Free Berry the Hatchet by Peg Cochran

looked up at him. “You sound surprised to see me. You did invite me to come tour the farm.”
    Lauren raised her eyebrows at Jeff, and he smiled sheepishly.
    â€œI’m sorry I missed cranberry picking season,” Jacy continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air. “But I’ll make up for it next fall, I promise.”
    Lauren sidled up to Monica and whispered, “Sounds more like a threat than a promise, doesn’t it?”
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    Monica checked in at the farm store and even though they were doing a brisk business, Nora said she was managing just fine. She enjoyed working in the shop while her husband spent time with the kids—he was taking them sledding, yesterday’s snow having accumulated just enough to make that possible.
    Today was the monthly mystery book club at Book ’Em, and Monica always looked forward to it. They were reading Margaret Yorke’s
Dangerous to Know
. She was a new author to Monica and to most of the others, and Monica was very glad that Greg had introduced them to her books. Most were stand-alone novels with fascinating characters and edge-of-the-seat suspense that the author managed to achieve despite most of the stories being set among seemingly ordinary people in small villages much like Cranberry Cove. Monica looked forward to discovering more of her work.
    Downtown was crowded when Monica got there. Preston Crowley’s Winter Walk might not have gone off as he’d planned, but his death had still lured plenty of peopleto the small town. They’d obviously come out of some form of morbid curiosity, and the sidewalks along the cordoned off Beach Hollow Road were teeming, as was the street itself.
    People darted in and out of the various shops, emerging with shopping bags swinging from their hands. She noticed several people poke their heads into the Cranberry Cove Diner—where it was fairly obvious that the locals hung out—but the tourists had retreated as quickly as a turtle pulling its head in when it sensed danger. The locals kept to themselves and certainly weren’t going to swap theories about the murder with perfect strangers who’d come from miles and miles away just to gawk.
    Book ’Em was filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee when Monica arrived. Greg had opened up a small gateleg table and set out hot water for tea, a thermos of coffee and a pot of hot chocolate.
    He had pulled every chair he could find into a circle in the middle of the store—folding chairs, slipcovered armchairs that had seen better days and a couple of desk chairs. The VanVelsen sisters were already seated in two of the more comfortable chairs. Every once in a while they left Gumdrops in the hands of the granddaughter of one of their cousins who lived nearby, although Gerda always fretted the entire time they were away from the store.
    Grace Singleton was there, too. Monica hadn’t been sure she would come. She’d been Preston Crowley’s secretary for years and was very devoted to him. She was thin and angular and her clothes—a nearly ankle-length skirt and white cotton turtleneck—had no more shape on her than they would have suspended from a hanger. Her gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail that hung halfwaydown her back. Her eyes were red-rimmed, Monica noticed, and her hands were trembling slightly in her lap.
    Greg came out of the back room. “That looks delicious,” he said, taking the cranberry coffee cake Monica had brought as her contribution.
    There was already a glass bowl filled with VanMelle fruit toffees from the VanVelsens and a batch of oatmeal cookies from Grace. Greg cleared a space and set down Monica’s coffee cake.
    Monica helped herself to a cup of hot chocolate and chose one of the folding chairs—not the most comfortable, but she preferred to leave the better chairs for the older women in the group.
    They heard voices