“No, I can’t really. The lease ended, you know, and she left town. I’m afraid I don’t know where she went.”
Vicky frowned. “I understood her lease had recently been renewed. That’s usually for another two-year term. How did it suddenly come to an end? Did she end it?”
“I really can’t give out that kind of information.” The young voice sounded even more apologetic. “It’s sort of privileged, I understand.”
“But you will have her contact information someplace. I really need to talk to her. I’m in her beauty parlor now and…she’s the only one who has some information I really need. I’m on a tight schedule and I can’t move on without this bit of information. It’s the height of the tourist season and every day that I can’t open up my store, I’m losing money.” It was twisting things a little, but it might work.
“Well, if that’s the case, I could have a look for you. One moment please.”
Vicky drummed on the counter as she listened to vague sounds of the metal drawers of a filing cabinet being opened and shut. Then the tick-tack of high heels came back. “I’m sorry. Mr. Baker must have taken that file to work on. I think he said there were some loose ends to be tied up. Probably with the owner of the apartment.”
The secretary broke off. “Wait a minute. Mr. Baker is free now. I’ll put you through.”
“Baker.” It sounded agitated.
“This is Vicky Simmons. Thanks for sparing a few moments for me, Everett. Uh, would you happen to know where Gwenda Gill went to?”
“The police already asked me. If I knew, I would have told them.”
“But the secretary just said her lease ended. You had arranged for it. I don’t understand because Gwenda was emphatic earlier that she wouldn’t leave town.”
“Uh, right, there has to be some kind of a mistake. My regular secretary is away for the summer, and I have a college student manning the phone. Great stenographer, but doesn’t know a thing about ongoing business.”
“Could you look in Gwenda’s file then and give me her cell phone number? I’d like to talk to her as soon as possible.” Maybe they didn’t have to ask Gwenda to come back to town at all. It might be safer for Gwenda if she stayed away.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have her file here.” Everett sounded more impatient with every answer he gave. “I already told you to leave that whole murder business alone. No good can come of it. Now I’m expecting another call, rather urgent, lot of money at stake. So you will have to excuse me. Good-bye.” And without giving her a chance to speak, he just hung up.
Vicky exhaled. This was rather odd. Earlier Everett had gone out of his way to be nice to her. He had come to see her first thing after her stint at the police station following the find of Mortimer’s body, saying how worried he had been about her. Claire had even claimed Everett was in love with her. Now all of a sudden he snarled at her and disconnected.
Then again Everett was probably happy Gwenda Gill had left town of her own accord. He had been less than complimentary about her when he had talked about her winding everybody around her little finger. And if she didn’t come back, he could declare her lease void and lease the apartment to somebody new who might be able to afford a higher rent. He probably hoped Gwenda would never pop up again, and he’d be rid of a major headache.
Vicky looked out of the window and saw that Cash Rowland went into the hardware store. Probably to ask about the incendiary device. One of the hardware store brothers was just bringing in his coping saw to close up for the day. She dashed outside to halt him before he vanished into the dim store. “Excuse me…”
He turned to her with his friendly brown eyes amid all the fine wrinkles.
“I wondered if uh…you could make an open/closed sign for my store. A telephone booth.”
“Wooden or metal?”
“Metal would be nice, if that’s possible.”
“Sure, a lot is possible. Come on in and I can show you some examples of what I can do.”
Inside it was dim and overfull. Vicky inched her way through aisles full of boxes with nails, racks with hammers and wrenches and ready-sawn wood in the back. The floor was covered with slivers that moved with the draft as she passed by.
At the counter Cash stood waiting. He cast her a suspicious look, which she answered with a bright innocent smile. The owner showed her some things he had done: name plates, numbers, a baby carriage with the name of the baby and birth date engraved in it. “You can make a design of your own and hand it in. I’d need a day or so for it. In case you are in a hurry.” He gave her a sly look. “Young people are always in a hurry these days and you’ve been as busy as a bee at that store.”
Cash seemed to get impatient. “Have you had a chance to look into the list I gave you during lunch break?”
Vicky held her breath.
The man nodded and picked it up from behind the counter. “Nothing on it we have sold here. But then I imagine if somebody local is going to make an incendiary device to burn down old Perkins’ barn, he is not going to buy the supplies for it in my store. He could figure out you’d come over here and ask about it.”
“I’m glad people think I’m smart enough for that,” Cash said cynically. He was obviously not amused that he’d have to hunt in other stores to find the one that had sold the parts to the arsonist. He retrieved the list from the old man and looked it over.
Vicky leaned over to glance at it. “What’s an incendiary device anyway?”
“I’m not allowed to tell you. We are releasing as little information as possible. That way we can determine when somebody hands us information if he was just reading the papers or was in the know all along. It’s an important means for gathering proof against a culprit. Proof that can stand up in court, you know.”
Cash folded the list into fours and barged out of the store.
The hardware store owner looked after him with drawn brows. He called in a loud tone, “They found something looking much like a watch crystal and cogwheels. I bet you ten to one they think it’s part of a clock mechanism.”
When he saw Vicky’s blank look, he added, “A timer.”
Cash exhaled in frustration and came walking back. “I told you when I came in to drop off the list that this is police business and I want no talk about it.”
Vicky gave him an expectant look. “A timer, Cash?”
Cash exhaled again, but this time it sounded more like resignation. “If you just toss a match into a building, the fire might spread quickly and someone could take notice and see the culprit leaving the scene of the crime. Give a description of him and tie him in with the fire. Now by using a timer he would have had ample time to walk away and…maybe even get to a place where he’d be seen doing some innocent thing at the time the fire started? So he’d be alibied.”
“I see.” Vicky stared down at the counter. Time. There it was again. Time was essential.
“Why do you want to know anyway?” Cash sounded suspicious. “What are you up to? You, Michael Danning and Diane? I heard you went to see Lilian today. You are not by any chance digging into Deke’s private life, are you? If unfounded allegations end up in the newspaper, I will have Danning back in jail before he can tie his shoelaces.”
“Lilian wants to buy some special fabric for curtains,” Vicky said truthfully. “I left her a basket with catalogs to look over. She offered us a delicious lunch. She has a great place there. I would be proud if she became a customer.”
Cash exhaled. “Oh. Is that it? Most business owners feel that way once they have seen Lilian’s place. Well, I hope she gives you business. You deserve it.”
Vicky felt bad for lying to Cash while he was so nice to her. But she had to think about all of this and be more certain. Before she also began to accuse people who might be innocent.
She said she’d hand in a phone booth design in the morning, wished both men a good evening and walked out.
Time delayed, to get away. Be alibied.
To be seen doing somethi
ng innocent.
She shocked up right and stared ahead. It was eight o’clock when I came here. The news was on, right? He had made a big point of the time.
No. It couldn’t be. It made no sense. Why would he of all people have set fire to that barn? For those crumpled sheets in her purse? There was nothing on it that could implicate him. He surely didn’t drive a conspicuous car. He hadn’t had friends who could lend it to him. His mother would never have allowed him to go after girls. And Celine had laughed at a guy like Everett Baker, who got straight As and won chess competitions. She would never have liked him, let alone gone out with him.
Drunk or drugged, Mortimer had written.
Of course the killer could not have known what exactly was in the police reports. Maybe as people had started to ask about the old files, several people too, and all at once, he had panicked? Set fire to the barn to destroy whatever might be in there, just to be on the safe side?
Had Everett also killed Mortimer? Afraid that in his eagerness to get some money the crooked falconer might actually accuse the right person by accident?
Vicky saw herself standing at the window again looking into the street, Mortimer on the phone with Deke Rowland, trying to convince him to pay up a large sum of money.
Mrs. Jones at her postcard rack desperate to overhear something but striking out.
Several other people at the library. Some halting, others moving on.
And Everett Baker almost getting run off the curb by Mortimer, looking after him, calling something. His face as he had pushed on, angry, determined.
Because he had felt ill-treated, in public view?
Or because he had overheard Mortimer’s words to Deke? Everett had admitted it had been about something Mortimer held, a large amount of money and a threat to go public. Everett might have understood that Mortimer wasn’t accusing the right person yet, but he might in the future.
Vicky raked a hand through her hair. She didn’t want to believe it, but she had to admit it was possible. Everett had lived in Glen Cove at the time. He might have asked Celine to the prom once. She might have refused, laughed at him. It seemed like a meager reason to kill her, but who knew what drove people to murder?
Could you ever really understand that? Was greed or fear a better reason than humiliation and a need to defend oneself?
Everett was the sort of person who cared intensely for his image. Always busy convincing people he was interesting. Worthwhile.
He had been in a science class. He could have learned about timers.
And Everett had said he knew nothing about Gwenda Gill’s sudden departure from Glen Cove. But he was in real estate. What if he had convinced her to leave town, promising her that nice new cottage with the garden and the dog kennels, knowing that the finger of suspicion would immediately start pointing at her? He could have made the down payment on the house himself. He could even have taken a hair curler from her apartment and had left it at the scene of the crime. He had a spare key and could have let himself into her apartment anytime, maybe even during the night when nobody would see him.
It all fitted.
Vicky’s mind whirled, and her mouth was desert dry. If Everett was the killer, she had made a crucial mistake. She had gone to Everett and had made it clear she was looking into things. Everett had seen her with Michael the night the barn had burned down. Cash had heard that she had visited Deke’s wife, with Michael and Diane, so that rumor was probably spreading around Glen Cove too. Everett had not hesitated to burn down the barn, then to kill Mortimer, within twenty-four hours.
What if he was willing to commit even more crimes to stay free?
Her friends could be in serious danger.
Cash had already driven off, so Vicky called the station and asked them to have Cash call her back as soon as he arrived. Her heartbeat raced, and she struggled to think clearly. She had to talk to Michael and Diane, warn them about Everett.
Her palms sweaty, Vicky got her things together, locked up for the day and started to call her friends, as she walked in the direction of her home.
First Michael’s cell phone. No reply.
The Gazette’s offices then. No, he had been there for a short while, but he had left. They thought he had gone home.
His home number: nothing.
Vicky’s chest went tight as she kept calling. She had to get through. In her mind images flashed of Everett Baker picking up a heavy object and striking down on Michael’s head. He couldn’t go around killing everybody involved of course, but who knew how unstable he was becoming, now that things were spinning further and further out of his control? He had so much to lose. His business, his money, his image in town, which meant everything to him.
Diane then. Maybe she knew where Michael was.
Maybe Michael was even with her?
No answer at her cottage either. Diane was supposed to be working on those gauze bags with potpourri. She had said she’d be home all evening. That meant her dog was with her and could protect her. Still the fact that she didn’t answer her phone was disturbing.
Vicky was close to her own home now, but she didn’t go there. Instead she followed the road to where Diane’s cottage was. Old widow Black’s former home. It was a little away from the others and away from the road, surrounded by bushes and greenery.
Solitary.
As Vicky pushed open the white peeling gate, she wondered if she’d knock at the front door. But on impulse she sneaked round back and tried the back door. The whole scene reminded her eerily of the night they had found Mortimer’s body. What if she walked in and Diane lay there on the floor, dead…
The back door was open. She pushed down the knob and went in, careful not to make a sound.
She could already hear the voices. Diane said, “So let’s sit down and talk about it.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Vicky froze. The voice was tight and full of tension. Moreover, it was very familiar.
It was Everett Baker.
Chapter Twenty-One
“You had to come back to Glen Cove, right, Diane.” Everett’s voice was full of loathing. “You had to come back and remind everybody of it. They all started asking questions again, even digging through old newspapers and old files. Not to help you. You’re crazy if you think that. Michael Danning, he just wanted a nice story for his little paper. To sell more copies, prove to people he is not over the hill as a reporter. Ralph Sellers figured he could ease his guilty conscience because he hadn’t tried hard enough back then to find the killer. And Mortimer Gill…”
He spat the name. “He was a blackmailer all along. Always snooping, listening in on conversations when he worked somewhere, always taking more money than he had earned. Always eager for another quick score. He refused to work, like others had to. He never earned anything. He just took things. Destroyed things. He didn’t ask for the files to help you, Diane. No, only to help himself.”
“What do you mean, Everett?” Diane sounded calm, but Vicky could see from the glimpse of her back that she was tight with tension. Her hands rummaged nervously in front of her. “Did you have any idea what Mortimer was doing? Blackmailing people? Why didn’t you come over and tell us? We might have stopped it.”
Everett laughed. A short throaty laugh.
Vicky hazarded a better look and saw he was standing opposite Diane. Close enough to reach out and grab her with those large strong hands.
Diane was standing at a high table, with the gauze on it, the ribbons and a glass bowl of potpourri. Her right hand clawed in the bowl, crushing the rosebuds.
Apparently she had set to work on the bags as she had said she’d do. Then Everett had come and…
Where was her dog? Why didn’t he growl and snarl at Everett? A trained guard dog should sense the malignant side of him and throw him to the ground. Then they could call Cash.
“You think you could have stopped it, huh?” Everett sounded derisive. “You and Miss Smarty-Pants from London, Vicky Simmons.�
�
Vicky shrank under the intensity in his voice. The quiet clumsy man who had smiled at her as if he liked her had made way for a completely different personality. Strong, insinuating. Betraying the things he had long thought about people but had always kept to himself. Sucking up the insults maybe, because people in town never thought he was much?
“And Michael Danning, who was always that world-class reporter. Made all those interesting stories about people in need on the other side of the world. But you never understood anything of it. You believed all the false clues. Gwenda, the life insurance policy, Deke. How good of him to leave for San Francisco and become even more suspect than he already was. It couldn’t have been better if I had planned it myself.”
Everett laughed again. “You believed you were so smart. You think you know it all. That you know people. That you even know me.”
The sound of his voice changed, became low and urgent. “You were afraid when you came back, Diane, weren’t you? You got a dog to protect you and you never leave the house without it. You look over your shoulder and you lock the door twice. You even removed a bolt off the back door when I knocked just now. You leave all the lights on at night so the house doesn’t look so deserted. You sleep with your phone in your hand to call somebody if you hear a rustle outside.”
Vicky held her breath. Everett had to have spied on Diane to know so much about her daily routine. Or was he merely guessing? Playing some psychological game to intimidate her…
Everett continued, “You think the killer might come for you too, because you look like Celine. Because you pry into her death.”
Diane stood motionless.
“You were afraid of everybody,” Everett said with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “You looked at faces in the street, wondering if it was the face of a killer. Still, I come to your back door and you open it and you ask me in. You even lock up your dog, because I tell you I am afraid of big dogs. You lock him up and you stand talking to me, and you are not afraid. Because I am nobody to be afraid of, right?”
Vicky’s back got clammy with sweat. Diane had locked up the dog. Fooled by Everett’s friendly appeal, believing he was just this big clumsy man afraid of dogs…
Dead to Begin With (A Country Gift Shop Cozy Mystery series, Book 1) Page 21