn on your account.”

Mrs. Wenk was already shaking her head. “That can’t be. My social security checks go right into my account. I don’t spend much—my mortgage, the utilities, some food. . . .”

Monica handed her the letter, and it trembled in the woman’s hand like a leaf in a strong wind. Mrs. Wenk put the letter back in the envelope and put it beside her on her chair. She went through the remaining envelopes like a dealer shuffling cards before choosing one and handing it to Monica.

“And this one. Can you read it for me?”

Monica was loathe to pry any further into Mrs. Wenk’s affairs—didn’t Arline say there was a brother somewhere?—but the beseeching look in Mrs. Wenk’s eyes persuaded her.

She opened the envelope and wrestled the letter out. It looked as if Mrs. Wenk had already looked it over many times—the paper was wearing at the creases and was a bit grimy as if it had been handled repeatedly.

Monica’s heart sank as she read it. It was a notice from the mortgage company that Mrs. Wenk’s last few checks had bounced and they would have no choice but to start foreclosure proceedings unless she paid up. Monica had seen the negative balance on the letter from the bank—there was no way Mrs. Wenk would have enough for the amount due. Arline had joked about them being evicted, but it looked as if it was anything but a joke.

•   •   •

Monica hadn’t given any thought to having her hair cut in the near future. It was a tumble of auburn curls that she’d spent her whole life trying to tame and had finally given up on. She examined her reflection in the rearview mirror. Maybe she could use a trim. She held up a fistful of hair and examined the ends—as she suspected, many were split. She did need a trim. And Hair Magic would be the perfect place to get it.

Monica mentally crossed her fingers that Shannon Sparks would be working today as she headed toward the harbor.

Her car rumbled and jolted as she crossed the small wooden drawbridge that spanned the narrowest part of the horseshoe-shaped harbor.

The Cranberry Cove Yacht Club was on the other side of the bridge. As far as Monica knew, virtually no one from Cranberry Cove was a member. The roster was filled with tourists and people who had summer homes along the shore. A handful of cars were in the parking lot—business was picking up now that it was warmer and boaters were anxious to take their boats out of dry dock. Soon all the outdoor tables with their jaunty blue umbrellas would be occupied and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses would float on the air.

Monica passed the dark alley where the sign for Flynn’s bar was just visible. Monica shuddered. She’d spent an evening there once when she and Gina were on the trail of a clue. It was a seedy place frequented by hardcore drinkers ordering boilermakers and shots of cheap whiskey.

Hair Magic was down another alley, sandwiched between The Angler, a shop selling fishing equipment, and one that repaired vacuums. Monica found a space for the Focus and pulled up to the curb.

Colorful fishing flies dangled in the window of The Angler, trembling slightly in the draft from the shop’s ceiling fan. Monica went past it and stood in front of Hair Magic. She took a deep breath—the place looked clean and respectable. She pushed open the door.

Hair Magic was more reminiscent of the shops Monica remembered frequenting with her mother when she was young than the glossy new ones out at the mall. The air that rushed out of Hair Magic when Monica opened the door was the same though—a combination of hair spray, shampoo, conditioner and the sharp chemical smell of permanent solutions.

The reception desk was empty but a woman soon appeared from the back of the shop. Three old-fashioned hooded dryers stood in a row—two occupied with older women with heads bristling with rollers. Four chairs faced a large mirror on the wall, and a beautician was spraying the hair of the lone woman sitting there.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked when she reached Monica.

“I’d . . . I’d like a trim,” Monica said, fingering a lock of hair. “I don’t have an appointment though. . . .”

The woman paged through a dog-eared appointment book, her long, bloodred fingernail running down the entries.

“Was there someone in particular you wanted?” She looked up at Monica.

“I’ve heard that Shannon Sparks is very good. I don’t know if she’s—”

“Shannon is finishing up with a customer”—she pointed over her shoulder to where the beautician was undoing the cape around her client’s shoulders—“but if you don’t mind waiting a moment or two . . .”

“Fine. That’s great. I’m not in a hurry.”

Monica quickly went to sit in one of the chairs banked against the opposite wall. She shuffled through a pile of magazines stacked on the table in front of her and was opening one when someone called her name.

She looked up to find Shannon—at least she assumed it was she—standing in front of her. Monica felt her stomach drop. Shannon’s smile was warm enough, but her dark hair tipped with blond on the ends and the asymmetrical cut that came to her chin on one side and was nearly shaved down to her scalp on the other rather alarmed Monica.

Shannon held out her hand. “I’m Shannon Sparks. Won’t you come this way?” She led Monica over to one of the chairs in front of the mirror.

Monica sat down and Shannon stood in back of her. They both looked at Monica’s reflection in the mirror.

Shannon ran her hands through Monica’s hair. “What are we going to do today?”

“A trim. Just a tiny, tiny trim.” Monica held her fingers barely a quarter of an inch apart.

Shannon frowned at Monica’s reflection. “I’d like to see you go a bit shorter to take off some of the weight.” She put her hands under Monica’s hair and held it up to her shoulders.

What had she gotten herself into? Monica thought. This would teach her to go nosing around!

“Are you giving any thought to color?”

“Color?” Monica repeated blankly. She knew she had a few gray hairs but nothing she needed to worry about yet.

“You’ve got some nice red tones here,” Shannon said, running her hands through Monica’s hair. “We could bring those out a bit and maybe add some highlights and a handful of low lights.”

“No. No color. Not today,” Monica added hastily lest she offend Shannon. “Maybe next time.”

“Okay, so only a cut today.”

“A trim, but not too much,” Monica repeated as Shannon spun her around.

She followed Shannon to the washbasins, trying to convince herself that even if she ended up looking like a French poodle, it would be worth it if she got the information she was after.

Shannon washed Monica’s hair and Monica found herself relaxing under the stream of warm water and Shannon’s fingers massaging her scalp. But when they returned to the styling chair, Monica felt herself tense up again.

“Just a trim,” she said one final time as Shannon reached for the scissors.

Shannon spun Monica around again so she could no longer see herself in the mirror—which was fine since Monica had already squeezed her eyes shut tightly anyway.

“Did someone refer you to Hair Magic?” Shannon asked, her scissors clacking industriously. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“Yes,” Monica said with her fingers crossed under the pink plastic cape Shannon had tied around her neck. “Lori Wenk did.”

Shannon stopped what she was doing and leaned over the chair so she could see Monica’s face. “It’s terrible what happened to her. I just heard. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Did you know Lori well?”

“Fairly well.” Shannon resumed cutting. “We went to high school together and we weren’t best friends or anything but we’ve always stayed in touch. You know, things like girls’ nights out and stuff like that. We’d always catch up even if it had been six months since we’d last seen each other.”

“Her death must have been very hard for you then,” Monica said with as much sincerity as she could muster. “When did you last see each other?”

Shannon’s scissors stilled for a moment. “Let me see. She came in for a haircut not too long ago, and me and Lori and some other gals we knew from school went out for a couple of drinks a week or two ago.” Shannon paused for a second. “Did you know Lori well? I don’t think she ever mentioned you. Of course we usually talked about stuff that happened in the past—like in school and when we were younger. Reminiscing, I’d guess you’d call it.”

“No, I didn’t know Lori well at all. We’d only just met as a matter of fact. I heard she was expecting—that makes it even more of a tragedy, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Shannon said, yanking a comb through Monica’s hair. “Although it was odd. . . .”

“Odd?” Monica prompted. “What was odd?”

“The way Lori acted. The last time we saw her—there were three of us who went out for a night on the town—she told us she was pregnant and getting married to that Dale guy she’d been dating. Dale had never seemed all that keen on marriage in the past, at least the way Lori told it, but this time she’d even gone out and bought herself a wedding dress.” Shannon reached for a spray bottle and misted Monica’s hair with water. “But the odd thing was she didn’t act pregnant, you know?”

Monica didn’t know what that meant, not ever having been pregnant herself. “Act pregnant?”

“Yeah. She ordered a rum and cola. Now, I don’t have any kids myself but even I know pregnant women aren’t supposed to drink alcohol. And she went out for a smoke at one point. I remember my co-worker Janice—we worked together at the same salon before I came here—almost went crazy trying to quit cigarettes when she learned she was having her first.”

“That is odd,” Monica agreed.

“Misty—she’s one of our friends from when we were back in school—has two kids, a boy and a girl. When she mentioned that she really liked her ob/gyn, Lori wasn’t even interested. Said she had plenty of time to shop around for a doctor.”

A half hour later Monica emerged from Hair Magic with two things—some interesting information and a new hairdo. Shannon had taken a couple of inches off her hair and she was right—it did lighten it quite a bit. She had also used a blow dryer—a tool that Monica had abandoned shortly after the time she dropped it in a sink full of water and had had to turn the electricity off at the breaker—and her hair was sleek and shiny for the first time since her mother had insisted she have her hair done professionally for her graduation pictures.

She also found the information about Lori interesting. Lori hadn’t acted pregnant—maybe she wasn’t? Maybe it was only a ruse to get Dale to marry her? Monica stopped as she was putting her key in the lock of her Focus. But Arline had found the pregnancy test in Lori’s wastebasket along with the test strip showing that the result had been positive.

Obviously Lori had been pregnant but the baby was simply a means to an end. Was it possible for someone to want to be married that badly but care so little for the life she was carrying?