There was an ironic twitch around his lips. “That’s what journalists claim to do, right, find the truth? We devote our entire careers to something big and praiseworthy. But it’s simple to write about another’s life story, the truth about his pain, his past, his guilt. It’s something entirely different to go and do it for yourself.”
Vicky studied him thoughtfully. “Did Diane press you to print the interview?”
“Press me? Why?”
“Well, when I asked about it, you responded as if you didn’t like it. I just figured she had talked you into it.”
Michael frowned hard. “When Diane arrived here, she came to see me right away. She said she never believed I had anything to do with Celine’s disappearance and that she was not here to make my life hard or anything. That she was doing this purely for herself, to finally close the book and be able to return to her family like a new woman. She looked so…angry and vulnerable.”
Vicky held Coco closer. It was easy to see what was happening here. Diane looked like Celine. Michael had loved Celine. Now that Diane was in a difficult position, Michael felt he had to protect her. He had agreed to help her, against his own better judgment, because he was worried what Diane might do when he didn’t help her.
“If she had said she suspected me of involvement, I would have hated her for it and ignored her.” Michael laughed hoarsely. “Now that she’s said it was not my fault and she expected nothing of me, it made me all the more determined to dive into it and…find some answers. Stupid, huh?”
Vicky took a deep breath. She was grateful that Michael had confided in her. He probably had nobody else to turn to. She didn’t want him to be alone with his struggle. So this talk was a very good thing, between friends.
Still it was hard to decide what to say. How to prevent him from getting sucked into a whirlpool of emotions that might not lead to anything. Unless he had facts to go on. “I heard you asked Cash for the old police files.”
“Yeah.” He cast her a look as if he wanted to know how come she had talked to Cash.
But he didn’t ask. “He told me Perkins has them. I gave him a call, but his wife told me Perkins is out fishing with buddies. Won’t be back till after the weekend.”
He laughed again, disparagingly this time. “After I’ve had that much time to think it over, will I still want to read those files? I have no idea what is in them about me. Or about other people. How it will open up that whole sordid business again. Accusations without foundation. Sometimes I’m too impulsive and dive in without thinking about the consequences. It might also harm Diane.”
Vicky nodded. “Well, you two don’t have to take it up with Perkins once he is back. If you feel it was a mistake in the first place…”
Michael took a deep breath. “It should be over. But just look at me, rushing out here to watch over Diane… While she doesn’t even want me to. It’s crazy.”
He looked at her. “I’m sorry you saw me, Vicky. Please keep this to yourself.”
“Of course I will.” She was almost indignant. What did he think of her, that she was some kind of gossip who’d go spread word around Glen Cove? “I never intended to tell anybody, not even if you hadn’t explained the situation to me. And now that you have…I’m just sorry for you, Michael, that it still hurts so much.”
“It doesn’t hurt anymore like it used to. It just itches, because I don’t understand what kind of threat Celine was to anyone. Why did they have to come after her?”
He perked up, tilting his head. “Are those sirens, in the distance?”
Vicky halted to listen better. The waves roared below, there was the hum of traffic on the coastal road. “I’m not sure. Could be.”
An image flashed through her mind: Diane’s lone figure on the deserted beach, running away from her. Michael had said that someone local was threatening her…
With an effort she pushed the cold sensation away. Diane had her dog with her, a big one that was trained for protection. Nothing would happen to her.
Michael pulled out his cell phone and checked it. “If something was up, I suppose they would call me. I can still change the Gazette’s front page until midnight.”
“Sure, and I bet you work better on a full stomach. So why don’t you come along to my mother’s for a quick bite of lasagna? As soon as they call, you can leave. There’s enough for three, especially if I whip up a salad to go with it.” She was taking a risk here as Claire might display her aversion to Michael and it would be painful. But she didn’t want him to leave just yet.
Michael’s tight shoulders relaxed, and he nodded. “OK. But don’t go to any trouble for me. As long as it’s edible and hot, I’ll take it.”
Chapter Seven
As they arrived at Claire’s cottage, the scent of spicy lasagna already wafted out of the window. Vicky had opened it a crack before her walk with the dogs. As she stepped in, she tilted her head. Was that Mom’s voice talking from the den? To the dogs who ran to greet her?
No, a voice replied. A male voice.
Surprised, Vicky walked into the living room. Everett Baker sat on the sofa with a plate full of lasagna on his knee, a napkin tucked into his shirt collar and a fork in his right hand. He flushed as he saw Vicky. He tried to rise, then thought better of it and stayed seated. “Good evening.”
Mr. Pug waddled up to him and sat down on his left shoe, glancing up with big pleading eyes for some lasagna. The dog was drooling seriously, and Vicky snapped him up before it could get on Everett’s neat gray suit. “I’ll put the dogs in the pen in the kitchen, Mom, until we’re finished eating. Michael is here too, for a bite.”
Claire frowned at her. “The lasagna stood too long and got sticky, I bet. I don’t know why these walks have to last forever, Vicky. The dogs look bushed.”
Coco was indeed panting as if she had run the marathon, but Vicky knew Claire suspected her of having met Michael Danning by design and whiling away the time gazing into his deep brown eyes. But the unexpected visitor prevented her mother from being more explicit in her disapproval.
“Well, when I got my share, it was perfect,” Everett said with satisfaction, checking his watch. “Of course it’s been half an hour since then. I recall the eight o’clock news was just about to start when I arrived.”
“Oh, all that bad news, just depressing.” Claire waved a hand. “I’d rather talk about something interesting like the new houses they are building on the other side of town. I guess you are handling the sales?” She cast a look at Michael as if to ensure he was going to hear all about Everett’s success.
“One moment, I’ll get our dinner.” Vicky quickly made for the kitchen. Everett not only handled all sales of property around these parts, but he could also talk about it forever. That and chess. He had been a county champion, who showed his trophies off at school. She had always been surprised he had never made grand master. That would have given him an awesome chance to travel. But his mother probably wouldn’t have let him. She had been known to guard her only son like a tigress. Poor Everett had never had a dime of his own to spend, as his mother controlled his allowance and decided what he could buy and do.
Vicky bet he missed his mother though, who had passed away three years ago. That had to be the reason he stopped by every other week and spent an evening with Claire, playing checkers or backgammon. It was something so…social for a man as intensely businesslike as Everett. Out of character.
But the company it provided for Claire had been very welcome when Vicky had lived abroad, and now that she was back, she’d simply have to put up with Everett’s fortnightly visits and his real estate successes.
The phone against the wall rang, and Vicky went for it, but she was too late. Claire had already answered the cordless in the den. As it was her main source of information, she always had a phone within reach.
Vicky could hear her say, “Really? When did they discover that?”
Her mother’s voice sounded shocked. Could it have anything to do with t
he sirens they had heard earlier?
The cold sensation returned full force and, forgetting that she wanted dinner, Vicky walked into the den to hear what was up. She glanced at Michael, who also seemed to sense some tension. He stared at Claire in concentration, listening to her answers to the caller on the other end of the line.
“No, I had no idea. But I’ll turn on the television to see if any local station reports it later tonight. Thanks for calling.”
Claire put the receiver down and looked at them, one by one, stretching the suspense before she shared her news. “There’s a big fire raging, at Perkins’ home. Seems his barn caught fire. The firefighters are keeping other properties wet to make sure it can’t spread. Perkins is out fishing, and his wife was with a friend for the evening, so no harm done to any people.”
“If there was nobody home, how did they discover the fire?” Michael asked. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Nobody has called me yet.”
Claire shrugged, gratified that she had been informed first. “A neighbor saw the flames I guess. The barn is all wooden and stuffed with paperwork, so it probably burned like dry tinder.”
“Paperwork?” Vicky repeated. She glanced at Michael. He had wanted to look through old police files that Perkins kept in a barn. Had those files burned tonight? It would be an enormous coincidence if they had. “It’s odd that a barn would just catch fire. There was no lightning tonight. Nothing to set it off as far as I can see.”
“Well, they do say,” Everett said, “that fires can start when products that are stored get hot. I suppose that in a barn there’s always paint or other chemicals.”
“Yeah, I’ve reported on a case where spray from an air freshener hit a hot light bulb and caused an explosive reaction,” Michael said with a nod. He tapped his fingers together a moment, then rose. “Sorry to be walking away like this. The lasagna smells great, but I better go see if I can get a half decent picture of the burned-down barn and a comment from the person who first spotted the fire. Maybe a nice quote from a firefighter? If I’m fast, it can still make tomorrow’s paper.”
Vicky stopped him in the doorway. “Do you mind if I tag along?” She wanted to ask him in private if he really believed this fire had just started by itself.
Claire hitched a brow at her. “I thought you always said you disliked people who go watch disasters. That it is sensationalist and inappropriate.” Her voice rose with each word.
Vicky flushed. “I do, but…”
“Well, I can keep your mother company,” Everett said, comfortably stretching out his long legs. “I don’t mind another portion of that great homemade lasagna.”
As Michael and Vicky arrived at the scene of the fire, it was all over. The barn had been reduced to a blackened carcass that stood up against the darkening sky, illuminated by a huge light the firefighters had put up to facilitate their work. A group of people watched from a safe distance, the excited buzz of their combined voices filling the air. There were no casualties and no damage to Perkins’ home, so the locals felt free to view this as an event. And Glen Cove always liked an event.
“You were right about one thing,” Michael said to Vicky. They had halted away from the crowd so they could speak privately. “There was no real reason why a fire would suddenly start in this barn.”
She held his gaze. “You said something about a chemical reaction, right?”
“Perkins didn’t keep chemicals like paint in his barn. He kept those in the attic of his garage. His barn was meant for one thing only. Storage. Of their old furniture, his wife’s book collection.”
Vicky said it before he could, “And…his old police files.”
Michael held her gaze. “You understood right away. I couldn’t believe it when your mother said what was burning.” He rubbed his hands as if he was cold. “I guess nobody will be reading the old files anymore, huh?”
He lowered his voice as he turned to face her. “I was about to let it go, Vicky, I told you tonight. But if I can prove that this was arson…”
She hoped with all of her heart it was not. Diane was already convinced everybody in Glen Cove was hiding something. And Mortimer Gill had wanted a look at those old files as well. A hustler like him might now be convinced that he had been onto something big. One anonymous call to an out-of-town news station that there was a relation between the fire and a cold case involving a missing college sophomore, and journalists would be descending upon their little town to dig up anything they could find. It could turn very ugly, fast.
“Where are the police when you need them?” Michael whispered to her. “They have to look for traces of arson. The site has to be guarded overnight to make sure nobody can tamper with the evidence.”
His voice rose in intensity. “If Cash Rowland screws this up, because he doesn’t take it seriously, I will personally ensure his career as sheriff is the shortest in the history of the Glen Cove County police department!”
“Michael…” Vicky placed a placating hand on his arm. The tight muscles vibrated under her touch. “You don’t even know yet if it was arson.”
“Hello!” Marge Fisher popped up by their sides, apparently oblivious to the tense moment. “Come to see the excitement too? I know it’s terrible, but my sons wanted to come and look at it. They’re fascinated by firefighters. My husband will have to have a serious talk with them when we get home, or they will try to burn down something themselves. They don’t listen to me when I try to explain dangers. They just say girls are scared of everything.”
“Excuse me, I want to talk to some people who saw what happened.” Michael nodded curtly at Marge and walked off.
“Short fuse,” Marge said. “Or did I interrupt something important? I’m sorry if I did.”
“No, no,” Vicky said vaguely, following Michael’s movements. He mingled with the onlookers, exchanging a few words here and there, foremost listening to what was being said. Locals were still arriving on the scene, notified by their friends that something was up. Scanning their curious expressions, Vicky was reminded of Diane’s words about a criminal returning to the place of the crime to see the result of his action. Was the arsonist among the crowd? The idea put goose flesh on her arms.
Gwenda Gill was in the back of the crowd, watching the blackened remains with a thoughtful expression as if her mind was working out something. Knowing her ex had been so interested in those old police files, Vicky wondered if Gwenda knew why.
Too bad she was on such bad terms with the former beautician, else she could have gone over and asked some innocent questions about it. Now she need not even try. Gwenda wouldn’t give her the time of day. She firmly believed that Vicky had stolen her beauty parlor away from her.
A sheriff department’s Jeep came tearing up, and Cash Rowland climbed out with a young deputy in tow. He said something about having lent assistance at a bad bar fight in a nearby town. His tone was emphatic as he said, “Sad how violent some people get when they have had too much to drink.”
He barely seemed to notice Vicky as he marched past Marge and her to go talk to the firefighters’ commander.
“I had no idea we had bar fights around here,” Vicky said.
Marge shrugged. “I suppose that there are those roadside cafes with beer-for-a-buck nights that draw in a certain type of crowd. Once they’ve spent their twenty bucks for the night, or the bartender says they’ve had enough, the furniture starts flying.”
“Before ten in the evening?” Vicky was skeptical.
Marge looked her over. “What are you thinking?”
Vicky sighed. “I don’t know. I’m probably just tired.” She hoped Michael wouldn’t go on ram course with Cash, trying to prove he wasn’t taking appropriate action to safeguard the scene of the fire for investigation into the possibility of arson.
Marge leaned over and whispered, “My guess would be that our good sheriff doesn’t want to admit he’s late to the action because he and his deputy were playing cards with friends. But anyway…I�
��d better go round up the boys. They should have been in bed by now. You want to say hi to them and my husband? They’ve already heard a lot about you and your store.”
“Sure.”
They found Marge’s boys—two redheaded bundles of energy like their mom—entertained by a firefighter who demonstrated his protective suit. A giant of a man with dark curls was watching the scene with a wide smile.
Marge introduced him as Kevin, and he shook hands with Vicky. “Nice to meet you.”
“I also sat in the cabin of the fire truck,” the youngest boy called triumphantly. “I held the wheel!”
Despite Marge’s reminder of bedtime, they were reluctant to leave their new hero, and Marge had to promise that they’d come to the open house at the fire station soon, to see all the trucks and get a chance to handle the hose themselves and try to hit a moving target.
At that prospect the boys immediately wanted to go home to call their grandmother about their exciting experiences. They grabbed Marge’s hands and tried to pull her along. “I’ll be at the store the next few days to help out,” Marge promised Vicky. “Kev could lend a hand too, painting those walls.” She nodded at her husband as if giving him a cue.
Kevin Fisher said, “Oh, yes, of course. I’ll bring my own gear. No need to buy any new stuff.”
“Great,” Vicky said. “I have a student who cleaned the oak beams for me and I have paint for the walls, but I was reluctant to buy all the gear. If you bring yours, you can both use it.”
“Kev can do the pantry a nice ocean blue,” Marge said.
“Great idea,” Vicky agreed. “But I really want to tackle that fireplace first. The breaking will cause a lot of dust, which isn’t practical with wet paint around, you know.”
“The breaking part of the job can’t take more than a few hours,” Kevin said.Marge supplied, “If Mortimer starts on it at eight, he can be done by lunch break and continue with the restoration bit after lunch. Kevin can start painting around one-thirty, I guess. Tomorrow is your afternoon off from work, right, honey?”
Dead to Begin With (A Country Gift Shop Cozy Mystery series, Book 1) Page 7