Free Berried Secrets by Peg Cochran

don’t think that would—”
    â€œPlease, miss. You must tell them I didn’t do it.”
    â€œThey’ll want to know where you were that night.” Monica thought back to her conversation with Stevens. Culbert had been murdered sometime between nine o’clock and midnight.
    â€œThat will help?” Mauricio asked.
    â€œYes. If you can tell me where you were between nine and midnight.”
    â€œYes, yes,” Mauricio said eagerly. “I was down at Flynn’s.”
    â€œFlynn’s?” Monica asked, wondering if that was a person or a place.
    â€œIt is a bar down by the harbor. A little rough. Not the kind of place a lady like you would enjoy.”
    That was fine with Monica. She had no intention of frequenting Flynn’s. Except to find out whether or not Mauricio was telling the truth.
    On the one hand, she had instinctively liked Mauricio. On the other hand, she wanted the murderer to be anyone but her brother Jeff.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Monica was up early the next morning, although given the option she would have huddled under her down comforter for another couple of hours. She was stiff and achy not only from working in the bog the previous day, but from the tension caused by finding Culbert’s body and everything that had happened since.
    Jeff said he could manage the day’s harvest without her. They still had several weeks of work ahead of them. Sassamanash Farm was forty-two acres, and each of the bogs was approximately an acre in size. Most cranberries were grown in five states—Massachusetts, Wisconsin, New Jersey, Oregon and Washington—and Sassamanash Farm was one of the few farms in Michigan. The majority of the berries went to a cooperative owned by the farmers themselves. Jeff was very proud to be one of their growers.
    Jeff had been able to replace the missing Mauricio easily enough. He had been convinced that Mauricio would reappear, but Monica hadn’t felt as positive. Fortunately, there were always people looking for work when the summer tourist season ended.
    Monica brewed some coffee, microwaved a bowl of oatmeal and, while she ate, began measuring out flour, sugar and butter for another batch of muffins and scones. By the time they were ready for the oven, the sky had lightened, and it was nearly eight o’clock.
    With the baked goods in the oven, she set to work on thesalsa—chopping the cranberries in the food processor and seeding and mincing the jalapenos. Some of the oil from the peppers got on her fingers, and when she touched her eye, it stung mightily. Tears rushed to her eyes, and for a moment Monica felt like crying in earnest. She had come to Sassamanash Farm to flee her abysmal failure as a small businesswoman, as well as her heartbreak over her fiancé’s death. And now everything seemed to be in jeopardy again.
    Monica squared her shoulders. No use in thinking about that now. She had a job to do. She had to help Jeff save Sassamanash Farm. Only then would she feel able to think about her own future.
    Monica left the scones and muffins out to cool while she took a shower, ran a comb through her tangle of curls and threw on a pair of clean jeans and a sweatshirt. By the time she’d wrapped up the baked goods and packaged the salsa, it was nearly nine o’clock. Fortunately the store was rarely busy before lunchtime.
    With her woven basket slung over her arm, Monica made her way toward the Sassamanash Farm store. It was turning into a beautiful morning, with the early clouds blown away by a brisk breeze, revealing crystal clear blue skies. Monica breathed deeply as she walked the well-worn path to the store. The air smelled of autumn leaves and damp earth with faint but tantalizing notes of wood smoke.
    The police had roped off an area around the bog where Culbert’s body had been found, but it was business as usual everywhere else. Monica expected the visitor’s parking