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

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Dead to Begin With (A Country Gift Shop Cozy Mystery series, Book 1) Page 8

by Vivian Conroy


  Without waiting for a reply she continued to Vicky, “And didn’t you say you were expecting some delivery tomorrow at five?”

  “Yes, my sideboards. I decided to take two matching ones. And some leather chairs to go in front of that fireplace once it’s done.”

  “Fabulous. If that student helps out, they can be done painting by the time the sideboards and chairs arrive. Of course you can’t put anything into place as long as the walls are wet, but at least you won’t have to worry about painting anymore.”

  Vicky nodded. “That would be a relief. There’s still enough left to tackle.”

  Marge stretched her neck as if spying for someone. “Why don’t you ask Mortimer right now?” she urged. “There he is, just arrived on the scene.”

  She pointed to the dented van that halted along the road. “I suppose he is not in the loop anymore, or he would have heard about the fire sooner. Uh-oh. Gwenda saw him too and is sailing down on him to give him an earful. Those two can’t be in the same room or they are at each other’s throats. We’d better go over quickly, before he flees. Kev, you take the boys to the car. I’ll be with you soon, OK?”

  Kevin nodded and took the boys along, while Marge and Vicky made their way over to the former spouses.

  As they came up on them, Vicky overheard Gwenda saying in a hiss, “Trust me, if I find out you made a dime off this scam, I will make sure it goes to me. The easy way, or the hard way. Your choice.”

  The viciousness behind the words made it sound a lot like a threat.

  Spotting Vicky and Marge, Gwenda straightened up. “What are you looking at? Mind your own business!”

  She stalked away to where her blue mountain bike lay against a tree trunk. Her poodle waited beside it, nervous with the stench of smoke and the crowd nearby.

  Gwenda was known to cycle around town every night to exercise her dog and burn calories. She grabbed the bike, jumped on it and sped off, not once looking back. The dog ran after her, wagging its pom-pom tail.

  Mortimer jerked open the door of his van. He looked ready to dive behind the wheel and go after his ex-wife to run her down. His jaw worked hard, and the veins on his temples stood out.

  “Seems like Gwenda is steamed about something,” Marge said innocently.

  Mortimer shrugged. “Nothing new. As soon as I’ve got a job someplace, she comes over and tries to squeeze me for money. She never thinks she’s getting enough alimony, you know. Complains she can’t even afford to buy dog food. But I’m not giving her another dime. She accused me of having written those letters about her product doctoring, and people blamed me for it and don’t want to hire me no more. That’s her fault. She’d better find herself another sucker to take care of her and that ugly mutt she calls a show dog.”

  Vicky smiled politely, but to her mind Mortimer’s explanation didn’t exactly fit with what Gwenda had said. She had not been talking about a normal job she wanted money off, but about a scam.

  Marge was already asking Mortimer if he could do the fireplace and start on it the next morning. Mortimer suddenly seemed reluctant to accept a job in the store right under the apartment of his ex. “She’s bound to see me and come after me again.”

  Vicky was surprised that he had first been pressing her to hand him the job and was now eager to avoid it. Did he feel like he didn’t need to work anymore because he had money coming from this scam Gwenda had just referred to?

  “Nonsense, Gwenda is never out of bed before nine,” Marge said encouragingly. “If you can be there at seven-thirty, you won’t run into her.”

  “You always think I have to rise early and work all day to make a living. But you will see something else. Soon.” Mortimer sounded smug.

  “Sure,” Marge said unperturbed, “Seven-thirty it is then. And make sure you’re done breaking around noon. Kevin is coming in to paint and he can’t work in a dusty room.”

  “All right then,” Mortimer agreed and grinned at Vicky. There was a gleam in his deep-set eyes. “I knew that you’d go with me eventually. Everybody has to.” He got into his van and dragged the door shut with a bang. The engine broke into life.

  Vicky glanced back at Cash, who had taken off his hat and was raking a hand through his hair as he spoke with the firefighters’ commander. He always did that when he was at a loss what to do next.

  Judging by his expression he was hearing something he didn’t like.

  The next morning Vicky was curious how the Glen Cove Gazette would cover the fire, but having promised Mortimer to be at the store around seven-thirty, to avoid a run-in with Gwenda, she couldn’t wait for the Gazette to be delivered to her cottage.

  There were only two or three newspaper boys active in Glen Cove and the time at which they delivered the paper varied widely with their chosen route for the day. She’d have to go out and buy something at Jones General later that day to sneak a peek at the newspapers sold there.

  Upon her arrival at the store Mortimer was already there, with red-rimmed eyes and an unshaven chin as if he had just rolled out of bed and into his van. He complained about having had no breakfast at all, and Vicky felt obliged to go over to the baker’s, the only one open at this early hour, to get Mortimer something to eat.

  The bakery was filled with warmth from the ovens in the back and the sweetness of fresh muffins. On the counter the jars of honey sat with their cute handmade labels of buzzing bees. The friendly baker’s wife told Vicky that it was a design of their granddaughter who studied arts in Boston and added in the same breath that Perkins had broken off his fishing trip and had hurried back home early that morning. “He is making a big fuss about the team that are going over his things.”

  “Team?” Vicky asked in surprise.

  “Yes, several men looking for traces it was lit,” the baker’s wife said with wide eyes. “At least I suppose that is what they are looking for. They seem to think somebody set fire to that barn.”

  The baker appeared out of the back for a moment with his hands full of flour. “For the life of me I wouldn’t know why. People usually set fire to their home to get insurance money. But this barn was worth nothing. And the stuff in it…”

  He shook his head. “Now me, I’m just glad it was not living things in there, like chickens. Or bees. I’ve had enough trouble with mine lately. Mysterious disease killing off dozens. Has to be either pesticides or parasites.”

  He sighed sadly. “The two P’s—they are the bane of the beekeeper’s existence.”

  Vicky expressed her regret about the situation, promised to direct her customers to his store for the Keep The Bees Buzzzy bread to support him and left with four muffins, still warm, in a paper bag.

  Mortimer accepted the biggest two, one apple-cinnamon, the other double chocolate, and devoured them, blowing crumbs all around him as he mumbled how delicious they were.

  Curious for his response to the appearance of a team looking for evidence of arson, Vicky shared that Perkins was back in town and that his barn was allegedly lit.

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Mortimer mumbled. He swallowed and continued, more audibly, “Must have been about those old police files. Nothing else of value in that barn, I reckon.”

  Vicky eyed him sharply. “You mean that the barn was set on fire deliberately to destroy those old police files?”

  Mortimer wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The smug smile of the night before was back on his face. “Of course. I even bet whoever lit it now thinks all the evidence is gone and he can’t be touched no more.”

  His smile intensified as if he knew better.

  Vicky stared at him. “How can you be so sure?”

  Mortimer ignored the question and pulled out his measuring tape. He started for the wall where the fireplace was hidden. “I’d better get cracking if you want me done breaking by lunchtime.”

  Not a word of thanks for the muffins. But maybe she should be grateful he wanted to get started. They were on a rather tight schedule.

  As Mortimer tappe
d on the wall to search for the fireplace, Vicky spied out of the window and saw the boy who delivered the Glen Cove Gazettes to the general store to be sold there. He simply left the bundle of them, secured with string, in front of the store door. In a place like Glen Cove nobody would get it into his head to go over and take one without paying for it.

  Vicky wanted a look at the Gazette’s coverage of the fire and perhaps to investigate what was going on at Perkins’ place, with that team looking for traces of arson.

  “You know,” she said to Mortimer, “I have some errands to run. I could be gone a while. Do you think you can manage without me?”

  “I’ll turn the key in the lock behind you.” Mortimer waved a hand. “As long as Gwenda can’t get to me, I’ll be fine.”

  Chapter Eight

  Vicky went out and crossed to the general store, leaned over the bundle to read the item under the big headline: Retired Sheriff’s Barn Reduced to Ashes.

  It was a nice factual account about a neighbor spotting smoke around eight-thirty and notifying the firefighters who had been on the scene within ten minutes. Damage to other properties had been prevented. No people or animals had been injured. Everybody was complimentary to each other, like you’d expect in a small town where the firefighters were all somebody’s son, cousin or friend.

  Not a hint it could have been arson.

  That was weird as the team going through the rubble caused immediate rumors. Michael had even demanded such a team would be pulled in. Why had he then chosen such a factual approach in the paper?

  To give the arsonist a false sense of security and then lure him into a trap?

  If there was a connection with Celine’s disappearance, they could be dealing with a cold-blooded criminal who had escaped justice all those years. A dangerous opponent.

  Nibbling on a muffin, Vicky walked out to the scene of the fire. People in protective clothing were going over the remains, carefully picking their way through the rubble. Just as Vicky was approaching, one man was showing something to another on the palm of his hand. She tried to see what it was, but it was way too small. It seemed to be metal or glass as it reflected the sunlight.

  She spotted Perkins standing a few yards away, looking grim. He hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him. Maybe just gained a few pounds around the waist.

  She went over to say she was sorry for the fire.

  Perkins shook her hand, looking her over. “Vicky Simmons. It’s been a while.”

  He studied her with a frown. “You worked in London, right? Writing about country houses? Hilda read some of your articles, I think. Mentioned once or twice you had a nice style.”

  “Thank you, that’s lovely to hear. I hope Hilda is all right after last night’s shock?”

  “She wasn’t home so… But it was her book collection. And some furniture she inherited from an aunt. More of her things than mine, I suppose. Can tell you item by item if I’d take out my lists.”

  “Lists?” Vicky queried.

  Perkins nodded solemnly. “I am very particular about the way I store things. Everything in boxes, marked with what’s in it. And I have typed-up lists that say exactly what each box contains. Item by item. Those people upset me.”

  He pointed at the men in protective clothing. “They show me all kinds of things that are supposed to have been in my barn, while I’m sure they were never there. First it was small metal elements, now a watch crystal. But I had no watch in there, nothing like it.”

  Vicky tried not to jump at this chance. “Metal elements? Oh, you mean, like a lock? You must have had a padlock on the barn door.”

  “Why are you asking me?” Perkins looked her over with a frown. “Michael Danning also called me this morning, at an insane early hour, to ask about a lock on the door.”

  “Oh, I suppose that uh…sometimes kids get into a barn or shed and set a fire, just because they don’t know better.” Vicky fought her flush. “I was just wondering if that could be the case here.”

  “There was a padlock on the door. A good heavy one. I’m careful with my belongings.” Perkins grunted. “Contrary to what people seem to be accusing me of. Those old files were police property. I don’t have those lying around for any fool to go through. Danning asked me if the lock had been tampered with. That is hard to say as it was scorched by the fire. I sure hope he is not after some sensationalist story. I don’t want my name involved with anything shady. And I told him so.”

  Vicky assured him Michael’s coverage was very factual and Perkins’ good name would not be damaged by anything the Gazette wrote. She took her leave quickly before Perkins could start thinking her appearance on the scene was more than just neighborly interest.

  As she walked back, her mind was working overtime on what Michael could be looking into, inquiring about a lock and possible tampering with it.

  He had wanted a look at the files, and Mortimer Gill too. Both had heard from Hilda Perkins that her husband was out fishing and couldn’t give them the files until he was back after the weekend. Hilda had probably not wanted to risk ruining something about her husband’s perfect storage system.

  But being the pushy and arrogant person he was, Mortimer Gill might not have waited for Perkins to come back from his fishing trip and had broken into the barn to take some files away to look over. Even with a padlock on the door, it would have been easy to get in if you really wanted to. After all, Mortimer was a handyman who was excellent with all kinds of tools.

  If Mortimer had secured the police files on Celine’s case that way, illegally, it was obvious he would not tell the police about it, not even after the fire last night. He couldn’t very well admit he had broken into a retired officer’s barn to get them.

  Besides, he had asked for them in the first place, with some purpose in mind. He was probably still intending that same thing.

  Maybe he even believed that what he held had now become more valuable? The law of supply and demand.

  Mortimer had suggested last night that he need not work small jobs anymore soon. And this morning he had sounded really smug when he had said that whoever had lit the barn now believed it was all gone. That he couldn’t be touched anymore.

  Touched in what way?

  Deep in thought Vicky reached the prospective gift shop where the sound of a power saw tore at her eardrums.

  Over the whine Mortimer yelled at her that Marge had arrived, he had let her in and she had disappeared with the cordless phone into the back room to dim the noise. She had some important calls to make, she had said.

  After half an hour Marge emerged with a wide smile and reported she had placed orders at two companies she had looked up online. Both had initially explained politely that their brand’s exclusivity could be lost if they started supplying smaller stores without a solid reputation. Vicky could understand their concerns, but it was a catch-22 situation. If the bigger brands didn’t want to supply her, she’d never build the reputation that she’d need to get them to supply her.

  Marge grinned triumphantly. “I convinced them to do business with us anyway, as it is an awesome chance for them to get exposure on the east coast. I even got a reference for yet a third company. Some studio in Wales who do handmade silk flowers. If I drop the name of the person I just talked to, they would also help me out for sure. Those flowers will look gorgeous on those sideboards that are coming in today. Maybe in a big glazed vase or something?”

  Vicky nodded. She didn’t know how Marge had done it, but she had, and without twisting anybody’s arm. It had to be her enthusiasm that was just infectious. “Thanks. I’ll place the call to the studio in Wales myself. Thanks for getting the reference for me.”

  “No trouble at all. You still have so much to do. Anyway I can help…”

  Vicky looked around. “Yes, well, as soon as we have some furniture in place, I want to bring some of my own decorations from my home and shoot a few nice atmospheric pictures to use on my flyer.”

  “You’ll need lots of th
ose,” Marge said. “We can put them at the library and at the community center. I also know someone in the tourist information center up the road. Oh, and Ms. Tennings can take them along to her bridge drive. Lots of ladies there who will be interested in embroidered pillows and scented candles.”

  “You know Ms. Tennings?” Vicky asked, and added at once, “Of course, as you know everybody around here.”

  Marge laughed. “I know Ms. Tennings just a little better. She’s a former nanny and she helped me loads with the boys when they were going through a naughty phase. Last night I was thinking that she would have known how to convince them fire is dangerous. She just has this natural touch with children. And she’s an Anglophile as well. Lived in the UK for thirty years.”

  “Oh, she didn’t mention that to me at all when I talked to her on the phone.” Vicky frowned. “I could have invited her over to see the store. Well, I can still do that when we are a little more organized. Now I’d better get to calling that studio in Wales.”

  With renewed energy Vicky accepted the note with the phone number and the reference from Marge and went into the back.

  Marge’s husband Kevin appeared after lunchtime with his painting gear and together with the student he tackled the grubby walls with energy. He also promised to do the pantry in the ocean blue Marge had gushed about before and be out before the furniture came in at five. Vicky was really looking forward to seeing her sideboards. Online they had looked wonderful, but how would they turn out upon delivery? Would they fit in the room’s space or make it look cramped?

  And the leather chairs to be put at the fireplace, would they look elegant or old-fashioned? She had a clear picture in mind of how she wanted her gift shop to turn out and hoped with all her heart the end result would live up to that expectation.

  The scent of the painting mixed with that of wet mortar as Mortimer Gill worked on steadily, conjuring up the old fireplace as if out of nothing. Despite the less charming sides to his character, he obviously had the skills and technical insight to pull off the job with minimal means. So far as Vicky knew, he had only made a simple sketch with some calculations that he referred to.

 

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