Berried Secrets (24 page)

Monica read the names under the picture several times, but there was no mistake.

Brenda came back into the room. Monica had been concentrating so hard she jumped.

“Sorry about that.” Brenda pointed at the yearbook, and with a deep sigh sank into an armchair. “Did you see my picture?”

Monica shook her head. “No, I was just looking at this page here.” She held up the yearbook for Brenda to see. “The class poll. I see Darlene's mother and Sam Culbert were voted cutest couple.”

“That Sam Culbert.” Brenda tsk-tsked under her breath. “The two of them were a couple all through junior high and high school. Then all of a sudden he takes off on a grand tour of Europe, and she disappears for nine months. Comes home with a daughter and refuses to tell anyone who the father is.”

Brenda took a sip of her iced coffee. That caused a fit of
coughing, and Monica waited impatiently for her to begin again.

“But of course being as how I was her best friend, she did tell me a little something about it. Seems Sam Culbert's parents didn't approve of Heather. They had plans for their son that didn't include settling down at eighteen with a wife and baby.” Brenda gave a loud sniff. “Scraped together every penny they had and then some and sent Sam off to Europe to take his mind off his girlfriend of six years. Gave Heather a lump sum of money and made her promise never to tell anyone who Darlene's father was.”

“And Heather went along with it?”

“Apparently. There was plenty of talk, believe me, but we assumed she and Sam had broken up. Besides, everyone thought Heather had taken up with someone else and gotten herself knocked up.”

“So Sam never acknowledged Darlene as his daughter?”

Brenda shook her head. “No, never. Not even after he made it big. He saw how they were living. He could have spared a couple of bucks to help them out, but no. It was as if Sam had never even known Heather.”

“Do you think Darlene knew Sam Culbert was her father?”

Brenda shook her head vigorously. “No. I'm pretty sure she didn't. Heather was determined she wouldn't find out. Heather kept her word, I'll say that for her. It was hard on Darlene. People made comments. She couldn't help but hear. I suppose that's why she never smiled.” Brenda took a big gulp of her iced coffee, which set off another round of coughing.

“I'd better be going.” Monica stood up. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“It's been a lovely visit. You're welcome to come back anytime. Nothing like a good chat to take your mind off things. Heather and I used to spend almost every evening together sitting outside on the deck with a cold drink in nice weather, or around the kitchen table when it was too cold or nasty to be outside. But now that's she gone . . .”

Brenda followed Monica to the door, where she pointed to a house catty-corner from hers. “That's Heather's place over there. Well, I suppose it's Darlene's now that her mother's gone. Looks like her car is in the drive, so you should find her at home.”

Monica decided to leave her own car where it was for the moment. Darlene's place was only a short walk away—no point in moving it. She started to step off the curb when the blare of a car horn sent her jumping backwards. She wasn't paying attention—she was still reeling from the discovery that Sam Culbert was Darlene's father. Did Darlene really not know?

Even before Monica could raise her hand to knock, Darlene yanked open her door. She must have been watching from the window and waiting. For some reason the thought gave Monica a prickle of unease.

“I suppose you want to come in.” Darlene held the door wider but didn't move, so Monica had to sidle past her, crab-like.

A large television—not a flat screen but the old-fashioned kind that was almost as deep as it was wide—dominated the room. There was a dark green leather recliner with cracks that had been mended with black electrical tape, a stack of
Star
magazines on the coffee table and a large bookshelf stuffed with books. Judging by the lurid colors
of the spines and the flowery fonts used for the authors' names, most of them were romance novels.

Darlene was wearing a sweatshirt and flannel pajama bottoms with cats on them. She didn't invite Monica to sit down.

Monica was about to say that she'd come to check on Darlene—to see how she was feeling—but she could tell by the look on Darlene's face that Darlene wouldn't believe that.

Monica shifted from one foot to the other uncertainly. Darlene still hadn't asked her to sit down, but Monica perched on the edge of the couch anyway. Darlene continued to stand for several moments then finally collapsed onto the recliner, pushing the lever so that the chair tilted back. Her feet popped up, and Monica could see that the soles of her slippers were black with dirt. A tray table was open next to the recliner with some wadded up tissues, an empty glass and an open magazine on top.

“I wanted to talk to you about the ring you found at the farm.”

If Darlene was surprised, she didn't show it.

“I've given it to the police, since it might be evidence,” Monica said.

Darlene was silent. She plucked at her lower lip.

“I'd hate for the police to waste their time on something that wasn't . . . relevant to the case.”

Darlene blinked, her lids lowering and lifting in slow motion.

“What I'm trying to say is . . .” Monica could feel sweat breaking out on the back of her neck, and it wasn't just because the trailer was terribly overheated—hot air bellowed out of a vent in the floor and swirled around Monica's legs.

Finally she decided on a frank approach. “Did you take
the ring from Andrea Culbert's dressing table and then put it near the bog where someone would find it in an attempt to incriminate her?

Darlene looked baffled.

“In order to make it look as if Andrea Culbert had been to the farm and might be a suspect in her husband's murder,” Monica explained.

“I was mad at her for firing me. It wasn't fair. She said I didn't clean good, but I know I did.” Darlene's lower lip trembled.

“I can imagine that made you mad,” Monica said soothingly. “But I need you to tell the police what you did. Otherwise, this will throw them off the track of the real murderer and waste time and effort, don't you see?”

Even as the words came out of her mouth, Monica was struck by the truth. Darlene had left the ring on the ground by the bog on purpose to mislead the investigation. Her intention hadn't been to get back at Andrea Culbert but to distract the police.

An icy coldness swept over Monica as the pieces fell into place like tumblers in a combination lock. She heard the thunk of the chair as Darlene levered the recliner back into place.

“It wasn't fair.” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Him having all that money, and us nothing. And here he was my father.”

“Did your mother tell you that?”

Darlene shook her head slowly. “No. She made some kind of promise not to. But after she died, when I was going through the file where she kept important papers—Pastor Ken told me I should see if there was a will—I found my birth certificate. I'd never seen it before. It had my name on it, the place where I was born and my mother's name—Heather
Polk. And right where it said
father
, Sam Culbert's name was filled in on the line, plain as day.”

“So you lured him to the farm to ask him for money?”

Darlene shook her head and her ponytail swished back and forth. “The next day, the day after I found out about Mr. Culbert being my father, I was supposed to clean for them. When I got there, he was in his office working on some papers. I waited until Mrs. Culbert had left to get her nails done, then I went in and talked to him. He tried to tell me he was too busy to listen, but I insisted. I told him I knew everything about him being my father.” Her eyes were glazed over, as if she was reliving the scene. “He asked me what I wanted, and I told him it was only fair that I share in some of the money he'd made all these years. Seeing as how he cheated me out of a daddy and my mother out of a good life.”

“What did he say?”

Darlene shifted in her chair. “At first he was angry, but then he asked me how much I wanted.”

Did Culbert really think this was going to be a onetime payout—that Darlene was too naïve to go after more money later?

Monica raised her eyebrows. “What did you tell him?”

Darlene raised her chin. “I told him I wanted ten thousand dollars. I mean, he owed us . . . me. My poor mama worked hard all her life, and here he was living in a big house with a fancy car. He could have helped us out all along.”

And how long would it have been before Darlene went through the ten thousand dollars and was back demanding more? Monica wondered.

“What happened then? Did you ask him to meet you at Sassamanash Farm?”

“No.” The word burst from Darlene. “He agreed to give me the money. A couple of days later, he called me and told me he had the cash. But he didn't want anyone to see us so could I meet him out at the farm. I didn't care one way or the other, just so I got my money. He told me to leave my car a short distance away and walk to the farm. I didn't want to do that, but he said if I didn't, he wouldn't give me the money.” Darlene frowned. “I don't like to walk much.”

“What happened then? Did he give you the cash?”

Monica couldn't imagine that Culbert had. Darlene struck her as the type who would have immediately gone over to Walmart to replace that old television set with one of the new flat screens.

Darlene plucked at her lower lip again. “No, I didn't get the money. He stood there in the shadows smiling at me. We were in that old shed—you know, where Jeff keeps some of the smaller equipment. He held out his arms to me and said, ‘Looks like I have a daughter now.'” She gave a loud sniff. “Then he tried to get his hands around my neck.” Darlene's own hands went to her neck as if to demonstrate. “He tried to kill me.” The sniff became a wail.

It wasn't at all what Monica had expected. “What did you do then?”

“I didn't know what to do. I couldn't hardly breathe, and I was real scared. I reached around in back of me and found a rough piece of wood leaning against the wall. I grabbed it and hit him over the head with it real hard. I didn't mean to hurt him, I really didn't, but I couldn't breathe.” She stared at Monica, her eyes welling with fresh tears.

“What happened then?”

“He fell over backwards and hit his head again—this
time against the wall. I don't think he was breathing anymore. Anyway, I had to get rid of him somehow or else someone might find out. I managed to get his body in that old wheelbarrow Jeff keeps in there. I wheeled him down to the bog and dumped him in.”

“But he might have been alive.”

Darlene shrugged and a hard look came over her face. “I didn't care. I just didn't want nobody to find out what I'd done.”

“But if you had called the police . . . it was self-defense, after all.”

Darlene sneered at Monica. She pointed to her chest. “Me against Sam Culbert? Do you think anyone would have believed me?”

Monica realized Darlene had a point. “But what about Cora? Did you kill her, too?”

“She would have told,” Darlene blurted out. “She and Mama had become good friends. I'm pretty sure Mama told her about Sam Culbert being my father. They were always whispering together with that Brenda over a cold beer after work. I was at the diner getting my lunch when she told you to come by later that afternoon—I heard the two of you talking. I couldn't take the chance that she would tell you the truth. You're smart. You would have figured it out.”

“Sugar,” Monica said suddenly. “Hennie VanVelsen said your mother had the sugar—diabetes.” She looked Darlene in the face. “She took insulin, didn't she?”

Darlene nodded very slowly.

“You injected Cora with an overdose of insulin and left her to die.”

“Cora would have told,” Darlene said plaintively. “It
wasn't my fault. Mr. Culbert should never have done what he did.”

“Did you take his car?”

Darlene's face resumed its sulky expression. “I wasn't going to walk all the way back to my car. I told you. I don't like walking much. It makes the inside of my legs rub together and that hurts.” She rubbed her thigh.

Monica reached for her purse. “I'm going to call the police, and you need to tell them everything.” She stuck her hand in her bag and began to rummage for her cell.

“I'm not telling the police anything.”

“You have to, Darlene. We'll get a lawyer, and he'll handle things. I'm sure the court will go easy on you.”

“I'm not going to jail,” Darlene said, her voice rising belligerently.

Monica had her cell phone in her hand and had punched in the number nine when she noticed Darlene reaching for something on the tray table underneath the splayed magazine.