Berried in the Past Page 10

  Gina made a face. “Not much, I’m afraid. Jeffie brushed me off when it was time for them to talk business.” Her expression brightened. “But I do have a dinner date with Bob Tapper tonight.”

  “Seriously?” Monica knew Gina knew her way around men, but she didn’t realize she was that good.

  “Yes. And he doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to pump him for information.” She gave a coy smile. “Somehow I don’t think it will prove to be too challenging.” Her expression was impossibly smug.

  • • •

  Monica decided to take a break midmorning. Her back was beginning to ache and so were her feet. How long could she continue to do this, she wondered—until she was fifty? Or sixty? Then she remembered Jeff might sell the farm, and she realized that that would create an entirely different set of worries.

  The boxes were loaded with baked goods and Kit had promised to take them down to the store. She wouldn’t be needed for an hour or two .

  She thought she would pay Dana a visit and show her that photograph Greg had found in the old book. It might not mean anything, but her curiosity was getting the better of her.

  Dana’s car was in the driveway when Monica arrived. She pulled up in back of it. It was only when she got out of her car that she realized Dana was seated in the BMW, attempting to start the engine.

  She must have noticed Monica because she opened the door and got out.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were going somewhere. I can come back,” Monica said.

  Dana made a face. “No need. I can’t seem to get my car started anyway, and I’m half frozen. Let’s go inside and make some tea instead.”

  Monica followed Dana into the house. They had just taken off their coats when the cuckoo clock in the living room began signaling the hour. She had to admit, it had a certain unique charm.

  Monica sat at the kitchen table while Dana fixed the tea. The kettle whistled, Dana poured hot water into two mugs, added tea bags and carried them to the table.

  “I’d suggest we sit in the living room, but I think the kitchen is the least dreary room in this wretched house. At least it’s a bit warmer. This old place is nothing but drafts.” She reached for the milk and added a dribble to her cup. “And now that the police are considering Marta’s death a possible homicide, they’ve asked me to stay here a bit longer.” She sighed. “I’ve been giving serious thought to checking into the Cranberry Cove Inn. I can’t seem to get warm in this place.”

  “I wanted to show you something.” Monica reached for her purse and pulled out the photograph. She pushed it across the table toward Dana.

  “As you know, my husband runs Book ’Em, the bookstore in town. He found this photograph in a book he got from an estate sale.” Monica pointed at the picture. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s your cuckoo clock in the photo.”

  Dana pulled a pair of reading glasses from her pocket and slipped them on.

  “So it is. There isn’t another one like it.” She gave a wry smile.

  “I thought you might know the girls in the photo?”

  “Yes, certainly.” Dana pointed to the girl with the blond braids wrapped around her head. “That’s Marta.” She frowned and held the photograph closer. “I don’t know who that is,” she said, indicating the girl in the middle, “but that”—she tapped the third figure—“is Marta’s friend Joyce Murphy.” She put the photo down on the table. “I think you met her. I heard they were inseparable at one time. I was quite young then so I really don’t remember.” She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I do know they were very close friends up until Marta’s death. Joyce did a lot for Marta.”

  Dana ran her finger along a scratch in the tabletop. “Marta never learned to drive, she said it made her too nervous. Joyce took her everywhere. We’re all grateful for Joyce’s help.” She picked up the photograph again. “Where did you say you found this?”

  “It was tucked into a book Greg picked up at an estate sale.”

  “You can keep it.” Dana pushed the photograph toward Monica. “I have no need for it.”

  Monica slipped the photograph back into her purse. She had no idea what she was going to do with it, but she had a feeling it might become important.

  • • •

  Monica was eating lunch when Gina burst through the door of the cottage. She was wearing the outfit she’d had on earlier, although she’d exchanged the sky-high pumps for a pair of suede stiletto-heeled over-the-knee boots.

  “You won’t believe it,” she said as she rushed into Monica’s kitchen.

  Monica paused with her spoon in the air. “What won’t I believe?”

  Gina continued to flutter around the kitchen like a moth around a flame.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Monica pulled out a chair to encourage her.

  Gina heaved herself into the chair. “I saw that man again.”

  “Which man?” With Gina it was always a man, Monica thought.

  “The one with the Jaguar and the silver hair.”

  “Oh.” That had to have been John Kuiper.

  “I was driving down Beach Hollow Road on my way back to the shop when I saw him. He was right in front of me. He’d just pulled out of a parking space in front of the diner.”

  Monica couldn’t imagine where this was going.

  “So I followed him.”

  “You what?” Monica’s voice rose an octave.

  Gina shrugged. “I figured why not? Jasmine is perfectly capable of handling the store while I’m gone. Besides, business isn’t all that brisk this time of year. So I decided to take the time and follow him.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Home.”

  That answer struck Monica as somewhat anticlimactic. She struggled not to laugh.

  Gina’s eyes lit up. “He lives in a huge house in a tony section of Grand Rapids. You should see the place.” She waved her hands in the air. “It must have five bedrooms at least, and I thought I saw a swimming pool and a cabana in the backyard.”

  “That’s . . . interesting,” Monica said, spooning up her soup. “But I don’t see how—”

  “I haven’t told you the best part.” Gina fiddled with the gold chain around her neck.

  “What’s that?” Monica patted her lips with her napkin.

  “There was a For Sale sign on their front lawn.”

  “Are you looking for a house?”

  Gina scowled. “No, silly.” She held up a hand. “But wait. That isn’t the best part.”

  Monica made what she hoped was an expectant-looking face.

  “His wife—at least I’m pretty sure that’s who it was—was leaving the house with a bunch of suitcases. The car was already loaded with things.” Gina paused. “And she drove away alone!”

  “So—”

  “Don’t you see? They’re selling the house. The wife takes off with her car packed to the gills. No husband in sight.”

  Monica still didn’t see what Gina was getting at.

  “Come on,” Gina exhorted. “It’s obvious. They’re getting a divorce,” she announced with a flourish, throwing her hands into the air.

  Only Gina could put all that together and come up with that conclusion, Monica thought.

  “Maybe they’re simply moving. You said there was a For Sale sign—”

  “No. I’m positive they’re splitting up. And guess who’s going to be there to help him pick up the pieces?” She batted her eyelashes at Monica and grinned. “All I have to do is find a way to run into him and introduce myself.”

  • • •

  Monica kept thinking about what Gina had told her as she creamed butter and sugar, sifted flour and rolled out dough. If Gina was right and John was divorcing his wife, he would most likely end up losing money in any settlement. Or maybe his wife’s expensive tastes combined with his own had already sent him into bankruptcy. If that was the case, he might be hard up for cash, which meant that he would have had a much bigger stake in whether or not Marta ag
reed to sell their property to that developer who had made the offer. Which, in turn, would give him a motive for murder after all.

  Monica really wanted to know one way or the other. She thought about it all afternoon and at four o’clock whipped off her apron and told Kit she had an appointment.

  “Be sure to finish the compote,” she said as she grabbed her coat. “I’m delivering it tomorrow morning.”

  Kit gave a playful salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Monica started to shut the door but then opened it again.

  “I really do appreciate it,” she said. “Thank you.”

  • • •

  It was a bit of a drive to Grand Rapids from Cranberry Cove and Monica was glad that the roads had been cleared of the recent snow. Most of the traffic was headed in the opposite direction so she made good time. She enjoyed the ride—she had the radio on a station playing soothing music and it gave her time to think.

  She was beginning to believe that John was the most likely suspect in Marta’s murder. He was a doctor and would know what effect an overdose of Marta’s beta blocker pills would have had on her.

  But she wasn’t going to jump to any conclusions just yet.

  John and his wife lived in a high-end neighborhood where the houses were set back among mature trees and all the homes on the street were large and expensive.

  Monica found the street Gina had mentioned and drove down it slowly. Most of the homes were fairly modern with circular drives and impressive entryways. Large pine trees dotted the properties and one or two still had their Christmas lights attached. The houses were set fairly far apart and it didn’t take her too much time to find the Kuiper residence.

  Like its neighbors, the house was enormous. And just as Gina had said, a large For Sale sign with the realtor’s name on it was plunked in the middle of the lawn.

  Monica pulled up to the curb and killed the engine. She turned up her collar, pulled on her gloves and got out of the car. She walked partway down the driveway, and from that vantage point the house looked even larger.

  She was about to turn around lest someone come out of the house to ask what she wanted, when the front door opened. Monica froze. What excuse could she give for standing in the middle of their driveway?

  But neither John nor his wife came out the open door. Instead, it was an older couple carrying what looked to be an antique Tiffany lamp. Or rather, the man was struggling with it while the woman marched ahead of him, unencumbered by anything save the patent leather pocketbook she was clutching to her rather ample bosom.

  Monica was about to turn around and head to her car when the woman smiled and walked up to her.

  “Great sale.” She jerked her head in the direction of the Kuipers’ house. “A lot of good stuff still left. I tried to get Tom here to spring for the set of silver—Grand Baroque by Wallace, which has always been a favorite of mine—but the man’s too stingy for his own good.” She threw the last over her shoulder at her husband, who was patiently waiting. “Good luck,” she said to Monica as she started to walk away. “I hope you find something you like.”

  Monica was headed toward her car when a woman came down the street and turned into the driveway. She was wearing yoga pants and an expensive white North Face parka.

  She nodded at Monica as she passed.

  “Hello.” Monica rushed after her. “Are you a neighbor of the Kuipers?”

  The woman stopped and looked Monica up and down. She brushed away a strand of hair that had blown onto her forehead and Monica noticed the diamond tennis bracelet that slid up and down her arm.

  “Yes, we’re neighbors.” She pointed to the house next door. “I live over there.”

  “I’m sort of surprised that their house is for sale,” Monica said. “I haven’t seen them in a while.” She crossed her fingers behind her back.

  “Then you must not know.” The woman leaned closer to Monica, enveloping her in a cloud of Joy perfume. “They’re having financial troubles and had to put the house on the market.”

  “Oh.” Monica feigned shock. “I had no idea. Like I said, it’s been a while . . .”

  “Then there was that other business. I’m sure you’ve read about it.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Anyway, I’m checking out their sale,” the woman said, cutting Monica off. “They had a Jenny Saville painting I’ve always liked. It was over the mantelpiece. I hope they’re selling it.” She waved to Monica as she strode away.

  Monica walked back to her car. Her trip had certainly been worthwhile, she thought as she put the car in gear and drove away.

  She wondered what that “other business” was that the woman had referred to. She planned to do a computer search on John Kuiper as soon as she got home.

  • • •

  Monica couldn’t wait to get home and to her computer. There was an accident on the highway, not much more than a fender bender, but it held her up for an extra half an hour.

  It was dark by the time she pulled into her driveway. No lights were on in the cottage. Greg must still be at the shop.

  Mittens was waiting for Monica when she switched on the light. Monica picked her up and scratched her under her chin. Mittens closed her eyes and purred loudly but soon became bored and jumped down.

  Monica hung up her coat and set up her laptop on the kitchen table. She turned it on but then thought of something and jumped up to look in the refrigerator. In her excitement she had forgotten all about dinner. She had eggs and bacon—they could have breakfast for dinner, she decided.

  Her laptop sprang to life, showing a picture of Mittens curled up in her favorite armchair. Monica brought up a search engine and typed in John Kuiper’s name.

  There were numerous references to him on doctor rating sites. One had an old picture taken when his hair was still dark and only threaded with gray. Monica had to admit, he was a good-looking man.

  She continued to scroll past the entries for papers he had written or cowritten until she came to an article in the Grand Rapids Press. She pushed her chair back and stared at the screen. This must be what that woman had been referring to.

  The headline was big and bold: Surgeon Sued for Malpractice After Patient Dies.

  Greg came home while Monica was reading. She looked up when the back door opened.

  “You won’t believe what I’ve discovered,” she said.

  Greg’s look was one of bemusement. “What have you discovered?” he said, bending down and giving Monica a kiss on the cheek. “You seem excited, whatever it is.”

  Monica told him about John Kuiper’s house being for sale and how he seemed to be selling off possessions.

  “Gina was convinced that he and his wife are getting a divorce and that he needs money for the settlement,” Monica said. “But then I found this.”

  She turned the computer around so Greg could read the article.

  He whistled. “That settlement figure sure has a lot of zeroes, doesn’t it?” He shrugged off his coat. “But that’s what malpractice insurance is for. It probably won’t cost him a penny.”

  “I don’t know,” Monica said. “What if he wasn’t insured for that much? It’s a huge sum. Maybe he thought he’d save money by taking out less insurance.”

  “That could be.” Greg stroked his chin. “Of course, his premiums will go up after this. That alone could put someone in bankruptcy, I would imagine.”

  “I did notice that his wife has extremely expensive tastes as well.”

  Greg shook his head. “I think I’ll stick with being a bookstore owner.” He smiled. “A lot less stress.”

  “I do think it gives him a motive for murder though,” Monica said.

  Chapter 12

  Monica and Greg were in the living room relaxing, each with their respective book. A fire crackled in the hearth and Monica had a throw pulled up over her legs. Wind was beating at the windows and she felt like burrowing under the afghan and not coming out until spring arrived.

 
She was about to get up to make some hot cocoa when there was a frantic knocking on the front door.

  Greg looked at his watch. “It’s ten o’clock. A little late for someone to drop by. Maybe it’s Jeff?” He got up from his chair. “I have to admit to being a little gun-shy ever since Dana showed up on our doorstep claiming that someone was trying to kill her.”

  Monica felt a blast of cold air as Greg opened the front door. Seconds later, Gina burst into the room. She was wearing a short black cocktail dress with a plunging neckline, a fox fur jacket and ridiculously high heels with ribbons that wound up her legs like a ballerina’s pointe shoes.

  “Gina! Why don’t you sit down,” Greg said. “Can I take your coat?”

  Gina pulled the jacket around her more closely. “No, I’m still half frozen. Will this winter never end? I wish I could afford to take a cruise to get away from it. But thank you anyway.” She smiled at Greg.

  “How was your dinner date with the developer? That was tonight, wasn’t it?” Monica said, putting down her book. “Did you have a good time?”

  Gina crossed her arms over her chest. “No,” she said tersely. “I went to all this trouble”—she indicated her outfit and her makeup and hairdo—“and he took me to some dive on the highway just outside of town. It was one of those places with neon lights in the shape of a cocktail glass outside and ratty décor that was in style about thirty years ago.” She shuddered. “The food was terrible—greasy and simply horrible.” She shuddered again. “The cheap so-and-so. I thought he’d spring for the Cranberry Cove Inn at least. He must be rolling in dough.”

  “Maybe not,” Greg said. “It can be a bumpy business.”

  “No kidding,” Gina said.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Greg said, hesitating by the door to the kitchen.

  “A martini?” Gina said. “I need something to calm my nerves.”