“It was terribly mysterious the way he disappeared. He went out for a walk and poof! He was never seen again.”

  Monica debated telling them about the bones being found on her property but she decided against it. It would be in the Cranberry Cove Chronicle soon enough and she didn’t want to jeopardize the ongoing investigation.

  Gerda put a hand on Monica’s arm. “You’ll know the house when you see it, I’m sure. It’s white with dark blue shutters. Her husband used to keep it real nice but since he’s been gone, I don’t know. We don’t get out that way too often.”

  • • •

  She might be close to getting to the bottom of things, Monica thought as she drove toward the Belinskis’ house. At least, she hoped so. She didn’t have much more time before the baby arrived.

  As she approached the hill just past her property, she kept a close lookout for a house with a garden gnome out front. She spotted it immediately and was grateful that Mrs. Belinski hadn’t removed it.

  She pulled up a long, steep gravel driveway and parked in front of the Belinskis’ garage.

  The house still had the same dark blue shutters, although they looked as if they’d been touched up recently. Pink begonias bordered the front of the house, the grass was mowed and the slate walk had been swept clean.

  Monica rang the bell and held her breath. Before long she heard footsteps approaching the door and it was swung open by a petite woman who looked to be in her eighties.

  She was wearing jeans—the kind with an elastic waist, Monica suspected—a peach-colored T-shirt festooned with tiny bows and white sneakers. Her skin was surprisingly smooth and her white hair was becomingly styled.

  She smiled at Monica. “Yes? Can I help you? Are you lost?”

  Monica shook her head. “No. But I wondered if I could talk to you for a minute.”

  A shadow passed over the woman’s face. “The police have already been here.”

  “I’m not with the police. I own the property where your husband’s, er, remains were found.”

  “Oh. You must come in then.”

  She led Monica into a living room that was surprisingly uncluttered and furnished with mid-century modern furniture. Monica had expected an overstuffed sofa and chairs and a lot of fussy knickknacks. So much for stereotypes.

  Monica sat on the sofa while Mrs. Belinski sat in a chair covered in beige fabric and with wooden arms and legs.

  “Mrs. Belinski,” Monica began.

  “Please, call me Fran.”

  “Fran. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Fran waved a hand. “That wound scabbed over a long time ago. But I am grateful to have closure, although it’s raised even more unanswered questions.”

  “Oh?”

  “I told Detective Stevens about it.” She gave a small smile. “I may occasionally forget someone’s name or where I left my glasses but that day is still crystal clear in my mind.” She knitted her hands in her lap. “I told the detective that Jimmy and I had a spat that morning. It wasn’t anything serious.” She smiled again. “I’m afraid I have a bit of a temper and can get pretty hotheaded at times.” Her eyes twinkled and she laughed. “I actually threatened to throw all his belongings out on the front lawn. Can you believe it.”

  She ran her hands up and down the smooth wooden arms of the chair. “By lunchtime, we’d kissed and made up.” She laughed. “We always did, you know. We didn’t like being at odds with each other.”

  Monica could understand that. She and Greg rarely disagreed and she couldn’t imagine staying mad at him for any length of time.

  “Jim was a real creature of habit. Oatmeal for breakfast every morning since we’d been married. With five raisins on top.” She laughed. “Never four or six but always five. He’d count them out one by one. Lunch was on the dot of noon—bologna and American cheese on white bread with mayonnaise.” She sighed. “Fortunately, he was willing to switch up dinner or I’d have gone crazy.”

  With so many delicious foods to enjoy, Monica couldn’t imagine having such a limited diet.

  “Then there was his afternoon walk. He’d set off at one o’clock sharp every day, rain or shine.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs. “I didn’t think much of it at first but when he still wasn’t back and it began to get dark, I started to worry. He was rarely gone for that long.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “I sure did. They said they couldn’t do much since he hadn’t been gone the required twenty-four hours. They suggested I call friends and family to see if he was with them. He only had the one friend—Ned Donohue, who lives over near the Cranberry Cove harbor—and his brother is in Wisconsin. I went out looking myself but it didn’t do any good.”

  She gripped the arms of the chair. “It’s not like today where you can ring someone on their cell phone.” She looked off into the distance. “But knowing Jim, he would have refused to have had one of those anyway.”

  “Where did he walk? Did he take the same route every time?”

  Fran snorted. “Of course he did.” She pointed to the left. “Down the hill, past where the Fosters live, then up the road and over to the lake. He never varied it.”

  How did his remains end up on her property? Monica wondered.

  “He must have gone in the opposite direction that day to have been found by that pond.”

  “That’s what’s so confusing.” Fran tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I don’t have any answers. That would have been so unlike him.”

  “Do you remember anything else about that day? Anything unusual?”

  Monica knew she was grasping at straws but she was desperate to uncover something, anything.

  “Yes, and I told the detective about that, too. Jim hadn’t been gone all that long—twenty minutes maybe, when there was frantic knocking on the door. I thought maybe it was Jim and he’d been injured or something, but when I opened the door there was a young girl standing on the mat.” She took a deep breath. “She was terribly upset. She nearly fell into the room when I opened the door. At first, she could barely speak and then when she did, her words were all jumbled and made no sense.”

  Her eyes took on a faraway look. “She was distraught, and at first I couldn’t understand what she was saying. I made her come in and get warm. The poor thing’s teeth were chattering.”

  She fiddled with her earring. “She was gasping but I finally understood she wanted to use the telephone to call for help. She and her sister had been skating on that pond”—she pointed in the direction of Monica’s property—“and her sister had fallen through the ice. She tried but couldn’t pull her out.” She shivered. “Can you imagine? How horrible.” She gripped the arms of the chair again. “I read later they did get the poor girl out but she was in a coma for months afterward.”

  It must have been Violet who’d shown up at her door, Monica thought.

  Fran put a hand to her throat. “Anyway, I tried to get the girl to stay here to wait until the police arrived—she was practically blue, the poor thing—but she insisted on leaving. I couldn’t stop her.” Her voice quivered. “I was so shaken up that it brought on one of my headaches. I had to lie down and rest. I must have fallen asleep because it was getting dark when I woke up and realized Jim still hadn’t come home.

  “Could your husband have been the one to rescue that girl?”

  Fran knitted her brows. “I don’t see how. He never walked in that direction. He wouldn’t have passed the pond.”

  “Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill him?”

  She held her hands out, palms up. “None. He didn’t have any enemies that I know of. He wasn’t one to stir up trouble.”

  Monica said goodbye to Fran and began the drive home. Even though Fran had insisted her husband would never have changed the direction of his walk, he obviously had. How else would he have turned up dead by the pond?

  Chapter 23

  Monica’s stomach grumbled and she glanced at the clock—two o’clock already. The muffin she’d had at Book ’Em was now a distant memory. She needed to get some lunch asap.

  The diner was on her way and the noon crowd would have finished their lunch by now. She ought to be able to get a booth easily enough.

  She found a space in front of the drugstore and as soon as the traffic cleared, dashed across the street.

  The aroma from the diner made her stomach grumble even louder. Gus was in his usual spot in front of the grill but he abandoned his position for a moment and leaned on the counter. He pointed at Monica. “Baby coming soon, no?”

  Monica sighed. “Yes, hopefully.”

  Gus nodded solemnly. “I will pray for health of the baby and the mother.”

  “Thank you,” Monica said. It was the longest conversation she’d ever had with Gus, who immediately went back to flipping burgers and frying eggs.

  Monica had just ordered when someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was Detective Stevens. She must have already finished eating because she was holding the check in her hand.

  “I thought you’d want to know,” she began as she perched on the end of the booth, “we’ve had a more comprehensive report from the pathologist. It confirmed that Belinski’s skull had been fractured so no surprises there. But what was surprising was that they discovered these odd ridges in his skull, and while some people do have dents in their head from previous injuries—falling out of a tree as a child or down the stairs, for instance—these weren’t at all like that.”

  “Does he know what caused them?”

  Stevens shook her head. “Not yet. No guesses either. But Dr. Rossi doesn’t believe in making guesses—not even well-informed ones.” Stevens glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get going.” She grinned. “Next time I see you, you’ll probably be holding your baby.”

  She was about to sidle out of the booth when Monica put a hand on her arm to stop her. “Wait.”

  Stevens raised her eyebrows as she sat down again.

  “Could a skate have caused those marks on Belinski’s head? You know, the ridges by the toe.”

  Monica heard Stevens’s indrawn breath. “That’s perfectly possible. I’ll run it by Dr. Rossi and see what he thinks. He’ll probably need to examine the skate so I’ll let you know what he says.”

  Monica was lost in thought as she left the diner and nearly ran straight into Beatrice.

  “I’m sorry,” they said in unison.

  “My fault,” Monica said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Never mind, dear. I imagine your mind is on the baby.” Beatrice shifted her purse to her other hand. “Any day now, right?” She frowned. “Shouldn’t you be resting? You’re looking rather peaked. Are you on your way home? I’ve just come from my hypnotist.”

  “Hypnotist?” Monica had heard of them and thought they mainly did what her grandmother would have called parlor tricks, like magicians or psychics or balloon artists.

  She must have noticed the skeptical look on Monica’s face. “It’s all very aboveboard, dear. She’s not trying to trick me into acting like a chimpanzee or something like that to amuse an audience. She’s helping me deal with Violet’s death and other things that have been bothering me. I’ve already had a number of visits with her and we’ve made great progress. It’s been extremely illuminating.”

  “So it’s really been helpful for you?”

  “It most certainly has.” Beatrice’s lips tightened and her eyes narrowed.

  • • •

  On her way home, Monica passed the site of the carnival. The red and white WZZZ van with the huge antenna on top was parked in the lot. Reporters had obviously already gotten wind of the story. She’d have to turn on the news when she got home.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she opened the door to her cottage. She was more tired than she realized. She gave Hercule a brief walk and then stretched out on the couch. She had barely reached for the television remote before her eyes were closing.

  The sound of the back door opening and closing woke her.

  “Greg?” she mumbled sleepily as he came into the room trailed closely by Hercule, whose tail was wagging so furiously it was a blur. “I must have fallen asleep. The last thing I remember was reaching for the remote . . .”

  “You need your rest.” Greg smiled. He perched on the ottoman, took the remote and flipped on the news.

  A chyron flashed across the bottom of the screen announcing breaking news.

  A reporter was standing in front of the carnival’s Ferris wheel, which was encircled with yellow crime scene tape. Her blond hair was blowing in the breeze coming off the lake.

  “Thank you, Cynthia,” she said, smiling before her expression turned serious.

  “We are at the scene of an active police investigation at the Timmy Tucker Carnival here in Cranberry Cove. A man fell to his death from the top of the Ferris wheel.” She looked up and pointed. “So far, the police are treating the death as suspicious. The name of the victim has not yet been released but it is believed he worked for the carnival and was in the process of repairing the ride.

  She smiled broadly at the camera. “We’ll bring you updates as soon as we have them. Stay tuned to WZZZ for more.” She smiled again. “Back to you, Cynthia.”

  “Would you like to go for a ride after dinner?” Greg said as he poured dressing on his salad. “It turns out the customer who bought the Allingham first edition is a landscape artist. He sketched some ideas for our house.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and spread it open on the table.

  “He’s thinking bushes here—” He pointed to a spot on the sketch, with a flower bed in front. “I thought we’d drop by the house so we can visualize it better.”

  “Sure. I’d love to.”

  “You’re not too tired?” Greg said, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows.

  “That nap has revived me,” Monica assured him.

  They cleaned up the dinner dishes—Monica had saved a bit of chicken for Hercule—started the dishwasher and left.

  The clouds that had blanketed the sky earlier in the day had blown away and the air was no longer heavy with moisture.

  Monica felt the same thrill she got every time they pulled up to their new home. The builders had made some progress and it was beginning to look more and more like a real house.

  Greg took the sketch from his pocket and studied it. He pointed out various locations for bushes and flowers.

  While they were circling the house, envisioning their new landscaping, a car pulled up in back of Greg’s Volvo and an older woman got out. She was tall and solidly built although she limped slightly and leaned on a cane as she approached them.

  “I noticed that someone was building a house here,” she said when she reached them. “I had to stop.” She held out her hand, which was rather large and mannish-looking. “I’m Sally VanVliet, by the way.”

  Monica and Greg introduced themselves. Monica wondered what the woman wanted.

  “Lovely to meet you.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “My grandparents used to live here.” She waved a hand, encompassing the property. “The house was torn down years ago. Frankly, I was surprised it hadn’t succumbed to gravity long before that. It listed terribly, and when my brother and I played marbles, they would slide across the room to the other side.” She gave a huge laugh. “It was like living on a ship.”

  She thumped the ground with her cane. “I’m so glad to see someone is finally building here and are going to raise a family here.” She glanced at Monica’s stomach. “But do be careful with that pond.” She pointed toward the back of the house with her cane.

  “Oh?” Monica said, suddenly picturing their baby as a toddler wandering off and falling into the water. Her heart began to race and she shook her head to dispel the vision.

  “My brother and I used to skate on that pond when we came to visit our grandmother. We thought it was the height of luxury to have our own skating rink right outside the door. Other kids would join us, especially the Blakely girls. The one was quite serious about skating.”

  That must be Violet and Beatrice, Monica thought, curious now.

  Sally twirled her cane between her hands. “But after that accident, I never went skating again.”

  “Accident?” Monica said.

  She nodded. “I was quite young and it scared me half to death. I had nightmares for months.”

  “What happened?” Greg said.

  Sally sighed. “I had laced up my skates, when I happened to look out the window. What I saw was chilling.” She gave a wry smile. “No pun intended. One of the Blakely girls—I couldn’t see which one but I later learned it was Beatrice—had fallen through a crack in the ice and was struggling to get out of the water. The worst part is that her sister Violet just stood there. She didn’t make any move to help her sister.”

  “What did you do?” Monica said.

  “My grandmother had gone shopping and my grandfather had dementia—such a sad thing—and I had never used the phone before or even knew who to call. I wanted to run and hide in the closet or under the bed but I couldn’t stop watching.” Her face clouded. “Poor Beatrice was struggling horribly and Violet was . . . just standing there doing nothing.”

  “I can imagine how traumatizing that must have been for you.”

  “It certainly was. The worst part was that I couldn’t seem to tear myself away from the window. It was shock probably.” She rubbed the handle of her cane as if looking for comfort. “But then this man came down the road. He must have seen them because he immediately hurried to help.

  “My grandfather called for me then—he wanted a blanket for his lap. He was always cold, the poor dear. When I got back to the window, the man was gone and so was Violet. And poor Beatrice was left sprawled on the ice.” She sighed. “A little while later I heard sirens coming in this direction.”

  Sally poked at the ground with her cane. “I assumed that man and Violet had gone for help together. I thought I saw some movement in those trees over there.” She pointed at them with her cane. “Maybe they’d taken off in that direction to find somewhere to call for an ambulance? It’s not like they had cell phones in those days,” she said, echoing what Fran Belinski had said earlier. “There’s a house on the other side of those trees. You can barely see it but perhaps he knew it was there.”