Written into the Grave

by Vivian Conroy

  “Not at all,” Doug retorted. But he did flush.

  Michael said, “Do you have any idea if Kaylee would be capable of killing her own father? Or if she would hire someone to do it for her? Someone she might have manipulated into doing what she asked?”

  Doug seemed surprised by the suggestion. “We were kids back then. I haven’t seen her in years. I guess she was always stubborn like her father. She knew what she wanted. But I can’t remember that she ever broke things in a fit or was violent.”

  Michael waved his hand. “Never mind. It might not matter. You have no alibi for this morning?”

  “I was with Kyra in our tent at the resort. But nobody saw us there, and I doubt they will accept her testimony that I was with her as an alibi for me.”

  Michael nodded. “You’ve got that right. We can only clear you if we can prove somebody else killed Goodridge. But that will be hard. I doubt there are any witnesses to a shooting in such a remote area.”

  Vicky asked, “Did you overhear anything while you were at the police station that can help us?”

  Doug looked her in the eye. “I listened at the door when the sheriff was on the phone with the lawyer who drew up Goodridge’s will. I suppose it was just as bad as nosing in the computer, but I just couldn’t resist. I hoped someone would turn out to have a massive motive so nobody would bother to look my way.”

  Vicky said, “Well, you might as well tell us what you overheard. We need all the information we can get.”

  Doug said, “The lawyer told the sheriff that Goodridge recently made a new will. He left half of everything to his daughter and half to his mother.”

  “So Gunhild told us the truth about the will,” Vicky said to Michael. “She was to get nothing and she knew it. She has no motive at all to want her husband dead.”

  “What I thought all along.” Michael looked around him. “You got a piece of paper here?”

  Vicky picked up a commercial flyer that had come in the other day. One side was printed with information about a beer-a-buck night; the other side was empty. She handed it to Michael with a pen from the sideboard.

  Michael drew a couple of columns and wrote over them: opportunity, means, motive, alibi.

  Then he began to list names. Kaylee, Trevor, Sam, Doug.

  Vicky looked over his shoulder as he began to fill up the columns. Everybody had opportunity; nobody had an alibi.

  The ones with access to means were Kaylee and Trevor whose fingerprints were on the gun that was most likely the murder weapon, but Michael indicated that Sam as dismissed gardener had probably known about the presence of the gun in the study drawer.

  For Doug he placed a question mark.

  Doug, who was following his process as far as he could reading upside down, grimaced. “You’re thorough.”

  Michael glanced at him. “I have to be. I can’t afford to overlook possibilities that Cash will certainly see.”

  Under ‘motive’ Michael scribbled down for Kaylee: modeling career in jeopardy, money, freedom.

  For Trevor: love for Kaylee? Feeling despised? Playing hero? Literary experiment? Challenging the cops?

  Vicky hitched a brow while reading all these suggestions, but Michael had already come to Sam, filling in: wrongly accused, losing money, sickly wife, no future for … He didn’t fill in those dots.

  Vicky wondered what Michael knew about Sam that made him put it like that. He had been evasive before when she had asked him about Sam’s wife and the rumors that she hadn’t been seen around town for a long time.

  Before Vicky could ask about that, Michael had already come to Doug and scribbled: revenge for injustice done to family. Wanting to protect sister, keep father out of jail.

  Kyra followed everything with wide eyes.

  “You missed someone,” Vicky said.

  Michael looked up at her. “Who?”

  “Gunhild.”

  Michael shook his head. “It doesn’t fit in any way. Gunhild told us she has a lung condition and couldn’t run beyond a few yards. How would she have arrived at the cliffs before Archibald did? When he left their villa, she was still in bed. And Gunhild denied having known he owned a gun. So where would she have gotten a weapon? Besides, she has no motive. She knew that after the change of the will her husband’s death would leave her with nothing and would even force her to leave her beloved house and give back all of her jewelry. Not a great position to end up in. And Gunhild loved her husband. That was obvious from all of her responses.”

  “I guess so,” Vicky said. If someone didn’t have opportunity, means or motive, it was most unlikely to place him or her on a suspect list. It was probably the remaining jealousy that made her feel like Michael was defending Gunhild a little too easily.

  Michael folded his list in fours and put it in his pocket. “Well, it’s late, people. Let’s get some rest.”

  Vicky smiled at Doug and his sister. “The spare room is upstairs. I’ll show you.”

  “I can sleep on the couch,” Doug said. “It’s better than in that tent. It did take in a lot of water when it rained.”

  Vicky shook her head thinking of the poor conditions in which these kids had survived for weeks. She was glad that Michael and she now knew about their circumstances and could support them.

  As Michael had left and she had given Kyra fresh bed linen for the room, Vicky went to bed and curled into a ball, willing her tired body to fall into sleep. But her mind was so full of confusing thoughts she couldn’t relax.

  There was something they were overlooking.

  There was something she should understand that could lead her straight to the killer.

  But what?

  Chapter Eighteen

  She was on the beach. The sun was setting, and a fiery red glow spread across the peaceful water. Then the surface broke, and a dolphin appeared, making high jumps.

  Eager to see him better, Vicky walked to the water’s edge. Her feet moved slowly as if they were stuck in something.

  Then a sound made her turn her head. A horse was coming down the beach at murderous speed. His powerful hoof beats threw up the sand in clouds behind him. He came straight at her.

  She tried to move away, but her feet were sucked into the sand. She couldn’t move.

  She couldn’t avoid the horse.

  Vicky opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She looked down, and there was a gun in front of her feet, amid a sea of rose petals.

  Vicky’s eyes opened in a flash. She stared up at her ceiling, too confused to make sense of what she saw. Then it all came back to her. It had just been a dream. Gunhild’s artwork coming to life.

  Vicky rubbed her sandpaper eyes. The dream had pushed sweat out between her shoulder blades, but her heart rate really increased when she realized her present position.

  Kyra and Doug were staying with her.

  While they were, as Kyra had put it, on the run.

  Vicky didn’t know if she was doing something illegal by letting them stay in her house, but frankly she didn’t really care. She wanted them to be together in these uncertain times.

  Just imagine your mother dead, your father locked up, having no idea when you might see him again.

  She had to help them find some way out of this whole mess. Also for the sake of Michael, who obviously took Doug’s deceit so hard. He had to get his chance to work things out with his protégé.

  After a large breakfast with eggs, bacon and fruit, Vicky took the pair to Claire’s to get the dogs for a walk. Kyra fell in love with Coco at once, carrying the doggy around in her arms. Claire studied the two for a few moments and then turned to Vicky again to mention Marjorie from the B&B had called her while she was still in bed to say she had something important to tell Vicky and if she wanted to she could stop by later that day.

  “No idea,” Claire complained, “why she didn’t call you directly. She didn’t want to tell me what it was she wanted to share. My best f
riend acting so secretively. Well, anyway, you’d better have some coffee before you take the dogs out on their walk.”

  Kyra played with Coco, throwing a tennis ball for her, while Mr. Pug sat at the porch steps watching with a dignified look on his black face. Doug followed the game with a half smile, but Vicky sensed how nervous he was.

  Because he was afraid to lose his sister once it became common knowledge he was out here with her?

  Or because he knew more about Goodridge’s death than he had admitted so far?

  After the cup of coffee and a long exposition by Claire about a gardening show she had watched that had given her heaps of ideas for a pattern from bulbs to plant for next spring, the three of them left with the dogs to get to the store by way of the beach.

  Kyra ran ahead with Coco, while Vicky carried Mr. Pug, who was pretending to be fatigued because he wanted attention.

  Doug beside her walked with his hands folded at his back. Staring out across the lapping ocean, he said, “I don’t see why you took us into your home. I had just admitted to Michael I had lied about everything. Weren’t you worried I might take all of your money from the drawer and make a run for it?”

  “You said last night that you’re not a thief. You were genuinely indignant at the suggestion, and I think I understand why. You lied to get a position at the paper with a clear purpose in mind. To help your father get out of prison. That’s something far different than stealing money for your own good.”

  Doug’s mouth tightened. “Dad won’t feel that way. If he hears about this, he’ll say I did everything wrong. I did it for him and for Kyra, but he won’t see it like that.”

  “You’re not close to your father?” Vicky asked softly. Because Doug had done so much to clear his father, she had simply assumed they had been a close-knit family.

  Doug shook his head. “Not after Mom died. She kept the family together. She’d have been devastated if she knew all of this. Maybe I should be glad she died before it came to light. The loss of the money and all.”

  Vicky said, “The more I hear about Goodridge, the less I like him. I’m surprised that Gunhild who probably knew him better than anybody else in this world loved him so much.”

  “She hadn’t been married to him long. Maybe she didn’t know what he was capable of? Maybe she was afraid of him even.” Doug glanced at her. “I think he forced her to give false witness to incriminate my father.”

  Vicky tried to envision the scene again of Gunhild’s responses when she had heard about her husband’s death. If she had been afraid of her husband, the news should have come as a relief. But there hadn’t been any signs of it.

  She asked Doug, “Did you learn anything else while you were here in Glen Cove working for the Gazette that can help us now?”

  Doug shook his head. “I tried to find out more about Goodridge, but that wasn’t easy. Most people here had no business dealings with him. They only knew him from golf or from charity.”

  “Yes,” Vicky said, “I heard he donated large sums of cash money to charity.”

  Doug scoffed. “My father never believed that. He thought he used it as an excuse to funnel away funds.”

  Doug stared ahead to where his sister ran with Coco by her side. The doggy jumped at her, yapping.

  Doug said, “I would give everything to see Kyra happy. But I don’t see how. With my father convicted, we’ll certainly be separated.”

  “Not necessarily,” Vicky said. “If you had a house here in town, a good place to stay, and a job that provided income, you would be the perfect person to take care of your sister. This is a nice friendly small-town community where people keep an eye out for each other. We might convince the social services or whoever will review your files that your sister is better off with you than in a foster family.”

  Doug stared at her. “Why would you go to any trouble for me?”

  “Maybe I’m not doing it for you.”

  “For Kyra of course. Because she’s the innocent victim of it all. Dad’s problems and my stupid mistakes.”

  Vicky didn’t put him right. Doug could think it was for Kyra’s sake. But of course she was doing this for Michael, because he cared for Doug like a son. Michael would want to keep Doug around town. He would also want to help his sister, the whole family if they could.

  Why not try and see if there was a place for them right here in Glen Cove?

  “Hey, there’s Diane,” she said, waving at the blonde woman in the distance walking her German shepherd.

  Diane waved back and came over at a trot. “Good morning. Have you heard the news? Now that Goodridge is dead, the cups might come up for auction anyway. The china collectors who had almost canceled their trips into town are confirming their presence at the auction next week. Wait til Marge hears about this. She’s so keen on those cups.”

  “If there are collectors coming in, we don’t stand a chance,” Vicky said. “Say, that reminds me. I still wonder about that thing you told me the other day. That Gunhild’s sculptures reminded you of something you saw in Oslo, on that first Valentine’s trip with Alain. It was an exhibition by athletes, you said. Are you sure that the sculpture you saw that looked like Gunhild’s work was also from an athlete?”

  “I think so. How come?”

  “Well, Gunhild told us she has a lung condition and can’t run, but if she was once an athlete …” Michael had so carelessly left Gunhild off the suspect list because she couldn’t run and couldn’t have gotten to the cliffs before Goodridge, to lie in wait for him.

  But what if Gunhild had lied about her lung condition?

  She might also have lied about not being in the house when Sam allegedly stole the money from the golf bag. According to Kaylee, Gunhild had been at home and Sam’s dismissal had been based on her statement that she had seen him close to the house, the car and the golf bag.

  Her statement had gotten Sam fired.

  Like her statement about an assault had landed Doug’s father in prison.

  And it was the call of an anonymous witness that had first put him on the police’s radar, when he had visited Goodridge here in Glen Cove. A woman had called in his license plate.

  Well, if he had been at the villa, Gunhild could have seen his license plate. What could have been easier than to report him as he had left in an emotional state, prone to cause havoc?

  Vicky didn’t see, though, what Gunhild had thought to gain by all of those actions.

  Diane was just saying, “I should have pictures of that trip somewhere. I love photo albums. My kids always tease me that after special occasions I have to make another album out of it. Of course that album, if it exists, will be at home in the attic, but my youngest daughter is there now before she returns to college. I could give her a call to see if she can find it.”

  Vicky hesitated. Michael had been so certain Gunhild should not be on the suspect list. She did want to prove him wrong.

  But for what reason exactly? Just because she didn’t like the woman?

  She said to Diane, “If it’s a lot of trouble …”

  “No, and I’m kind of curious myself now. Maybe I don’t even remember it right. I’ll ask my daughter, and she’ll call you, OK? Gotta go now. Will see you later. Bye.”

  And with a friendly smile at Doug, Diane jogged off with her dog beside her.

  Doug had pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and walked with his head down. “What if Gunhild won’t drop her testimony against my father, about the assault?”

  “Our main concern right now is to find out who killed Goodridge. After that we can look at the allegations against your father. Cash does know more about those, I suppose, and maybe I can ask him what he thinks about it.”

  Vicky knew Cash would be reluctant to give information about any case, and especially one that wasn’t within his own jurisdiction. But she might just press him a little bit, referring to the help they were giving him with the Goodridge killing.


  They came to the vantage point, and Kyra carried Coco up in her arms. She hugged and cuddled the doggy as if she never wanted to let her go again.

  Vicky smiled at the two. Doug didn’t seem pleased. He said, “I want to keep her away from people she might get attached to. It never works out anyway.”

  Vicky glanced at him. “Nobody can live without making contact with other people. You can’t protect your sister from everything, Doug.”

  His attitude strengthened her conviction these two needed a stable place to stay and a community to get them back on their feet again. A community where their father, if and when he was released, would be welcome too.

  As they came to the Country Gift Shop, Marge was in front of the window washing it, two plastic buckets by her side. She waved at them from a distance. “Hello! Doug, isn’t it? And who’s that?”

  “My sister. She’s here on holiday,” Doug said defensively.

  Marge didn’t seem to notice his curt tone but waved her soapy hand at Kyra. “Welcome to the Country Gift Shop. Have a look round.”

  Kyra went in and oohed and aahed about the fireplace and the books, the scarves, the calendars. She walked around, taking everything into her hands and talking to Coco about how great it was.

  Doug followed her in and stood awkwardly in the center of the store, like he didn’t belong and didn’t want to belong either.

  Vicky had stayed outside with Marge and watched them through the window.

  Marge said, “I didn’t know Doug had a sister. Then I never really talked to him. Odd how people come to town and you don’t really know a thing about them.”

  Vicky said, “Don’t mention it to Doug, but he’s in a load of familial trouble. We’ll need all the help we can get to keep him and his sister together.”

  “Ah,” Marge said like it was a comment on the weather. “Well, then we’d better join forces, right?”

  She moved the sponge energetically across the glass pane. “I’m glad the sun is shining so I can see all the dirt better. Here’s a spot and …” She stood on tiptoe, stretching her arm to the max. “There.”