“On some sort of visa, I suppose.”

  Stevens broke off a corner of her cranberry bread. She raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t seem to be too broken up about his new wife’s death. Still. You can never tell. People handle their grief in different ways.”

  “Have they performed the autopsy yet?”

  Stevens hesitated. She took a bite of her cranberry bread and chewed. Finally, she said, “It will be all over the newspapers tomorrow so there’s probably no harm in telling you. The medical examiner found that Mrs. Amentas had been suffocated. Traces of cloth fibers were found on her face and in her mouth. The killer must have smothered her, then shoved her into the porta-potty hoping she wouldn’t be found for hours, which would make it harder for us to solve the case.”

  “That’s dreadful.” Monica put her coffee cup down so forcefully, it clanked against the table. “Had she been dead long when the young man from Johnny-on-the-Spot came to collect the porta-potties?”

  “The ME can’t pinpoint the exact time but believes she hadn’t been dead for much more than an hour.”

  Teddy whimpered and moved restlessly in his carriage. Monica glanced at him but he had settled back down and was still sleeping.

  “I know I’ve already interviewed you, but has anything come back to you that might be significant? Do you remember seeing Jolie before she was killed?”

  The wedding and reception ran through Monica’s mind like a film strip. When had she last seen Jolie?

  She thought it was before Wilma brought Teddy out to her. She was seated at the table and . . . Yes! She remembered seeing Jolie get up and walk toward the porta-potties. What had she been doing before? Monica scrunched up her eyes in an effort to bring the scene in her mind into focus.

  “Yes!” She quickly glanced at Teddy but she hadn’t woken him. “Jolie was seated at her table and she was talking to someone. A woman with blond hair.”

  “Young or old?” Stevens pushed her empty plate away.

  “I couldn’t tell exactly. Certainly not old. Not particularly young either. Maybe around thirty or so?”

  “You don’t know who she was?”

  Monica shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I’ve never seen her before. Maybe she was a friend of Jeff or Lauren’s.”

  “Jolie and this woman were talking?”

  “Yes. But the discussion seemed . . . heated, or somewhat unpleasant. They appeared to be arguing about something.” Monica remembered how the woman’s chandelier earrings had whipped back and forth as she shook her head.

  “And then what happened?”

  “Jolie got up and began to walk toward the porta-potties. Or at least it looked as if that was where she was headed.”

  “What about the blond she’d been talking to?”

  Monica tried to remember but it was futile.

  “That was when Wilma wheeled Teddy down in his carriage and I’m afraid all my attention was on him.”

  “That’s okay.” Stevens pushed her chair back. “That’s quite helpful. Hopefully, we can identify that woman by process of elimination.”

  “Who would do something so horrible? Suffocate someone and then leave them to die?” Monica thought she’d never get used to murder no matter how many times she was exposed to it.

  “Don’t worry. That’s my job and I intend to find out.”

  Chapter 3

  Monica passed the farm kitchen on her way back to the house. She was surprised to see a light was on. Had Janice forgotten to turn it off or was she still there? She decided to check. They only baked enough on Sundays to keep the farm store supplied until midday when it closed. Their biggest rush was in the morning after church services ended and trickled off the later it got.

  Mick was obviously going to be on leave for a bit. He needed time to process the death of his wife, especially since it occurred in such a gruesome manner. Murder. She could never understand what drove people to it.

  Mick and Jolie had seemed like such an unlikely pair, and not only because of the age difference between them. Besides, how long had they known each other before they got married? Why such a hasty decision? Jolie had seemed awestruck by Mick’s good looks but Mick could have had his pick of almost any single woman in town.

  Monica tried the door handle, and it turned. She wheeled the carriage over the threshold and shut the door. The kitchen was empty but she heard a voice coming from the storage area. That was strange. It sounded like Mick. What was he doing here?

  Teddy was asleep so she maneuvered his carriage next to the counter and put on the brake. She glanced down and noticed a business card sitting out on top. She picked it up.

  It was from La Nourriture, a well-known restaurant in Chicago whose chef had been lured away from a Michelin starred restaurant in Paris. What was Mick doing with it? Had he been planning to take Jolie there? On a honeymoon perhaps?

  Mick was obviously on the telephone. Monica didn’t want to eavesdrop but she couldn’t help overhearing his conversation. She debated leaving when something caught her attention.

  “Will I still be getting my green card now that my wife is dead? La Nourriture won’t hire me without it and I’ll be deported otherwise.”

  Monica stifled a gasp. She had heard enough. Mick must have married Jolie because his visa had run out. It had never occurred to her to check his status when she’d hired him. Gus had vouched for him and she’d taken his word for it. So far, he’d been a stellar employee and she admitted to herself she hadn’t wanted to ask too many questions.

  But now it sounded as if he was planning on leaving to work somewhere else. Not that she could blame him. La Nourriture would certainly be a step up from a job baking for Sassamanash Farm.

  She didn’t want him to catch her and realize she had overheard his conversation. She released the brake on Teddy’s carriage and begin to wheel it toward the door. The wheels squeaked and she cringed. Had Mick heard? She risked a glance at the door to the storage room but there was no sign of him.

  If only she could get out the door without making any noise. She was almost there when the edge of the carriage bumped the table. She glanced at Teddy but he was still asleep, although he had begun to move restlessly. It wouldn’t be long before he woke up with a loud wail.

  Finally, she reached the door, pulled it open and eased the carriage over the threshold. She didn’t breathe until she and Teddy were outside and on the path toward home.

  She didn’t know what she’d do if Mick left the farm kitchen now. Her chest felt tight and she drew a panicky breath. It would mean cutting her maternity leave short because she’d never be able to find a baker on such short notice. It had taken months to find Janice. Mick’s arrival had been sheer good fortune and probably wouldn’t be repeated.

  She had another thought that nearly caused her to stumble over a tree root that had grown onto the path. If Mick married Jolie to get a green card, and he no longer needed her, it gave him a good motive for murder.

  Especially if Jolie had money. Monica remembered her diamond stud earrings.

  She was going to have to find out more, because it wouldn’t be long before Detective Stevens came to the same conclusion and would be knocking on Mick’s door. He needed to be prepared.

  • • •

  Monica had grown up eating Sunday dinner. No pizza or takeout—her mother would make a roast chicken with all the trimmings or shepherd’s pie with homemade mashed potatoes. It was a habit she found hard to break. She’d gone to Bart’s Butcher Shop on Friday and picked up a piece of beef to make Greg a pot roast. She’d cook some carrots and potatoes along with it. It was the perfect dinner for an early fall evening that was beginning to turn brisk.

  She opened the refrigerator and Hercule was instantly by her side, making his most persuasive face.

  “This isn’t for dogs,” Monica said. She put the roast in the Dutch oven sitting on the stove. “But I’m sure we can spare a morsel or two after it’s cooked.”

  Mittens seemed drawn by the roast as well and wound in and out between Monica’s legs.

  She’d fed Teddy and put him down for his nap and was peeling carrots when there was a knock on the back door.

  Hercule’s ears perked up and he turned his head from side to side as if he was thinking—is this friend or foe?

  “Come in,” Monica yelled.

  “Hello, hello.” Gina burst into the room with the force of a hurricane. “Got anything to drink?” She reached down to scratch Hercule’s ears.

  “You know where it is.” Monica motioned toward one of the cabinets with her head. She knew from experience Gina wasn’t talking about a glass of water or some iced tea.

  Gina got out the bottle of whiskey and a glass and poured herself a shot.

  “Do you want some ice? Water?”

  “This is fine.” Gina held the glass to her mouth and tilted it back. “I needed that.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “Oh. Nothing really.” Gina plopped into a chair at the kitchen table and began fiddling with the buttons on her blouse. “Mickey’s mother is coming to meet me.” She made a face. “She’s flying in from Florida. He says not to worry, she’s going to love me.” She looked down at herself. “Do I look okay?”

  Monica took in Gina’s outfit, zebra-print pants, black silk blouse with a deep V-neck, stiletto ankle boots and huge gold hoops with crystals dangling from them.

  Monica gulped. “Like Mickey said, I’m sure she’s going to love you.”

  Gina’s expression was grim. “I hope Jeff and Lauren don’t hear about Jolie’s murder. What a terrible thing to happen. I feel responsible.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Monica cut the last carrot into chunks and dropped them in the pot, nestling them around the roast. “How could you possibly be responsible?”

  “Mick asked me if he could bring his new wife to the wedding. I said okay. I wish I hadn’t. Then this would never have happened.”

  Gina got up and poured another shot of whiskey into her glass. “I wonder who killed the poor woman?”

  “I’m sure the police will find out in due time.” Monica finished peeling and cutting the potatoes and added them to the pot on the stove.

  Gina gave a harsh laugh. “That poor guy from the porta-potty place must have gotten the shock of his life.”

  “I imagine he did. Although he mostly seemed concerned about returning the porta-potties. He’d waited long enough to pick them up.”

  Monica paused with the pot lid in her hand. “What do you mean?”

  “His truck was parked just beyond your cottage right before we sat down to eat. I’d left my phone in your kitchen and wanted to take some pictures. I saw him then.” Gina ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “I saw him again when I went back to your place to use the powder room.” She made a face. “I’m afraid I can’t stand those porta-potties.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “The second time he was talking to some girl.”

  “A guest? Who was it? What did she look like?”

  Gina shrugged. “She was leaning in the driver’s window of his truck. I couldn’t see her face.” She pointed her finger at Monica. “I did notice she had blond hair though.”

  Monica raised her eyebrows. “Half the women at the reception had blond hair. I wonder if she was a guest . . . or someone else?”

  “She had fancy earrings on. My guess is that she was a guest getting cozy with Mr. Johnny-on-the-Spot.” She glanced at Monica out of the corner of her eye. “I have to admit he was kind of cute.”

  “Was the woman his age? He seemed young.”

  Gina furrowed her brow. “I couldn’t tell. Not from that distance. She might have been.”

  Monica thought about it as she turned on the burner under the pot roast. It might mean something and it might mean nothing at all. But surely the young man had other deliveries to make or porta-potties to return to Johnny-on-the-Spot.

  It wouldn’t be the first time an employee had slacked off on the job. Maybe the woman was his girlfriend and they’d decided to sneak a few moments together away from prying eyes.

  Monica’s shoulders relaxed. That was probably it and there was no need to bother Stevens with the information. She had enough to do without being sent down rabbit holes that led nowhere.

  • • •

  Monica tried to persuade Gina to stay for dinner but she said Mickey was taking the night off and they were going to make dinner together, which Monica knew meant that Mickey was going to cook while Gina nursed a martini and watched.

  Greg was in the living room. The jingle announcing the local news had just come on when Greg called out, “Monica. Come see this.”

  Monica wiped her hands on her apron and dashed into the living room. “What is it?”

  Greg pointed at the television. “Look. They’re talking about Sassamanash Farm.”

  Monica perched on the edge of the ottoman and turned her attention to the screen, where a young blond reporter was standing in front of the porta-potty that was still down by the bogs. She was smiling brightly and hugging a microphone to her chest.

  “Jack,” she said, speaking to the news anchor, “I’m at Sassamanash Farm, a cranberry farm here in Cranberry Cove, where the police believe a murder took place sometime on Saturday evening.”

  The camera focused on the crime scene tape encircling the scene, which obligingly made an ominous snapping sound as the wind whipped it back and forth.

  The wind also blew the reporter’s hair across her face and she brushed it away impatiently. “A young woman was murdered right here.” She pointed to the porta-potty again.

  Monica thought calling Jolie young was going a bit too far but she supposed it made her a more sympathetic victim. It reminded her of when newspapers called all younger women coeds whether they were or not.

  “Police believe she was suffocated and then placed inside this very porta-potty, which had been rented for a wedding being held right here on the farm. The killer has not yet been identified. The police don’t believe it was a random killing but that the killer and victim knew each other, so there is no need for panic. Stay tuned to WZZZ for further details when they are released.” She smiled at the camera. “Back to you, Jack.”

  “How about that?” Greg said. “The farm has made the evening news.”

  “Not exactly the publicity we wanted.”

  “What is that saying? There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

  “Just so we don’t have tour buses stopping here to see the grisly site.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that.” Greg stood up. “Is that roast almost ready? The smell is making my mouth water.”

  • • •

  Greg left for Book ’Em early on Monday morning. Monica was already up feeding Teddy in the nursery. Hercule was curled into a circle on the rug, his head on his paws, and Mittens was stretched out in the sunbeam coming through the window.

  “Okay, Hercule, let’s go,” Monica said when Teddy was finished.

  Hercule leapt to his feet and wagged his tail enthusiastically.

  Monica got Teddy into his sweater, put on her own jacket and tucked Teddy into the baby carrier, where he snuggled against her chest. She clipped the leash on Hercule. “Ready to go?”

  Hercule’s tail wagged even faster as they walked out the door and headed down the path. More leaves had fallen from the trees and Monica scuffed through them, enjoying the sound they made. She’d loved doing that since she was a child and it was something she’d missed when she lived in Chicago.

  They passed the spot where Jeff and Lauren had said I do and Monica noticed the police had removed the porta-potty. She was glad it was gone. It was a reminder of what had happened and all she wanted to remember was the joy and beauty of Jeff and Lauren’s wedding day.

  As she approached the bog, she noticed a crowd of people standing alongside it.

  Two of Jeff’s crew were waist-deep in the water, maneuvering the boom and corralling the floating berries onto a conveyor belt and into a waiting truck.

  Mauricio, who had been working for Jeff for a long time, was standing on the bank of the bog, the straps of his chest-high waders hanging off his shoulders. He walked over to Monica.

  “Hey there, boy.” He ruffled Hercule’s fur. He peered at Teddy, who was now asleep in his carrier. “I swear he gets bigger every time I see him.” He gently ran his hand over Teddy’s soft, downy head.

  “Are all those people here to watch the harvest?” Monica pointed toward the assembled group huddled together in the distance. Lauren used to give tours when the cranberries were being harvested before she graduated college and her marketing business took off.

  Mauricio made a disgusted sound. “I heard them talking and apparently they came to see the site where the murder took place.” He hooked his thumbs through the straps of his waders. “Awfully ghoulish of them, if you ask me.”

  “Of course.” Monica slapped her forehead. “It was on the news last night. A reporter was standing right by the bog. I wondered if this would happen. People love the macabre. Just so giant tour buses don’t start rolling in.”

  “The publicity might not be all bad.”

  “That’s what Greg said. But I don’t see how it could help the farm.”

  He shrugged. “They have to park by the farm store and walk over here. Maybe they’ll pop in and buy something.”

  “We’ll see,” Monica said. But she wasn’t too hopeful. Most likely the thrill seekers would be more of a nuisance than anything else.

  • • •

  “You need to get out of the house,” Gina said when Monica picked up the phone later that morning.

  “But I was at Jeff’s wedding. Isn’t that out?”

  Gina ignored her. “Let’s go to lunch. Just the two of us. It will give you a chance to put on some nice clothes, do your hair and makeup.”

  Did she look that bad? Monica wondered. Her usual outfit consisted of jeans and a T-shirt or sweater depending on the weather, but she had dressed up for Jeff’s wedding.