A shadow passed over the man’s face. “I suppose you must be right. But he’d gone up there a million times before. Chuck knew what he was doing. And he didn’t take chances.”

  Chuck! Was it Chuck Krauss? It’s possible there was more than one Chuck working at the carnival. It was a fairly common name, not like Herman or Maynard.

  Stevens’s phone buzzed and she pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It must have been important because she walked away from the scene and appeared to be listening intently, the phone pressed firmly to her ear.

  “Pssst.” Monica beckoned to the man.

  He frowned but made his way toward her.

  “Do you need something, lady?”

  “No, not really. But you said the dead man’s name is Chuck.”

  “Yeah.” His eyebrows rose. “You know him?”

  “I might. But there are plenty of Chucks. What’s his last name?”

  The fellow scratched the stubble on his chin. “It’s Krauss. He said his father was German or something.”

  Monica tried not to show any reaction but questions were swirling around in her head. What if Chuck’s fall hadn’t been an accident? What if it had been murder?

  “Was there anything in particular that might have caused Chuck to fall? Something coming loose perhaps?”

  Monica knew next to nothing about the operation of a Ferris wheel.

  The fellow pursed his lips and furrowed this brow. “Something loose? I suppose that’s possible but he’d have known better than to grab on to something that wasn’t fastened real good.” He inhaled sharply and shook a finger at Monica. “Unless . . . unless the wheel started somehow. I dunno how or why that would happen, but these rides are old and things go wrong, you know?”

  “Could someone have started the Ferris wheel on purpose?”

  “Why would anyone do that?”

  “Maybe they didn’t realize Chuck was doing repairs?”

  “It’d be hard to miss. He always puts cones around the area to keep people away. What if he dropped a wrench or a hammer and it hit someone on the head?” He made a mournful face. “The carnival would get sued and it barely scrapes by as it is.”

  “But you said no one was likely to be here when Chuck was making the repairs.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. Especially Friday nights. Everyone’s off to grab a pizza or to the bars to get in a round or two before closing.”

  But what if someone had stayed behind? Monica thought. It would have been easy enough to stay hidden somewhere.

  “Did anyone know that Chuck was planning to make repairs to the Ferris wheel last night?”

  He flicked a fly off the front of his T-shirt. “Yeah. He’d been talking about it all day. Anyone could have heard him.”

  Accident or murder? Monica wondered. Did someone start the Ferris wheel knowing Chuck was up there and it was likely to cause an accident? Maybe even his death?

  And if it was murder, was there any connection between it and Violet Cargill’s murder? Or were there two separate murderers involved?

  • • •

  Monica ended up parking at the very end of Beach Hollow Road. The town was buzzing with tourists walking up and down, eating ice cream cones and peering into shop windows, leaving a trail of sand on the sidewalk.

  The Purple Grape was busy with people browsing. A man in a plaid bathing suit and a baby blue golf shirt had a bottle of wine in each hand and one tucked under his arm. As Monica passed, another customer whipped out his reading glasses and began to examine the label on what was most likely a very expensive bottle of wine.

  Bijoux was next door, where the salesman, who was in a black suit, stiffly starched shirt and rather colorful tie, was carefully displaying a diamond tennis bracelet on a black velvet pad. The stones were dazzling in the light from the chandelier, sending rainbows of color reflecting off the counter.

  A woman examined the bracelet, reaching out a finger to touch it, then held out a slender wrist and with the help of the salesman tried it on. Monica realized with a shock that it was Sherry Cargill.

  That was odd. Just recently Sherry had been crying in the ladies’ room at the Pepper Pot and complaining that Ray wouldn’t let her spend any more money. And now she was trying on diamond bracelets? It didn’t make any sense. Had Ray come into some money?

  Monica pushed open the door to Bijoux. Sherry looked startled when she saw her. Her face paled and her eyes darted from side to side, as if she was looking for an escape route.

  It looked as if she was going to pretend she didn’t know Monica but then she said, “Hello,” her voice quavering ever so slightly.

  “That’s a lovely bracelet.” Monica pointed to the piece of jewelry dangling from Sherry’s wrist.

  Sherry’s frown faded and she began to smile. “Isn’t it?” She turned her hand this way and that, admiring the sparkle of the diamonds.

  “Ray said to treat myself to anything I wanted. He gave me his credit card.” She waved it around.

  “Carte blanche, huh?” Wouldn’t that be nice, Monica thought. But then she realized she didn’t want a diamond bracelet or a fancy car or anything like that—she was perfectly happy with her life the way it was right now. She already had all the riches anyone could want.

  “Ray’s newspapers must be doing very well.”

  Sherry flushed. “Well, now that Violet’s dead, things are going to be much better. Ray is her executor, you know, and, well, when the will is read someone is going to be very disappointed.”

  Aston? Monica wondered. Or poor Edith?

  “Did you hear about the accident at the carnival?” Monica said, watching Sherry closely. She knew that despite Cranberry Cove’s extremely efficient grapevine, the news couldn’t have possibly traveled that far already.

  Sherry’s hand jerked and the bracelet banged against the counter. The salesman ran a hand across his forehead. He looked slightly alarmed.

  “Perhaps I should take that for you,” he said, gesturing to Sherry’s wrist.

  Sherry ignored him. “No. What accident?” There was a wobble in her voice that hadn’t been there before.

  “Someone fell from the Ferris wheel. The police are there.”

  “The police?” Sherry’s voice was a whisper.

  Monica nodded. “It’s standard operating procedure.”

  “Do you know who . . . who was killed?”

  Monica tilted her head inquiringly.

  “I . . . I assume the person died—falling from such a great height.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know who it was. The police aren’t saying. But it was definitely a man and he was definitely dead. I’m sure we’ll find out eventually.”

  Monica could have told Sherry it was Chuck but she didn’t know whether or not the police wanted to keep the name under wraps until they’d made further investigations and notified next of kin.

  Sherry swallowed hard and her face went whiter than it had when she’d first caught sight of Monica.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she said to the salesman. She turned to Monica. “I forgot. I’ve got an appointment.”

  She barely nodded goodbye as she raced out the door.

  Chapter 22

  Book ’Em was busy when Monica got there. A line had formed at the counter, where Emily was dutifully, if slowly, ringing up sales and Greg was in the stacks discussing a book with a customer.

  Monica climbed the stairs to the upper level. She had to pause at the top to catch her breath. The baby was now constricting her lungs as well as her stomach.

  She was pleased to see that most of the tables were taken. Someone was sitting in the back typing furiously on a laptop and the other tables were mostly filled with women in bright summer frocks conversing with their friends.

  Monica found the lone vacant table near the kitchen and sat down. It wasn’t long before Kit plopped into the chair opposite her. He looked at Monica and frowned.

  “You’re looking positively peevish, my dear. I think some sustenance is in order,” he said as he popped up again.

  “I wouldn’t say no.”

  “I’ll brb, darling. Be right back.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Kit disappeared through the swinging doors into the kitchen and Monica stretched her aching legs out under the table. She sighed as she eased off her shoes.

  She was nearly dozing when Kit reappeared with a tray. Ice cubes tinkled as he put a glass in front of Monica.

  “Iced tea. Decaf, of course.” He placed a plate on the table. “One of your very own delicious cranberry muffins for some sustenance.”

  Kit sat down again as Monica took a long drink of her tea. She hadn’t realized how parched she was.

  “I’ve had this idea,” Kit said, folding his hands in his lap. He looked almost shy. “What if we expand the café menu? Everything cranberry, of course,” he added hastily. “Nothing complicated.”

  Monica raised an eyebrow. She was intrigued. She hadn’t thought of expanding beyond coffee and pastries.

  Kit held up his hands and spread his fingers like a dancer performing jazz hands.

  “We could do turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce or turkey sandwiches with cranberry mayonnaise. And a Monte Cristo with turkey and cranberry and cheese. Something strong enough to stand up to those flavors.” Kit put a finger on his chin. “Maybe an asiago or gruyere.” He giggled. “It would add a gourmet touch to the menu.”

  Monica wasn’t sure how the residents of Cranberry Cove would react to a gourmet menu—most of them thought that the diner’s burger with Swiss cheese was the height of sophistication but it might appeal to the tourists.

  “I’ve thought everything through.” Kit ticked items off on his fingers. “We’ll need to hire a cook and possibly another server.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Monica promised. “After the baby. Right now, my brain is so foggy I can barely focus on reading the newspaper.”

  Kit grinned and rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait. I know it’s going to be a colossal success.” He trotted off back to the kitchen.

  Monica was picking up the last crumbs of her muffin when she sensed someone standing by her table. She looked up.

  “Edith. How are you?”

  “Well, you know. As good as could be expected.” She sat in the chair opposite. Her mouth was pinched into a thin line.

  Monica didn’t know what to say. She scrambled to think of a topic.

  “Ray has been busy with paperwork,” Edith said, coming to Monica’s rescue. Monica let out a sigh of relief. “He’s Violet’s executor. It’s a big job.”

  Kit flew by their table and Edith ordered a cup of tea and a scone.

  “Everyone is very curious to know what’s in it. Beatrice certainly is.”

  “Oh?”

  Edith leaned forward. “I think she was trying to get a peek at it,” she said with satisfaction.

  “Oh?” Monica was beginning to feel like an echo.

  Edith gave a brisk nod. “Yes. I caught her sneaking out of Violet’s study one day. You should have seen her face. She went all bright scarlet as if she’d been caught red-handed. Like a child with its hand in the cookie jar.” She tapped the table with her index finger. “She said something about looking for a scarf she’d mislaid.” Her lips tightened.

  “Violet was very particular about who could or couldn’t go in her room. I was allowed, of course, and so was the maid. But no one else. Not even Ray. If the room needed something done like carpet cleaning or painting or a light fixture repaired, I had to stay and watch the entire time.”

  “So, Beatrice, her own sister, wasn’t allowed in.”

  Edith gave a decisive nod. “That’s right. So, if Beatrice had gone into Violet’s study for something perfectly innocent—to fetch Violet a sweater or her glasses—why would she have reacted like that?”

  Edith didn’t appear to expect an answer and Monica was grateful because she didn’t have one. What Edith had said made sense. Had Beatrice been snooping and had she hoped to find the copy of Violet’s will?

  “Do you think Beatrice found the will?”

  “I can’t say for sure but Violet’s lawyer had recently visited so it’s possible it was still out on her desk.” She shook her head. “I don’t think Beatrice was happy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  According to Kelly, Beatrice was due to inherit Violet’s house. Wouldn’t she have been pleased about that?

  “The look on her face. She was obviously livid. And later I heard her and Violet arguing.”

  “Did you hear what they were saying.”

  “No, but I could tell by the tone of her voice that Beatrice was furious.”

  “And Violet?”

  “It was hard to tell. She wasn’t speaking very loudly but she didn’t sound mad. As a matter of fact, she sounded quite smug.”

  • • •

  Monica had just walked in the door when her cell phone rang. She quickly gave Hercule and Mittens a pat then reached into her purse. Mittens seemed perfectly satisfied with Monica’s greeting, while Hercule continued to sit in front of her, a hopeful expression on his face and his head tilted to one side.

  “Hello,” Monica said, reaching down to pat Hercule again. He sighed and leaned against her legs.

  “It’s Detective Stevens. I got your voicemail. Sorry I didn’t return your call earlier. You said it was something about finding a skate in that pond?”

  “Yes. I’m wondering if the skate had belonged to Violet Cargill. Beatrice told me she’d lost one the day she fell in the pond.”

  Monica could almost hear Stevens shrugging over the phone. “It’s possible.”

  “I thought you should know,” Monica said, feeling rather foolish.

  “I appreciate it. I have some information for you, too, that I thought you might be interested in.”

  Monica’s ears perked up.

  “It concerns those bones found on your property. We combed through some cold cases and miraculously got lucky.”

  Monica’s heart rate picked up. “What did you find?”

  “The bones are from a man who went missing many years ago. Nineteen sixty-two. He went out for a walk and never returned. According to the missus, they’d had a row. She’d discovered he’d been seeing someone else and when she accused him of it, he stomped out of the house.”

  “Do you know what date that happened?”

  “Let me see. I have it here somewhere.”

  Monica heard papers rustling.

  Stevens cleared her throat. “It was on January sixth.”

  January sixth! If Monica wasn’t mistaken, that was the day Beatrice Cargill fell through the ice while skating. A coincidence or something more?”

  “What was his name?” Perhaps the VanVelsens would know more about him.

  There was a chuckle in Stevens’s voice. “Aren’t you too busy preparing for the baby to go snooping?” There was a pause. “I suppose it can’t do any harm. His name was James Belinski.”

  “Do they have any idea yet what he was hit with?”

  “The pathologist is working on it.” There was a brief pause and Stevens’s sigh was audible. “Just don’t go getting in trouble, okay?”

  Monica smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  She said goodbye and clicked off the call. In truth, she realized she had no idea what she was going to do with the information Stevens had given her.

  • • •

  She was going to wear a rut in the road going back and forth to town at the rate she was going, Monica thought as she drove along Beach Hollow Road. She’d tried locating Mrs. Belinski’s address and had failed. She yearned for the old days when they were still printing the White Pages and few people bothered to request an unlisted phone number. But if anyone knew where the woman lived, it would be the VanVelsens.

  Hennie greeted her warmly when she walked into Gumdrops. As always, the smell inside the shop took her back to her childhood, when buying a bag of penny candy was a special treat when they were on vacation.

  Gerda was behind the counter and quickly tucked the magazine she’d been reading away, but not before Monica saw the name of it. It was a tabloid magazine with lurid headlines that detailed all the comings and goings of various celebrities. She knew it was a secret passion of Gerda’s, even though she no longer recognized the people who passed for stars and the ones she was really interested in were long gone.

  “What can I get for you, dear?” Hennie touched a hand to her permed white hair.

  “Actually, I have a question for you.”

  Hennie’s eyes lit up. “Is it to do with the murder at the inn? Are you investigating it?”

  “Yes and no. I’m just looking into a few things.”

  Hennie’s expression clearly said she knew exactly what Monica was actually doing.

  “How can we help?” Gerda had come out from behind the counter to join them. She put up a hand to smooth the Peter Pan collar on her white cotton blouse.

  “I’m trying to find a Mrs. Belinski. She was married to James Belinski.” Monica shrugged. “I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

  “Oh, yes, dear,” Hennie said. “She was in the other day to buy a tube of Salties. She said she had a yen for them. Her mother used to buy them salted licorice as a treat and it brought back memories.”

  Monica’s hopes rose. “Do you know where she lives?”

  Hennie and Gerda exchanged a glance.

  “Isn’t it that little house near where you’re building yours? On the hill right before you go around the bend,” Gerda said.

  “Yes,” Hennie agreed. “There are two or three houses there perched on that hill. It’s an old farmhouse and she used to have a garden gnome by the front steps. I always thought it was a bit odd.”

  Gerda fingered the pearl buttons on her blouse. “It didn’t seem like her at all but she said her husband liked it. As far as I know, she’s never gotten rid of it.”

  “That surprises me,” Hennie said dryly. “I heard from Betty at church that she threatened to throw all his belongings out onto the front lawn when she suspected he was having an affair.”