Berried Motives Page 3

  Their nightsticks flapped against their thighs as they walked over to Monica and Jeff.

  The shorter one, who had a round face and freckles across his nose, said, “You reported a body?” He pushed his hat back on his head, revealing an angry red welt where the brim had been.

  “Yes.” Monica tried to keep her voice from trembling. She led them over to where Betsy lay.

  As they approached, the taller of the two patrolmen put an arm out to stop Monica from going any closer.

  “Detective Stevens is on her way,” he said, his eyes scanning the area. “We’re here to secure the scene until she arrives.” He turned to his partner. “Got the tape, Gil?”

  Monica stood off to the side with Jeff and watched while the men strung up black and yellow crime scene tape around the area where Betsy’s body lay. The shorter one stopped, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

  “That ought to do it,” he said to his partner.

  Stevens arrived just as the men were finishing up. She pulled off the road, killed the engine and got out of the car. She approached the scene slowly, looking all around as if mentally photographing it. She stood for several minutes looking down at the body, her arms folded across her chest.

  She shook her head and walked over to where Monica was standing.

  “You have the worst luck,” she said as she approached, her face grim.

  She looked thinner than the last time Monica had seen her, and several silver strands now wove their way through her blond hair, which she’d pushed behind her ears.

  “I’ll need to talk to you if you don’t mind waiting.” She looked from Monica to Jeff.

  They both nodded.

  Stevens was silent as she walked back to the body and stood examining it, her head tilting to one side and then the other. She pulled a camera from the pocket of her jacket and began snapping photographs as she walked around the body, taking in every angle.

  She took the camera from her eye and crossed the road to Monica. “Do you know who she is?”

  “Betsy DeJong. She’s the evening news anchor and the host of What’s Up West Michigan.”

  Stevens stroked her chin. “I thought she looked familiar.” She looked toward the body again. “What was she doing here?” She jerked her head in the direction of the bogs.

  Monica explained about Sassamanash Farm being filmed for a segment on the television show Betsy hosted.

  “Who else was here?” She squinted at the scene. “I imagine there were other people?”

  Monica ran through the names of the crew that had come with Betsy, ticking them off on her fingers.

  “Jasmine Talcott, the camerawoman. Todd Lipton—he’s the producer of the show. Betsy’s fiancé stopped by.”

  “Who’s that?” Stevens raised her eyebrows.

  “Bob Visser. He’s running for Senate.”

  Stevens nodded. “He’s the guy who owns Visser Motors. I’ve seen him on television.” Stevens frowned. “What was he doing here?”

  “He said he stopped by to say hello to Betsy.” Monica took a breath. “And then there was Lauren, Jeff’s fiancée, and Melinda Leigh, who is taking photographs of the farm for our Instagram account.”

  Stevens wrinkled her forehead. “Instagram?”

  Monica shrugged. “I’d never heard of it either but apparently it’s one of the newer forms of social media.”

  Stevens made a face. She was quiet for a moment. “Is that all? What about the people working on the farm?”

  It hadn’t occurred to Monica that this could have anything to do with Jeff’s crew. What reason would they have had to kill Betsy, someone they didn’t even know?

  “There’s me, Jeff of course, and his crew. You’ll have to get their names from him.” Monica motioned toward Jeff, who had gone to sit on a large rock alongside the road. “The only ones I know are Mauricio and Dan Polsky.” Monica thought for a minute. “Then there’s Nora in the farm store and Kit, who works with me. But he was off on a delivery in town.”

  Stevens was scribbling in her notebook. She stuffed it back in her pocket.

  “I don’t want to move the body until the medical examiner gets here. There’s no obvious wound from this angle, but there is blood so obviously she didn’t have a heart attack. I suppose we’ll get some more answers when the ME has a chance to examine the body.”

  As if on cue, the sound of an engine reverberated in the distance and a car came bumping down the road, its frame groaning in protest as it hit a large pothole.

  A man, who looked young despite his thick head of gray hair and gray beard, got out. He stood for a moment looking around then approached Monica and Stevens.

  “Fortunately the previous ME, Dr. Van der Heide, retired a couple of months ago.” Stevens shook her head. “Dr. Russo is much easier to work with.” She smiled as Russo approached them.

  “Good to see you again,” he said when he reached them. “Although I wish it was under different circumstances.” He looked around him. “This is beautiful. The trees are almost at their peak.” He grinned. “I’m a transplanted city boy. I grew up in New York.” He exhaled sharply. “Best get on with it, I suppose.”

  Monica turned away as Russo began to examine the body, talking to himself in a low murmur. It was quiet except for the raucous cry of a loon in the distance.

  Finally, Russo turned and snapped off his rubber gloves as he walked back toward Monica and Stevens.

  “Blunt force trauma to the head,” he said succinctly. “I’ll be able to tell you more when I get her on the table.”

  “The blow was from behind?” Stevens said. “Could she have fallen and hit her head?”

  “No.” Russo stroked his beard. “Someone did this.” He turned back and looked toward the body. “Someone did this on purpose.”

  “So murder,” Stevens said. “Easy enough for the killer to pick up a rock. They’re all over the place. That would mean it probably wasn’t premeditated. An argument that got out of hand, maybe.” Stevens sighed.

  She called to Jeff and motioned with her hand. “I’m going to need to speak with your crew,” she said. “Everyone who was here while the filming was going on. Can you get them together for me?”

  “Sure. We’ll be in the processing shed. Monica can show you the way,” Jeff called over his shoulder as he took off at a trot.

  Stevens turned to Monica. “Is there anyone else here?”

  “Melinda Leigh is around somewhere. She’s still taking pictures. And Lauren, Jeff’s fiancée.”

  “I’ll need to speak to them as well then. But first I’ll deal with Jeff’s crew. I imagine they’ll want to get back to work as soon as possible.”

  Stevens took a last look at the body, spoke briefly with the two patrolmen, then raised her eyebrows and said, “Shall we?” to Monica.

  Monica led them back down the path, past her cottage, past the bogs, toward the building that housed the processing equipment.

  “My husband has come back,” Stevens said suddenly.

  Monica was surprised. Stevens’s husband had taken off shortly after their son was born.

  “He wants shared custody of Ethan.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve finally gotten the hang of this single mother thing and he shows up.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Hire a lawyer, I suppose. There goes the money I was saving for a new roof.”

  By now they had reached the processing plant. The men were sitting around, slumped on overturned crates, their expressions wary. Mauricio was staring at his feet, his shoulders hunched as if for protection, and one of the other men was picking nervously at a scab on his hand. Monica supposed they were nervous. It wasn’t every day that you were interviewed by the police.

  Stevens’s cell phone rang as they stepped into the room and she moved off to the side to answer it.

  Jeff glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and then sidled up to Monica. There was a faint sheen of perspiration
on his forehead.

  “I can’t find Dan Polsky anywhere,” he whispered to her.

  Chapter 3

  Monica said goodbye as Stevens began questioning Jeff’s crew and headed back to the farm kitchen to do more baking.

  She opened the door to the kitchen and sagged against it in relief. It was an oasis amid the nightmare of Betsy DeJong’s murder. Monica couldn’t wait to sink her hands into some dough. Kneading and feeling it beneath her fingers, stretching it and hearing it snap and crackle was always soothing.

  She was finding it hard to concentrate though and put twice the amount of flour necessary into the dough for a batch of cranberry bread and had to scrap the whole thing.

  She kept thinking about Jeff. He had clearly been worried about Dan going missing just when Stevens wanted to question everyone. But why? Did he know something? Monica couldn’t imagine how. Jeff had only met Betsy today.

  Monica had made another batch of dough for cranberry bread—with the right quantity of ingredients this time—and was about to shape it into loaves when Kit returned from delivering the cranberry salsa.

  He was agog when he walked in the door.

  “Why is there crime scene tape up by your cottage?” he said breathlessly as he took off his jacket.

  “Betsy DeJong, the host of What’s Up West Michigan, was found murdered.”

  “Murdered!” Kit shrieked, and Monica could have sworn he was more excited than shocked. “What happened? Who killed her?”

  “We don’t know. She and her crew had all left when Jeff discovered her body alongside the road. The police have been here and they’ve questioned everyone, but of course they don’t know what happened yet.”

  Kit gasped. “So the killer is still on the loose?”

  “It looks like it. But they don’t think it’s random. Betsy was targeted on purpose.”

  “That makes me feel a little safer at least,” Kit said. His glance darted toward the door. “Should we lock the door? Just in case?”

  “If it makes you feel better.”

  Kit scurried over to the door and turned the lock. “I do feel better.” He smiled at Monica. “Better safe than sorry, my granny used to say.”

  Kit had never talked much about himself and Monica realized she had never asked.

  “Where are you from?” she said, keeping her gaze on the dough on the marble slab in front of her.

  “A small town in Florida near the Okefenokee Swamp.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  Kit rolled his eyes. “Believe me, it was no place for a boy like me. Can you even imagine?” Kit posed with one hand on his hip.

  Monica laughed. “I suppose.”

  Finally they settled down and went to work, side by side, mixing dough, rolling it out and baking it.

  Monica glanced at the clock on the wall and realized it would soon be time for What’s Up West Michigan. She wondered if they would even run the piece under the circumstances. But if they did, she didn’t want to miss it. She wiped her hands on a towel, took off her apron and reached for her fleece.

  Kit promised to close up when he was done with the last batch of scones and Monica headed out the door.

  Monica was approaching her cottage when she heard a car engine in the distance. Was it Greg on his way home? she wondered.

  Moments later the red-and-white WZZZ van bounced into view, slowing over the ruts and potholes in the road. It pulled up to the spot where the plastic police tape still cordoned off the crime scene. The door on the passenger side opened and Todd Lipton jumped out.

  Monica watched as Todd walked toward her. There was a new cockiness to his step that she hadn’t noticed before and he’d changed his shirt. The one he’d worn earlier in the day looked as if he’d slept in it, while this one looked as if it had just come out of the plastic wrap with its stiffly starched collar and cuffs. He was carrying a microphone and was panting slightly when he reached Monica.

  The driver’s-side door of the van opened and Jasmine jumped out. She immediately went around to the back of the van and reappeared with her camera on her shoulder.

  Todd began speaking into the microphone.

  “We’re here at Sassamanash Farm in Cranberry Cove, where WZZZ anchorwoman and host of What’s Up West Michigan Betsy DeJong was brutally murdered earlier this afternoon.”

  He looked at Monica. “Tell us. Are you the one who found the body?” He thrust the microphone at her.

  Monica backed away slightly. “No, I’m not.”

  Todd looked slightly irritated. “Can you tell us who did find the body?”

  Monica didn’t want to say, but Todd had the microphone in her face again.

  “My brother,” she blurted out. “Jeff Albertson.”

  “But you were here when the police arrived, were you not?”

  Once again the microphone was pointed at Monica. “Yes,” she said somewhat reluctantly.

  “You saw the body?” Todd smiled at the camera.

  Monica shuddered. “Yes.”

  Todd walked over to the area cordoned off by the fluttering crime scene tape. Jasmine followed him and focused the camera on the spot where Betsy’s body had been sprawled on the grass.

  “This is where Betsy DeJong’s body was found—in these weeds alongside this dirt road leading to Sassamanash Farm. According to the police, she was hit over the head, possibly with a rock.”

  Todd seemed to be taking a ghoulish delight in reporting on the scene where his unfortunate colleague had been murdered. Jasmine, on the other hand, looked rather pale, Monica thought, but her hand on the camera was steady.

  Finally, Todd finished speaking and Jasmine lowered her camera.

  Todd smiled as he walked toward Monica. “We’d like to speak to your brother,” he said. “Where can we find him?”

  “I don’t know. He might still be at the bogs.”

  Todd began walking down the path toward the farm. He motioned for Jasmine to follow him.

  Jasmine stopped briefly alongside Monica.

  “Betsy’s death has certainly given Todd’s career a boost,” she said. “Word around the station is that he’ll be taking over her evening news spot as well as What’s Up West Michigan.”

  That was interesting, Monica thought. An idea crossed her mind but she dismissed it. Surely Todd wouldn’t actually murder Betsy in order to get ahead. She thought about it as she walked back toward her cottage.

  • • •

  Greg was pulling into the driveway just as Monica reached their back door.

  “What’s going on?” he said before he even took his jacket off. “There was crime scene tape surrounding an area just up the road from here.”

  Monica filled him in on Betsy’s murder.

  He put his hands on Monica’s shoulders. “How awful. You should have called me. I would have come right home.” He put a finger under Monica’s chin and tilted her face up. “Are you okay?”

  Monica took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

  Greg glanced at the clock. “What time is the show on?”

  “In forty-five minutes,” Monica said. “I’ll start dinner and then we can sit down and watch it.”

  Monica went out to the kitchen while Greg turned on the television in the living room. She was washing lettuce for a salad when there was a knock on the door.

  “We thought we’d come watch the show with you,” Jeff said when Monica opened the door. He had his arm around Lauren but Monica thought her expression was strained.

  “Come in,” Monica said.

  They all bustled into the living room. Monica and Greg got comfortable on the sofa and Lauren sat in an armchair with Jeff on the floor at her feet, his head resting against her legs.

  Monica tried to gauge the mood between Jeff and Lauren but it was hard to tell. She did think she detected some tension in the air though.

  The show was about to start. Greg pressed a button on the remote and the television crackled on. Monica held her breath as h
e flipped to the correct channel. Part of her wasn’t looking forward to seeing herself on television and part of her was dying of curiosity.

  Before the tape was run, Todd Lipton came on the air to announce that they were mourning the passing of Betsy DeJong, who had died that afternoon in an unfortunate accident. He went on to narrate a short biography of Betsy—her childhood, college days, early career. The segment was complete with old photographs the station had been able to gather together in astonishingly short order.

  In suitably somber tones, Todd announced that they were about to air Betsy’s final segment for What’s Up West Michigan and then the tape began to roll.

  Monica thought Jeff did a splendid job—his nervousness seemed to have evaporated like dew on a hot morning, and the injury to his arm wasn’t even remotely apparent.

  “Bravo,” Greg said as they cut to an exterior shot of the farm store.

  This was her moment, Monica thought. She could only hope that she’d done half as well as Jeff.

  The segment seemed to last forever and then suddenly it was over.

  Greg turned to Monica. “Well done, honey,” he said and kissed her on the check.

  “Everyone was great,” Monica said as she let her breath out in relief. “Jeff, you were wonderful.”

  “You looked like a natural.” Greg smiled.

  “Would everyone like a glass of wine?” Monica said.

  Greg raised his eyebrows. “We should have champagne, but sadly I didn’t buy any, so wine it is.”

  Monica got up and headed toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll come help carry the glasses.” Jeff jumped to his feet and followed her.

  Monica took a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and opened it while Jeff got glasses from the cupboard. Monica was quiet. She had the sense that he wanted to tell her something.

  “Did you ever find Dan this afternoon?” she finally said as she poured the wine.

  Jeff took a deep breath. “Yes. But not until the detective had already gone.” He frowned. “He said he went to get something to eat, but that’s not like him. Normally he would let me know. Dan’s the kind of guy you can count on, you know?”