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Grand Prize: Murder!
Vivian Conroy


‘Light and entertaining, Grand Prize: Murder! combines colorful characters with a twisty, puzzling plot that kept me glued to the book.’ - Mystereity ReviewsWhen death comes to townInviting the bestselling cozy crime author Bella Brookes to town is going to be the best business move Vicky Simmons has made yet. Not only is Bella going to sign her books to kick off Glen Cove’s annual One-Mile Book Market, but she’s also running her famous scavenger hunt right in town. That’s sure to win over the townsfolk!All is going to plan until a dead body is discovered, drawing Vicky straight to the scene of the crime. After the last murder Vicky had vowed to stay out of Sheriff Cash’s way, but when death comes to town she finds herself embroiled in the investigation. She’s racing against time to uncover the murderer…but can there really be a second devious killer in Glen Cove? Vicky will stop at nothing to get to the truth.Look out for more of Vicky’s adventures in WRITTEN INTO THE GRAVE, coming soon!







When death comes to town

Inviting the bestselling cozy crime author Bella Brookes to town is going to be the best business move Vicky Simmons has made yet. Not only is Bella going to sign her books to kick off Glen Cove’s annual One-Mile Book Market, but she’s also running her famous scavenger hunt right in town. That’s sure to win over the townsfolk!

All is going to plan until a dead body is discovered, drawing Vicky straight to the scene of the crime. After the last murder Vicky had vowed to stay out of Sheriff Cash’s way, but when death comes to town she finds herself embroiled in the investigation. She’s racing against time to uncover the murderer…but can there really be a second devious killer in Glen Cove? Vicky will stop at nothing to get to the truth.


Praise for VIVIAN CONROY (#ulink_fd2492d6-e8b8-5492-93b5-7754f7ace173)

‘This book is a cross between Downton Abbey and Miss Marple. … Perfect for the long winter nights ahead where comfort becomes a key word in everyone's vocabulary.’ – Katherine (Goodreads), A Proposal to Die For

‘A Proposal to Die For is wonderfully smooth and glamorous, in the style of Agatha Christie combined with the beauty of Gatsby.’ - The Storycollector Blog

‘When it’s as charming as A Proposal to Die For mystery and history make the most wonderful combination.’ - Little Bookness Lane

‘Dead to Begin With is a charming, entertaining and absorbing cozy mystery and a great start to a new series.’ – Mystereity Reviews

‘Dead to Begin With by Vivian Conroy is a wonderful story, perfect for fans of Murder She Wrote, and I cannot wait for the next in the series!!’ – Books of All Kinds

‘What a cosy story featuring a cozy murder, and some cute dogs!’ – Rachel’s Random Reads, Dead to Begin With


Available from Vivian Conroy (#ulink_bae028ec-2bdf-5d5e-b94c-c0781f80146d)

ACountry Gift Shop Mystery series

Dead to Begin with

Grand Prize: Murder!

Coming soon:

Written into the Grave

A Lady Alkmene Callender Mystery series

Grand Prize Murder

Diamonds of Death

Deadly Treasures


Grand Prize: Murder!

Vivian Conroy







VIVIAN CONROY

discovered Agatha Christie at thirteen and quickly devoured all the Poirot and Miss Marple stories. Over time Lord Peter Wimsey and Brother Cadfael joined her favorite sleuths. Even more fun than reading was thinking up her own missing heirs and priceless artifacts. Discover the glamour and secrets of the roaring twenties in Vivian’s Lady Alkmene Callender Mysteries and open up shop, with murder in the mix, in the contemporary Country Gift Shop Mysteries. For news on the latest releases, with a dash of dogs and chocolate, follow Vivian on Twitter via @VivWrites (https://twitter.com/vivwrites?lang=en)


Contents

Cover (#u3c868cf8-1a92-5840-9c31-acb8c449fdcd)

Blurb (#ue2c7ae90-ed6c-582f-9d67-7a312c516560)

Praise (#ulink_648bf710-e026-5795-910d-e74edbc14e4b)

Book List (#ulink_3c118d89-973f-59b0-9a6e-f8cbdbe48cb4)

Title Page (#uc41c9036-2fd0-5e17-bf06-1aaa27dcbd9d)

Author Bio (#u4cc5fb63-9902-5e8f-b65c-6abd210b2451)

Acknowledgements (#ulink_8637c047-9d38-5399-9595-27373bb5a8bb)

Chapter One (#ulink_c28d7877-d77c-5a74-bfec-9c6350f84cf0)

Chapter Two (#ulink_e43f11a7-f7a5-5eb0-9b5f-5fb2c7a1d926)

Chapter Three (#ulink_59c490ad-1fad-5a9f-9a00-91e473861346)

Chapter Four (#ulink_48b9523e-211c-5dae-88f6-2bf8e46df7dd)

Chapter Five (#ulink_095ff6e1-08d4-5e52-9d05-39ba71e2791c)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Acknowledgments (#ulink_65be6240-71a8-5f32-aa47-f59ef171acd6)

Thanks to all editors, agents and authors who share insights into the writing and publishing process.

A special thanks to my editor Victoria Oundjian for her continued enthusiasm for all my cozy mystery endeavors and to the design team for placing Mr. Pug and Coco at the heart of the atmospheric cover.


Chapter One (#ulink_36dd295e-c660-5e4c-8190-1ebcc592f56f)

“Dear citizens, visitors, special guests, friends of Glen Cove…”

The mayor’s voice boomed through Main Street over the heads of the gathered crowd. His tie clip sparked in the sunshine.

After a rainy spell overnight the skies had cleared completely, and Vicky Simmons had no need for the plastic poncho she had brought from her cottage, not so much to protect her own person but rather the wrapped object placed before the door of her Country Gift Shop.

A plain white sheet covered the object that looked much like a square with a triangle on top. The appearance was misleading as the object that the whole gathering was about stood on an easel, giving it a height it didn’t have. Vicky had seen the easel being put into place by the mayor’s secretary, but that same secretary had asked Vicky to stay in the back room of the shop as the object was placed on it so she wouldn’t catch even the smallest glimpse of it.

Now Vicky stared at the sheet, hard, as if her eyes could bore right through it, and her heart was full of the same giddy expectation as when she had been a kid on Christmas morning scanning the presents under the tree and hoping they held the exact things she had written to Santa about.

But for present-day Vicky, regardless of what was under the sheet, the thing she had wished for was already in front of her eyes. The community of Glen Cove, having left shop, bakery, garage, community center or library desk, to celebrate her moment of glory. To support her Country Gift Shop, which was a recent addition to the town.

Even the Joneses of the long-established Jones General Store, who considered every initiative as competition to their business, were in the front row. Mr. Jones still had his pencil for telephoned orders stuck behind his ear.

“We are gathered here today,” the town father continued in his warm baritone, “on a very special occasion. As you all know, the town of Glen Cove has for many years been the site of an unsolved mystery.”

He took a deep breath, looking around past the expectant faces. There was a momentary tightness, a drawn brow here and there, a pinch around the lips as they thought back upon what could best be called the black page in Glen Cove’s history. As a friendly little town it didn’t have much in its past that made people uncomfortable or embarrassed. But this one thing had weighed on the inhabitants for many years.

In the tense silence the mayor gestured to a stylishly dressed woman by his side. Her soft blonde hair moved in the ocean breeze that breathed through the street and provided the salty tang on the air.

The town father said, “Ms. Diane Dobbs here is the sister of a girl who went missing twenty-three years ago. Vanished from our streets, taken from our midst, never to be heard of again. The search for Celine touched us all back then and has occupied many of our thoughts in the years since. The mention of her name never failed to move us and to bring back the memories of those days when we all wanted to bring her back to us; but we failed to do so.”

The ocean breeze caressing Vicky’s face suddenly felt cold, and she resisted the urge to wrap her arms around her shoulders and rub the gooseflesh away from her bare arms.

She had been a college student at the time, intimately involved in the matter as she had known the Dobbs twins and had watched in horror as the whole disappearance case began to unfold.

The uncertainty, the suspicions, the speculations in the media turning into outright accusations as time went by and frustration grew that no tangible progress was made.

The mayor said solemnly, “We have been unable to find answers for the Dobbs family for too long a time.”

In the front row a man wearing a straw hat moved uncomfortably—retired Sheriff Perkins, in charge of the disappearance case at the time, the man who had not been able to find the conclusive lead to crack the case.

Nobody had really blamed him for it as the disappearance had been a far more gruesome crime than a sheriff in a small town like Glen Cove ever had to handle. But for Perkins himself it had stayed a dark page, a stain on what was otherwise a perfect performance as head of local law enforcement.

The mayor said, “When Celine’s disappearance couldn’t be solved, the Dobbs family left the area, and Diane even went far away to Europe, where she built a successful life for herself, graduating, finding a job and starting a family.”

Diane glanced to the tall dark man by her side, her French husband Alain, who smiled back at her. The little wrinkles round his dark eyes only made his suntanned face more pronounced and handsome. Around town he was called ‘the French movie star’.

Behind his back of course.

The mayor said, “After so many years abroad, Diane felt it was time to return to Glen Cove and face the questions about her sister’s disappearance. Her arrival in early summer caused a stir here in town, as many memories were brought back and old sentiments, believed to be long buried, flared up again. People started to watch each other, with doubts in their minds. We were all reminded that an unsolved case is like an unhealed wound that will continue to ache.”

The town father was known for his bombastic word choice whenever he got a chance to address a crowd, but Vicky felt like his words were apt here. At least what she herself had experienced had been an ache; if not in herself, then in the others she had met: Diane and the deputy sheriff who had even given up law enforcement because he couldn’t live with the sense of failure over this particular case.

And Michael Danning, Celine’s boyfriend of old, a personal friend of Vicky’s, who had never been able to discover what had happened to the woman he had loved and intended to marry. For him the uncertainty had hung over his life like a constant shadow, following him around the world wherever he had traveled to write up award-winning undercover articles for major newspapers.

Like Diane, Michael had felt the need to return to Glen Cove and face the past. But not everybody had been happy to see Michael back in town. As he had been Celine’s boyfriend at the time of her disappearance, he had also been a suspect. And to some he had always stayed a suspect, even a killer who had walked away because he could not be convicted without a body being found.

The mayor said, “At first this reminder of old hurt was unpleasant to us, and many of us felt like the past might better be just that: past. Something we had dealt with already, even though we knew that many questions had remained unanswered. We were comfortable in the lives we had built after the tragedy and not immediately open to have another look at those painful events. That was wrong, shortsighted, and as your representative I’d like to take this special occasion to apologize for any feeling Diane might have had that she was not welcome here—that we resented her quest for answers.”

The mayor gestured widely. “The truth is that we all needed those answers as much as she did. We are grateful for Diane’s courage to return here and for the courage of others who upon her arrival involved themselves actively in a search for the truth about Celine Dobbs’ fate.”

The mayor looked around, nodding weightily, before he continued, “It is a pity that Michael Danning, the new—and may I say extremely successful—editor in chief of our Glen Cove Gazette, cannot be here with us today. We had hoped his assignment in Copenhagen would have ended just in time to find him among us so we could thank him in person for his resourceful use of the newspaper at his disposal. We can safely say that his interview with Diane, asking for a reopening of the old disappearance case was the first step toward the eventual resolution.

“After Michael Danning’s revealing interview in the Gazette, several other citizens took an interest in the case and with joint efforts managed to bring it to a successful conclusion. Looking at the acts of violence they encountered on the way, in which personal property and even a life of one of our own was lost, we can only recommend them for their courage and their tenacity.”

Vicky took a deep breath. If anybody had asked her in advance if she’d ever confront a killer, she would have thought she would not dare. But when it happened, you had to act and help others. That was not even courage. It was just what you had to do. You couldn’t turn a blind eye when somebody was in mortal danger.

The mayor said, “We are here today to honor those courageous citizens in the presence of Diane Dobbs and her family.”

Diane smiled uncomfortably, moving a little closer to her husband, who took her hand in his. Behind them were their three teen children, the boys forcing a cool appearance, the daughter looking so much like her mother: a little unsure at the attention on them, but sensitive to the importance of this moment, not just for them as a family of the murdered Celine, but also for the community in whose midst the murder had happened and the killer had lived, undetected, for over two decades.

“Michael Danning is with us in spirit,” the mayor said. “So next I call your attention to those who are here today. Well-known to all of you, a tireless volunteer and fundraiser, also involved with the lovely Country Gift Shop: Marge Fisher.”

Marge, her voluminous red curls bouncing on her shoulders, made an apologetic gesture with her hands as if she disliked being the center of attention like this. Vicky bet she would rather have stayed at the library labeling new books. Marge got shy when thank-yous were handed out and always downplayed her own part in them, believing others had done much more.

The mayor boomed, “One of our senior citizens, who volunteered her knowledge and contacts to help crack the case: Ms. Tennings.”

The retired nanny who had spent thirty years with titled families in the UK before returning to settle on the coast of her beloved Maine stood among her closest friends and bridge partners, nodding in Vicky’s direction as if she wanted to say: you should be thanking her, not me.

The mayor turned to Vicky with a flourish. “And last but not least, Vicky Simmons, born and raised here, who after many years abroad came back to our beautiful little town to open up her own store and bring us a new concept. No coastal theme, no seashells and gulls, nothing with boats or water, but rather British decoration, royalty memorabilia and books.”

Vicky spotted a glimpse of irritation in Mrs. Jones’ features. She bet the woman was thinking that there was nothing wrong with a coastal theme, boats and gulls. And there wasn’t really. Tourists fully expected things like that in a seaside town and flocked in to buy those souvenirs and take those boat trips. But Vicky was an expert on all things British and believed it would be worthwhile to bring her own store concept along to her old hometown.

The mayor said, “Vicky transformed the former beauty parlor, which was quite modern…”

Marge mouthed, purple beams, and Vicky suppressed laughter.

“…into a classic atmospheric store where fans of everything British can find whatever their heart desires. While doing renovations and organizing her grand opening, she also worked tirelessly, with the others just mentioned, to solve the old disappearance case. In the end, as she got close to the culprit, she even risked her life to save Diane and make sure the killer could not flee. Thanks to the timely arrival of our new sheriff, Cash Rowland…”

Cash, who stood on the other side of the mayor, pulled his sheriff’s hat off his wild curls and bowed slightly.

“…the situation could be resolved without further bloodshed. For that we also thank him.”

Cash bowed again. The sun reflected off his badge, and Vicky smiled to herself that he had really earned it the day he had arrested Celine’s killer. Before that, people had been somewhat reluctant to trust a former town bad boy as their new head of local law enforcement. But now Cash had earned his position. It gave him a new élan as he patrolled the streets looking for wrongly parked vehicles and trash littered around instead of duly put in the bins.

The mayor’s voice rose to a crescendo as he came to the highlight of the speech. “We are grateful to all involved and we honor all of them today. But as a community we feel we owe a special debt of gratitude to the woman who confronted the killer and prevented another murder. We want to show our appreciation for her courage with a special gift to her store. Handcrafted by the Dawson brothers from across the street…” the mayor gestured broadly at the hardware store opposite the Country Gift Shop “…this is a timeless gift that will keep reminding Vicky and us of her contribution to our community and the safety of our town.”

He took a step toward the sheet-wrapped object. “I was supposed to reveal it, but Vicky’s mother Mrs. Claire Simmons, had a much better idea.”

Vicky hitched a brow as her mother stepped forward with her beloved lapdogs, Mr. Pug and Coco, on the leash beside her. Mr. Pug was wearing a little black bow tie, and Coco had a pink lace bow attached to her collar. She twisted her fluffy white head around to see all the people and yapped.

The mayor said, “Mrs. Simmons will assist Mr. Pug and Coco to reveal the community gift.”

Claire led the dogs to the sheet-wrapped object and then bent down to gather them up in her arms. Vicky winced as she knew her mother had joint trouble and such antics hurt her back. But Claire was stubborn enough to demand to do everything by herself, and Vicky wasn’t about to disturb this grand moment for her.

Claire straightened up with a dog tucked under each arm and positioned herself in front of the wrapped object. She leaned forward to grab the sheet with her hands—making it look as if the dogs were grabbing it—and slowly pulled it away.

Coco barked triumphantly as the sheet fluttered to the pavement.

There on the easel was a dark green sign with golden lettering reading COUNTRY GIFT SHOP. Two metal chains were attached so it could be hung in front of the store, suspended to swing freely in the breeze. People walking up and down the street could easily see it and come to her door.

Vicky smiled in delight as the crowd applauded and cheered for her.

One of the Dawson brothers came forward with a stepladder and put it in place so he could climb up and attach the sign’s metal chains to two hooks that were already on an old brass arm attached to the building’s front. Earlier there had been a sign there no doubt, but the beauty parlor owner had taken it down. Now there was this new community-gifted sign rocking on the ocean breeze, glittering in the sunlight, like a public seal of approval on Vicky’s enterprise.

The clapping intensified, and Claire with the dogs in her arms came to stand beside Vicky to accept the applause as if it was meant for her. And in part it probably was, as Claire was a familiar face around town, involving herself with many activities such as the annual garden competition and the Harvest Fair.

Not to mention her active part in most gossip that was spread around town by way of her network of ‘informers’, or—as Claire preferred to call them—‘concerned friends’.

Vicky put her arm around her mother’s shoulders and smiled even broader as the cheers grew louder. She had come back foremost to spend more time with her mother and look after her a little, without Claire noticing of course.

As people began to move into the gift shop for a snack and a chat, a powerful automobile engine roared further down Main Street. Claire said to Vicky, “I bet you that’s a sports car.”

“A collector’s dream,” Vicky agreed, squinting against the sunshine to see it appear. “Whose can it be?”

A fiery red open sports car blasted down Main Street and halted at the curb right in front of the Country Gift Shop. Behind the wheel was a striking woman, her platinum blonde curls covered with a thin Grace Kelly scarf. She waved enthusiastically at them. “Vicky Simmons, right? You wore that same skirt when you came to my book signing.”

Stunned, Vicky drew closer, Marge hard on her heels. “Bella? I thought you’d arrive on Saturday.”

Her heart pounded. A woman who remembered what somebody had worn two years back noticed every little detail. Like every little detail that wasn’t completely decided yet about the book signing on Saturday.

“A change of plans,” Bella Brookes said as she clambered out of the low seat and came for Marge with an outstretched hand. “You must be the friend Vicky emailed me about. The one who can make chocolate dachshunds and has been a fan of my See Britain And Die mysteries from the start. Always a pleasure to hear that.”

In the same breath she turned to Vicky. “I’m going to stay right here for the first leg of my New England book tour. I hate hotels, especially for a single night. All the packing and unpacking, getting used to a new bed… I do love driving so that makes it an easy choice.”

She gave her sports car a loving pat on the hood. “I’ll have my set base right here in Glen Cove and then drive out to my other engagements in the area. Signings, meetings with the press. There’s a hotel here in town, isn’t there?”

“Several,” Vicky said, “but it’s the height of the summer season. You might find a vacant room for a single night, but not for a longer period. You’d still have to move around.”

“Of course—” Marge had found her voice again “—you could stay with me if you don’t mind two kids. And a big rowdy dog. I have a great guest room. A quiet color scheme, just wood and some black-and-white prints on the wall. And you can sit in my garden to write. Oh, I can’t believe some scenes in the next See Britain and Die could get written in my own backyard!”

Marge beamed at the prospect of housing her favorite author—like a kid discovering he’s going to Disney World.

But Bella said quickly, “I appreciate the invitation to stay with one of you at your home, very generous and kind, but I do need my privacy. Especially if I want to get any writing done. I’m kind of stuck on the plot of the book I’m working on, and I hope the change of scenery can get the creative juices flowing again. Any empty cottages around? Or…what’s that?”

Bella gestured at the door beside the entrance to the Country Gift Shop. It had a central glass pane. A big orange FOR RENT poster was taped behind the glass.

Vicky said, “That’s for the upstairs apartment. The tenant moved out a few weeks ago, and the owner is trying to find someone new for it.”

Bella gestured with her hands, four or five turquoise bracelets tinkling. “Well, here I am. If you give the owner a call, I bet he will let me live in it for the time being. Gets him some cash for a place that’s otherwise just sitting empty, right?”

“But I have no idea if it’s still furnished,” Vicky protested. She had been asked if she’d consider living over the store, but upon her return to Glen Cove, she had already rented a cottage close to her mother’s place and didn’t want to move out again. The cottage was but a few minutes’ walk from the sea. In the evenings she could watch the sun set over the frolicking waves. Just what she had dreamed about when she had lived far away from home.

“I could get the key at the real estate office,” Marge offered, “so you can have a look right away.”

Bella beamed at her. “I just knew you two would work something out. Apropos, my people will come in too. My personal assistant Lisa. Paul DuBree, who handles my PR, and his assistant. Maybe also some lawyer or accountant. They mentioned they wanted to discuss contract issues with me.”

She grimaced. “Dull stuff, but it can’t be avoided. So we need rooms for all of them. Or maybe a bungalow in a holiday resort? I’m sure that spending a day or two in the same house won’t kill them.”

Although Bella said it with that ever-present smile, it sounded cynical.

Even a little ominous?

Vicky tried to read something in Bella’s expression. “If they’re on the same team, they’re used to spending time together, I suppose?” she suggested cheerfully.

Bella grimaced. “They may be on the same team, but in this business it’s each to his own.”

She fell silent as if she had already said too much. Then she sprang to life again. “If you just get that key at the real estate agent’s, we can have a look at the apartment right away.”

Marge already started to rush down the street, but then turned back. “Your car can’t stay here at the curb. Our old sheriff stuck to warnings, but since Cash Rowland got elected, they hand out real tickets. Better transfer it into the lot there at the church, huh?”

“Cash Rowland? Quite a catchy name. In one of my books he’d be a terrible playboy who would have scores of jealous husbands and vengeful ex-wives out to get him. He might die. Or he might be the main suspect who didn’t do it.”

“I’d keep those ideas to yourself,” Vicky said quickly. “Our sheriff takes his new responsibilities very seriously and doesn’t like to be associated with anything…dubious.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Bella laughed throatily. “I can’t wait to meet him. But not at the receiving end of a ticket, I guess. I’m already drowning in speed violations. Don’t know how I do it, with a car like this.”

She got back in and drove off, people staring at her from the other side of the street.

“Wow,” Marge whispered to Vicky with a star-struck expression, “she’s so glamorous and flamboyant. And she is actually going to live in our town for a while. Wait until I tell Kev!”

“Yeah,” Vicky said, rubbing her temple where a slight headache was forming. “I hadn’t expected her here right now. We still need to tie up so many loose ends before the book signing on Saturday. And I have half the town in my store for snacks right now.”

But she was already talking to thin air as Marge galloped off to the real estate office to get the key to the upstairs apartment for their inspection.

Vicky glanced in the direction of the church parking lot with a sense of dread. When Bella had offered to do a signing in Glen Cove as part of her New England book tour, Vicky had thought that the famous author would just come into town, sign some books for local fans, maybe have dinner with Marge and her, and leave again. But now Bella would be staying here for days.

She probably expected a whole lot, both from the small town and the simple book signing on Saturday.

Maybe she expected a lot more than the Country Gift Shop could deliver?


Chapter Two (#ulink_bdfaf876-8a28-536e-9445-9c9b6b7b7a11)

Vicky went inside the Country Gift Shop and asked her mother to entertain the locals while she saw to lodgings for her suddenly arrived guest author. Claire beamed. “Of course. You do whatever you have to do. Oh, and let the mayor welcome her. He’s here anyway.”

“Good idea.” Vicky squeezed her mother’s shoulder and went for the town father who was just scooping lots of cream and jam on a scone. When he heard that a famous author had arrived though, he left his sweet treat in the care of his secretary and followed Vicky outside at once.

Bella had just come back from parking her car, pulling a huge suitcase on wheels behind her. The mayor shook her hand and welcomed her to Glen Cove, offering her a personal tour of his offices if she had the time for it. Bella declined with a smile, saying she did hope the mayor would come to the book signing on Saturday.

“Oh, I will. My wife loves your books. Too bad she isn’t here this afternoon. She left for a charity luncheon and then a fundraiser for the old lighthouse. You must have seen the lighthouse on your way into town.”

“Very picturesque,” Bella said. “I’ll be looking out for your wife at the book signing. Now I’d like to go up and see the apartment I might stay in.” Her tone was charming and her smile wide, but just a little impatience rang in her movement as she inched her suitcase closer to the apartment’s door.

“Of course,” the town father said. “Until Saturday then.” And with a bow he vanished into the gift shop, no doubt to dig into his scone.

“Here we are.” From ten feet away Marge waved the key to the apartment. She panted as she came to a halt to unlock the door. “If you need anything special, you just have to shout. Groceries for cooking maybe? I could get you fresh fish from the harbor. Today’s catch.”

“No, I think I’ll eat out. I’m not the best cook.” Bella waved a hand. “I do love fish and by the looks of this place, there is plenty of fish cuisine around here to try.”

“And don’t forget the lobster,” Marge enthused. “With butter and bread from the oven.”

The door creaked open. Marge said, “Let me carry your suitcase up for you. It looks heavy.”

“Thank you.” Bella followed Vicky up the bare stairs, Marge closing the door with the large suitcase in her hand.

To Vicky’s relief the former tenant had left the apartment quite neat and clean. Basic furniture such as a sofa, table and chairs and a bed were all there. The kitchen was a little dated maybe, and the faucet in the bathroom dripped, but Bella twirled in the middle of the living room, lifted her arms to the ceiling and sighed. “Perfect for my needs. Arrange it with the owner, will you?”

She walked over to the window and glanced down into the street. For a moment it seemed she froze and stared at something, then she turned round to Vicky again and said lightly, “I have a present for you two.”

She opened her purse and produced a paper-wrapped parcel and held it out to Marge with a flourish. “I went to the website you write book recommendations for and saw how many times you have written reviews of my series.”

Marge nodded. “I love gushing about my favorite books.”

While Bella handed the gift to Marge, Vicky moved to the window unobtrusively to look down into the street. Tourists had just come off a tour bus and were walking to the diner. In front of the hardware store families watched as one of the Dawson brothers created small wooden animals with his coping saw. A man stood a little apart, looking up at the window behind which Vicky was standing. He had a camera in his hand. But that was nothing new in a tourist town.

Bella was saying to Marge, “You didn’t start when you knew that I’d be coming over here. No, you plugged my books before you knew you’d ever meet me. You’re not…sucking up to me.”

Bella’s tone was angry as if she had experienced that too often. “You really love my books for the stories. Exactly the sort of person I tour for. The fan I want to meet and make happy. So here it is.”

Marge clutched the parcel with both hands, then carefully tore off the tape. She folded the simple brown paper away and looked down on the colorful cover of a hardback book marked ARC.

Vicky read the title upside down: Murder At The Manor, the new installment in the See Britain And Die series.

Bella said, “Nobody has this yet. I pinched one to gift to you and thank you for all your support through the years.”

Marge had already opened the book. “Oh, it starts with a prologue of a man on the moors. Very evocative.” Her eyes moved quickly as she glanced down the page. “You always set the scene so well. I feel like I’m there from the first sentence.”

Vicky said, “I’m glad you like the apartment. That takes care of your lodgings for the duration of your stay. Now about the book signing on Saturday, it’s really just a simple thing…”

She glanced at Marge for support, but her friend was oblivious to the world. Vicky took a deep breath and continued, “We had talked about adding some promotional activity to give it some more pull, but to be honest, we hadn’t quite figured out what yet. Of course we don’t want you to sit there for nothing.”

She already envisioned Bella behind a table with a stack of books on either side of her and not a single soul to come ask for an autograph. That would be a disaster.

But she had no idea what she could come up with on such short notice.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Bella cut across her nervous explanation. “I’ll add my scavenger hunt.”

Vicky stared at her. “The what?”

Bella smiled. “I already did that once in another state and it worked like magic. You give people clues and whoever first solves the mystery, the case as it were, wins the grand prize.”

Vicky hoped that Bella herself would provide that grand prize. Maybe a set of autographed books? Just starting out, the Country Gift Shop didn’t have the cash flow to cover prize money.

Bella continued, “A trip for two to London.”

Now even Marge came back to reality. She looked up from the ARC and gasped, “Did you say London?”

Vicky’s mouth hung open. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Flights aren’t cheap, and if you want to stay in London itself, the hotels charge steep prices.”

“Oh, no. Look, when I planned my New England book tour, I knew I wanted to do the scavenger hunt someplace. Why not here in Glen Cove? People might come in from a wider area. It will boost the town. And I enjoy a bustle. We can kick off during the signing. That’s Saturday, right? Then we can have the scavenger hunt continue during the next few days. I’ll reveal new clues every now and then. People can play along and then on the next Friday I’ll announce the big winner.”

Vicky blinked. “That sounds amazing. The announcement of the winner would coincide with the closing barbecue for the One-Mile Book Market. But… Uh… You will put in this prize? The trip to London?”

“Yes, I have a sponsor.” Bella sounded as if it offended her. “A travel agency that does trips to the UK. They insisted on me giving away a prize like this, to promote them. I accepted because it attracts attention; people buy more books. Win-win situation, my marketing strategist calls it.”

Bella gestured with her delicate hands. “Once Paul is here, you can meet him. Brilliant ideas, but a bit of a…big ego.”

Vicky just nodded. Her mind was not on big egos, but on the easy solution this scavenger hunt idea provided for Marge and her. They need not come up with something fast. And it would really make her contribution the highlight of the One-Mile Book Market. After that, the name Country Gift Shop would be seared into people’s memories. Even the normally slow winter season would be good.

Bella said, “There is one little legal thing. Because your store sponsors my book signing, people associated with the store can’t participate in the scavenger hunt. Not only them, but also their family members. So I’m afraid you two can’t try and win your way to London.”

“That’s a bit of a downer,” Marge agreed. “But it will be amazing publicity for the Country Gift Shop.”

A snazzy tune resounded, and Bella grabbed her purse. She pulled out a sleek silver phone with a pendant studded with colorful gemstones and accepted the call. She listened for a few moments, her fine brows drawing together.

Then Bella said, “Look, I flew out here today, because I wanted to. You people can’t tell me what to do or not. I pay you. You don’t own me.” And she disconnected.

She gave Vicky an apologetic smile. “My PR people think they can tell me what flight to take and in what hotel to stay. But I like to take care of such things myself. Thanks again for getting me the apartment. I really appreciate the privacy it affords to work on my plot problems.”

“Of course.” Vicky nodded with a smile. “We’d better be getting down again. There are people at the store.”

“Of course. I’m sorry I intruded. Thank you again for setting me up here so quickly. I’ll get my things unpacked.”

Bella waved them off, and Vicky raced down the stairs, followed by Marge holding the ARC she had put back in the brown paper.

Marge whispered, “She is wonderful.”

Vicky nodded. Wonderful, but also determined and used to getting what she wanted. Some people might read that as being stuck-up, self-centered, even domineering. They’d better make sure everything moved along smoothly so there was no reason for confrontation.

She closed the apartment’s door and went into the gift shop to mingle with the guests still present. The mayor and most shopkeepers had already left again to see to their own business, leaving a bouquet or other small gift on the counter. Claire pointed out at once which gift was from whom. “Typical of the baker to give you a pot of honey. He can never keep his hobby out of it.”

“I’m glad they were all here. And thanks for covering for me, Mom, while I was up with Bella. She’s all settled in now.”

Marge had immediately descended on Ms. Tennings and her bridge friends to whisper to them about the scavenger hunt. “It will be announced Saturday after the book signing. I think we need posters or something to advertise it. I can design something. If we print it off and multiply it at the Joneses where they have this big machine, it need not cost a ton either.”

Trust Marge to start organizing at once, Vicky thought with a smile.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned round. Diane smiled at her. “The kids are gone already, and Alain and I are going too.”

Vicky studied Diane’s expression. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I can understand though that Michael didn’t want to come. It’s odd to…be in the center of attention like this. All the while the mayor was talking I was wondering what Celine would have thought of this. She never could stand pompous people, you know.”

Diane’s voice trembled a bit. “Alain insisted that I come, also for…closure as he calls it. But I don’t know if anything like it even exists.”

Vicky squeezed her arm in silent sympathy.

Diane said with a sigh, “I can’t explain it, but now that we know for sure that Celine did die, it’s like she’s more alive than ever. I remember all the things we used to do and how much fun we used to have. There is a memory around every corner here in Glen Cove.” She blinked.

Vicky didn’t know what to say. Maybe the same reason had prompted Michael to leave for Copenhagen? He had claimed to her it was a sort of paid vacation, but his expression had told her something else. He had to get away again, run from the hurting, like he had always done. It was his way of survival. That didn’t change overnight.

Maybe in a way it was even worse now that he had found the answers he had been hunting for so long. There was nothing left to do now. Just an emptiness in which he felt the loss all the deeper.

She said to Diane, “Look, if you need distraction, you can always stop by at the store and lend a hand. It will be busy with Bella around for the book signing and the scavenger hunt. It’ll last through next week.”

Diane smiled thinly. “Thanks. And you have to come to dinner at my place sometime so we really have time to catch up. I want to show you the books for the architecture classes I’m taking. It’s an online course, ideal to put some time into whenever you want. Early in the morning or at night. I think you’ll really like it.”

“Sure, I’ll give you a call to determine the night.” With her hand on Diane’s shoulder Vicky accompanied the couple out of the store.

To her surprise the man who had been looking up at the apartment from across the street was now in front of the apartment’s door, peering in through the glass pane. The For Rent poster obstructed most of his view so he was tilting his head in every possible angle to see something.

With a frown Vicky stepped up to him and asked, “Excuse me? Can I help you?”

A normal person would have felt some kind of shock or shame at being caught red-handed like that, but the man simply faced her and asked, “Is Bella Brookes staying here?”

He waved up at the upstairs windows. “I rang the bell a couple of times, but she doesn’t come to the door.”

Ignoring his demanding tone, Vicky asked, “And you are?”

“Giverny. Haven Herald. I’d love an interview with her about her books.”

“Then you have to contact her PR people. They are in charge of the entire book tour. They know her schedule and can determine if they can fit you in.”

Vicky tried to stay polite and accommodating, although she thought the man was being quite pushy in an off-putting way. Did he really expect Bella would just invite him in for a chat?

He also had a three-day stubble and a huge mustache that looked like it came from an amateur theater kit.

Giverny said, “I only want to know if she’s staying here. I saw her lugging a big suitcase in.”

“You have to call the PR people,” Vicky insisted. If she confirmed to this guy Bella was indeed staying here, he might keep ringing the bell until Bella opened the door out of sheer annoyance at the noise. “They can tell you much more than I can, I’m sure. Good day, Mr. Giverny.” She stared at him, forcing him to back away from the door and cross the street again.

Diane and Alain had watched the exchange, and Diane now asked, “What does he want?”

Vicky shrugged. “He claims to be a reporter out for an interview with Bella.”

Alain said, “Must be some paparazzo. His camera doesn’t have a real big lens though. It’s more like a holiday kind of camera.”

Vicky made a dismissive gesture. “Maybe he’ll bring a photographer to the interview he wants to do? It doesn’t matter really. As long as he doesn’t bother Bella. Thanks so much for coming to see the sign being unveiled, and I’ll be in touch about dinner.”

She hugged Diane and watched as the couple walked away, hand in hand, down the busy street.

Then, involuntarily, she scanned for the brash Mr. Giverny again. He was outside the diner, pretending to read the menu on the chalkboard beside the entrance. He held a cell phone to his ear and was talking fast, excitedly. Probably reporting to his newspaper that he had found Bella Brookes.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it. Bella was used to attention and judging by her determined way of handling things, she’d be quite able to deal with the press.

After a long, loving look at her brand-new sign Vicky went back into the Country Gift Shop.


Chapter Three (#ulink_7967eb8f-d3e8-57c4-a815-7048966e5324)

Marge had put the laptop on the counter and was working the keyboard with two fingers. Still it produced a sound as if someone was typing with ten. Marge only had one speed: full tilt.

Claire had sat down in a chair by the fireplace with the dogs in her lap and called out that computers were a mystery to her. “I don’t trust them.”

Ms. Tennings nodded in agreement. She sat opposite Claire with a wooden tray on her lap. On the tray were a dozen small soaps she was decorating with ribbons, each in a matching or contrasting color. “I do use email to stay in touch with some old friends in the UK,” she confided, “and I know how to pay bills electronically, but I can’t work out all the functions of such programs.”

“Aren’t there courses for senior citizens at the community center?” Marge said as she clicked on the touch pad.

Ms. Tennings grimaced. “Yes, but going to one of those makes me feel quite helpless. I’ve been the teacher for all of my life, you know.” She held up a reddish soap with a white ribbon to Vicky. “How do you like this?”

Vicky came over for a closer look. “Great. I’m also thinking about some finishing touches. Maybe a sprig of lavender and herbs from the garden? I really want to make the gifts stand out so I’ll get more orders for hen parties.”

“When are you delivering this order?”

“Saturday morning at the hotel where the bride-to-be and her family are staying.”

Ms. Tennings nodded. “We’ll do the finishing touches then. I can bring material from my garden as well so we have enough. Everything else is arranged for?”

Vicky enumerated on her fingers, “For each guest to the hen party a small soap from my exclusive collection, a scented candle in a glass holder with heart decoration and a mini book with quotes, appropriate to their connection to the bride-to-be. So quotes on motherhood for Mom, being sisters for the sisters, friendship for the friends et cetera.”

“You forgot to mention,” Marge said, “that the bride-to-be mailed us a list with everybody’s favorite color and favorite scent so we can customize the whole thing. Imagine this: Monica likes red so she has to have the strawberry-scented candle and the soap with the reddish tinge and then the book on friends. Oh no, she is a sister-in-law so she has to get the book on sisters.”

Vicky laughed. “You make it sound so terrible. My client just wants bespoke presents.”

Marge grimaced. “I’m used to bulk orders. If you had ever washed the outfits for a Little League team, you’d know what I mean.”

Vicky laughed even harder. “So Kev made the promise to the trainer and you are doing all the work?”

Marge sighed in resignation. “They are also coming to our place to eat after training. I’ll be making about a hundred pancakes.”

Vicky cringed. “Then I’d rather do the hen party order. Each to his own, right? What on earth are you doing anyway?”

“I’m using Bella’s cover with the London skyline because it’s so familiar. Then all I need is some catchy text. For the posters, to advertise the scavenger hunt.”

Vicky and Ms. Tennings came to stand by Marge’s side as she put pictures in place and added text.

SEE BRITAIN AND DIE author Bella Brookes

signs at the Glen Cove Community Center.

Be there for a chance to win a trip for two

to that capital of crime

LONDON!

“How’s that?” she asked, staring at the screen in concentration.

Vicky whistled. “Where did you learn to make things like that?”

“The library needed promotional material last year, and I offered to make it. You can hire someone for it, but you know how we are budget-wise. So I taught myself all I know. I’m not too hot on courses either where the computer whiz makes you feel like you can’t keep up. Now I can make as many mistakes as I like and repair them without anyone looking over my shoulder.”

Marge grinned at Ms. Tennings, then turned to Vicky again. “Anything you don’t like about this design? I can still change the font size for instance.”

“Yes, maybe we should put the date and time in a different font. Or maybe even in a different place on the poster? To draw attention? If people walk past it, they don’t have much time to grab the essentials.”

“Right. Where would you like it? How big?”

Vicky leaned over and pointed out a few more things that Marge changed with a mouse click or two.

After all changes were done and the end product fully approved, Marge printed off one full-color version on the store’s printer and handed it to her with a bow. “Your master copy, ma’am. Multiply it at the Joneses and we can spread it around town.”

Claire sat up already, eager to do her part. “I’ll take some posters along for Marjorie’s B&B and the fishmonger. I’m picking up dinner there anyway.” She brushed the head of Mr. Pug, who looked alert and ready to jump into action as well. “We don’t have much time to get people talking about this.”

At Jones General across the road, Vicky was met by Mrs. Jones’ cousin, Bob, a nice-looking guy in his mid-thirties who was a favorite with the senior citizens to whom he delivered groceries. Bob was always eager to help change a lightbulb or look at a leaking faucet. He drove little old ladies out to their bridge nights or to the bank. He taught them how to use email so they could contact their grandchildren with ease or how to make a digital photo album of their family snapshots. There wasn’t a whole lot that Bob couldn’t do.

Now, with a wide smile, he asked Vicky if he could show her how the copying machine worked.

Acknowledging the possibility that she’d accidentally run off faulty copies she couldn’t use but would have to pay for, Vicky gave him the master copy.

“Hey.” Bob’s tanned index finger circled the name Bella Brookes. “I thought she was hiding away from the public. Bit of an eccentric recluse.”

Vicky was surprised. Bella might be eccentric, but a recluse? “Where did you get that idea?”

He shrugged. “Must be mistaking her for somebody else. A trip to London, huh?” He whistled. “That’s some prize. I bet Aunt Em would love to see Buckingham Palace, take tea in some fancy tea parlor there. What kind of contest is it? Geocaching? I’ve always wanted to do that. Wouldn’t she be surprised if I took her to London for her birthday in October.”

Vicky smiled at his enthusiasm. “It could be geocaching for all I know. Bella Brookes hasn’t revealed all the details yet, but she will do so at the book signing on Saturday afternoon. We did announce the signing in advance of course under regional activities, but the chance to win tickets to London is a later addition, so some extra posters seemed like a good idea.”

“For sure.” Bob put the master copy in place and pushed buttons on the control panel. “This is for the paper size. Letter. Here we have black and white or full-color. Full-color it is. That should do it. Just one at first to see how it looks, hey.”

The machine began to hum. Bob smiled at her. “You think I could participate in this hunt?”

“Everybody can who is not involved with my store. Because we’re organizing it, we’re legally excluded from participation.”

“Ah. That’s too bad. But then again you lived there for years so you know it all, I bet.”

“Right.” Back in the UK, when traveling around and seeing lots of people, it had always been Vicky’s favorite game to guess what people did for a living. There was always something that gave them away. Bob here for example looked like an athlete with a broad chest and muscled arms, but he also liked to explain things. He was patient and enthusiastic. Coupled with a long summer vacation, it was a no-brainer.

He had to be a teacher. Phys ed.

Bob said, “Why don’t I give you a hand getting these spread around?”

Without waiting for a response, he walked away and stuck his head round the door leading into the back area. “Aunt Em, I’m off. Will be back in an hour.”

A voice said something in reply that Vicky couldn’t make out. Bob waved a hand. “Later, OK?”

He turned to her. “I’ll do the stores in town and then take my car to the north, put them up at restaurants, gas stations, hotels and campsites. You take the south, OK?”

Vicky smiled again. He was thinking up places to put the posters that she hadn’t even considered herself. And with his natural charm he’d talk anybody into allowing a poster to be put up on the announcement board or the front window. “Great. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem.” He held her gaze a moment longer, his eyes lighting with a special warmth.

Vicky knew that a lot of little old ladies were a little enamored with Bob, who was always so nice. She supposed it was just his way of handling people and it didn’t mean anything. He probably had no idea how many hearts he had already broken with that winning smile.

Armed with her stack of posters, Vicky returned to the Country Gift Shop to find a familiar customer browsing the rack that held silk scarves from an artist on Jersey. Coco had come over and was sniffing around the customer’s exclusive stiletto heels.

Even in a simple summer dress Lilian Rowland exuded class and money. She had styled her platinum blonde bob with a light wave to look like a twenties’ hairdo. The only things missing were a string of pearls and a headband with a feather. Obviously Lilian was already in the roaring twenties mood for her upcoming party on Friday night.

Lilian smiled and returned the scarf with the magnolias she had been examining to the rack. “Congratulations on your new sign. It looks very stylish. Sorry that I couldn’t be here when it was offered. I intended to, but my appointment with the architect about some changes to our home ran a little late.”

Vicky glanced at Marge, who was fighting laughter, it seemed. Lilian already had a house to drool over, but she kept hiring people to change things about it, to the frustration of her husband, Deke, who thought it all a waste of money.

Lilian said, “But I did want to drop by and give you this.” She opened her purse and pulled something out. Coco stared up at her in concentration, expecting a treat.

Lilian handed Vicky a baby blue envelope with golden decoration along the edges, then turned to Marge to hand her an identical one. She then held a third in the air. “I’d like to invite you both to my roaring twenties’ party if you can bring Bella Brookes along. I know it’s short notice, but Bella will love my theme. The twenties were also the golden age of crime fiction, right? I’d love to hear what her favorite Agatha Christie story is.”

Vicky couldn’t remember having seen any books in Lilian’s house when she had visited with Michael and Diane. But in such a large house Lilian probably had a separate library.

Maybe even with a movable ladder?

Something like that was Vicky’s secret dream.

Would Lilian show off the library to Bella Brookes if she did come to the party on Friday?

Marge said to Lilian, “I never knew you liked Agatha Christie.”

Lilian made an eloquent hand gesture. “Doesn’t everyone? I do hope you can bring Bella Brookes. Her presence will lend such a nice touch to the party. I only hope the weather will be better than it has been for the past few days. It’s always raining at night. But we have room to move inside if need be. I read somewhere that Bella Brookes adores tropical flowers so she must take a look at my orchids.”

Left in Lilian’s personal care, the orchids would probably be dead quickly, Vicky guessed. The socialite’s French manicured hands weren’t made to dig into the earth, or even handle a sprinkling can. And orchids were fussy about their treatment. Too much water could be fatal in a flash. But she said, “Bella will be delighted to see your conservatory if she’s still free on Friday night. I’ll give your invitation to her and she’ll let you know, I’m sure.”

“Wonderful. Got to dash. See you all Friday night.” And Lilian was gone, leaving just the lingering scent of her expensive perfume. Coco seemed to realize the chance for a treat was gone and returned to Claire with her head down.

Vicky clutched the envelopes, glancing at Marge.

Marge glanced back, then burst out laughing. “That look on your face. Just like Coco’s.”

“Well,” Vicky said, “do I feel happy or insulted? It’s obvious Lilian only wants Bella Brookes as special star at her party and is just using us as the channels through which she manages to reel her in. She blatantly ignored Ms. Tennings and my mother, as if they weren’t even here.”

“She could hardly explain she wasn’t inviting them,” Marge said. “Lilian likes to maintain an exclusive guest list. She only included us because of Bella.”

“Exactly.” Vicky grimaced. “Perhaps we should have said we had other engagements already?”

“Are you crazy? Miss the chance to see her award-winning home? The place is probably loaded with valuables.”

Claire nodded. She lowered her voice. “My friends told me that Lilian even hires a security firm.”

Ms. Tennings added, “To mingle discreetly among the guests and keep an eye out for misplaced items.”

Vicky stared at them. “Lilian thinks guests are going to steal at her parties?”

Claire nodded violently and said, “Sometime ago a jade statuette vanished after a party. Lilian never reported the theft to the police because she was worried her friends would be questioned and hate her for it. They don’t want anything to do with the law.”

She made big eyes. “Maybe whoever took the statuette will be back for more?”

“Whatever. I’m going.” Marge clutched the invitation to her chest. “I just have to figure out what to wear. Buy or rent, that’s the question. I have to get Kev into a tux too.”

Claire studied Vicky. “Who are you taking?”

“Taking?” Vicky echoed.

“Yes, it’s an invite for you and a partner, I suppose.”

Vicky cringed that her mother would suggest possible men to take along. “I don’t need a partner to take me. I attended lots of parties in the UK on my own.”

“That was work. This is social,” Claire insisted. “And you do have to dance with somebody.”

Marge bowed to an imaginary figure. “This dance? Delighted.” She whirled round the store, jerking her elbows in and out. “This is the Charleston, right?”

Vicky laughed. “I think you need to look up the moves before Friday.”

Mr. Pug ran over to Marge and circled her, barking. Marge leaned down to pick him up and twirled with him, humming a waltz.

Then she froze mid-dance and focused on Vicky. “You need that hat.”

“What hat?” Vicky asked.

“Ms. Tennings has a friend who is a hat designer. She showed me some pictures last week and there was a hat in there just perfect for your profile.”

Marge looked at Ms. Tennings. “Too bad you don’t have the album on you now. But wait. It may be on her website, right?”

Marge put Mr. Pug down and pulled out her cell phone. She swiped across the screen.

Mr. Pug stared up at her as if he wanted to know what she was so busy with all of a sudden.

Vicky was still puzzled by her earlier remark. “My profile? What about that?”

“It’s mysterious,” Marge said in an exaggerated whisper.

And Ms. Tennings added, “With one of my friend’s creations you will be the party’s sensation.”

Vicky took a step back. “I don’t want to stand out.”

“Nonsense,” Ms. Tennings said, “you need a night off without worries.”

And Marge added, “Leave it all to me. I’ll get you the hat.”

Claire piped up, “And I’ll get you a date if you want me to.”

Vicky hurried to say, “No thanks, Mom.”

Claire folded her arms across her chest. “How are you going to get to the Rowland mansion then? On your bike in a tight dress?”

“Very funny, Mom.” Vicky pursed her lips. A car of her own was on her list of things to consider, but right now her budget was too tight to allow for one. “I’ll call a cab. Simple as that.”

“Here it is,” Marge said. “Have a look.” She held out her phone to Vicky.

The hat was a close-fitting model of soft material with a butterfly attached to the right side. One wing lay on the hat, while the other stood out. The material used for that was very delicate, almost see-through, and it sparkled under the light.

“Let me see it,” Claire urged.

Vicky offered the phone to her.

Claire hmm-ed. “You have a dress that can go with it. The coral one I saw in the photos you showed me of the midsummer gala?”

Vicky was surprised her mother even remembered that.

Ms. Tennings said, “All you need is a few long necklaces to complete the look.”

“And elbow-length gloves,” Claire supplied.

“I have some,” Vicky said, resigning herself to the inevitable. Once her mother or Marge got something in their heads, it had to happen. And now that they were all joining forces, it was impossible to resist.

“How about your hair?” Ms. Tennings asked.

Vicky looked from one to the other. “Enough already. I can do my own hair. And my makeup. I don’t like a fuss.”

“All right then.” Marge clapped her hands together and studied Vicky with the adoration of a mother watching her daughter on prom night. “You just let me handle the hat. Friday night you’ll have the time of your life.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_c1139f01-968a-5840-998a-071217314258)

In front of her long hallway mirror that was in an appropriate art deco style, Vicky adjusted her brand-new hat just a touch. The color was perfect with her coral dress. Two long necklaces that she had found on the bottom of her jewelry box completed the twenties’ look. For makeup she had focused on highlighting her eyes with some golden tints and her lips with some shine.

A knock at the front door announced the arrival of her mystery driver for the night. She was curious whom Marge had managed to find for that. It couldn’t be Bob. Lilian Rowland would never invite him to one of her parties. Only the ultra-stylish or the ultra-rich got in with her.

And those who happened to be able to bring famous authors of course.

Shaking her head to herself that she had fallen for this ploy, Vicky opened the door.

On the well-worn step in front, his dark hair crowned by some dangling climbing roses, was Michael Danning. His tan was much deeper than Vicky had expected after a stay in Denmark. In black tie he looked even smarter than usual. He smiled at her and reached out his hand, holding a single white rose. “A corsage for you to wear. I heard it was quite the thing in the twenties.”

“I thought you were still in Copenhagen.” Thrown off balance by his sudden appearance, Vicky accepted the corsage and took her time attaching it to her dress. Her thoughts raced. She had looked forward to Michael’s return, to hear all about his trip and tell him about the store and Bella’s visit to town, but now that he was suddenly in front of her, her head was painfully empty. All the engaging and witty things to say seemed out of reach.

“And I had hoped you’d be happy to see me back in town.” Michael’s voice was teasing, but his expression was tight. “Of course I should have attended the ceremony where you got your sign and…”

Vicky cut off his apology quickly. “It wasn’t a ceremony really, more of an informal affair. I don’t like being the center of attention anyway, so it’s not a problem.”

She checked the corsage and then reached for her purse on the hall sideboard. “All done. Shall we go then?”

“Allow me.” Michael offered her his arm and escorted her to his car. It shone as if he had especially waxed it for the occasion.

“Marge told me what color your dress was,” he confided. “I figured she’d know. I didn’t want to get you a pink rose and then find it clashed with your dress color. It’s a good thing you got Marge to help you with the store and all. Else I’d think you were working too hard for it.”

He opened the car door for her and made a gallant bow.

“Thank you.” Vicky lowered herself into the car seat, careful not to crease her dress. Looking up at him, she said, “I thought you believed in hard work.”

Michael held her gaze as he said, “I do, but it can be too much sometimes.”

Before Vicky could pick up on this remark to probe how he was doing now that Celine was officially pronounced dead, Michael broke eye contact and closed the car door. He rounded the car to get in on his side.

As he started the engine, music began to play. Classical. A piano piece. A prelude by Chopin, one of her favorites.

Had Marge also told Michael that?

Apparently the whole night was set up as a luxury treatment for her. She’d better enjoy every second of it.

Michael said, “So there is going to be a scavenger hunt starting tomorrow. First thing I saw when I drove to town from the airport. The posters were everywhere.”

Vicky shot him an amused glance. “Thanks for exaggerating my success. We printed off around thirty.”

Michael looked over his shoulder to back out of her driveway. “Must be more. I counted at least ten on my way over here.”

“Oh. How odd.” Vicky glanced down to ensure the seat belt was not messing with her dress. “Maybe Bob didn’t have time to drive around and he all put them closely together? Well, never mind. As long as we have a reasonable turnout at the signing, I will be happy. Mostly for Bella’s sake. She is used to bigger events, I suppose. I don’t want her visit here to be a complete letdown.”

“You do know she’s under attack?”

The quiet question plopped like a stone into a pond. Vicky sat up, echoing, “Attack? How do you mean?”

“So you don’t know.” Michael’s hands tightened on the wheel. “At a book signing in spring some disturbed fan threw something at her.”

Vicky stared at Michael’s profile. “Are you sure it was her? I don’t remember reading anything about it in the newspapers.”

Her thoughts raced to make sense of the revelation. “Was Bella hurt? Did they get this person who did it? Is he in jail now?”

“I don’t think so. They don’t even know for sure if it was a man or a woman. Naturally when something was thrown across the room, panic broke out, and people were screaming and pushing each other. In the commotion he or she got away. Who knows where that disturbed fan is now? Whether he or she is still obsessed with Bella? With getting to her and hurting her?”

Vicky frowned. She hadn’t known about this and wasn’t happy to learn her guest author had been under attack, but it could have been an isolated incident. If there was a serious security issue, the PR people would have taken it up with Bella, she supposed.

Of course there had been the odd Mr. Giverny snooping around Bella’s door.

And Bella’s own insistence that she didn’t want to stay in a hotel…

Bella had explained it by referring to all the packing and unpacking, the beds that might not be comfy. That was a good enough reason.

But what if she avoided hotels because she felt vulnerable there, exposed? A hotel room could easily be broken into. Several people, such as cleaning personnel, had keys to the room. In an apartment on the other hand she’d be relatively safe.

In the meantime Michael said, “I just don’t like you getting involved with someone who has been under attack. Just a few weeks ago you might have been hurt when—” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Vicky took a deep breath. On a fun night like this she didn’t want to be reminded of her confrontation with Celine’s killer. That had been a surreal experience, something that only happened once in your life.

Those events surrounding the final resolution of Celine’s disappearance case had left them all a bit jumpy. They could be reading more into small things than was needed. Her thought for instance that Giverny’s mustache had come from a theater kit was pretty ludicrous. Yes, he had been a pushy person, but why assume he was changing his appearance? She had to stick to facts instead of jumping to conclusions.

She tried to sound certain when she said, “Nothing happened then, and nothing will happen now. Look, Bella didn’t tell me she’s under attack. I’m sure she would have mentioned security if it had been an issue for her. But she was really cheerful when we met. The incident at the signing happened some time ago, you say, and we have no way of knowing what really happened. Perhaps the person responsible is very sorry for what he or she did. And why assume someone would follow her all the way out here?”

Michael nodded thoughtfully. “You’re probably right. I just wanted to see if you knew about it. And I’ll come to the book signing tomorrow to keep an eye out for anything odd. People behaving out of the ordinary. OK?”

“That would make me feel much better. Thanks.” Vicky touched his arm a moment.

He looked at her and smiled.

The joy that he was back in town now hit her full force. She could count on Michael and her other friends to help her make Bella’s visit into a success.

As they arrived at the Rowland mansion, the grounds were ablaze with lanterns hung from trees and on lines extended from one tree to another. Expensive cars drove down the long driveway, and guests stepped out in front of the majestic house, all its tall windows alight.

There were hired valets to park the cars in designated places further away from the house. Vicky bet there would be a million dollars’ worth parked there for the night. No wonder Lilian engaged a security firm on such occasions.

On the terrace people stood talking, waiters mingling with trays full of champagne glasses. Vicky went inside on Michael’s arm.

Lilian stood at the foot of the broad carpeted stairs to greet everybody who came in. She was just talking to a tall man in a smart tuxedo, and when he half turned, Vicky recognized Cash Rowland. He looked very different than he did in his usual sheriff’s uniform.

Cash saw her as well and came over, smiling. “You look great. New hat? I didn’t bother getting anything special for the night. I still had this lying around from a wedding where I was best man.” He cast a quick look at Michael, then offered to get Vicky a drink.

Michael stepped back graciously. “I have to greet the hostess and ask her a few questions about the party, the guest list. Who is that guy by her side anyway? He looks around him like he owns the place.”

Cash grimaced. “That’s Lilian’s brother Sydney. He’s a lot younger and a bit on the wild side, even though Lilian will never admit that. He tried different colleges, didn’t fit in anywhere, then he tried different jobs that dear Daddy set him up in. All tanked as well. Of course it’s always somebody else’s fault, never his.”

Michael pursed his lips. “Sounds just like you back when we were in college.”

Cash turned red. “Not at all. I…”

Michael raised a hand, focusing on Vicky. “I will be back later. Save a dance for me, huh?” With a wink he walked away.

“Busy for the Gazette’s social column?” Cash chided. He took a deep breath, speaking low to Vicky, “Trust me when I say I know all about Sydney Haverton. Deke wasn’t amused when Lilian told him her brother had lost a job again and had to be set up with a position at Rowland Investment for the time being.”

Vicky hitched a brow. “Sydney is working in Deke’s company now? Just like that?”

“Working is a big word. Seems he doesn’t turn up when he should, misses meetings and in general behaves like he’s in charge while he has no idea about investments. But Deke can never say no to Lilian. He has to put up with Sydney, in the firm and here. Dear Sydney moved in, you know, for as long as he’s working at the company. Deke is mining all of his contacts to get Sydney a job elsewhere and be rid of him again. So far no luck.”

“Vicky!” Marge came up to her in an electric blue dress. With a matching fascinator on her red curls it looked stunning on her. The bright color enhanced the fire in her hair, and it looked as if she had just walked off a twenties’ painting.

Marge turned around slowly so Vicky could admire the dress’s waterfall back. Then Marge whispered in her ear, “You look amazing. How did Michael like it?”

“OK, I think. He didn’t really say. We talked about Bella and the book signing on the way over.”

Marge clicked her tongue and put a hand on her arm. “No talk about work tonight, OK? We’re here to have fun. Have you had champagne yet?”

“Cash is getting me some.”

Beside Marge, Kevin Fisher fidgeted uncomfortably in his tuxedo, running a finger round his collar. Like it was too tight. But every time he looked at his wife, his expression changed to pure adoration. Vicky figured that if anyone ever looked at her like that, she’d know it was true love.

Voices resounded behind them, and they turned to see Bella Brookes arrive. She wore a tight wine red dress that set off her blonde hair. The bodice was embroidered with intricate silver patterns. Her face was shadowed by a gigantic asymmetric hat in wine red and black, and she held a large fan in her hand of painted silk with an edge of peacock feathers.

The sum total was stunning.

People stood and stared while Bella walked by, nodding to all sides and then greeting the hostess.

Even Lilian lost her usual cool and stammered and flushed, then directed her guest of honor to the champagne.

Vicky grinned at Cash, who had just come back with glasses for the both of them. “I think Lilian already got what she wanted tonight. Bella is turning heads.”

“She’s pretty,” Cash said casually, “but a little too showy for me. Unreal. Like she should be on display at a museum.”

Bella came over to Vicky and Marge and introduced her party. A handsome man in an expensive suit was the PR mastermind Paul DuBree. He had a tall blonde woman on his arm. The woman was not introduced. Her dress was rather short and adorned with many silvery tassels that moved as she walked.

Bella said, “And here are our assistants. Paul’s right hand and our finance genius, Mark Miller. And my PA, Lisa Coombs.”

Lisa muttered a general hello. Her hat was pulled down into her face so deep that her eyes were barely visible.

Vicky was a little surprised that the assistants had been invited at all. She could understand Lilian had wanted DuBree, who had a reputation in his own right, but Lisa was merely an aide to Bella, and so was Mark Miller.

Had DuBree simply brought his entire retinue because he was used to it?

As the company moved away to meet other people, Marge said to Vicky, “That girl Lisa doesn’t look very happy. I wonder how she got the job with Bella.”

Vicky shrugged. “Probably a student on a summer job. I think Bella mentioned in an email that Lisa was an English lit major?” She sipped at her champagne. Alcohol always went to her head fast and made her giggly and willing to take risks. Better take it easy. The night was still young.

Bella emptied her glass in a few drafts and set it aside, laughing loudly at a joke made by Sydney Haverton. He seemed to be fascinated by this new face.

Vicky let her gaze drift over the people present, recognizing a few locals. The mayor, of course, with his wife. The mayor’s wife wore a green dress with two strings of pearls. The bank director with his wife. The bank director’s wife wore a white gown with matching wide-sleeved robe. All people with clout.

Then at the open doors into the garden Vicky saw a flash of a familiar face.

Bob Jones.

Strange that he had been invited too. She had been so certain Bob was not in Lilian’s league.

But maybe Lilian had felt generous?

Cash excused himself saying he had to talk to someone a minute and before Vicky knew it, Michael was back by her side. He put something in his pocket that was probably a cell phone. She hitched a brow at him. “No rest for the wicked?”

“Only taped a quote from our hostess and the guest of honor Miss Bella Brookes. All I have to do is type it up for the Gazette.”

“The edition is finalized by midnight, right? Can you make that?” Regret flooded her that he would be rushing off for work. His remark about work being too much sometimes suggested a deeper inner conflict she wanted to talk to him about. A quiet nightcap after the party seemed like the perfect opportunity for that.

Michael smiled down on her. “I’m finalizing it myself, before 1.00 a.m. For this single special occasion. I’d hate to leave this party early.”

Vicky held his gaze to determine his meaning. Then loud laughter drew her attention away from Michael. Bella Brookes leaned over to Sydney Haverton and put her gloved hand on his arm. Sydney smiled back and told her something.

Lilian glanced in their direction, alarm in her face. As Cash had just explained that Sydney was a bit of a player who hadn’t finished college and didn’t succeed in his jobs, Vicky could guess he wasn’t exactly the sort of brother Lilian wanted to show off to her friends.

I’d better intervene.

She excused herself to Michael and went over to Bella and Sydney. “Hello there. I’m sorry to intrude but I recall Lilian has a great conservatory here with beautiful tropical plants. She specifically offered to show it to you. I saw a lot of botanical gardens in the UK, and I love tropical plants. Shall we have a look together? The orchids should be especially lovely.”

Bella was interested at once. “I love orchids. I try my own hand at them from time to time. But somehow I always give them too much water and ruin them. The flowers drop off and after that, they just never blossom again. I need the secret to orchids that last.”

Sydney gestured to Lilian to come on over, and within minutes they were all in her conservatory, where Lilian launched into an excited exposition about the orchids and other rare plants that grew there.

Bella asked about special earth for the orchids, and Lilian admitted that her gardener knew everything about that. “I can ask him and let you know? Maybe we can do lunch before you leave town again?”

“That would be lovely,” Bella accepted with a smile. She used her big fan to wave cold air onto her face. Vicky had to admit it was pretty hot in the conservatory. Outside the day drew to a close, and in the deepening darkness the lanterns gave a fairy tale like atmosphere to the grounds. People were walking there, arm in arm, talking, laughing. Everybody seemed to be having fun.

As they came out into the hall again, Sydney was leading some men upstairs.

“I bet they are going to play pool.” Lilian’s disapproval showed in her face. “Sydney never liked a lot of socializing and dancing. I wish he would try though and stay in the party mood a little longer.”

Vicky spied round for Michael and saw him talking to Lisa Coombs. She was staring down at her feet, barely daring to look up at him. At the first chance she got she escaped to the outside. Vicky wondered if she felt as unhappy in her job as Marge had surmised.

Returning her attention to the other guests, Vicky accepted a glass of mineral water from a passing waiter and took a few refreshing sips. People were dancing in the big room to the left, to the tunes of a real orchestra. Vicky spotted Marge and Kevin gazing into each other’s eyes as if they were newlyweds. Michael had told her to save a dance for him, so she hoped he would come over soon. In the meantime she might take a spin with Cash. He had always been a good dancer.

She looked around for him and saw him at the other end of the room talking to a man in a gray suit—underdressed compared to the other guests. A waiter? Or some other member of the extensive staff hired to let everything run smoothly tonight?

Cash’s expression was worried, and he shook his head repeatedly. Then he raked through his hair, his well-known gesture of helplessness.

Vicky wondered what the man was asking him. It was obviously something Cash did not want to help out with. Why did he not simply refer the man to Lilian or Deke? They were the hosts of this party—although Lilian’s brother Sydney had been by her side earlier and acting like he was in charge. Apparently the Havertons all had quite domineering personalities.

Marge came up and whispered she had seen the refurbished dining room and spotted fabrics purchased through the Country Gift Shop. “I hope her friends love it and ask where she got it. Could bring us new customers. Decorating people’s homes will bring you more cash flow than just selling a few items in the store.”

“Right. I’m also thinking ahead to the festive season already. Companies like to gift something to their business relations for Christmas. Maybe we can do special British-themed sets for those?”

Vicky froze as she saw the man in the gray suit walk away. Something about the way he moved reminded her of someone.

Mr. Giverny, the nosy journalist who had tried to see Bella.

But as he had talked to Cash, she had seen his face clearly and he had not had a mustache. Had he shaved to change his appearance?

Had the mustache really been a paste-on?

Marge was saying, “Good idea. By the way, where is Bella? I haven’t seen her for some time.”

Vicky looked around. She didn’t see the flamboyant figure of the mystery author anywhere among the dancers. Or among the people walking around in the lantern light outside.

An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.

“Maybe she went back to the conservatory,” Vicky said to Marge. “She was fascinated with the orchids. I bet she wants to use them in a new book. I’ll go see if I can find her.”

Vicky went into the conservatory softly and spotted two figures inside, melted into a passionate embrace. Paul DuBree panted as he kissed the woman again and again. But it was not his blonde companion for the night. That woman had worn her blonde hair loose with a conspicuous lime fascinator. This woman wore a large hat, and the single lock of hair on her back, which escaped from her do under the hat, was clearly dark.

Lisa Coombs?

If it really was the timid assistant, she had morphed into a femme fatale.

Vicky hastily retreated. As she came back into the hall, she saw Bella come down the stairs with Sydney Haverton. Her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled. She leaned heavily on the young man’s arm, whispering something into his ear. As she spotted Vicky, she waved at her. “Delightful party. Thanks so much for taking me along.”

Vicky answered with a wide smile. It was a relief to see Bella safe and sound, having fun. Then a hand landed on her arm. Michael stood by her side. “May I have this dance?”

She looked up into his warm brown eyes and forgot all about her guest. She had wanted to dance with Michael Danning at their college dances but he had never asked her. Of course she wasn’t nineteen anymore, but the idea she’d finally have her dance made her heartbeat skip. “Yes, please.”

Still she couldn’t resist asking, “Do you know someone called Giverny, working for a Haven Herald?”

“No. I don’t think there is a Haven Herald around these parts. Then again I don’t know each and every publication. It could be a weekly or monthly thing. Or a special summer magazine for the tourists maybe. How come?”

“Never mind.” She had promised Marge no more business tonight. “Let’s dance.”

Michael led her into the room where the orchestra was playing and put his arm around her waist. They fell into step with one another, following the slow enchanting rhythm of the music. They flew around the room, the figures of the people around them just a blur of colors.

Vicky closed her eyes a moment and let the music carry her. This dance should last forever. This perfect night of being with friends, feeling alive and happy and carefree. In a place she didn’t want to leave again.

The next morning Vicky awoke to the sound of someone banging on something. Her head seemed to bang along. She turned over under her duvet and tried to ignore the noise. She needed sleep.

Then she realized it was banging at the door of her cottage. She opened an eye and spied for the alarm clock.

Seven-thirty?

Who was asking for her attention at this insanely early hour?

Her store didn’t open till ten on Saturdays so she had hoped to be able to sleep in. After the party last night her head was a little fuzzy and her feet sore from the dancing in high heels. There had been so much dancing, with Michael and with Cash, even with Sydney Haverton who had turned out to be a good dancer who could make her laugh too.

It had been well after one o’clock when they had left the party. Michael had been late for his input at the paper and had dropped her off at the cottage with a quick good-bye, promising they’d catch up on his Copenhagen trip later.

Vicky had gone in and had done a little solo dancing in her hallway, moving around with her eyes closed and her head full of the intoxicating music. Then she had put the rose from the corsage in water, hoping it would last a day or two to look at.

The banging continued, and Vicky crawled out of bed, put on her soft pink dressing gown and low slippers, and staggered to her front door. She pulled it open and blinked at…

Lilian?

Vicky’s eyes opened wide. The fuzziness cleared with the shock of this sudden sight.

What on earth was posh Lilian Haverton Rowland doing at Vicky’s cottage early in the morning, looking like she hadn’t slept all night?

“I’m sorry,” Lilian said, her voice wobbly. “I didn’t mean to drag you out of bed. But I need your help. Sydney is gone and…” She burst into tears.

She said something more about somebody, but Vicky couldn’t make any sense of it. She took the woman’s arm and pulled her in, directed her into the kitchen and planted her on a chair. She felt a little self-conscious in her dressing gown, but she didn’t dare leave Lilian alone now that she was so upset and crying.

“We need a hot drink.” She filled her kettle with water for tea. “Calm down now and tell me all about it. You said that somebody was…”

“There is some body in my conservatory,” Lilian said between gasps. “It’s a man. He bled all over my tiles.”


Chapter Five (#ulink_c0e362ee-7c0d-549f-b793-03702cb9eba9)

Vicky turned to her, the kettle spilling water over the floor and her bare feet in her slippers. She gasped under the cold sensation. “Some body as in some dead body? A dead man in your conservatory?”

“Yes. And Sydney is nowhere to be found.” Lilian stared at her with wide eyes. “I wanted to call the police right after my find, but then I thought that it might look bad for Sydney and…”

Vicky didn’t follow. “Why would it look bad for your brother? Just because he is missing?”

“Uh…” Lilian stared down at her hands.

Vicky straightened up. She sensed there was more to it than Lilian was letting on. “If you want my help, you have to tell me everything. Who is this dead man? Was he a guest at the party? A friend of yours? You think that maybe he quarreled with your brother and…”

“No,” Lilian said in a horrified tone, “he was no guest. And certainly no friend. He merely worked for us. Deke hired him. From a reputable security company he said, which caters to all the stars. But I guess he was wrong. It seems that…Sydney caught him during the evening taking photographs of guests. Like some lurid tabloid reporter! Knowing how much harm something like that can do, Sydney was angry about it, and they got into an argument. Sydney forcefully took his camera away from him, and then the guy threatened Sydney. My brother has quite a temper so he said that he’d…” Lilian swallowed.

“He threatened him in return?” Vicky supplied.

Lilian nodded. “So when I saw him lying there dead…”

Vicky’s thoughts raced. “You said there was blood on the tiles. Do you have any idea how he died?”

“Struck down.” Lilian stared ahead. “I have this marble pedestal on which to put flower pots. It’s solid marble, rather heavy. It lay on the floor. So I suppose that was used to deal the victim a hard blow to the head.”

Vicky nodded. “Sounds quite probable. An impromptu weapon, it seems. That could indicate it was a fight gone wrong.”

“Which implicates Sydney! Where can he be?” Lilian chewed on her lip. “I was scared out of my mind alone with the dead man.”

Vicky asked, “What about Deke?”

Lilian waved an impatient hand. “He took sleeping pills last night. I couldn’t wake him. He’s never of any use to me when I need him.”

She looked up at Vicky. “A dead man in my house! Do you have any idea what my friends will say?”

Vicky leaned against the sink, the kettle still in her hand. A murder most likely committed during the party. People walking about. Lots of people. Lots of possible suspects. This wouldn’t be easy.

“You have to call Cash,” she said with determination in her voice. “He has to secure the area and all traces that he can find. You touched or changed nothing?”

“No, I was scared to death. I didn’t look too closely. I’m…not even sure he was dead now that I think about it. He lay very still, and there was blood, so I suppose he was, but…”

Vicky put down the kettle on the sink with a resolute bang. “We’re going back together. We have to make sure he is dead. Then we will call the police and I’ll stay with you during the questioning. We’ll see if we can figure out why this guy might have been killed at your party.”

Lilian got up from the chair, her hands shaking. “This is a nightmare,” she whispered, “especially if my brother gets implicated.”

As soon as Vicky walked into the conservatory, she was certain the man was dead. The body lay in a strange position, and nobody who was injured would stay lying like that. He would have tried to move, turn over, grab at something. Besides, there was the blood. She didn’t want to go too close and stepped back. “We can call Cash now. I’m not going anywhere near that body. I don’t want new trouble with evidence.”

During the earlier murder investigation she had participated in, the idea that evidence had been touched or changed had caused them endless trouble, even almost allowing the killer to get away scot-free. She was not making that same mistake again.

Lilian nodded, and they returned to the living room where Lilian called Cash. He first thought it was a joke, because it really didn’t seem likely a dead body could have ended up in his sister-in-law’s home. But then as he realized Lilian meant it, he told her to keep calm and he’d be there soon.

Cash arrived in a rush, certainly having broken the speed limit, and hugged his sister-in-law.

Vicky knew they were not close because Lilian was too posh and too busy with appearances and reputation for Cash’s liking. But right now he had forgotten all about that and just wanted to help her and comfort her. Vicky liked him all the better for it.

Cash focused on Vicky and frowned. Lilian explained she had turned to Vicky first thing when she had found the body. “I thought she could help. She knows something about solving murders.”

Cash frowned even deeper as if he disliked the statement, and Vicky hastened to say she hadn’t touched anything. “I didn’t even get near the body. It seemed obvious he was dead. Had he been merely wounded, he would have tried to attract attention, get help.”

Cash nodded. “Seems likely.”

Together they went to the conservatory, and Cash approached the body and touched it. “He’s dead all right. Has been for hours. The body is cold and stiff. I’ll have to wait for a report to know the exact time of death. What’s this?”

He leaned over by the dead man’s shoulder. “It looks like a piece of something painted. A picture of a little house and bridge, black on white with some red. And a bit of feather stuck to it. Could be from a peacock, for all I know.”

Vicky froze. She looked at Lilian. “Bella had a fan with her last night, painted silk with peacock feathers.”

Lilian looked shocked as well. “She was here with us to look at my orchids. Maybe she lost a bit of the fan then?”

Vicky shook her head. “She used it to cool her face, I saw it well. It was in one piece when we left to go back to the hall. It must have gotten damaged later in the night.”

She hesitated and added softly, “I suppose it takes some force to break off a piece like that?”

“You can bet on that.” Cash exhaled heavily. “That doesn’t look too good for your guest author.”

He got up from beside the body and came over to where Vicky and Lilian were standing at a safe distance. “You know where she is staying?”

“Yes, in the apartment over my store.”




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