Читать книгу Dead to Begin With - Vivian Conroy - Страница 13

Cash left Vicky and Marge soon after saying he had things to do. Marge checked her watch and exclaimed she had to run to pick up her kids from a friend. “Call me tonight to discuss things some more,” she called as she rushed off.

Vicky waved in agreement and finished the last draft of her now cold coffee. Her fingers still sticky from the cinnamon rolls, she returned to the store and spent the afternoon on her knees working on the floorboards. Smoothing, removing nails, filling up cracks and rubbing out stains. It started to look half decent, but her back felt broken and her stomach protested that a banana on the go did not really count as lunch. The fridge at her cottage, however, was half empty, and Vicky concluded her mother’s place was the better bet for a hot meal.

At Claire’s she found some great-looking lasagna and put it in the oven, set the table and selected some wine, then took Mr. Pug and Coco for a walk on the beach to ease her sore muscles. That was something she had missed in London: the wide desertedness of the beach, the sounds of the ocean, the scent of the salty air. There had been the Thames of course to walk along. At night with lights everywhere it had been very idyllic. But it hadn’t been the sea. Having been born in a coastal town, Vicky needed her regular encounters with the sea. Especially when it was incoming tide and the waves rolled to the sand with huge foaming white heads, crashing and breaking.

Claire always said not to take Mr. Pug and Coco to the beach. According to her, their fur got dirty from the sand in the air and they couldn’t walk up all those steps leading to the boulevard.

But Vicky believed the dogs enjoyed the beach as much as she did and took them anyway. She clambered down via a steep sandy path close to Claire’s home, carrying Mr. Pug, who was a bit fussy. Coco just ran down ahead of her, barking like crazy.

There were light clouds in the air but nothing suggesting bad weather, and Vicky unbuttoned her coat to let the wind play with it. Walking with the strong gusts in her face, picking up some shells here and there, she could forget about the headaches of all the repairs that still had to be done and focus on what she was happy and grateful about. Having leased the store, having connected with Marge. She had some great ideas for the store, and her love of all things British caused an instant connection between them. Maybe Claire’s idea of hiring Marge as an assistant had been a great suggestion after all. Then Vicky need not always be in the store herself. She had to talk it over during the call later tonight.

Vicky spread her arms and inhaled the salty air with relish. Things were coming together nicely.

Except for one thing.

A frown formed over her eyes. She really had to call Mortimer Gill and ask if he could start on the fireplace early tomorrow morning. Now that Marge had suggested involving him in the grand opening it made sense to use him as a mason as well. If Mortimer could really restore the old fireplace in a single day as he had claimed, his price for the job was not bad, and she could always squeeze him to give a small discount. Like five percent?

But something about the man still bugged her.

Mortimer’s interest in those old police files on Celine’s disappearance.

What could he possibly want with those? As far as Vicky could recall, Mortimer hadn’t been involved back then. Not as a witness or as a suspect. Why would he suddenly feel the need to look into it? Had Diane’s reappearance in town convinced him there was something to be found? For gain?

Michael’s mention of Mortimer’s little business in spare car parts suggested that already as a teen he had figured out how to make easy money. His current tendency to overcharge underlined he was still the ‘in for a quick score’ type.

What if Mortimer Gill intended to find some bomb in the old police reports that he could then drop on Glen Cove?

Once the lid was lifted, nobody knew what would come out. Vicky had lived in small towns long enough to know how rumors could get out of control, even out of the control of the one who had started it all. Like wildfire, they consumed everything in their way.

Loud barking tore Vicky from her worried contemplation. A couple of yards ahead of her Mr. Pug was trying to defend Coco from a much bigger dog who nuzzled her so wildly she almost fell over.

“Hey! Stop that!” Vicky broke into a run. Coco was terrified of larger dogs especially if they stood way over her. If she got hurt, Mom would never forgive her!

“Hey! You big lump!” Vicky ran up to the dogs and grabbed the German shepherd by his collar to drag him away. The dog looked up at her with a sort of surprise in his friendly face. He wagged his big bushy tail and even wriggled his head round to lick her hand.

“OK,” Vicky panted, “so you’re a good boy. And you only meant to say hello. But don’t fall all over Coco. She’s way too small to be your playmate.”

Not to mention what flying sand would do to her fur. Coco didn’t like to be bathed and last time Claire and Vicky had tried to coax the little princess into the tub, it had taken them an hour to clean up all the water and soap in the bathroom and change their own soiled clothes. It was surprising how strong a small dog could be.

“Excuse me, but that’s my dog.” The voice was cool and a bit haughty.

Vicky turned to the woman who wore an expensive sweatshirt over cargo pants. Her long blond hair fluttered loose on the breeze. Vicky held her breath. Even after so many years the likeness was stunning. Almost eerie.

“Celine,” she said, then could have kicked herself. “I mean, Diane. Ms. Dobbs. Or did you take your husband’s name?”

She realized she was starting to ramble and released the German shepherd, who ran off to snap at the waves. Coco pushed herself against Vicky’s leg, while Mr. Pug barked again as if he wanted to show he had driven the bigger dog away.

“Sorry,” Vicky said quickly, forcing a smile. “I believed for a moment your dog was attacking mine. That is, my mother’s dogs: Mr. Pug and Coco.”

In her experience dog owners usually thawed when they could discuss their pets. But Diane’s expression stayed cool and aloof. “My dog may look fierce, but he is well trained. Actually he’s a professional guard dog. I bring him on walks for protection.”

Vicky’s mouth fell open. “Have there been incidents lately?”

“I don’t intend to take any risks. I’m used to big cities; I guess it rubs off. You just don’t feel safe anywhere anymore.” Diane shivered a moment and rubbed her arms.

Vicky felt the need to say something reassuring, but was painfully reminded of Diane’s trauma in this place. Right here in Glen Cove her sister had vanished without a trace. It was hard to convince her it was a nice innocent little place.

Vicky took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that I called you Celine. But the…”

“Likeness is so striking.” Diane laughed bitterly. “That’s part of the reason why I left Glen Cove right after Celine…” She blinked a moment. “I just didn’t want to be compared to her anymore. It had always been fun to be twins, to be mixed up, even take each other’s place at times. But then it was no fun anymore. All the questions about how I was coping, how I felt. How did they think I felt? I had just lost half of me.”

Vicky held the woman’s gaze. Earlier she had looked at the newspaper photograph sort of trying to see the reasons for Diane’s return and now that she was face-to-face with her, she tried even harder. What did the look in those eyes tell her?

Diane swallowed. “I had that scholarship waiting for me so it was relatively easy to get away. I guess I felt relieved. It may sound terrible because I should have supported my parents, but…I was so tired of talking about Celine. Of waiting by the phone. The police told us that in a case of kidnapping the first twenty-four hours are crucial. If a person isn’t recovered by then, or comes back of his own accord, they are usually already…”

Vicky sucked in her breath. “I can’t imagine the police would say something like that.”

Diane straightened up. “Not the local police, no. They were so positive about a good outcome. A friend of my father’s told us the truth. Dad tried all kinds of friends for help, but…nobody could bring back Celine.”

The wind whipped strands of hair into Diane’s face, and she brushed them away impatiently. “I couldn’t stand the insecurity of waiting anymore. Or having to repeat my mother’s motto that there was still hope. To me hope diminished with every day that passed. I needed to work on my own life.”

“I understand.” Vicky waited a moment. It would be tactless to point out that Diane had left when everybody wanted to talk about Celine, and had come back when nobody wanted that anymore.

Diane said, “It didn’t really surprise me when my psychiatrist told me all of my problems were a consequence of my past. Of Celine’s disappearance. I had always known. Deep inside.”

She surveyed Vicky thoughtfully. “I know you’re Vicky Simmons, who also lived here when it happened. I think you knew Celine, although you never took classes with her, right? I’ve looked at old school pictures trying to remember all the names and then search for people online. I was curious what became of them all. Not everybody is still living here. Or living here again.”

The latter sounded almost accusing as if Diane blamed Vicky for having come home.

Or was it rather that Diane blamed Michael Danning for having come home? It was odd then that Diane had gone to Michael with her story. Michael had said explicitly that the interview had not been his idea, but Diane’s. What had been her intention?

Vicky was reminded of Cash’s remark that Diane wanted something. He had made it sound like he blamed her for it. Just because it stirred things up?

Or because Cash figured Diane’s actions were calculated? That every word she said was part of a plan to achieve a certain result? Planting seeds of suggestion that would soon shoot up into full-grown suspicion?

It did seem odd that Diane would meet a relative stranger on the beach and pour out her life’s story. Was she fishing for some kind of response? A flash of recollection?

Or an indication of guilt?

It had to be terrible to be surrounded by people and look at their faces wondering if one of them might be the face of your sister’s murderer.

Diane played with the dog leash in her hand. “A lot of people are back in town,” she said slowly. “I wonder what it is that pulls people back to their old hometown. Nostalgia? Wanting to see all the old places again, to compare them to your memories?”

It sounded soft and pensive, but Diane’s voice carried an edge as she pushed on. “Or is it a sense of guilt? Have you ever heard the theory that a criminal returns to the place of the crime? That that is the reason why the police take pictures of people who come to see a crime scene, or a fire? Because they believe the culprit might come back to see what he accomplished or watch people’s responses to the tragedy?”

Vicky took a deep breath. “I’ve heard about that, yes. And I suppose it happens. But there are a lot of normal people who go back to their old hometown for a lot of good reasons. Criminals are the exception, not the rule.”

To Vicky’s surprise Diane began to laugh. Not a harsh cynical laugh, but a warm heartfelt one. It changed her cold expression to a lively beautiful face, of someone you’d like to know better. “You’re so right,” she said. “I’m sounding morbid. It is completely at odds with this place. Glen Cove is friendly and sweet. I used to love it. Being back here, I remember how good I always felt, about the place and the people.”

She glanced around her, up and down the empty beach. “I thought it was a great idea when my psychiatrist suggested this trip. So much time had passed that I believed I could go back to the Glen Cove I had always cared for. That I could recover what I had lost and sort of find healing. But now I’m not so sure anymore. It’s not just the past. It’s the present. People have acted so hostile when I want to talk to them, like they are all protecting some guilty secret.”

“They need not.” Vicky buttoned up her coat again. It was chilly in the wind. “They’re just upset that the old story is alive again. People were made suspects at the time and they couldn’t defend themselves. It’s always worst to feel helpless.”

“Yes, I know.”

Vicky bit her lip. Perhaps Glen Cove should have taken a different attitude toward Diane’s return, welcoming her and even welcoming her questions, no matter how painful they might be. It was not Diane’s fault that her family name had become associated with a crime. The real person to blame was the abductor.

“Shall we walk together?” she suggested.

Diane appeared surprised at her offer, but agreed, falling into step beside her further down the beach toward the vantage point. The German shepherd was still chasing waves, while Mr. Pug padded along on the other side of the beach close to the cliffs. Coco had found a piece of wood, which she sniffed from all sides, before running after Mr. Pug, her tail up and her sharp bark filling the air.

Diane asked, “Where do you live?”

“At the far end of Main Street, where it turns away to Culver Road. There are several empty cottages there so I could rent one at short notice.”

“Then we’re almost neighbors,” Diane said. “I rented the one old widow Black used to live in.”

“The captain’s widow?” Vicky could still see the man in her mind, in his uniform coming back from a week at sea. Fishermen then still stayed out for days on end, and he had been in charge of a large ship that employed about ten men from Glen Cove and a neighboring town. The captain’s wife had been a nice petite woman who bought cookies at the baker’s and then handed them out to the children in the street. Her own grandchildren had lived on the other side of the country, and she had only seen them at Christmas.

Diane walked vigorously, almost smiling at her. “Yes, it’s a cute place with old-fashioned curtains and tiny rooms compared to what I’m used to. But I feel right at home. The kitchen is great with an old stove. I had to get used to handling it, but now I’m fine. It gives so much warmth that I spend a lot of time near it.”

She hesitated a moment. “Often I can’t sleep and get up to do some chore in the kitchen. Cleaning, breaking beans. I hadn’t done that in years, but it’s very relaxing. The same movement over and over again. Until your head gets empty.”

Vicky wondered if Diane had anybody to talk to now that she was out here. It seemed like she was dwelling mainly on her sister’s fate. That could not be healthy.

Maybe she should engage her in something distracting?

“I empty my head here on the beach,” Vicky said, gesturing around her. “I can forget all the craziness of my store renovations and just re-energize.”