“Ransacked?” Cash looked puzzled. “Neater than my sister-in-law’s place. Not a speck of dust, no laundry anywhere. Not a dirty plate on the sink or an overdue milk carton in the fridge. In fact, that fridge was almost empty. So were her closets. Even the dog bed and feeding bowls were gone. Like Gwenda packed up and left town. For good.”
Marge turned to stare at Vicky. “So Gwenda did kill Mortimer and ran off with all the money he had in his home.”
“Having cleaned out her apartment before she went to see Mortimer and had no idea yet she’d find him with all this money and steal it to run?” Cash shook his head. “Your theory has holes, Marge Fisher. But you can spread it around town anyway. There is no law against gossiping. For if there was, you’d all be in jail!”
He stomped away to where he had left his Jeep in front of Everett Baker’s building.
Marge huffed. “Getting a little frustrated, huh, now that the investigation is not going his way. Every suspect is giving him the slip. First Gwenda last night, now his own brother. Who will he have left?”
“He’ll want to pin it on Michael,” Vicky said gloomily. “That’s the only suspect he has under lock and key! Cash has some far-fetched theory that Michael killed Mortimer before he came to me to pick me up, just to take me along and pretend we found the body together.”
“Now there is a theory with holes,” Marge burst out. “Since getting his badge Cash Rowland has solved one cattle theft and it was not even a theft. Now he has to deal with murder. And if we are right about the connection with the past, with Celine’s disappearance, he is dealing with a killer who has killed before and escaped justice. I know you’re always defending Cash, but do you honestly think he is resourceful enough to capture someone clever and cold-blooded like that?”
“Maybe not on his own,” Vicky admitted. “But he’s got us to help him.”
Marge grinned. “Oh, he’d love that. I can just see his face if he heard you say that. Hey, wait a sec. That guy…” She pointed to a tall forty-something man who came from a van on the other side of the road. “Isn’t that the guy who walked off so fast when we met Cash in the diner? He has those quite distinctive silvery points on the toes of his cowboy boots.”
Vicky nodded. “That’s him all right. I think I saw him at the general store before.”
“Yeah,” Marge said, “and that van is their delivery van. Do you suppose this guy could be working for them?”
“Could be.” Vicky shrugged. “Mr. Jones did call out something to a Bob when I was there last.”
“Bob, yes.” Marge nodded. “I heard something at the library about the Joneses having this charming cousin who is here for the summer to help out. He seems to be giving extra service to every old lady he delivers groceries to, for instance helping her with a leaking faucet or doing another chore. They’re all singing his praises. That must be him.”
Vicky perked up. “It’s not cougiu; it’s cousin! There was a capital J after it. Of Jones! His parents were expats in China!”
Before Marge could ask her what on earth she meant with those cryptic exclamations, Vicky left her standing and raced across the street. The guy was in there now; she could just bump into him and ask him how he liked it back in town.
It had to be the same cousin of the Joneses who practically lived with them for a couple of months during the same time Celine had disappeared. At the time he had never been a serious suspect, but clever Mortimer had pegged him at once as a possible candidate for the mystery man who had been seen walking with Celine.
Drunk or drugged, Mortimer had noted, right, and in a general store the guy would have had access to all kinds of stuff to do that with.
Walking into the general store, Vicky saw the guy nowhere. Must have popped into the back room to get more supplies.
Her heart was pounding like crazy, and her palms filled up with sweat. How to do this without attracting too much attention to herself? This guy might not have hesitated to attack a strong man like Mortimer and once he sensed she was on to him…
Mr. Jones was standing at the counter going over a notebook. He looked up at her excited entry. His expression set, but as his wife was not around, he had to help her. He said stiffly, “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”
“Uh…” Vicky’s mind raced. Maybe Mr. Jones could tell her if it was the same cousin. If it was not, she could scratch him at once. But she needed a way to broach the subject. If Mr. Jones started to think she was in any way implicating their cousin like he was some wanted criminal, he would hate her for it and never tell her anything again. He already disliked her so much for starting a store nearby and possibly taking their business. She had to tread lightly here.
Vicky assumed an innocent tone. “I heard that Gwenda Gill left town last night.”
Mr. Jones nodded. “Filled up her car around five at the local gas station. Like she was going on a long drive.”
He seemed to loosen up a little now that he had touched on interesting information. “Rather poignant now that her ex is dead.”
“Yes, well, she used to go to dog shows when she still bred Chihuahuas.” Vicky leaned back casually, trying to look like any customer who loves to chat. “My mother wrote to me about it, asking if Coco could be a show dog too. I wrote back that she should first try and make her sit still for two minutes, you know. That was the end of it.”
Mr. Jones almost had to laugh. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but he sounded friendlier when he said, “That I can imagine. Coco is the little white dog, right? She is energetic.”
Taking the room he was offering, Vicky continued, “I thought maybe your wife knows if there are any dog shows around this time of year. Gwenda might have gone there. Your wife always knows every event by heart.”
Mr. Jones consulted a colorful flyer he extracted from somewhere underneath the counter. “This list has most local events for the summer season. But I see no dog shows on it. You should really ask Emma. She knows much more about it than I do. But she is out right now. She will be back in half an hour. Maybe…”
he hesitated a moment, then said it anyway, “you can come back then? Or I can send her over to you.”
“That would be great.” Vicky listened for sounds from the back room that might indicate the enigmatic cousin was about to pop out again and she could strike up a conversation with him, pretending to know him from earlier on. But nobody showed.
Retreating to the door, she promised to be back later and started out for Everett Baker’s offices to find out if he had overheard anything of the phone call Mortimer had made.
Chapter Fourteen
The windows of the real estate agent’s offices were taped full with pictures of nice white wooden cottages and sheets of densely printed text singing the praises of said properties.
There was also a large colorful poster promoting a new marina to be built in a nearby town, for which investors could buy shares. Staring at the ugly glass and metal structures in screaming colors, Vicky hoped something modern like that would never come to Glen Cove. The entire ageless authenticity of their town would be spoiled.
The door opened with difficulty as it was stuck a little, and she had to push hard to get in. Inside it was stuffy, the scent of Everett’s aftershave lingering on the air. The secretary’s desk was empty, just a sleek computer whirring on it as it stood in standby.
Vicky walked past the desk to knock at Everett’s door. It was marked with his name and CPA. She had never known Everett was a certified public accountant. But then it made sense to assume he was good with figures in his profession. Real estate involved lots of money and his detailed knowledge of budgets, credit and loans might make him the better party for people to go with.
She rapped on the wood just below the name tag.
“Come in,” a voice called in a distracted tone.
She stepped in, amazed at how light and friendly the room was. The wall opposite the door was dominated by a glass cabinet with trophies, catching the sunlight
that fell in through the high window and reflecting it in blinding flashes. Vicky moved to a spot where her eyes didn’t get hurt and smiled at Everett. He was behind his computer, looking disturbed. To his left and right were stacks of cardboard file folders, brimming with paperwork. A fax in the corner rattled as more sheets began to flow out.
Everett frowned at her. “Yes, what can I do for you? Is there some problem with the store? I’m afraid that if it is a matter of maintenance, the owner of the building cannot be held responsible for—”
“No, not at all,” Vicky cut across him before he could dive into the ins and outs of rental contracts. “I just wondered… Yesterday you came down the street and almost collided with Mortimer Gill. He was on the phone, apparently too distracted to notice you. Do you recall what he was talking about?”
Everett stared at her. “Mortimer Gill?”
“Yes, you bumped into him, or rather he charged down toward you and you only just jumped out of his path. You called something after him. I think it was uh…meant as a correction?”
“Oh, yes, now I remember. He almost pushed me off the curb. I could have broken an ankle.”
Everett reached up and straightened his tie. “He should have been watching where he was going, but he was too upset to pay any attention. In fact, he looked ready to burst a blood vessel and was saying something about…a lot of money he wanted. Or else he would go public with it.”
Everett sighed. “I had the impression it was another of Mortimer’s attempts at getting easy money. It seemed to bother him other people had more money than he did, and he was always trying to get some, not by hard work, but by uh…what shall I call it?”
“Scams?” Vicky tried, using the word Gwenda had used at the scene of the fire.
“Yes, you could say that.” Everett shook his head. “In college he sold me a microscope that was supposed to be brand-new. Said he had gotten it for Christmas and didn’t want it. It turned out it was used and not functioning properly. But when I complained about it, he said he knew nothing about it. Wouldn’t give me back my money either.”
Everett shook his head. “Sad really. He should just have gotten an education and found himself a real job. Handymen don’t earn that much. Nor do falconers. Those birds should be free anyway. He keeps them in small cages and teaches them tricks. He lets them fly every now and then, but they can’t get far. If they tried to escape, they would just die, because they have never learned to catch their own food. They have to stay with him while he treats them like dirt, because he made them dependent on him. Despicable.”
Vicky was puzzled by Everett’s passion about the subject. “I think Mortimer genuinely loved those birds. That was one of the few things he really cared for.”
Everett shrugged, his eyes already on his computer screen again. “If you say so. Did that answer your question?” His hands hovered over the keyboard. “What is your interest in that phone call anyway?”
“Oh, I just wondered about any calls Mortimer might have made before he died. It could help fix the time of his death. That’s all.” It was a poor lie as Everett could also conclude that Mortimer had been very much alive when he had almost run him off the curb and that particular call had nothing to do with fixing the time of his death. But she didn’t want to tell just anybody that Michael and she had found a list with phone numbers on the scene.
Everett sat motionless. “I don’t see why you’d have to bother yourself with the time of death. The police will know all about it. Mortimer’s home phone got disconnected, you see. He only had a cell phone. If he made any calls before he died, the numbers he called should be in the cell’s memory.”
“Uh, yes, of course.” Vicky could just slap herself. She had wanted to ask Cash if the cell phone had been found when she was at the police station but had totally forgotten to do it. Maybe she could ask later?
With a smile she focused on Everett again. “Just curious. Would you ever be willing to make a statement about what you overheard Mortimer saying when he bumped into you yesterday?”
Everett seemed puzzled. “I can’t see what good it would do. I don’t know whom Mortimer was talking to.”
Vicky struggled to come up with a logical reason without revealing anything. “Well, you know, if the police do have the cell phone, they will know who it was on the other end of the line. I mean, they can look up the number and connect it with someone. Your testimony that Mortimer was threatening someone with exposure could be very helpful.”
“Helpful? Why?”
“To establish a motive for Mortimer’s death.”
“Motive?” Everett looked at her with a worried expression. “Has Danning put you up to this? He should know better. That you were questioned last night was bad enough. Your mother was so upset about it when I talked to her this morning. You shouldn’t get involved any deeper in this ugly murder business, Vicky. It could be very dangerous. I’m sure your mother would be devastated if something happened to you. You’re all she has got left.”
“Yes, I know that.” Vicky felt slightly guilty for being so involved already. After all, she had promised Claire she’d stay away from trouble.
But with Michael locked up… He had to be reliving the days after Celine’s disappearance when he had also been in a cell not sure how serious the accusations against him could become.
Her heart clenched for his sake. Proving his innocence was worth a little risk.
Everett nodded in the direction of his chess trophies. “You should recognize some of those, Vicky. Just like the ones your mother has at her home. Wins at the same regional tournaments your father won in his time. He was a brilliant player.”
“Yes, and so were you. You never made grand master, did you? I thought it was sort of a given once you were winning matches and moving up the rankings.”
“It’s a complicated system. Lots of factors coming into play.” Everett twisted his ivory inlaid cuff link, obvious ducking a straight answer.
That he didn’t blame his domineering mother, who never let him do anything, let alone travel, was to his credit. Everett never said a bad word about her, not even now that she had passed away. That had to be hard at times. Vicky was glad her own mother was easier to deal with.
Most of the time anyway.
Everett said, “I would have loved to have played against your father sometime. Do you play chess?”
“Yes, but very poorly. I’d be no match for you.” Vicky retreated hastily to the door. The idea of spending an entire night sitting opposite Everett Baker staring down at a chessboard was rather daunting.
Especially if Claire was present too, to watch if sparks would fly.
Thanking him again for his time and concern for her, Vicky took her leave and trotted back to the store. It did puzzle her that Everett had known Mortimer was into scams, that he had even been the victim of one of those scams with the broken microscope, and he had still recommended Mortimer to work on the bricked-up fireplace in the store.
Then again Everett had urged her to agree on a price beforehand and stick to it, so he probably figured he had done his part to keep her from getting scammed by Mortimer. And in a small town you couldn’t be too picky about whom you associated with. Even if you didn’t like someone, you might feel obliged, out of loyalty to local business owners, to promote them.
The delivery van in front of the general store was gone, suggesting the mysterious cousin was on another one of his delivery rounds. She needed another way to identify the man.
Maybe an old college yearbook could help her along?
They had to be stored in Claire’s attic. She could then at least ascertain whether the guy’s name back then had been Bob too. It was so long ago she was not one hundred percent sure.
Inside the store Vicky found Ms. Tennings waiting for her. “Marge left to check out some old newspapers at the library and asked me to wait here while she was gone,” she explained. “She believed she could secure all the old Glen Cove Gazettes of those few months.
We can then go through them and look for information that might help. As Mortimer added a photocopy of one of the front pages to his evidence, he must also have checked them out. They could offer something.”
“Great idea. I’ve just come from Everett Baker. He can testify to the fact that Mortimer was pressurizing someone via a phone call, asking for money and threatening them with exposure. So now we just have to ascertain whom Mortimer was talking to in that particular call and we have got a very strong case against that person. A perfect motive for murder.”
Ms. Tennings nodded. “I just saw Diane Dobbs racing through town in her rental car. She had the top down, and her blonde hair is very conspicuous. Isn’t she participating in the investigation?”
“It’s not an investigation,” Vicky said, although actually it sort of was. “That reminds me I should still go after Ralph Sellers. The deputy who took some of the witness statements. Diane said he behaved oddly at their meeting this morning. Like he was shocked by her appearance and likeness to Celine. She thinks he might have been involved. I’m going to make a call to his fellow deputy and see if he knows more.”
“I’ll put the kettle on for tea.” Ms. Tennings dived into the pantry. “Darjeeling?”
“Fine.”
Vicky got the retired deputy’s phone number off her mother who asked what on earth she wanted it for, but Vicky didn’t spill. She got the man’s wife on the phone, who told her she had to go find her husband in their vegetable garden. It had to be a large garden for it took a couple of minutes.
The tea water was boiling, and Ms. Tennings poured it into the pot. Marge came in, waving a brown paper bag. “Cake. A new flavor at our baker’s: cranberry-white chocolate. His wife told me that they will be trying a new flavor every month and then after the summer decide which ones they are going to keep on selling. If this one tastes as good as it smells, I hope they’ll keep it.”
“Have you got the newspapers?” Vicky held her hand over the receiver to ask.
Marge shook her head, her expression setting. “That whole year is missing from our archives.”
Dead to Begin With (A Country Gift Shop Cozy Mystery series, Book 1) Page 15