Dead to Begin With

With the ocean at their backs, they were walking toward the church’s tower that protruded over the center of the town. Houses were scattered in groups with generous green among them. Gardens had signs announcing they were competing in the annual competition for best garden in town. Claire had mentioned in passing that for her record of winning three times in a row she had been made an honorary member of the jury.

This realization washed Vicky’s anger away. Her mother’s behavior had its reasons. As a lifelong inhabitant, Claire cared so much for her reputation in town. It was logical she had been upset by her own impromptu conclusion that Vicky was moving back here to go work for Michael Danning. A murder suspect who had never managed to clear his name.

Perhaps her return did look somewhat odd now that Michael was back here, and Diane. Like they had planned it between them. After all, Vicky was a reporter as well. Someone who had made a name for herself digging into the past of idyllic country seats and lovely wedding locations, but the essence of digging was always the same. Vicky couldn’t deny that Celine’s disappearance raised tantalizing questions that could cause someone to become obsessed.

Especially someone who had been personally involved.

“Everybody knows he killed Celine.” Claire could contain herself no longer. “And don’t you forget it.” She wagged a finger at Vicky. “Danning might have persuaded Diane to claim now that there is proof that says differently but…if the police found nothing at the time, there can’t be any now. Where would it have come from all of a sudden?”

That was a very good question. With all her journalistic experience Vicky had no answer to it.

She wished she had taken the newspaper along so she could study the article in more detail. Could she go buy one at Jones General Store after she had talked to the real estate agent? The headline would certainly be an ideal conversation starter, and Mrs. Jones liked to talk. Vicky might hear some interesting tidbit that her mother, with her antipathy toward Michael Danning, conveniently ignored.

“They have nothing,” Claire said with conviction. “They are only kicking up dust. Probably to boost the Gazette’s sales. When Danning took over, he claimed he could revive the paper. But his way of making good on that promise is less than tasteful, I say—”

Vicky had raised a hand to stop her mother mid-sentence. “Michael has taken over the Gazette? It’s not just a temporary position?”

“Of course not.” Claire huffed. “Why else would I be worried you will go and work there? He is editor-in-chief now. Can do what he wants. Write what he wants. Print what he wants.”

Claire waved both hands in the air. “He is like a dictator now. Can steer public opinion.”

Annoyed at her mother’s gross exaggeration, Vicky pursed her lips and pretended to be distracted by the activity in the old harbor to their left. A new marina had been built away from the town where tourists could moor their yachts, but this old harbor was still the place where fishermen worked day by day to bring in fresh catch for the diner, some hotels outside of town and the local fish dealer. Just the smell of real clam chowder was something Vicky had missed abroad. Here she could make it herself, or go to the diner where they served it fresh, with thin slices of homemade rye bread.

Maybe there would be time for lunch after her appointment? It was tempting to know Michael was at the Gazette’s building. Today’s headline was a shocker so why couldn’t she drop by and have a chat? The reporter inside of her was desperate to know what clue Michael and Diane were holding that had given them the confidence to take this bold step. It had to be something substantial, for Vicky couldn’t believe it was just a move for publicity, like her mother claimed, to boost the Gazette’s sales. That would be so…cold and mercenary. This news of a possible reopening of the case could have reporters descending on the town to pick apart any bit of the story they could get their hands on. People could be implicated all over again.

Or was that Michael’s ultimate objective?

Making others go through the same thing he had gone through at the time?

Taking revenge on the town that way?

She hadn’t been in touch with him since he had left, under suspicion, like a man on the run. She had no idea how bitter he might be.

“They must be lying about having anything,” Claire said, with a prim little tilt of her chin.

“You don’t know that,” Vicky protested, also to stem her unpleasant suspicions about Michael’s possible motives. “Cold cases get reopened all the time. The police might be able to use a vague DNA sample that they couldn’t use before because the technology needed wasn’t available at the time. Or maybe they arrested a man for another crime and Diane believes this man is also her sister’s abductor.”

Claire shook her head. “Diane is a wife and mother, not a detective.” She paused for emphasis.

Knowing Claire had also wanted to see her daughter married and with kids by now, Vicky didn’t respond to the challenge.

Claire continued, “Danning printed false allegations before, you know, forcing Gwenda Gill out of business.”

Vicky frowned. “Gwenda Gill? The lady who ran the beauty parlor on Main Street? But… You wrote to me that she lost customers because of another beauty center or spa thing opening nearby.”

“Yes, that’s right. It has a Greek name that I can’t pronounce. It took away all Gwenda’s customers, in just a few months. But the allegations in the Gazette were the final blow. Saying something like her revitalizing spray really being tap water.”

“That’s a serious allegation. I mean, if it were true, it would amount to product doctoring. Defrauding her customers who believed they were buying a quality product.”

Claire nodded. “It ruined Gwenda’s reputation. People even came to the parlor with half-used bottles asking for their money back. And someone wrote ‘cheat’ on her window. All because of that article in the Gazette based on an anonymous source.” Claire grimaced. “It showed off Danning’s character to perfection. He’s a predator.”

Vicky stared ahead. This news was a different kind of blow. She planned on renting the former beauty parlor. It seemed like a perfect place for her store concept. But if there had been some sort of campaign to ruin the parlor and its owner—allegations of fraud, threats left on the window—she might be the next target. That only made her more nervous about her business plans.

To steer conversation away from the unfortunate Gwenda Gill, Vicky glanced at her mother. “How does Sheriff Perkins feel now that Michael is back in town pursuing the old case? He never could accept he hadn’t solved it.”

Claire sighed. “Sure, it still stung, he did mention that once in a while, but he had to accept it. No officer can ever solve all of his cases, right? And this is but a small town. He had never dealt with something so big before, nor did he have to afterward. I doubt he will let Danning look at his old files. Diane’s appearance won’t change that.”

“What old files?” Vicky pressed. Her reporter blood was positively churning now.

“On the disappearance case of course.” Claire sighed in impatience. “Seems that when Perkins retired as sheriff, he took some old cases with him. Things that were still puzzling him, or frustrating him—who can tell? Keeps them in his barn. For his own personal use of course, not to have people snooping around in them. Least of all Michael Danning, the prime suspect at the time.” Claire shook her head.

Vicky queried, “How do you mean ‘when he retired’? Perkins is no longer sheriff? You didn’t tell me that either.”

“Well, our new sheriff is not competent. That’s all I’m going to say about it.” Claire gave a determined nod. “Hopefully he’ll shoot himself in the leg soon enough and he will be forced to step down. End of discussion.”

Vicky’s mind was scrambling to make sense of it all. A new sheriff, Michael in charge of the local paper, running a story about Diane and the old disappearance case.

Just as she was back, full of plans and hopes, this whole thing had resurfaced, filling her head with questions and feelings she didn’t want to feel. Back then Celine had vanished without a trace. Some people wanted to believe it had been the work of an outsider, the mystery man who had supposedly been dating Celine. But what if the perpetrator had been a local? What if he or she was still living here?

Had Vicky actually returned to a town where a murderer lived among them, smiling at people, acting like a normal person? While in reality…

What if Michael suspected that and had started this campaign with Diane to…

Smoke out this killer of old?

That could be pretty risky.

They had to be desperate to know the truth. And bring this person to justice.

Claire kept her eyes on Vicky as she asked, “You’re not going to work for Michael Danning, are you?”

Vicky saw real anxiety in her mother’s eyes—deep concern. Had Claire drawn the same conclusion as she herself had, about the dangers involved in rekindling the old case?

Was she worried Vicky would somehow end up entangled in the investigation and run a risk of getting hurt?Feeling a little milder about her mother’s never-ending meddling, Vicky reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand. “No, not at all. If you have to know the truth, I’m meeting Everett to discuss a special plan. I want to open a store, to make myself a living.”

She cringed in expectation of an earful about the financial risks, but the mention of Everett cheered Claire up at once. She smiled and clutched the dogs’ leashes tighter. “Wonderful. You must ask Everett to come to dinner later this week.”

Vicky’s jaw dropped that her mother wasn’t fuming about the disasters looming when one wanted to open a store in Glen Cove. Quickly she said, “Sure, I’ll ask him, but I doubt that he has the time for it.”

“He needs a decent meal once in a while,” Claire said. “Since his mother died, I doubt he cooks for himself. Must all be microwave food.” She made a face. “It’s just the neighborly thing to invite him over.”

Of course. Vicky suppressed a cynical laugh. Claire would study them all during dinner to see if sparks flew. She had always liked Everett Baker because he was a chess champion like Vicky’s dad had been and because his real estate business was expanding all the time. Such a man could support a family, unlike the drifter type that Michael Danning was supposed to be in her mother’s opinion.

Vicky would rather avoid Everett’s lectures about his latest sales, but Claire would be excited about the dinner and might not mind the whole store idea so much. Maybe Vicky could even ask Everett to put in a good word for her. If he told Claire that a new store concept was just what Glen Cove needed, Claire would believe him right away. It would make things much easier.

Deep in thought Vicky bumped into a blackboard on the sidewalk. It advertised honey, wax candles and a special Keep the Bees Buzzzy bread.

“Our new baker is also a beekeeper,” Claire explained. “The bread is sold to support his hobby. I have no idea if anybody ever buys it. Every store in this town is struggling, you know.”

She cast Vicky a sharp look. “Especially in the winter months when the tourists aren’t showing themselves here. Lots of people have started a new initiative during the summer and things looked bright, only to find they couldn’t make it through November. I don’t want you to make a fool of yourself.”

“The Joneses are still here,” Vicky said in defense, nodding at the general store on the other side of the street.

“Of course they are. All the locals feel obliged to buy from them. They’re an institution around here. I’m talking about newcomers. Like Gwenda and her beauty parlor.”

Vicky clenched her jaw. With Gwenda’s bankruptcy fresh in people’s minds, the scrutiny would be intense. Was she entirely sure that she wanted to try this? It would be terrible to see it go awry in front of all the people who knew her.

In front of Michael Danning even.

Claire said, “Gwenda still does her dog shows, you know. I wonder if that makes her money. She’s always complaining her no good ex-husband is paying her nothing for alimony. Mortimer is a handyman so I suppose he can’t afford much. But Gwenda keeps insisting he has some secret stash of money somewhere. Now I’m asking you: where would he have got money? I do hear he overcharges but that’s hardly a crime. People should negotiate before they accept a price, right?”

Vicky nodded vaguely, looking ahead to where the parlor had sat. The parking spaces on the other side of the street were ideal for customers. It really was a first-rate location.

Which probably came at a matching price, and Everett Baker would squeeze her for every dime he could get.

Vicky looked out for the tall, slightly stooping figure of the real estate agent and then realized that the man waiting for her in front of the parlor was another.

A tall, broad figure Vicky would recognize anywhere.

Michael Danning.

Chapter Three

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.”