“What sort of present do you want to buy for your mother?” Monica felt around for her shoe and slipped her foot into it.

  “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Mrs. Tanner does love those Droste chocolates they sell at Gumdrops.”

  “They do some lovely gift boxes,” Monica said, easing out of her other shoe. “I could pick one up for you and drop it off.”

  “Would you?” Kit clasped his hands together in delight. “That would be splendid. Mrs. Tanner would really like that.” He frowned. “If you don’t mind. You have enough on your plate as it is.” He patted Monica’s hand.

  “No problem at all.”

  Kit jumped to his feet. “Let me bring you a nice cold lemonade and a cranberry scone to sustain you.”

  • • •

  Monica nearly gasped when she left Book ’Em and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The heat hit her like an anvil and she immediately felt perspiration running down her back. She passed the Cranberry Cove Diner and a blast of cold air carrying the scent of hot oil and sizzling meat followed a customer out the door.

  Tempest was in the window of Twilight rearranging the display. She waved as Monica went by, the batwing sleeves of her purple cotton tunic flapping around her arms.

  A bell jangled when Monica pushed open the door to Gumdrops. It was an old-fashioned candy store right down to the matching pink-and-white gingham shirtwaist dresses the identical twin VanVelsen sisters were wearing that looked as if they belonged in a nineteen-sixties time capsule.

  One wall was lined with clear glass cannisters filled with an assortment of brightly colored candy—the kind that used to be known as penny candy before inflation raised the prices.

  A gravity-defying tower of Droste pastilles in their angular tubes were stacked on the counter and boxes and tins of Edith Peppermints were proudly displayed on a table.

  “Monica, dear, so lovely to see you.” Gerda VanVelsen stepped out from behind the counter and took Monica’s hands in hers. “How are you feeling?”

  “Impatient.”

  Gerda, and Hennie, who had come out of the stockroom, both laughed.

  “No doubt,” Hennie said. “I’m sure you’re anxious to hold your little one at long last.” She eyed Monica’s stomach. “Must be any day now?”

  “Yes,” Monica said. She hadn’t told anyone her exact due date in case the baby was late and she was really glad she hadn’t.

  “Will your house be ready in time?” Gerda said, clasping her hands together.

  Monica felt herself stiffen as the image of the bones Hercule had dug up flashed through her mind.

  “Is everything okay, dear. Did something happen?”

  Monica hesitated. Should she tell Hennie and Gerda what had happened?

  “I can’t say, I’m afraid. Not yet anyway.”

  “We wouldn’t want to pry, dear.” Gerda touched Monica’s arm. Hennie shot a look at her, a frustrated expression on her face, but didn’t say anything.

  “No, of course not,” Hennie said, her lips clamped into a thin line.

  “The house is coming along,” Monica said quickly, hoping to divert the sisters’ attention. “It won’t be ready in time for the baby, but we’ve fixed up the spare room at the cottage as a nursery.”

  “I’m glad that land is finally going to be used.” Gerda fiddled with the top button on her dress. “It’s been vacant too long.”

  Hennie nodded. “It originally belonged to old Mr. VanVliet. He had a small farm where he grew corn and garden vegetables like cucumbers, squash and sugar beets. When his wife died, he let it all go to weed.”

  “He eventually went into a nursing home,” Gerda said. “Poor thing had a nasty fall and could no longer live on his own. He sold the land to a developer. They tore down the farmhouse. It wouldn’t have sold—it needed too much work.”

  Hennie made a sour face. “We were afraid they were going to build some huge condo complex there. What an eyesore that would have been.”

  Gerda puckered her lips. “I can only imagine what Grandmother VanVelsen would have thought of that!”

  “Fortunately, the developer went bankrupt and sold the land off.”

  “To your Greg.” Gerda beamed. She got a dreamy look in her eye. “I remember we used to skate on that pond that’s behind your new house. And Mother would have hot chocolate waiting for us when we got back.”

  “Our fingers and toes would be nearly frozen stiff,” Hennie said with a shiver. Her face clouded over. “I remember reading in the paper that there was some sort of tragedy associated with that pond.”

  “Oh?” Hopefully the property wasn’t cursed, Monica thought. Not that she believed in that sort of thing, although no doubt Janice did.

  “I remember mother snatched the paper away from me—said I was too young to be reading about things like that.”

  “Do you remember anything at all about it?”

  “I’m afraid not. Do you, Gerda?”

  She shook her head. “I never saw the article. Mother must have disposed of the paper.”

  That was certainly curious, Monica thought as she left Gumdrops to brave the heat again, a box of Droste chocolates tucked under her arm. She’d have to see if she could find anything on it. She knew the library had copies of the Chronicle on microfiche. She just hoped the archive went back that far.

  Chapter 9

  It was Friday night and groups of people were passing through the lobby of the Cranberry Cove Inn, their voices creating a cacophony of sound. Some were headed to the cocktail lounge and some to the dining room. Noise spilled from the open door of the restaurant, snatches of conversation along with the usual rattling of cutlery as busboys dumped used plates into plastic tubs to be sent to the kitchen to be washed.

  Greg had headed out to an estate sale—a family was selling their late mother’s collection of golden age mystery novels and he hoped to find a gem or two worth purchasing. He frequently went to estate sales but often came home empty-handed, relatives having mistaken a collection of perfectly ordinary books—second and third editions at that—for something of value.

  Monica glanced at her watch. Nearly six o’clock. Hopefully, LouAnn would be prompt and already on the job. She lingered in the lobby for a few minutes assuming LouAnn would have to first collect her supplies before heading to the rooms to turn down the beds. When the minute hand on her watch clicked over to ten past the hour, she took the elevator to the second floor.

  It was quiet in the hall, the only sounds a few muffled voices coming from behind the closed doors. The maid’s cart was outside a room at the end of the hall. The thick carpeting stifled the sound of her footsteps as Monica made her way toward it. She peeked in the open door. The maid was plumping the bed pillows and straightening the sheets. A stack of fresh white towels was piled on one of the slipper chairs ready to replace the wet ones heaped on the floor. Monica tapped on the doorjamb and the maid jumped and put a hand to her heart.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Monica said.

  The woman was wearing a cranberry-colored uniform that had LouAnn Brown embroidered above the pocket. She reminded Monica of an upside-down broom with her stick-thin body and short, frizzy blond hair.

  “Can I help you? Do you need something?” LouAnn said as she caught her breath.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Monica said. “I’m a friend of the Cargills. Violet Cargill died here on Tuesday night. I’m following up on some leads.”

  LouAnn threw her shoulders back and straightened the collar on her uniform.

  “I’ve never been interviewed by the police before. I know they talked to Pat—she works down in the kitchen—and it’s all she could talk about. As if she was someone important.” She lifted her chin. “She won’t be pleased to know she’s not the only one. She’ll find out she’s not all that special after all.”

  Monica knew she should disabuse LouAnn of the notion that she was with the police, but it wasn’t her fault LouAnn was jumping to the wrong conclusion. Besides, where was the harm in it? Any information she got she would immediately pass on to Stevens.

  “Were you working on Tuesday night, the fourth?”

  “Yes. I’m usually off on Thursday and Friday unless they need me to cover for someone. Some of these young people can’t be counted on. Not like us old-timers.”

  Monica half expected LouAnn to pat herself on the back.

  “So, you were here working on the fourth? When Violet Cargill became ill?”

  LouAnn’s mouth turned down and she shook her head. “Yes, and I missed the whole thing. Jack, he’s one of the waiters, told me all about it. He said the ambulance came and everything. Just my luck I was stuck up here on the second floor.”

  Monica cleared her throat. “How about the day before, the third of July? Were you working then?”

  “Sure. That was a Monday. I’m always here on Mondays promptly at six o’clock.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual here on the second floor? Mr. and Mrs. Cargill are in room 202, I believe?”

  “Yes. I noticed them particularly because Mrs. Cargill asked that I leave them an extra towel. She said she needed it for her hair.”

  “Did you happen to see anyone go into Mrs. Cargill’s room? Other than Mr. or Mrs. Cargill, that is.”

  LouAnn scowled and pressed a finger to her forehead. “I don’t think so. But they could have while I was making up someone’s room.”

  Monica was beginning to feel frustrated. Was she wasting her time when she should be getting ready for the baby? She still needed to buy newborn undershirts. Never mind that it was July and hot as the oven in the farm kitchen. According to her mother, the baby would need undershirts.

  She decided to try a different tack. “Did you notice anything peculiar? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  LouAnn’s expression made it look as if thinking was actually painful. Her forehead was furrowed, her eyebrows lowered and her lips pursed.

  “Now that you mention it, there was something peculiar.” A door opened and she paused and looked down the hall. She lowered her voice and tilted her head toward Monica’s.

  “I had just parked my cart outside room 202 when the alarm on my watch went off.” She held up her wrist so Monica could see. “It was time for me to take my pills.” She pointed down the hall. “There’s a sink in the utility closet at the end of the hall, so I went to get some water.”

  “Had you opened the door to room 202?”

  “Yes. I had already put a stack of clean towels on the bed when my watch pinged. I knew if I didn’t take my pill right then and there, I would forget. They’re for my arthritis.” LouAnn gave a deep sigh. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I did leave the door cracked. I was only gone maybe a minute or so. It wouldn’t have even been that long if the pill hadn’t gotten stuck in my throat and I had to swallow the whole glass of water to get it down.” LouAnn fiddled with the gold cross hanging from a chain around her neck. She looked slightly stricken. “I didn’t think it would do any harm.”

  “Of course not,” Monica said soothingly. “Did you notice anything that suggested someone might have been in the room? Anything out of order?”

  “Let me think.” LouAnn’s face took on that same painful expression as she looked down at her feet. “There was something, but I didn’t pay all that much attention to it. Matter of fact, I forgot all about it as soon as I finished doing up the room.”

  “Yes?”

  “I think someone had been in the room.”

  Maybe this wasn’t such a waste of time after all, Monica thought.

  “What made you think someone had been in the Cargills’ room?”

  “My cart had been moved. I always park it in the same spot so that it’s blocking the open door. It discourages people from peeking into the room. You wouldn’t believe how nosy some of our guests can be. But when I came back after taking my pill, it had been shoved away from the door.”

  “Anything else?”

  LouAnn closed her eyes as if picturing the scene. “The drawer in the nightstand was partially open. It wasn’t like that when I went in with the clean towels.”

  “But you didn’t see anyone?”

  LouAnn pursed her lips. “I didn’t exactly see anyone.” She fiddled with her necklace again.

  “Not exactly?”

  “No. But the door to the stairs was closing. They put a door damper on it. That’s what Jorge, he’s the inn’s maintenance man, told me it was called. It makes the door close real slow and keeps it from slamming. That wouldn’t do at all. Most people take the stairs—too impatient to wait for the elevator. I have to admit, it is rather old and slow.” LouAnn took a breath. “Anyway, we couldn’t have the door slamming every time someone used the stairs. What a ruckus that would make.”

  It wasn’t much, Monica thought. But it certainly sounded as if someone had gone into the room and was bolting down the stairs when LouAnn came back from taking her pill. Of course, there could be a perfectly innocent explanation—it could have been Sherry Cargill or her husband Ray. Or, it could have been the killer sneaking in to steal the vial of Sherry’s migraine medication.

  Which was it?

  • • •

  Monica was walking through the lobby when she noticed Ray Cargill sitting on one of the sofas. He was talking to a man Monica didn’t recognize. She didn’t think it was someone from Cranberry Cove. Most of the offices in Cranberry Cove had at least opted for business casual and he was dressed in an expensive-looking suit and was wearing a silk tie that even she could tell wasn’t from Men’s Warehouse but probably from some fancy store in Chicago.

  Ray pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped it across his forehead. What was making him sweat? Monica wondered. He appeared agitated—his movements were jerky, and despite his tan, his face had a pasty look to it.

  There was a sofa table behind the couch with a large vase of flowers on it. Monica casually walked toward it. She looked around but no one seemed to be paying attention to her. Dawn wasn’t behind the reception desk and the young man who was engrossed in doing something on the computer.

  She looked around again and then ducked behind the floral arrangement. She was quite sure she wasn’t visible thanks to the massive blossoms—orange garden lilies punctuated with white astilbe. In case someone wondered why she was lingering there, she pulled out her phone and pretended to scroll through her texts.

  The lobby was now quiet. It was well past check-in time and the groups that had been gathered in the lobby earlier had dispersed to either the cocktail lounge or the restaurant, which made it possible for her to hear most of Ray’s and his companion’s conversation.

  At one point her nose began to tickle and she was afraid she was going to sneeze and give away her position and she was relieved when the feeling passed.

  A woman with three towheaded children walked into the lobby. They’d obviously been to the beach. The two boys and a girl were carrying brightly colored inner tubes and the woman had several damp towels thrown over her shoulder.

  One of the boys began yelling that he was thirsty and the other two joined in. Monica felt a prickle of irritation. She was missing parts of Ray’s conversation. The mother quickly shepherded them toward the elevator and luckily, she was able to hear again.

  It sounded as if Ray was in some sort of financial trouble. She didn’t understand most of what they were talking about but that part was clear enough—something about cryptocurrency and prices rising and falling. It sounded as if he owed the other man money and he was demanding to be paid. That would explain Ray’s nervousness. As Ray was stuttering and making excuses, the sweat on his brow began to drip down the side of his face and under his collar.

  Monica thought of Sherry and her expensive tastes. Her diamond engagement ring alone must have cost a fortune. Monica doubted she was the sort who would rise to the occasion and learn to scrimp and save. The vision of Sherry clipping coupons or hunting for bargains was laughable. Would she leave Ray if his money ran out?

  For Ray’s sake, it looked as if Violet’s death had come at just the right time.

  Chapter 10

  “What’s that delicious smell?” Monica asked when she got home. She glanced at the stove but there were no pots or pans bubbling away and the oven was off.

  “Takeout.” Greg held up a sizeable paper bag. “Compliments of Mickey and the Pepper Pot. I guess Gina told him she didn’t think you were eating enough so he insisted I bring something home for dinner.”

  “What is it?” Monica realized she was starving.

  Greg opened the bag and took out several containers. Hercule’s nose began to twitch and he wagged his tail, obviously hoping for a treat.

  Greg picked up one of the containers. A sticky note was attached to the lid that read cedar-planked walleye. He pried the lid off another container and held it out toward Monica. “Salad.” He read the label on the final one. “Maple-glazed sweet potatoes.”

  “It all sounds heavenly,” Monica said as she began to get plates and cutlery from the cupboards. “But Mickey really doesn’t have to worry. I haven’t been eating just for two—I swear I’ve been eating for a whole army.”

  After she’d set the table and they were sitting down to eat, Monica asked, “How did you make out at the estate sale?”

  Greg wrinkled his nose. “It was a bit of a bust. A lot of dusty old paperbacks that practically disintegrated when I touched them, but I did score a box of Lee Child books so it wasn’t a complete waste of time.” Greg dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “If you’re up for it, I thought we might check out the carnival. I gather it’s also part county fair with 4H exhibits so that should be fun.”

  “Sure. I just have to call Detective Stevens.”

  Greg raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  Monica waved a hand in the air. “Nothing important but something she might want to know.”

  Monica dialed Stevens’s number, but instead of getting an answer the call went to voicemail. She left a message asking Stevens to call her, helped Greg with the dishes, and after they’d given Hercule a quick walk, headed out.