“I’ll have to bring Teddy.”

  “Bah. Let that woman who works for Greg at the bookstore watch him for an hour.”

  “Wilma? But she’s supposed to be helping Greg.”

  “Surely he can manage on his own for a bit.”

  In the end, Monica agreed to go to lunch. It was impossible to argue with Gina, mainly because she didn’t listen. She kept an ear cocked for Teddy, who was napping in his crib while she put on some lipstick and ran a brush through her hair. She didn’t have many choices in the way of clothes—her body hadn’t gone back to normal yet—but she did have a pair of black pants and a silk blouse that she hoped would do the trick.

  She had to admit it did feel rather good to put on some nice clothes and fix herself up. She changed Teddy, who had woken up, and put him in a new outfit her mother had given him. She thought they looked quite the pair.

  They’d agreed to meet at the Pepper Pot, where Gina’s husband always reserved a table for her and her friends. Monica buckled Teddy into his car seat and put a light blanket over his lap, and he kicked and reached out, trying to grab her hair.

  Monica paused for a moment to watch him smiling and gurgling then got into the driver’s seat and started the car.

  Monica was tempted to stop the car and admire the view at the top of the rise leading into town, but a patrol car was stationed there, obviously waiting to snag speeders. Lake Michigan was visible in the distance as she began down the hill into town. The sun shimmered off the water and the waves were calm and lightly crested with foam. A couple was walking hand in hand at the edge of the beach, their pant legs rolled up and the water lapping at their ankles. As Monica drove down Beach Hollow Road, she noticed a number of tourists walking along, swinging shopping bags and peering into the store windows. Once the leaves fell from the trees, Cranberry Cove would be quiet again. The residents would be glad to see the crowds go, although they did appreciate the boost in the economy that summer brought.

  Monica found a parking spot halfway between the Pepper Pot and Book ’Em. She bundled Teddy into his carriage and wheeled him down to Greg’s store.

  As Gina had predicted, Wilma was only too happy to look after him for an hour.

  “Gina convinced me that I needed a girls’ lunch,” Monica said as she kissed Greg on the cheek.

  Greg smiled indulgently. “Have a good time.”

  Monica gave a last backward glance at Teddy then quickly left the store before she could change her mind. Someone in a red Porsche with the top down sped down the road, its engine roaring. Monica stepped back on the sidewalk as heads swiveled in its direction. She heard several people muttering under their breath as she crossed the street.

  The loud buzz of voices, sounding like so many bees, greeted her when she opened the door to the Pepper Pot. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light as she scanned the room for Gina. She spotted her in the back and began to walk to the table.

  Gina jumped up from her seat and greeted Monica with an air kiss on each cheek.

  “Don’t you feel better getting out for a bit?”

  “I have to admit you were right. I do.” She pulled out the chair opposite Gina and sat down. The air was fragrant with the mouthwatering scents of garlic and herbs and it made her stomach growl.

  Monica picked up the menu the hostess had handed her and began to scan it. Everything sounded delicious.

  “Welcome, ladies.” Gina’s husband, Mickey, came up to their table. He leaned closer and said in a low voice, “The special today is butternut squash soup with candied pecans. It’s going fast so I saved you some if you’re interested.”

  “Sounds good.” Monica put her menu down. “I’ll have that and the house salad.”

  Gina looked up from perusing the menu. “I think I’ll have the same.”

  Mickey nodded, tucked the menus under his arm and headed for the swinging door to the kitchen.

  Monica looked around the room. A couple was seated at the table next to them. The man kept peeling back his shirt cuff to glance at his watch—a gold Rolodex. Monica assumed he must be on his lunch hour, although with his fancy watch, well-tailored suit and silk tie, she doubted he was the type who had to punch a clock. More likely he had a meeting scheduled with an important client and didn’t want to be late.

  The silence between the two of them appeared strained. The woman’s mouth was turned down and she picked at her food. An expensive Gucci handbag was tucked up next to her chair and her ring finger sparkled with diamonds.

  A waitress swept by their table, a tray laden with steaming dishes balanced on her shoulder. Monica caught a whiff of caramelized onions and freshly baked bread.

  She set it down on a tray stand and placed bowls of soup and plates of salad on the table in front of Gina and Monica.

  Gina glanced after the waitress and leaned forward, nearly dunking the tie on her blouse into her soup. “You know, one of Micky’s employees borrowed money from him.”

  Monica put down her spoon. “That’s so kind of him.”

  “Too kind. Now he’s worried they won’t pay back the loan.”

  They continued to chat as they downed their soup and polished off their salads.

  The waitress stopped by their table. “Dessert?”

  Monica glanced at her watch. She’d probably left Teddy with Wilma long enough.

  “No, thanks.” She put her napkin on the table. “I should be going. Teddy will be hungry. This was a great idea. Thank you for thinking of it.” She kissed Gina on the cheek.

  She was walking toward the door when she decided she’d better make a detour to the ladies’ room.

  The bathroom was small but the designer had managed to make it look warm and cozy. An antique dresser had been repurposed into a vanity with two sinks and a gold-framed mirror hanging above it. One wall was covered in framed illustrations from old cookbooks. Monica recognized a page from her grandmother’s Good Housekeeping cookbook—a vivid color picture of different kinds of pies.

  A woman was in front of the mirror. Monica recognized her as the woman who had been sitting at the table next to her. She pulled a lipstick from her cosmetic bag and leaned closer as she began to carefully fill in her lips. She appeared to be talking to someone in the occupied stall.

  Monica entered the unoccupied one and latched the door behind her.

  “I think she did it,” the woman at the mirror said.

  Monica froze. Who did what?

  “Jolie?” the woman in the stall next to her responded.

  Jolie? Monica’s ears perked up. What had she done? She held her breath as she listened to the conversation.

  “It would have been easy enough for her to slip him a bit of extra morphine to ease his pain,” The last words were said sarcastically. “Not to mention ushering him swiftly out of this world. Who would know? Certainly, it couldn’t be proven.” She pulled a brush from her purse and began to fix her hair.

  “She wanted the money,” the woman in the stall said. “And she wasn’t willing to wait. The doctor had given him what? Six months? And it had been eight months already.”

  “Who marries someone practically on their death bed?”

  “The money is the only reason she married him.” Monica heard the click of the latch on the stall door. “Look at those earrings Father gave her as a wedding present.” Her voice was bitter. “Those were Mother’s favorites. They should have gone to one of us. She probably couldn’t wait to dip into the rest of the Spencer jewels.”

  “Not to mention the bank accounts.” Monica heard the woman at the mirror snap her purse shut.

  “And Father was barely cold in his grave when she turned around and married that gigolo.”

  Monica let her breath out in a rush. Were they talking about Jolie’s late husband? And were they insinuating that Jolie . . .

  The woman exited the stall at the same time as Monica. They both headed toward the sinks. Monica glanced at the woman’s reflection in the mirror. She was surprised to see the other woman was the server from Jeff and Lauren’s wedding. She thought her name was Heather.

  Why were they talking about Jolie? They were clearly the daughters of her late husband.

  “Let’s just hope Father did what we told him to,” Heather said.

  The other woman laughed. “If he did, that young man she married is in for a big surprise.”

  Chapter 4

  Teddy was in his baby swing contentedly examining his hands and putting his fingers in his mouth while Monica finished packing a carton. Hercule wandered over and poked his nose in the box, found nothing of interest and went to curl up on his dog bed.

  “Another one done,” she said to Greg, who was filling a box with books.

  Their new house was nearly ready and Monica didn’t want to wait until the last minute to pack. The task was overwhelming enough as it was.

  She sat back on her heels and looked around the living room. “Suddenly I’m feeling all nostalgic about this cottage.” She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her T-shirt.

  “A lot of happy times here.” Greg smiled at her. “But we’ll have more room in the new house, which we’ll need as Teddy gets older.” He squeezed her shoulder. “And we’ll make new memories there that will be just as wonderful.”

  “That’s true. By the way, I overheard an interesting conversation today.” Monica ripped a piece of packing tape from the roll. “Two women. I recognized one of them. She was part of the waitstaff at Jeff and Lauren’s wedding. Her name is Heather. I don’t know who the other woman was but it seemed clear they were related. They obviously thought that Jolie had hastened her late husband’s death by giving him an extra dose of morphine.”

  Greg whistled. “That’s quite an accusation. How would she have gotten hold of morphine? You can’t simply walk into a pharmacy and grab some off the shelf.”

  “I don’t know. I suppose he’d been prescribed morphine by his doctor. It sounded as if the doctors didn’t expect him to live much longer.”

  “In that case, he was probably receiving hospice care. I suppose they’re able to administer morphine.”

  “Oh!”

  Greg lowered his brows and tilted his head to one side. “What is it?”

  “Maybe Jolie worked for the hospice company. One of those home health aides or something. And that’s how she met her husband.”

  Greg shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  Monica was about to begin filling another carton when her phone rang. She pulled it out of the pocket of her jeans and answered the call.

  “Monica, it’s Mom.”

  Monica looked at Greg and rolled her eyes. “I know.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Nancy continued. “The strangest thing happened. It was in the middle of the night last night. I was sound asleep when I heard a loud thud. I was going to investigate but there were no further noises. I thought I must have dreamt it. Besides, I’d forgotten to close the bedroom window and it was chilly. I didn’t feel like getting out from under the covers.”

  Where was this going? Monica wondered.

  “Did you figure out what it was?”

  “You know that clock that’s on my mantelpiece? The one my godmother gave me? When I got up this morning and went into the living room, I found it on the floor, sadly in pieces.”

  “That’s too bad.” The clock had been on the mantel in their old house as far back as Monica could remember.

  “Well, what could have happened?” Her mother sounded indignant. “What made it fall? It was hardly in a precarious position.”

  “I don’t know.” Monica glanced at Mittens, who was known to occasionally swipe things off tabletops. “You don’t have a cat.”

  “Do you think it was a ghost?”

  Monica laughed. “You’re joking. Aren’t you?”

  “It’s not funny. This is serious.”

  “But a ghost? Surely you don’t believe in them.”

  “I don’t know. There was that program on television that time . . .”

  “It’s more likely something jostled the house slightly. A large truck going by or . . . or something. I wouldn’t worry about it. It probably won’t happen again.”

  Nancy sighed. “I suppose you’re right, dear.”

  Greg raised his eyebrows as Monica ended the call. “Your mother?”

  “Yes. She seems to think a ghost knocked that large clock off her mantelpiece in the middle of the night.”

  Greg frowned. “Your mother is getting on in years. Perhaps one of those retirement communities would be a good idea. There’s that new one . . . what’s it called?”

  “Sunset Living?” Monica snorted. “She’s not that old. Besides, you’d never convince her to do that.” She ripped another piece of tape from the roll. She was about to fasten the box when she paused. “It is strange though. She’s never been the fanciful type. I can’t imagine she really believes in ghosts.”

  Greg looked at her and frowned. “Let’s hope not.”

  • • •

  Monica was in the kitchen the next morning cleaning away the breakfast things but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation she’d heard in the ladies’ room at the Pepper Pot. Had Jolie worked for the hospice company taking care of her late husband? Mick might know but she wasn’t ready to face him yet—not after learning he was considering an offer from a restaurant in Chicago. She wasn’t known for her poker face. She was afraid she’d slip and reveal that she’d overheard his conversation. Presumably, he’d tell her soon enough if he planned to leave the farm. But how else could she find out about Jolie’s past?

  Teddy had fallen asleep in his baby seat, his head lolling to one side, a bit of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. Monica retrieved her laptop, put it on the kitchen table and powered it up.

  A quick search revealed there was a hospice serving the Cranberry Cove area—the Loving Hands Hospice. Monica let out a breath. Did she dare call them?

  She slammed her laptop shut in frustration. What was she doing? It wasn’t her job to figure out who had killed Jolie. Detective Stevens was perfectly capable of doing it all by herself.

  She busied herself with tasks around the house. She picked up the newspaper they’d left scattered around the living room, plumped the sofa cushions, did a load of laundry, but she still couldn’t get her mind off the idea that Jolie might have been a nurse or home health aide working for the hospice that took care of her husband.

  By noon, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She couldn’t stand it any longer. Teddy had been fed and was down for his nap, it was the perfect time to act.

  She powered up her computer again and searched for Loving Hands Hospice. She jotted down the number and pulled out her cell phone. It rang and rang on the other end and she was about to give up when someone answered.

  A woman with a high-pitched voice said in soothing tones, “Loving Hands Hospice. You’re in good hands with Loving Hands. How may I help you?”

  Monica hesitated. She cleared her throat but her voice still came out in a nervous rasp.

  “Can I speak to Jolie Spencer, please? She’s a nurse there.” As soon as she said it, she realized Jolie would have had a different last name at the time. But Jolie was an unusual first name. Maybe the receptionist would put two and two together.

  “Let me see.” There was a pause. “We don’t seem to have a Jolie Spencer working here.”

  Monica was disappointed, but it was nothing more than she had expected.

  “But,” the woman said brightly, “we used to have a Jolie Clawson. Jolie’s an unusual name, isn’t it? She told us it means pretty in French.” Her tone was gossipy. “But she wasn’t a nurse. She was a home health aide. There’s quite a difference. The training’s different and so is the job.”

  Monica heard someone say something in the background.

  “Excuse me. I won’t be a minute.”

  The sound became muffled and she assumed the woman had put her hand over the mouthpiece.

  “Sorry about that.” The voice came over the line again. “I heard Jolie got married so Spencer must be her new married name.” Her tone became conspiratorial. “Denise, she’s the administrative assistant here, said she met her husband on the job. I can’t even imagine.” She paused. “Anyway, can someone else help you? Are you looking for a home health aide? Because Flo is great. All our clients love her.”

  “Actually, I needed to speak to Jolie about something else. We’d lost touch and I wanted to catch up. But thank you for your help. Goodbye.”

  Monica ended the call before the receptionist could ask any more questions. She flopped against the back of her chair. She’d gotten something from the phone call at least. More than she’d expected. Way more. It wasn’t a leap to conclude that the man Jolie had met and married on the job was her patient—that Spencer fellow.

  Maybe Heather and that other woman were right. Jolie had married him knowing he was dying. It sounded as if there was money involved and wouldn’t she, as his wife, be the one to inherit?

  Did Mick stand to get the money now that Jolie was dead? Dread crept into the pit of Monica’s stomach. That would give Mick an even stronger motive for killing Jolie.

  How much longer before Detective Stevens came to the same conclusion?

  Was she going to lose Mick to an upscale restaurant in Chicago, or was she going to lose him to . . . jail?

  Chapter 5

  Monica had just finished feeding Teddy when Gina walked in brandishing a piece of paper. It looked like an invoice.

  “I’m so steamed,” she said, blowing a lock of hair off her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Monica kept her voice level. Gina was capable of being equally steamed over a massive problem or something completely trivial.

  “It’s that porta-potty company Johnny-on-the-Spot. They charged me for four porta-potties when we only asked for three and that’s all they delivered.” She slammed the paper down on the table. “I tried calling them but I got absolutely nowhere. I thought maybe you’d have better luck.”