few hairs, and hurried after Michael. Her footfalls crunched on the dirty gravel.
Water from last night’s rain had pooled underneath it and sloshed up around her shoes. It sent the scent of wet earth and rotting leaves into her nose.
At the back of the house a patch of unkempt grass lay full of old stuff. Lawn mower parts, decaying logs that would never catch fire anymore, rusted chainsaw blades and rolls of barbed wire. Vicky wondered if Mortimer’s household had deteriorated after his wife had left him or whether he had always been so messy and Gwenda had had her reasons to complain. She whispered to Michael, “Doesn’t that guy notice clutter?”
Michael looked in through the kitchen window beside the door. “I don’t see him,” he whispered. “But the door is open so let’s go in.”
He pulled open the screen door, careful not to jog the old cowbell that hung on it. Then he moved the back door, which opened with a creak.
In the kitchen the stench of burned potatoes was strong on the air. Michael went to the stove and looked. “Ugh.” He turned off the stove, lifted a black frying pan and deposited it in the sink, then turned open the tap. The water hissed as it ran down onto the hot metal. “Doubt this will help any for the pan. The contents are burned to a crisp like Mortimer forgot all about his dinner. He’s actually lucky the whole thing didn’t catch fire. Could have.”
“So Mortimer is probably not even here,” Vicky said. Were they breaking and entering now? Her unfinished fireplace suddenly didn’t seem to be worth the fuss.
Cuckoo!
Vicky yelped as the little colorful bird popped out of the wooden clock on the far wall. She exhaled and pushed a hand to her chest. “Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
The blood droned in her ears, and she had trouble breathing. “Why don’t we just leave again? He’s obviously not here right now. I will call him again later tonight or tomorrow morning.”
“We didn’t drive out here for nothing. Just a short talk and then we can have that nice dinner together. Come on.”
Michael squeezed her arm a moment, then pushed on and walked to the steps that led into the living room. “Mortimer? Hello? Michael Danning here, with Vicky Simmons. Could we have a talk about your work at her store?”
He fell silent. Vicky, who had followed him quickly, came up so fast he couldn’t stop her anymore. He did turn and grab her arms, but she had already seen something past him.
Mortimer on the ground. Face down. In a very unnatural position.
“Don’t look,” Michael said urgently. “I think he is dead.”
“Dead?” Vicky echoed. “How come?”
“I think somebody hit him over the head with something heavy,” Michael said. “He has a bad wound on the left temple.”
Vicky swallowed. “Check to see if he is only unconscious. If he’s still alive, we have to call—”
“I doubt it,” Michael cut in. “But I’ll look anyway. You get back into the kitchen, all right?”
Vicky was glad to obey. Her hands were shaking, and she wanted to sit down, but didn’t dare. If Mortimer was dead, this was a crime scene. They shouldn’t touch anything.
She hoped with all of her heart Mortimer was still alive and could be saved. He might have been a pain at times, but he was also a member of their community. Someone who had been alive and working in her store but hours ago. His death would be unreal.
And terrifying. This was no accident. Someone had struck him down. Intending to hurt and possibly outright kill him. Not even twenty-four hours after the fire at Perkins’ place. What was going on here?
Michael was back with her in a minute. “He is dead. The body is already cooling. Judging by those potatoes left on the stove he was killed when he was about to have dinner. Around six.”
“You think…” Vicky cleared her throat. “Can’t it have been an accident, a fall off those steps, or something?”
“No, somebody struck him down. Somebody strong, because it has been quite a blow.” Michael inhaled slowly. “Could have been on impulse, in a flare of anger.”
He held out a hand. In it was a hundred-dollar bill. “I found this on the floor, practically underneath the body. It could suggest the argument was about money.”
“You shouldn’t have touched that,” Vicky said. She reached into her purse. “I’ll call the police. In the meantime don’t touch anything else.”
“No.” Michael grabbed her wrist. “Wait with that call.”
“Wait? Why?”
Michael held her gaze. “Who do you think did this?”
“I have no idea. Gwenda maybe? She was always harassing Mortimer about not getting enough alimony. Even last night at the fire she was jumping him first thing as he arrived. Mortimer told Marge and me that as soon as he is employed, she wants a cut of what he earns. But he wasn’t willing to give her another dime and he said so. He looked ready to go after her and run her down. And she even threatened him in front of us. Said something about Mortimer having to pay her, the easy or the hard way. What if she came out here to continue that discussion and things got out of hand?”
Michael shook his head. “Gwenda is a good deal shorter and lighter than Mortimer. I wonder if she could have administered that blow to the head. I think if she did it would have lacked impact and wouldn’t have been lethal.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe if Mortimer was squatting.”
“Squatting?”
“To pick up something, like this hundred-dollar bill.”
Vicky wriggled her wrist free. “Either way, we have to call the police. This is a crime scene.” She pulled her phone out and punched in the emergency number. “You have to put that bill where you found it. Or no, just explain you picked it up because you were in shock. They might find your fingerprints on it later and think something of it.”
Some fine mess this was. She was going to be questioned by the police, again. This time not because she happened to be in college with a girl gone missing, but because she had found a dead body! Claire would be livid.
The phone was answered, and Vicky explained about the dead body in Mortimer Gill’s home. Her voice trembled, and she hoped she didn’t sound more shook-up than would be normal under the circumstances. After all, she had hardly known Mortimer. It was her knowledge of his interest in the old police files and his suggestive remarks this morning that made her so nervous about what it all meant. The possible link with Celine’s disappearance. The thought that someone local was covering up his traces.
“Please remain on the spot,” a crisp voice said. “A police car will come out to you at once.” The line went dead.
Michael stood looking at the floor with a frown. “I don’t believe for one moment Gwenda killed Mortimer. And it’s far too coincidental we have a fire the one night and a murder the next. There has to be a relation between the two. If only Cash had been forthcoming with information on whether it was arson.”
“You can ask him when he comes out here,” Vicky said. “Considering this is a murder, he will probably not leave this to a deputy, but come out in person.”
Michael ignored her remark and walked over to the sideboard where Mortimer’s tool chest stood. He picked up two gloves from it.
“What are you doing?” Vicky asked. “I told you not to touch anything else.”
“I’m going to search the place.”
“What?” Her heart was already galloping, and this