Chapter 13

Monica was on her way back to the farm when the Focus began making strange noises. It sounded as if something was loose somewhere—under the car perhaps? Monica knew next to nothing about automobiles, but she did know that this was a sound she should not be hearing—it wasn’t one that a functioning, smoothly running vehicle would be making.

She felt her hands get clammy on the steering wheel. She didn’t have the money right now for any expensive repairs and she certainly didn’t have the cash for a new car. Perhaps a pebble or small stone had been caught in the undercarriage somehow? She knew she was clutching at straws, but the thought did make her feel better.

The noise suddenly became louder and was alarming enough to warrant a trip back to the mechanic. Monica turned the car around and headed back toward Peck’s Garage, where she’d had her oil changed.

The same woman was behind the counter when Monica walked into the office. She’d pushed a pair of half glasses on top of her head, where they were nestled in her short, bristly gray hair. She looked up when she heard Monica enter.

“Yes?” She turned and looked at the clock in back of her.

“I brought my car in the other day for an oil change,” Monica began.

The woman nodded. “I remember you. Dale did the change for you, right?”

“Yes.”

“You having some trouble with it?”

“Not exactly.” Monica devoutly wished she was more knowledgeable about cars—she’d have to make a point of asking Jeff to teach her the basics when he had time. If he ever had time, she added to herself.

“So what’s the problem?” The woman began shuffling through some invoices stacked on her desk. “I take it you don’t have any complaints about the oil change.”

“The car is making a funny noise.”

“A funny noise,” the woman repeated, staring at Monica. “Do you have any idea how many problems a funny noise can encompass?”

Monica raised her chin. “I know. But I do think it’s rather suspicious that the funny noise”—she gave the words extra emphasis—“started right after I had my oil changed.”

The woman had been tilting her chair back but now she let it spring forward again as she straightened her posture. “Let me see what the boys can do for you.”

She opened the door to the garage and yelled, “Dale,” so loudly Monica jumped.

The banging and hammering stopped briefly and one of the men called back, “He’s outside, talking to someone.”

The receptionist scowled, accentuating the deep furrows crisscrossing her brow. “What’s he doing talking to someone? Is it a customer?”

She muttered something under her breath. Monica caught the words work, lazy and good-for-nothing.

The woman pushed her chair back. The wheels squeaked as they rolled across the pitted linoleum floor. She came out from behind the desk and yanked open the front door to the cramped office and waiting room and yelled, “Dale. You got a customer. Her car’s making a noise.”

Monica stepped outside. Whoever Dale was talking to was getting into their car. The car looked familiar to Monica and so did the driver. It took her a moment before she recognized Detective Stevens. So the police had been talking to Dale—interesting.

Sweat shone on Dale’s forehead when he joined Monica. He pulled a grimy rag from the pocket of his jumpsuit and swiped it across his brow, leaving a streak of grease.

“What’s up?”

Monica thought she caught the slightest tremor in his voice.

“You changed my oil, and now the car is making a funny noise. It sounds like something is loose and rattling around in the undercarriage.”

“Could be a screw loose.”

He said it with a straight face, and Monica had to stifle the laugh that immediately rose to her lips. “Can you take a look at it, please?”

Dale glanced toward the office. “Sure thing.”

Monica waited outside while Dale got the car up on the lift and began poking around underneath. He called another mechanic over and they both stared up into the bowels of the Focus.

The sun was warm, and Monica was tempted to go back inside, but the ancient air conditioner wheezing in the office window made it hardly any cooler than outdoors.

Finally, Dale came toward her, wiping his hands on the same greasy rag.

“I was right. There was a loose screw. I tightened it up and she should be okay now.”

“Was that Detective Stevens I saw pulling out of your parking lot?”

Dale scowled. “Someone must have told the police about me and Lori. I’d like to get my hands on whoever did that.”

Monica noticed his fists clench, and took a step backward.

“I told them the same thing I told you. Lori and I went out a couple of times but it wasn’t nothing serious.”

“Even though she was expecting your child?”

Dale lunged toward Monica, and she took another step back.

“Who told you that?” He raised his clenched fists to his waist.

“A friend of hers.”

“Even if it was true, who’s to say it was mine?”

“Lori seemed pretty convinced you were going to marry her. She had a wedding gown hanging in her closet.”

“She’d have to take one of them paternity tests first. I’m not paying for someone else’s brat.” He paused to take a deep breath. “And there was no way I was marrying her.” He shook like a dog coming out of the water. “She was a real witch. Always complaining. Nothing I did was ever good enough for her.”

By now Dale’s voice was raised. Monica noticed the woman behind the desk get up and peer out the window.

What Dale had let slip was interesting. It sounded as if he had tried to please Lori at one point. As if he’d been as invested in the relationship as she had been. Monica wondered what had happened to change that. And why had Dale lied about it?

Dale was quiet for a moment. He had half turned away from Monica when he whirled around again.

“You!” He pointed a thick finger at her. “You squealed to the police, didn’t you? How else would they know about me and Lori.”

He moved closer to Monica so that they were standing toe-to-toe. She could feel the heat from his breath.

“Why would I do that? I don’t even know you.” Monica tried to keep the quaver out of her voice.

“You’re trouble, you know that? Sticking your nose in other people’s business.” He leaned in even closer so that their faces were only inches apart. “Stay out of it, you hear me?” He began to walk away. “Stay out of my business,” he shouted over his shoulder.

Monica’s hands were shaking in earnest as she turned the key in the ignition of the Focus. She hit the gas a little harder than she should have and shot gravel behind her as she pulled out of the garage driveway.

All she wanted to do was go home and cuddle on the sofa with Mittens. Dale had scared her—the look in his eyes had been evil. It was easy to imagine him killing someone. There was a good chance he was the one responsible for Lori’s death.

Monica was halfway back to Sassamanash Farm when a thought occurred to her. What was to have stopped Dale from tampering with her car? It would have been easy enough—he had had it up on the lift. He could have done something to the brakes, and she would never know.

Monica put her foot on the brake pedal and pressed lightly. She felt the car slow and breathed a sigh of relief.

Still, she didn’t relax until she pulled into the driveway of her little cottage, got inside and locked the door.

•   •   •

Monica was baking some cornbread to have with her dinner later when someone knocked on her back door.

She jumped and banged her knee against the cabinet door. She wiped her hands on a paper towel, rubbed the spot that was still smarting and approached the door.

Ever since her encounter with Dale, she’d been nervous and jumpy. She eased the curtain aside and peered out. Stevens was standing on the mat outside the door.

“Come in,” Monica said as she opened the door.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Stevens looked tired. Monica was coming to the conclusion that that must be a permanent state during the early parenting years.

She couldn’t imagine why Stevens wanted to talk to her, but she soothed her already frazzled nerves by fixing them both glasses of iced tea. It gave her time to collect her thoughts and calm down.

Monica handed the sweating glass to Stevens, whisked her apron off the back of the kitchen chair and offered the detective the seat.

Monica took the chair opposite, wondering if she should have suggested they sit in the living room instead. There was something intrinsically intimate about sitting around a kitchen table that was making her uncomfortable.

Stevens ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “I was at Peck’s Garage earlier, and as I pulled out I looked in the rearview mirror and noticed you talking to Dale Wheeler,” she said in a matter-of-fact manner. Nonetheless, Monica felt herself bristle.

“Yes. He changed the oil in my car.” No need to go into the story of the funny noise, Monica decided.

Stevens gave a small smile. “Look.” She held her hands out, palms up. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I’m trying to get at the facts—whatever they are.”

Monica relaxed a bit.

“We know that Dale and our victim were dating.” Stevens took a sip of her tea. “Although he claims it was strictly a casual relationship.”

Monica nodded. “That’s what he told me.”

“But?” Stevens smiled again. “I think you’ve discovered something we haven’t.”

Monica heaved a sigh. “My assistant—she helps out with the baking—is a boarder at Lori’s mother’s house. According to her, she found a pregnancy kit in Lori’s wastebasket.”

Steven’s eyebrows rose dramatically. “A pregnancy kit?”

“Yes. Along with the test strip that showed the result was positive.”

Stevens jolted in her chair as if she’d received an electric shock. “It was positive?”

Monica nodded. “Arline thinks Lori was trying to use the pregnancy to force Dale into marriage.”

Stevens gave a bark of laughter. “Having a baby doesn’t guarantee marriage anymore.” She twirled her glass around and around. There was a long pause. “My husband left,” she said finally. “He decided he wasn’t cut out for family life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Better to find out now, right?” She looked up. “It gives me plenty of time to adjust to life as a single parent.”

Monica was quiet.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand though,” Stevens said, her voice firm and authoritative again. She ran a finger through the condensation on her glass.

“What’s that?”

“Lori wasn’t pregnant. I read the autopsy report, and it’s there in black and white—no question about it. She wasn’t pregnant and had never been pregnant.”