Читать книгу A Country Gift Shop Collection: Three cosy crime novels that will keep you guessing! - Vivian Conroy - Страница 23

Vicky held her breath.

Cash’s face turned red. “No, you’re not doing that. You can’t force me to…”

He clenched the phone. The veins on his temples stood out. “I don’t care. If you fly out of state, what will people think? What? Of course I don’t think you are involved in the murder. But that’s not the point.”

Vicky strained her ears to catch anything of what Deke was saying on the other end, but failed. Beyond an agitated voice she could make out nothing. But Cash’s remarks said it all.

Deke was not going to show up at the police station this afternoon to make a statement about his possible involvement in Mortimer’s murder. He was flying somewhere.

Intending never to return?

Cash lowered the phone with a gesture as if he was ready to fling it on the ground. “Can you believe that? Deke is flying out to some business meeting. Says there are hundreds of thousands of dollars at stake. Sure, why let one little murder hold you back?”

He banged the roof of his Jeep. “And what about my reputation being at stake, huh? What will people say when they find out attention was drawn to my brother Deke, in a murder investigation, and I let him leave the state?”

He looked at Vicky. “You know what the brat asked me? If I was going to put out an APB on him! The nerve!”

He exhaled slowly. “But Deke never took me seriously. Believes he is the big man in the family, with his mortgages and loans. Doesn’t care that he has to foreclose on local people and drive them out of their homes and businesses that were family-owned for generations. Makes him feel real tough.”

Cash stared down on the phone in disgust, then said, “Oh, never mind. His plane will be up in the air soon. I’ll just have to wait till it pleases Mr. Big Businessman to come back here, so I can question him.”

“If he even comes back.” Vicky glanced at Cash. “What if he is involved in Mortimer’s death and flees to escape arrest?”

“Deke a killer? No way.” Cash waved a dismissive hand. “Look, my brother is a pompous you-know-what who listens too much to his pushy wife. I bet Lilian put him up to this. She thinks it is beneath them for her husband to come to the police station. She underestimates the seriousness of it all and thinks a little time away will take the heat off of things and Deke won’t have to appear for a statement at all. Then her posh friends won’t gossip about it.”

“Instead it will only put the heat on.” Vicky glanced worriedly at Cash. “People will assume Deke is running because he has something to hide. Where there is smoke, there is fire, and that sort of thing. If Lilian did put him up to it, she gave him the worst possible advice.”

“Yeah, well, Lilian might never have thought that far. All she cares about is her image. She’s old money and marrying Deke was a step down for her. Ever since she has been pushing him to live up to her family’s standards. And Deke can never say no to her. She buys his suits, his designer ties, decides where they vacation. Or when his workroom needs a new orange wall with the ugliest painting you have ever seen. Who can work across from an orange wall?”

He huffed. “One big reason why I won’t marry. No wife, no hassle.”

Vicky smiled to herself. Cash had said that before, but still he had dated. She supposed he liked togetherness as much as anybody. And once the right person came along…

She cast him a sideward look. He still had his football muscle. He had a nice honest face and he had shaped up in the responsibility department too. Former bad boy Cash Rowland had reformed.

Then she remembered the red Jaguar from the old police report and Cash’s lie about the bar fight. She cleared her throat. “Cash, do you know anything, anything at all, that can explain a relationship between Mortimer and Deke? Financially perhaps?”

“No. Not at all. You?”

“I’m not sure.” She tried to sound casual. “I know so little about town relations really. I’ve been away for years, you know.”

Cash looked at her gravely. “What a time to come home, huh?”

Vicky followed Cash’s Jeep into town. Just as she cruised down Main Street, Marge came running from the library waving at Vicky to halt. Vicky pulled up at the curb and lowered the window. Marge leaned in. “The dispatcher at the sheriff’s station is a cousin of Mrs. Jones’ niece’s boyfriend and she told her when they met for coffee that Deke was asked to come to the station this afternoon to make a statement related to the murder. So Mrs. Jones said that as Deke got on a plane for California, he was obviously not going to make his statement. Maybe he won’t even stay in San Francisco, but try and cross the border into Mexico or even further to Colombia. Mr. Jones said that’s where fugitives go to start a new life.”

Vicky cringed inwardly. “Look, I was with the sheriff when his brother called in and said he was flying out for a business meeting. There is nothing sneaky about it. He just couldn’t cancel the meeting. His company would miss out on a big deal if he didn’t go. Since he duly reported it to Cash, nothing is wrong.”

Marge wasn’t convinced. She lowered her voice. “Deke could be Celine’s killer. If Cash allowed him to walk, he could be aiding and abetting. He could lose his badge over this.”

Vicky sighed. “Maybe Cash didn’t think too hard about it. He seems to think he’ll get a second dead body on his hands.”

She pointed up at the apartment’s windows. “He’s going over to Everett Baker’s now and coming back here with a key to have a look inside and make sure Gwenda didn’t get murdered as well last night.”

“That I have to see,” Marge said and hovered on the pavement, while Vicky parked the car in the lot down the street and rushed back so she wouldn’t miss anything.

As the two of them entered the gift shop, there was still a vague scent of paint on the air, mixing with the beeswax used on the sideboards.

The cozy sight of the first furnishings distracted Vicky a moment from her speculations about Gwenda Gill. With a loving gaze around, she dropped her purse and coat in one of the two leather armchairs. She had planned on bringing things from her cottage to create cozy scenes and snap those as promotional pics for her flyer. Maybe she should just push on with that? She wasn’t quite sure what else to do about the murder investigation, at least not until Marge’s husband had made sure Mortimer hadn’t hidden additional evidence from the files in Perkins’ barn among his birdcages. Tonight.

“Cash already has the key and is coming back here,” Marge reported from her lookout position in the doorway. She popped inside quickly to remain unseen. They heard the key turn in the lock, then footfalls thunder up the stairs.

They both listened for anything suspicious—an exclamation, footfalls returning fast—but nothing happened.

Marge hitched a brow at Vicky. “I don’t think Gwenda is lying there. Cash would have responded somehow, right?”

Vicky nodded. “Let’s wait until he comes down again so we can see his expression. But I bet you Gwenda just left town for a day or two to escape all the speculation following Mortimer’s death.”

She gave Marge a quick recap of her meeting with Diane at Ralph Sellers’ poultry farm. “I now know for sure that the call I saw Mortimer make from the window must have been the one to Deke. Mrs. Jones hadn’t been able to overhear anything of the conversation. She said so herself when I talked to her right afterward, so it would be pointless to go ask her again. But what about Everett Baker? Mortimer wasn’t looking where he was going and about ran him off the curb. Maybe Everett recalls a snippet of the conversation? I’ll go out to Everett’s offices and ask him just as soon as Cash is done upstairs. According to my mother, Everett Baker likes me so much that he’s bound to share everything he knows.”

Marge nodded. “Good idea.”

Overhead was a sound as if doors were being opened and closed with a bang.

“Is Cash looking inside her closets?” Vicky asked, puzzled.

“Maybe the place has been ransacked?” Marge said with wide eyes. “It always is on TV. Maybe the killer looked through Gwenda’s things to find the evidence, but came up empty. Of course he had no idea that smart Mortimer had already put it in your unfinished fireplace.”

“Hmmm,” Vicky said. It might have been smart of Mortimer, but right now it left her in a spot. What if the killer somehow found out about it and her store was next on his list to ransack? She already saw her sideboards’ doors torn out and the leather armchairs cut open.

The damages to her brand-new furniture would put a serious dent in her budget, not to mention she’d hardly feel safe in her own store anymore.

Footfalls thundered down the stairs, and Cash burst from the apartment’s door. He dragged it closed behind him without bothering to lock it.

Marge was already by his side to test her theory. “Ransacked, huh, Sheriff? Makes sense.”

“Ransacked?” Cash looked puzzled. “Neater than my sister-in-law’s place. Not a speck of dust, no laundry anywhere. Not a dirty plate on the sink or an overdue milk carton in the fridge. In fact, that fridge was almost empty. So were her closets. Even the dog bed and feeding bowls were gone. Like Gwenda packed up and left town. For good.”

Marge turned to stare at Vicky. “So Gwenda did kill Mortimer and ran off with all the money he had in his home.”

“Having cleaned out her apartment before she went to see Mortimer and had no idea yet she’d find him with all this money and steal it to run?” Cash shook his head. “Your theory has holes, Marge Fisher. But you can spread it around town anyway. There is no law against gossiping. For if there was, you’d all be in jail!”

He stomped away to where he had left his Jeep in front of Everett Baker’s building.

Marge huffed. “Getting a little frustrated, huh, now that the investigation is not going his way. Every suspect is giving him the slip. First Gwenda last night, now his own brother. Who will he have left?”

“He’ll want to pin it on Michael,” Vicky said gloomily. “That’s the only suspect he has under lock and key! Cash has some far-fetched theory that Michael killed Mortimer before he came to me to pick me up, just to take me along and pretend we found the body together.”

“Now there is a theory with holes,” Marge burst out. “Since getting his badge Cash Rowland has solved one cattle theft and it was not even a theft. Now he has to deal with murder. And if we are right about the connection with the past, with Celine’s disappearance, he is dealing with a killer who has killed before and escaped justice. I know you’re always defending Cash, but do you honestly think he is resourceful enough to capture someone clever and cold-blooded like that?”

“Maybe not on his own,” Vicky admitted. “But he’s got us to help him.”

Marge grinned. “Oh, he’d love that. I can just see his face if he heard you say that. Hey, wait a sec. That guy…” She pointed to a tall forty-something man who came from a van on the other side of the road. “Isn’t that the guy who walked off so fast when we met Cash in the diner? He has those quite distinctive silvery points on the toes of his cowboy boots.”

Vicky nodded. “That’s him all right. I think I saw him at the general store before.”

“Yeah,” Marge said, “and that van is their delivery van. Do you suppose this guy could be working for them?”

“Could be.” Vicky shrugged. “Mr. Jones did call out something to a Bob when I was there last.”

“Bob, yes.” Marge nodded. “I heard something at the library about the Joneses having this charming cousin who is here for the summer to help out. He seems to be giving extra service to every old lady he delivers groceries to, for instance helping her with a leaking faucet or doing another chore. They’re all singing his praises. That must be him.”

Vicky perked up. “It’s not cougiu; it’s cousin! There was a capital J after it. Of Jones! His parents were expats in China!”

Before Marge could ask her what on earth she meant with those cryptic exclamations, Vicky left her standing and raced across the street. The guy was in there now; she could just bump into him and ask him how he liked it back in town.

It had to be the same cousin of the Joneses who practically lived with them for a couple of months during the same time Celine had disappeared. At the time he had never been a serious suspect, but clever Mortimer had pegged him at once as a possible candidate for the mystery man who had been seen walking with Celine.

Drunk or drugged, Mortimer had noted, right, and in a general store the guy would have had access to all kinds of stuff to do that with.

Walking into the general store, Vicky saw the guy nowhere. Must have popped into the back room to get more supplies.

Her heart was pounding like crazy, and her palms filled up with sweat. How to do this without attracting too much attention to herself? This guy might not have hesitated to attack a strong man like Mortimer and once he sensed she was on to him…

Mr. Jones was standing at the counter going over a notebook. He looked up at her excited entry. His expression set, but as his wife was not around, he had to help her. He said stiffly, “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

“Uh…” Vicky’s mind raced. Maybe Mr. Jones could tell her if it was the same cousin. If it was not, she could scratch him at once. But she needed a way to broach the subject. If Mr. Jones started to think she was in any way implicating their cousin like he was some wanted criminal, he would hate her for it and never tell her anything again. He already disliked her so much for starting a store nearby and possibly taking their business. She had to tread lightly here.

Vicky assumed an innocent tone. “I heard that Gwenda Gill left town last night.”

Mr. Jones nodded. “Filled up her car around five at the local gas station. Like she was going on a long drive.”

He seemed to loosen up a little now that he had touched on interesting information. “Rather poignant now that her ex is dead.”

“Yes, well, she used to go to dog shows when she still bred Chihuahuas.” Vicky leaned back casually, trying to look like any customer who loves to chat. “My mother wrote to me about it, asking if Coco could be a show dog too. I wrote back that she should first try and make her sit still for two minutes, you know. That was the end of it.”

Mr. Jones almost had to laugh. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but he sounded friendlier when he said, “That I can imagine. Coco is the little white dog, right? She is energetic.”

Taking the room he was offering, Vicky continued, “I thought maybe your wife knows if there are any dog shows around this time of year. Gwenda might have gone there. Your wife always knows every event by heart.”

Mr. Jones consulted a colorful flyer he extracted from somewhere underneath the counter. “This list has most local events for the summer season. But I see no dog shows on it. You should really ask Emma. She knows much more about it than I do. But she is out right now. She will be back in half an hour. Maybe…”

he hesitated a moment, then said it anyway, “you can come back then? Or I can send her over to you.”

“That would be great.” Vicky listened for sounds from the back room that might indicate the enigmatic cousin was about to pop out again and she could strike up a conversation with him, pretending to know him from earlier on. But nobody showed.

Retreating to the door, she promised to be back later and started out for Everett Baker’s offices to find out if he had overheard anything of the phone call Mortimer had made.