Chapter 12

 

Monica didn’t want to leave Andrea—she was quite upset after her run-in with Alton Bates—but her brother suddenly appeared at her elbow and offered to take her home. The coffee had run out, the cookie platter was nearly empty, and people were drifting toward the exit.

Monica sighed with relief when she closed the door to her ancient Taurus and pulled out of the driveway of St. Andrews. She felt a need to talk to someone—that scene with Bates had upset her more than she’d realized.

There was a parking space right in front of Book ’Em, and she took it as a sign that she was meant to stop in and say hello to Greg. She pulled into the space, locked the car and opened the door to the bookstore.

Dust motes danced in the light coming through the display window, and Monica blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the shop’s interior. Books spilled from the crammed shelves and were stacked on the floor in unsteady piles. Greg’s never-ending attempts to straighten things up never lasted for long.

“Monica. Is everything okay?” Greg rushed forward and kissed Monica on the cheek. He held both her hands in his and examined her face. “Is something wrong? You look upset.”

Monica felt all the tension leave her body and she smiled in response to Greg’s question.

“I’m fine. I wanted to see you.”

Now Greg’s face split into a giant smile and he impulsively squeezed her hands.

“I’m glad. I hope that never changes.”

“It’s only been a few hours,” Monica said with a laugh, “but I missed you.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter. When I’m not with you, time goes by so slowly.”

Monica felt herself blush and turned away quickly.

At least a half dozen people were in the small store browsing the shelves or settled with books in the ancient armchairs Greg had scattered around the shop.

“It looks like you’re quite busy.”

“It’s been a steady stream all morning.” Greg ran his hand through his hair, leaving it boyishly rumpled. “I haven’t had a chance to run to the diner to grab something to eat.”

“I’ll get you something,” Monica said.

Greg smiled. “A hamburger and some fries would be great.”

Monica raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were going to start watching your cholesterol.”

Greg made a face. “You’re right. The doctor says it’s borderline. So how about a Greek salad with some grilled chicken?”

“I’ll be right back.” Monica kissed Greg and headed toward the door.

“Monica,” he called as she was putting her hand on the doorknob. “Can I have the hamburger? Just this once. Then I’ll go back on my diet. I promise.”

Monica gave him an indulgent look. “Okay, fine. Just this once.”

“Make it a cheeseburger,” Greg called as the door was shutting behind her.

Monica dashed next door to the diner. There was a fairly long line at the take-out counter and most of the booths were full. The waitress, an older woman with tightly permed hair and glasses dangling from a chain around her neck, was as nimble as a gymnast, carrying a huge tray of orders on the palm of one hand and a coffeepot in the other.

Monica joined the line for take-out behind a man in overalls who smelled like horses and fresh air. Almost immediately more people lined up in back of her. Someone was wearing perfume that smelled like gardenias. Monica could smell it even over the scent of hot grease and hamburger meat.

Out of curiosity, she turned around. A young woman was at the end of the line—she had thick dark hair and dark eyes. For a moment, Monica didn’t recognize her, although she looked tantalizingly familiar. Suddenly she realized it was Victoria Cortez. Their last meeting had certainly not ended on a friendly note.

She turned away quickly, hoping Victoria hadn’t seen her, and leaned on the counter, watching in admiration as Gus worked the grill—flipping burgers, turning thick rashers of bacon and cracking eggs with practiced ease. Without taking his eyes off the grill, Gus shouted over his shoulder.

A young man came through a door behind the counter. He had an apron tied over a T-shirt and jeans. He and Gus had a whispered conversation, with Gus gesturing toward the nearly empty bottle of oil sitting next to the grill.

The young man shook his head. Gus frowned and said something. The young man shrugged and held his hands out palms up. Suddenly Gus swore loud enough to be heard and threw down the metal spatula he was holding.

Monica was startled. Gus rarely showed any emotion, his face normally as expressionless as the faces carved into Mount Rushmore. He was muttering something and Monica thought she caught the word shortages. She perked up her ears. Was Gus finding himself short of supplies, too? Was something going on? she wondered. Having checked her recent order, she knew she hadn’t made a mistake—the fault was Acme Supplies’. They hadn’t sent the correct amount of butter. But had it been a mistake or had they done it on purpose? She wanted to talk to Gus and find out who his supplier was.

Gus had returned to tending the grill and it took a few moments before he noticed Monica waving at him. He frowned, put down his spatula and approached the counter.

He put both hands on the counter, looked at Monica and raised his eyebrows.

“I thought I heard you say you were shorted some supplies,” Monica said. She was nervous and her voice caught slightly. She’d never spoken to Gus face-to-face before.

Gus grunted assent.

“Who is your supplier? If you don’t mind my asking,” Monica added hastily, seeing the look on Gus’s face.

“Acme,” was his terse reply.

“I use them, too, and I’ve been short of product lately as well.”

Gus pointed a stubby finger at Monica. “You call them.” He pointed at himself. “I will call them.” He nodded briskly. “They won’t do this again.”

Monica left the diner with Greg’s cheeseburger and fries and also with the knowledge that Acme Supplies had obviously been cheating several of their customers.

And she had no doubt that it would stop once Gus got hold of them and gave them a piece of his mind.

 

• • •

 

Monica glanced at her speedometer and let up on the gas. She was feeling guilty about leaving Kit to do all the work all morning and had unconsciously sped up. If she got a speeding ticket it would take her even longer to get back to the farm, so there was no point in rushing.

She crested the hill that led toward the farm and marveled at the view in front of her—her cottage and the farm store white dots in the distance and the flooded cranberry bogs dark shadows on the green fields surrounding them.

Various thoughts buzzed in Monica’s mind as she drove. It had been pure luck that she’d been at the diner when Gus discovered he was short of product and had learned that they both used Acme Supplies. Any thoughts she’d had that Acme had merely made mistakes with her last few orders were put aside with this new information. They were cheating their customers pure and simple. The question, of course, was whether a specific employee was responsible or was this something the management was in on?

Monica had been startled to see Victoria Cortez at the diner. She felt a chill when she remembered what Victoria had said about Laszlo’s killing—that she had a gun and knew how to use it. That was all well and good, but Monica hadn’t ruled her out as a suspect. Perhaps they’d had an argument and the knife had been closer to hand.

Monica drove down the other side of the hill and in minutes was pulling into the driveway of her cottage. The trellis next to her patio was still covered with the remains of the summer roses, although the flowers were starting to fade and droop, and before too long everything would be blanketed in snow. Monica would be sad to see them go.

Mittens was by the back door when she opened it. She rubbed against Monica’s legs and purred loudly. Monica bent to pick her up, but Mittens quickly scampered away to chase a speck of dust that had been blown across the floor by the draft from the open door.

Monica quickly slapped a ham and cheese sandwich together, making a mental note to pick up some more bread the next time she went to the grocery store. A few more minutes and she was going out the back door again headed for the farm kitchen.

The bog Monica passed on her way along the dirt path had already been harvested and the water run off into the canals leading to the holding pond. The water would eventually be reused to flood the next bog.

Two men were standing on the edge of the bog talking. Monica put a hand up to her eyes to shade them from the sun, which had suddenly emerged from behind a cloud. One of the men was from Jeff’s crew—he had on a dark green Carhartt jacket and was carrying a pair of waders under his arm.

The other man wasn’t dressed for work. He was wearing a black leather jacket that would have been very impractical for the job of harvesting. Like the fellow from Jeff’s crew, he was wearing jeans and had a black knit cap pulled down low on his forehead.

He looked familiar to Monica and she was halfway to the farm kitchen when she realized it was Eddie Wood. What on earth was he doing at Sassamanash Farm? Monica couldn’t imagine. Maybe she was mistaken. No, she was quite sure that had been Eddie. There was something about the way he held himself that was very recognizable.

Perhaps the inn had decided to order some crates of fresh cranberries from them and maybe the chef had sent him to pick them up?

Kit was whistling “What a Wonderful World” when Monica opened the door to the farm kitchen. He had flour in his hair again and cranberry juice stained the apron he was wearing. He looked up from the muffin tins he was filling and smiled.

“I’m trying something different,” he said, wiping up a spill with a paper towel. “Cranberry walnut chocolate chip muffins. I thought since the cookies are such a big hit . . .” He trailed off and looked at Monica, his eyes wide. “I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not a bit,” Monica said as she took her apron from the hook. “They sound delicious. I can’t wait to sample one.”

Kit let his breath out in a whoosh. “Oh, good. I was afraid you might be mad or think that I was being too forward.”

“I appreciate everything you do.” Monica patted Kit on the back. “And it’s always good to add to our menu of baked goods. We don’t want things to become too static.”

Monica forgot about Eddie as she made up another batch of salsa—this time for Fresh Gourmet—and sampled Kit’s muffins, which she quickly pronounced delicious.

It wasn’t until she was finishing up for the day that she thought about Eddie again. There was something odd about his sudden appearance at Sassamanash Farm. She’d never seen him there before. She’d have to be sure to ask Jeff about it.

 

• • •

 

Monica was looking forward to a quiet evening. Greg had promised to bring home that new mystery for her to read, and she couldn’t wait to curl up on the sofa under her soft mohair throw and bury herself in a good book.

She was making a chicken potpie for dinner. She had the dough made and chilling in the refrigerator and the vegetables were prepped as well. She had a few minutes to relax before she had to put it together and get it into the oven.

The teakettle was whistling on the stove when someone began banging on Monica’s back door. The banging continued until she flung open the door.

Gina all but fell into Monica’s kitchen. Her updo was more down than up and her mascara was streaked under her eyes. It was clear she was in distress.

“Gina! Is something wrong? What’s happened? It’s not Jeff, is it?”

Monica had a moment of panic. Had something happened to Jeff? She knew he struggled without the use of his left arm—had there been an accident? She pictured all the equipment in the cranberry processing building; anything could have happened. He might have been caught in a piece of machinery or—”

“Jeffie’s fine,” Gina said, opening the refrigerator and peering inside. She closed the door and looked at Monica. “Do you have any wine?”

“Sure. I’ll get us some glasses.”

She turned the kettle on the stove off and instead got two wineglasses out of the cupboard. She had a couple of bottles of wine in the pantry. She chose one, opened it and poured them each a glass.

“Here.” She slid the glass across the table to where Gina had taken a seat.

Monica sat down opposite her stepmother. “Now tell me what’s wrong. It’s obvious you’re upset.”

Gina clenched her fists. “I’m so mad I could spit.”

Monica waited patiently.

Gina took a gulp of her wine and slammed the glass down on the table. Monica was beginning to fear for her stemware.

“I really thought Xavier was the one,” Gina finally said.

Monica raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t surprised. She thought of how Xavier had eyed that waitress at the Pepper Pot the night they went for dinner. She’d feared it would come to this sooner or later.

“Remember I told you I had that lovely evening all planned out?” Gina said, drumming her fingers on the table. “It was the night of your wedding. They say weddings are supposed to put men in the mood to propose, or at least in a romantic mood. I thought I would seize the moment, so to speak.”

Gina dug in her purse, pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes. A piece of hair that had escaped her twist flopped onto her forehead and she blew it out of the way.

“I had the meal all planned out. Caviar to start—I had to order it from a shop in Chicago.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not the sort of thing you can get around here.”

Monica had to agree with her on that.

“I was going to make a roast chicken for the main course. I saw this cooking show on television and the chef said that so many men have proposed after their girlfriends made them this dish that it became known as engagement roast chicken. How could I go wrong?”

Monica could think of a lot of ways but didn’t say anything.

“I had premium vanilla ice cream with chocolate truffle sauce for dessert. And all for nothing.”

“I know you said Xavier didn’t feel well and decided to go home to his own bed to sleep.”

“That’s right. I thought we would just postpone the dinner for another night.” Gina twisted the long chain she was wearing around her hand, running it between her fingers so that it ended up looking like a set of brass knuckles. “And then when I went past his house I saw that car parked outside that obviously belonged to a woman.” Gina spat the word out.

“I know you saw a car with a lipstick and a woman’s tote in it, that’s all. We discussed it, remember?”

“Yes, and I believed you. I realized I was making something out of nothing. It could have been his cleaning lady—I’m sure some of them are willing to work on a Sunday. Or . . . or . . . a woman he was interviewing for a research job.”

Gina took a gulp of her wine. “I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I decided to forget about it and invite him for dinner this weekend instead.” She glared at Monica. “It’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Monica pointed to herself.

“You had me convinced that I was imagining things and Xavier really had been feeling ill that night. But you were wrong.” Gina snorted. “Xavier may be sneaky but he’s not sneaky enough. He forgot that this is a small town and that it’s like living under a microscope,” she continued.

Monica raised her eyebrows again.

“Tempest was driving past his cottage the next morning, too—the Sunday after your wedding. And she saw Xavier leaving with a woman. They both got into his SUV and took off. Tempest recognized her because she bought a lot of stuff at Twilight and her check bounced. She works in the office at the Cranberry Cove Yacht Club. She thought her name was Victoria something-or-other.”

“Do you know what she looked like?”

“Tempest said she had long dark hair, and as far as she could tell, dark eyes.” Gina sniffed. “At least he didn’t leave me for some bottle blond.”

Monica stifled a laugh. Gina spent hundreds of dollars a year tending to her own skillfully dyed blond hair.

But as Monica thought about what Gina had said, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The woman with Xavier had to have been Victoria Cortez. And if Victoria Cortez had spent the night with Xavier and was with him the Sunday morning after Monica and Greg’s wedding, then she couldn’t possibly have murdered Bruce Laszlo.