And Michael might return suddenly, having missed his rare bird, and if so she wanted to be the first to tell him about the murder. He had been so mad with her for keeping information about the earlier one from him. She had done that because of Cash, but Michael had held it against her.
In fact, their relationship had suffered in many ways from the last investigation, for several reasons, and Vicky was eager to mend the damage. Michael had always been a friend to her, and she wasn’t about to lose him because of sudden death.
Just as she was drinking the coffee Doug had provided—remarkably good with a mocha taste and piping hot—Cash entered. He waved at her. “You called? Feels like today I’m running from here to there to come after you.”
Vicky sensed Doug perking up and wished Cash hadn’t put it quite that way. The eager journalist might conclude she knew much more about the death than she had let on.
Cash said, “Spill.”
“Doug here can tell you more about it. He got the piece from Trevor for the paper.”
Doug explained to Cash that there had been two pieces and even showed Cash the email attachments on the computer screen. Cash grunted. “So he changed his tune at the last instant.”
“Well, we were wondering,” Vicky hurried to say, “if someone else could have sent in the second piece from Trevor’s email account.”
Cash turned to her. “Say what?”
“It’s possible, Doug told me, to use somebody else’s email.”
“And how would somebody have gotten Trevor’s user name and password?”
“No idea, but just look into it. OK?”
Cash sighed. “Well, it would fit with his assertion he never sent this piece. That his entry was a completely different story.”
“So he denies having written the entry about the killer lying in wait?” Vicky asked.
“Emphatically.” Cash sighed. “But under the circumstances I’m holding him anyway. He did bust my nose. I’ll put the computer whiz on the emails. Can you uh … work on another computer for the day?”
Doug made a dismissive gesture. “I would just love to write up a big story for tomorrow’s Gazette, Sheriff. It could be my big break. I owe Mr. Danning for having taken me on with virtually no credentials. Can I tag along with you and just see what you’re doing?”
Cash shook his head. “I don’t want press people about.”
“But people are talking already, and other papers might come in, and don’t you want a local paper to have the scoop?”
Vicky said, “He does have a point, Cash. If you let him follow you, you can to some extent control the information that comes out about the murder.”
“I’ll really be reticent,” Doug said. “I won’t give any information that you don’t want me to give. Vicky here told me almost nothing. Not even who the victim is.”
Cash grunted. “Good.” He reached up and massaged his own shoulder. “So we need to figure out the email business. Then I want to talk to that daughter.”
Doug was gathering a few things to come along with Cash. “I’ll give you the key to this building,” he said to Cash. “So your people can get in here if they need to.”
Vicky stood swinging her hands, feeling kind of superfluous. “I’ll get back to the store then, I think. Did you see Marge at the station?”
“No, but I heard she was there. She needn’t have come out there to tell me how to treat a suspect. I made sure there was a lawyer to sit in on my little talk with Trevor. I want to do this strictly by the book. No complaints about mistakes later on. No chance he’ll go free.”
Cash cracked his knuckles. “His story that he didn’t write the piece sounded a bit lame to me. He’s violent enough to swing a gun at someone. And he never liked Goodridge.”
A loud clatter resounded as Doug dropped his backpack and half the things in it scattered across the floor. He knelt down and gathered them, his face tomato red. “Clumsy,” he muttered in an angry tone. Then he straightened up, put the backpack on his back and pulled out his phone. “I’ll send Danning a message I left for a story. Otherwise he won’t know what hit him when he gets back here and there’s no one around.”
He typed in a message that couldn’t be very long and pressed ‘send’ with a tight expression on his face.
Vicky assumed Doug felt a lot of pressure to prove himself as he had been accepted without a degree or experience and she felt kind of sorry for the guy. She nodded at him as he put the phone back in his pocket. “I’m sure the sheriff will help you put together a really good, informative piece.”
Focusing on Cash, she added, “As the shots were fired on public ground, along the beach where people walk, you might find somebody who heard or saw something. Yes, it was early in the morning, I know, but still. You could use the piece in the paper tomorrow to ask for information from the locals.”
Doug smiled nervously. “If any tips come in here to the paper, I’ll pass them on at once of course.”
Cash waved him along. “Let’s get cracking then. Vicky, see you later.”
Vicky returned to the Country Gift Shop where she found Marge speaking in an agitated tone to Ms. Tennings. Marge spun to Vicky and said, “I went out to the station, took the trouble to express my concern about Trevor’s treatment, and Cash didn’t even show his face. He was already interrogating Trevor. I think he’s making mistakes here and—”
Vicky raised a hand to cut her off and said soothingly, “I heard from Cash that he had a lawyer there during the interrogation. He wants to handle this right. And he isn’t just assuming Trevor’s guilt either. He’ll try and find out if the piece for the Gazette was really sent from Trevor’s email address. I mean, by Trevor.”
Vicky explained having found Doug Davis at the Gazette’s offices and what he had told her about the two very different pieces he had received from Trevor.
Marge’s expression brightened at once. “See? Trevor is no killer. He sent in a nice piece about a girl whose ambitions got stumped by her father.”
“If that refers to Kaylee Goodridge though,” Ms. Tennings pointed out, “it proves Trevor’s motive for the murder. By the way …” she pointed at a parcel on the counter “…that just came in.”
Vicky picked it up and studied the label. “Ah, my calendars with botanical drawings. They’re so lovely, drawn with such an eye for detail.”
She opened the parcel and showed the three different variations to Marge and Ms. Tennings. Ms. Tennings said, “I love the one with the peonies on the front. I think I’ll buy one straight away to gift a former pupil of mine for Christmas. I always try to come up with an original gift and this is it. I’ll put it in a drawer where it will stay nice and flat until I can send it out to her.”
“If she lives in the UK,” Vicky said, “she must know these.”
“No, no, she left the UK and is in Australia now.” Ms. Tennings smiled. “The things people do for love.”
Vicky wrapped the calendar of her choice for her, her mind on Trevor Jenkins and the dead body at the cliffs, and on pretty, daring Kaylee with her modeling ambitions.
How much had Trevor been willing to do for love?
Chapter Eight
Just as Vicky was considering she needed some lunch, hesitating between picking up a quick bite at the Joneses or doing lunch at the diner, the store bell rang. Cringing that she’d be even later for her meal, she looked up from wrapping a letter holder for a customer out of town and saw Michael Danning standing in the doorway. He looked at her with a frown.
“There’s not a soul at the Gazette’s offices, and a neighbor told me that you stopped by and Doug left with you. Is he here? I can’t imagine what he can want here, but …”
“He’s not here; he’s at the police station I suppose. Following up on a story. I thought he sent you a message about it?”
Michael frowned. “A message?”
“Yes, as we were leaving the Gazette’s offices, he sent a message on h
is phone. He said it was to you to let you know what was up.”
“Oh, I see.” Michael reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “I turned off all sounds for the bird watching so probably missed it. Let’s have a look what he said.”
He swiped across the screen. “Six tickets given in impromptu speed trap check. Nope. New addition to harvest festival. Nope. Free beer at the Jungle Saloon. Definitely nope.”
He continued, scrolling until he looked up with an even deeper frown. “I’ve looked at all my messages, going back to last night even, but nothing from Doug.”
“Oh, he did say he sent it to you. Maybe it’s delayed? Or there was no reception when he tried to send?”
“Here in town?” Michael clenched his phone. “What exactly is Doug following up on?”
Vicky took a deep breath. “Archibald Goodridge died this morning. He got hit in the chest by two bullets, which propelled him over the edge of the cliff he was running along. A dog walker saw the body lying on the rocks at the foot of the cliffs and called in Cash. When I came along, the doctor was arriving on the scene and …”
Michael halted her with a sharp question. “You happened to come along?”
“Honestly. I was just walking Mr. Pug and Coco.”
Michael seemed incredulous, but prompted, “And?”
“Cash hadn’t read the newspaper this morning, but I had and … I pointed out it was kind of odd that Goodridge had died in the same manner as the murder described in Trevor Jenkins’ entry for the summer serial.”
“Doug handles that,” Michael said. “I didn’t read the paper this morning as I was up and about early for the rare bird.”
“Did you spot it?”
“No. The photographer is still after it. I gave up. It’s too frustrating. And there are so many people afoot, all crazy for a pic. To my mind it has nothing to do with nature anymore.”
Michael focused on her. “Archibald Goodridge, hmmm?” He checked his phone again. “I got an anonymous call just the other day suggesting there was some dark secret to be exposed about Goodridge. I had to look into his business dealings before his retirement. I have no idea what the caller meant.”
Vicky tilted her head. “A call about Goodridge shortly before his death?”
Michael made a hand gesture. “Don’t make too much out of it. We get calls like that all the time. People trying to get publicity for their side of a story or just wanting to settle a score. When the auction for the lighthouse was announced, I even got calls that those swan cups that were supposed to attract a crowd were fakes, much later replicas. Some people like to make themselves interesting.”
“Hmmm. But this caller about Goodridge the other day, was the person male or female?”
“Hard to tell. The voice was disguised I guess. Maybe because the caller was concerned I’d recognize it? If it was a local …”
Vicky shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. I got the impression that Goodridge never did business here but moved here after his retirement. Why would a local want to expose him?”
Vicky’s mind whirred. “On the other hand, the police doctor did mention Goodridge was unlikable, even suggesting he was guilty of something. Like he knew more.”
Michael nodded. “I’d better give that doctor a call then to ask what he meant. I never took the anonymous call seriously, but now that Goodridge is dead, it might be worth looking into.”
“Doug is already covering the case. I got the impression he was … eager to make it into a success.” If she told Michael Doug wanted to make a good impression on him, she was sort of giving away the point of the whole exercise.
Michael smiled. “I bet. He’s ambitious. Reminds me of me when I was younger.” His entire expression softened. “If I dig up something worthwhile, I’ll give it to him, so he can make his mark with it. Of course I’ll tell him I don’t have time to do much with it myself. I don’t want him to feel like I’m helping him, you know.”
“Of course not.” Vicky was surprised by Michael’s posture and tone. Almost like Doug was his special project, his protégé or something.
Apparently Doug wasn’t just eager to please Michael, but the feeling was mutual: Michael wanted this young man who didn’t gave a grade in journalism to make his mark at the Gazette.
That made it even more important that Doug did a good job with his article, also staying within the limits Cash had imposed upon his involvement. She said urgently, “But please keep in mind that Cash isn’t keen on speculations about the death getting around. So whatever you find out and pass on to Doug should be kept out of the paper for the time being. But I did want to tell you about the events at the cliffs right now because … Well, keeping my mouth shut last time didn’t exactly work out well.”
Michael didn’t respond.
Vicky wasn’t sure if he didn’t understand her reference to the previous murder investigation, or simply didn’t care what she thought.
Or was he waiting for more of an explanation?
Even an apology?
He had said earlier he was angry because he had tried to protect her from harm and she hadn’t told him about the death that had happened. That had been a mistake she never wanted to make again. But here she was, involved in yet another murder, and this time Michael’s newspaper had published a story about it, before the fact. It was all kind of extraordinary and confusing.
Michael paced the store, apparently caught up in his own train of thought. “Who had reason to want Goodridge dead? Did the newspaper piece say anything about that? If the killer wrote it, he or she could have hidden clues in it. On purpose or by accident.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Vicky tried to recall the wording. “The I in the story does say he wants to see confusion and disbelief in the face of his victim. Does that mean that the victim didn’t know that the person was an enemy, out for him?”
“Maybe. It could also mean that the victim had never believed that the perpetrator would have the guts to come after him,” Michael said. “Maybe a victim of Goodridge’s crooked business dealings?”
Vicky nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting idea. You have to find out if this anonymous caller also told other people in town that Goodridge was a bad apple.”
She took a deep breath. “Using the serial tells us several things about the killer. He or she had to know when Trevor would send in his real contribution so the killer could send in the fake one afterward, pretending it was a replacement. Else it would never have worked. And the killer needed access to Trevor’s email account.”
Michael added, “The killer would have to make sure Trevor didn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder. If he could prove he had been in a café eating with friends for instance …”
“Early in the morning? Who has an alibi for that? Most people are in bed then. If you live alone, like Trevor, no one can vouch for you.”
“Right. So a possible alibi wasn’t a consideration for the killer. But access to the gun must have been. If the killer wanted to frame Trevor, he or she had to use a weapon that Trevor would be able to get his hands on. Otherwise the whole scheme would never work. But how did the killer know that there was a gun available somewhere? Do you know what gun was used? Did the serial installment say anything revealing about it?”
Vicky shook her head. “Ms. Tennings suggested Goodridge might have been shot with his own gun. That would fit with the serial’s mention of the point-of-view character taking the gun from a drawer. As Trevor was the gardener, he might have known about a gun in the Goodridges’ house. But of course that also goes for Goodridge’s wife Gunhild, their daughter Kaylee, and the housekeeper who recently took her leave. Do you know who that is?”
Michael shook his head. He said emphatically, “You can exclude Gunhild. She’s devoted to her husband.”
Vicky was surprised at his insistence. “You know her then?”
“Yes, I did an article on her art.”
&n
bsp; “But … how did a short visit for an article about art convince you she’s devoted to her husband and would never hurt him?”
“Well, actually it was a little more than just one article about her sculptures.”
Vicky’s heart skipped a beat. “How do you mean?”
The phone rang, and Vicky picked it up. It was Marge. “I’m coming back to the store after lunchtime,” her friend said in a hurried tone. “I don’t want to be at home to answer calls from worried members of the writing group or patrons of the library.”
“Have you had such calls already?” Vicky asked in surprise. “News of the death can hardly have spread already.”
“It seems someone was at the police station to report on a stolen mailbox and saw Trevor being taken in. He was yelling that he hadn’t killed Goodridge. Combined with the bit in the Gazette this morning … Glen Cove is on fire!”
Vicky nodded. “I see. Well, you’re welcome here. You know that.”
Marge sighed. “I just wish I had never thought up that idea about the serial in the Gazette. It seemed like some innocent fun, you know. Kaylee mentioned that she had been part of a writing group who did something like it, publicizing their installments on a website, and I said it could be done in the Gazette. Me and my big mouth.”
“Wait a minute,” Vicky said. “Kaylee suggested the idea of the serial to you? Kaylee Goodridge?” Her mind was reeling.
“Yes. She mentioned it, and of course like I always do when I have the chance to organize something, I jumped right in.”
“Kaylee suggested it when? How?” Vicky clutched the phone. “I didn’t even know you knew Goodridge’s daughter.”
“Of course,” Marge said in a puzzled tone as if she didn’t understand how Vicky could suggest she wouldn’t know Kaylee. “Kaylee’s also in the writing group.”
“What?” Vicky’s jaw sagged. “So the victim’s daughter knew all about the deadlines for the serial’s installments and to what email address to send the entries and … She might even have known what Trevor intended to send in?”
Vicky’s heart was pounding, and her palms got sweaty. “You didn’t tell me any of this before.”
Written into the Grave Page 7