The air coming in the car window was cooler than it had been earlier and Monica was glad she’d brought a sweatshirt with her for later in the evening. The tinny sound of canned music from the rides and the various bells and whistles from the games reached them even before the carnival came into view.

  The Volvo’s tires crunched over the gravel as Greg pulled into the parking lot and began to search for a spot. Someone was pulling out of the front row and he snagged the space with a sigh of satisfaction. Monica had to admit, she was glad they wouldn’t have to walk too far.

  The lights flashing from the rides and games of chance were dazzling and the Ferris wheel, as shabby as it was, looked majestic silhouetted against the dusky sky.

  “What should we do first?” Greg said as he purchased two tickets.

  “Churros,” Monica announced decisively. “I can smell them and I have a terrible craving for them.”

  “I thought pregnant women were supposed to crave pickles and ice cream?”

  “Ha! I’m sure Janice believes that.”

  Greg put his arm around Monica’s shoulders. “Is she still spouting those old wives’ tales at you?”

  “I keep waiting for her to run out but she seems to have an endless supply.”

  As they passed the roller coaster, they heard the clank of the wheels against the tracks as the cars climbed up the hill and the subsequent screams of the riders as it made its stomach-dropping descent.

  “Here we are,” Greg said, stopping in front of the churro stand, where a round-faced woman was fishing the pastries from the vat of hot oil. Her face was bright red and the tendrils of hair alongside her face were damp.

  She quickly dished up fresh churros onto a paper plate and gave them to Monica as Greg handed over the money.

  Monica took a deep breath inhaling the heady scent of cinnamon, sugar and hot oil. Heaven, she thought as she took a first bite.

  “Aren’t you going to save me some?” Greg said with a teasing smile as Monica picked up the last churro and took a bite.

  “Not a chance. Get your own,” she said with a grin.

  “I think I’d rather have some kettle corn,” Greg said, motioning toward a booth next to the whip ride, which was spinning its occupants in dizzying circles.

  By now, they were nearing the barns where the animals were being kept and the odor of hay and manure competed with the smell of sugar and frying food.

  A loud squawking suddenly mingled with the reedy music and the shrieks of the children. Monica jumped when a chicken ran past her feet. It was followed by the sound of thudding as a young boy thundered past, his bare feet slapping against the ground and kicking up dust.

  A wry smile played around Greg’s mouth. “I guess that chicken was trying to make a break for it.”

  Monica watched as the chicken, followed in hot pursuit by the young boy, wended its way through the crowds.

  “I don’t know about you,” Monica said, “but I’m rooting for the chicken.”

  “Me, too,” Greg said as he nibbled on his kettle corn. He turned to Monica. “You’re looking tired. Maybe it’s time to call it quits for tonight and head home?”

  “Let’s. I am a bit tired and we’ve seen most of the carnival.”

  They were rounding the corner near the ring toss, where a woman stood grinning as she was handed a giant stuffed unicorn from the fellow manning the booth, when Monica caught sight of someone out of the corner of her eye.

  It was the woman’s red hair that had attracted her attention. It reminded her of Sherry Cargill’s hair. She took another look and realized it was Sherry Cargill. She was talking to a man—it actually looked more like they were arguing. Sherry’s face was flushed with irritation and the man’s face was twisted into a grimace. He looked as if he might be one of the carnival workers—he had a smudge of grease on his cheek, his jeans were nearly worn through in the knees and the bill of his NY Yankees baseball cap was slightly bent out of shape. Sherry handed him something and he quickly pocketed it.

  Who was he? Monica wondered. And what relation was he to Sherry? A relative or friend? She had assumed Sherry didn’t know anyone in Cranberry Cove.

  It was certainly curious. She would have to ask Kelly about it.

  • • •

  Monica arrived at the farm kitchen early the next morning. Greg had already left for work—Saturday was a busy day at Book ’Em, when locals mingled with tourists to find their next read.

  The Cranberry Cove Inn had placed another order for cranberry salsa and by the time Nancy, Janice and Mick had arrived, Monica had already whipped up a batch and had the jars packed in a carton and ready to go.

  “Do you want me to run those over to the inn?” Nancy said, whisking off her sunglasses.

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll take them myself. I’ve been on my feet for quite a while now and I could use a break.”

  Nancy gave her a worried look. “You’re not overdoing it, are you?”

  Monica smiled. “Don’t worry. I’d tell you if I was.”

  “Let me carry that carton for you,” Mick said.

  “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

  “At your service, ma’am.” Mick flashed her a smile.

  The sun had disappeared and the skies were overcast as they headed to Monica’s car. Monica looked up at the sky. The clouds looked heavy with rain. Greg would be extra busy today if the weather got worse as disappointed beachgoers flooded Book ’Em looking for something to read.

  “Are you settling into Cranberry Cove okay?” Monica said as she and Mick walked side by side down the path to her cottage.

  “Yes, although I am a bit homesick. I miss my brothers and sisters. Uncle Gus has done his best to make me feel at home. He even made me my favorite pastitsio.” He must have noticed the puzzled look on Monica’s face. “It’s like the Italian lasagna only with different spices, like cinnamon and cloves.” He touched his fingers to his lips and blew a chef’s kiss.

  “That does sound wonderful.” Monica felt her stomach growl. She hadn’t been that hungry for breakfast and had settled on a piece of toast and a cup of tea. It felt as if the baby was compressing her stomach, making it uncomfortable for her to eat larger meals.

  “Here we are,” she said as they neared the driveway of her cottage. She opened the trunk and Mick put the carton inside.

  “Thank you,” she said, and he waved as he trotted back to the kitchen.

  Traffic was snarled along Beach Hollow Road and she crawled past the Purple Grape and Bijoux. It appeared as if everyone was headed into town at once. She was relieved when she reached the inn.

  She pulled into the parking lot and was about to head to the back and the service entrance when she noticed two sawhorses arranged in a line blocking the way. Even with her windows closed, the smell of hot asphalt filled the car. Two men holding rakes were standing next to a giant pothole that had formed in the macadam.

  She was turning around when someone knocked on the driver’s-side window.

  Kelly smiled as Monica buzzed down her window.

  “Do you have time for a quick breakfast?” she said.

  Monica glanced at her watch. She really should get back to the kitchen, but then her stomach growled and she decided she could spare a bit of time.

  Monica parked her car and joined Kelly at the front door of the inn.

  “I’ve already had a little something to eat, but I’m still hungry. It will have to be quick though,” she said as she followed Kelly to the dining room.

  The hostess smiled broadly at them as she grabbed some menus and tucked them under her arm.

  “Good morning, Miss Cargill,” she said.

  “They probably think we’re moving in,” Kelly whispered to Monica. “We’ve been here so long already. We’re just lucky the rooms were available. I have a feeling some palms were greased to make it possible.”

  She opened her menu and Monica did the same, quickly scanning it as she noticed the waitress headed in their direction. She appeared at their table, her pencil poised above her order pad.

  “I’ll have the spinach omelet,” Monica said, snapping her menu closed. The vitamin C in the spinach would be good for the baby.

  Kelly placed her order, the waitress nodded and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Are the police keeping you up-to-date on the search for your aunt’s killer?” Monica said, unfurling her napkin and placing it in her lap.

  Kelly shrugged. “Not really. They fob us off with minor details and assurances that they’re doing everything they can to solve the case.” She rolled her eyes. “Every day they promise we can all return home soon but I’ve stopped believing them.”

  The waitress appeared with their order and swiftly handed out the plates and a cup of coffee for Kelly.

  Kelly stirred sugar into her coffee and took a sip. “I’ve heard you’ve solved a few murder cases yourself.” She raised an eyebrow at Monica. “Who do you think did it?”

  Monica felt her face flush. “I’m afraid I have no idea. Sherry or Ray are the obvious suspects since they both had easy access to Sherry’s vial of medication, however, someone else could have snuck into the room at some point.” Monica decided against telling Kelly what she’d learned from LouAnn. It might mean nothing at all.

  “It’s all so distressing.” Kelly twisted the napkin in her lap. “Poor Beatrice is beside herself.”

  “I gather she’s also finding Cranberry Cove a bit stifling.” Monica picked up her knife.

  Kelly made a face. “She’s not interested in going to the beach and that’s the main attraction here. She can’t seem to concentrate on much of anything. All she talks about is how much she misses Violet.” Kelly sighed. “That’s certainly understandable.”

  “Edith seemed terribly upset as well.” Monica fiddled with her fork. “But Beatrice said that Violet treated Edith horribly.”

  Kelly’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I’ve never noticed. Certainly, Edith’s never complained.”

  That was odd, Monica thought. Had Violet hidden her bad behavior toward Edith or had Beatrice been lying? And if she had been lying, why?

  • • •

  Monica was headed back to the farm when the car in front of her slowed. Up ahead she saw two patrol cars parked horizontally across the road, their flashers going. A patrolman was standing in front of them, in the middle of the road. What was going on? Monica craned her neck and saw an ambulance up ahead along with an overturned car on the shoulder of the road. Another car, pointed in the wrong direction, was in the southbound lane. An accident, obviously.

  The patrolman motioned for Monica and the car in front of her to turn around. Monica waited for the other car then pulled onto the shoulder, reversed, then put the car in drive again and headed back in the direction she’d just come from.

  She thought of her grandmother Albertson, who always said there was more than one way to skin a cat. Fortunately, Monica knew of an alternate route and turned down a street that took her past a small strip mall with a party store, laundromat, a fitness studio with a Closed sign in the window and the Cranberry Cove Motel, a rather seedy place advertising rooms for twenty dollars a night.

  Monica nearly drove up onto the curb when she noticed a bright blue Lamborghini parked in the motel driveway outside of room seventeen. Could that be Aston’s car? Monica had never seen a Lamborghini in Cranberry Cove before, let alone one in that distinctive color. It had to belong to Aston. A bookie wouldn’t touch the odds of there being two blue Lamborghinis on the streets of Cranberry Cove with the proverbial ten-foot pole.

  Without even thinking, Monica pulled into the motel parking lot. She parked as far away from Aston’s car as she could get and settled down to wait. She would give it half an hour, and if no one emerged from the room by then, she’d give up and go back to the farm.

  She didn’t know what she expected to learn. Maybe Aston wanted to get away from the rest of the family and had decamped to the motel for some privacy. Or, he could be meeting someone who was staying in room seventeen, although Monica couldn’t imagine who that might be. The whole place suggested something clandestine and possibly even illegal.

  She was concentrating so hard she nearly jumped when the door to the room opened and someone walked out. She gasped when she realized it was Sherry Cargill. This was just about the last place on earth she expected to see Sherry, who was used to much finer things than this run-down place.

  Sherry turned her head in both directions before stepping away from the door. Her movements were furtive as she headed toward one of the only other cars in the parking lot.

  It wasn’t possible that Aston and Sherry would be at this same motel at the same time and not be with each other, so she wasn’t surprised when the door to room seventeen opened again as Sherry was pulling out of the parking lot and Aston stepped out.

  So, her suspicions had been correct. They were having an affair. Why else would they be holed up together in this sleazy motel?

  As Monica headed back toward the farm, she thought about how this new information slotted into everything she already knew about the rest of the case. What motive did Sherry or Aston have for murdering Violet? Unless Violet had found out about their affair and had threatened to tell Ray. Who knew what sort of prenup Sherry might have signed? She could have ended up without a cent if Ray divorced her.

  But what about Aston? Did this impact him in any way? He was clearly the golden child as far as Violet was concerned. He depended on his father for cash, but if Violet had threatened to tell Ray about the affair, that money would most likely have dried up.

  It seemed as if both of them had a perfectly good reason for wanting Violet dead.

  Chapter 11

  Everyone was working hard when Monica got back to the farm kitchen. Mick was pulling tins of muffins out of the oven and there were scones, drizzled with a sugar glaze, cooling on racks.

  “Nora needs some muffins,” Janice said as Monica shut the door.

  “I’ve got a batch still hot from the oven,” Mick said with a flourish. “And the scones are ready to go as well.”

  “I’ll take them down to the shop.”

  “Are you sure?” Nancy knitted her brows. She glanced at Monica’s stomach and raised an eyebrow. “You must be due any minute now.”

  Monica clenched her teeth. “Yes, but not this minute. I’m fine. The walk will do me good. The doctor did tell me to get some light exercise.”

  Nancy tightened her lips and looked away.

  Mick helped Monica load the cart with all the newly baked goodies. The aroma was intoxicating as the scent of sugar, cinnamon and butter wafted toward her.

  “These all smell so delicious,” Monica said. “I had a perfectly good breakfast but lately I’ve been craving sweets.”

  Janice’s posture perked up. “You know what they say about that.”

  Monica was fairly certain she didn’t know what they said about that.

  Janice crossed her arms over her chest. “It means you’re having a girl.” She gave a smug smile.

  “Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?” Monica said with a sweet smile.

  So much for Janice’s old wives’ tales, she thought as she wheeled the cart through the door and out to the path that led to the farm store. Janice had already told her, quite confidently, that her shape indicated she was having a boy. But now her craving for sweets indicated she was having a girl. One thing she knew for sure—she wasn’t expecting twins.

  • • •

  She was glad to be back outside. The day was mild with a slight breeze and only scattered clouds floating across the blue sky. She felt her spirits rise and she was humming when she arrived at the store.

  Nora gave her a brief wave and then went back to filling a customer’s bag with slices of cranberry coffee cake and cranberry walnut chocolate chunk cookies. She rang the order up and handed the bag to the woman.

  “Aha, replenishments,” Nora said, eyeing Monica’s cart. “Let’s get these sorted out.”

  She handed Monica a piece of glassine and together they arranged the new stock in the baskets and on the platters in the display case.

  Monica noticed Nora sneaking glances at her stomach. At least Nora wouldn’t be spouting any pregnancy old wives’ tales—she was much too down to earth for that.

  They both stood back and admired the display they’d created. The baskets were threaded with red-and-white gingham check ribbon and the platters were antiques Monica had picked up in thrift stores.

  “You must be due any day now,” Nora said, eyeing Monica from the corner of her eye. “If I had to do it over again, I don’t think I’d have kids.” Seeing Monica’s shocked face, she laughed. “I’m just kidding, but I have to admit the boys are quite a handful.” She blew out a puff of air. “They’ve been complaining that they’re bored ever since their game console broke. How can they be bored in the summer? There are so many things they could be doing outside.” Nora slipped behind the counter again.

  “The younger one broke his arm trying to climb a tree and his older brother refuses to have anything to do with him.” She sighed. “It’s a constant fight.”

  They both looked toward the door when they heard it open. It was Detective Stevens.

  She said hello to Monica then ordered a coffee and a slice of cranberry coffee cake.

  “I know it’s rather hot for coffee,” she said as she carried her tray over to one of the small round tables at the front of the store. “But I need a jolt of caffeine to wake me up. My son has one of those summer colds. I don’t know why, but a summer cold always feels even more miserable than the ones you get in the winter.”

  Monica made a mental note to talk to Nora about carrying iced coffee in the summer. Just plain coffee—not any of those fancy drinks with impossible names they serve in some upscale coffee shops. The Sassamanash Farm store’s customers were far from fancy.