Chapter 24

Monica tried to pay closer attention to where she was going as she walked along. She had no particular destination in mind, but walking helped her think.

Maybe the withdrawal slip for Mrs. Wenk’s bank account hadn’t fallen out of Lori’s pocket. Maybe it had fallen out of Arline’s instead.

The faster Monica walked, the more things came into focus. Mrs. Wenk had signed some papers that gave another person access to her bank account but couldn’t remember who it was. Monica had assumed that that person must have been her daughter, Lori. But what if Arline had convinced Mrs. Wenk to sign the paper—perhaps saying she wanted to help her because her daughter was obviously not interested. The woman was easily confused—it would have been child’s play to pressure her into signing.

Money had gone missing from Mrs. Wenk’s account—money she insisted she hadn’t withdrawn. Had Arline used the money to line her own pockets?

But why kill Lori then? Unless Lori had found out and confronted Arline with the evidence.

Once again, Monica stopped short. But mercifully no one was behind her this time.

The argument the neighbor had overheard between Lori and Arline—it wasn’t long afterward that Lori was killed. If Lori had threatened to go to the police, Arline might have been desperate to stop her—desperate enough to kill.

Monica pulled her cell phone from her pocket and hesitated. Detective Stevens needed to know about this, but she didn’t want to believe that Arline would kill anyone. She would have to let Stevens decide if it was important or not. She punched in the detective’s cell phone number and waited for the call to connect.

It rang multiple times before going to voicemail. Monica hesitated—should she leave a message or call back later? She finally decided to leave a brief message asking Stevens to call her. She stuffed the phone back in her pocket and began walking again.

By now she was beyond the food stalls. The crowd had thinned out and she only passed one or two people on the path. She still had no particular destination in mind, but the walking was helping to dispel some of the anxiety she’d felt ever since finding the farm kitchen filled with gas.

Another thought struck her—the story Arline had told about the jealous boyfriend out to get her didn’t ring true. Monica had been upset and flustered at the time and had merely accepted Arline’s explanation. Arline had a key to the farm kitchen—she could easily have turned on all the gas herself and then fled, only to arrive back after the damage had been done.

Monica pulled her cell from her pocket and tried Detective Stevens again, to no avail. She ended the call without leaving a message then dialed Jeff’s number. Again the phone rang and rang before going to voicemail, which wasn’t surprising. Jeff was probably out in the bogs. She wasn’t sure why she’d called Jeff anyway—except that it had been instinct to want to talk to her brother.

By now Monica had reached the end of the path. She turned around and began to head back the way she had come. She passed several people she knew enough to wave to, which made her feel curiously at home.

She was rounding a bend when she saw Hennie and Gerda perched decorously on a park bench, balancing paper plates on their laps. They were dressed in matching lavender cotton slacks and white blouses printed with lavender flowers. Monica couldn’t remember ever having seen them in anything but a dress or skirt before.

“Good morning,” Monica called as she approached the two ladies.

“Good morning, dear. Splendid day, isn’t it?” Hennie said, patting her lips with a paper napkin. “We got a helper in for a couple of hours to take care of Gumdrops so we could sneak away and enjoy the celebration.”

Monica was pleased to see Gerda looking much stronger, with some good color in her cheeks.

“Everything is so delicious, isn’t it?” Gerda said. “We’ve even tried some of Gus’s Greek food, and I quite like it.”

“We grew up eating Dutch food.” Hennie crumpled her used napkin in her hand. “So why not try something new?”

“Why not?” Monica said.

They chatted for a few more minutes then Monica said good-bye and continued on her way. She still hadn’t heard from Detective Stevens and was wondering if it was worth stopping at the police station to talk to someone. But would they even believe her?

Maybe she hadn’t heard her phone ring? Monica pulled it from her pocket but there were no missed calls and no messages.

She looked up to see Gina walking toward her in a Hawaiian-print strapless sundress and strappy high-heeled sandals. It made Monica’s feet hurt to look at them.

“Monica!” Gina exclaimed, grabbing Monica’s arm. “I’m so angry I could spit.”

Gina did look angry, with her carefully casual updo hanging precariously from one pin and her cheeks flushed and red.

“What’s the matter?”

Gina’s face crumpled and her lower lip quivered. “It’s Xavier.” She balled her hands into fists at her sides. “And that woman.”

“What woman?”

“Tempest! I saw them walking arm in arm past that stall where they’re selling those pancakes.”

“The poffertjes?”

“I suppose that’s what they’re called. They look like puffy pancakes to me. The bastard,” Gina added.

“Did you and Xavier have some sort of understanding?” Monica said gently.

Gina sniffed. “Not exactly. But we were getting along so well and I thought . . .” Gina pulled a tissue from her purse and blew her nose. “That’s it. No more men for me. I’m going to . . . join a convent or something.”

The thought of Gina as a nun made Monica laugh. Gina shot her a quelling look.

“It’s not funny.” She put a hand over her chest. “My heart is broken.”

“Do you remember that story Xavier told us when we had dinner at the Pepper Pot? About the sailor sending his captain and the crew into that huge storm?”

Gina frowned. “Yes. But what does that have to do with anything?”

Monica explained her thoughts about the murder and her conviction that Arline had been responsible.

“How terrible,” Gina said. “How could someone do something like that? Of course, I’ve had some pretty murderous thoughts about Tempest myself.”

“Yes. But you would never act on them.”

Gina looked doubtful. She linked her arm through Monica’s.

“Come on. Let’s walk over to the Yacht Club and see if there are any eligible men about.”

Monica was about to protest but thought better of it. Gina needed some cheering up, so why not?

As they neared the Yacht Club the soft murmur of voices floated on the air, interspersed with the clinking of ice against glasses and the ping of silverware on china. The lines at the food stalls on the club lawn had diminished but the seductive aroma of delicious food lingered behind.

Suddenly Monica stopped short. She grabbed Gina’s arm.

“What’s the matter?” Gina said.

“It’s Arline,” Monica hissed under her breath. “Right there, coming toward us.”

“Don’t be silly,” Gina said. “We don’t have a thing to worry about. What is she going to do to us out in the open like this? Besides, she has no idea you’ve figured out that she’s the one who killed that woman.”

“Hey,” Arline called when she saw them. Her short, dark hair was ruffled by the breeze off the lake and her nose was freckling in the sun.

“Arline,” Monica said, and even to her own ears her voice sounded stilted and awkward. “Are you . . . are you enjoying the celebration?”

Her palms had begun to sweat, and she felt a trickle of moisture make its way down her back.

Arline studied Monica’s face like someone prepping to give a description to a police sketch artist.

Monica tried to smile but it felt forced, and she could tell it didn’t look natural. She had to remind herself that Arline had no idea what she’d figured out about the murder. Besides, there were plenty of people about—Arline would hardly risk doing anything in public.

There was no reason to feel so uneasy.

Except for the way Arline’s face hardened into lines Monica had never noticed before. Her eyes had taken on a reptilian look, wary and unblinking—like a snake on the verge of striking.

Monica took a step backward and grabbed Gina’s arm. Gina didn’t protest. She’d obviously picked up on the same signals Monica had.

They had nearly turned to run when Arline spoke.

“We’re going to keep walking. Together. And you’re going to make it look as if we’re the best of friends.

Monica was about to protest when she noticed a small gun in Arline’s hand—no less deadly looking because of its diminutive size.

“But why? We haven’t—”

Arline cut her off abruptly. “You’ve guessed. I could tell by your face immediately. You’re not very good at hiding your thoughts, are you?”

“Where are we going?” Gina asked as Arline urged them along the path.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Arline gave Gina a shove. “Get moving.”

A sense of unreality descended on Monica. She heard the animated chatter of the crowd and saw the brightly decorated boats drifting up and down with the rhythm of the waves. There were people everywhere enjoying themselves and no one noticed that she and Gina were at the mercy of a homicidal maniac.

It was the same feeling she’d had after her fiancé had died—she was grieving but the rest of the world was going about its business as usual.

As they walked along, the heel of one of Gina’s sandals caught in a crack in the macadam and she nearly pitched forward. She only stopped herself by grabbing onto Monica, and for a moment, Monica thought they were both going to go down.

“If you’re trying to trip me, it’s not going to work,” Arline said, pushing the gun into Gina’s back.

Gina gave a squeak like a cornered mouse and put up a hand to steady her French twist, which was hanging by a pin.

“Where are you taking us?” Gina asked.

“Like I told your friend here. You’ll find out. Meanwhile, keep going.”

The noise of the crowd at the Yacht Club receded to a murmur as they walked farther along the path. Monica glanced over her shoulder but no one was coming up behind them. There was no one in front of them, either.

They were passing the Yacht Club marina now. Few boats were anchored there—most of them had joined the armada celebrating out on the lake.

A couple of hundred yards beyond the Yacht Club marina was a public marina with wooden docks weathered by sun, harsh winters and brutal storms. The wood was rough and splintered and cracked through in spots.

“Keep moving,” Arline barked when Monica stopped briefly to take stock of her surroundings.

They were alone and the only sound was the slapping of the waves against the shore. Screaming would be useless—there was no one close enough to hear. They had to find a way to disarm Arline. Monica looked around, but she was careful not to stop this time. There was an occasional rock alongside the path. Could she grab one of those and lob it at Arline? Her aim had never been that good, but surely at such close quarters she could manage to hit her target. It might stun Arline long enough for one of them to grab the gun.

She’d have to pretend to fall in order to pick up one of the stones. And she’d have to make it look realistic enough to fool Arline.

Monica soon discovered it was harder to make yourself fall than she realized. The human brain automatically recoiled from the idea of throwing your body on the ground on purpose. In the end, providence intervened and the toe of Monica’s sandal caught in a small crack in the macadam and she pitched forward, landing on her hands and knees.

Pain set in immediately and she looked down to see she’d skinned her knees—and the palms of her hands as well. But she managed to ignore the intense stinging long enough to stretch out an arm and grab a rock. She wished it was bigger, but it would have to do.

“Are you hurt?” Gina cried.

“I’m fine,” Monica mumbled as she struggled to her feet. She held the stone close against her body, hoping Arline wouldn’t see it.

“Your knees,” Gina exclaimed.

Monica looked down. Both knees were scraped raw and blood trickled slowly down her legs.

Gina began digging in her designer handbag. She pulled out a wad of tissues. “Here.” She handed them to Monica. “Use these to stop the bleeding.”

Arline had become edgier and edgier as they walked along. Her movements were jerky, and her glance kept darting over her shoulder, although no one was in sight.

“Get moving.” She poked the gun into Monica’s ribs.

With the help of Gina’s tissues, Monica had managed to staunch the flow of blood from her knees. She straightened up, the rock hidden in her right hand. Arline was next to her—perhaps there would be no need to actually throw the rock.

Monica took a deep breath, swung her arm around and smashed the rock into Arline’s temple. It wasn’t a terrific blow, but it was enough to put Arline off balance. She dropped the gun and grabbed her head with both hands.

Monica kicked the gun away, but the blow had merely stunned Arline, who dove after the gun and managed to grab it before Monica or Gina could get to it.

A thin trickle of blood was coming from the side of Arline’s head. She felt the spot and winced.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” She waved the gun at Monica. “We’ll see just how clever you are. Now move,” she barked.

Monica and Gina hastened to do as they were told. They walked until they came to the last dock. A small boat with an outboard motor bobbed gently in the water, occasionally thudding against the dock.

Arline motioned to it. “Get in.”