Berried Secrets (23 page)

“Hello?”

“Detective Stevens here. I thought you'd want to know that we found Culbert's car in the driveway of an abandoned house down a dirt road not far from the farm.”

“So he parked there and walked back to Sassamanash? I wonder why. Do you think he was meeting someone and didn't want to be seen?”

Monica thought back to what everyone had been saying about Culbert's marriage—was he seeing someone on the side? But why meet them at the farm? Hardly a romantic—or comfortable—destination. Unless this had been business? Funny business of some sort?

“We're quite certain he drove out to the farm in his own car. We've got the analysis back on the tire tracks that were found. They were faint—the ground was pretty hard—but there's no doubt they're consistent with Culbert's Mercedes. We think someone lured him to the farm, killed him and then drove his car away, thinking that it would be a while before the body was found. We're testing it for prints now.”

“What about another car? The person he was meeting must have driven to the farm themselves.”

There was a pause long enough to cause Monica's hands to begin to sweat, and the phone almost slipped from her grasp.

“There aren't any other tracks. At least not anywhere near where Culbert's car must have been parked. Of course that doesn't mean that the person, whoever they were, didn't park farther away. But it doesn't rule out the fact that the murderer could have been someone from the farm. It would have been easy enough for them to walk to the spot where Culbert was waiting for them.”

“You don't think . . .” Monica tried to keep the panic out of her voice.

“I don't think anything,” Stevens said wearily. “I can't draw any conclusions until I have all the facts. Otherwise, it's just guesswork. Hopefully the techs will find something useful in Culbert's car.”

Monica thanked Stevens for keeping her informed, tossed her phone in her purse and put the car back in drive. If the
murderer had any brains, the police wouldn't find anything incriminating in Culbert's car. Jeff was smart. Monica pushed the thought away. Jeff had had nothing to do with this. She was positive.

Monica tried to imagine how things might have happened—someone luring Culbert out to the farm, killing him and dumping his body, then driving his car out to this deserted house. Had they left their own car there? Did the person Ralph saw walking along the road have anything to do with it? She should have told Stevens about that, but Monica was certain Ralph would be heading to the police station with his information the second he was finished at Gina's shop.

Once again the scene at the cranberry bog flashed through Monica's mind—the police surrounding the area with tape and the men searching for clues. Jeff had said that afterward the techs had arrived and had taken casts of any tire tracks

A thought occurred to her so suddenly she nearly slammed on her brakes. The horn from the car behind her blared, and Monica waved to indicate she was sorry.

The pieces were falling into place—or some of them at least. That ring had to have been dropped
after
Culbert's body was found. The police had combed the area around the bog. Monica remembered how they had divided the area into a grid and were going about it in an orderly fashion hoping to find something—anything—that would lead to the murderer's identity. If that gold and ruby ring had been there that day, they would certainly have found it. If it had caught her eye as she was just walking past, surely the police would not have missed it.

And what if someone hadn't dropped the ring? What if they had planted it there on purpose, wanting it to be found? Monica chewed on her lower lip. They must have hoped to incriminate someone.

And if that ring really did belong to Culbert's wife then that someone must be Andrea Culbert.

Monica pulled into the driveway of her cottage without really knowing how she'd gotten there. So many thoughts were chasing each other around her head—Stevens's not-so-subtle insinuation that someone from the farm could be responsible for Culbert's death, the idea that the ruby ring had been planted to incriminate Andrea Culbert, her own ongoing concerns as to where Jeff was and what he was doing.

Monica dumped her purse on the kitchen table and opened the refrigerator door. She was starving. She rummaged around and found a hunk of cheese, some rather stale country bread and a few slices of deli ham. She could toast the bread and make an open-faced ham and cheese sandwich.

Monica was spreading some grainy mustard on the toasted bread when the back door was flung open, and Gina barged in.

Monica jumped.

“Sorry. Did I scare you?” Gina slung her jacket over a chair. “Look what I did.” She turned her back to Monica.

Gina's pants were ripped—a large flap of material hanging down, revealing her leopard-print thong beneath.

“I caught my back pocket on a nail, and next thing I knew . . .” She shook her head, and the hair piled on top quivered like gelatin. “Someone didn't pound the nail in properly and it was sticking out of the wall. At least no one was hurt. But I had to come back and change. I could hardly spend the day going around like this.” She looked over her shoulder at the hole in her jeans.

“Are you hungry?” Monica gestured toward her sandwich. “There's enough for two.”

“That would be heavenly. I'll just run up and change. Be right back,” Gina called as she headed toward the stairs.

Monica had noticed the label on Gina's jeans. That was an expensive rip. She knew that brand went for upwards of two hundred dollars, unlike the ones Monica bought at JCPenney.

By the time Monica had put together a second sandwich, Gina was back downstairs. She slid into the seat opposite Monica.

“Did you ever do anything about that ring you found?” Gina asked picking up her sandwich.

“Yes. I gave it to Detective Stevens.”

“It was an expensive piece of jewelry. You'd think someone would be looking for it.”

“Darlene said she thought it belonged to Andrea Culbert. She'd seen one just like it on Andrea's dressing table once.”

“That must mean that Andrea Culbert was out at the farm the night Culbert was killed,” Gina exclaimed.

Monica hated to burst Gina's bubble. “I doubt it. If the ring had been there that night, the police would have found it when they searched the grounds. No, I think someone planted it to throw suspicion on Andrea.”

“Maybe Darlene did.” Gina dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

Monica stopped with her sandwich halfway to her mouth. “Darlene did say Andrea had to let her go. Maybe she was resentful—”

“Let her go, my eye! She fired her. You've seen how that girl works. Or maybe I should say
doesn't work
. I'll bet you anything she swiped that ring and left it in a place where you would find it and draw the natural conclusion. Although that would require more brains than I thought Darlene possessed.”

Monica nodded. “She wanted to get back at Andrea for firing her.”

“She strikes me as the sort who would stoop to something like that.”

“And I gave the ring to Detective Stevens thinking it might have something to do with the case. I hate to think of the police wasting their time investigating it when it's most likely a dead end. . . .”

“Can you talk to this Darlene and get her to fess up?”

“I don't know. . . .” Monica thought about it. “I guess I could try. She's not working today, but we must have her address in the office.” She pushed her chair back. “I'll do it as soon as I get these dishes cleaned up. I can see how Lauren is doing at the same time.”

•   •   •

As Monica had expected, Lauren was doing fine when she arrived at the store. Lauren was behind the counter ringing up purchases for one of their frequent customers—a tall woman with over-permed blond hair. Lauren gave Monica a brief wave as Monica headed to the office off the processing room.

The office was little more than some seven-foot-tall partitions separating off the area and a door that didn't want to stay closed. The furnishings were equally basic—a battered metal desk and filing cabinet and a chair that was starting to lose its stuffing.

Monica pulled open the top drawer of the filing cabinet and began going through the folders. She found one marked
Employees
and pulled it out. The folder had been used before and had been turned inside out and relabeled. There was a copy of Darlene's W-4 withholding form and, paper-clipped to it, was her employment application. Her address and phone number were written on it in pencil. Monica copied both down and replaced the folder in the filing cabinet.

She waved to Lauren again on her way out. She was waiting on someone else this time—a rather sophisticated-looking woman who had a basket filled with tea towels, pot holders and napkins. Monica had better check the stock when she got back—it might be time to replenish.

She put the piece of paper with Darlene's address on it beside her on the passenger seat where she could see it. It appeared as if Darlene lived in the same mobile home park as Cora—Park View Estates.

Monica drove through the entrance and began checking
the house numbers. She passed Dawn's house, and, as usual, Dawn was out on the deck having a cigarette. Monica pulled over to the curb.

“Hi,” she called out her open window.

Dawn walked over to Monica's car. “I didn't expect to see you back here again.” She took another drag, her cigarette pinched between her thumb and index finger.

“I'm looking for Darlene Polk. She works for my brother.”

Dawn ran a hand through her dark hair, leaving it standing upright. With the blond streak in front, she reminded Monica of a skunk. “Never heard of her, I'm afraid.”

Monica consulted the piece of paper next to her on the car seat. “She's on Floral Drive.”

“Keep going straight,” Dawn pointed down the street where a lone boy was riding around and around in circles on his bicycle, “and make the first left. I'm pretty sure that's Floral.”

“Thanks.” Monica rolled her window back up and headed down the street.

She made the left turn onto Floral Drive that Dawn had indicated and began checking house numbers. Some of the houses had numbers that had fallen off or were missing altogether. Monica sighed in frustration and pulled over to the curb.

A woman was sitting on a lawn chair in front of one of the houses. Monica walked over to her. There was a second, empty chair next to her. The webbing was coming undone and the frame was rusted.

“Do you know where . . .” Monica consulted her piece of paper. “Number 2799 is? I'm looking for Darlene Polk.”

“Darlene?” the woman said in a wheezy voice. She was
probably in her forties but looked much older. She had thin, nicotine-stained fingers with yellowed nails and the remains of some red polish around the edges.

“I've known Darlene since she was a baby. Sullen little thing, never a smile on her face.” The woman began coughing furiously. “I quit smoking a year ago. Doctor's orders. I can't get rid of this cough though,” she said when it finally stopped. “I have half a mind to take it up again.”

She gestured to the chair next to her. “Have a seat.”

Monica perched on the edge of the chair. “So you know Darlene?”

“Sure do. Knew her mother, too. May she rest in peace, the poor soul. She was taken way too young.” She swiped at a tear in the corner of her eye.

The wind picked up sending a swirl of dried leaves across the driveway and making the woman shiver. She was wearing jeans and a thin, long-sleeved top.

“Why don't you come inside where it's warm?”

Monica hesitated. She hated to be rude. Jeff used to tease her about her inability to say no, and would try to get her to agree to do outrageous things. It usually worked, she thought ruefully.

The woman started up the stairs. “Name's Brenda, by the way,” she said over her shoulder.

The inside of the trailer was neat, although the furniture was worn.

“Why don't you go have a seat on the davenport, while I rustle us up something cold to drink.” She pointed to the sofa, where an orange and brown crocheted afghan was tossed across the arm.

Monica sat down. The sofa fabric was rough and itchy.
Moments later Brenda returned with two mismatched glasses of iced coffee. She handed one to Monica.

“I hope that's okay. I'm out of sugar.”

Monica nodded and took a sip to be polite. “It's fine.” She struggled not to grimace. The coffee was bitter and strong with that taste coffee gets when it sits on the warmer too long. She put the glass down on the coffee table and hoped Brenda wouldn't notice she wasn't drinking it.

“Yes, I've known Darlene all her life, and her mother and I were friends. Darlene's mother—her name was Heather—was smart. We all thought she'd leave Cranberry Cove and head to the big city but then she got,” she leaned closer to Monica and whispered, “pregnant.”

A telephone shrilled from somewhere inside the trailer.

“I'm waiting on a call from my doctor. I'll just be a moment.” Brenda heaved herself out of her chair. She stopped in front of a bookcase, pulled out a volume and handed it to Monica. “Here's our yearbook. You'll find my picture in there along with Heather's.”

Monica rubbed the dust off the cover where Cranberry Cove High School was imprinted along with a lion—she supposed that was the school's mascot. The spine cracked when she opened it, and the volume fell open to a page that Brenda must have looked at often.

It was the class poll page that was standard fare in almost all yearbooks—the most likely to succeed, best dressed, class clown. Monica scanned the pictures until she came to one that made her stop in her tracks.