Berried Secrets (19 page)

Gina must have noticed. “When I was with your father, I had to wear all these conservative clothes like those buttoned-up St. John's knit suits. Now I can let my own personality out.” She circled in front of Monica. “Like it?”

Monica managed to stifle her initial reaction. “It's certainly . . . creative,” she said finally, searching for a word that she could use with a straight face and that could still be considered complimentary.

“Thanks.” Gina perched on the edge of one of the kitchen chairs, her foot jiggling in its customary fashion. “I wonder where Jeffie is?” she asked a few minutes later. “He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

“He may have gotten held up by something.” Monica looked
out the kitchen window. It was already dark—Jeff was unlikely to still be out at the bogs.

Another ten minutes went by, and Gina's foot was now jiggling double time. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and tapped in the number with the tips of her manicured nails.

After several seconds she lowered the phone and looked at Monica. “No answer.” She frowned. “This isn't like Jeff. It's not like him at all.”

Monica had to agree, but she didn't want to sound alarmist. Jeff was only twenty minutes late—there could be any number of perfectly ordinary reasons why.

Monica finished putting her dishes in the dishwasher. She turned toward Gina. “Do you want something to eat . . . ?”

“No, thanks. I'm too wound up.” As if to corroborate that, Gina's foot jiggling picked up even more speed, nearly becoming a blur.

Ten minutes later, Gina was pacing around the kitchen. “Maybe we should go check on him? Maybe he's ill or hurt or . . . something?”

“You know Jeff—if we do that he'll think we're babying him because of his injury. Why don't you try calling him again?”

“Okay.” Gina stopped moving long enough to dial. She pressed her phone to her ear so tightly, Monica could see her knuckles turning white.

“Anything?”

Gina shook her head. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she swiped at it impatiently. “It's just that Jeff is all I have. Your father left me, my parents are long gone. I have no sisters or brothers. My father had a sister, Aunt Clarice, but she's in
a nursing home somewhere in Iowa.” She made a circular motion around her temple with her finger. “Dementia. I tried calling her once but she had no idea who I was—thought I was her long-dead mother.” Gina collapsed into her chair. “What am I going to do?” She burst into full-fledged tears.

Monica was at a loss. She'd never been very good at dealing with other people's upsets. Her parents had considered emotions to be messy things that other people indulged in, but not them. She ran to the powder room to fetch a box of tissues and pushed them across the table to Gina.

“I think we're both worrying for no reason.”

Gina grabbed one and blew her nose loudly. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't be burdening you with this.” She looked up at Monica with tear-swollen eyes. “You mean a lot to me.” She reached out and grabbed Monica's hand. “I know you don't approve of me, and I don't blame you for being bitter that I broke up your parents' marriage—”

Monica was already shaking her head. “No, you didn't.” She squeezed Gina's hand. “Now that I'm older I can see that it was over before Dad ever met you.”

Gina gulped and gave a thin smile.

They both jumped when the front doorbell rang.

Gina's smile got even bigger and she leapt to her feet. “That must be Jeff now. I wonder why he didn't come to the back door the way he usually does?” She picked up her purse and slipped into the jacket she had draped over the back of the kitchen chair.

Monica frowned. Gina was right—it wasn't like Jeff to ring the front bell. He normally just walked in and gave her that lopsided grin that had been melting her heart since he was a toddler. She feared that Gina was going to be disappointed. She
hadn't said anything—she didn't want to worry Gina even more—but she was getting very concerned about Jeff herself.

Monica made her way to the front hall, Gina tight on her heels. She pulled open the door, and they both stood there for a moment, stunned.

It wasn't Jeff on Monica's doorstep but Lauren, her face pinched with worry. Her car was pulled up in front of Monica's cottage in such a way that it looked more abandoned than parked.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” she began.

“It's no bother,” Monica assured her. “Come in. It's getting cold out there.”

The wind had picked up and dried leaves were swirling around the driveway, making a sharp rustling sound.

“What's wrong?” Monica asked as soon as they were inside.

“It's Jeff.”

“I knew it,” cried Gina, stuffing the knuckles of her right hand into her mouth.

“Please, sit.” Monica pointed at the sofa. “Can I get you anything?”

Lauren shook her head and perched on the edge of the sofa. “Jeff was supposed to pick me up for dinner,” she said, gripping the fabric of her trousers with both hands. “He was late, which isn't like him. I tried calling him, but there was no answer. I thought maybe I misunderstood and was supposed to drive to his apartment myself.” Lauren took a big gulp of air. “He wasn't there. I didn't know what to do so I thought I would come here. I hope you don't mind.” She looked from Monica to Gina with pleading eyes. “I was hoping he was here, and we'd just gotten our signals crossed.”

Gina collapsed into the armchair. “I'm afraid he's not. We don't know where he is.” She looked at Monica.

“Let's not jump to conclusions,” Monica said, although she had already jumped to plenty of them herself. But this was no time to engage in her customary honesty.

She had barely finished speaking when her phone rang. They all looked at each other and then Monica sprinted toward the kitchen with Gina and Lauren right behind her.

“Hello?” She snatched the receiver from the cradle. “Jeff! Where are you? We've all been so worried.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you, but there was no time to call.”

“Has there been some sort of accident?” Monica tried to loosen her grip on the phone—she was getting a cramp in her hand.

“No, nothing like that. But one of the guys on the crew—Peter—has a brother who's a cop. His brother told him that there was a warrant out for my arrest. When I saw Detective Stevens pull into my driveway as I was getting ready to go pick up Lauren, I panicked.”

“What do you mean you panicked?” Monica was panicking herself—her heart slamming against her ribs, her mouth dry.

“I didn't answer the door, and when Stevens went back to her car, I took off.”

“Where are you now?”

“I don't want to tell you. That way if the police question you, you can be honest and say you don't know where I am.”

“Jeff, I think you're making a mistake.” Monica looked up to see Gina staring at her. She put up a hand to indicate that everything was going to be okay.

“I can't go to jail. I can't let them lock me up.”

“You're not going to go to jail,” Monica said firmly. “Even if it's true that they plan to arrest you, we'll call a lawyer and post bail.”

“How? We don't have any money. The farm is operating on borrowed time as it is.”

“Just tell me where you are.” Monica thought that if she could talk to Jeff face-to-face she could drill some sense into him.

“I can't tell you. Just let Mom and Lauren know that I'm okay. Please?”

“Jeff—” Monica said, but the dial tone cut her off.

“What's going on? What did Jeff say?” Gina grabbed Monica's arm.

Monica took a deep breath. “Jeff is fine, but he's . . . he's gone into hiding.”

“Hiding? What on earth for?” Gina sputtered.

“He seems to think that the police are about to arrest him.”

Lauren had become paler and paler during this exchange.

“Are you okay?” Monica moved toward her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Yes.” It was barely a whisper.

“What are we going to do?” Gina asked.

“There isn't much we can do. He won't tell me where he is.”

“We have to find him then.”

Monica chewed on the edge of a ragged cuticle. “Going into hiding is only going to make things worse for him.”

“We have to find him and persuade him to turn himself in.” Gina thumped the sofa cushion next to her. She jumped to her feet. “Once he explains things, everything will be alright.”

“But he doesn't have an alibi for Culbert's killing,” Monica pointed out. “He was out checking the temperatures in the bogs that night. The police could easily use that against him.”

Gina's posture stiffened. “I hope you don't think Jeffie did it.”

“No!” The word burst from Monica like an explosion. “Of course not. I'm just trying to put myself in the position of Detective Stevens.”

“Aren't people supposed to be innocent until proven guilty?” Gina shot back.

“Yes, of course they are,” Monica responded. “But the police have to go by clues and check alibis and things like that.”

“What about that woman who was killed?”

“Cora?”

“Yes, her. Jeffie had no reason to harm her. Not that I'm saying he had anything to do with Culbert's murder, either.” Gina crossed her arms over her chest.

Monica didn't want to be at odds with Gina. Things were difficult enough as it was. She went over to Gina and put her arms around her. Such physical demonstrations weren't the norm for Monica, and she wasn't entirely comfortable with it. Fortunately it seemed to do the trick because she could feel Gina relaxing slightly.

“I'm just trying to see things from Detective Stevens's perspective so that we're prepared for whatever may happen.”

Monica glanced at Lauren. The poor girl had been following the entire conversation, her head snapping from
Monica to Gina and back again. Monica was surprised she hadn't sustained a nasty case of whiplash.

A knock on the front door made them all bristle, and for a moment no one moved.

“I bet that's Jeffie.” Gina made for the door. “Maybe he's come to his senses.”

Lauren's face brightened at Gina's words, but Monica was doubtful, and she wasn't surprised when Gina flung open the door and uttered a startled cry at finding Detective Stevens standing on the doorstep.

“Yes, I'm still here,” Stevens said by way of greeting. She was panting slightly from the walk from her car to the door.

“Would you like some water?” Monica asked.

Stevens shook her head. “I'm fine. I wanted to see if your brother is here.”

“Why? So you can arrest him?” Gina took an aggressive stance in front of Stevens.

Stevens gave a weary smile. “I merely want to talk to him. If he's not here,” she looked around, “can you tell me where he is?”

“We don't know where he is.”

Stevens looked doubtful. “Has he been in touch at all?”

“No,” Monica said a little too quickly.

Stevens's brows rose.

Monica fidgeted with the cuff of her sweater. Now she understood why Jeff hadn't wanted to reveal his whereabouts. He knew she wouldn't be able to pull off lying convincingly to the police.

“It would be better for him if he came to us willingly. Maybe you can pass that message along to him next time you talk to him,” Stevens said as she made her way toward the door.

Monica went to the window and eased the curtain aside. “I guess she didn't believe us,” she said as soon as Stevens had gotten into her car and started down the drive. “We've got to find Jeff.”

“No,” Gina said. “Jeff is right. You're terrible at lying. You'd never be able to convince Stevens that you didn't know where he was.”

•   •   •

Monica had pretended to agree with Gina—that it was better if she didn't know where Jeff was hiding. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to go looking for him. She had an idea of where he might be, but she would have to wait till Gina went to bed or became occupied with the television before she could sneak out.

Monica made Gina some tea and toast—all she wanted—and pretended to settle down in front of the television to watch one of those shows where people sing in front of a panel of judges. Monica had never been much of a television watcher—she'd always been too busy, and when she had downtime she chose to pick up a book, preferably a mystery. But although she lounged in her chair with her feet up on an ottoman, the picture of ease, she was far from relaxed. Her mind was whirling. Was Jeff hiding where she suspected? And when would she be able to sneak out of the house to test her theory?

The television show was nearing the end. Monica glanced at Gina. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even. One arm lolled over the edge of the chair and her head was tilted slightly to the side.

Monica got up slowly, making as little noise as possible.
She would creep upstairs and close her bedroom door. If Gina woke and wondered where she was, she would assume that Monica had gone to sleep.

Monica crept back down the stairs and out to the kitchen. She eased open the drawer by the sink and took out the large, powerful flashlight Jeff had given her. She grabbed her jacket from the hook by the back door and silently slipped out.

The moon was full and bright, creating a well-lit swath across the grass. The wind was sharp, and Monica pulled her collar up and fished her gloves from her pockets. Tree branches swayed in the wind, creating looming shadows that danced menacingly across her path. She shivered but continued walking.

She was headed toward the old pump house. There wasn't much room inside—just enough space to put down a sleeping bag or small mattress. And although the boards were old and creaked with every puff of the wind, they kept out the worst of the cold. It wouldn't be a pleasant place to spend the night, but Jeff was no doubt used to much worse.

The wind made a loud whistling noise as it came through the trees, and Monica had to force herself to go on. She remembered all too well the night someone hit her over the head, and even the slightest noise made her jump and whirl around. She would have much preferred to be tucked up warm and safe in her bed, but she had to find Jeff before the police did.

Time seemed to be standing still, and she felt as if she had been walking for an eternity before the pump house finally came into view. It looked even more ramshackle in the moonlight, and Monica shivered at the prospect of spending the night there.

She approached as quietly as she could, pausing for a
moment to listen for the sounds of any movement from within. All she heard was the wind soughing through the branches of the swaying trees.

She turned the handle to the pump house door as slowly and quietly as possible and eased it open. The interior was pitch black. Monica aimed the beam of her flashlight at the dirt floor then carefully moved it around the small enclosure. Nothing. And no sign anyone had been there either. Monica's shoulders sagged with disappointment. She had been so sure that that was where Jeff was hiding.

She closed the door, not worrying about making noise now. If Jeff wasn't in the pump house then where on earth was he? Sleeping in his truck somewhere? If that was the case, she'd never find him.

Monica was passing the bog where Culbert's body had been found. She averted her eyes, half expecting to see his lifeless corpse floating faceup in the water. Of course, the bog had already been drained and the water channeled to another bog.

The gnarled roots from the trees lining the path had spread and were bursting through the ground, making walking treacherous. Monica kept her flashlight aimed at the ground and her eyes down. Even so, she nearly tripped twice, causing her heart to begin thudding so loudly she could hear it in her ears.

The beam of her flashlight picked up something that glinted in the light. Monica poked at it with the toe of her shoe. It looked like a piece of jewelry. She bent and picked it up. It was a ring.

It was a circle of gold with a large ruby or garnet—Monica couldn't tell which in the dim light—set deep into the band. Monica looked at the inside of the band to see if
there was any inscription, but the light wasn't bright enough. Who could have lost such a valuable ring out here by the bogs? Maybe it was Gina's? But she hadn't mentioned anything about losing something so valuable.

Monica tucked it into the pocket of her jacket and continued on. The beam from her flashlight began to waver and then, after she had taken several more steps, it went out. Fortunately her cottage was already in view. She hurried the last few yards, breathing a sigh of relief when her hand touched the knob to the back door.

Gina was waiting in the kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand. She jumped when Monica opened the door, and wine splashed out of her glass and onto the table.

“Oh, you gave me a fright. What on earth were you doing outside?”

Monica didn't have an excuse ready so she was forced to admit the truth. “I was looking for Jeff. I thought he might be hiding in the pump house.”

“Pump house?”

“It's where all the equipment for the water pumps is housed. There's just enough space to lay down a sleeping bag.”

“He wasn't there?” Gina asked with a hint of hope in her voice.

“No. Unfortunately not.”

Monica pulled off her gloves and went to stuff them in her pocket when her fingers touched the ring. She'd almost forgotten about it.

She pulled it out and handed it to Gina. “I found this on the ground. Is it yours?”

Gina took the ring and examined it. She shook her head. “No, it isn't mine. It's lovely though. And expensive. That's
a very fine ruby. See how vibrant the color is?” She pointed to the stone mounted in the center of the circle of gold.

Trust Gina to know her jewelry
.

“Are you going to keep it?”

“No. I have to find the owner. Is there any inscription?”

Gina held the ring to the light. “There's something here. Very faint though—the letters are partly worn through.”

“Maybe it's very old?”

“Could be.” Gina handed the ring back to Monica. “Are you going to put an ad in the paper?”

“Maybe. First I'll ask around and see if anyone recognizes it. Maybe Jeff—” She stopped, the words catching in her throat.

“Go on, say it.” Gina jumped up from her chair. “Jeff is gone and we don't know where he is. We don't even know if we'll ever see him again. If the police find him . . . well there are plenty of people in jail for crimes they didn't commit just because they couldn't prove their innocence.”

Monica's stomach clenched at the thought. Gina was right. No matter how good the system, there were still plenty of miscarriages of justice.

“Don't worry.” She put an arm around Gina's shoulders. “We'll get to the bottom of this. We'll find out who really did it, and then life can go back to normal.”

•   •   •

Monica was up early after a night of tossing and turning. When she did doze off, her sleep was filled with nightmares. She was more than happy to leave her warm bed for a change. The tangled sheets and the half on, half off comforter were a testament to her restless night.

She wrapped up in her old robe and crept down the stairs
to the kitchen. She didn't want to wake Gina. Frankly, she didn't want any company yet.

The kitchen was cold so Monica turned the heat up a notch and put on the kettle for some tea. When it was done, she carried her cup to the kitchen table, where she'd left her laptop. She would use the time to finish the application for product placement for Fresh Gourmet.

Sun was beginning to peek through the curtains when Monica hit send on the e-mail to which she'd attached her completed application. She crossed her fingers and sent up a silent prayer, then stretched her back and tilted her head from side to side. She hadn't realized how still she'd been sitting or how cramped she'd become.

It was time to begin baking the day's goods. Monica glanced at the clock. Past time really. She should have started a half hour ago. Fortunately the shop was rarely busy first thing in the morning. As a matter of fact, she'd thought of suggesting to Jeff that they adjust their hours and open slightly later during the week. The thought of Jeff gave her a pang, and she hurried to get busy and occupy her mind with something else.

With the muffins and coffee cake finally in the oven, Monica went upstairs to get dressed. The door to the spare bedroom was closed so she supposed Gina was still sleeping. Hopefully Gina had had a more restful night than she had, but given the circumstances, Monica doubted it.