He focused on a stem. “There are a few hairs wrapped round it. Long hairs, of a woman, a brunette. Could that be a clue? I can put them in a sandwich bag for the police to analyze.”
“They’re probably mine,” Vicky said ruefully. “I got caught in this bush last time I was here and found Mortimer dead.”
The mere mention of it made her shiver. She was glad she was not alone now. “But keep your eyes open for anything else that you find strange. It might be important.”
“I already see something,” Kevin whispered and pointed ahead.
At the bird sheds they saw a figure standing hunched over the padlock on one of the doors.
Chapter Sixteen
Kevin Fisher ran over and put his hand on Michael Danning’s arm. “Let me go in there. I know these birds. You stay here and just give me some directions from the outside, OK? Where do you want me to look for it? And what is it supposed to look like? How big or small?”
“I don’t know.” Michael exhaled. “On second thoughts, I’m not even sure there will be something here.”
He pointed at the snowy owl, who stared indifferently at them through the chain-linked fence. “He made me reconsider.”
“The owl?” Vicky asked in surprise.
“Yes. We figure Mortimer stashed evidence in a safe place to keep it from the arsonist. Would he have taken the risk of the arsonist setting fire to the sheds containing his beloved birds?”
Vicky bit her lip. That made a lot of sense. Mortimer had been a selfish person who cared little about people, but he had loved his birds. Like Claire loved her dogs and would never let any harm come to them. “You are right. Considering it that way, this is the least likely place to find anything.”
She continued thoughtfully, “And there are other developments. Marge just told me Mortimer had a substantial life insurance policy. The beneficiary gets fifty thousand dollars. And guess who it is?”
“Gwenda?”
“You’ve got it. We had established she couldn’t inherit from him, so she didn’t profit from his death, but we never considered life insurance. It gives her a perfect motive.”
Kevin had bent down over the padlock that secured the door. “That is strange,” he said. “It seems like somebody tried to get it open, without a key. There are fresh scratches on the padlock’s metal.”
He looked up at Michael. “You?”
“It wasn’t me,” Michael said. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet when you overtook me.” He glanced at Vicky. “I was standing here, wondering if I was doing the right thing.”
A warm feeling flooded through her, realizing Michael had cared for her opinion, despite his earlier assertion he had to do this his own way. Standing here, ready to push on, he had wondered if he should take the chance.
“Then somebody else tried to get in here!” Kevin cast them a significant look. “Maybe we’re hot anyway. You keep a lookout; I’ll go in and try to find something.”
He stayed in a long time, as he also had to feed the birds and make sure everything was all right with them. Vicky and Michael waited without speaking to each other. Vicky’s stomach was tight, hoping there would be something. But after Michael’s remark about Mortimer’s love for his birds she doubted it.
Finally Kevin emerged, shaking his head. “I can’t see any logical hiding place. The bottom of these cages is made of concrete for easy cleaning, so you can’t dig in and hide anything. I tried every hollow in a tree trunk and their nesting facilities, but nothing. Poor birds. They are upset. One of them had blood on his talons like he had attacked another. I checked to see if I could find the injury on the other bird in that space, but could find nothing. Of course I’m no vet.”
He frowned worriedly. “I wonder if I should call one and have him check out all the birds. They are worth a lot of money and we have no way of knowing who owns them now. That person might make us liable if the birds are not treated right.”
Michael stared at him, ignoring the latter remark. “Blood… What if the owl attacked a human being that entered his space? Can we get the blood off his talons and have it analyzed to find out whether it is human and what blood type?”
Kevin looked apologetic. “I had no idea it could be human. I cleaned it away to prevent the bird from becoming a target for the others. Blood can drive them crazy, you know. I used an old washrag that wasn’t very clean to begin with and washed it under the outside tap. I doubt any useful traces will be left. Besides, do you seriously believe Cash Rowland would go analyze some minimal blood traces on a dirty rag?”
“Probably not,” Michael said sourly. “He’d rather sit around thinking up the most insane scenarios in which I am the killer. Mortimer’s and Celine’s.”
Kevin looked down and shuffled his feet. “If I had known…”
“Well, then we just have to keep an eye out for someone with a bad scratch on his arm, right?” Vicky tried to sound cheerful.
Kevin shook his head. “No. It’s crazy you are accused without any proof.” His voice was firm, decided. “Blood is notoriously hard to wash away completely. I will demand that the police do something with that washrag. If I can still find it again, that is.”
He lowered his head a bit embarrassed. “I tossed it in a garbage bin, you know.” Shaking his head at his own behavior, he walked off.
Vicky studied Michael’s features. He looked worn to the bone. She even detected some more gray along his sideburns. Her heart clenched for him. She put a hand on his arm. “Why don’t we go along to Marge’s after this and have dinner there? Judging by the scent I think she was making tomato soup, with fresh bread from the oven. There’ll be enough to go around. We can talk about other things for a change and then pick up the trail again tomorrow.”
She really had to do more for the store, but Michael came first right now. She couldn’t stand to see him so down.
Michael clenched his jaw. “What trail? We have got nothing. Somebody has been here, inside the cages. He probably got whatever else Mortimer had and has destroyed it by now. We’ll never know how close we have been to the truth.”
Vicky swallowed. Considering how the vital newspapers had vanished from the local library, this person was thorough at erasing his traces.
“But the owl got him,” she tried to grasp at straws. “He has to be marked. We can go see that cousin of the Joneses. He has to be the same one who lived here before.”
She wasn’t certain because the first names seemed to be different, but right now she would say anything to cheer Michael up. He shouldn’t lose heart. “Maybe this Bob character came back to help out for the summer and then realized that the old disappearance case was about to be reopened again. He decided to burn down the barn to destroy any evidence that might have been left. He seems to be really good with his hands so he could easily have built an incendiary device, whatever it may be.”
“Any guy who ever took chemistry classes could do that, I suppose.” Michael’s shoulders sagged. “No, Vicky, I’m beginning to think this killer gave us the slip twenty-three years ago and he will do it again. Mortimer came so close to touching him, but the killer silenced him just in time.”
Vicky pursed her lips. Maybe it was even cruel of her to give Michael hope where there was so little to go on.
“Guys!” Marge’s husband popped up and waved at them. “Look what I found!”
They walked over fast and stared at the object in his gloved hand.
A cell phone.
“That’s Mortimer’s phone,” Vicky said in surprise. “We’ve been looking for it and so have the police. Where on earth did you find it?”
“In that garbage can. I dug in to retrieve the washrag and there it was. I picked it up with my glove on to safeguard possible prints.” He grinned as if he wanted to say: see, I do think about things once in a while.
“It’s still on,” Michael said, in a low voice. “The battery hasn’t gone dead yet. That means I can try to…” He held his breath. “Hold it while I…”
<
br /> He picked up a twig and used it to press the buttons without touching them with his fingers. “Outgoing calls memory.”
Vicky held her breath as she waited.
“Bingo,” Michael said softly. “Deke Rowland. Mortimer did call him.”
“And did threaten him,” Vicky added. “That’s safe to say with Everett’s testimony of what he overheard in the street. If Deke was in town, this would have been enough to have Cash bring him in and charge him.”
The two men didn’t say anything because they were probably painfully aware, as Vicky herself was, that Deke was not in town and that, if he was involved in all of this, he might never come back again to risk arrest.
“Mortimer also called Diane,” Michael confirmed, focused on the screen. “See. He offered her the evidence after he had tried Deke, just to see who would bite and get him more money in exchange for it.”
He looked up at them, his eyes shining feverishly. “Forget about Gwenda and life insurance, or heirs, or thieves who wanted his snowy owl. No way. Mortimer was killed for no other reason than the evidence in Celine’s disappearance, and it has to have been Deke Rowland who did it.”
He turned away with a frustrated hiss. “If we could just get to him.”
“Maybe we can,” Vicky said.
Michael spun to face her. “What? How?”
Kevin Fisher groaned as if he was worried they’d have to drive around all night and he’d never get home to his dinner. “Can we discuss this after I have dropped both the washrag and the phone at the sheriff’s station? I will insist they look into it, or I will complain to the mayor or something. Honestly. But can we then just go home and continue the discussion there? It’s close to eight, and my stomach is growling.”
Ignoring him, Vicky focused on Michael. “Deke Rowland is married to a very posh woman, right?”
He didn’t seem to understand what she was driving at, but readily replied, “Sure. Lilian is into anything exclusive and extraordinary. Her house is a treasure trove of the exotic and refined. I have never been there myself, but people seem to think it is the place to be. An invitation to one of her parties is worth gold around these parts.”
“Marge would kill for one of her invitations,” Kevin agreed. “Figuratively speaking, of course. Last year the summer garden party was themed Venice, and there was a masked ball, with those elaborate sequined masks from Shakespearean plays. Marge talked about it for weeks.”
“Well, I could call Lilian and ask her if she’s interested in the same scented candles the royal family adores.” Vicky looked up at Michael with an innocent flutter of her lashes. “That should pique her interest. She will want to see me. I’ll tell her I’m bringing two friends. You can come along, and Diane. I will say both these friends have lived abroad like me and know all the trends there. No lie in that. Then we can sort of uh…try to start the topic of Deke’s contact with Mortimer. She might not know a thing about it, but if she does…”
“She will want to avoid a scandal and might tell us something. She has been handling Deke’s damage control ever since they got married.” Michael grabbed her shoulders. “Vicky, you’re brilliant.”
He looked into her eyes for a few seemingly endless moments, then he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks,” he whispered, his breath warm on her face.
Vicky stepped back and tried not to flush. She was glad her mother couldn’t see her right now. She bet Claire would have read a whole lot into the expression on her face!
Chapter Seventeen
Vicky called Lilian Haverton Rowland the next morning as early as possible for someone who valued etiquette. She introduced herself and asked if Lilian was interested in exclusive British products that nobody else had. “Yet.”
Lilian immediately understood the hint and invited her to lunch, at one p.m. “Nothing fancy, just some delicious cold snacks, a little white wine,” she said engagingly. “Then you can tell me all about it. And maybe bring some catalogs with the offer, if you can?”
Vicky asked if it was all right if she brought along two friends. Both of them had spent time in Europe and were familiar with all the trends there.
Excited for the opportunity, Lilian didn’t ask for any names, but agreed to it at once. “I look forward to meeting you all.”
Vicky danced beside the phone, until she realized she’d have to break the news to Marge that she was not coming. Knowing how Marge had longed for a look inside the Rowland mansion, she did feel a bit bad about that.
But it seemed better to take Diane, as they might have to convince Lilian of the importance of her knowledge for them.
She had no idea how the woman would respond at all, but it seemed likely she’d be receptive to two kinds of pleas: save your husband further embarrassment and help someone whose entire life was affected by that old crime. Regardless of their walk of life, women tended to be able to put themselves in another’s position and understand the emotions and pain connected. If Lilian could understand Diane, she might be willing to help.
Vicky left for the store right away, with a picnic basket full of the props she had collected to use for cozy pictures: a few books, silver pill boxes, tiny stone cottages, pillows, and a camera to take shots.
On the bottom of the basket was the yearbook with the picture of Bill Jones in it. She hoped she could establish whether the guy at the general store was Bill of old, or not.
Vicky halted in the garden to clip a few roses off the bush beside the driveway and put them on top of the things in the picnic basket. Once she had taken the props out, she could use the picnic basket to put the catalogs for Lilian in and decorate the basket with the fresh roses. A woman like her would have an eye for detail, and Vicky wanted to make a great first impression.
At the store she put the props in place and took a few shots with her camera, discovering it was not easy to have the right lighting. Maybe it would be better to do it outside? And later in the day she expected the china with rosebud décor she had ordered even before she had known for sure she’d rent the store. The china had to be part of the pictures.
Putting the camera aside for the time being, Vicky focused on the sideboard that was going to carry her soap display. She expected a delivery of gauze and ribbons she had ordered the night before to make drawstring bags for her small soaps. She wanted to sell the larger soaps decorated with a ribbon and a sprig of lavender or a rosebud, while the smaller ones would go loose. Three of your choice in an original handmade gauze bag for ten dollars. She really looked forward to making the bags herself. The chore would distract her from all the thoughts running riot in her mind.
Having finished with the measurements for the soap display, Vicky put some catalogs into see-through wrapping paper, put them in the picnic basket and decorated it with the roses she had cut in her garden. The sweet scent they spread filled her head with summer feelings and with hope that the talk with Lilian could give them something worthwhile.
Around eleven Marge popped over from the library to ask how things were going along. She showed just a touch of envy at the opportunity to see Lilian’s much-discussed house, but agreed it was better if Michael and Diane went along. “They are more closely involved,” she said generously. “I feel sorry for Diane that she struck out with Ralph Sellers yesterday. She is trying every angle, but so far it has offered so little. I really hope we’ll hit pay dirt now.”
Vicky showed Marge the yearbook with the head shot of Bill Jones and his picture with his science group. “Do you think this is the same person as the guy at the general store?”
“I’m not sure. I do know that the patrons at the library called that guy Bob, and this says Bill.” Marge brushed her finger over the name under the picture. “Maybe you just have to run over and ask him outright.”
“I think I’ll call a college friend first.” Vicky went over to the phone and extracted the number she had scribbled on a piece of paper before she had left home. “If I remember correctly, she was dating this B
ill Jones then.”
Kelly was surprised but happy to hear from her and after some talking about what they had both been up to and how the gift shop was coming along, Vicky asked about Bill Jones.
Kelly laughed. “Funny you should ask about him. He contacted me a few weeks ago, via some website where you can look for old classmates. He emailed me that he is back and wanted to meet me. But I’ve been stalling. I’m married now, you know, and not too sure how my husband would like it if I was to go see an old boyfriend.”
Vicky’s heart hammered. “Back? As in back in Glen Cove?”
“I thought he meant back in the United States. He lived abroad for years, you know. His parents were expats in China and he went to join them. After that, he worked in New Zealand as a wilderness survival guide. I think he also trained wild horses. Pretty interesting guy.”
“But you haven’t got a current address for him?”
“No, just an email address. How come? You going after Bronco Bill yourself?”
Vicky laughed it off and ended the conversation as quickly as she could. Gesturing to Marge that she’d tell her in a sec, she placed another call, this time to Ms. Tennings at her home. “I need you to order groceries at the general store and then complain to the delivery man about a leaking faucet or some other thing. He’ll help you out and in the meantime you have to ask him for anything about his past. Find out if he ever lived in Glen Cove before. During the time Celine Dobbs disappeared.”
Ms. Tennings said she had no leaking faucet, but did have a lamp that was blinking sometimes, probably because of a loose wire in the lamp itself or in the wall contact. “That should do it. I’ll call back as soon as I know more.”
Vicky disconnected and held up a clenched fist to Marge. “Deke Rowland or Bronco Bill, and either way, we’ll have the case figured out before nightfall.”
Diane arrived shortly before twelve dressed in a smart soft pink pantsuit, with white trim. She wore matching white high heels and carried a white purse, and even had white-rimmed sunglasses swept up into her blonde hair. She looked around the store and admired the authentic beams, the cherrywood sideboards and the basket with catalogs for Lilian.
Dead to Begin With (A Country Gift Shop Cozy Mystery series, Book 1) Page 17