Chapter 16

Monica was in the kitchen, fixing herself a late lunch, when Gina pulled into the driveway with her traditional flourish that included spraying gravel into the herb garden that Monica would have to pick out later.

“Yoo-hoo,” Gina called as she opened Monica’s back door.

“I’m making myself a turkey and cranberry sauce sandwich. Would you like one?” Monica asked as Gina settled into a kitchen chair with Mittens purring in her lap.

Gina was wearing a low-cut sundress and high-heeled strappy sandals. Somehow she managed to maintain her expensive highlights and French manicure despite the fact that the places that could provide such services were nonexistent in Cranberry Cove.

“No, thanks. I stopped by to see how Jeffie is doing. He’s been working awful hard lately, and I can’t help but think of that time he came down with mono after studying so many hours for his SATs.” Mittens lifted her chin, and Gina scratched underneath it. “He wasn’t home so I imagine he is out on the bogs somewhere. That boy doesn’t know when to take a break.”

“Running Sassamanash Farm is a full-time job.” Monica carried her sandwich over to the table. “But I know what you mean—I wish Jeff could afford to hire some more help.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “Not that he would. He likes doing everything himself.”

“He’s something of a control freak,” Gina agreed. “Like his father.” Her foot, which was already jiggling, began to move even faster. “I’m having dinner tomorrow night with Xavier Cabot, that new writer in town.”

“Oh.”

“I’m meeting him at the Pepper Pot. They do a great lemon drop martini there. Although I don’t imagine that would be up Xavier’s alley. I’m sure he’d go for something more manly, like Macallan straight up.”

Gina dumped Mittens from her lap and stood up. “I’d better be off. Keep an eye on Jeffie for me, would you?”

Monica saw Gina out and then sat down to finish her turkey sandwich—no mean feat with Mittens attempting to swipe it out of her hand even when she was down to the last bit of crust.

She thought about what Gina had said. Jeff was working very hard. Monica suspected he was still out on the bogs and hadn’t stopped for lunch or anything to drink. She had some roast turkey breast left and some cold pop in the fridge—she’d make him a sandwich and take him a cold drink.

Monica packed a sandwich, a can of cola and a couple of her cranberry chocolate chip cookies in a basket. Mittens followed her outside, where she immediately became engrossed in chasing a fly. Monica glanced into her herb bed and stooped down to fish out a few pieces of gravel and toss them back onto the driveway.

The skies were a clear blue but the birds were twittering in the trees—did that mean a storm was brewing, Monica wondered? She saw Jeff in the distance as she rounded the bend near the pump house where she left the path to cut across the field. The grass was rough and prickly against her bare ankles and a couple of times she had to swat some bees away.

“You look hungry and thirsty,” she said as she approached Jeff. He was standing in one of the ditches that would be running with water come the fall harvest.

His eyes lit up when he saw the contents of Monica’s basket. He put down his hoe, yanked off his work gloves with his teeth, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it across his forehead.

“You sure are a sight for sore eyes.”

“I thought you might need a little something to eat and drink.” Monica pointed at the hoe Jeff had let drop to the ground. “What are you doing now?”

“Cleaning up the ditches so they’ll be free-flowing when we need them.” He motioned to the ditch. “Sometimes the vines start growing across the edge of the ditch and those need to be cut back.” He pointed to a man in a sweat-stained white T-shirt a couple of dozen yards ahead of him. “Lance did the trimming, and I’m following up with the hoe to gather the debris together.” He pointed in back of him. “The rest of the crew will use pitchforks to scoop up the debris and put it alongside the ditch where it can be collected.”

“Can you manage the hoe with one arm?”

“I’ve figured out a way to do it. It isn’t pretty, and I’m not very fast, but it works.

“Why not let one of the crew do it?”

Jeff’s face dissolved into a stubborn mask. “When I got out of the hospital, I decided that if I could figure out how to do something with one arm, I was going to do it. I don’t like being dependent on someone else.”

He sat on the ground beside the ditch and unwrapped the turkey sandwich Monica had made him. He took a bigger bite than Monica thought humanly possible.

“These berries are Early Blacks.” Jeff gestured toward the bog with his sandwich. “The vines aren’t as thick or as heavy as the Stevens berries, for instance,” he mumbled around the food in his mouth. “They’re a lot easier to trim.”

Jeff popped the top on the can of cola and took a long swig. He put it down and wiped his hand across the back of his mouth. He finished the rest of his sandwich and reached for one of the cookies.

He bit off half of it in one bite. “Delicious. Are these new?”

Monica nodded. “Yes. An experiment.”

Jeff grinned. “These are definitely going to be a hit.”

He downed the rest of the cookies, drained the can of pop and picked up his hoe again. He looked behind him. “The team’s going to catch up with me if I don’t get moving.” He grinned at Monica. “Thanks for the grub. I appreciate it.”

Monica gathered the empty plastic wrap and pop can, put them in her basket and headed back toward the path. She was halfway there when she heard Jeff shout.

Had he hurt himself? Monica began to retrace her steps, running back the way she had come through the grass that had been flattened by her earlier footsteps.

“What’s the matter?” Monica asked breathlessly when she reached Jeff.

Jeff was standing beside the ditch, staring into it, leaning slightly on the hoe he held in his good hand.

“What is it?”

Monica peered into the ditch and saw a gnarled ball of weeds, cranberry vines and other debris.

“What’s the matter?” she asked again.

Jeff poked at the collection of debris with the hoe, tearing the ball apart into its separate components.

“I was raking up what I thought were the usual weeds and dead vines when my hoe caught on something. It’s not unusual for it to catch on a vine so I tried to pull it free. When I did, I found this.”

He continued to untangle the tumble of weeds and vines, revealing the veil from a beekeepers hat.

Jeff looked out across the bogs. “What do you want to bet the rest of the hat is out here somewhere?”

“But the police searched very carefully.”

Jeff snorted. “There’s acres and acres of hiding places here. And this veil was tangled up in the vines—I wouldn’t have noticed it myself if my hoe hadn’t caught on it and gotten stuck.”

“What’s that?” Monica pointed to a scrap of yellow paper that had been tangled up in the snarl of weeds and vines.

Jeff crouched beside the ditch and, stretching out his good arm, managed to retrieve the slip of colored paper. He handed it to Monica.

She unfolded it carefully. “Looks like a withdrawal slip from the bank. There’s an account number on it but no name.”

“Probably one of my guys pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and this came along with it.” He gestured toward the paper in Monica’s hand and sighed. “He should have picked it up but obviously couldn’t be bothered.”

Monica shoved the slip into the pocket of her jeans. She would throw it in the trash when she got back to the cottage.

“I suppose we should call Detective Stevens,” she said, pointing at the beekeeper’s veil. “This could be important.”

Jeff looked toward the field where they had stacked the pallets of bees. “We know someone stole the protective gear from Lori’s car and then had to get rid of it.”

“But why ditch part of the outfit in one place and part of it in another? They must have stolen the gear from Lori’s car so she wouldn’t have access to it. But they needed the hat to at least protect their face—the most vulnerable part when it comes to bee stings—so they saved that. But ultimately they had to get rid of it as well.” Monica looked around. “You’re right, the rest of the hat must be here somewhere.”

Jeff laughed. “Good luck finding it. It’s a miracle the veil didn’t get bundled up with the rest of this mess in the ditch.” He jerked a head toward a crew member coming up behind him. “Skip would have pulled this tangled jumble out with his pitchfork and then Joe and Pete would have carried it away to be gotten rid of. And no one would be the wiser.”

As they expected, Stevens advised them not to move anything when they called her on Monica’s cell phone. Fifteen minutes later she pulled up with a squeal of brakes.

“Well, well, well,” she said when Jeff showed her the beekeeper’s veil hidden amidst the weeds and vines in the ditch. “Whoever our killer is must have taken off across the fields and dropped this in the ditch, thinking it wouldn’t be found.”

“It almost wasn’t,” Jeff said.

“The veil obviously came loose from the hat which must be here somewhere.”

Stevens pulled out her cell phone and barked some orders into it. It wasn’t long before several cars pulled up and a team of police was methodically crawling through the ditch looking for the rest of the hat and anything else the killer might have dropped.

“It would be great if they cleaned out the ditch while they were at it,” Jeff quipped.

Stevens shot him a dirty look and Jeff shrugged.

•   •   •

Monica was hanging laundry on her clothesline—she loved the smell of sheets dried in the sun and fresh air—when she noticed Rick’s truck go past. He pulled up to the edge of the field, parked and jumped out.

“Hello,” Monica called as she headed over toward where Rick was standing. When she got closer, she noticed his face had lines on it that Monica didn’t think had been there before. This murder was taking its toll on both Rick and Nora.

“Are you looking for Jeff?”

Rick leaned against the dusty side of his truck. “No, Detective Stevens asked me to come by.”

Monica heard rustling and turned around to see Stevens making her way across the field to where they were standing. She had a plastic bag in her hand. Monica couldn’t see what was in it, but she suspected they had found the beekeeper’s hat.

Perspiration beaded Stevens’s forehead and she fanned herself with her free hand.

“It’s hot out there in the sun.”

“We could go inside,” Monica offered. “I have a pitcher of lemonade in the refrigerator.”

“That’s very tempting, but I don’t want to waste any more of your time,” Stevens said, brandishing the plastic evidence bag. “We’ve found the rest of the hat.” She turned to Rick, whose eyebrows had gone up, nearly disappearing under the fringe of hair flopping down on his forehead.

“The rest of the hat?”

“The veil was in one place and the hat in another, although not all that far away.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I imagine the veil must have come loose for some reason.”

“Lori said she couldn’t stand the traditional beekeeper’s hat like the one I wear. The veil comes down to my chest and is kept in place with elastic straps that go around the shoulders. She said the getup made her feel claustrophobic.”

“Is the veil attached?” Stevens asked.

“On my hat, yes. But Lori ordered something online that came in two pieces—a hat with a wide brim and a veil that went over it. Frankly, I wouldn’t feel adequately protected in something like that, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Besides, she’d rarely ever been stung so—” Rick stopped abruptly.

“Exactly,” Stevens said. She stared at Rick until Rick finally looked away. “Have you remembered where you were at the time of the murder?” she asked after a long pause.

Rick’s face shut down—even his eyes took on a blank look. “No. I don’t remember. I wasn’t anywhere.” He waved his hands in the air, his voice taking on a desperate tone.

Monica wasn’t sure what she should do. Should she tell Stevens about Rick’s visit with the lawyer? The decision was made for her when Stevens turned to leave and Rick got back in his truck.

Monica decided she would urge Nora to talk to Rick, and to tell Stevens herself if he refused. It was their story after all, not Monica’s.