Written into the Grave

by Vivian Conroy

  Michael looked for words. “Well, of course it’s hard to judge when you haven’t seen somebody in action and when you’re not trained in the field, but … I think a psychologist would have a field day studying their family dynamics.”

  “So Kaylee might have done something drastic? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Michael shrugged. “It’s easy to say after it all went wrong. I don’t know if I felt that strongly about it when I was there.”

  Vicky frowned in concentration. “But they must have realized not everything was going smoothly. Did they ever try counseling or something like it?”

  “Oh, Gunhild certainly wanted that. She told me she was worried she didn’t have enough maternal skills and she felt awkward too as she had learned English at a later age. She even claimed some of the arguments with Kaylee were because Kaylee couldn’t understand her.”

  “Nonsense,” Vicky said at once, “Gunhild’s English is perfect.”

  “I told her the same thing. But she seemed very insecure.”

  “All the more reason to have some counseling so the counselor could tell her that she was doing fine in her new role.”

  “I said so too, but she told me her husband didn’t want any strangers interfering with his family. The type of guy who doesn’t ask for help, you know.”

  “Hmmm. Sounds kind of familiar.”

  Michael glanced at her. “Ha ha.”

  “I mean it. I bet there have been times in your life when maybe you could have benefited from a little … support but you never asked for it.”

  Michael’s expression was tight. He clenched his hands around the wheel, then relaxed them again.

  Vicky said softly, “It’s not criticism. It’s just a shame.”

  “I guess we all have our own way of coping with things. Men just don’t like to dig deep into themselves. We prefer action.”

  “Well, somebody took action against Archibald Goodridge and as a result of it, he’s dead.” Vicky rubbed at a stain on her bag’s leather. “What did you learn from Sam the gardener?”

  “Like I said, he’s still white-hot with anger over his unfair dismissal. I can’t be sure if he would lash out at Goodridge because of it. The whole thing with the newspaper piece seems a little ingenious for him. I mean, how would he have known how the Seaside Secrets serial was set up, what email address to send the installment to et cetera. Only the members of the writing group would have that knowledge.”

  Vicky nodded. “I see what you mean. Did you happen to see Sam’s wife? I heard she hasn’t been seen around town for ages and there’s speculation about what could be wrong with her.”

  Michael pointed ahead. “There’s Gunhild’s house. Why do you want to see her anyway? What do you want to know?”

  “I’m not sure. Anything that can throw light on the whole matter.”

  “I’ll go in with you. She trusted me back then with her story. Maybe she’ll give me more now.”

  Vicky didn’t know if she wanted to see how Michael was with the beautiful Gunhild but it had been her idea to come here so she could hardly refuse to go in now.

  They drove down the driveway and put the car in front of the garage. Then Michael got out and looked up at the house. He waved a hand.

  Vicky, who was just getting out, didn’t see what he was waving at. At the upstairs window a curtain moved.

  Michael explained to her, “Gunhild must have heard the engine and looked out to see who it was. I guess she isn’t eager for company with the news of her husband’s death causing a stir in town.”

  Michael walked to the porch steps. The door opened, and Gunhild stood on the threshold. Her face was mottled from crying, and she had slipped a dressing gown over what had to be either a nightdress or pajamas with three-quarter pants, Vicky judged by the bare legs visible underneath.

  “I guess this is not the best time to visit,” Michael said. “But I wanted to know how you’re doing.” He clasped Gunhild’s hand in both of his and squeezed. “I’m so sorry that Archibald’s dead.”

  Gunhild’s face contorted. “I can’t believe it. I lay in bed waiting for a door to bang, for his footfalls to come up the stairs. I looked at the ceiling and I willed him to come home. When I heard the car engine, I even told myself it was him coming back from golfing. I know it can’t be but … I want it so badly.”

  She burst into fresh tears and threw herself at Michael. He caught her in his arms and held her, saying it was OK now. He patted her back with one hand.

  Vicky stood back, unsure how to respond to the scene. She felt terribly superfluous.

  But Gunhild had already stepped back and wiped the tears away with a brusque gesture. “I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “Do come in. I’ll make some tea.”

  She looked past Michael at Vicky. “It was Vicky, right? Vicky Rowland?”

  “Simmons,” Vicky corrected, blood rushing into her face.

  Michael gave her a suspicious look before following Gunhild inside.

  Vicky wondered how on earth Gunhild had caught her name during the visit that morning as Rowland. Had she been so upset she had later misconstrued the situation, thinking Vicky was Cash’s wife?

  In the kitchen Gunhild rummaged at the sink. Michael seated himself on a stool at the cooking island. “So Archibald went out jogging like he always does.”

  “It’s clockwork with him.”

  “So it would have been easy for someone to know his schedule, his route.”

  “Oh, yes. I know for a fact Sam once waited for him along the way.”

  “Sam?” Vicky and Michael echoed in unison.

  “Yes. Right after he had been fired for stealing that money Archie had wanted to give to charity. Sam waited for him to tell him he hadn’t taken it and that he wanted to be reinstated as gardener. He even wanted Archie to tell the entire town that he had made a mistake in accusing him. Archie was furious of course and asked him how he’d like that apology: in writing or televised. Sam seriously said he wanted it printed on the front page of the Gazette. Now I’m asking you …”

  Gunhild banged the kettle on the sink. “Archie naturally refused and told him never to wait for him again along his jogging route or he’d report him to Cash. Then Sam said he’d be sorry for that.”

  “So Sam threatened him?” Michael asked curtly.

  “That’s what Archie told me. Of course I wasn’t there. He didn’t like people talking back to him. So maybe he exaggerated?”

  Michael folded his hands. His expression was inscrutable, but Vicky had the impression he was worried about these revelations about Sam. Why hadn’t he answered her question about Sam’s wife?

  As Michael didn’t seem to want to pursue the topic further, Vicky asked Gunhild, “What did you think of Sam’s dismissal?”

  Gunhild turned to them. In the dressing gown with her smudged face she looked like a little girl, unsure. “Me? Why?”

  “Well, he had worked here for years; I suppose you knew and trusted him. When your husband accused him of having taken a lot of money, what did you think?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t even at home at the time.”

  “But—” Vicky frowned in confusion “—Kaylee said that you had told your husband you saw Sam come up to the house around the time the money was left unguarded in the golf bag in the car. That your statement clinched it for Archibald.”

  “Oh, no. Kaylee must be mistaken. I wasn’t even home then. I didn’t know what had happened until days later. I asked Archie when Sam would come again and he told me he had fired him. That he would hire someone new. That was it. Archie took care of things around the house. I didn’t interfere with that.”

  “But surely,” Vicky insisted, “if you hear your gardener is suddenly fired, you ask a question or two about the circumstances?”

  Gunhild turned her back on them again. Her shoulders slumped as if she felt chastised.

  Michael asked, “Why did Kaylee say
you had reported Sam being near the house to your husband?”

  “She must have misunderstood. I wasn’t here.”

  “Did she lie about it?” Michael pressed.

  Gunhild stood motionless. “Lie? That’s such a strong word.”

  Michael said, “Did Kaylee fudge the facts often to get you into trouble with Archibald or other people?”

  Gunhild didn’t respond but her silence spoke louder than any denial could have.

  Vicky piped up, “Well, I suppose Kaylee must have a reason for saying something like that. She made it sound like it was your fault Sam was fired.”

  Gunhild gave a short laugh. “What wasn’t my fault? Kaylee was always looking for a fight.”

  “Also that time when Kaylee decided to leave?” Michael asked softly. “Her major argument with her father? What was that about anyway?”

  Vicky waited with bated breath for the answer. Would it prove Kaylee had been lying to Cash about what had happened when she was sent away from home?

  “Kaylee left because she felt she had no freedom here.” Gunhild shrugged. “I think she was exaggerating. Her father was very good to her. He allowed a lot. I had a much stricter upbringing. And I could never have left and come back again. My father would have broken both of my legs.”

  Vicky winced.

  Michael looked at her, making wide eyes. “So you consider Kaylee privileged?”

  Gunhild asked, “What?”

  “A young lady with a lot of chances that you never got?”

  Gunhild laughed softly. “Kaylee was spoiled but she didn’t see it. She felt like life had done her injustice. Her mother dead, her father always busy with work. And never enough money to spend.”

  “Do you know if she gets anything now that Archibald’s dead?” Michael asked.

  Gunhild swung round. “What a strange question.” She looked Michael over. “What are you thinking?”

  “It’s not what I’m thinking, but what other people might start thinking, especially the police.”

  “If the police have questions, they must ask them.” Gunhild went to a cupboard and opened the door. She disappeared half behind it. China rattled.

  “I suppose they’ll come back soon to ask those questions,” Michael said. “I’m concerned, Gunhild. For Kaylee.”

  Gunhild popped up again, holding three cups in one hand, by their handles, three plates in the other. She took two steps, then one of the cups threatened to slip from her grasp and fall.

  Michael shot off his seat to her and steadied the cup.

  Gunhild looked up into his eyes. “Kaylee? You’re worried for Kaylee?”

  “Yes. She’s at the police station now.”

  Gunhild held his gaze. “For what?”

  Michael repeated his earlier question. “Does Kaylee get anything now that her father is dead?”

  “Yes,” Gunhild said. “Half of what he owned.”

  “And you get the other half?” Vicky asked.

  Gunhild looked at her as if she had temporarily forgotten she was even there. She pulled the cup from Michael’s hold and moved to the sink quickly, depositing her breakable load. “No. Contrary to what people must be thinking, I don’t get anything.”

  Michael leaned back on his heels, his hands at his back. “Nothing?” He sounded incredulous.

  “No. Archie had recently decided to change his will. At our marriage he had made a will in which most everything would go to me, of course with a generous trust fund construction for Kaylee. But then he changed his mind and he had a new will made up just a few weeks ago in which he left half of his estate to Kaylee and the other half to his mother.”

  “But … his mother must be older.” Vicky was bemused. “What if she died before he did? He must have considered that possibility.”

  “In that case it was all to go to Kaylee.”

  Michael whistled. “That young lady had no reason to resent her father so much.”

  Gunhild scoffed. “Kaylee should be ashamed of herself. Archie lived for nothing else but to see her happy. And she was always complaining.”

  “So you get nothing now that he’s gone,” Michael said. “And you knew that as he had told you that the will was changed.”

  “Yes. I knew from that day that if he died, I would be left with nothing. Not even a house to live in. Not even the jewelry, as it all came from his family and falls into the estate.”

  Gunhild smiled sadly. “I told Archie when he made this change he’d better live until he was a hundred and he said he intended to.”

  She raised a hand to her face and covered her eyes.

  Michael looked at Vicky. She bet he was thinking the same thing as she was. With Kaylee getting so much from her father’s death it only made her motive for killing him stronger.

  That, coupled with the fact she had fought with her father before she left the house, that the email had been sent from the computer café where she worked, that her fingerprints were on the gun … The case seemed to be open and shut.

  Vicky said to Gunhild, “This morning when we found the gun in the shed you were startled. You didn’t tell Cash that it was your husband’s gun.”

  Gunhild widened her eyes. “My husband didn’t own a gun.”

  “Yes, he did. Kaylee said it was always in the drawer in the study.”

  Gunhild clenched her hands in front of her. “So he had bought a gun for protection. He always said he would, but I never thought he would actually do it.”

  “Protection?” Michael asked. “From … burglars, you mean?”

  Gunhild looked down at the floorboards.

  Michael studied her. “From something else?” he pressed.

  “Well, in his work he handled money for people. And not everybody thinks he handled it right. Some people are still upset with him and they call us in the middle of the night. Archie told me not to mind them, but …”

  She bit her lip. “He never told me he had bought a gun. He must have been more worried than he ever told me.”

  Michael looked at Vicky. Was he thinking about the anonymous call urging him to dig into Goodridge’s crooked business dealings before his retirement? Had there been some sort of campaign against Goodridge?

  Michael turned to Gunhild again. “You’ve never seen the gun inside the house?”

  “No. I hate weapons. I would never have accepted that Archie kept it in the house. It’s dangerous.”

  “I see,” Michael said. “So he bought it and kept it in the drawer of his desk without you knowing about it.”

  Vicky supplied, “But he ran a risk of you finding it there as you cleaned up his room.”

  Gunhild shook her head. “The study was his … How do you call it? Safe place?”

  “Sanctuary?” Michael provided, and Gunhild gave him a grateful smile. “Yes, exactly. He didn’t allow anyone else in.”

  “But Kaylee said she had taken the gun out of the drawer and held it in her hands. That that was how her fingerprints got on the gun.”

  “She might have gone in when he wasn’t there to look through papers. She always thought she wasn’t getting enough money.”

  “She might have stolen money if she needed some,” Michael mused, “and Sam was blamed for it and fired.”

  Gunhild looked startled. “You think Kaylee took that money, the envelope from the golf bag? But why? She had enough.”

  “Maybe not to her own mind.” Michael waved a hand. “Never mind, we don’t know that for sure. It might be an explanation for the disappearance of the money. Sam insists he didn’t take it.”

  “Poor man,” Gunhild said. “I thought it was him, just because I knew about his wife and all. Her not being able to work anymore and the unpaid bills. It seemed logical he had taken the money.”

  Michael nodded. “Let’s get back to the gun. You didn’t know it was here. But Kaylee did and Trevor too, apparently, with his fingerprints on the gun as well.”

  “H
e must have shot Archie. For Kaylee. She had bewitched him. He was such a kind, gentle young man until she cast her eye on him. Then he changed. He wanted to do anything for her. I bet she took the gun and gave it to him asking him to shoot Archie. Trevor then must have put it in the shed after the shooting where Kaylee would get it later and put it back in the drawer. Where nobody would have thought to look. A man doesn’t get shot with his own gun, right?”

  Michael pursed his lips. “Would Trevor let Kaylee run a risk if he’s really so fond of her as you say?”

  Gunhild sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t think clearly. My head bangs. I can’t breathe.”

  She put a hand to her chest. “I have lung trouble, you know. Archie so often asked me to come jogging with him, but I can’t run for more than a few yards.”

  Her face contorted again. “If only I had gone with him. Then I might have been able to save him.”

  “How?” Michael asked. “The killer was armed. He might have shot you as well.”

  “That would have been better. What do I have left to live for? Archie’s dead; I’ll be thrown from this house.” Gunhild waved her arms frantically. “Kaylee will throw me out. She never liked me. I’m surprised she isn’t here now to send me away.”

  “She’s at the police station and might not even be released overnight,” Michael said.

  “But … that can’t be. She’s just a girl. She needs a lawyer. She needs to be released on what do you call it? For money?”

  “Bail,” Michael supplied.

  “Bail, yes. I’ll call …” Gunhild froze mid-movement. “But I can’t arrange for anything. I have no money now. When Archie died, everything changed. Nothing’s mine anymore.”

  She looked around her as if she suddenly found herself in an unfamiliar place. Somebody else’s home instead of her own. “I can’t hire a lawyer or get this bail money. Archie’s mother will have to do it. I must call her.”

  “Yes,” Vicky responded at once. “You said you were going to call people when Cash and I left this morning. Have you? Kaylee checked her phone and said you had not called her.”

  “Oh, I tried, but her phone wasn’t on. I also tried Mother, but she was out visiting a friend, her housekeeper told me. She was going to call me back when she got home. I guess I’ll have to wait for that.”