Grand Prize: Murder!

by Vivian Conroy

  “I didn’t—”

  Vicky stood her ground. “I saw you two. In the conservatory at the party Friday night.”

  DuBree’s veins bulged on his temples. “I will deny that until my last breath.”

  “Fine. But I know what I saw. You knew her better than you claim to do. You might have known she was a phony. Maybe you even used her to hurt Bella.”

  “I have no reason to hurt Bella. And the girl meant nothing to me.” DuBree looked at her, daring her to suggest otherwise. “Perhaps things happen at parties. But in the morning you have forgotten and you move on.”

  His tone implied Vicky would do better to forget what she had seen as well.

  But Vicky wasn’t about to, when it might be relevant to the murder case. “She came on Bella’s tour with some purpose. Maybe a malignant one. She could have been using you too.”

  DuBree seemed startled a moment. He tried to laugh it off. “Use me? I’ve been around the block a couple of times, Miss Simmons. I don’t get used.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. She suggested making the cozy author one of the suspects. I bet that she did that on purpose too. Now the cozy author is in jail. The real-life one. And all of our reputations are on the line.”

  DuBree frowned. He suddenly seemed to be really listening to what she said.

  Vicky asked urgently, “Do you know how the scenario plays out? Who the culprit is in the scavenger hunt?”

  DuBree shook his head. “I left it to Lisa and my personal assistant. I’m too high up the chain to handle such details in person.”

  “You seem too high up the chain to even be here, for days on end. What is your interest in it all?”

  DuBree looked past her.

  Vicky was sure he was hiding something. She pressed, “Is Bella under threat? Is somebody after her?”

  DuBree cleared his throat before saying, “You have no need to know.”

  “I overheard you telling your assistant to ask at the garage if the car she drove was tampered with. Why would you assume that was a possibility? Unless of course you knew of some threat.”

  DuBree exhaled. “In spring, during a signing in the UK, a disturbed man came into the store and threw something at Bella. I wasn’t there; I have only heard about it. It hit her, and she had a graze. Everybody was panicking, and the man got away. It made the news and in the following weeks her publisher received several threats that if Bella wrote another book, she’d die.”

  Vicky sucked in air that suddenly felt very cold. “So the threats continued after the incident at the signing?”

  DuBree shrugged. “It might not be the same person. The police think it’s just cranks who latch on to a story in the newspaper and then place a call to get attention. They assessed the real threat level as very low. And Bella was flying out here, to the other side of the Atlantic, so we thought she would be safe. I was just surprised by the car trouble. We rented a car at a top-notch company. It should have been in perfect shape.”

  “Well, it was not,” Vicky said.

  DuBree hitched a brow. “You know more about it?”

  “I assume something was wrong with it or it would not have broken down.” Vicky inched back. She wasn’t about to give away what Lilian had learned via her contact at the garage. Yet. “You plan to continue the hunt?”

  “Yes, if we stop now, people will be angry.”

  “What about the allegations it’s manipulated, unfair?”

  “We will make sure we have a winner whom we show off all around. We promised a prize, we will hand out a prize. Done deal.” DuBree seemed to have recovered from his initial shock about Lisa Coombs and his uncertainty where Bella’s safety was concerned. He looked tight and guarded again, and arrogantly self-assured. “Now let’s get this show on the road.”

  Vicky watched with mixed feelings as the announcement was made that everybody who had guessed the right suspect would continue in the game. The following day at nine, coordinates would be given via the site that everybody had to track down with GPS on a cell phone or tablet computer. If a point was reached, there would be a clue or question related to that location, and only a correct answer led to new correct coordinates. Candidates who gave a wrong answer would also receive coordinates, but those would just lead them astray. That way the participants would take a tour of Glen Cove and the surrounding area, to end up with information that would lead them to the final stage.

  People seemed to like the idea and left chatting among themselves. Unfortunately, Grace Dinks was waiting to jump them and suggest the scavenger hunt was manipulated.

  Vicky saw several people get red in the face and start to argue with the pushy reporter. She had no idea if they were defending her or maligning her.

  It seemed best to leave by way of the back door.

  Chapter Twelve

  Vicky stopped by the police station to ask if Bella would be released, but Cash said that maybe a night in jail could convince her of the seriousness of the matter and she’d start cooperating. He was certain she knew more than she had told so far, and he wanted that information right away. “I’ve had calls from news stations from all over the state and even the country. They are all eager to hear the latest, and I haven’t got anything to give them.”

  Vicky told him about the garage and mechanic Greg’s suspicions the car could have been tampered with. She also told him DuBree had been afraid of just that, and of the attack on Bella in the UK by the disturbed fan and the subsequent death threats uttered to the publisher.

  Cash made some notes and promised to follow up on it.

  Vicky also told him that Grace Dinks was a major pain and that somebody had started a social media account called Glen Cove Live and was giving out biased statements as objective information, as if it was a wire service. Cash promised to look into that as well, but said that it might prove difficult to do something about it. “On short notice anyway. It would be better if you had a clear idea who could be behind it and would approach that person directly to ask him or her to stop it.”

  Vicky said she’d keep him posted and left. She dropped the bookends off at her mother’s. Claire admired them and gave them a prime position on her overfull bookshelves, to support her single volume with all the Sherlock Holmes stories. She picked up Coco and let her look. “Pretty doggies on the bookshelves. Just like you.”

  Mr. Pug felt immediately neglected and pressed his nose against Claire’s leg.

  Vicky picked him up and gave him a cuddle. He licked her cheek with his little tongue, and she closed her eyes a moment. This was unconditional love.

  Claire said, “There is pizza in the oven.”

  Vicky snapped her eyes open again. “Sorry, Mom, but tonight’s my dinner date with Diane. I promised her last week. She wanted to show me some books for an online course in architecture.”

  “As if you aren’t busy enough already,” Claire muttered.

  “I didn’t say I was going to take such a course. I just said Diane wants to show me the books.” Vicky put Mr. Pug down and patted his head. “Bye, boy. You be good now and lay off of the pizza.” It was half meant as warning for Claire, who never could resist feeding the dogs a little something.

  Claire pretended she hadn’t heard and pointed out of the window. “You have to take Diane some flowers. Take those three sunflowers on the right. I’ve got a nice bit of yellow ribbon in the kitchen drawer you can tie around them.”

  Vicky looked for the ribbon and scissors and cut the indicated sunflowers to take along to Diane’s. Fortunately, now that her family had come over, she was no longer living in the cottage where the attempt on her life had taken place.

  Vicky wasn’t sure she could have handled facing that room again and reliving the memories of those terrifying moments.

  Diane now lived in a villa on the outskirts of town, the property of friends of her parents who were in Europe for the summer to visit their grandkids.

  Alain was in the backyard firing up the barbecue, and Diane
had just placed bowls full of salad on the large wooden table. She called to Vicky, “Right on time! Oh, are those for me? They are beautiful. Come on in to put them in water.”

  Vicky went into the kitchen with her to put the sunflowers in the vase and then helped with the last preparations for the meal, putting white grapes and walnuts in bowls. The playful banter with the kids relaxed her tense mood, and while they ate, Alain had all kinds of stories of their travels in Europe when Diane and he had just been married. They had seen Vienna, Venice, Copenhagen, all the cities with great history and beautiful old buildings.

  “That first got me interested in architecture,” Diane said. “I’ll show you the material for my course as soon as we’ve finished eating.”

  The mention of Copenhagen reminded Vicky of Michael’s recent visit there. She had still not had a chance to quiz him about his feelings now that Celine’s disappearance had been resolved. Maybe if he felt, like Diane did, that Glen Cove reminded him too much of Celine, he’d consider leaving again?

  Or would there be enough here to convince him to stay? The newspaper, his friends…

  It still bugged her that Cash had forced her to keep the murder a secret from Michael. He was bound to ask more questions about it sooner and later. How could she explain in such a way that he understood her decision?

  Alain said, “Your scavenger hunt is still a big success. I’m going out tomorrow to do the whole GPS thing with the boys. To them it will be like the perfect vacation.”

  “Yes,” Diane said. “I guess most people are still enjoying it. There are just a few troublemakers.” She patted Vicky’s arm. “The loudest voices always get heard, you know.”

  “Yeah, that is exactly what worries me.”

  Alain cleared the table to do the dishes and brought Vicky and Diane some wine on the porch while the kids vanished to the back of the garden to play table tennis. Their excited cries over a winning shot or missed ball echoed in the air.

  Diane showed off the material for her architecture course and encouraged Vicky to look into it as well. “Or a language course or something to take your mind off the store at night. It’s not healthy to be focused on one thing all of the time. I’ll write down the internet address of the institute where I got these. You have a look at their site, OK?”

  With the sticky note with the address on it pasted to her palm, Vicky walked home to her own cottage, enjoying the stillness of Glen Cove and the sound of the ocean in the distance. Everything was so quiet and peaceful that it was hard to believe that murder had struck again. The victim had been a stranger to Glen Cove. Had his killer been as well?

  DuBree?

  His assistant Mark Miller?

  The fake Lisa Coombs?

  Grace Dinks? Had she really flown in from Canada as she had claimed when checking into her cabin at the Fisherman’s Haven?

  Vicky had a feeling there was something she was overlooking, some kind of a connection that would make things fall into place, but she couldn’t get a grasp on it.

  At home she rubbed on a soothing lotion with lavender scent for sweet dreams and dived into bed. Dozing off, she dreamed of Michael getting beaten up by a big guy with tattoos. She tried to stop him and then realized it was Sydney Haverton. He had first killed the guard and he now wanted to kill Michael, and her.

  She ran away, across a lawn strewn with money. The bills whirled around her as she breezed by.

  Vicky woke with a start and rubbed her forehead, almost laughing at the weird things her mind had conjured up. Some clearly stemmed from the murder case, others more from her worried conclusions about it. All the money she was going to lose because of the damage done to her store’s reputation…

  She shook her head and clambered out of bed to get a glass of warm milk. It was three in the morning, which meant it was only ten o’clock in the evening in the UK.

  On impulse Vicky picked up her phone and sent a message to her former colleague Anne Matthews, hoping she’d be open to a chat.

  But Anne replied right away that she was at the pub with Letizia, Kim and Margaret and would call her some other time. She sent a snapshot of their slightly overexposed faces as they held up their white wines to toast her.

  Staring at the vibrant picture on screen, Vicky felt a sharp stab of loneliness. These were her friends with whom she had worked, laughed, celebrated for many years. Now they were an ocean away, still doing what they had always done together, only she was no longer a part of it.

  She had put all of her eggs in one basket, opening up the store and investing all of her savings in it. Now that it was under threat, she realized just how much she had liked her freedom in the UK.

  Suddenly shivering, Vicky put the phone on her nightstand and walked to the window. She leaned her forehead against the cold pane and stared out into the darkness.

  Glen Cove lay asleep in a glitter of little lights. In her mind she could see her mom’s house and picture the dogs snoozing on their beds, the dog bookends on the shelves with still that shine of newness on them. The kitchen with the kettle on the sink and too many boxes with tea leaves and tea bags crammed together in the open cupboard along the wall.

  Back in London she had often thought of her mom’s comfy little home and wished she had something like that, something classic and timeless, not as modern as her pad had been.

  And the dogs… Their satisfied sounds when they were patted, their licking when she picked them up.

  The homeliness of these images calmed her, and she dived back into bed, to snuggle under her duvet and think of pleasant things only.

  In the morning after a quick shower Vicky got her overnight oats from the sink and went to collect the Glen Cove Gazette that had already been tossed onto her lawn. But as she leaned down to pick it up from the dewy grass, her fingers froze on the touch.

  Glen Cove Live was now the name spread across at the top, and the main headline read: GAME TURNS DEADLY SERIOUS.

  The article underneath explained that to promote a book and a local store in British products a game had been instigated where participants would investigate and solve a murder. A real murder had occurred, and people now wondered what the link was with the game. There were allegations that the game was unfair and that people who organized it had profited off innocent customers. Had the murdered man known the truth and threatened to reveal it? Had he been silenced so the game could go on?

  Vicky was livid, especially as she read the other two articles on this fake front page, one revealing that cozy author Bella Brookes had been arrested by the police for involvement with the murder and the fraudulent game, the other that Country Gift Shop owner Vicky Simmons had also been seen at the police station, but she was still free.

  Probably, as the article concluded wryly, because Glen Cove didn’t like to acknowledge local involvement in the scam and would blame it all on the outsiders.

  After all, the sheriff was a close friend of Miss Simmons and had even been known to date her on previous occasions.

  Stunned, Vicky turned the page over, to find that the front page had been pasted on an older Glen Cove Gazette, dating back to a few weeks ago. So it wasn’t a real paper but some kind of fake, created by…

  Yes, by whom anyway?

  Forgetting about her breakfast oats left on the sink, Vicky grabbed her bike from beside the shed and took the fake newspaper out to the Gazette’s offices to investigate what was up.

  At the newspaper offices Michael was talking to Mr. Jones, who clutched what looked like a fake Gazette as well. Michael just said in a placating tone, “I have no idea where they are coming from. It’s not my paper, not my idea. If you want to report it to the police, please do. The more people complain, the sooner it can be stopped.”

  “I don’t care who wrote it,” Mr. Jones said angrily. “I want to know if it’s true. It says we are being cheated, and by our own people no less. They now deny it and shift blame to the outsiders. But we have to keep on living with the locals and we want to know: can
they be trusted at all?”

  He turned as he heard something, spotted Vicky and grew even redder in the face. Then he spun to Michael again, said, “You find out!” with a slap of the newspaper to his chest and marched off. He passed Vicky without a word or even a nod of the head to acknowledge her.

  Vicky sighed. She wondered if the Joneses could actually turn all the other storekeepers against her. What good would the community-gifted sign on her storefront do then?

  It seemed like all she had worked for so far was quickly losing its value.

  She said slowly, “So you already know.”

  “Yes,” Michael said in a grim tone. “And I don’t have to guess who is behind it. Behind this and the social media account with the same name. Our dear friend Grace Dinks. Guerrilla tactics. Effective too.”

  Michael frowned at her. “Is it true that you are dating Cash?”

  Vicky rolled her eyes. “Do you believe any of the other nonsense on that front page?”

  “That you knew of fraud and took part in it? Of course not. But you’ve known Cash since you were a teen, and well… You’re out at the police station a lot.”

  “Because of the murder investigation,” Vicky said, hating the flush in her face. She always turned beet red at the most awkward moments, suggesting she was somehow fudging the facts. “My guest author is held there, and I’m working to get her released again.”

  Michael held her gaze. “Earlier you said Lilian asked you to keep the death at the party a secret. But I bet Cash did. He asked you not to share it with me.”

  Vicky could hardly deny this. She hurried to explain. “Lilian called on me Saturday morning to tell me there was a dead body at her home. Naturally we had to inform Cash at once to start the investigation. I asked him for some time over the weekend to look into things before he arrested Bella, and Cash agreed on the condition I’d keep the details of what had happened at Lilian’s party to myself. Unfortunately, I couldn’t turn up anything substantial enough to prevent Bella’s arrest.”

  The sense of failure washed over her again, and she bit her lip.