Berry the Hatchet (20 page)

The diner was nearly empty when Monica got there. A lone customer was sitting at the counter nursing a cup of coffee. The waitress stood in front of him on the other side, her elbows resting on the counter, chatting. Gus was scraping down the grill and looked up, his eyebrows drawn together, when Monica walked in. It would be like Gus to get married in the morning and then show up for work in the afternoon.

In the nearly six months Monica had been living in Cranberry Cove, she'd never exchanged a word with Gus—not good morning or good afternoon or even hello—although Gus did now favor her with a nod when she entered.

Monica approached the grill where Gus was working with an absurd feeling of trepidation—as if she was about to have an audience with the Pope or the Queen of England. Which was absurd. For all anyone knew, Gus was actually shy and needed prompting to talk.

“Good afternoon.” Monica thought a simple greeting would be a good start.

Gus grunted.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Another grunt. Monica couldn't tell if it meant yes or no, so she decided to plunge on.

“Jacy Belair who owns Bijou,” Monica pointed vaguely in the direction of the jewelry store, “said someone stole her coat from one of the hooks,” this time Monica pointed in their direction, “while she was here having lunch.”

Gus continued scraping the grill without looking up. And this time he didn't even bother to grunt.

The waitress left her customer and sidled over. Monica remembered when she was new—she'd replaced Cora, who had been an old hand—and how harried she'd been at first. Now she'd become a seasoned pro.

“Are you asking about the time that woman lost her coat?”

“Yes—Jacy, from Bijou. She said someone stole it from here.”

The waitress fiddled with the pad in her pocket. “She made a huge stink, that's for sure. All the customers stopped eating and watched like it was some kind of television show—one of those reality shows, you know?”

It seemed to be a rhetorical question so Monica just nodded.

“She really pitched a fit. Claimed she'd gotten the coat from some fancy department store. I don't remember which—it's not like I shop in places like that.” She gave a laugh that ended in a rumbling cough. “I'm more the Walmart type myself.” She turned to glance at Gus, who was giving her a dirty look. She shrugged. “There was
something special about the buttons—I don't remember what exactly—but apparently the plastic ones like I've got on my coat weren't good enough for her.”

So Jacy had been telling the truth. Monica thanked the waitress, said good-bye to Gus, who was still bent over the grill, and headed toward her car.

A young man stopped her just as she was about to open her car door. He handed her a photocopied flyer, then continued down the street. It was probably for a free car wash or announcing that a new pizza place had opened up outside of town, Monica thought. The headline caught her eye and she stopped to read it.

The Pepper Pot was having a grand opening the next afternoon and everyone was invited. Drinks and hors d'oeuvres were on the house.

Monica folded the piece of paper, stuck it in her purse and started up her car. Maybe Nancy would want to go—and Gina, too. Perhaps she could even convince Jeff to stop work long enough to join them. And maybe she would ask Greg to go, too, Monica thought, glancing at Book 'Em.

•   •   •

Monica had almost forgotten that she'd promised to make dinner that night. Fortunately salmon didn't take that long to cook, nor did green beans and potatoes.

As soon as Monica got the paper-wrapped piece of salmon out of the refrigerator, Mittens, who had previously been exploring the nether regions of the cottage, shot into the kitchen, simultaneously screeching to a halt at Monica's feet and emitting a loud, warbling and demanding
meow
.

“Don't worry—I'll save you a piece,” Monica promised the kitten as she unwrapped the fish.

She was thinking as she scrubbed the fingerling potatoes under running water. It seemed as if Jacy's coat had, indeed, been stolen from the diner. Had Roger Tripp taken it? The coat would not only shield his own clothes from any blood but would also incriminate Jacy. She knew Roger had good reason to hate Crowley, but what did he have against Jacy? Had he stolen her coat on purpose or was it just happenstance that hers was the one he grabbed from the hook in the diner?

Monica cut up the potatoes, drizzled them with olive oil and some chopped garlic, and put them in the oven to roast.

“What smells so good?” Nancy asked several minutes later when she walked into the kitchen.

“Potatoes with olive oil and garlic.”

“It smells heavenly.” She peered into the pot on the stove. “And green beans, I see.”

“To go with the salmon and dill sauce I'm making.”

Nancy retrieved placemats, napkins and cutlery from the cupboards and drawers and began to set the table. Ever since her arrival, they'd been using linen napkins and setting the table properly. It was a far cry from eating standing at the counter, Monica thought. She rather enjoyed it.

“I wonder when the police will let me go home,” Nancy asked.

She fiddled with her knife while Monica put the salmon under the broiler.

Monica closed the oven door and turned around with her hands on her hips. “I don't know how far along they
are in the investigation. I haven't heard anything from Detective Stevens. Maybe that coat they found will provide some clues.”

“I hope so. I'm enjoying being with you—we so rarely have time together anymore—but I am getting a little bit . . . bored.”

Monica stuck a hand into her purse, which was sitting out on the counter, and pulled out the flyer the fellow had handed her that afternoon. “The Pepper Pot, that new restaurant on Beach Hollow Road, is opening tomorrow, and they're having a launch party. Free drinks and food—the entire town will be there.” She handed Nancy the flyer.

“That does sound fun. Are you going?”

“Yes. And I hope you'll join me?”

“I think I will.”

•   •   •

Monica was relieved to see Nora behind the counter at the farm store the next morning. She was afraid that the voodoo doll might have scared her off. But fortunately Nora was the no-nonsense sort, and was at work bright and early as usual.

“Are you going to the opening at that new restaurant this afternoon?” she asked as she arranged the baked goods Monica had brought with her.

“Yes, are you?”

Nora laughed. “I don't think so. There's no one to watch the kids, and I can't imagine the havoc they would wreak if let loose in a place like that. Hopefully Rick and I can sneak away for dinner once it's open. Rick's parents—they live just outside of Cleveland—visit a couple of times a
year and are happy to watch the kids while we grab some couple time.”

Monica was putting the salsa in the cooler when she heard a noise coming from the processing room behind the store. Was Jeff there? She opened the door between the two spaces and stuck her head around the corner.

“Good morning.”

Jeff looked up from the machine he was working on—the Bailey separator, a machine that separated the good cranberries from the rotten ones. He was wearing a pair of ripped and stained overalls, his hands were covered with grease and there was a smear of black on his right cheek.

“I thought I heard someone back here.”

Jeff smiled. “I'm giving the machinery a bit of a tune-up so we're ready for next year's harvest. The sanding is finished so now I can turn my attention to other things.” He grinned. “It's kind of nice to be inside for a change, although I know I'll be coming down with cabin fever by the end of February.”

“Have you heard about the big opening splash at the Pepper Pot?”

Jeff wrinkled his brow. “The Pepper Pot?”

“It's that new restaurant in town.”

“I'd forgotten about that place.” Jeff pushed a lock of hair off his forehead, leaving another smear of grease on his face. “What's up?”

“They're throwing a grand opening with free drinks and hors d'oeuvres this afternoon. Why don't you come? You could bring Lauren—I'm sure she'd enjoy it.”

A shadow crossed Jeff's face. “She's in Chicago for that interview.”

“Oh.” Monica had forgotten about that. She looked at her brother. “You're worried, aren't you?”

He shrugged. “What is that song?
Que sera sera
 . . . whatever will be will be. . . .”

“I don't think you have anything to worry about,” Monica said as she let the door close.

•   •   •

Monica spent the morning at the farm store helping Nora serve customers, then headed back to her cottage in plenty of time to freshen up for the afternoon's event.

She dove into the back of her closet where she kept what she thought of as her Chicago clothes—dresses and other outfits she'd worn when going out with Ted. She unearthed a dark green sweaterdress and a pair of suede boots. She was surprised that when she slipped into the dress it was a little loose. She hadn't been aware of losing weight, although she knew she had been working hard.

“Gina's picking us up,” Monica said when she found Nancy sitting in the living room, reading.

Nancy was wearing black slacks, a green and blue geometric print silk blouse and pearl studs in her ears. Monica marveled at the fact that her mother's style hadn't changed a bit over the years—the pants may have gotten wider or narrower at the hem according to the style of the day, but other than that, she always looked the perfect lady—stylish but without appearing to be a slave to fashion.

Suddenly a horn blared outside.

“That must be Gina,” Nancy said with a little quirk to her lips. “Are you coming with us or is Greg picking you up?”

“We're meeting there. No need for him to come all the way out here to the farm when I can hitch a ride with you.”

Monica and Nancy slipped into Gina's Mercedes.

“I thought Jeff was coming,” Monica said.

“He's still getting ready. He'll join us there.”

Gina backed out of the driveway at full speed, and Monica could see her mother gripping the front passenger seat door handle.

“I have to say, I'm a little worried about Jeffie,” Gina said as she ran through a four-way stop without even slowing down. “Lauren is off on some job interview in Chicago, and he's moping around like someone who just lost their last dime in the slot machine in some second-rate Vegas casino.”

“I'm sure he's worried for nothing,” Monica said, hoping that was true.

“Maybe tonight will cheer him up a bit,” Gina said as they idled down Beach Hollow Road.

Parking in downtown Cranberry Cove was at a premium—an unusual event in the middle of the winter. They were passing Book 'Em when Greg came out of the shop and waved them down. He was wearing a corduroy sport coat and knitted tie, and it looked as if he'd slicked his hair down with some sort of product, because for once it wasn't flopping over his forehead.

Gina zapped down her window, and Greg bent over and leaned his elbows on the sill.

“Why don't you get out here, and I'll park your car for you.”

“You are a true gentleman,” Gina said as Greg held her door open. “Isn't he, ladies?”

Greg opened Monica's door, and when she slid out, he gave her a quick kiss, pressed her hand and whispered, “You look lovely.”

She saw her mother raise an eyebrow and give a small smile. A look passed between her and Gina that made Monica suspect they'd been talking about her.

Greg drove away in Gina's Mercedes, and the three women pulled their collars closer and, leaning into the wind that was blowing across the lake, made their way to the Pepper Pot.

The noise of the crowd inside the restaurant was a faint rumble in the distance but grew louder and louder the closer they got. Someone opened the door to the restaurant and the babble of voices intensified as if someone had turned up the volume.

By the time they reached the front door, Monica was shivering. It was partly the cold, but also a strange feeling that something critical was going to happen this afternoon.

“If this crowd is anything to go by, the restaurant is sure to be a success,” Gina said as they slipped out of their coats.

“Free food and drink always attract a crowd,” Nancy said as she passed her coat to the girl manning the coat check. “Let's see how many show up when they have to pay for their meal.”

Monica looked around. There were a lot of people she'd never seen before but some she recognized as well—several were regulars at the farm store, stopping by on their way to work for their daily fix of cranberry scones or coffee cake. She noticed the VanVelsen sisters, pressed close together by the crowd, which increased the effect of seeing double. They were wearing long velvet skirts, white stock-tie blouses and plaid boiled wool jackets, and Monica was quite sure that the whole ensemble had been taken out of mothballs for the event. They made quite a contrast
to Gina's short, skintight dress in a cream knit shot through with gold threads and her over-the-knee black suede boots.

The long wood bar glittered with glasses, bottles of wine and hammered metal tubs filled with ice and cold drinks. Perpendicular to the bar was a cloth-covered table set with hors d'oeuvres. With tantalizing smells emanating from the kitchen, a fire glowing in the stone fireplace and the dark wood and ceiling beams, the Pepper Pot was as cozy as a private home.

Monica made her way through the crowd, conversing briefly with a gentleman who said he was an English teacher at the local high school before moving on when she spied Greg by the front door.

“Did I already tell you that you're looking lovely today?” he asked, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Would you like something to drink?”

Without waiting for an answer, he took Monica's hand and led her over to the bar.

“Quite the selection,” he said turning several bottles around so he could read the labels. He tapped one of them. “This is a very nice chardonnay if you'd like white.”

“Perfect.”

Greg chose two glasses and poured them each a measure of wine. He handed one to Monica and held his up in a toast. “
May you live all of the days of your life
.” He smiled. “Jonathan Swift,” he said apologetically. He touched Monica's arm lightly. “I don't know about you, but I'm starved. Would you like to get something to eat?”

He led Monica over to the buffet table.

“Everything looks delicious,” Monica said, hesitating with her plate in her hand. There were stuffed mushrooms, cold shrimp, mini-quiches, cocktail meatballs and
assorted dips. She selected a few things and added them to her plate.

She and Greg were chatting when Nancy came up to them.

“I don't believe we've met.” She held out her hand. “I'm Nancy Albertson, Monica's mother.”

Greg put his plate down on the table next to them and shook Nancy's hand.

“Greg Harper. I own Book 'Em here in town. We sell both new and used books.”

“Monica always did like to read,” Nancy said, taking a sip of her wine. “She was constantly walking around with her nose in a book. When the other kids were outside playing, she was devouring Nancy Drew mysteries.”

“We have something in common then.” Greg smiled at Monica.

Monica hoped Nancy wouldn't reveal anything too embarrassing about her childhood, and was relieved when a rather distinguished-looking gray-haired gentleman came up to Nancy and the two wandered off.

Monica had just finished the nibbles on her plate when a waiter appeared to take the dirty dish away.

“Good service,” Greg said. “That bodes well for the restaurant.”

Monica set her wineglass down on a table. “If you'll excuse me for a moment . . . ?”

“Certainly. Look for me by the food.” Greg jerked a thumb behind him. “I didn't have any lunch today, and I'm still hungry.”

Monica laughed and began to wend her way through the crowd toward the restrooms at the back of the restaurant.

The dark wood motif was carried through into the
ladies' room, where the walls were paneled and a white china bowl propped on top of a wooden cabinet substituted for an ordinary sink. A stack of fluffy white hand towels were stacked in a woven straw basket and the bar of hand soap smelled of lavender. The room itself was perfumed, although Monica couldn't tell whether that was a special touch on the part of the restaurant or a cloud of perfume left behind by a previous occupant.

Monica locked the door behind her and approached the stall, which was enclosed in wood panels and had an actual door. The lighting was rather dim but even so, Monica could see there was something sparkling at the bottom of the toilet bowl.

She fumbled in her purse for her cell phone and, using the flashlight feature, shone the beam on the water in the bowl. It looked as if someone had lost an earring. She leaned closer and gasped, nearly dropping her phone in the toilet.

It was the second button missing from Jacy's stolen coat.

Monica shuddered and reached a hand into the water, trying not to squirm in disgust. The water was cold and every time she tried to grab the button, it floated away. She finally got ahold of it and fished it out of the toilet.

She immediately ran hot water in the sink and, using what seemed like half a bar of soap, washed both the button and her hands thoroughly. She slipped the button into the pocket of her dress and returned to the stall briefly. She washed her hands again, checked her lipstick—not that she would be able to touch it up since she'd forgotten the tube in the bathroom at home—and ran a hand through her hair.

The fragrance that had scented the air upon her arrival had dissipated—it must have been someone's perfume lingering in the small space.

Monica left the restroom and was about to go look for Greg when she heard voices coming from an open door down the hall. She tiptoed closer.

“What are you doing here?” Monica heard a masculine voice demand. It sounded like Roger Tripp. The room looked like an office from what she could see through the cracked door.

“I think it would look odd if I was the only person in Cranberry Cove to not show up, don't you think?” a woman drawled.

It was Jacy. Monica was sure of it. She sidled a little closer.

Roger grunted. “Do you have my money? This place isn't going to pay for itself anytime soon.”

There was a rustling sound followed by footsteps. Monica moved away quickly, barely daring to breathe until she'd turned the corner and joined the crowd in the restaurant.

Greg was right where he'd said he'd be—by the food. He was holding a plate heaped with hors d'oeuvres. He held it out toward Monica when she joined him.

“Care for something?” He looked at Monica and frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Monica glanced around. “Can we go somewhere a little more private? I have to show you something.”

They moved into the dining room proper, where half a dozen people—mostly older—sat at the empty tables. Greg steered Monica toward one of them.

“What's up?” he asked as soon as they sat down.

Monica stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out the crystal and rhinestone button. She placed it on the table.

“This is the second button that was missing from the coat the killer used to cover up with when killing Preston Crowley. I found it dropped in the toilet in the ladies' room.” Monica looked around but no one was near them. “It must have fallen off the coat at some point while the killer had it in their possession.”

“And maybe they didn't notice it at first. . . .” Greg raised his eyebrows. “They must have found it afterward and realized they needed to get rid of it.” Greg laughed. “Just their bad luck to steal a coat with such distinctive buttons.”

“If Roger Tripp is the murderer, how easy would it be for him to dispose of the button here at the restaurant? Maybe he thought it had been flushed away.” Monica put the button back in her pocket.

“You're a regular Hercule Poirot.” Greg smiled. “No, you're better than Hercule Poirot.”

“Who is this Hercule . . . what did you say his name was?”

Monica and Greg both jumped at the sound of the voice and spun around to find Jacy standing behind them. She was wearing cream-colored slacks, a cream lace blouse and plenty of jewelry.

Greg gave an abrupt laugh. “He's a detective in Agatha Christie's mystery novels.”

“I've never been too keen on reading,” Jacy said, fiddling with one of her bracelets. “Maybe I'll try one of those books someday.”

“Stop by the store anytime,” Greg said. “I'd be glad to help you choose something.”

“Great turnout today,” Monica said, anxious to change the subject.

How much of their conversation had Jacy overheard? she wondered. The last thing she wanted was for Roger Tripp to get wind of her discovery.

•   •   •

“That was amusing,” Nancy said, kicking off her shoes after Gina dropped her and Monica off at Monica's cottage.

Monica stooped down to say hello to Mittens who was acting as if Monica had been gone for days instead of mere hours.

“I met a rather interesting gentleman,” Nancy said. “He said he owns a food service distributorship.” She laughed. “I thought I'd check him out on the Internet. After Preston, I don't want any more surprises.” Nancy sat down in the armchair by the fireplace and rubbed her right foot. “I think I'm getting too old for high heels.”

“Do you want to use my computer?”

“Now? Oh, why not. Let's go out to the kitchen. I could do with a cup of tea.”

While Monica put the kettle on to boil, Nancy pecked at the computer keys.

“What do you know,” she said finally. “It looks like he is legit.” She turned the computer around so Monica could see the screen.

“Are you going to see him again?” Monica asked as she put the mugs of tea down on the table.

“Possibly. He said he travels to Chicago on occasion and suggested we have dinner sometime. We'll see what happens.”

Nancy was about to close down the computer when Monica had a thought.

“Just leave it for now. There's something I want to look up.”

Nancy picked up her mug. “I'm going to take this up with me and lie down for a bit if you don't mind. All those people and the noise have given me a bit of a headache.”

“Hope you feel better,” Monica said as she sat down in front of her computer, her mug of tea at her elbow.

She brought up her favorite search engine and typed in Jacy Belair's name. Her mother had given her the idea—no one seemed to know much about her, not even the VanVelsen sisters who were the town historians.

Her search brought up a number of entries. It looked as if Jacy was on Facebook, like everyone else these days. There was the announcement in the local paper about the opening of Bijou and another entry from a site that promised to put you in touch with your classmates.

Monica kept scrolling. She had hoped to find something more. She had the feeling that Jacy was somehow at the center of this whole case, although she couldn't exactly say why or in what capacity. Quite possibly she was a victim, because it seemed as if Tripp had stolen Jacy's coat on purpose in order to incriminate her. Did he hate her for some reason?

Monica continued to scroll through the entries her search engine had found until one of them brought her up short. It was an article from the
Times-Picayune
about the death of Parker “Beau” Belair, owner of Café Mondial, a company that imported coffee from all over the world.

Monica's tea grew cold as she read through the article. It seemed that Beau, as the article referred to him, had been
married several times, had had a daughter with his second wife, and had ultimately married Jacy Devereaux, a woman nearly forty years his junior. He'd died under somewhat mysterious circumstances, having been in perfect health previously and having just played eighteen holes of golf with his friends before collapsing several hours after arriving back home. The autopsy had been inconclusive, but fingers were pointed at his new wife, who inherited all the money upon his death, which included a stately home in Louisiana and a summer home on the shores of Lake Michigan in Cranberry Cove.

Beau's daughter had died in an unfortunate accident several years earlier, and until he married Jacy, his sole heir had been his grandson.

His grandson just happened to be Roger Tripp.