A Berry Suspicious Death, page 17
“Where are you going with this? Do you think he showed my mother a photo of this African mask he owns and that scared her and led to her hallucinations?”
Monica shook her head. “No. I think he showed her the mask itself. Although he didn’t show it to her—he scared her with it. He waited until she was nearly falling asleep and then terrorized her. I imagine he insisted that her nightmares weren’t real.”
“Now that you mention it, I do remember him reassuring her after one of her bad dreams.” Philippa stopped pacing and leaned against the counter. “But why? Why would he do something like that?”
“It’s only a guess but it makes sense. I think your mother knew he took her engagement ring and she threatened to go to the authorities. At the very least she planned to tell his employer. Did your mother take medication for her heart condition?”
“Yes. Several pills a day.”
“So, it would have been easy for Alex to deduce her heart was fragile.”
“I suppose so.”
“They say you can cause a heart attack by scaring a person if that person is already suffering from some sort of cardiac problem. I think Alex did that to your mother. He used that mask to frighten her, hoping she would have a heart attack and die. He got lucky—she happened to be in her bath when it occurred, causing her to slip beneath the water and drown.”
Philippa put a hand to her head. “This is terrible. Just terrible.” She looked at Monica. “Have you told the police this?”
Monica sighed. “No. It’s only a theory.”
“That may be, but it makes perfect sense, don’t you think?”
Chapter 19
Should she tell Detective Stevens about the African mask and what she’d deduced? Monica wondered as she and Teddy drove away from Philippa’s house. If Kiran was actually innocent, it would cause him a lot of distress. And perhaps the police had already uncovered facts that led in a completely different direction. She would merely be causing an unnecessary distraction.
Her cell phone rang as she was feeding Teddy. She glanced at the number and groaned.
“Monica? It’s Mom.”
Monica stifled a sigh. “Yes, Mom?”
“We’re all quite excited here. Some good news. We received a last-minute request from the Restful Haven funeral parlor. They’re hosting a memorial for a client followed by a small reception and they’re asking if we can deliver some baked goods to serve with the coffee. Apparently, the manager of the Cranberry Cove Inn told them about us. Mick, bless him, has managed to pull everything together—some cranberry muffins, a dozen scones and a cranberry orange streusel cake.”
Their little baking enterprise was expanding, Monica thought. First a small chain of gourmet stores had started selling their cranberry salsa, then the Cranberry Cove Inn began ordering cranberry salsa as well as cranberry compote, and word must have spread because now Restful Haven was looking to them for baked goods. An idea began to percolate in her mind. She’d have to run it past Greg to see what he thought.
“Does Mick need any help?” Guilt settled in Monica’s stomach like a heavy rock. She should be at the farm kitchen helping out. On the other hand, Teddy needed her too. She felt like a rubber band being pulled in opposite directions. Just so it didn’t snap.
“We could use some help, dear. We’ll watch Teddy for you if you wouldn’t mind delivering the order.”
“Sure,” Monica said without hesitation. Maybe this errand would assuage some of her guilty feelings. “Teddy’s been fed and should be good for another couple of hours.” She glanced at the baby. “He looks ready to take a nap so he shouldn’t be any trouble.”
“That’s marvelous. The order needs to be delivered pronto. I would take it myself but my car is in the shop and Janice gave me a lift this morning.”
Monica ended the call with a feeling of purpose. She was needed. She had to admit, if only to herself, that she’d been a little hurt that the farm kitchen and store were running so well without her.
Teddy began kicking his feet as she tucked him into his carriage, and by the time they were within sight of the farm kitchen he’d managed to kick off both of his socks.
“Wonderful,” Nancy exclaimed when Monica arrived. “Everything is ready to go.” She bent over Teddy’s carriage and smiled. Despite the carriage bouncing over the bumpy dirt path, his eyes had closed and he’d fallen asleep.
Janice joined Nancy and they both peeked into the carriage. “Bare feet! He could get hypothermia.” She tsk-tsked as she retrieved his socks and put them back on him.
Monica found herself struggling not to scream. “It’s not that cold out. I doubt he was in danger of developing hypothermia.”
Janice’s expression hardened. “You can’t be too careful.”
Fortunately, Mick chose that moment to arrive with a large box. “Here you go.” He carried it over to the table. “One dozen cranberry muffins, a dozen scones and a cranberry orange cake with streusel topping.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Can you manage?”
“No problem.” Monica hefted the box onto her hip. “I won’t be long,” she called over her shoulder as she went out the door.
The Restful Haven funeral parlor seemed to be doing a brisk business. A number of cars were already in the parking lot when Monica drove in. She found a vacant spot and retrieved the box of baked goods from the trunk of her car. A delicious aroma wafted from the contents and Monica’s stomach grumbled. She was tempted to snitch one of the muffins.
As she walked up the winding path to the funeral parlor, she daydreamed about possible future plans for the farm’s goods. In that moment it felt as if the sky was the limit.
She was once again greeted by a man in a black suit and tie, although this one was younger and sported an unhealthy pallor, as if he hadn’t seen daylight in months. He eyed the box in Monica’s arms.
“Is that for the Fisher memorial reception?” His voice was so low, she had to lean forward to hear.
Fisher? Monica searched her memory. Wasn’t that Timmy’s last name?
“Follow me.” The young man began to silently glide down the hall, the rubber soles of his shoes soundless on the wood floor. Monica found herself tiptoeing lest her footsteps disturb the silence. A hush hung over the building like a thick cloud and she could hear a clock ticking on a walnut side table. They passed a visitation room where people were filing past the casket displayed at the front and a smaller room with a discreet sign that read Family Room.
He led Monica into a small room at the back of the funeral parlor where a lace curtain fluttered in the breeze from the partially opened window. A long table, covered in a white cloth and stacked with dessert plates and napkins, was pushed against one wall and a smaller table set with a coffee urn and cups and saucers was across from it.
Monica began to arrange the baked goods on the table. Fortunately, Mick had thought to include several disposable platters. She spent a few minutes fussing then stood back and studied the display, changing the positions of one or two things until she was finally satisfied.
She was about to pick up the now empty box when Candi Clawson walked into the room. The dark roots were showing in her hair and her short black dress hung on her as if she had lost weight since she’d purchased it. She’d eschewed her signature chandelier earrings and was instead wearing small gold studs.
“Oh,” she said when Monica turned around. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I delivered the food.” Monica waved a hand at the display on the table.
“The funeral parlor said they would take care of it but I had no idea . . .” Candi bit her lip. “I thought this was the least I could do for Timmy. He has no family, or at least none that care about him.”
Monica was about to leave when people began to file into the room. A young man wearing jeans, a plaid flannel shirt and clutching a Detroit Tigers baseball cap in his hands looked over the selection of baked goods but didn’t take anything.
An older couple arrived shortly afterward, the woman leaning heavily on a cane while the man held her arm. They introduced themselves as Timmy’s former neighbors. They made a beeline for Monica’s cranberry goods and loaded up plates with cranberry muffins and slices of cake. A few armless chairs had been arranged against the two remaining walls and they shuffled over to them and sat down.
Candi was talking to them when another girl walked in. She looked to be in her twenties and was pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way. She had thick auburn hair brushed back from her forehead and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Candi turned around to see who the newcomer was and her jaw went slack.
She stood for a moment, tottering on her high heels, then launched herself at the new arrival.
“How dare you show up here.” Her voice rose to a screech.
The older couple’s heads shot up, momentarily distracted from the slices of cake they were eating.
The girl took a step backward. “I have every right to be here.” Her voice grew stronger with each word and she raised her chin. “I loved Timmy and he loved me.”
“He didn’t love you.” Candi’s face was so red Monica began to worry. “He loved me. We were going to be married. We have a son.”
“No.” The girl put her hands on either side of her face. “That’s not true. It can’t be. Timmy never told me . . .”
Candi had begun to sob. “I knew he was cheating on me. He came home one night smelling of that perfume you always wear. He promised me it wouldn’t happen again. That it didn’t mean anything. That you meant nothing to him.”
The girl reeled as if each of Candi’s words was a slap.
The young man with the baseball cap looked poised to bolt out the door but the elderly couple seemed to be hanging on every word.
Monica found it quite interesting that Timmy had been cheating on Candi. Did Timmy keep his promise that it wouldn’t happen again? Or had the affair continued despite what he’d promised Candi? It must have been a blow to Candi, who’d been picturing marriage and a home for their son.
Could it have angered her enough to contemplate committing murder? Someone had been in the car with Timmy when he was shot. And the chandelier earring the police had found in the passenger well of the car was like the ones Candi wore. It wasn’t out of the question to assume that she had been the one sitting in the front seat of the car with Timmy. The question, though, was whether she was the one who had pulled the trigger?
The funeral parlor was hushed with only the low murmur of voices coming through the open doors. Monica tiptoed back down the hall, past the visitation room, the family room, the reception desk and finally out the front door. She paused for a moment on the walkway to take a deep breath. The atmosphere inside the funeral parlor had felt close and the smell of decaying lilies permeating the air had contributed to the sensation of claustrophobia. She held her face up to the sun, enjoying the feeling of warmth on her skin after the chill inside.
She’d nearly reached her car when she noticed a woman walking toward her. She looked familiar and as she got closer, Monica realized it was Stephanie, the receptionist at Johnny-on-the-Spot. Monica stopped and said hello when they were nearly abreast of each other.
Stephanie looked startled. She lowered her sunglasses and peered at Monica.
“I’m afraid I don’t . . .”
“We met at Johnny-on-the-Spot when I went to check on an invoice for my stepmother.”
Stephanie’s face was blank then suddenly cleared. “Oh, now I remember.” She rubbed her forehead. “You have to excuse me. I’ve been in a fog ever since the baby was born. He’s still not sleeping through the night and it’s beginning to get to me.”
“I know how you feel. I have an infant myself.”
Stephanie perked up. “Then you do know how I feel. My friends all seem to have forgotten what it’s like with a newborn. Most of their children are already in school.” She scratched at a stain on the front of her jacket.
“Are you here for Timmy Fisher?”
Stephanie looked slightly embarrassed. “Yeah. I didn’t know him well but I kinda felt sorry for him, you know?” She shrugged. “He was a bit of a loner and I was afraid no one would show up.” She gestured toward the funeral parlor. “Everyone deserves a good send-off, my father always used to say.”
She glanced up sharply. “Now I remember you,” she said as if it had suddenly occurred to her. “You were asking about the missing porta-potty. And we talked about how weird it was that Lou wasn’t invoicing those two customers who were getting porta-potties every week. And you know what?” She poked Monica’s arm. “I remember the one guy because he had such a weird name. Just one name. He must have changed it because I can’t imagine his parents picked it out for him. I saw an ad in the Cranberry Cove Chronicle that he’s opened a spa in Cranberry Cove. That’s what brought it back. Kiran. His name was Kiran.”
Now that was interesting, Monica thought as she drove back to the farm. Interesting, but what did it mean? What was Kiran doing with a weekly delivery of a porta-potty? And why wasn’t Johnny-on-the-Spot charging him for it? Did it fit in with her theory that the porta-potties were being used to transport drugs?
She thought she had the answer and she thought she knew how to prove it.
• • •
“You want to do what?” Gina said when Monica phoned her. Monica could picture her expression, her filler-enhanced lips curved into an astonished round O. There was a long pause before Gina spoke again. “Soul Spring Spa does have a class tonight. I think you’ll like it. It’s VR.”
Monica frowned. “I’m almost afraid to ask. What’s VR?” Could it be even worse than crawling around on the floor making animal sounds?
“Virtual Reality. You wear these special goggles and you do cardio routines in a virtual landscape like the jungle or outer space.”
Would they be crawling around on the floor and making animal sounds but in a virtual jungle this time?
“I think you’ll like it.”
Monica didn’t know about that but it didn’t matter. It suited her purpose so she’d do it.
“Okay, I’m game.”
“Good for you. I’ll pick you up at six forty-five. Greg should be home by then and he can look after Teddy.” Monica was about to end the call when Gina said, “Oh, and be sure to wear dark clothing.”
Chapter 20
Even though Monica thought Gina was being overly dramatic, she managed to scrounge up a pair of black leggings and a black T-shirt. At least it was mostly black—Save the Whales was written across the front in white lettering.
“What is it going to be this time?” Greg patted Teddy’s back as he lay on his shoulder. “Hula-Hoops? Jump ropes?”
Monica grimaced. “Something called virtual reality cardio.”
“Good luck,” Greg called as Monica headed out the door to the driveway, where Gina’s Mercedes was purring impatiently.
Gina looked her over. “I thought you were going to wear black?”
“I am.” Monica pointed at her T-shirt. “See?”
“But the writing on it is white. Seriously. Save the Whales?” Gina stepped on the gas and they shot down the driveway.
Monica was half hoping there’d be a reason to avoid going to the spa—a road closure, sudden power outage . . . anything. What had she been thinking when she’d cooked up this scheme? She hadn’t been. Thinking. That was the problem.
Despite Monica’s prayers, they arrived at Soul Spring Spa on time and more or less in one piece, although she was slightly shaken and stirred by Gina’s driving.
Kiran was at the door to welcome them wearing safari garb—sand-colored cargo pants, a camouflage campaign shirt and a pair of lace-up boots. He handed out the virtual reality headsets and they filed into the exercise room, taking their places around the floor.
Monica thought the headsets made them look like a group of snorkelers. Just so there weren’t any sharks.
The class began and Monica found herself in a startlingly real jungle landscape where she was being forced to run uphill through knee-high grasses. Suddenly a very realistic-looking lion appeared, roared loudly and began to salivate at the sight of her. She ran faster. A coiled snake reared up out of the swaying grasses and hissed at her. Her heartbeat took a leap forward and sweat was beginning to pour down her face. She was quite sure she jumped ten feet in the air when Gina tapped her on the shoulder.
She ripped off her headset, put her hands on her knees and panted, frantically trying to take in enough oxygen.
“Let’s go,” Gina whispered.
Monica was more than willing to comply. She glanced at Kiran. He was at the front of the class pretending to box with a predator. She had to stifle a laugh as she and Gina slipped from the room.
“Let’s look in his office first.”
Gina led the way and Monica followed. She half expected to see a wild animal jump out of the shadows at her. She was beginning to wonder if her plan to steal a bottle of the powdered Thermodynamics was a good idea. What if the analysis showed it was a completely harmless, if also useless, substance made up of various herbal supplements?
There was no going back now. Gina was already opening the door to the office closet and riffling through the cabinet. She held her hands out. “Nothing. But there are other places to look.”
She and Monica inched their way down the hall, where they could hear the huffing and puffing of the women still struggling through a virtual jungle in the exercise room.
There was a noise at the end of the hall and Monica stifled a yelp. She was trying to come up with an explanation for sneaking around when she realized no one was there. She put a hand to her chest. That had gotten her heart rate up even higher than the exercise class had.
“There’s a storeroom back here.” Gina opened a door, felt along the wall and flicked on the light. She motioned to Monica. “Quick,” and shut the door behind her.
