Читать книгу Dead to Begin With - Vivian Conroy - Страница 10

Her mind went blank, as her gaze traveled the familiar broad shoulders and determined stance. It had been so long and yet it seemed like yesterday that she had seen him walk the beach alone, throwing driftwood into the water. Just two days before he had left town to escape the media frenzy. A departure that had been interpreted as a confession of guilt.

Claire took her arm and pulled at her. “Let’s cross the road. I want to show you something.” Lowering her voice, she hissed, “His suits look like he is in dire need of money. But I dare say the Glen Cove Gazette won’t get him a decent salary. Maybe he is using this story about Diane wanting to reopen the case to put pressure on people for gain. He always had this cocky way about him.”

“Mom,” Vicky hissed back, “I’m not going to avoid Michael. Let’s just say hello and act normally, OK?”

She tried to pull Claire back from the curb, but Claire hung on her arm with all her might, whispering, “Even if he asks you to do articles for the paper, you won’t say yes, you understand? He can’t be trusted. I don’t want you to ever be alone with him. He might kill you too.”

Raising her voice, she said in an exaggerated cheerful tone, “Now let’s go see the library, honey. You’ll love the changes they’ve made. And I want you to meet Marge Fisher. She walks the dogs for me sometimes. If you’re going to start a store, you need her help. She can become your assistant or something.”

Vicky wasn’t keen on an impromptu assistant being planted on her by her mother—probably someone from the inner circle of the ‘informers’—but at least Claire seemed to accept the idea there would be a store. If only to keep Vicky away from the Gazette and Michael Danning, of course.

Vicky firmly extracted her arm from her mother’s grasp. “You go ahead to the library. I’ll come over later when I’ve talked to Everett.” She didn’t intend to meet up with this Marge Fisher for as long as she could avoid it, but it was counterproductive to say that to Claire now.

Claire pressed, “You invite Everett to dinner, you hear.”

“Yes, Mother.” Vicky ushered her in the direction of the library’s double doors.

Claire snorted, but obeyed and disappeared inside, already calling out to someone she knew.

Vicky exhaled in relief. There was no way Claire could see her from the inside of the library. And Michael Danning happened to be in front of her meeting point with Everett while Everett wasn’t there yet. Might as well kill time with a little chat. She itched to know more about the paper’s headline, Diane and the old police files that their retired Sheriff Perkins had. It was all purely professional of course. An interest in the news value of the story.

Crossing the street, she reached up quickly to check on her hair. As a future store owner she had to look presentable.

“Victoria!” Michael Danning flashed a broad smile. His dark hair was still thick, graying only at the sideburns. His sophisticated look was underlined by his expensive cashmere sweater over gray pants, which probably belonged to a tailor-made suit. Claire’s remarks just now had made it sound like he was on the brink of poverty, but Vicky knew better. The struggling Gazette might not pay him much, but Michael Danning had made his fortune abroad before he had come back here. The clippings on all the prizes won for his undercover work were in a shoe box among her things. Safely hidden away where nobody would ever see them.

Michael looked her over like he was searching for the familiar. “I heard you were meeting Everett here this morning to negotiate for this piece of property. And since Everett is always late, I thought I could meet you here and chat for a sec.”

He waited a moment as if he wasn’t sure what to say next.

Vicky’s mind raced with all she wanted to know about his reasons for coming back to town, but it was impossible to start that topic out of the blue. They needed casual lines to ease back into the old confidence. And how much confidence had there really been between them? To her their friendship had meant the world, a meeting over lunch to talk about classes, Michael helping her out with an assignment or two. But Michael had been with Celine and…

Michael said, “To be honest, I had no idea you were into beauty products these days. You uh…don’t intend to continue the beauty parlor, huh? Not to discredit you or anything, but that lady outside of town has organized things really well. You won’t be able to take back her clientele.”

Vicky always got defensive when people told her she couldn’t do something. Challenge was the biggest trigger word in her book.

But she wasn’t opening up a beauty parlor just to show Michael Danning that she could. “No, I have a completely different plan for the property. I know nothing about curlers and mineral clay, you know. I never go to such places myself.”

“And you don’t need it.”

Michael Danning could still turn on the charm like the cold-water tap. If she was smart, she’d stay on friendly terms with him to ensure good press about her store, but nothing more. He was just too easy to like, but heartache was the last thing she needed. Her focus had to be on starting her gift shop.

“You can smirk all you want,” a voice said agitatedly, “but you just move in and do better.”

A woman had popped out of the door beside the beauty parlor’s entrance, leading to the upstairs apartment. It was still let to the former owner of the bankrupt beauty parlor. The well-groomed black poodle beside the woman further confirmed to Vicky she was face-to-face with Gwenda Gill. The antagonism in the woman’s words and facial expression didn’t bode well.

Vicky looked for a quick way to lighten the mood and leaned down to pat the poodle. “You must be Jewel. I’ve heard so much about you.” Glancing up at the owner, she said, “My mother wrote to me about the dog shows you go to. You’ve won a lot of prizes with Jewel, right?”

Straightening up, she reached out her hand. “So nice to meet you. I’m Vicky Simmons, and I…”

But Gwenda jerked the poodle back and snapped at Vicky, “Nothing nice about it. You move in from out of town and think you know everything, right? Well, if people didn’t want to give me business, why would they give it to you? You don’t belong here either.”

“Now, now, Gwenda…” Michael tried to hush her, but Gwenda shot him a deadly look and hissed, “You helped them ruin me. You published those anonymous letters accusing me of using inferior products. Mere water I had put into spray bottles and sold as skin vitalizer, huh? I should have sued you for it!”

“Those letters had a name and address on them,” Michael said, lifting a placating hand.

But Gwenda screeched, “That address didn’t even exist. You could have verified that. Glen Cove is not exactly a city of millions. It was Mortimer, and you knew it. You took his side.”

She pointed a red-nailed finger at Michael. “Newspaper people always claim they check their sources. But you didn’t check anything. You were just after a sensationalist story and you didn’t care who suffered from it.”

Michael shook his head. “It was easy enough to get a bottle of that so-called vitalizer and have it analyzed. In a laboratory? Don’t you think I have the connections to do that?”

Gwenda’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you waste the valuable time of your connections on my small-town business? There was nothing in it for you.”

The poodle lingered beside Vicky, but Gwenda tore it along. “You were all just siding with Mortimer. Working hard to break me, so I’d move away from Glen Cove. But I won’t. I will stay right here to confront him with his guilt!” And she marched off. Her Cuban heels worked the pavement like she’d trample anybody who got in her way.

People on the other side of the street were looking at them, and Vicky felt her cheeks flush. She wished Everett Baker would just get here and take her inside to escape those curious glances.

Beside her Michael sighed. “It’s sad, I suppose, but people just don’t take Gwenda seriously. She likes to exaggerate. And she married a local man while she isn’t from Glen Cove herself. That alone guarantees that in the case of a conflict the locals will side with her husband, against her.”

“That may be, but she didn’t exaggerate about those letters. My mother told me you did print them, and just a hint of such allegations can ruin a business overnight. I guess you were very sure that there really was something amiss. Abroad you always did such careful research to capture the essence of what was going on.”

Michael’s intense stare made Vicky’s face flame. She muttered, “Not that I followed your career or anything. You just notice when somebody you used to know hits the news, you know.”

Her words rang a little false even to her own ears, and she was glad Michael couldn’t know about all the clippings she had saved over the years. It was a little silly for a woman her age.

“It’s of course possible that Mortimer wrote those anonymous letters.” Michael held Vicky’s gaze. “Mortimer is Gwenda’s ex-husband. He divorced her, or she divorced him. They don’t exactly agree on the details, you know.”

Vicky frowned hard. “I remember him from school. Pretty sporty, right? Didn’t he have a chance to get a baseball scholarship?”

Michael nodded. “He didn’t take it though, started working at a garage right away. He could always get the college kids spare parts at reduced prices.”

Vicky eyed him. “And how did he get those parts?”

“Who knows? I was sort of surprised when I came back here that he was still around. I had expected a guy like him to move away to a place with more action.” Michael shrugged. “Anyway, rumor has it his marriage never really worked. They were poles apart, him working with predator birds, her being into dogs. Not a great combination. Most birds are terrified of dogs. They get defensive and aggressive. I think his great horned owl almost got one of her Chihuahuas once. She called him a filthy farmer; he called her a stuck-up makeup doll. And then I’m just quoting the nice bits.”

He made a face. “Anyway, I heard that he did help her lease this building, start the beauty parlor. I guess he hoped it would give her something to do, so they wouldn’t be at each other’s throats all the time. From my sources I got the impression he genuinely wanted to save their marriage.”

He thought for a moment.

“So?” Vicky asked. “I don’t understand why a man who did everything to save his marriage would have written poisonous accusations about his wife’s business. Especially as he had even helped her start it.”

Michael nodded. “Exactly. That’s why it didn’t make sense to suspect Mortimer of having written those letters. He tried all he could to build bridges with Gwenda. But it didn’t work out. They split up anyway. Gwenda moved into the apartment over the beauty parlor. Kept saying Mortimer was spreading lies about her, wrecking her business. But I guess that people just got tired of coming in for a facial and hearing Gwenda rant about her ex, the skimpy alimony, the vacation she couldn’t afford. You come to a beauty parlor to be pampered, relieve stress, right? Well, all of Gwenda’s harping just drove them out of their minds. So when this New York socialite with the institute moved in… It has some kind of Greek name, but everybody around here just calls it the Glam Parlor.”

Michael’s grin intensified. “She won a lot of people around fast. She doesn’t complain about her ex, but plays relaxing music. She also doesn’t bill every single drink.”

“It sounds like you’ve been there yourself.” Vicky scanned him suspiciously.

“I did an article on the new business in town. That’s what an editor does, especially if it’s a small town. People like to be informed about newcomers.” Michael looked innocent. “Of course she showed me around the premises and we had a drink, talked about her reasons for settling here. In my newspaper article I left out some bits of that, as they were uh…too personal.”

Oh, boy. Vicky could just picture how he had enticed the woman to share all about her past—maybe some unhappy love affair or the death of a beloved spouse—while he listened to her and said all the right things. Michael Danning was still the natural-born charmer he had been in college.

And now he might also want to know all about Vicky’s London years and her business initiative and… She might end up toasting to her new success with him, and staring into his dark chocolate eyes and feeling kind of light-headed…

No way. She’d better arm herself against Michael Danning’s charm, before her old crush on him returned full force. It had been embarrassing at eighteen. She really didn’t want to think about how it might look today.

“So,” Michael said in the meantime, “if it’s not beauty-related, then what are your plans for this piece of real estate?”

“Some home decoration shop, right?” a voice said behind Vicky. Everett Baker stepped into full view, his face red from rushing, his hand clammy as he pressed hers.

Glen Cove’s real estate agent was so tall he always stooped a little and looked awkward in his crumpled gray suit. But looks could be deceiving. According to Claire’s letters, Everett Baker negotiated aggressively for his clients and could hold his ground against competitors from bigger firms.

“Sorry to be late,” Everett said in a casual tone. “I had an urgent call and… Well, you know how it is when you lead a busy life.” He glanced at Michael Danning as if to make sure he heard it too. “They never give you five minutes to breathe.”

“A home decoration thing?” Ignoring Everett, Michael Danning studied Vicky with a frown. “Tourists who come in for the day don’t take along a big dresser, and smaller objects don’t bring in real money. Gwenda Gill might be a pest at times, but she is right about one thing: you need a good plan to open a store here or it will tank.”

He pointed at the hardware store across the street where an age-old man in gray coveralls was shaping a wooden dog for a little boy. “Since it’s become fashionable to buy a fixer-upper cottage in Maine, people run to the hardware store to do their own repairs. Besides that, the old men still have their share in the fishing business. Don’t have to depend on the hardware store alone.”

Vicky exhaled in a huff. “I know that. I grew up here, remember?”

Michael pushed on like he hadn’t heard her. “But home decorations? If you want to make a living off this… Or are you still writing?”

She made a so-so gesture. “More or less. A magazine asked me to do a column about my move from London back to the countryside of Maine. It will run biweekly for a year.”

Back Home With Vicky Simmons offered a way for her loyal readers to say good-bye to her gradually. As they had followed Away With Vicky Simmons for ten years, it would be a big change for all of them.

Vicky continued, “That’s some income. But it won’t last forever. Besides, I really wanted to try something different. I had made some plans already and got my confirmation on the plane over here. A fellow passenger overheard I came from London and wanted to know everything about the royal family. She even asked me if I had any memorabilia that I wanted to sell to her and her friends. That clinched it for me. There is a huge potential market for British products in the US. And having lived in London for so long, I’m an expert on those. I know the best places for plaids, sweaters, home decoration, books. And royalty memorabilia, of course.”

Just talking about it filled her with energy again. “I’ll also have to sell via a website for bigger reach. I need business cards and flyers to spread in the area and…”

Her mind buzzed with everything she needed to do, making her both excited to get started and just a little overwhelmed. After all, she had never done anything like this before.

Everett Baker said, “Well, I’d better let you look inside then so you can see how perfect this object is for your purpose.” He pulled out a bunch of clinking keys and dived at the door.

Vicky expected Michael to be leaving now that she was supposed to tour the building with Everett. Before he could do so, she put her hand on Michael’s arm. “I saw Diane’s story in the paper today. I was kind of surprised by her visit to town. I thought she was settled in Europe.”

Michael nodded. “She is, with her family. But she’s back in town for the summer. Alone.”

There was a strange tone to his voice as if he didn’t like it. Vicky frowned. “Did you ask her to come out here?”

“Of course not. It’s a terrible idea.”

Vicky was stunned. “But…you did print her story. You must have realized how it will stir things up.”

Glancing past Michael, Vicky saw the wife of the general store owner peeking at them around her postcard display. While pretending to rearrange something, she was keeping an eye on everything that happened in the street. Most gossip that traveled along the Glen Cove grapevine originated at Jones General Store.

Vicky couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Jones had known, at the time, if Celine was seeing another man than Michael. If anybody in town had known, it would have been her.

Had the police ever asked her?

Would it be in those old files that former Sheriff Perkins had?

“Are you coming?” Everett Baker’s voice demanded from the door.

Vicky shook herself. “Sorry, Michael, I have to go in.” From Claire’s disclosures she knew that Everett Baker had no time or patience for people who wanted to see a property ten times and then decided that the living room windows were too small for their liking anyway. He expected people to judge his objects as he did: by their obvious potential for an intended purpose.

That was OK with Vicky. She knew exactly what she wanted. The location of the former beauty parlor, in the heart of town, with parking space in front, was already perfect. So unless it looked really bad or small inside, her mind was fully made up. She’d take it. Then her adventure could really begin.

Light-headed with anticipation, she followed Everett Baker inside.

It was dark and clammy, with that typical scent that permeates a room that’s been shut off for too long. There were ugly marks on the dark wooden floor where the chairs had been clamped for the customers of the beauty parlor. Dust bunnies hovered in the corners, fluttering in the draft that came in through the open door.

The walls were bare, and tape had left broad yellowish stripes on the white where apparently posters had hung. The white itself wasn’t white anymore, but grayish, with scattered dark spots as if decay was eating its way right into the walls.

Vicky glanced up at the ceiling. The low beams should be authentic plain oak. But they were painted a shocking lilac.

All in all, it was the least likely place for an elegant English country gift shop.