Berry the Hatchet by Peg Cochran Read Free Book Online Page B

and security she’d found in Cranberry Cove had been shaken by the day’s events. She was more than happy to buckle herself into her little Ford Focus and leave Beach Hollow Road behind her.
    Monica crested the hill outside of town. Sassamanash Farm was a shadow in the distance, with a few pinpricks of light here and there. She could make out the white smudge that was her cottage and another that was the farm store and cranberry processing building. From this vantage point during the day, you would be able to see the farm quite clearly. And if it was autumn, the ground would be blanketed with a red carpet of ripe cranberries. Right now, with the fruit harvested, there was nothing to see but a dark shadow. Monica sailed down the other side of the hill toward home.
    As she pulled into the driveway of her cottage, she realized she hadn’t yet taken down the Christmas wreath that hung from her front door, the greenery now lightly dusted with snow. She supposed leaving it up for a few more days wouldn’t hurt.
    Mittens was at the back door to greet her, and Monica scooped the kitten up and cuddled her close. She purred loudly and butted her head against Monica’s chin as Monica carried her out to the kitchen.
    Later, as Monica was heating up a pot of leftover vegetable soup, there was a knock on her back door. Before Monica could answer, it opened and her half brother Jeff walked in, bringing a rush of cold air with him.
    â€œHow did it go? Did we sell out?” he asked as he struggled to take off his coat.
    His left arm had been injured during his time in Afghanistan, leaving it paralyzed. He was slowly coming to terms with the disability and had learned to work around it. Monica itched to help him with his coat, but she knew he wanted to do it himself.
    â€œDidn’t you hear?” Monica asked as Jeff slumped into one of her kitchen chairs, his long legs nearly sticking out from under the other side of the table.
    â€œHear what?” Jeff scrubbed a hand over his face.
    â€œPreston Crowley is dead. Murdered.”
    Jeff stopped with his hand halfway to the handle of Monica’s refrigerator. He’d been tilting the chair on its two hind legs but now dropped it back to the floor with a
thunk
.
    â€œYou’re joking, right?” He started to smile, but the attempt faded when he saw the expression on Monica’s face. “You’re not kidding, are you? You’re as white as a sheet. Tell me about it.”
    Monica gestured toward the pot simmering on the stove. “You want some soup first?”
    â€œSure. I haven’t had a chance to eat yet—not that I was exactly looking forward to that frozen potpie I have waiting for me back at my apartment.”
    â€œYou need to learn to cook a few things for yourself.”
    Jeff gave her a cheeky grin. “Why? I can always stop by here and get my big sis to feed me.”
    Monica shook her head but ladled out two steaming bowls of soup and placed them on the table. She rummaged in the pantry and brought out a sleeve of salted crackers.
    â€œCan you grab the butter dish from the fridge?”
    â€œSure.” Jeff swiveled around and, using his good arm, retrieved the butter along with a can of the beer Monica kept on hand for him.
    Jeff ate half his soup and a dozen crackers before finally looking up. “So tell me what happened.” He swiped his napkin across his chin, which was covered in a day’s stubble.
    Monica explained about the sleigh arriving with Preston’s body.
    â€œThere was a knife sticking out of his neck?” Jeff asked in disbelief.
    Monica swallowed the bite of cracker she was chewing. “Yes. And it was odd looking. Not that I know all that much about knives.”
    Jeff shuddered. “That’s crazy. First Sam Culbert and now . . .” He looked down at his nearly empty soup bowl. “I feel bad about bringing you out here. If there’s any