Berry the Hatchet (3 page)

“It's very kind of you to bring this around,” she said, gently removing the clipboard from Gina's unresisting hands. “But I think we all agree that we'd rather not get involved in something that we know very little about.”

Monica handed the woman her petition and reached out a hand to take the pen back from Gina. She handed it over, smiled and opened the door to the shop.

They all watched through the window as the woman crossed the street and entered Bart's Butcher shop.

Tempest clenched her hands into fists and shook them
at the plateglass window. “How dare that man! He's the mayor, not God!”

“I can understand your being angry,” Monica said in her most soothing voice. She put a hand on Tempest's arm.

“Angry?” Tempest turned on Monica, her eyes glittering. “I'm going to kill Preston Crowley for this!”

As Monica hurried to her stall outside of Gumdrops, she was thinking about the scene in Gina's shop and it wasn't until she was halfway back before she remembered about her mother. The thought made her stop in her tracks, and a man, bundled up against the cold with a scarf around his nose and mouth, bumped into her.

“I'm sorry,” Monica said, but he hurried past with an irritated look on his face.

Monica shrugged. Some people seemed to walk around with a black cloud over themselves no matter what was going on.

She quickly checked on the stall—the tablecloth was still pinned down against the wind, which was now sending snowflakes into swirls like mini tornadoes. She popped her head into Gumdrops and asked the sisters if they would mind keeping an eye on things for her.

“You go on, dear. We'll keep a lookout,” Hennie called from behind the counter.

“I'm sure everything will be fine,” Gerda added, waving to Monica.

Monica dashed to her car—she'd gotten to town early enough to snag one of the spaces along Beach Hollow Road. Later, those spaces would be blocked off and the street would turn into an outdoor pedestrian mall. She brushed the accumulating snow off the roof and front and back windows of her Focus and took off.

As she drove up the hill toward Sassamanash Farm, she thought about what lay ahead. Her cottage was always orderly—she'd dusted and run the vacuum only yesterday—but she'd dashed out early this morning without cleaning up the kitchen. Flour still dusted the countertops and baking pans were soaking in the sink. She'd have to get all that taken care of before her mother arrived.

The thought made Monica hit the gas a little harder than she should have, and she crested the hill and flew down the other side, her small car skidding slightly on the increasingly snow-covered road. Mayor Crowley had prayed for enough snow for the sleigh to be able to navigate, but she hoped they didn't get so much snow that tourists weren't able to get there.

Mittens met Monica at the door as soon as she arrived home. Monica had adopted the kitten after the VanVelsen sisters' cat Midnight had given birth to a surprise litter. Monica had chosen the name Mittens because the kitten was all black except for four white paws. And since Michigan was known as the Mitten State, the name seemed particularly appropriate.

Monica had never had a pet before. She hadn't had time when she was in Chicago, and her mother had never wanted to be bothered with a dog or cat—she was afraid they would ruin the furniture and generally be too much of a nuisance. But the fluffy black kitten had already wormed her way into Monica's heart. She slept on Monica's lap when she was reading—occasionally waking up to bat at the pages of Monica's book—and she'd proved her mettle as a mouser, having already proudly presented Monica with several
presents
.

Now Mittens rubbed against Monica's ankles until Monica bent down to pet her and scratch under her chin. She followed Monica out to the kitchen, weaving in and out between her feet, tail held high in the air and swishing back and forth. Monica had learned to be extra careful on the steps. The last thing she needed was to fall and break something.

Monica tossed her jacket toward the coatrack by the back door, where it caught by the edge of the collar, then checked Mittens's bowls. Water—full. Food—full. She glanced toward the clock on the kitchen wall. She'd better hurry.

She filled the sink and began scrubbing the baking dishes she'd left for later. Her arms were still plunged up to her elbows in soapy water when she heard a car pull up. She quickly dried her hands and went to the front door.

By the time she got there, her mother was already standing on the front step. She looked crisp and elegant in a navy double-breasted peacoat, leather gloves, gray slacks, and suede driving moccasins. Her ash blond hair had a few gray strands woven in, but was neat and tidy in a chin-length bob.

“Mom!” Monica exclaimed. She pulled the door wider. “Come in.”

Nancy Albertson walked into the small living room. She offered her cold cheek to Monica for a kiss. Monica impulsively gave her mother a quick hug.

“What's this?” Nancy asked as Mittens rubbed up against her legs. “I do hope it doesn't shed,” she said, bending down to pat the cat's head.

Nancy straightened and looked around Monica's living room, with its welcoming brick fireplace, comfortable furniture and bay window. Monica held her breath as she waited.

“Well, dear, it certainly is . . . tiny,” Nancy finally said. She pulled off her gloves. “I'm positively freezing. A cup of tea would be nice.”

“Sure.” Monica took her mother's coat and hung it in the closet by the front door.

She hastened down the hallway toward the kitchen, Nancy following, the rubber soles of her shoes silent against the wood floor. Mittens was right behind her, her rigid posture suggesting that she didn't approve of Nancy at all.

Nancy sat at the kitchen table while Monica filled the teakettle. She turned around to see that Nancy had pushed the remains of some flour into a small pile at the edge of the table. Monica quickly went over and swept the grains into her palm and dumped them into the sink.

The kettle finally boiled and Monica filled two mugs with hot water, carefully selecting one without any chips or dings for Nancy. She plopped in two tea bags and carried them to the table. She knew her mother didn't care for any sugar or milk in hers.

Nancy picked up her mug and blew on the tea before taking a small sip. She closed her eyes. “Heaven. My hands have been positively freezing. Leather gloves are not as
warm as one would think, but of course it's impossible to drive a car in mittens.”

She laughed and Monica smiled politely.

“I assume you've booked me a room somewhere.” Nancy put down her mug and wiped a finger along the edge where her lipstick had left a pale pink smudge.

Monica chewed on her lower lip briefly. “I'm afraid everything in town is booked. But I have a guest room that should be perfectly comfortable.” She pointed toward the ceiling and the second floor.

Nancy looked doubtful but then gave a quick smile. “I'm sure it will be perfectly adequate. Of course with your Winter Walk going on, it hadn't occurred to me how crowded this poky little town would be.”

Cranberry Cove wasn't poky!
Monica was about to rise to the town's defense but then thought better of it. No need to antagonize Nancy—they were going to be spending more time together in the next few days than they had in years.

Nancy pursed her lips. “It seemed like the perfect time to come—I could see you, enjoy this Winter Walk I've heard so much about and grab a few moments with Preston. I'm sure he's going to be very busy, but I don't see why we couldn't sneak away for a quick dinner.”

Her mother's last words were a blur to Monica. She had stopped listening after the word
Preston
and was trying to convince herself that there could conceivably be more than one person in a small town like Cranberry Cove named Preston. She was having very little success.

“Did you say Preston?” Monica interrupted Nancy's chatter about the new purse she'd bought at Nordstrom.

Nancy looked irritated. “Yes. Preston. Preston Crowley. He's the owner of the Cranberry Cove Inn. I would have asked him to reserve a room for me there, but I wanted to surprise him.”

Preston wasn't the only one who was going to be surprised, Monica thought. When Gina found out that both she and Nancy Albertson were seeing the same man, Cranberry Cove was going to have a fireworks display that had nothing to do with the Fourth of July.

•   •   •

Monica got Nancy settled as best she could in the guest room. Nancy wasn't pleased when she found out there was only one bathroom, but Monica assured her she would be up early and finished showering long before Nancy wanted to use the tub.

Monica was about to head back downtown to Sassamanash Farm's little stall when Nancy came breezing down the stairs. She'd obviously powdered her nose and freshened her lipstick, and she had her purse hanging from the crook of her arm.

“Are you going out?”

“Yes.” Nancy opened the coat closet and pulled out her jacket. “I called the Inn and Preston is in his office, so I'm going to surprise him.”

Monica found her mouth had gone so dry her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth. Should she warn her mother about Gina? What if the two ran into each other in town?

In the end, she didn't say anything—just prayed that the two women wouldn't cross each other's paths.

•   •   •

When she got to town, Monica had to park in the lot at the Central Reformed Church and walk back to Beach Hollow Road. Both hands were full with two baskets brimming with more of her homemade cranberry bread, muffins and salsa. At least two inches of snow blanketed the lawns, sidewalk and street, and it continued to fall in big, fat flakes. The sidewalk was slippery and several times Monica barely kept herself from falling. She should have dropped off her goods at Gumdrops and then gone to park the car. She shrugged. Too late now—she was almost there.

She passed the Pepper Pot and was surprised to find it dark with no signs of activity. Lights had been strung along the roofline in the front, but hadn't been turned on. The Pepper Pot was the newest restaurant in town. Everyone said it was going to give the dining room at the Cranberry Cove Inn a run for its money. According to the newspaper article Monica had read, the owner planned for it to be an eatery somewhere between the extreme casualness of the Cranberry Cove Diner, with its short-order menu and slapdash service, and the Cranberry Cove Inn, with its white linens, extensive wine cellar and waiters in black tie.

The menu had been taped to the window for the past few weeks, and Monica had glanced at it whenever she went by. It looked as if the restaurant was going to feature home cooking—roast chicken and turkey, grilled steaks, beef stew and other old-time favorites served in a nice atmosphere. Upscale, but not so fancy that it would scare off the locals who would be the ones to keep it busy all year long. The tourists would like it, too, for its retro menu and its charm.

Monica knew the owner had planned on a grand opening the first night of the Winter Walk. What had gone wrong? Preston had been vocal in his opposition to the place, claiming it was going to create too much traffic along Beach Hollow Road and make parking nearly impossible. He had tried to rally a group of like-minded people, but had failed.

Everything was in order when Monica got back to the stall. A bell jingled as Hennie opened the door to Gumdrops and put her head around the edge. “We've been keeping an eye.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Monica set her two baskets down on the table and began to unpack them. She would have to warn people to warm the muffins and bread before eating them—the cold air was quickly chilling them, and they felt as if they'd been stored in the refrigerator and not in the warmth of her kitchen.

People were beginning to stroll down the street, many arm in arm, their cheeks rosy from the cold. The official start of the Walk was four p.m., when Miss Winter Walk, accompanied by Mayor Preston Crowley, would arrive in the horse-drawn sleigh. Fortunately there was now plenty of snow, so Preston must be pleased. The thought of Preston made Monica's jaw clench, and she quickly turned her mind to something else.

Monica finished arranging her display and looked around. She had to admit, Cranberry Cove had certainly risen to the challenge. Lights twinkled on all the shop fronts, the scent of hot chocolate and mulled cider drifted on the air, and the old-fashioned street lamps gave a ruddy glow to the entire scene. A group of young men and women dressed
in period costume stood at the top of the street singing old English ballads. The whole scene was quite magical.

Monica glanced toward Twilight and wondered if Tempest was going to hold her ritual despite Preston's petition. Personally, she thought it would add to the celebration rather than detract. The way Tempest had described it, there would be candles and bells and various other noisemakers. Certainly it would give the tourists something to talk about when they got back home.

The door to Gumdrops opened and Hennie and Gerda came out, bundled to their eyebrows in matching boiled wool coats, knitted hats and mittens.

Hennie pushed back her sleeve and glanced at her watch. “It's almost four o'clock. The sleigh should be arriving any minute now.”

“This is so exciting.” Gerda clapped her mittened hands together.

“Who is Miss Winter Walk?” Monica asked, suddenly realizing she had no idea who had been chosen for this prime part in the celebration.

Hennie rolled her eyes. “Preston's niece Candy. She's a complete ninny if you ask me. We hired her briefly to help out in the store, and even after a week she couldn't figure out how to make change.”

“We had to let her go,” Gerda chimed in. “But then I heard she was working at that jewelry store down the street with the unusual name—”