Janice also worked in the bakery with Monica and had been there slightly longer than Mick.

  “It was a beautiful wedding,” Janice said. She frowned. “Too bad they didn’t have it on a Wednesday.”

  “Why on earth should they have?” Monica knew Janice believed a lot of superstitions, but this?

  “You know what they say. Monday for wealth, Tuesday for health, Wednesday the best day of all, Thursday for losses, Friday for crosses, and Saturday no luck at all.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Everyone gets married on a Saturday. It’s an old wives’ tale.” Monica barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. She didn’t want to hurt Janice’s feelings. What if she quit? The thought caused her heart to thump in panic.

  Janice shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said in ominous tones.

  Monica looked around. Nearly everyone had departed by now and the waitstaff was almost finished cleaning up.

  A truck rumbled down the dirt road—not much more than a path worn in the earth—that had Johnny-on-the-Spot written on the side in large black letters with the picture of a porta-potty, its door open as if in welcome, underneath.

  It came to a halt, the door opened, and a young man jumped out. He was blond and as thin as the sticks Monica threw for her dog Hercule. He had a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

  He trundled a handcart over the uneven ground and disappeared behind the row of topiary trees.

  Teddy began to fuss so Monica slipped her shoes back on and started to walk around, gently rocking him in her arms.

  Out of curiosity, she wandered over to where the porta-potties were located and watched as the young man, who had Timmy Fisher embroidered on his blue work shirt, began to position the cart next to the first porta-potty. He stopped for a moment and swiped a hand across his brow.

  The sun was no longer at its peak but the air was still warm with a slight touch of humidity.

  The young man was tilting the porta-potty slightly to ease it onto the cart when the door swung open and a body fell out.

  Monica’s first thought was that someone had been using the porta-potty and hadn’t secured the door properly, but then she realized that wasn’t the case.

  The body lay sprawled on the grass and Monica recognized it immediately.

  It was Jolie Spencer, now Amentas, and she was clearly dead.

  Chapter 2

  Monica stifled her scream but the baby must have sensed her distress nonetheless and began to cry. “Shhh,” she said, swaying back and forth in an attempt to comfort him. “Shhh, it’s okay.”

  Timmy, the young man in the process of picking up the porta-potties, yelped and stumbled backward. “I didn’t do nothing, man,” he said. “I was just doing my job. She just, like, fell out.”

  “It’s okay. No one is blaming you,” Monica said soothingly.

  Teddy’s wails trailed off and briefly turned into hiccoughs. Monica heard footsteps and turned around to see Greg running toward her.

  “I was taking down the balloons in those trees over there when I heard something. I thought maybe Teddy . . .”

  His face was pale and Monica noticed his hands trembling. “But now I see it’s . . .”

  “Jolie. Mick’s new wife.” Monica half turned toward the tents. “We need to get Mick and we need to call the police.”

  “Do you think it’s okay if I take the porta-potty away?” Timmy said. Some color had come back into his face. “The boss is going to have a fit if I’m late with it. There’s another wedding tomorrow and they’ve ordered five of these.”

  Monica shook her head. “I’m afraid not. The police will want to examine it.”

  “But what do I tell my boss?” Timmy’s voice had become a high-pitched whine.

  “I’m sure he’ll understand under the circumstances.” Greg patted Timmy on the shoulder. “You look like you could use a glass of water.”

  “Nah. I’m okay. It was a shock, that’s all. The only other dead body I’ve ever seen was my grandmother at her viewing. And they had her all fixed up and stuff.”

  Monica could tell he was already formulating a juicy story to tell his fellow workers at Johnny-on-the-Spot.

  “What’s happened?” a woman coming up behind Monica said breathlessly. She was the blond server named Heather. “That’s my former stepmother,” she said, pointing at the body. She began to shake.

  “I’m so sorry,” Monica said.

  “Maybe you should sit down. I’ll get you a chair.” Greg turned, about to head toward the tent.

  “I’m okay,” Heather said. “It was a shock.”

  Greg pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

  “Jolie was married to your father?” Monica looked down at Teddy. He had fallen asleep despite all the commotion.

  Heather’s mouth tightened. “Yes. She used to be Jolie Spencer until she married that . . . that Greek kid.”

  Mick was hardly a kid, Monica thought, but it was clear there were at least two decades’ difference in his and Jolie’s ages.

  “Speaking of Mick, someone needs to get him.”

  “I’ll get him.” Greg put his cell phone back in his pocket. “The police are on their way.”

  Monica heard someone stifle a gasp and turned to see Wilma, her knuckles tightening on the handle of the baby carriage.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “Someone was taken ill. Perhaps you can bring Teddy back to the house and put him down in his bassinet?”

  “Of course,” Wilma said, without taking her eyes off Jolie’s body.

  Monica handed her the baby and she nestled him in the carriage, pulling a light blanket over him now that the air was turning cooler.

  Monica watched as she wheeled the carriage over the grass toward the tents. Wilma had disappeared from view when Monica saw Mick come running toward them.

  “What is it? What’s happened. Greg said it was something about Jolie . . .” He looked down. “Is she ill? Should we call a doctor?”

  Monica touched his hand. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. We’ve called the police.”

  “Why the police?” Mick looked alarmed. “She must have had a heart attack.”

  “It’s standard procedure in cases like this.” Monica heard a car’s engine and swiveled around.

  The brakes squealed; then the sound abruptly cut off. Moments later two patrolmen appeared running toward the porta-potty. One of them had a rather large belly that hung over his belt and jiggled with every step. Monica thought she’d seen him before directing traffic in downtown Cranberry Cove.

  The other patrolman had a crop of acne on his chin and looked to be barely out of his teens. He quailed slightly when he saw Jolie’s body sprawled on the grass.

  He pushed his hat back on his head and rocked on his heels. He turned to his partner.

  “What do we do now?”

  He pointed to the yellow crime scene tape in the young man’s hand. “We string some of that up and wait for the boss to arrive.”

  The kid rubbed the back of his neck. “But what if she had a heart attack or something like that?”

  “We won’t know that till the medical examiner gets here, and if the scene gets trampled, Stevens will have a fit.” He motioned for the young man to begin unspooling the tape.

  They were finishing when Stevens arrived. She looked pleased to see they had the scene blocked off.

  If it was even going to be a crime scene. Mick might be right. Jolie could have had a heart attack, Monica thought, and all this might be for naught. But the medical examiner would know for sure.

  “Do we know who she is?” Stevens said, bending down to look at the body.

  “Jolie Spencer . . . I mean it’s Jolie Amentas now,” Mick said.

  Stevens’s head shot up. “Amentas? As in Gus Amentas?”

  “I’m his nephew.”

  “He works with me here in the farm kitchen,” Monica said.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Monica explained how Jolie’s body had fallen out of the porta-potty when Timmy tried to lift it onto his handcart.

  Stevens looked around. “The young man is still here, I hope?”

  “He’s over there.”

  Monica pointed to where Timmy was sitting on the grass, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them.

  “I’ll get to him in a minute.” Stevens sighed. “There aren’t any apparent marks on the body,” she muttered as she circled the scene. “But I’ve called the ME and she’ll be able to hopefully tell us more.” She glanced at her watch. “She should be here any minute.”

  Stevens was wearing tan poplin pants and a white short-sleeved blouse. She rubbed her arms where Monica noticed goose bumps were sprouting.

  “Had she been ill recently or did she have any medical conditions?” Stevens looked at Mick.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He fiddled with the gold band on his left hand.

  “Ah, here she comes.” Stevens stepped forward to greet the medical examiner, who had finally arrived.

  She was an older woman with short gray hair, lines around her eyes and a brisk, no-nonsense manner. After a brief conversation with Stevens, she pulled a pair of gloves from her bag and put them on.

  Monica looked away as she knelt and began to examine the body. There was no dignity in death. Several minutes later, they heard her knees crack as she stood up.

  “No signs of trauma,” she said, snapping off her gloves. “But I’ll know more after I’ve done the autopsy.”

  “I’m going to interview the fellow from Johnny-on-the-Spot, although I doubt he’ll know much of anything.” Stevens sighed. “The rest of you can go sit down. I’ll call you when I need you.”

  • • •

  One by one, Stevens interviewed the remaining people at the wedding, including some of the caterers and the guests who still hadn’t left, like Gina and Kiran. Some of them grumbled about the inconvenience and some of the others were clearly going to be dining out on the story for months to come.

  Timmy squawked a bit about not being allowed to take the porta-potty back to Johnny-on-the-Spot but finally drove off after Stevens had told him he could go.

  The caterers were loading the last of their things into their van and Heather was driving off in her Lexus, the wheels of her car churning up dust as she sped away. Monica hoped that meant that Stevens was nearly done with them. She was tired and cold, and the shock of finding Jolie’s body was beginning to set in.

  Finally, they were all allowed to go. Monica took Greg’s hand and they walked back to the house.

  Monica groaned as she kicked off her heels the minute she walked in. She waved to Wilma, who was sitting on the living room sofa scrolling through the messages on her phone, then tiptoed up the stairs to the nursery.

  Teddy was sound asleep, his tiny hands curled into fists and his eyes moving back and forth under his closed lids. Monica wondered what he could possibly be dreaming about.

  She stood and watched him for several minutes, then left the room and tiptoed back down the stairs.

  “Teddy’s sound asleep,” she said.

  Wilma smiled. “He went right down and hasn’t made a peep since.” She gestured toward the baby monitor on the coffee table. “I’ve been listening.”

  Monica sank onto the sofa as Greg paid Wilma and walked her to the door. “I don’t know what we’d do without you,” he said as she looked up at him with adoring eyes.

  Monica stifled a giggle. It had been obvious from day one that Wilma had a crush on Greg.

  Greg sighed and rolled his eyes as he closed the door behind Wilma.

  “I know she can be a nuisance.” Monica followed Greg into the kitchen. “But she’s really been a big help.”

  “She is. And I really do appreciate it.”

  “I’m glad Jeff and Lauren were already off to Mackinac Island for their honeymoon when Jolie was found,” Monica said to Greg as he put on some coffee. “It would have been a shame if they hadn’t been allowed to leave. Jeff’s crew all chipped in to give them a couple of nights at the Grand Hotel as a present.”

  “With any luck, we’ll find out that Jolie had a heart attack or some other sudden medical problem that caused her death,” Greg said as he carried their coffees into the living room. “And all the drama will be over.”

  “I hope so.” Monica put her feet up on the coffee table. “Anything but murder would be a relief.”

  • • •

  Monica was glad Jeff’s wedding had been in the afternoon and she’d gotten to bed at a reasonable hour because Teddy’s cries woke her before sunrise the next morning. He’d only woken her up once during the night for a feeding and she felt quite rested.

  She changed him and was sitting in the kitchen feeding him when Greg walked in, yawning and rubbing his eyes. His hair was tousled and his face creased from sleep. Monica felt her heart give that little leap it always did when she realized how lucky she was that they had met.

  “Teddy and I are going to get some fresh air and walk down to the farm kitchen.”

  Monica was technically on maternity leave but she still insisted on checking on things from time to time. Mick and Janice were perfectly capable of running the farm kitchen and Nora the farm store, but she liked to keep her hand in nonetheless.

  It was a sparkling September day and she enjoyed the walk down to the farm store to say hello to Nora. Teddy had been sleepy after his feeding and hadn’t offered any resistance when she’d put on the sweater Gerda Van Velsen had knitted for him in a soft blue yarn.

  It was a clear day, still with a chill in the air but the sun was already promising to warm things up by midday. Monica passed the bog near where the wedding had been held. Everything had been cleared away and it was hard to imagine that two tents, tables and chairs and dozens of people had been there the day before.

  The artificial topiary trees that had shielded the porta-potties from view had gone back to Dare to Dream Event Rentals, and Monica was able to see the porta-potty itself surrounded by crime scene tape flapping in the breeze.

  Teddy had begun to doze off and was sound asleep in his carriage by the time Monica reached the farm store.

  She was pleased to see that a couple of cars were in the parking lot and two women were leaving the store clutching bakery bags and cups of coffee. They were only open half a day on Sundays, when people often stopped in after church for some baked goods.

  Nora must have seen her coming because she opened the door with a smile and Monica wheeled the carriage inside.

  Two of the three small round tables they’d added to the store were occupied with people sipping coffee and eating the cranberry goodies Monica and her team baked fresh every day.

  She wheeled the carriage over to the empty table and sat down.

  She glanced around the store with a sense of pride. It had been barely functioning when she’d arrived in Cranberry Cove to help Jeff and now they had a gleaming professional kitchen with the equipment needed to produce enough baked goods for the store each day as well as their customers in town, like the Cranberry Cove Inn and the Pepper Pot. They were even doing business with a small chain of gourmet grocery stores. She’d run her own café in Chicago until a chain gourmet coffee shop had opened down the street and siphoned off most of her business.

  Nora had arranged a charming display of the cranberry-themed items they’d decided to carry—tablecloths, napkins, place mats and aprons in fabrics festooned with cranberries. Monica had recently been looking into adding mugs and serving pieces to their inventory.

  If things went well, they might even have to enlarge the store. She laughed. She was getting ahead of herself.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Monica felt her face flush. “Oh, nothing really. Just daydreaming.”

  No one was waiting to be served so Nora perched on the seat opposite her, occasionally leaning over the carriage and exclaiming how adorable Teddy was.

  “Would you like a cup of decaf?” she said. “I’ve put on a fresh pot.”

  “That would be lovely. And maybe a cranberry scone to go with it.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Monica was trying to stick to a healthy diet for Teddy’s sake but the doctor had told her this wasn’t the time to diet—you needed as much as an extra five hundred calories a day to nurse a baby. A cranberry scone sounded like the perfect way to add those calories.

  Nora placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of Monica along with a scone, the top of which sparkled with sugar. She was about to sit down when a customer came in and she quickly slid behind the counter.

  The customer picked up her order and turned to scan the room for a seat.

  “Detective Stevens, Tammy,” Monica called, waving a hand and motioning to the empty chair at her table.

  Stevens carried her cup and plate over and sat down with a groan. A smattering of gray roots was showing in her hair and her face was slack with fatigue. She leaned over the carriage and smiled.

  “He looks so peaceful. Mine was up half the night. Nightmares. Apparently, the babysitter let him watch a horror movie and he woke up dreaming of monsters.” She peeked in the carriage again. “He looks like you,” she said, adjusting his blanket.

  Monica laughed. “It’s split down the middle. Half the people think he looks like me, the other half thinks he looks like Greg.”

  Stevens shrugged. “His face will change as he grows. There’s no telling who he’ll end up looking like.” She flicked a packet of sugar with her finger, tore it open and poured it into her coffee. She stirred it and took a sip. “Shame about yesterday. A death at a wedding of all things.”

  “Fortunately, the reception was winding down.” Monica stirred her coffee absentmindedly. “Poor Mick. He must be devastated.”

  Stevens’s napkin had slipped off her lap and she bent down to pick it up. “Had they been married long?”

  “No. It came as quite a shock to me. Mick only began working for me a couple of months ago, and at the time, he’d just arrived in this country.”