Dead to Begin With

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.

Chapter Four

“You’d better think twice about what you’re doing,” Michael Danning said solemnly behind her back. He had ambled in after her like it was natural. “The Joneses won’t like another business moving in. Competition, that’s the way they’ll see it.”

“What for?” Vicky was still working through the shock of the store’s sad interior. It needed a lot of work. Much more than she had bargained for. That was kind of daunting. On top of that she didn’t need Michael Danning’s gloomy predictions.

She turned to him defiantly. “So the Joneses sell food, ice cream over the counter and those typical souvenirs any coastal town sells: postcards, shell-rimmed mirrors. I’ll sell cozy mysteries, teapots, scented candles, pillows… My sales wouldn’t bite theirs. In fact, my store’s appeal can pull in customers from a larger area, who might also buy food and souvenirs at their place. It will only be an advantage to them.”

She raised a hand and counted on her fingers. “And to the diner, the baker, the gas station just out of town. You know what it’s like when people drive out for a holiday. They spend more time than they intended. They want to have coffee, buy some souvenirs. They might even take a boat out for the afternoon. Everybody will benefit from my initiative.”

“Save it for the city council,” Michael said glumly. “I don’t think the Joneses will see it quite that way.”

He exhaled in a huff as if he was sorry for what he had to point out, but felt obliged to say it anyway. “People don’t like change around here, Vicky.”

The confidential Vicky struck a chord inside of her. Having grown up in Glen Cove, she knew the town better than an optimistic newcomer might. People talked down about outsiders who moved in and tried to do something different. After the disaster with Gwenda’s beauty parlor, they would be twice as skeptical. Convincing them might prove to be an uphill battle.

“Look…” Michael put his hand on her arm “…if you decide to do it, I will support you all the way. I can even write a nice little article about your business. And offer you advertising space at reduced rates.”

The golden specks in his eyes lit as he leaned closer. “We would of course need to spend some time together so I can get to know your uh…vision for the store?”

She stared into his eyes, noticing how little he had changed. Some lines here and there but still a firm jaw and an irresistible smile.

Everett Baker cleared his throat. “I haven’t got all morning.”

“Yes, uh…” Vicky stepped away. Michael Danning’s hand slipped off her arm. Her mind spun with the scent of his aftershave, and the possibilities of their seeing each other more often.

Everett Baker gestured up to the lilac beams. “It’s just paint. It can be changed back. I imagine that you have a big vision for this place. That you’d really make it stylish. Old oak beams again, soft beige walls, sheepskin in front of the fireplace.”

“What fireplace?” Michael Danning asked skeptically.

“Well, there used to be one, but Gwenda had it bricked up. Didn’t fit the parlor’s modern image, she said.”

“I thought tenants couldn’t make any big changes?” Michael retorted.

“The owner sort of let it slip by. Gwenda was so nice at first.” Everett Baker pulled a sour face. His large sinewy hands knotted and unknotted in front of him. “She wound everybody round her little finger. By the time we got to know her true character, we were all stuck in a long-term lease. She was having problems with her husband, so we didn’t want to push her too hard. But we’re more than willing to let you change it all back.”

“Yes, of course. That way you’d have a better building at no cost to you.” Michael measured Everett with a hitched brow. “If Vicky needs to hire people to bring back the old fireplace and get those beams out from under that ugly paint job and…”

“Look, if she wants changes, that’s her business.” Everett Baker straightened up. The gleam in his eyes told Vicky he had smelled her interest and would bargain for every bit he could get out of her. “We’ll let you do it and give all permissions of course. But you’ll have to hire your own people and pay for it from your own pocket. Maybe you could hire Mortimer.”

“Mortimer? Forget it,” Michael said.

“He is a first-class handyman,” Everett said to Vicky.

“And a first-class scam artist,” Michael said. “He overcharges.”

“So negotiate for the price.” Everett leaned back on his heels, sizing up Michael. “Mortimer knows he won’t get the first price he asks for, so he starts out higher. That’s only logical. Vicky can stand her ground.”

Michael shook his head. “It’s a terrible deal for her and a great one for the owner. Vicky’s changes would make the property more valuable, and in case she leaves it again, you can rent or sell it to someone new for a much higher price.”

Vicky wanted to say something, but Everett didn’t give her a chance. “If you’re convinced you can make this home decoration store thing work out, then you should give it a try. People will of course say it’s insane and will never work in Glen Cove, but hey, you can always prove them wrong.”

He cast her a sly look. He had been to college with her and knew, like most people in Glen Cove, that Vicky Simmons could never say no to a challenge. With Michael Danning’s opposition, Everett was willing to put pressure in all the right places to make sure that Vicky didn’t back out now.

Not that he had to pressure her at all. The potential was really there. Vicky could just see two leather armchairs standing there, one decked with some nice Scottish plaids, the other filled with embroidered pillows. She’d put a small cherrywood side table beside it with a tray on it, carrying delicate china with her favorite rosebud décor.

Then she’d have bookcases over there full of cozies and against the other wall a big sideboard that could display silverware and soap. The whole store would have to breathe a homey atmosphere so customers could see the objects like they were already part of their own interior. They’d come in for a quick look, not intending to buy anything, but once they saw the beautiful combinations of things, they’d start a shopping spree.

Yep, she was a goner. Smart or not, Everett Baker and the owner profiting off her back or not, she had to have this store and make her dreams for it a reality.

Everett grinned at her. “You like it. You see all the possibilities.”

Michael exhaled hard as if he realized he was losing ground.

Vicky pointed at Everett. “But you help me get a good handyman for the job. At a fair price.”

Everett gave a nod. “I’ll tell Mortimer you’re on a budget. He needs money so he’ll budge.”

Michael shook his head, but Vicky ignored him. She felt a rush of exhilaration as she spoke the words she had envisioned saying when she first thought up the whole thing, “OK. I’ll take it.”

Michael groaned and raised both hands in a fake gesture of surrender. But Vicky noticed the warmth in his eyes. He had always appreciated people who fought for their dreams. Maybe now that she was pursuing hers, they’d get closer?

Closer than they had ever been before?

Michael leaned over and said, “You can forget about Mortimer though. With Gwenda still living overhead, Mortimer won’t show his face here. The two can’t stand the sight of one another.”

Everett smiled smugly. “Trust me. Mortimer needs money. He’ll come.”

“Does it really have to cost that much?” Vicky asked. She eyed Mortimer Gill over the papers he had just handed her. She could understand it wasn’t easy to get an old fireplace out again after it had been bricked up by somebody who had not cared for preserving it, but… “I want to keep a tight rein on my budget.”

“Look,” Mortimer said, “either I do it right or I’d better not do it at all. You get my point?”

Vicky sighed. Everett Baker had kept his promise by sending Mortimer out here first thing. She had also asked for a customer recommendation and had spoken on the phone to a Ms. Tennings, a perceptive elderly lady, who had declared that Mortimer knew his craft. He worked fast and neat.

Ms. Tennings had also volunteered that Mortimer had initially asked a higher price for the job than she had been willing to agree on. After a day or two, however, he had lowered his bid because he wanted the job anyway. “Perhaps if you let him dangle first and then call back, he’d be willing to tone down the price?” she had suggested with a smile in her voice.

Vicky rather liked Ms. Tennings’ way of thinking and now said to Mortimer, with a dubious expression, “Let me think about it and give you a call tonight, OK?”

“I can do it first thing tomorrow,” Mortimer pressed. “I understand you want to open up as soon as possible. Makes sense considering it’s now summer season. Tourists flocking in. If you hire a company, they won’t come at once. And they’ll send two workmen over. They always do. You pay for two people’s hours, and they’re only in each other’s way. I’m coming alone. And I’ll be out again the same day. Guaranteed.”

“I’ll call you tonight,” Vicky repeated. Mortimer had a point about companies always sending several workmen. That alone would cost her. But she didn’t want to cave on the spot. She fully intended to ask for a discount and he might give it if he doubted she’d hire him otherwise.

As a clearly disgruntled Mortimer walked out of the door, Vicky raised her head up to where a guy in his twenties balanced on a metal ladder, trying to get the lilac off the beams. Ms. Tennings had also recommended him. Being a student on holiday, he had been able to step up right away. He had also agreed to a set price for a full day of labor.

“How are you getting on?” she called to the painter, but he didn’t hear her over the drone of the music coming from the player in his pocket.

Vicky exhaled and walked outside. The lettering GWENDA’S BEAUTY PARLOR had been removed first thing by the young painter, much to the irritation of Gwenda Gill. She had watched Vicky’s every move from the other side of the road with her black poodle by her side. She had stood there like a sentry as Vicky had given the window a good cleaning, outside and in, and had then pasted a poster on the glass from the inside. It read:

Opening soon:

Country Gift Shop

your one-stop shop for everything British

china—scented candles—pillows—plaids—books

clothes—tableware—royalty corner

The moment Gwenda Gill had seen the poster, she had scanned it quickly. A derisive look had passed over her face, and she had walked away in a trot as if she couldn’t wait to meet up with other people and talk about the laugh of the century.

Of course Gwenda had every reason to feel antagonistic about a new store opening up in her old building. But still it felt like a bad start.

Shoppers had passed on the other side of the street, halting to look at the window and read the poster’s text. But Vicky had not been able to determine what they thought.

Maybe she should have pasted old newspapers against the windowpanes and let them guess what was going on inside, who had rented it and why?But then Everett Baker wouldn’t be secretive about it. She’d rather advertise it herself than let the grapevine spread the tale.

“Hello!” A woman with red curls dancing on her shoulders came up to her. Her pale face was slightly flushed, and her eyes sparkled. She wore a basic tweed jacket with elbow patches over a pencil skirt. Nice businesslike attire as of someone who works in an office.

“You must be Vicky Simmons, the new tenant of the old beauty parlor? You’re going to do the English store, right? I just love everything British.”

The redhead’s expression turned apologetic as she continued, “I suppose you hear this all the time and that you probably can’t take on everybody who says they know their English stuff. But I do know everything about cozy mysteries. Have been reading them since I was a teen. Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, Patricia Wentworth. And Bella Brookes’ fabulous SEE BRITAIN AND DIE series.”

Vicky perked up. “I met Bella Brookes when she was doing a book tour in Wales, and got her to sign Death in Dartmoor.”

“That’s one of her best books. Especially the finale. I never saw that coming.” The woman looked impressed. “You actually know her?”

“I could email her,” Vicky mused, half to herself, “and ask her if she’d sign some books for me to put in the store in the opening week. Or maybe she can send out autograph plates or something? I suppose that will cost less than sending books from the UK to here.”

“I would love an autographed book. I think her sleuth is amazing. And I keep promising myself I have to go to the UK sometime and see all of those places she wrote about. If only the airfare wasn’t so outrageous—and the hotel prices!”

The redhead took a deep breath and blinked as if she’d suddenly returned from some elevated spot to Glen Cove’s Main Street. “Sorry to be going on like this. Cozies are sort of an addiction of mine. I thought that maybe… Well, I do have time on my hands when my kids are in school. I could give a talk on cozies and then we can have a quiz about the classics. I’ve got a friend who could bake us some scones and muffins to hand out to the participants. Turn it into a real British party.”

Vicky lifted a hand to stem the flood of words and ideas. She wanted to say that it was very nice to meet someone who shared her passion. That she appreciated the offer of help too, but that it was way too early for all that. She had enough on her plate with the renovations. Last night she had actually had a nightmare about lilac beams chasing her across the beach.

And she had to order more stock, make decisions about the window display and the opening hours. About a website, business cards, brochures and where to put them…

Just thinking about all the details that she still had to work out, her mind swam. She wasn’t able to take on any more right now.

But then Vicky reconsidered. This woman had come up to her with genuine enthusiasm about her gift shop concept. She was an Anglophile like herself. A kindred spirit. Someone who’d offered her help. Spontaneously.

So maybe it was a bit overwhelming at times. But she need not do it all alone. She could actually ask this brand-new friend to help out. She might even delegate some jobs to her.

“That’s great.” Vicky smiled, extending her hand. “I’m Vicky Simmons, just like you said, and you are?”

The woman grabbed her hand, looking apologetic again. “Sorry. I do that all the time! Running in talking without even telling people who I am! I’m Marge Fisher. I volunteer at the library. That’s how I know your mother. I also have my own column on the regional librarians’ site, What Marge Read. On Wednesdays and every second Saturday I organize stuff to get kids reading. Only job I could get where I can bring my own kids and nobody minds…”

She grinned. “Don’t worry. I won’t bring my kids into your store. My mother takes care of them a lot, giving me a free hand. That’s the advantage of living close to your parents. Without her I couldn’t do half of what I do now. Schoolyard fundraisers, fairs…”

Vicky remembered Claire had written to her about Marge’s homemade specialties that she sold for good causes. She seemed like somebody with a lot of contacts in town and a lot of goodwill because of all her volunteering. Engaging her in the store might eradicate some skepticism. If Marge Fisher took part in it, it had to be right.

“Look,” Marge said, “I guess you were on your way someplace, but I would love to have coffee together sometime and talk about your plans for the store. I just couldn’t believe it. My kind of store, coming to my own hometown. That’s so amazing. Can I treat you at the diner whenever you are free?”

“Sure. Actually I was on my way to the diner now, to get some coffee. And pie. I need sugar badly. To be honest uh… The restorations are a bigger challenge than I thought.”

“Yeah,” Marge leaned over confidentially. “I came to Gwenda’s beauty parlor when it was still open. I never liked much makeup on my face, you know, but I did like to get my nails done. I have to keep them polished or I chew on them. Bad habit. People look at your hands all the time when you’re helping them with their books. Can’t have shabby nails. So I came to Gwenda’s every six weeks for a professional manicure. You could just see the place go down.”Marge sighed sadly. “I think she should never have left Mortimer. He kept her grounded. She’s not a person who can be alone. I guess nobody can. But some people cope better than others, you know.”