Dead to Begin With (A Country Gift Shop Cozy Mystery series, Book 1)

by Vivian Conroy

  “OK,” Vicky panted, “so you’re a good boy. And you only meant to say hello. But don’t fall all over Coco. She’s way too small to be your playmate.”

  Not to mention what flying sand would do to her fur. Coco didn’t like to be bathed and last time Claire and Vicky had tried to coax the little princess into the tub, it had taken them an hour to clean up all the water and soap in the bathroom and change their own soiled clothes. It was surprising how strong a small dog could be.

  “Excuse me, but that’s my dog.” The voice was cool and a bit haughty.

  Vicky turned to the woman who wore an expensive sweatshirt over cargo pants. Her long blond hair fluttered loose on the breeze. Vicky held her breath. Even after so many years the likeness was stunning. Almost eerie.

  “Celine,” she said, then could have kicked herself. “I mean, Diane. Ms. Dobbs. Or did you take your husband’s name?”

  She realized she was starting to ramble and released the German shepherd, who ran off to snap at the waves. Coco pushed herself against Vicky’s leg, while Mr. Pug barked again as if he wanted to show he had driven the bigger dog away.

  “Sorry,” Vicky said quickly, forcing a smile. “I believed for a moment your dog was attacking mine. That is, my mother’s dogs: Mr. Pug and Coco.”

  In her experience dog owners usually thawed when they could discuss their pets. But Diane’s expression stayed cool and aloof. “My dog may look fierce, but he is well trained. Actually he’s a professional guard dog. I bring him on walks for protection.”

  Vicky’s mouth fell open. “Have there been incidents lately?”

  “I don’t intend to take any risks. I’m used to big cities; I guess it rubs off. You just don’t feel safe anywhere anymore.” Diane shivered a moment and rubbed her arms.

  Vicky felt the need to say something reassuring, but was painfully reminded of Diane’s trauma in this place. Right here in Glen Cove her sister had vanished without a trace. It was hard to convince her it was a nice innocent little place.

  Vicky took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that I called you Celine. But the…”

  “Likeness is so striking.” Diane laughed bitterly. “That’s part of the reason why I left Glen Cove right after Celine…” She blinked a moment. “I just didn’t want to be compared to her anymore. It had always been fun to be twins, to be mixed up, even take each other’s place at times. But then it was no fun anymore. All the questions about how I was coping, how I felt. How did they think I felt? I had just lost half of me.”

  Vicky held the woman’s gaze. Earlier she had looked at the newspaper photograph sort of trying to see the reasons for Diane’s return and now that she was face-to-face with her, she tried even harder. What did the look in those eyes tell her?

  Diane swallowed. “I had that scholarship waiting for me so it was relatively easy to get away. I guess I felt relieved. It may sound terrible because I should have supported my parents, but…I was so tired of talking about Celine. Of waiting by the phone. The police told us that in a case of kidnapping the first twenty-four hours are crucial. If a person isn’t recovered by then, or comes back of his own accord, they are usually already…”

  Vicky sucked in her breath. “I can’t imagine the police would say something like that.”

  Diane straightened up. “Not the local police, no. They were so positive about a good outcome. A friend of my father’s told us the truth. Dad tried all kinds of friends for help, but…nobody could bring back Celine.”

  The wind whipped strands of hair into Diane’s face, and she brushed them away impatiently. “I couldn’t stand the insecurity of waiting anymore. Or having to repeat my mother’s motto that there was still hope. To me hope diminished with every day that passed. I needed to work on my own life.”

  “I understand.” Vicky waited a moment. It would be tactless to point out that Diane had left when everybody wanted to talk about Celine, and had come back when nobody wanted that anymore.

  Diane said, “It didn’t really surprise me when my psychiatrist told me all of my problems were a consequence of my past. Of Celine’s disappearance. I had always known. Deep inside.”

  She surveyed Vicky thoughtfully. “I know you’re Vicky Simmons, who also lived here when it happened. I think you knew Celine, although you never took classes with her, right? I’ve looked at old school pictures trying to remember all the names and then search for people online. I was curious what became of them all. Not everybody is still living here. Or living here again.”

  The latter sounded almost accusing as if Diane blamed Vicky for having come home.

  Or was it rather that Diane blamed Michael Danning for having come home? It was odd then that Diane had gone to Michael with her story. Michael had said explicitly that the interview had not been his idea, but Diane’s. What had been her intention?

  Vicky was reminded of Cash’s remark that Diane wanted something. He had made it sound like he blamed her for it. Just because it stirred things up?

  Or because Cash figured Diane’s actions were calculated? That every word she said was part of a plan to achieve a certain result? Planting seeds of suggestion that would soon shoot up into full-grown suspicion?

  It did seem odd that Diane would meet a relative stranger on the beach and pour out her life’s story. Was she fishing for some kind of response? A flash of recollection?

  Or an indication of guilt?

  It had to be terrible to be surrounded by people and look at their faces wondering if one of them might be the face of your sister’s murderer.

  Diane played with the dog leash in her hand. “A lot of people are back in town,” she said slowly. “I wonder what it is that pulls people back to their old hometown. Nostalgia? Wanting to see all the old places again, to compare them to your memories?”

  It sounded soft and pensive, but Diane’s voice carried an edge as she pushed on. “Or is it a sense of guilt? Have you ever heard the theory that a criminal returns to the place of the crime? That that is the reason why the police take pictures of people who come to see a crime scene, or a fire? Because they believe the culprit might come back to see what he accomplished or watch people’s responses to the tragedy?”

  Vicky took a deep breath. “I’ve heard about that, yes. And I suppose it happens. But there are a lot of normal people who go back to their old hometown for a lot of good reasons. Criminals are the exception, not the rule.”

  To Vicky’s surprise Diane began to laugh. Not a harsh cynical laugh, but a warm heartfelt one. It changed her cold expression to a lively beautiful face, of someone you’d like to know better. “You’re so right,” she said. “I’m sounding morbid. It is completely at odds with this place. Glen Cove is friendly and sweet. I used to love it. Being back here, I remember how good I always felt, about the place and the people.”

  She glanced around her, up and down the empty beach. “I thought it was a great idea when my psychiatrist suggested this trip. So much time had passed that I believed I could go back to the Glen Cove I had always cared for. That I could recover what I had lost and sort of find healing. But now I’m not so sure anymore. It’s not just the past. It’s the present. People have acted so hostile when I want to talk to them, like they are all protecting some guilty secret.”

  “They need not.” Vicky buttoned up her coat again. It was chilly in the wind. “They’re just upset that the old story is alive again. People were made suspects at the time and they couldn’t defend themselves. It’s always worst to feel helpless.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Vicky bit her lip. Perhaps Glen Cove should have taken a different attitude toward Diane’s return, welcoming her and even welcoming her questions, no matter how painful they might be. It was not Diane’s fault that her family name had become associated with a crime. The real person to blame was the abductor.

  “Shall we walk together?” she suggested.

  Diane appeared surprised at her offer, but agreed, falling into step beside her further down the beach t
oward the vantage point. The German shepherd was still chasing waves, while Mr. Pug padded along on the other side of the beach close to the cliffs. Coco had found a piece of wood, which she sniffed from all sides, before running after Mr. Pug, her tail up and her sharp bark filling the air.

  Diane asked, “Where do you live?”

  “At the far end of Main Street, where it turns away to Culver Road. There are several empty cottages there so I could rent one at short notice.”

  “Then we’re almost neighbors,” Diane said. “I rented the one old widow Black used to live in.”

  “The captain’s widow?” Vicky could still see the man in her mind, in his uniform coming back from a week at sea. Fishermen then still stayed out for days on end, and he had been in charge of a large ship that employed about ten men from Glen Cove and a neighboring town. The captain’s wife had been a nice petite woman who bought cookies at the baker’s and then handed them out to the children in the street. Her own grandchildren had lived on the other side of the country, and she had only seen them at Christmas.

  Diane walked vigorously, almost smiling at her. “Yes, it’s a cute place with old-fashioned curtains and tiny rooms compared to what I’m used to. But I feel right at home. The kitchen is great with an old stove. I had to get used to handling it, but now I’m fine. It gives so much warmth that I spend a lot of time near it.”

  She hesitated a moment. “Often I can’t sleep and get up to do some chore in the kitchen. Cleaning, breaking beans. I hadn’t done that in years, but it’s very relaxing. The same movement over and over again. Until your head gets empty.”

  Vicky wondered if Diane had anybody to talk to now that she was out here. It seemed like she was dwelling mainly on her sister’s fate. That could not be healthy.

  Maybe she should engage her in something distracting?

  “I empty my head here on the beach,” Vicky said, gesturing around her. “I can forget all the craziness of my store renovations and just re-energize.”

  Diane responded right away. “Oh, yes, I heard about your gift shop idea. Things from London, right? I’ve been there on holiday once or twice. Maybe I’ll drop by one of these days.”

  “It’s quite messy still,” Vicky warned, “but if you want to drop by to see how I’m doing, feel free to do so. I’d love to hear your opinion on my plans.”

  They were approaching the stone steps that Vicky usually took. They led up to the vantage point and from there back over a trodden dirt path to Claire’s cottage.

  “My mother is waiting for me with some lasagna,” she said to Diane. “Would you like to join us?”

  Diane hesitated as if she wasn’t sure. She looked up to the vantage point. Her expression set.

  Vicky followed her gaze and spotted the figure of a man standing like a statue, his arms up, holding something dark to his face. Binoculars probably. Birdwatchers frequented the vantage point the year round, hoping to spot something extraordinary.

  Diane seemed to be in a hurry all of a sudden. “That sounds nice, but I’ve had dinner. I think I’m going to jog some more. But I will come see the store, all right? Bye.”

  Without waiting for a response from Vicky, she whistled to her dog and ran off. The German shepherd responded at once and followed her with large bounds.

  Puzzled, Vicky watched the two figures for a few moments, then she shrugged and walked to the steps where Mr. Pug and Coco were already waiting for her. The dogs knew that if they whined and looked pathetic, she’d cave and carry them up. She bent down to fetch Mr. Pug and tuck him under her arm.

  Coco playfully skipped away to elude her grasping hand. Mr. Pug snorted as if he reproached her, while Vicky tried, half bent over, to get the white ball of fluff that shot this way and that. Coco was like a toddler who didn’t want to go to bed and drove her mommy insane by running away from her as soon as she reached for her.

  At last Vicky had both dogs secured in her arms and climbed the steps. She could now see the birdwatcher better. He was slowly moving the binoculars along as if he was following a moving target. His posture seemed somehow familiar but it was hard to tell in that wide dark overcoat and baseball cap.

  As soon as the last step was within reach, Mr. Pug wriggled to be released. Struggling to breathe evenly, Vicky put him down. Coco wasn’t eager to walk and snuggled in her arms.

  While Vicky readjusted the doggy’s weight, Mr. Pug waddled to the man with the binoculars.

  Vicky wanted to call him back, but Mr. Pug was already there and pushed the man’s calf with his nose. The man turned round and looked down, then at Vicky.

  It was Michael Danning.

  He didn’t seem to be surprised to see her and Vicky realized he had probably followed her encounter with Diane on the beach. His presence here at the vantage point was a strange coincidence. To her knowledge Michael Danning had never taken a big interest in birds. But maybe he had developed it as a hobby over time. Perhaps those binoculars had been with him in Columbia or New Zealand to spot some rare species?

  Michael squatted to pat Mr. Pug, then rose to his full height and smiled at her. “Can I walk you to your door? Or rather your mother’s as I suppose you’re dropping off the dogs there?”

  “Sure.” Vicky’s heart skipped a beat. Too bad Mom would be waiting with the lasagna and the bottle of red wine. Vicky had rather dropped off the dogs and taken Michael to her own home, for a glass of wine there. She was eager to share with him how the store was coming along. Maybe, if she created a warm atmosphere, he’d be willing to share how he really felt about Diane’s return to Glen Cove and why he had asked about Sheriff Perkins’ old records of the disappearance. What did he expect to find in those? Was there an actual chance of the old case being reopened?

  Michael walked beside her, pulling absentmindedly at the binoculars around his neck.

  “I know too little about birds,” Vicky said innocently. “Mom told me there was something rare to see this time of year, but I’ve already forgotten what it is.”

  “You’re a terrible liar,” Michael said. “You know I wasn’t watching birds. I don’t have the patience for it.”

  Vicky exhaled slowly. No matter how much she wanted to believe Michael had been there for her, another option was more likely. “You do have the patience to follow Diane Dobbs around?”

  “I don’t follow her around,” Michael said sharply. “I don’t like her habit of roaming this stretch of beach on her own. Feelings in town are hostile, and I’m worried somebody might try and attack her. To scare her away.”

  Vicky studied him from the side. “Why would anybody do that? People are not happy with her questions, but…”

  “I got a call.” Michael sounded tight. “Low voice, could have been a man, or a woman trying to mask her voice. The caller said that if Diane didn’t stop digging, she would pay.”

  “Why would the caller call you and not her?”

  “For obvious reasons. Diane might ignore the warning. She is dead set on discovering something here. She came all the way from Europe for it and she rented the cottage for the summer, not to run off again after just a few days. That’s not her style. But I’m a newspaper editor. I’m supposed to smell a story and go to her to tell her about the threat. Perhaps warn her to take it seriously?”

  “It makes no sense. If somebody is eager to hide what happened back then, why would he or she make such a call and alert you to a secret? It seems like somebody is riling you again, like with the letters about Gwenda Gill’s product doctoring.”

  “You think I should ignore it?” Michael studied her thoughtfully. “It sounded like a real threat. And whoever wrote those letters about Gwenda knew that her products were not the genuine article. What if I had just brushed it aside as a fake claim, coming from some spiteful competitor?”

  He had a point there. Vicky thought quickly. “Well, you could go to the police. But Cash Rowland knows he’ll never catch an anonymous caller. There is nothing to identify the person. I mean, if you had seen a
caller ID, you’d have looked into it yourself.”

  Michael half smiled. “A smart assumption, Miss Simmons.”

  Vicky also smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Danning. So you didn’t see a caller ID. The caller probably used a public phone or a prepaid cell phone.”

  Michael nodded. “Right again.”

  Vicky shrugged. “Nothing to trace back to him or her then. So what can you do? The obvious thing. Just tell Diane about it. Then she can decide for herself how to react.”

  “How do you expect she will react? Dig even deeper. You just met her. Tell me if you believe for one moment she will back off.” Michael sounded frustrated, almost angry.

  “Not likely.” Vicky pictured the look on Diane’s face, her suppressed frustration, the admittance she slept badly at night. “She thought about this long and hard before she came here, I gather. And perhaps feeling as she does, she is willing to risk it all for closure?”

  Michael didn’t confirm or deny it. He stared ahead with a grim expression.

  Vicky was still carrying Coco. The warmth of the dog in her arms contrasted oddly with the serious topic at hand. It was so peaceful to walk here and inhale the sea air and listen to the last birds cry overhead. Then head home for lasagna and watch the dogs snore in front of the fireplace. Not even Diane’s fragile state of mind could disturb that. She had to be grasping at straws. There couldn’t be a murderer among them.

  And Michael’s words about a threat were just that: words, not a reality that touched upon their lives.

  She looked for a way to convey that to him. “There are crackpots everywhere who call newspapers with information. Usually they know nothing. You’re taking it too personally. Nothing is expected of you.”

  “No?” Michael walked with his hands folded at his back now, a little calmer. He stared intently ahead as if he tried to focus on a logical train of thought. “Don’t I have some obligation to find the truth?”