Читать книгу Grand Prize: Murder! - Vivian Conroy - Страница 9

Chapter One

“Dear citizens, visitors, special guests, friends of Glen Cove…”

The mayor’s voice boomed through Main Street over the heads of the gathered crowd. His tie clip sparked in the sunshine.

After a rainy spell overnight the skies had cleared completely, and Vicky Simmons had no need for the plastic poncho she had brought from her cottage, not so much to protect her own person but rather the wrapped object placed before the door of her Country Gift Shop.

A plain white sheet covered the object that looked much like a square with a triangle on top. The appearance was misleading as the object that the whole gathering was about stood on an easel, giving it a height it didn’t have. Vicky had seen the easel being put into place by the mayor’s secretary, but that same secretary had asked Vicky to stay in the back room of the shop as the object was placed on it so she wouldn’t catch even the smallest glimpse of it.

Now Vicky stared at the sheet, hard, as if her eyes could bore right through it, and her heart was full of the same giddy expectation as when she had been a kid on Christmas morning scanning the presents under the tree and hoping they held the exact things she had written to Santa about.

But for present-day Vicky, regardless of what was under the sheet, the thing she had wished for was already in front of her eyes. The community of Glen Cove, having left shop, bakery, garage, community center or library desk, to celebrate her moment of glory. To support her Country Gift Shop, which was a recent addition to the town.

Even the Joneses of the long-established Jones General Store, who considered every initiative as competition to their business, were in the front row. Mr. Jones still had his pencil for telephoned orders stuck behind his ear.

“We are gathered here today,” the town father continued in his warm baritone, “on a very special occasion. As you all know, the town of Glen Cove has for many years been the site of an unsolved mystery.”

He took a deep breath, looking around past the expectant faces. There was a momentary tightness, a drawn brow here and there, a pinch around the lips as they thought back upon what could best be called the black page in Glen Cove’s history. As a friendly little town it didn’t have much in its past that made people uncomfortable or embarrassed. But this one thing had weighed on the inhabitants for many years.

In the tense silence the mayor gestured to a stylishly dressed woman by his side. Her soft blonde hair moved in the ocean breeze that breathed through the street and provided the salty tang on the air.

The town father said, “Ms. Diane Dobbs here is the sister of a girl who went missing twenty-three years ago. Vanished from our streets, taken from our midst, never to be heard of again. The search for Celine touched us all back then and has occupied many of our thoughts in the years since. The mention of her name never failed to move us and to bring back the memories of those days when we all wanted to bring her back to us; but we failed to do so.”

The ocean breeze caressing Vicky’s face suddenly felt cold, and she resisted the urge to wrap her arms around her shoulders and rub the gooseflesh away from her bare arms.

She had been a college student at the time, intimately involved in the matter as she had known the Dobbs twins and had watched in horror as the whole disappearance case began to unfold.

The uncertainty, the suspicions, the speculations in the media turning into outright accusations as time went by and frustration grew that no tangible progress was made.

The mayor said solemnly, “We have been unable to find answers for the Dobbs family for too long a time.”

In the front row a man wearing a straw hat moved uncomfortably—retired Sheriff Perkins, in charge of the disappearance case at the time, the man who had not been able to find the conclusive lead to crack the case.

Nobody had really blamed him for it as the disappearance had been a far more gruesome crime than a sheriff in a small town like Glen Cove ever had to handle. But for Perkins himself it had stayed a dark page, a stain on what was otherwise a perfect performance as head of local law enforcement.

The mayor said, “When Celine’s disappearance couldn’t be solved, the Dobbs family left the area, and Diane even went far away to Europe, where she built a successful life for herself, graduating, finding a job and starting a family.”

Diane glanced to the tall dark man by her side, her French husband Alain, who smiled back at her. The little wrinkles round his dark eyes only made his suntanned face more pronounced and handsome. Around town he was called ‘the French movie star’.

Behind his back of course.

The mayor said, “After so many years abroad, Diane felt it was time to return to Glen Cove and face the questions about her sister’s disappearance. Her arrival in early summer caused a stir here in town, as many memories were brought back and old sentiments, believed to be long buried, flared up again. People started to watch each other, with doubts in their minds. We were all reminded that an unsolved case is like an unhealed wound that will continue to ache.”

The town father was known for his bombastic word choice whenever he got a chance to address a crowd, but Vicky felt like his words were apt here. At least what she herself had experienced had been an ache; if not in herself, then in the others she had met: Diane and the deputy sheriff who had even given up law enforcement because he couldn’t live with the sense of failure over this particular case.

And Michael Danning, Celine’s boyfriend of old, a personal friend of Vicky’s, who had never been able to discover what had happened to the woman he had loved and intended to marry. For him the uncertainty had hung over his life like a constant shadow, following him around the world wherever he had traveled to write up award-winning undercover articles for major newspapers.

Like Diane, Michael had felt the need to return to Glen Cove and face the past. But not everybody had been happy to see Michael back in town. As he had been Celine’s boyfriend at the time of her disappearance, he had also been a suspect. And to some he had always stayed a suspect, even a killer who had walked away because he could not be convicted without a body being found.

The mayor said, “At first this reminder of old hurt was unpleasant to us, and many of us felt like the past might better be just that: past. Something we had dealt with already, even though we knew that many questions had remained unanswered. We were comfortable in the lives we had built after the tragedy and not immediately open to have another look at those painful events. That was wrong, shortsighted, and as your representative I’d like to take this special occasion to apologize for any feeling Diane might have had that she was not welcome here—that we resented her quest for answers.”

The mayor gestured widely. “The truth is that we all needed those answers as much as she did. We are grateful for Diane’s courage to return here and for the courage of others who upon her arrival involved themselves actively in a search for the truth about Celine Dobbs’ fate.”

The mayor looked around, nodding weightily, before he continued, “It is a pity that Michael Danning, the new—and may I say extremely successful—editor in chief of our Glen Cove Gazette, cannot be here with us today. We had hoped his assignment in Copenhagen would have ended just in time to find him among us so we could thank him in person for his resourceful use of the newspaper at his disposal. We can safely say that his interview with Diane, asking for a reopening of the old disappearance case was the first step toward the eventual resolution.

“After Michael Danning’s revealing interview in the Gazette, several other citizens took an interest in the case and with joint efforts managed to bring it to a successful conclusion. Looking at the acts of violence they encountered on the way, in which personal property and even a life of one of our own was lost, we can only recommend them for their courage and their tenacity.”

Vicky took a deep breath. If anybody had asked her in advance if she’d ever confront a killer, she would have thought she would not dare. But when it happened, you had to act and help others. That was not even courage. It was just what you had to do. You couldn’t turn a blind eye when somebody was in mortal danger.

The mayor said, “We are here today to honor those courageous citizens in the presence of Diane Dobbs and her family.”

Diane smiled uncomfortably, moving a little closer to her husband, who took her hand in his. Behind them were their three teen children, the boys forcing a cool appearance, the daughter looking so much like her mother: a little unsure at the attention on them, but sensitive to the importance of this moment, not just for them as a family of the murdered Celine, but also for the community in whose midst the murder had happened and the killer had lived, undetected, for over two decades.

“Michael Danning is with us in spirit,” the mayor said. “So next I call your attention to those who are here today. Well-known to all of you, a tireless volunteer and fundraiser, also involved with the lovely Country Gift Shop: Marge Fisher.”

Marge, her voluminous red curls bouncing on her shoulders, made an apologetic gesture with her hands as if she disliked being the center of attention like this. Vicky bet she would rather have stayed at the library labeling new books. Marge got shy when thank-yous were handed out and always downplayed her own part in them, believing others had done much more.

The mayor boomed, “One of our senior citizens, who volunteered her knowledge and contacts to help crack the case: Ms. Tennings.”

The retired nanny who had spent thirty years with titled families in the UK before returning to settle on the coast of her beloved Maine stood among her closest friends and bridge partners, nodding in Vicky’s direction as if she wanted to say: you should be thanking her, not me.

The mayor turned to Vicky with a flourish. “And last but not least, Vicky Simmons, born and raised here, who after many years abroad came back to our beautiful little town to open up her own store and bring us a new concept. No coastal theme, no seashells and gulls, nothing with boats or water, but rather British decoration, royalty memorabilia and books.”

Vicky spotted a glimpse of irritation in Mrs. Jones’ features. She bet the woman was thinking that there was nothing wrong with a coastal theme, boats and gulls. And there wasn’t really. Tourists fully expected things like that in a seaside town and flocked in to buy those souvenirs and take those boat trips. But Vicky was an expert on all things British and believed it would be worthwhile to bring her own store concept along to her old hometown.

The mayor said, “Vicky transformed the former beauty parlor, which was quite modern…”

Marge mouthed, purple beams, and Vicky suppressed laughter.

“…into a classic atmospheric store where fans of everything British can find whatever their heart desires. While doing renovations and organizing her grand opening, she also worked tirelessly, with the others just mentioned, to solve the old disappearance case. In the end, as she got close to the culprit, she even risked her life to save Diane and make sure the killer could not flee. Thanks to the timely arrival of our new sheriff, Cash Rowland…”

Cash, who stood on the other side of the mayor, pulled his sheriff’s hat off his wild curls and bowed slightly.

“…the situation could be resolved without further bloodshed. For that we also thank him.”

Cash bowed again. The sun reflected off his badge, and Vicky smiled to herself that he had really earned it the day he had arrested Celine’s killer. Before that, people had been somewhat reluctant to trust a former town bad boy as their new head of local law enforcement. But now Cash had earned his position. It gave him a new élan as he patrolled the streets looking for wrongly parked vehicles and trash littered around instead of duly put in the bins.

The mayor’s voice rose to a crescendo as he came to the highlight of the speech. “We are grateful to all involved and we honor all of them today. But as a community we feel we owe a special debt of gratitude to the woman who confronted the killer and prevented another murder. We want to show our appreciation for her courage with a special gift to her store. Handcrafted by the Dawson brothers from across the street…” the mayor gestured broadly at the hardware store opposite the Country Gift Shop “…this is a timeless gift that will keep reminding Vicky and us of her contribution to our community and the safety of our town.”

He took a step toward the sheet-wrapped object. “I was supposed to reveal it, but Vicky’s mother Mrs. Claire Simmons, had a much better idea.”

Vicky hitched a brow as her mother stepped forward with her beloved lapdogs, Mr. Pug and Coco, on the leash beside her. Mr. Pug was wearing a little black bow tie, and Coco had a pink lace bow attached to her collar. She twisted her fluffy white head around to see all the people and yapped.

The mayor said, “Mrs. Simmons will assist Mr. Pug and Coco to reveal the community gift.”

Claire led the dogs to the sheet-wrapped object and then bent down to gather them up in her arms. Vicky winced as she knew her mother had joint trouble and such antics hurt her back. But Claire was stubborn enough to demand to do everything by herself, and Vicky wasn’t about to disturb this grand moment for her.

Claire straightened up with a dog tucked under each arm and positioned herself in front of the wrapped object. She leaned forward to grab the sheet with her hands—making it look as if the dogs were grabbing it—and slowly pulled it away.

Coco barked triumphantly as the sheet fluttered to the pavement.

There on the easel was a dark green sign with golden lettering reading COUNTRY GIFT SHOP. Two metal chains were attached so it could be hung in front of the store, suspended to swing freely in the breeze. People walking up and down the street could easily see it and come to her door.

Vicky smiled in delight as the crowd applauded and cheered for her.

One of the Dawson brothers came forward with a stepladder and put it in place so he could climb up and attach the sign’s metal chains to two hooks that were already on an old brass arm attached to the building’s front. Earlier there had been a sign there no doubt, but the beauty parlor owner had taken it down. Now there was this new community-gifted sign rocking on the ocean breeze, glittering in the sunlight, like a public seal of approval on Vicky’s enterprise.

The clapping intensified, and Claire with the dogs in her arms came to stand beside Vicky to accept the applause as if it was meant for her. And in part it probably was, as Claire was a familiar face around town, involving herself with many activities such as the annual garden competition and the Harvest Fair.

Not to mention her active part in most gossip that was spread around town by way of her network of ‘informers’, or—as Claire preferred to call them—‘concerned friends’.

Vicky put her arm around her mother’s shoulders and smiled even broader as the cheers grew louder. She had come back foremost to spend more time with her mother and look after her a little, without Claire noticing of course.

As people began to move into the gift shop for a snack and a chat, a powerful automobile engine roared further down Main Street. Claire said to Vicky, “I bet you that’s a sports car.”

“A collector’s dream,” Vicky agreed, squinting against the sunshine to see it appear. “Whose can it be?”

A fiery red open sports car blasted down Main Street and halted at the curb right in front of the Country Gift Shop. Behind the wheel was a striking woman, her platinum blonde curls covered with a thin Grace Kelly scarf. She waved enthusiastically at them. “Vicky Simmons, right? You wore that same skirt when you came to my book signing.”

Stunned, Vicky drew closer, Marge hard on her heels. “Bella? I thought you’d arrive on Saturday.”

Her heart pounded. A woman who remembered what somebody had worn two years back noticed every little detail. Like every little detail that wasn’t completely decided yet about the book signing on Saturday.

“A change of plans,” Bella Brookes said as she clambered out of the low seat and came for Marge with an outstretched hand. “You must be the friend Vicky emailed me about. The one who can make chocolate dachshunds and has been a fan of my See Britain And Die mysteries from the start. Always a pleasure to hear that.”

In the same breath she turned to Vicky. “I’m going to stay right here for the first leg of my New England book tour. I hate hotels, especially for a single night. All the packing and unpacking, getting used to a new bed… I do love driving so that makes it an easy choice.”

She gave her sports car a loving pat on the hood. “I’ll have my set base right here in Glen Cove and then drive out to my other engagements in the area. Signings, meetings with the press. There’s a hotel here in town, isn’t there?”

“Several,” Vicky said, “but it’s the height of the summer season. You might find a vacant room for a single night, but not for a longer period. You’d still have to move around.”

“Of course—” Marge had found her voice again “—you could stay with me if you don’t mind two kids. And a big rowdy dog. I have a great guest room. A quiet color scheme, just wood and some black-and-white prints on the wall. And you can sit in my garden to write. Oh, I can’t believe some scenes in the next See Britain and Die could get written in my own backyard!”

Marge beamed at the prospect of housing her favorite author—like a kid discovering he’s going to Disney World.

But Bella said quickly, “I appreciate the invitation to stay with one of you at your home, very generous and kind, but I do need my privacy. Especially if I want to get any writing done. I’m kind of stuck on the plot of the book I’m working on, and I hope the change of scenery can get the creative juices flowing again. Any empty cottages around? Or…what’s that?”

Bella gestured at the door beside the entrance to the Country Gift Shop. It had a central glass pane. A big orange FOR RENT poster was taped behind the glass.

Vicky said, “That’s for the upstairs apartment. The tenant moved out a few weeks ago, and the owner is trying to find someone new for it.”

Bella gestured with her hands, four or five turquoise bracelets tinkling. “Well, here I am. If you give the owner a call, I bet he will let me live in it for the time being. Gets him some cash for a place that’s otherwise just sitting empty, right?”

“But I have no idea if it’s still furnished,” Vicky protested. She had been asked if she’d consider living over the store, but upon her return to Glen Cove, she had already rented a cottage close to her mother’s place and didn’t want to move out again. The cottage was but a few minutes’ walk from the sea. In the evenings she could watch the sun set over the frolicking waves. Just what she had dreamed about when she had lived far away from home.

“I could get the key at the real estate office,” Marge offered, “so you can have a look right away.”

Bella beamed at her. “I just knew you two would work something out. Apropos, my people will come in too. My personal assistant Lisa. Paul DuBree, who handles my PR, and his assistant. Maybe also some lawyer or accountant. They mentioned they wanted to discuss contract issues with me.”

She grimaced. “Dull stuff, but it can’t be avoided. So we need rooms for all of them. Or maybe a bungalow in a holiday resort? I’m sure that spending a day or two in the same house won’t kill them.”

Although Bella said it with that ever-present smile, it sounded cynical.

Even a little ominous?

Vicky tried to read something in Bella’s expression. “If they’re on the same team, they’re used to spending time together, I suppose?” she suggested cheerfully.

Bella grimaced. “They may be on the same team, but in this business it’s each to his own.”

She fell silent as if she had already said too much. Then she sprang to life again. “If you just get that key at the real estate agent’s, we can have a look at the apartment right away.”

Marge already started to rush down the street, but then turned back. “Your car can’t stay here at the curb. Our old sheriff stuck to warnings, but since Cash Rowland got elected, they hand out real tickets. Better transfer it into the lot there at the church, huh?”

“Cash Rowland? Quite a catchy name. In one of my books he’d be a terrible playboy who would have scores of jealous husbands and vengeful ex-wives out to get him. He might die. Or he might be the main suspect who didn’t do it.”

“I’d keep those ideas to yourself,” Vicky said quickly. “Our sheriff takes his new responsibilities very seriously and doesn’t like to be associated with anything…dubious.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Bella laughed throatily. “I can’t wait to meet him. But not at the receiving end of a ticket, I guess. I’m already drowning in speed violations. Don’t know how I do it, with a car like this.”

She got back in and drove off, people staring at her from the other side of the street.

“Wow,” Marge whispered to Vicky with a star-struck expression, “she’s so glamorous and flamboyant. And she is actually going to live in our town for a while. Wait until I tell Kev!”

“Yeah,” Vicky said, rubbing her temple where a slight headache was forming. “I hadn’t expected her here right now. We still need to tie up so many loose ends before the book signing on Saturday. And I have half the town in my store for snacks right now.”

But she was already talking to thin air as Marge galloped off to the real estate office to get the key to the upstairs apartment for their inspection.

Vicky glanced in the direction of the church parking lot with a sense of dread. When Bella had offered to do a signing in Glen Cove as part of her New England book tour, Vicky had thought that the famous author would just come into town, sign some books for local fans, maybe have dinner with Marge and her, and leave again. But now Bella would be staying here for days.

She probably expected a whole lot, both from the small town and the simple book signing on Saturday.

Maybe she expected a lot more than the Country Gift Shop could deliver?