Monica’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled. “I think it’s a great idea. Where shall we go?”

  “Given that Cranberry Cove doesn’t offer an abundance of fine dining spots, how about the Pepper Pot?”

  “I’ll go freshen up.”

  • • •

  Even though it was a weeknight, the Pepper Pot was bustling with diners, most of them tourists vacationing at the lake. They were easy to recognize with their dark tans and peeling, sunburned noses. A loud laugh rang out from one of the tables and Monica peered into the restaurant. A man in a colorful short-sleeved print shirt was telling an animated tale, his hands waving in the air expressively. Monica held her breath as he came close to knocking over his glass of wine.

  Greg gave their name to the hostess and steered Monica toward a seat where several other couples were also waiting.

  “I hope it won’t be too long,” she said.

  Before Greg could answer, the hostess swooped down on them. “Come with me,” she said, grabbing two menus off the hostess stand and tucking them under her arm.

  Greg glanced at the other people waiting for a table. “But they’re—”

  Seeing the look of confusion on Greg’s face, she said in a low voice, “Mickey always keeps one table free in case any of his friends show up.”

  They followed her as she led them to a table for two in the corner. Monica had to edge between the tables carefully and felt as if she ought to have a sign saying Wide Load pinned on her back. “Here you are,” the hostess said, plunking the menus down. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Greg chuckled. “I guess it pays to know someone.”

  After the waitress had taken their drink order, Greg leaned his elbows on the table. “So. Are you going to tell me what it was you were trying to track down at the library?”

  “I wanted to find out more about the incident the VanVelsens mentioned that had happened on the pond behind our new house. I wondered if there was any connection between it and the bones we found.”

  Greg raised his eyebrows. “I have to admit, it would be interesting to know more about it. We’re going to be living there, after all, and I don’t want to feel like we’re being haunted by something from the past. Did you find anything? Any links?”

  Monica furrowed her brow. “I did get some information but I can’t quite figure out how it’s all related.” She ran her finger around the rim of the glass of sparkling water the waitress had just handed her. “There was an accident on the pond. Two girls were ice skating and one of them fell through the ice. What’s interesting is, the two girls involved in the incident were Violet and her sister Beatrice. Their last name was redacted at the request of the family for privacy purposes, but how many pairs of sisters are likely to be named Violet and Beatrice?”

  Greg’s eyebrows shot up again and he gave a low whistle. “Now that is a coincidence.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “But I don’t see any connection between that and the bones we found, do you?”

  Monica made a face. “Not really. But I have a feeling there is a connection. I’m going to ask Kelly if she knows anything.”

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday morning when Monica went down for breakfast, she found a gift box on her plate wrapped in gold paper and tied with a silver ribbon.

  She swiveled around in her seat to look at Greg, who was at the counter filling his coffee cup. A lock of hair was falling over his forehead and despite approaching middle age, he had retained his boyish charm. Monica felt a rush of warmth flood her and her eyes filled with tears.

  “What’s this?” She waved the box at him.

  He grinned sheepishly. “It’s a little present. I thought you deserved it.” He motioned with his hand. “Go on. Open it.”

  Monica undid the ribbon and put it aside. She slid her finger along the edge of the wrapping paper and under the tape, loosening it, then slid the paper off.

  The box was also gold and written on top in fancy script was Serenity Salon and Spa. Now she was really curious. She opened the box to find an envelope inside. It was silver with Serenity Salon and Spa written on it in the same script.

  Monica felt her heart speed up as she tore open the flap. What on earth had Greg gotten her?

  She pulled out a gift certificate, elaborately decorated with swirls and stars. “What is this?”

  She turned back to Greg, who was smiling broadly.

  “It’s a gift certificate for a hot stone massage. I thought you deserved some pampering. You’ve been keeping the baking going, overseeing the farm store and helping Jeff with the finances. It’s time you had a chance to relax.” He brushed his hair off his forehead. “As a matter of fact, you might want to think about taking it easy from now until the baby arrives. It’s not going to be much longer.”

  He went over to Monica and put one arm around her shoulder and his hand on her stomach.

  “I can’t wait to see this little one. We’d better start thinking about a name.”

  At the start of Monica’s pregnancy, they’d been so excited that they had started keeping a list but hadn’t given it any more thought since then.

  Greg took a last sip of his coffee, rinsed his mug and put it in the dishwasher. He kissed Monica on the cheek.

  “I’m off then.” He tapped the gift certificate on the table. “Why don’t you see if they have any openings today? It’s time you started your maternity leave. And tonight, we can work on that list of names.”

  That did sound tempting, Monica thought as she toasted some cranberry bread and got the butter out of the refrigerator. She’d call the spa as soon as she finished her breakfast to see if they had any openings. She ate one slice of her bread and half of the other before pushing her plate away. She’d been ravished throughout her whole pregnancy but suddenly she wasn’t as hungry anymore.

  • • •

  “Well, it’s about time,” Nancy said when Monica announced she was beginning her maternity leave. “You should be resting. Rest is critically important for expectant mothers.”

  “And walking.” Janice looked up from the muffin tin she was filling. “I walked five miles the day before my son was born.” There was a look of smug satisfaction on her face.

  Nancy rolled her eyes. “I’m sure walking is good.” She shot a glance at Janice. “Be sure not to overdo it though. That’s as bad as not getting any exercise at all.”

  Monica raised her right hand. “I solemnly swear not to overdo it.”

  “Pamper yourself. You’ll be run off your feet soon enough,” Nancy said and Janice nodded.

  Monica pulled the Serenity Salon and Spa gift certificate out of her bag. “As a matter of fact, I’m making a reservation for a hot stone massage. Compliments of Greg.”

  “You certainly snagged a good one,” Nancy said. “Your Greg is so thoughtful.”

  Monica felt a rush of pleasure. Her mother hadn’t taken to Greg right away. She’d always envisioned Monica engaged to someone with money who had a high-powered career—a lawyer or investment banker—not someone who ran a bookstore in what she referred to as that dinky town. She’d slowly succumbed to Greg’s charm though and now she was one of his greatest champions.

  • • •

  The Serenity Salon and Spa looked at odds with the more pedestrian buildings around it. The ends of the stucco building were rounded, like turrets on a medieval castle, and the tiled entrance looked as if it would have been more at home in the southwest.

  Giant terra-cotta pots with colorful petunias spilling over the sides sat on either side of the entrance.

  Monica pulled open the door and was immediately greeted by a gust of perfumed air that didn’t completely mask the faint chemical scent of hair dyes and permanent solutions.

  Chairs were gathered around a massive fake stone fireplace in the waiting area and the styling chairs were arranged around a rotunda, where the sun was shining brightly through the numerous windows and creating a dappled pattern on the floor.

  Monica approached the reception desk with a certain amount of trepidation. Her own hairstylist worked at a place that was more old-fashioned beauty parlor than spa, where some of the styling chairs were mended with black electrical tape and the air smelled like hair spray, not perfume.

  The woman at the desk peered at Monica over the rims of her cat-eye glasses.

  “Can I help you?” She looked Monica up and down.

  Two can play that game. Monica straightened her spine and looked the woman in the eye.

  “I have an appointment for a hot stone massage. I called this morning. Monica Albertson.”

  The woman raised a carefully plucked eyebrow and ran her finger down the page of the appointment book in front of her.

  “I see. Yes, a massage with Illiana. You’re early,” she said, making it sound more like an accusation than a statement. “You can wait over there.” She swept an arm toward the chairs around the fireplace.

  Monica headed toward the black leather armchairs in the waiting area and sat down. She hoped she would be able to get out of it without struggling. She was reaching for a magazine from the glass coffee table in front of her when she heard her name being called and Kelly Cargill slid into the seat next to her.

  “This is a lovely place. I’ve never been here before.”

  “Neither have I,” Monica admitted. “Greg gave me a gift certificate for a hot stone massage.”

  “Lucky you. I’m getting a haircut.” She touched a hand to her blond bob.

  This was the perfect time to ask her about the book Edith had taken from Book ’Em, Monica thought. She felt her muscles tense at the thought. She was definitely going to need that massage after this.

  She cleared her throat. “I have to ask you something.” How to go about this diplomatically?

  Kelly raised her eyebrows. “Sure. What is it?”

  “It’s about Edith.”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “That book she’s reading—the Margery Allingham—well, she, um, borrowed it from Greg’s bookstore Book ’Em.” She’d decided not to use the words stole or shoplifted.

  Kelly’s mouth hung open. “What do you mean borrowed? Like from the library?”

  “Not exactly. She took it without anyone knowing.”

  “In other words, she shoplifted it.”

  Monica searched Kelly’s face, expecting to see her looking distressed. Instead, she appeared remarkably calm.

  Kelly sighed. “Edith has a slight . . . problem. She’s seeing a therapist about it but progress has been slow. I’ll have a word with her.”

  “I don’t want to upset her.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do it gently. I’m sure the book will be returned soon.”

  Monica felt a wash of gratitude. “Thank you.” She ran her hands down the arms of the leather armchair. “I have another question for you. It’s about Violet and Beatrice and something that happened a long time ago.”

  Kelly nodded, but before Monica could say anything else, Kelly’s stylist swooped down and led her off for her haircut.

  • • •

  Monica’s body felt totally relaxed as she walked to her car after her massage. Her limbs felt like liquid, as if they were melting. She had a sudden image of the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz as she slowly turned to a puddle on the floor. Even the persistent pain in her neck was gone. Why hadn’t she gotten a massage sooner?

  Monica drove back to town and a feeling of lightness settled over her. It wasn’t only the massage—it was the knowledge that from now on she could rest until the baby came. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to herself, but she had been getting increasingly tired.

  It also gives you time to investigate, a little voice in her head whispered.

  She ran through the cast of characters in her mind as she drove. Edith and Aston had alibis. Kelly was out of the question. That left Sherry, Ray and Beatrice. And Sherry’s husband Chuck. It was a long shot but he would benefit from Violet’s death if that meant Sherry had money from the inheritance to continue meeting his blackmail demands. Perhaps he and Sherry had been in on it together. Monica hadn’t liked the look of him one bit—his face was hard and there was something about his eyes, something slippery. Although she supposed that didn’t necessarily make him a killer. He might simply be the sort who went through life conning people and taking advantage of them.

  Ray was clearly in need of money and was sure to inherit the bulk of his mother’s estate. And what about Beatrice? Was Violet leaving her money as well? She appeared to be living a comfortable enough life as it was, although it hardly compared to her sister’s.

  Monica suddenly wondered if all these thoughts of murder could harm the baby in any way. Janice would probably insist they could.

  She was still enjoying the mellow feeling from her massage and was anxious to prolong the experience. She decided she would take a short walk along the lake. Why not? She was on maternity leave, after all.

  She parked her car and headed toward the stairs leading to the beach. She paused at the top to remove her shoes, and as she descended, she relished the warmth of the wood and the graininess of the particles of sand against her bare skin.

  Colorful umbrellas were staked in the sand nearly to the water’s edge and children whooped and splashed in the shallow water near the shore.

  Monica walked down to where the waves had wet the sand and began to walk. Occasionally the water reached her feet, foaming around her ankles before receding again. It felt heavenly to be outside and she breathed deeply of the fresh air, digging her toes into the moist sand.

  The sun dipped behind a cloud, momentarily casting shadows on the ground but soon returned, sparkling off the tops of the waves and warming Monica’s face.

  She was careful not to walk too far, keeping in mind she’d have to make the return journey as well and it wouldn’t do to use up all her energy.

  She turned around when she reached the stone pier that stretched out into the lake, where the lighthouse at the end pointed toward the sky.

  She was relieved when she reached her starting point—her legs were getting tired and she still had to struggle through the shifting sand to the stairs that would take her back to her car.

  As she passed the Cranberry Cove Inn, she heard someone call her name. Shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, she scanned the inn’s patio and saw Beatrice sitting at one of the tables. Beatrice half stood and beckoned for Monica when she saw she had caught her attention.

  Monica opened the gate to the stairs that led to the inn’s patio. Beatrice was seated at the front, her umbrella tilted to shade her from the sun. She had a ball of yarn stuck through with knitting needles on the table beside her and a sweating glass of something cold at her elbow.

  “Monica. Come sit.” She patted the chair next to her. “Come get out of the sun and have something cold to drink.”

  That certainly sounded inviting, Monica thought. She was slightly out of breath as she climbed the last step and was grateful when she collapsed into the chair Beatrice had pulled out for her. She lifted her hair off her neck. She wished she’d thought to put it up.

  “It is rather warm, isn’t it?”

  Monica nodded. “It was cooler down by the water.” She fanned her face with her hand.

  “What you need is a cold drink,” Beatrice said and waved for the waiter, who was clearing a table that had just been vacated.

  He bustled over and Monica ordered a tall lemonade with plenty of ice.

  Beatrice twirled the straw in her drink around and around. “Do you have any idea if the police are any closer to solving Violet’s murder?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to Detective Stevens recently. I’m sure they’re making progress.”

  “It’s strange being back in Cranberry Cove,” Beatrice said as the waiter slid Monica’s lemonade in front of her. “We used to love it as children—the water, the beach, the chance to spend the day outdoors. It felt like freedom. We even liked it in the winter when we could skate and sled. We would stay out until our fingers were blue insisting that we weren’t cold.”

  “That sounds idyllic.” Monica took a sip of her lemonade.

  Beatrice’s face darkened. “It was. Until the accident happened.”

  Monica went very still. She didn’t want to interrupt Beatrice’s train of thought.

  “Of course, I don’t remember any of it—only flashes that come back to me from time to time, often when I least expect it.”

  Monica waited. Beatrice went on.

  “I was told Violet and I had gone skating, although we’d been told not to. The previous few days had been unseasonably warm and sunny and it wasn’t safe. But we didn’t listen even though we were old enough to know better. I was eighteen and Violet was twenty. We’d only been skating for a few minutes when the ice cracked under me and a hole opened up. I guess I fell in.”

  Monica gasped. She could almost feel the icy cold water herself.

  “That must have been so frightening.”

  Beatrice shrugged. “I imagine it was but fortunately I remember so very little. It’s a blessing really. I was in a coma afterward, see, for three months. I lost my memory—not all of it, mind you. I knew my name, but at first I didn’t recognize my own family or even my best friend. All the events of that day were gone forever. All I really remember is the feeling of terror. It haunts me still.” Beatrice’s hand trembled as she reached for her glass.

  She took a sip and ran her tongue over her lips. “It was Violet who saved me. Somehow, she managed to grab my arm and pull me out of the water. She took a terrible risk. She could have fallen in herself. But she said there wasn’t time to go for help. I can imagine her terror, standing on the ice and knowing it could crack under her at any minute and plunge her into the frigid water. Imagine. It would have been a double tragedy if we’d both gone under.”

  Beatrice pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Violet wasn’t just my big sister, you know, she was my hero. She saved my life. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.” She clenched the tissue in her hand. “We never went skating again. Mother wouldn’t hear of it. She’d forbidden it. Besides, Violet had lost one of her skates and Mother had refused to buy her a new pair.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22