Gwenda had said. She had not been talking about a normal job she wanted money off, but about a scam.
Marge was already asking Mortimer if he could do the fireplace and start on it the next morning. Mortimer suddenly seemed reluctant to accept a job in the store right under the apartment of his ex. “She’s bound to see me and come after me again.”
Vicky was surprised that he had first been pressing her to hand him the job and was now eager to avoid it. Did he feel like he didn’t need to work anymore because he had money coming from this scam Gwenda had just referred to?
“Nonsense, Gwenda is never out of bed before nine,” Marge said encouragingly. “If you can be there at seven-thirty, you won’t run into her.”
“You always think I have to rise early and work all day to make a living. But you will see something else. Soon.” Mortimer sounded smug.
“Sure,” Marge said unperturbed, “Seven-thirty it is then. And make sure you’re done breaking around noon. Kevin is coming in to paint and he can’t work in a dusty room.”
“All right then,” Mortimer agreed and grinned at Vicky. There was a gleam in his deep-set eyes. “I knew that you’d go with me eventually. Everybody has to.” He got into his van and dragged the door shut with a bang. The engine broke into life.
Vicky glanced back at Cash, who had taken off his hat and was raking a hand through his hair as he spoke with the firefighters’ commander. He always did that when he was at a loss what to do next.
Judging by his expression he was hearing something he didn’t like.
The next morning Vicky was curious how the Glen Cove Gazette would cover the fire, but having promised Mortimer to be at the store around seven-thirty, to avoid a run-in with Gwenda, she couldn’t wait for the Gazette to be delivered to her cottage.
There were only two or three newspaper boys active in Glen Cove and the time at which they delivered the paper varied widely with their chosen route for the day. She’d have to go out and buy something at Jones General later that day to sneak a peek at the newspapers sold there.
Upon her arrival at the store Mortimer was already there, with red-rimmed eyes and an unshaven chin as if he had just rolled out of bed and into his van. He complained about having had no breakfast at all, and Vicky felt obliged to go over to the baker’s, the only one open at this early hour, to get Mortimer something to eat.
The bakery was filled with warmth from the ovens in the back and the sweetness of fresh muffins. On the counter the jars of honey sat with their cute handmade labels of buzzing bees. The friendly baker’s wife told Vicky that it was a design of their granddaughter who studied arts in Boston and added in the same breath that Perkins had broken off his fishing trip and had hurried back home early that morning. “He is making a big fuss about the team that are going over his things.”
“Team?” Vicky asked in surprise.
“Yes, several men looking for traces it was lit,” the baker’s wife said with wide eyes. “At least I suppose that is what they are looking for. They seem to think somebody set fire to that barn.”
The baker appeared out of the back for a moment with his hands full of flour. “For the life of me I wouldn’t know why. People usually set fire to their home to get insurance money. But this barn was worth nothing. And the stuff in it…”
He shook his head. “Now me, I’m just glad it was not living things in there, like chickens. Or bees. I’ve had enough trouble with mine lately. Mysterious disease killing off dozens. Has to be either pesticides or parasites.”
He sighed sadly. “The two P’s—they are the bane of the beekeeper’s existence.”
Vicky expressed her regret about the situation, promised to direct her customers to his store for the Keep The Bees Buzzzy bread to support him and left with four muffins, still warm, in a paper bag.
Mortimer accepted the biggest two, one apple-cinnamon, the other double chocolate, and devoured them, blowing crumbs all around him as he mumbled how delicious they were.
Curious for his response to the appearance of a team looking for evidence of arson, Vicky shared that Perkins was back in town and that his barn was allegedly lit.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Mortimer mumbled. He swallowed and continued, more audibly, “Must have been about those old police files. Nothing else of value in that barn, I reckon.”
Vicky eyed him sharply. “You mean that the barn was set on fire deliberately to destroy those old police files?”
Mortimer wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The smug smile of the night before was back on his face. “Of course. I even bet whoever lit it now thinks all the evidence is gone and he can’t be touched no more.”
His smile intensified as if he knew better.
Vicky stared at him. “How can you be so sure?”
Mortimer ignored the question and pulled out his measuring tape. He started for the wall where the fireplace was hidden. “I’d better get cracking if you want me done breaking by lunchtime.”
Not a word of thanks for the muffins. But maybe she should be grateful he wanted to get started. They were on a rather tight schedule.
As Mortimer tapped on the wall to search for the fireplace, Vicky spied out of the window and saw the boy who delivered the Glen Cove Gazettes to the general store to be sold there. He simply left the bundle of them, secured with string, in front of the store door. In a place like Glen Cove nobody would get it into his head to go over and take one without paying for it.
Vicky wanted a look at the Gazette’s coverage of the fire and perhaps to investigate what was going on at Perkins’ place, with that team looking for traces of arson.
“You know,” she said to Mortimer, “I have some errands to run. I could be gone a while. Do you think you can manage without me?”
“I’ll turn the key in the lock behind you.” Mortimer waved a hand. “As long as Gwenda can’t get to me, I’ll be fine.”
Vicky went out and crossed to the general store, leaned over the bundle to read the item under the big headline: Retired Sheriff’s Barn Reduced to Ashes.
It was a nice factual account about a neighbor spotting smoke around eight-thirty and notifying the firefighters who had been on the scene within ten minutes. Damage to other properties had been prevented. No people or animals had been injured. Everybody was complimentary to each other, like you’d expect in a small town where the firefighters were all somebody’s son, cousin or friend.
Not a hint it could have been arson.
That was weird as the team going through the rubble caused immediate rumors. Michael had even demanded such a team would be pulled in. Why had he then chosen such a factual approach in the paper?
To give the arsonist a false sense of security and then lure him into a trap?
If there was a connection with Celine’s disappearance, they could be dealing with a cold-blooded criminal who had escaped justice all those years. A dangerous opponent.
Nibbling on a muffin, Vicky walked out to the scene of the fire. People in protective clothing were going over the remains, carefully picking their way through the rubble. Just as Vicky was approaching, one man was showing something to another on the palm of his hand. She tried to see what it was, but it was way too small. It seemed to be metal or glass as it reflected the sunlight.
She spotted Perkins standing a few yards away, looking grim. He hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him. Maybe just gained a few pounds around the waist.
She went over to say she was sorry for the fire.
Perkins