Читать книгу A Country Gift Shop Collection: Three cosy crime novels that will keep you guessing! - Vivian Conroy - Страница 24

The windows of the real estate agent’s offices were taped full with pictures of nice white wooden cottages and sheets of densely printed text singing the praises of said properties.

There was also a large colorful poster promoting a new marina to be built in a nearby town, for which investors could buy shares. Staring at the ugly glass and metal structures in screaming colors, Vicky hoped something modern like that would never come to Glen Cove. The entire ageless authenticity of their town would be spoiled.

The door opened with difficulty as it was stuck a little, and she had to push hard to get in. Inside it was stuffy, the scent of Everett’s aftershave lingering on the air. The secretary’s desk was empty, just a sleek computer whirring on it as it stood in standby.

Vicky walked past the desk to knock at Everett’s door. It was marked with his name and CPA. She had never known Everett was a certified public accountant. But then it made sense to assume he was good with figures in his profession. Real estate involved lots of money and his detailed knowledge of budgets, credit and loans might make him the better party for people to go with.

She rapped on the wood just below the name tag.

“Come in,” a voice called in a distracted tone.

She stepped in, amazed at how light and friendly the room was. The wall opposite the door was dominated by a glass cabinet with trophies, catching the sunlight that fell in through the high window and reflecting it in blinding flashes. Vicky moved to a spot where her eyes didn’t get hurt and smiled at Everett. He was behind his computer, looking disturbed. To his left and right were stacks of cardboard file folders, brimming with paperwork. A fax in the corner rattled as more sheets began to flow out.

Everett frowned at her. “Yes, what can I do for you? Is there some problem with the store? I’m afraid that if it is a matter of maintenance, the owner of the building cannot be held responsible for—”

“No, not at all,” Vicky cut across him before he could dive into the ins and outs of rental contracts. “I just wondered… Yesterday you came down the street and almost collided with Mortimer Gill. He was on the phone, apparently too distracted to notice you. Do you recall what he was talking about?”

Everett stared at her. “Mortimer Gill?”

“Yes, you bumped into him, or rather he charged down toward you and you only just jumped out of his path. You called something after him. I think it was uh…meant as a correction?”

“Oh, yes, now I remember. He almost pushed me off the curb. I could have broken an ankle.”

Everett reached up and straightened his tie. “He should have been watching where he was going, but he was too upset to pay any attention. In fact, he looked ready to burst a blood vessel and was saying something about…a lot of money he wanted. Or else he would go public with it.”

Everett sighed. “I had the impression it was another of Mortimer’s attempts at getting easy money. It seemed to bother him other people had more money than he did, and he was always trying to get some, not by hard work, but by uh…what shall I call it?”

“Scams?” Vicky tried, using the word Gwenda had used at the scene of the fire.

“Yes, you could say that.” Everett shook his head. “In college he sold me a microscope that was supposed to be brand-new. Said he had gotten it for Christmas and didn’t want it. It turned out it was used and not functioning properly. But when I complained about it, he said he knew nothing about it. Wouldn’t give me back my money either.”

Everett shook his head. “Sad really. He should just have gotten an education and found himself a real job. Handymen don’t earn that much. Nor do falconers. Those birds should be free anyway. He keeps them in small cages and teaches them tricks. He lets them fly every now and then, but they can’t get far. If they tried to escape, they would just die, because they have never learned to catch their own food. They have to stay with him while he treats them like dirt, because he made them dependent on him. Despicable.”

Vicky was puzzled by Everett’s passion about the subject. “I think Mortimer genuinely loved those birds. That was one of the few things he really cared for.”

Everett shrugged, his eyes already on his computer screen again. “If you say so. Did that answer your question?” His hands hovered over the keyboard. “What is your interest in that phone call anyway?”

“Oh, I just wondered about any calls Mortimer might have made before he died. It could help fix the time of his death. That’s all.” It was a poor lie as Everett could also conclude that Mortimer had been very much alive when he had almost run him off the curb and that particular call had nothing to do with fixing the time of his death. But she didn’t want to tell just anybody that Michael and she had found a list with phone numbers on the scene.

Everett sat motionless. “I don’t see why you’d have to bother yourself with the time of death. The police will know all about it. Mortimer’s home phone got disconnected, you see. He only had a cell phone. If he made any calls before he died, the numbers he called should be in the cell’s memory.”

“Uh, yes, of course.” Vicky could just slap herself. She had wanted to ask Cash if the cell phone had been found when she was at the police station but had totally forgotten to do it. Maybe she could ask later?

With a smile she focused on Everett again. “Just curious. Would you ever be willing to make a statement about what you overheard Mortimer saying when he bumped into you yesterday?”

Everett seemed puzzled. “I can’t see what good it would do. I don’t know whom Mortimer was talking to.”

Vicky struggled to come up with a logical reason without revealing anything. “Well, you know, if the police do have the cell phone, they will know who it was on the other end of the line. I mean, they can look up the number and connect it with someone. Your testimony that Mortimer was threatening someone with exposure could be very helpful.”

“Helpful? Why?”

“To establish a motive for Mortimer’s death.”

“Motive?” Everett looked at her with a worried expression. “Has Danning put you up to this? He should know better. That you were questioned last night was bad enough. Your mother was so upset about it when I talked to her this morning. You shouldn’t get involved any deeper in this ugly murder business, Vicky. It could be very dangerous. I’m sure your mother would be devastated if something happened to you. You’re all she has got left.”

“Yes, I know that.” Vicky felt slightly guilty for being so involved already. After all, she had promised Claire she’d stay away from trouble.