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  Berried at Sea

  The long-awaited wedding of Monica and Greg is the highlight of the harvest season in Cranberry Cove, drawing friends from far and wide to help them celebrate. Among the guests are an old college friend of Monica’s and the woman’s boisterous new husband, a man with many enemies and more than a few bitter women in his past. When he turns up dead on a boat, the victim of a fatal stabbing, Monica steps in once again to unravel the mystery.

  As she dredges up clues and wades through a long list of suspects, Monica’s sleuthing becomes all the more pressing when the local police are convinced that her friend did the deed. Monica will have to clear her name fast and track down the real culprit as the killer threatens to bring her sweet wedded bliss to a bitter end.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Berried at Sea

  Peg Cochran

  Beyond the Page Books

  are published by

  Beyond the Page Publishing

  www.beyondthepagepub.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Peg Cochran

  Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  ISBN: 978-1-946069-60-3

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Recipes

  Books by Peg Cochran

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Monica Albertson stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom and stared at herself in disbelief.

  “What’s wrong?” Gina Albertson, her stepmother, asked, twitching Monica’s veil into place.

  “Nothing,” Monica sniffed.

  “Heavens, don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup,” her mother, Nancy, said, fishing a tissue from the box by Monica’s bed and handing it to her.

  Monica carefully dabbed her eyes. She continued to stare at her reflection.

  “You look lovely,” Nancy said. She was seated in a slipper chair upholstered in rose chintz and was wearing a silver sheath dress with a matching lace bolero.

  “I just never thought . . .” Monica said, fighting a fresh onslaught of tears.

  After her fiancé had been killed in a swimming accident, Monica had put the idea of marriage and a family out of her head. Until she’d moved here to Cranberry Cove to help her half brother Jeff with his cranberry farm. It was here that she’d met Greg Harper, the owner of Book ’Em, a new and used bookstore in town that specialized in mysteries.

  And now she was about to become his bride.

  “The dress looks lovely,” Gina said.

  She was perched on the edge of Monica’s bed. Her legs were crossed and a strappy gold sandal dangled from her manicured toes.

  Monica smiled. “Yes. I’m glad you talked me into the gown.”

  “Pfffft,” Gina scoffed. “If I’d left it up to you, you would have grabbed any old thing off the sales rack at Macy’s.”

  “It’s perfect,” Nancy said, admiring the voluminous satin A-line skirt with its short train and the bateau-necked illusion bodice covered in flowered appliqué.

  Nancy and Gina were both divorced from Monica’s father, and after years of fighting had declared a truce and entered into a steady although sometimes rocky friendship.

  Monica glanced at both of them fondly.

  “I guess I’m ready.”

  The doorbell rang, and seconds later they heard the sound of the front door opening and footsteps in the foyer. Gina and Nancy exchanged guilty glances.

  “Who could that be?” Monica said, lifting her bouquet from the long white box on her dresser.

  “That must be your father,” Nancy said in a firm voice.

  “But—”

  Nancy held up a hand. “I invited him. He is your father, after all.”

  “I hope he doesn’t think—”

  “That he’s going to walk you down the aisle?” Nancy stood up and smoothed out her dress. “I hope you will allow him that honor.”

  “I’d planned to walk down the aisle alone,” Monica said. “I don’t need to be given away. I’m an independent woman.”

  “No one is arguing with that,” Nancy said dryly as she pulled on a pair of silk gloves. “But you won’t be a smidgen less independent if you let your father give you away. It’s tradition. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

  Monica raised an eyebrow. Of course it meant something. It was symbolic of the bride as a piece of property being transferred from the ownership of her parents to the ownership of her groom.

  Besides, Monica had had a hard time forgiving her father for abandoning her and her mother to run off with Gina, whom he had subsequently abandoned for a Las Vegas chorus girl who had ultimately completed the circle by abandoning him.

  “Are you ready?” Gina asked, buzzing about Monica’s bedroom, ticking things off on her fingers. “You have your bouquet. How about your something old and something new?”

  “And something borrowed and something blue?” Nancy said.

  Monica felt butterflies circling her stomach as if they were desperately looking for a way out. She was really going through with this. She was getting married. She didn’t have any doubts about Greg, their relationship was everything she’d hoped for—romantic, practical, supportive and intellectually stimulating all at the same time. She just couldn’t believe it was happening to her.

  “My dress is new,” Monica said, twirling in front of the mirror, a wave of giddiness suddenly overcoming her. “My earrings are old.” She touched the diamond and platinum flowers in her ears.

  “Those were your grandmother Becker’s,” Nancy said. “I wore them and someday your daughter will wear them.”

  The idea of someday having a daughter brought Monica up short, but she pushed the thought from her mind.

  “I think I’ve fallen down on the something borrowed and something blue.”

  Gina reached for her gold clutch, which was on the bed. She opened it and pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with dainty bluebells.

  “You can carry this,” she said. “It’s borrowed and also something blue. It belonged to my grandmother Taylor, who carried it at her wedding.” She glanced at Nancy. “I’d love for you to have it.”

  Monica took the proffered
handkerchief and tucked it in her sleeve.

  “I guess I’m ready then.”

  In the end, Monica was glad to have her father’s arm to lean on. The sight of all her friends waiting for her to walk down the aisle and the sight of Greg, looking so handsome in his new suit, smiling at her from the altar, had her shaking like a reed in a strong wind.

  She and her father waited at the back of the church until the organist played the opening chords of “Pachelbel’s Canon.” The joyous vibrations of the organ reverberated throughout the church as the organist got into full swing, her hands gracefully playing over the keys and her foot working the pedals. It was Monica’s cue to begin.

  Her first steps were shaky, but she gained confidence when her gaze caught Greg’s and he smiled encouragingly.

  Finally, Monica’s hand was in Greg’s and the minister was intoning the words of the marriage ceremony.

  It went by in a blur and then suddenly Monica found herself wearing a brand-new gold band on the ring finger of her left hand and the minister was smiling at them as he turned to Greg and said, “You may now kiss the bride.”

  And then Monica was in Greg’s arms, the scent of his aftershave and the feel of his lips on hers comforting and familiar.

  She broke into a huge grin as they turned and proceeded out of the church to the triumphant strains of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.”

  • • •

  Gina had insisted on planning a reception for Monica and Greg at the Cranberry Cove Yacht Club, where Xavier Cabot, the writer she’d been dating, was a member. The guests, who were mostly residents of Cranberry Cove, were all aflutter—the yacht club wasn’t a place they ordinarily frequented. As a matter of fact, only a small handful of residents had ever been there, and that was only because they’d either worked there or had delivered goods to the club. The yacht club was for the summer people who owned the pleasure boats that were docked in the club’s marina.

  Monica and Greg had been waylaid by the photographer to have pictures taken in front of the church, so most of the guests were already assembled at the club when they finally arrived.

  “Here comes the bride and groom,” Bart Dykema, the local butcher, yelled. He raised a tumbler filled with a dark liquid that looked like whiskey in their direction.

  “I think the party’s already started without us,” Greg whispered to Monica as he smiled in Bart’s direction.

  A waiter glided up to them with a tray filled with glasses of bubbling champagne and they each took one.

  The room had floor-to-ceiling glass windows that opened to a terrace overlooking Lake Michigan. Boats bobbed in the harbor, their white sails standing out against the dark blue of the water. An American flag on the shore stood at attention in the stiff late September breeze.

  The air was cool, but the sun was still warm and the terrace was set with plump cushioned chairs and chaises upholstered in dark blue arranged around brass fire pits.

  Inside, flames leapt and crackled in the stone fireplace and tall cocktail tables draped with white napery and overlays in the same dark blue ringed the room.

  Someone tapped Monica on the shoulder and she turned around. It was Tammy Stevens, Cranberry Cove’s lone detective. Crime in their small town didn’t warrant an entire detective force, although there had been several murders recently, which had shocked everyone to their core. Monica had become involved in several of them, and she and Stevens had become friends.

  “I wanted to wish you the best,” Stevens said, tucking a blond curl behind her ear. “I’m afraid I have to get going.” She handed her empty champagne glass to a passing waiter.

  “Thank you for coming.” Monica gave her a quick hug.

  “There you are,” Hennie VanVelsen trilled as she and her identical twin sister, Gerda, bore down on Monica and Greg. “This is so lovely. I don’t know that we’ve ever been to the Cranberry Cove Yacht Club before.”

  The VanVelsens owned Gumdrops, the old-fashioned candy store on Beach Hollow Road in downtown Cranberry Cove. They were dressed in identical suits, although Hennie’s was lavender and Gerda’s was pale pink.

  “It is lovely,” Tempest Storm said as she joined them.

  Tempest was the owner of Twilight, a new-age shop downtown. She was tall and statuesque and was wearing a flowing purple velvet caftan and a long gold chain with several unusual charms dangling from it.

  “We’d very nearly given up on you two,” Hennie said, tapping Greg on the arm. “Everyone could tell you were simply made for each other.”

  Greg sputtered, and Monica noticed his face turning red and laughed to herself. That was small-town living for you—everyone had an opinion whether it was their business or not. She was getting used to it, although she was still occasionally surprised at how quickly who knew what in Cranberry Cove.

  “I’ve won the pool, I believe,” Tempest said, fingering the chain around her neck. “I was betting on fall of this year. I don’t think anyone else was close. Everyone was putting their money on a wedding last spring.”

  Greg’s face turned even redder, and he took a big gulp of his champagne.

  “Everyone must think I’m a real slacker,” Greg said with a laugh. “But I did propose in the spring. Does that count?”

  “I don’t suppose it does,” Gerda said, looking at her sister questioningly. “We were meant to bet on the date of the wedding, isn’t that right, Hennie? And I’m afraid I chose this past summer.”

  Hennie gave a smug smile. “We all thought you’d elope and stand before a justice of the peace somewhere, but this is much nicer. We—”

  Before Hennie could continue, a man began talking very loudly—almost yelling—and they all turned in his direction.

  Hennie peered over her half-moon glasses and sniffed. “Who is that man? A friend of yours?” she said to Monica, as if she couldn’t believe Monica would ever have anything to do with someone behaving so rudely.

  “Not really. His name is Bruce Laszlo. He owns one of those big houses overlooking the lake. It turns out he recently remarried to a woman I’d gone to college with, Andrea Bowman.”

  Laszlo wasn’t particularly tall but he was broad in the shoulders with a thick neck and a naturally ruddy face that was now even redder with a deep flush coloring his cheeks.

  “Ah,” Hennie said, fingering the pearls around her neck. “A summer visitor,” she said, disdain evident in her voice.

  Year-round residents of Cranberry Cove resented the summer tourists even as they depended on them for much of their livelihood.

  “Yes. Andrea and I ran into each other in Book ’Em one day—this was her first summer in Cranberry Cove—and we’ve been friendly ever since. I didn’t realize her husband was quite so . . . loud.”

  “Hey, sis.” Jeff Albertson loped over to where Monica was standing.

  He had one arm around his fiancée, Lauren, and his other arm—injured during his tour of Afghanistan—hung by his side.

  “I’m afraid I’ve got to get going soon,” he said

  “Are you getting ready to harvest?” Greg said.

  “Yes. And it’s every man on deck, I’m afraid.” He poked Greg’s arm with his elbow. “Congratulations, old man.” His expression turned serious. “You’d better take good care of my sister.”

  Greg smiled. “Don’t worry. I plan on it.”

  “You’ll be next,” Monica said, glancing at the diamond solitaire on Lauren’s left hand.

  Lauren grinned. “Yes. Our wedding will be under a tent alongside the cranberry bogs at Sassamanash Farm. The cranberries will be in bloom then. It will be so pretty.” She sighed and glanced around the room. “Although this is certainly lovely, too.”

  Jeff rolled his eyes and groaned. “Don’t go changing your mind again.” He glanced at Greg. “This wedding planning is hard stuff. I swear, she changes her mind every single day. First it’s the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses, then it’s the menu, then it’s the flowers for the tables.”

  Lauren slapped J
eff on the arm. “I’m not going to change my mind, don’t worry. At least not about you.” She gave him a cheeky grin.

  Jeff grinned back. “I should hope not.”

  “Although that lilac fabric the caterer showed me for the tablecloth overlays was very nice. Perhaps instead of the pink?”

  “But you said the pink would match the color of the cranberry blossoms.”

  Lauren tapped an index finger against her lips. “That’s true.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll stick with the pink then.”

  “Congratulations again, sis.” Jeff kissed Monica on the cheek. “Take care, old man.” He slapped Greg on the back and turned to Lauren. “You can stay if you want.”

  “I’d love to, but I have a dress fitting in Grand Rapids in an hour. I’d better get going.”

  Monica watched Jeff and Lauren go then turned to Greg. “I’m going to freshen up.”

  “I’ll miss you,” Greg said as he snagged an hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter.

  Monica laughed. “I’ll hurry.”

  It took her longer to get through the crowd than she’d anticipated. Charlie Decker stopped her to say hello and so did Phyllis Bouma, the head librarian at the Cranberry Cove library. By the time Monica reached the restrooms, a good five minutes had gone by.

  She pushed open the door, which led to a small lounge with a comfortable love seat upholstered in blue and white stripes and two armchairs in cream-colored linen. A vanity and a bench covered in blue-and-white-striped satin stood in the corner.

  Monica could hear someone in the stalls, but the lounge was empty and blissfully quiet. She plopped down onto one of the chairs and eased her shoes off—white satin D’Orsay pumps she’d splurged on in Macy’s even though she knew she’d never wear them again.

  She hadn’t expected getting married to be so tiring. Of course, she’d barely slept the night before—excitement keeping her awake and tossing and turning. She hadn’t been plagued by doubts—she knew Greg was the right man for her. He’d felt like a friend from the moment she’d met him and time whizzed by when they were together.