Stevens touched Monica’s arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t return your call. What with the sick kid and some things going on at the station, I’m afraid I forgot. I hope it wasn’t too important.”

  Monica took the seat opposite Stevens. She explained about the conversation she’d overheard and how Ray appeared to be in financial trouble.

  Stevens nodded slowly. “That’s interesting. I can see how Violet’s death would have benefited her son if he needed money.”

  Monica brushed her hair off her face. “Has there been any other movement in the Cargill case?”

  “Not much. At least not anything I can share at this time. I’m sure you understand.” Stevens gave Monica a smile. “But I do have some information about those bones found at the site of your new house.”

  “Oh?”

  Stevens gulped her coffee and made a face. “Hot,” she said, fanning her face. “Bodies decompose at different rates—some more slowly than others. But given a couple of years, you wouldn’t find much more than a skeleton no matter what.”

  She took a bite of her coffee cake and brushed the crumbs off her top.

  “So, it’s likely the bones are at least a few years old. Unfortunately, though, it’s almost impossible to tell exactly how old.” She took another gulp of her coffee. “There could be an innocent explanation for the bones being buried there, but it’s hard to imagine what it could be. You can’t just bury someone in your backyard. At least not without zoning approval and a permit from the Health Department.”

  “So, the person who had a house on that land originally had buried a relative there?”

  “I’ve got someone looking through old records to see if a permit was ever issued. As you can imagine, not many people request approval to bury someone on their property. We’re also looking into cold cases—someone who disappeared and was never found. Although that’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  Stevens finished her coffee and cake, said goodbye and left. Monica was preparing to take the empty cart back to the kitchen when the door opened again and Edith walked in.

  She was wearing white capri pants and had a visor shading her eyes.

  “I tried your salsa at the inn last night,” she said when she saw Monica, “and I had to come and sample some more of your goodies. Dawn, at the front desk, said your cookies are heavenly.”

  Edith continued to chatter while Nora fetched two cookies from the display case and poured out a cup of coffee.

  “Has there been any word from the police about poor Violet’s death?” Edith said as she carried her tray to the same table Stevens had just vacated.

  Monica leaned on the back of the opposite chair. “Nothing new, I’m afraid. At least nothing they’re willing to tell us.”

  Monica wanted to leave to get back to the kitchen but Edith continued to talk until she finally pulled the chair out and sat down.

  “I don’t suppose the will can be probated while the case is still going on.” Edith took a bite of the cranberry oatmeal cookie and sighed. “It’s going to leave me in the lurch, I’m afraid. I do hope they’ll let me stay in Violet’s house in the meantime.” She broke off bits of cookie and nibbled them like a squirrel. “Probate can take up to a year or more. I do have an elderly cousin out East but I wouldn’t want to intrude. And I can hardly afford a house or apartment myself.”

  She blew on her coffee. “Violet wasn’t stingy but she had trouble keeping up with the times and how much things cost. She never had to worry about money—her accountant took care of her bills and her financial advisor made sure her money didn’t run out. She wouldn’t know the cost of a loaf of bread if her life depended on it.” She giggled. “Sorry. Unfortunate turn of phrase. I’ve been frugal and have put money aside, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t last long. Not in this economy.” She rolled her eyes.

  Monica didn’t know what to say. “Let’s hope it doesn’t take all that long.”

  A smug look came across Edith’s face. “I’m expecting a tidy sum. Violet promised me that I would be quite well off. That will certainly be something new!”

  Edith leaned closer to Monica. “I know Violet made some changes to her will before she died. Mr. Bishop, her lawyer, came to see her one day and they spent quite a bit of time closeted up in the library.” She wet her finger and picked up the crumbs of her cookie. “And with the antics of those two, I wouldn’t be surprised if Violet cut them out of her will.” She sat back in her seat with a satisfied smile. “That means there will be more to go around.”

  “What do you mean—the antics of those two?”

  “Violet was quite distraught when she found out. I hated to see her so upset, but I felt it was my duty to let her know.” Edith put a hand over her heart. “It was only because I didn’t want to see her taken advantage of.”

  Monica was ready to scream. What was Edith talking about? Or rather, who?

  Edith leaned closer again. “I’m talking about Aston and Sherry.”

  Monica was beginning to think she knew where this was going.

  “Aston and Sherry . . . ?”

  “They were having an affair,” Edith whispered. “Can you imagine? It would be improper under any circumstances, but Ray’s son and his own wife! No wonder it upset Violet so.”

  “So, Violet knew Aston and Sherry were having an affair. And you think she cut them out of her will?”

  Edith bobbed her head. “Yes. Well, Aston at least. I doubt Violet would have left Sherry a dime. Besides, Ray will get the bulk of the estate and no doubt Sherry will be running all over town spending the money as fast as she can.”

  Monica had felt that spending time talking to Edith would be a waste of time, but it had proved to be very informative indeed. She wondered if Aston knew he was being cut out of the will? Assuming Edith was right, of course. She could imagine how angry that would make him. And how desperate. And as for Sherry, if Ray found out about the affair, he’d most likely divorce her.

  It reinforced the idea that each of them had a motive for murder.

  It didn’t occur to her until she was on her way back to the kitchen that cutting Aston out of the will might mean more money for Edith, and that gave her a motive as well.

  Chapter 12

  When she walked into the farm kitchen, Monica was surprised to see everyone standing around munching on cookies with various shades of delight on their faces. They looked slightly guilty when they saw Monica and Nancy quickly wiped some crumbs off the front of her apron.

  “We thought you’d gone to the hospital,” Janice said. “You must be overdue by now?” She raised her eyebrows. “What you need is a spoonful of castor oil. It brings on labor. And if that doesn’t work, eating some spicy food usually does the trick.”

  Monica sighed in exasperation. She didn’t have any castor oil—would downing a spoonful of hot sauce do the trick?

  Mick gave Monica a triumphant smile and waved a cookie in her direction.

  “Try one,” he said.

  Monica frowned. “What’s this?” she said as he handed it to her.

  Mick looked around at the others. “It’s our newest creation.”

  “And it’s delicious,” Nancy said, mumbling slightly as she took another bite.

  “What is it?” Monica repeated. She examined the cookie. It was a sandwich cookie, the top and bottom pieces studded with cranberries and held together with a faintly orange cream feeling.

  “It’s a cranberry oatmeal sandwich cookie with an orange-scented cream filling.” Mick said. He watched intently as Monica took a bite.

  “Mmmm,” she said, taking another nibble. “Mmmm . . . these are delicious.”

  Mick bowed with a flourish, an arm bent in front and back of his waist. “Our newest creation,” he said proudly.

  “It’s . . . absolutely delicious,” Monica said, reaching toward the platter for another cookie.

  “I’ll have another one of those, too,” Janice said, putting out a hand.

  For a moment, they all munched in silence.

  “What do you think?” Mick said, his eyebrows raised. “Should we put these on the menu?”

  “Absolutely. But before we do that, can I have another one?” Monica grinned.

  “Sure. I’ll get started on another batch,” Mick said with a look of triumph.

  • • •

  “I have an idea,” Greg said when he got home from Book ’Em. He gave Monica a kiss. “How about we go out to dinner tonight? We won’t have too many more opportunities.” His eyes twinkled.

  “That’s a great idea. Let me freshen up a bit.”

  Monica hummed a tune under her breath as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. She was going to miss their little cottage, she thought, as she peered into the nursery. But the new house was going to be wonderful and she’d get used to it soon enough. Besides, it would be quite a few more months before it was finished.

  Stevens had had the patrolmen cordon off the area where Hercule had dug up the bones, but fortunately it wasn’t preventing work on the house from going forward. The foreman assured her they were still on schedule.

  Monica took a quick shower—she’d begun to feel like a wilted flower needing to be restored—dabbed on a tiny bit of makeup and pulled her dark curls into a loose bun. She dove into her closet and surveyed the selection. She hadn’t purchased that many maternity clothes—why spend the money when she’d only be wearing them for a few short months—but her mother had insisted on buying her one good outfit, as Nancy put it, for special occasions. Monica deemed this a special occasion since there didn’t seem to be any others on the horizon.

  She slipped on the gauzy white dress with its empire waist and fluttery sleeves. The material floated a couple of inches above her ankles and swirled in a circle when she did an experimental twirl. She fished around in her closet, pulled out a pair of strappy gold sandals and slipped them on.

  Greg gave a long, low whistle when she descended the stairs. “You look magnificent,” he said, his eyes glowing.

  Monica felt her face turn pink as she picked up her purse, and they went out the door with Greg’s arm around her waist.

  • • •

  The evening was still warm and Monica was relieved when they entered the air-conditioned atmosphere of the Pepper Pot. All the seats at the bar were taken and the bartender was hurrying from one end of the bar to the other, refilling drinks and making new ones. Several couples were seated on a padded bench against the wall in front of the hostess station. One gray-haired gentleman scowled and looked at his watch.

  “We may have to wait,” Greg said, nodding his head toward the people lined up on the bench.

  “I don’t mind. Gina said Mickey has put the grilled chicken satay on the menu for the summer and I’m dying for some.”

  “Sounds good. But let me know if you get too tired.”

  Greg was about to shepherd Monica to an empty spot on the bench when they noticed Kelly heading toward them.

  “We have room at our table if you don’t want to wait,” she said.

  Greg and Monica looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Sure, why not,” Monica said as they followed Kelly to a table for eight. Ray, Sherry, Beatrice and Edith were seated and four of the chairs were unoccupied.

  Everyone stared rather pointedly at Monica’s stomach. She was beginning to feel like a slacker for not having had the baby yet but you couldn’t hurry Mother Nature.

  Ray signaled for the waitress, who hurried over to their table. “What will you have?” he said to Monica and Greg.

  They placed their orders and the waitress scurried away like an insect fleeing the light.

  Ray took a long pull on his drink—a martini by the look of it. Monica noticed there was a green olive sandwiched between two ice cubes.

  He put the glass down then immediately picked it up again and began shaking it so that the ice cubes rattled against the side of the glass. Monica wondered what was making him so nervous, although maybe it was normal under the circumstances.

  The atmosphere of the Pepper Pot was comfortably casual and Ray was wearing a sport coat with an open-necked shirt and khaki trousers. Sherry, on the other hand, had opted for a more glamorous look in a white-and-gold-striped crochet dress that hugged her curves and had a low V-neckline and thin straps that offered a good view of her abundant cleavage. Diamond chandelier earrings that winked in the light dangled from her ears.

  Beatrice was staring at Sherry with a look of disdain. She herself was dressed in a conservative navy blue dress with a white cardigan around her shoulders. The animosity between the two was almost palpable.

  Their waitress had just taken their dinner order when Gina appeared at their table.

  “Welcome to the Pepper Pot,” she said, leaning on the back of the empty chair. “I’m grabbing a quick bite with Mickey.” She jerked a thumb toward the back of the restaurant. “I’d ask you to join us but it’s only a table for two.”

  “That’s okay.” Monica smiled and introduced her stepmother to the rest of the party.

  “You look very glamorous tonight,” Greg said, accepting a kiss on the cheek. “Like a movie star.”

  “Ha!” Gina snorted. “Have you seen what the stars wear these days? Ripped jeans, sports bras and sneakers. Unless they’re going out for the evening, then it’s a dress with barely enough material to make a scarf and sheer enough to see through.” She shook her head. “That’s too far even for me.”

  She eyed Sherry and Sherry eyed her back. Monica could tell the two women were assessing each other. Sherry was a good deal younger than Gina, although Gina did everything in her power to maintain her looks from Botox to hair extensions to juice cleanses.

  Sherry seemed to recognize Gina as a somewhat kindred spirit. “Where’s a good place to go shopping round here?” she said.

  Gina rolled her eyes. “There’s Danielle’s Boutique and that’s about it, I’m afraid. But they do have some nice things.”

  “I’ll have to check it out.” Sherry turned to Ray. “I’ll need some money,” she said.

  “Money!” Ray exploded. “I’ve given you money. What have you done with it? For once I haven’t seen you bringing in armloads of shopping bags, so where did it go? Did you flush it down the toilet?”

  His face had turned a mottled red and his fists were clenched.

  Sherry stared at him for a moment then pushed her chair back and ran from the table.

  “Where is she going?” Ray demanded, the color in his face slowly receding. He scowled.

  “Probably the ladies’ room,” Monica said. “I’ll go check on her.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Kelly began to get up.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into Sherry,” Kelly said as they wended their way between the tables. “She’s been so nervous lately.” She pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. “I suppose Aunt Violet’s murder could have put her on edge.”

  Sherry was leaning over the sink when they entered. She whirled around at the sound of the door opening. Her eyes were red and she had a scrunched-up tissue pressed to her mouth.

  Kelly immediately went over to her. “What’s the matter? What’s got you so upset?”

  “Nothing,” Sherry insisted. “Everything.” And she burst into tears.

  Kelly put an arm around her and slowly Sherry’s sobs subsided.

  “Ray is being so mean,” Sherry said. “I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t give me some more money.”

  “What do you need it for?” Kelly said. “Maybe whatever it is can wait until he’s calmed down?”

  Sherry shook her head vigorously. “It won’t. It can’t.”

  “What is it then?” Kelly said, slightly more firmly.

  “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone.” Sherry yanked open the door. “I just can’t.”

  • • •

  On Sunday morning Monica stretched luxuriously and pulled the covers up to her chin. She wouldn’t be working in the farm kitchen so she could stay in bed as long as she liked. She might have stayed in bed all morning if it hadn’t been for the scent of frying bacon coming from the kitchen. She tried to ignore it but her stomach rumbled and she realized she was starving.

  She dressed quickly and made her way downstairs. Greg had set the table and put out a platter of bacon and fried eggs. Thick slices of golden toast sat on another plate and opposite it was the Sunday paper.

  “I thought you might be hungry,” Greg said with a twinkle in his eye. He put his arms around Monica. “Can’t forget you’re eating for two.”

  “I know. But the doctor keeps reminding me it only takes an extra three hundred calories a day to nourish the baby. Anything over that goes on me and stays there.”

  Monica eased herself onto a chair. Hercule sat next to her, his tail swishing back and forth across the floor.

  “I should give you a job sweeping the floor,” Monica said as she pulled out her chair and sat down. Hercule stared at her with soulful eyes and Monica couldn’t resist—she slipped him a tiny bit of bacon.

  They divided up the newspaper—Greg handed Monica the first section and she offered him the sports page.

  The headline above the fold on the right side of the front page caught her eye and she began to read. After several minutes she put down the paper and looked at Greg.

  “The Cranberry Cove Chronicle is going online,” she said, pointing to the article. “All of the Cargill Papers are.”

  “That’s quite an undertaking, I should imagine,” Greg said, peering over the top of the sports section. “Not to mention an expensive one.”

  If the conversation Monica had overheard between Ray and that other man was anything to go by, Ray was having financial trouble. Was this why he had borrowed money from that fellow? And had Violet’s death been more than fortuitous?

  “How about taking a walk on the beach?” Greg said when they’d finished clearing up the dishes. He glanced out the open window. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  “Sure. Maybe a walk will get things going.” Monica pointed to her stomach. “It’s better than trying Janice’s suggestion of castor oil.”