Читать книгу A Country Gift Shop Collection: Three cosy crime novels that will keep you guessing! - Vivian Conroy - Страница 21

Vicky disconnected in a rush, as if she had burned herself.

The number belonged to Deke Rowland’s company. Deke Rowland, Cash’s brother. Why on earth would Mortimer Gill have wanted to call him?

She leaned against the sink to cut some cheese off the chunk. Deke had been dating Diane back then. It had been pretty serious, because when Diane had gotten her grant to study in Europe, Deke had planned on going there too, and had even tried for a job there.

But his parents had never approved of the relationship and after Celine’s disappearance and Diane’s hasty departure, they had forced Deke to change colleges. After his graduation he had been moved into a good job at a law firm and once he had met his current wife and planned to marry her, his father had set him up in that investment firm.

She wondered how Deke had felt about Diane’s return to Glen Cove. It had to have stirred up a lot of old memories.

Mr. Pug wound himself around her feet, and she cuddled him, even giving him some cheese, which was normally against the law. She was just glad to be out and about again.

Free.

As she sat down to eat, the phone rang. Vicky wanted to jump at it, but Claire had it first and answered. Vicky held her breath that it would be Diane already, or some bad news about Michael, about prolonged incarceration. Her mother was at the center of all intelligence in Glen Cove. If something was up, she’d be the first to know.

Claire listened intently, saying a lot of well, well, well. Vicky could just hear the cogwheels in her mother’s head churning. As soon as the call was finished, she asked her what was up. Her mouth was dry, thinking Michael was in real trouble now.

“Guess what they found in Mortimer Gill’s place?” Claire refilled her teacup. “A pink hair curler. Now Gwenda hasn’t lived there in months, so there must be some woman involved. A new live-in girlfriend, who got sick of his birds and his scraping, clubbed him and took his money? Maybe Gwenda herself came back and clubbed him for the money.”

“What money?” Vicky asked automatically, putting jelly on her toast. “Mortimer Gill had no money. Gwenda blamed him for it, even divorced him for it.”

“That is what everybody believes. But it seems Mortimer had just ordered a brand-new van to transport his birds in. With lettering and all, advertising his falconry business. That suggests he had some money.”

Claire leaned over. “Gwenda has claimed for years that Mortimer had a source of income that he was hiding from everybody, including the IRS. A little far-fetched if you ask me. Like some mason with a few birds has a secret bank account in the Cayman Islands!”

Claire huffed. “Still he did order this van. So he must have had some money nobody knew about.”

Or had some money coming? Gwenda had known about a scam in the making. She had wanted a part in it, in any case, a part in its proceeds. Would Gwenda know what Mortimer had taken from Perkins’ barn?

Would she also know who was implicated in it?

It could be the very person who had killed Mortimer.

Suddenly in a big hurry, Vicky jumped up from her chair. If she went to the store right now, she might call at Gwenda’s door right beside it, to offer her condolences about Mortimer’s death and ask about the scam he was supposed to undertake.

Maybe she could convince Gwenda it was in her own interest to tell the truth now and not wait until the police would make her. If somebody had killed Mortimer for what he knew, and suspected Gwenda knew something too, the woman could be in mortal danger.

“Don’t think you can get to Gwenda,” Claire called after her in a loud voice.

Vicky halted at the back door, caught red-handed. Why was her mother so good at reading minds? “How come?”

“Nobody saw Gwenda today.” Claire waved her knife covered with butter. “Or yesterday afternoon after five for that matter. She drove out of town and it’s like she’s vanished from the face of the earth.” Claire waited a moment to let the revelation sink in. “Mrs. Jones called at her apartment several times and she doesn’t answer the door. Or the phone. It just goes to prove she took off with the money after she killed Mortimer.”

“In Gwenda’s position I wouldn’t open the door for Mrs. Jones either. Having to talk to all those curious people…” Vicky made a face. “I imagine Gwenda is hiding, or that she left town for a day or two, just to escape the consternation surrounding her ex’s murder. It doesn’t prove she is actually involved in his death.”

It was a pity Gwenda was gone though as she could be holding all the interesting information.

Vicky pushed the back door open. “I’m off to the store, Mom. I’ll take the dogs along so they can have their exercise. Come on, Mr. Pug, Coco.”

The dogs scampered to get to her first and dive outside into the fresh morning air and the bright sunshine.

Marge immediately embraced the possibility that Mortimer Gill had illegally taken items from Perkins’ barn. “It’s so like him!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t exactly think he’d go blackmailing people or anything, but…”

She looked for the right term. “My husband once called him an opportunist. Someone who sees a sudden chance and takes it, without thinking about whether it’s the right thing to do. Not seeing risks either or the possibility of other people getting hurt. Maybe Mortimer was only curious about the files people were talking about. But when that barn burned down, Mortimer must have believed he had a way to get some money. He did mind a lot that people looked down on him because he worked with his hands. And Gwenda humiliated him during their marriage and at the divorce saying he could never give her anything pretty or valuable. Must have stung. Sad really.”

“I guess Mortimer had his reasons for acting like he did.” Vicky nodded in agreement. “Still taking those files was a big thing, especially thinking he could use them somehow. Against somebody, you’d assume.”

“Yes, I wonder what he wanted with those phone numbers,” Marge mused, giving Mr. Pug a back rub. The dog grunted and wriggled under her hands to get more.

Coco was more timid than usual in these strange surroundings and stayed close to Vicky.

“Yeah…” Vicky sighed. “Deke Rowland’s, Diane’s and Michael’s, in that order. Now we know he never called Michael before he died. Michael would have told me if he had. But how about Deke and Diane? If they talked to Mortimer at a certain time, we can be sure he was still alive then.”

She exhaled in frustration. “Too bad I missed Diane this morning. Then I could have asked her if Mortimer had called her and if so, at what time. It might exonerate Michael. If Mortimer died at a time when Michael was already together with me…”

Marge stared ahead as if she was in some faraway place. “Mortimer loved his birds. Maybe the evidence is hidden somewhere in those sheds at his place or even in the birdcages? That could get tricky though. I’m not sure you should try and face a great horned owl to get to evidence. Especially when you are not sure it is even there.”

Vicky wanted to retort that for Michael’s release they had to try anything, but Marge already continued, batting her lashes innocently, “Of course my husband happens to know his way around Mortimer’s sheds and his birds. Kev grew up with predator birds. When we came to live here, he hooked up with Mortimer and used to help out when Mortimer was out of town for a day or two. The boys also joined them every now and then. They’re in love with the owls, especially the snowy owl Mortimer bought a few weeks ago. If attacked, Kev knows how to handle himself. Prevent injury to himself and the birds. He could uh…go there, pretending to take care of the birds now that Mortimer can’t anymore, and then have a good look around for anything suspicious?”

“That’s brilliant,” Vicky said.

“Well, you do have to make sure that it would be all right with the police. That he wouldn’t be trespassing or something. Kev will go a long way for me, but I don’t think he’d take the chances of being arrested and charged with involvement in a murder case.”

Vicky made a reassuring gesture. “Of course. If you can take care of the dogs for me, I will pop by the sheriff’s station during lunch break to tell Cash the birds need taking care of and it can’t be done by just anybody. Then I will innocently suggest your husband and hopefully Cash will see it as an easy solution and agree right away. Then Kevin can drive out after work tonight and search for us.”

She would also ask Cash if she could see Michael in his cell and talk to him for a few minutes. But she didn’t want to mention that now. Else Marge might notice some emotion in her that she’d rather hide.

“If Mortimer didn’t have a phone at his home…” Marge looked pensive. Her hands rested on Mr. Pug, but she forgot to rub in her concentration on a theory. “He must have made the calls he wanted to make on his cell phone. If the police took it off his body, then they can check in the outgoing calls memory, to see whom he called, at what time and for how long. That is even easier than having to go via the phone company, as they did in the old days. You could ask Cash about it right away. He has to accept evidence that can exonerate Michael.”

“The trouble is, Michael and I saw no cell phone lying around. Michael even checked the body for it, but it wasn’t there.”

Marge looked surprised. “Where can it have disappeared to?”

“Well, the place was one big mess, so maybe Mortimer just put it in an odd place? I assume the police will go over everything and might locate it. I’ll ask Cash about it.”

There was a tap on her store door windowpane, and Vicky jerked round.

A tall older woman stood there with a fashionable hat on and an umbrella in her left hand. She tapped the glass again, lightly. Mr. Pug ran for the door and scratched at it, barking.

Vicky told him to go back to Marge. Mr. Pug looked doubtful a moment, but as Marge invited him by clapping her hands, he waddled over to her. Coco hid behind Marge, peeking out to see who would intrude.

Vicky went to the door and opened it a crack. “Sorry, we’re still closed.”

“I understand, but I want to talk to you for a moment. I’m Ms. Tennings.”

“Oh, of course. Marge told me about your time in the UK. I was sorry I had forgotten to ask you to stop by here. When we talked on the phone?”

“About Mortimer Gill, yes.” Ms. Tennings looked serious.

Vicky held her breath, as she wasn’t sure if the news about the murder had also revealed her part in it. Her mother’s friends knew, so chances were it was all over town already.

Ms. Tennings said, “During my time abroad I caught the bug.”

Vicky tilted her head. “The bug?”

“Royalty. I’m totally addicted to anything that has to do with the British royal family. I brought something to show you.”

Ms. Tennings opened her purse and pulled out three envelopes. “There, the postal mark of Her Majesty’s postal service. Buckingham Palace. And here on the back the crown with the W of William. These are actually thank you cards I got when I congratulated the young couple, first on their marriage, then on the birth of their babies, Prince George and Princess Charlotte. Look.”

She extracted the cards. On the front was a beautiful full-color photograph, on the back words of thanks from the royal couple. “I thought you might like to display these here in the store, with your royalty memorabilia?”

“That would be great. People love an authentic touch. I already have someone whose specialty is books, so if you want to do royalty stuff, the two really supplement each other.”

She realized they were still at the door and stepped back to let Ms. Tennings in. “Please come in for a moment. It’s a bit chaotic with the renovations going on, so please don’t look at the mess.”

“Thank you.” Ms. Tennings stepped in and looked around. “What a difference from the beauty parlor. I never liked those lilac beams.”

“Well, I guess it did make the ceiling look higher.” Vicky looked up with a frown, then focused on Ms. Tennings again. “Why don’t you sit down there for a moment?” She pointed at one of the two leather armchairs. “Then you can tell me if they are as comfy as they look. They only came in yesterday.”

Ms. Tennings sat down and studied the half-finished fireplace. She opened her purse and pulled something out. Mr. Pug came running over and sat down at her feet, gazing up at her with an eager look. Her large purse obviously struck him as an excellent place for some treat.

But the item in Ms. Tennings’ hand was a folded newspaper. “I was late this morning, so I grabbed it along from the driveway as I left my home. I’m not sure if you had already seen this headline. Mortimer Gill died last night. They suspect foul play. Quite shocking. Especially as you knew him via his work here, right?”

She handed the newspaper to Vicky. The splashing headline could have been read from a mile away. Local Falconer Murdered.

Vicky’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. Would her name be mentioned? Or Michael’s? She was sure that if Michael had been able to influence the piece, he would have kept her out of it. But with him in jail somebody else had to have written this.

Maybe the kid he had been showing the ropes, as he had put it the other day?

Marge came to stand close to Vicky to read along, over her shoulder. The article told how two locals (no names given!) had gone to the house of local falconer Mortimer Gill and had found the man dead in his living room. He had been killed by a heavy blow with a blunt instrument. He had probably been dead for about an hour, two at the most.

“See,” Marge said by her ear, “he was killed while he was making his dinner. That’s why his potatoes burned.”

The article continued that the two who had discovered the body had been held by the police for questioning, but that neither of them was a suspect in the killing. The police had searched the house for clues, but refused to reveal if there had been anything found that could reveal the identity of the murderer. Like fingerprints, DNA or objects left behind.

The article didn’t speculate at all on who had done it. It did end with the observation that the deceased had kept and trained predator birds and that there was a market for trained birds. But it wasn’t made known if any of his birds had gone missing.

Vicky made a mental note to ask Cash about that when she went to the station later that day to discuss if Marge’s husband could care for the birds. Suppose the police had found tracks around the birdcages… Maybe not of a thief, but someone looking for the evidence Mortimer had hidden there?

“Whoever wrote this concluded neither of you is a suspect,” Marge said with relief in her voice. “Maybe Michael Danning has been released also, and the whole accusation against him will blow over?”

Ms. Tennings looked at them with surprise. “Neither of you a suspect? Does that mean Michael Danning and you are the two locals mentioned here who found Mortimer Gill’s body?”

Vicky exhaled. Ms. Tennings caught on quick.

Marge said, “Ms. Tennings here has a keen insight into people. I guess it comes from working with children all of her life. I think we should tell her what happened, so she can help us figure it out.”

Vicky hesitated. The elderly lady had been living across the pond when Celine had disappeared so she had not been personally involved in that. And a psychological insight might be just what they needed. Marge seemed to trust the elderly lady for having helped her out with the boys.

But could she just share what she knew with someone she had barely met?

Ms. Tennings seemed to notice her reluctance and said, “I was in a position of trust with all the families where I served. I’ve never talked about the things I learned within the intimacy of their households. And when something serious is concerned like this murder case, I consider it my duty as a citizen of this town to try and help solve it. I’m well connected and might help you find out information you will otherwise have no access to.”

Vicky glanced at Marge, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Apparently Ms. Tennings was good for her word.

Vicky decided to take the plunge. After all, Michael was being held, perhaps even charged with the murder. They had little time to gather evidence that another had been involved to divert suspicions away from Michael. Right now every insight could provide an essential piece to the puzzle.

Vicky gave Ms. Tennings a quick recap of events, including the find of the hundred-dollar bill, the note with the three phone numbers and the curious absence of Mortimer’s cell phone that might prove whom he had called last before he died.

Ms. Tennings had pulled some knitting from her large bag and sat bent over the tiny baby blue sweater, her needles ticking away. She didn’t interrupt, but only hm-hmed and nodded. But it was clear from her intense listening expression that she took it all in and that her opinion on it developed like the knitting under her busy hands.

Vicky concluded with her most recent discovery from having called the unknown first phone number off the list. “It was Deke Rowland’s, but I don’t see how he would be involved. At the time he was not dating Celine, but her twin sister Diane. And my mother also told me this morning that there was a hair curler found in the house, presumably dropped by Gwenda. But I haven’t seen that personally.”

Vicky was suddenly reminded of the paper in the toolbox, the drawing of her fireplace and the lone 5 and 3 underneath it. She glanced at the unfinished hearth. Why had Mortimer added those numbers, at some later time?

Both Marge and Ms. Tennings were eyeing her expectantly, so Vicky felt obliged to explain. “I did see one little thing that was a bit odd. But for the life of me, I can’t see how it would be related to Mortimer’s murder.”

She explained about the paper in the toolbox and the odd numbers, added later. “Five, three. They stood apart from the calculation, underneath the left part of the fireplace. Scribbled hastily, as if they were an afterthought.”

“I guess,” Ms. Tennings said, “that the numbers could refer to the left-hand side of the fireplace. To the rows of bricks.”

Vicky stared at her fireplace.

Marge clapped her hands in excitement and said it was just like in a Bella Brookes cozy.

Vicky was reminded of Mortimer’s actions the other day as he had just about disappeared into the fireplace. He might have hidden something in a place where only he could later retrieve it. Then later he had marked the drawing of the fireplace to remember where exactly he had put it. The fireplace would not be used until it was finished, so he didn’t run a risk of someone lighting a fire in it right now. That all made sense.

She walked over and knelt down in front of the fireplace. Loose bits of brick and mortar left on the floor crunched under her knees. She hesitated a moment, then leaned forward, putting her head in, like she had seen Mortimer do. It was as claustrophobic as she had expected. She pulled back hastily.

“Five, three. Right?” She counted rows of bricks from the bottom up. “Five. Then three stones, inside maybe?”

She put her hand in and ran her fingers over the rough bricks. Nothing.

“There is nothing here,” she reported, disappointed. “It was too good to be true that Mortimer would have hidden it here in my store.”

“Maybe it is five rows of brick from the top down?” Ms. Tennings suggested, her knitting forgotten. “Then three stones, inside. We have got to at least try to find it. Or make sure nothing is there.”

“Right.” Vicky felt better, leaned over further. There seemed to be a small cavity. If only her hand didn’t get stuck. That could be the Gazette’s next headline. Local Business Owner’s Hand Caught in Chimney.

“I think I…” She poked her fingers in, felt around, got the slip of something, pulled and grunted. “There is something here. But I can’t get to it.”

“Be careful,” Marge warned, “or it might break.”

“It seems to be rolled together or something.” Vicky tried to move her arm to get a better grasping position. “I can’t get… Oh, yes, wait a second.”

Once she had a bigger part of it, it came out easier.

A piece of paper turned into a finger-thick roll.

Marge gasped. “It’s actually paper. Notes.”

Vicky undid the roll. Several sheets, a bit yellowing…

She unfolded them and smoothed them on her knee. Marge looked down over one shoulder; Ms. Tennings stood on the other side. Even Mr. Pug pressed his head against Vicky’s knee, looking up as if he also wanted a peek at the papers.

Three pages from an old police report. Giving the information of eyewitnesses about the night of Celine Dobbs’ disappearance. To one of the sheets a photocopy of a newspaper page was attached. The Glen Cove Gazette from the fatal summer in which Celine had disappeared.

“This really came from Perkins’ barn.” Vicky’s mouth was dry. “So Mortimer wasn’t kidding when he suggested to me that not everything had been destroyed. He really had something.”

“Yeah,” Marge said, “but is it worth anything?”

“Let’s see.” Vicky began to read.