Chapter 19

On impulse, Monica removed the photograph of Lori and Mauricio from its place on Lori’s cubicle and slipped it into her purse. She didn’t know what she was going to do with it, but she had the feeling it could be important.

Rick came back from dealing with his delivery. He didn’t sit down but stood by his desk, his lanky frame looming over Monica.

“I’d rather Nora didn’t know about our conversation, if that’s okay with you.” He ran a hand around the back of his neck. “It would only worry her.”

“Sure,” Monica said wondering what she was going to say when Nora asked her about the meeting. She’d have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

Rick hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No. No, thank you.” Monica stood up and the swivel chair she’d been sitting in shot backward, nearly tripping her.

Her shirt was stuck to her back with perspiration—the makeshift office wasn’t well air-conditioned and her nerves hadn’t helped any.

Rick stood by the door and watched as Monica walked toward her car. She noticed the dust on the wheels and the dried mud on the side of her Focus and vowed she would make a point of washing it as soon as she got the chance.

She sensed Rick was still standing at the door as she reversed, turned around and headed back down the long driveway.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the main road. From her vantage point, she could see the increased activity down by the harbor in preparation for Flag Day. More boats than usual bobbed in the bay, their decks festooned with colorful flags. According to the VanVelsen sisters, boats would be cheek-by-jowl by Saturday when the celebrations officially got under way.

Monica’s thoughts went back to the photograph she’d stolen from Lori Wenk’s cubicle. She didn’t know what she was going to do with it—show it to Charlie? That would only upset her and make her mad. Besides, what good would it do? Charlie would hardly admit to murdering Lori because she wanted to even old and new scores.

What about Mauricio? she wondered. Maybe she could ask him if the photo actually meant anything. Maybe he and Lori had only been fooling around. Maybe they were friends. Then she could feel him out and see if either of them had an alibi.

In her heart of hearts she didn’t think that was the case, especially given Lori’s reputation as a man-eater. She had the feeling Lori had wanted something from Mauricio and the picture had been part of her plan.

Monica was loathe to face Nora after her conversation with Rick—how was she going to tell her that Rick didn’t have an alibi after all? What she’d prefer to do is talk to Mauricio first, but it would have to seem like a casual encounter. She didn’t want to raise Charlie’s suspicions. Monica shivered. She’d had run-ins with a few murderers already, and while she sincerely suspected Charlie was innocent, she didn’t want to willingly put herself in danger again.

She was driving past Primrose Cottage—Charlie’s bed-and-breakfast—when she noticed a ladder leaning against the side of the shingled cottage. A dark-haired man was standing on it, methodically swiping a paintbrush back and forth across the shutters.

It looked like Mauricio. Monica quickly switched on her blinker and pulled into the parking lot. By now she knew she could trust Arline with the baking that needed to be done—nothing would happen if she stole a few more minutes away from the kitchen. Hopefully she would soon find out what Mauricio’s relationship with Lori had actually been—a moment of fun in a photo booth or had he really been cheating on Charlie?

Monica parked her car and walked up the path that was bordered with pink, purple and white primroses. Mauricio was headed down the ladder, a bucket of paint in his hand, when Monica reached him. He smiled when he saw her.

“Good day,” he said. “How is Jeff? I miss working on his crew but Charlie needs help now that the season is picking up.”

“Jeff’s fine. I’m sure he misses working with you, too.”

Mauricio jerked his head in the direction of the cottage. “Are you looking for Charlie? I think she’s in the office.”

“No. Actually, it’s you that I wanted to talk to.”

Mauricio gave Monica a quizzical look. “Me?” He pointed a finger at his own chest.

Monica noticed the shadow of worry that passed over his face. She knew that Mauricio still didn’t have his papers and lived in fear of being deported. She felt vaguely guilty for causing him alarm.

“Do you know Lori Wenk?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light and non-accusatory.

“Who?” Mauricio made a big show of scratching his head.

“She’s the woman who was killed out at Sassamanash Farm.”

Mauricio’s shoulders lifted up and down. “I don’t know. The name is somehow . . . familiar?”

Monica reluctantly pulled the picture of Lori and Mauricio posing together in the photo booth out of her pocket where she’d stashed it. She held it out toward Mauricio.

Mauricio recoiled as if the picture was radioactive. “What’s that?” He frowned, drawing his eyebrows into a deep V, wrinkling his normally smooth forehead.

Monica put the picture in his hand.

He held it hanging at his side, not looking at it.

Monica motioned toward the picture. “Where was that taken?” she asked.

Mauricio glanced at the sepia-toned photo briefly. His entire face collapsed like a soufflé abruptly snatched from a hot oven.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“Lori had it pinned to her cubicle at work.”

Mauricio drew his lips back in a grimace and stomped his foot, kicking up a clod of moist earth. “She . . . she made me do it.” He glanced at the photo in his hand again. “She saw me with Charlie at the tulip festival in May. They were friends when they were in school, but they had a fight.” He wiped a hand across the back of his neck.

“I heard about that.”

Mauricio nodded. “Charlie didn’t like her at all. When she saw Lori at the festival, she took my arm and pulled me in the other direction.”

“So how did you end up . . .” Monica motioned toward the photo Mauricio still held in his hand.

Mauricio bit his lip and looked at the ground. “Charlie had to come back here, to the cottage, because guests were coming later that day. I stayed at the festival—I was going to meet Jeff and some of the crew for a beer.”

Monica waited as Mauricio angrily toed the tufts of grass alongside the path.

“Then that woman caught sight of me. Charlie said her name is Lori. All of a sudden she was all over me—trying to get my attention, touching my arm, offering me a bite of her ice cream.” He shuddered. “I didn’t want to have anything to do with her—not after what Charlie told me, and anyway. . . .” He blushed slightly. “I mean, Charlie and I are together.” He held up two fingers side-by-side. “I don’t want anything to come between us.”

“And then what happened?”

“She saw the photo booth.” He waved the picture at Monica. “Where this picture was taken. She asked if I would pose with her. She wanted to make her boyfriend jealous.” He shook his head. “She said she wanted to get married.” He spread out his hands, palms up. “I don’t understand. Who wants to marry someone like that?”

“Why did you pose for the picture?” Monica asked gently. “Obviously you didn’t want to.”

Mauricio’s shoulders sagged. “She said she would tell the immigration authorities that I didn’t have the proper papers if I didn’t do it.”

“How did she know that you don’t have your papers yet?”

Mauricio shrugged. “I think everybody in Cranberry Cove knows.” He gave a brief smile. “You know how this town is.”

Monica smiled back. “I certainly do.” She thought back to her early days in town—when she’d just arrived to help Jeff. “People knew who I was before I even introduced myself.”

Mauricio kicked at a clod of dirt he’d loosened. “Then you know how I feel. I feel . . . exposed. I never know when someone might turn me in to the authorities. Maybe I make them mad without realizing it, or they just don’t like me. So you understand, right?” He looked at Monica with pleading eyes.

She nodded. She did understand.

“Did Charlie know about the picture?” Monica gestured toward Mauricio’s hand.

He hung his head. “I told her.” He looked up at Monica, his dark eyes earnest.

Monica was startled. “You did? Why?”

Mauricio shrugged again. “Why not? If Charlie knew about it, it couldn’t do me any harm.” He held his hands out toward Monica. “I love Charlie.” He touched his heart with his fist. “I don’t want to have secrets from her.” He scowled. “That woman,” he brandished the photo of Lori, “does not know what real love means. It is sad, don’t you think?

“Yes, I do.” Monica hesitated. “I imagine Charlie must have been quite angry when you told her about the photograph.”

Mauricio was already nodding. “She was. She was furious. Especially because of what Lori had done to her when they were in school. She said this was too much and she wanted to get even with her somehow.”

He must have noticed the look on Monica’s face because he held up both hands, palms out. “No. Charlie wouldn’t do something like that. Never. Someone else killed Lori. Maybe that boyfriend she was chasing after. You have to believe me.”

Monica was quiet.

“Besides, she was with me when it happened. We were painting the bathroom on the third floor. The one in the Primrose Suite.”

Monica smiled and put a hand on Mauricio’s arm. “I didn’t mean to imply I thought Charlie had anything to do with Lori’s death.” Monica mentally crossed her fingers. No need to upset Mauricio.

Mauricio let out a deep sigh and his shoulders relaxed. He smiled. “I’m sorry. I was afraid that that was what you were thinking.”

Monica shook her head. “That’s okay.” She looked at her watch. “I’d better be going.

Mauricio said good-bye, picked up his paint can and headed toward the cottage. Monica stood for a moment, thinking.

Mauricio may have said that Charlie was with him, but Charlie had lied for Mauricio once—giving him a false alibi when he’d been suspected of murder. Wouldn’t it make sense that now he would lie for her?