Читать книгу A Country Gift Shop Collection: Three cosy crime novels that will keep you guessing! - Vivian Conroy - Страница 20

Cash looked up at her, his eyes wide with alarm. He seemed to want to say something, then bit it back. He checked his watch ostentatiously. “I suppose it’s been a long night already. And your mother is waiting for you at the desk.”

“What? My mom is here and you never even told me?” Vicky got up. “I have to go see her.” Her blood pounded with anger that her old mother had been forced to come out to a police station in the dead of night, just because Cash had kept her so long, for no real reason.

And he was lying about something.

That didn’t just make her angry, but also scared. What was going on in their town?

Forcing conviction into her voice, she said, “I’m going home now. If you need me again, just give me a call. I’m not leaving town. I’ve got a store to finish.”

Without another word Cash got up as well and took her from the interrogation room down the corridor to the reception desk.

And there Claire was, with Mr. Pug and Coco. Both dogs greeted Vicky like she’d been released after a long sentence and they hadn’t seen her all that time.

“I suppose some parents have to pick their children up at the police station,” Claire said accusingly. “When they’re fifteen, for joyriding or something silly like that. Not at your age, and certainly not in relation to a dead body.”

She looked Vicky over. “A good thing they didn’t ask me to post bail. I’m not sure I would have had enough money in the house.”

“I was not arrested, only taken along for questioning. It’s standard procedure when you happen to find a dead body.” For distraction Vicky picked up Coco and cuddled the dog.

“That’s just it,” Claire groused. “How on earth did you end up beside a dead body? It’s Michael Danning. Things go wrong whenever he’s around. Never go near him again. Promise me.”

“It wasn’t Michael’s fault,” Vicky protested. The deputy who manned the desk followed the conversation with interest. Vicky figured he’d report any word she said to Cash.

Noticing it too, Claire gestured Vicky to follow her outside where the ancient dark green Ford of a friend was waiting for them. The little blue-haired lady climbed out of the driver’s seat, clasping her hands when she saw Vicky. “You are released,” she cried, “so soon.”

It sounded like the excitement was over more quickly than she would have liked.

Vicky sighed and hissed to Claire, “Did you have to bring her? I bet by now all of Glen Cove knows about it.”

“I needed a car, honey. It’s two miles. And of course Glen Cove knows about it. It was on the news.”

Vicky felt her jaw sag. She had actually made the news. “I’d rather have made it with my gift shop, and not with this.”

“You might still have a chance to do that. If you leave Michael Danning alone. Now get in and we can go home. You’re staying with me tonight. I’ll make you a nice big breakfast in the morning.”

Vicky’s stomach growled at the thought of hot food. Because she had been taken in for questioning, she had never had any dinner.

Claire took the front passenger seat with the dogs, while Vicky got into the cramped back. The elderly driver zigzagged over the deserted road, turning the radio’s tuning button, looking for news about the murder. She chattered that it had been on the midnight news already, because some neighbor had called it in. Vicky wondered who it could have been as Mortimer lived pretty secluded. Then of course sirens did sound over a large distance, and perhaps somebody had followed the police car to see what was up.

Vicky yawned and rubbed her eyes. She wished she had tried harder to persuade Michael to leave Mortimer’s things alone. That he had searched them made him look suspect, and then there was his phone number on Mortimer’s little list.

With Michael arrested, they would be more or less obliged to prove somebody else had killed Mortimer, to exonerate him. And right now Vicky had no idea how to do that.

Right now she only wanted to dive into a nice clean bed and have eight hours of undisturbed sleep.

“Vicky! Get up and get dressed. At once.”

Vicky moaned and rolled over. Her mother’s voice increased in volume. “Get up right away. There is someone here to see you.” The curtains were pulled open in a whoosh, and bright sunlight flooded the guestroom. “Make sure you put on some makeup and wear your hair down. It makes you look so much younger.”

“Mo-hom…” Vicky hid under the duvet. She felt like she had just slept for an hour or two. She needed much more to get the weariness out of her bones. And she really had no idea why she’d have to look younger. “What time is it?”

“Nine. You should be ashamed of yourself to be in bed at this hour. What do you think people will say when they hear…”

“I got home by three-thirty. I was bushed. I want to sleep. Tell whoever it is that I will call later today. And please close the curtains again.”

“Now, Victoria…” the duvet was yanked away “…it is not polite to keep guests waiting. And this is a very dear friend of the family. Get up and shower and dress right now, or I will come back in here and drop a wet washrag in your face.”

Vicky understood there was no point in arguing and scrambled to sit up. She had to get moving anyway, find out if Michael had been released as well. If he wasn’t, Marge might know a good lawyer. “All right, all right. Keep your hair on. I’m already getting up.”

Claire grunted in satisfaction and disappeared, her footsteps rushing downstairs. Vicky wondered who had gotten her so worked up. She showered in a rush and let her damp hair hang over her shoulders instead of pulling it back into a ponytail, just to please her sweet old mother. After all, Claire had come to get her at the police station in the dead of night.

Eager to place the call to Diane at once, Vicky ran downstairs to find Everett Baker waiting for her in the den. He was dressed in a crumpled brown suit that made him look even taller. With his inevitably clammy hands he clasped hers and shook repeatedly, saying he was so sorry and so worried about her and she could have been killed herself.

Vicky tried to smile and be nice and explain that she had not been alone with the dead body, at which point Everett launched into a tirade against Michael Danning, who had put Vicky’s life in danger. It was an outrage and he would write to the newspaper editor about it.

He seemed to forget in his agitation that Michael was the newspaper editor.

“Look,” Vicky said, “it’s very nice of you to stop by and ask how I’m doing, but I would really like to get some breakfast now. And I’m sure you have an important appointment waiting for you. Your time is so precious.”

Everett tore his gaze away from her face and fumbled with his large hands. “Yes, yes of course, I’m late, you are so right. It’s still quite a drive and I should really be getting on my way. Lot of money involved, you know. Important deal.” He took a hurried leave, of Claire also, who hovered in the background, and then he dashed to his car.

“How can you treat the man like that?” Claire burst out as soon as he was gone. “He is so obviously in love with you and you treat him like dirt.”

The thought of Everett Baker being in love with her was a bit much, especially before breakfast. Vicky didn’t comment but dived into the kitchen. She had to contact Diane and tell her what had happened. She wanted to look up the number in the phone book, under the old owner of the cottage, Black, but then remembered she still had the note with the three phone numbers she had copied off at Mortimer’s. She got it from her purse and called Diane’s cottage.

She waited with a pounding heart for Diane to answer. She didn’t look forward to telling Diane that Michael was in jail. She might think it somehow had to do with her reappearance in Glen Cove and blame herself for it.

Even worse, Vicky would have to tell her that Mortimer Gill might have suspected who had killed her sister, but Mortimer’s knowledge might have died with him. The latter news would probably be the worst blow to Diane. She had been so close, and yet the information was now so far away.

“Hello?”

“Diane? It’s Vicky.”

“It’s Mrs. Appleton, the cleaning lady.”

Vicky’s shoulders sagged. “Is Diane there?” She already guessed the answer. If Diane was there, she would have answered the phone herself.

“No. She went out. Real early. At eight when I just came in. She wanted to talk to that former deputy, Ralph Something.”

“The one who retired?” Vicky tried to conjure up his face, but came up empty.

“No, the one who quit the job after a few years. Got a chicken farm fifteen miles up north. I bet it has something to do with her investigation of her sister’s disappearance.”

Vicky asked if she had Diane’s cell phone number, but she did not. Mrs. Appleton was of an age where cell phones didn’t play a large part in her world. Eager to end the conversation before her overnight stay at the police station could come up, Vicky thanked her and asked her to write a note for Diane to call her as soon as she returned. She gave her cell phone number so Diane could reach her any time. She emphasized it was very important that she talked to her as soon as possible, then disconnected.

“Forget about that phone now,” Claire ordered. “Michael Danning can take care of himself. He’s been in worse scrapes all over the world. I even imagine he has been in worse prisons than we have here in Glen Cove. It can’t hurt him to be locked up for a day or two. He doesn’t need you running after him like a nanny. Sit down to eat. The kettle is already on for tea. And hand me the butter, will you?”

Vicky nodded and fetched the butter. But her mind was on the other number on the sheet. The one Michael had not known. There was an easy way to find out whom it belonged to.

Simply call it and see who answered.

Her fingers trembled as she punched in the numbers. Behind her back Claire grumbled that nobody ever listened to her, while she was putting bread into the toaster.

“Good morning,” a friendly female voice said on the other end of the line, “Rowland Loan, Mortgage and Investment. How may I help you?”