Berry the Hatchet by Peg Cochran Page A

the idea in the beginning, but obviously it was brilliant. Normally at this time of year, we’d be lucky to have a handful of customers a day—mostly mothers coming in to buy treats for their child’s birthday party—but today, like I mentioned to you, we’ve actually started to run out of stock.”
    Monica felt something brush against her leg and looked down to see Midnight weaving in and out between her legs. Midnight was the mother of Monica’s kitten Mittens, having presented the VanVelsens with an unexpected litter.
    Midnight gave a plaintive meow, and Monica bent down to scratch her head.
    â€œMidnight!” Hennie scolded her in pretend stern tones, but Monica could hear the affection in her voice. “You’ve had plenty of attention already today. And a bowl of cream, too.”
    Monica laughed. “Mittens takes after her mother, I think!”
    The door opened, and a customer came in. She was wearing a royal blue parka trimmed in fur and a pair of sheepskin boots lined in fleece. Monica glanced at them and was reminded of her half-frozen toes. She was going to have to go shopping for a new pair for herself. Hennie glanced at her customer and raised her eyebrows at Monica. Monica waved her away. She could wait until Hennie had served the woman.
    The woman spent several minutes studying the casesof candy, then nodded at Hennie and left without making a purchase.
    Hennie shrugged. “You can’t please everyone.” She smiled.
    A thought had been formulating in Monica’s head while she waited. She motioned for Hennie to step closer and with a lowered voice she said, “I’ve been thinking about the restaurant across the street and how they weren’t able to get their permit in time for the Winter Walk.”
    Hennie tipped her head to the side. She was obviously all ears.
    â€œEveryone has been talking about how the Pepper Pot was going to give the dining room at the Cranberry Cove Inn a run for its money. Preston was mayor of Cranberry Cove. Do you suppose he might have—”
    â€œHad a hand in delaying the permit?” Hennie finished for Monica. “An intriguing thought. I’m afraid I have no idea how these things are done. I wonder . . .” Hennie put a finger on her chin. “I imagine Edith might know. Of course she won’t be at work until Monday morning, but she lives quite close. She has an apartment over the hardware store, which her parents used to own. She grew up there. When her folks died and the new owner took over, they let her stay on as part of the arrangement.”
    â€œDo you think she’d mind if I stopped by?”
    â€œOn the contrary. You’d be lucky to get out of there in less than two hours. Poor Edith. She’s quite alone . . . and a little . . . peculiar, if you know what I mean.”
    Was Hennie trying to warn her, Monica wondered? When Monica ran her café in Chicago, she’d met her share of unusual types—she was pretty sure she could handle it.
    Gerda emerged from the stockroom with a mug of teafor Monica. Monica accepted it gratefully, enjoying the warmth of the cup in her hands and the steam that rose to bathe her face.
    â€œWho
is
the owner of the Pepper Pot?” Monica looked from Hennie to Gerda and back again.
    Both the sisters shrugged their shoulders.
    â€œWhoever it is has stayed in the background,” Hennie said. “No one knew anything about the restaurant until the work crew showed up that one morning and began tearing out the interior of that notions shop that used to be there. Never could figure out how they’d stayed in business as long as they did. The stock never changed and old Mrs. Veenstra could never be bothered to run a feather duster over things. Not very appealing.”
    â€œI heard they got a good price for the shop, though,” Gerda said.
    â€œI should imagine so. It’s a prime location—right