her mind.” He tapped his temple. “So instead of taking a nice vacation or something, and thinking it over for herself, Diane decided she has to show up here again. She’s back for the summer, intending to talk to all the people involved back then, in the investigation. Police officers, witnesses, friends. She’s walking around with a tape recorder, actually taping conversations. She says it’s just for closure and she’ll do nothing with the material she collects. Like write a book about it or something? But that big spread in the paper tells me a different story. She does want something.”
Vicky watched the tension flicker over Cash’s features. Knowing he was sheriff now, responsible for peace and quiet in Glen Cove, she could understand his resentment.
“Nobody can forbid her to do it of course,” Cash continued, “and I’ve heard there are actually people who enjoy talking about it, coming up with bizarre details they never shared with the police back then. To them it’s just something interesting, out of the ordinary. But…among other people there’s a feeling that it might do a lot of damage If not to Diane, then to the others who were intimately involved.”
Vicky exhaled slowly. She saw the risks as well. Had Michael and Diane understood the full impact of what they were doing? Also to each other? For Michael, seeing Diane, who was Celine’s mirror image, might bring back a whole lot of unwanted memories. Frustration and anger he might have believed to be long forgotten.
She said slowly, “Diane must believe she has something to go on. Else she would not have risked this.”
Cash nodded. “Well, you’d start thinking that. More than one person asked me recently if there were old police files on Celine’s disappearance they could see. I told them they had to talk to Perkins about it. He took some old stuff with him, when he retired, to keep as his private archive in his barn. Not sure if they did turn to Perkins, and if they did, how Perkins responded to it. Knowing him, he won’t want any interference with his old files.”
“And who wanted to see those old police files?” Vicky asked. Her heart was pounding so fast she could barely breathe.
“Michael Danning of course,” Cash said. “And Mortimer Gill. Gwenda’s ex-husband.”
Cash left Vicky and Marge soon after saying he had things to do. Marge checked her watch and exclaimed she had to run to pick up her kids from a friend. “Call me tonight to discuss things some more,” she called as she rushed off.
Vicky waved in agreement and finished the last draft of her now cold coffee. Her fingers still sticky from the cinnamon rolls, she returned to the store and spent the afternoon on her knees working on the floorboards. Smoothing, removing nails, filling up cracks and rubbing out stains. It started to look half decent, but her back felt broken and her stomach protested that a banana on the go did not really count as lunch. The fridge at her cottage, however, was half empty, and Vicky concluded her mother’s place was the better bet for a hot meal.
At Claire’s she found some great-looking lasagna and put it in the oven, set the table and selected some wine, then took Mr. Pug and Coco for a walk on the beach to ease her sore muscles. That was something she had missed in London: the wide desertedness of the beach, the sounds of the ocean, the scent of the salty air. There had been the Thames of course to walk along. At night with lights everywhere it had been very idyllic. But it hadn’t been the sea. Having been born in a coastal town, Vicky needed her regular encounters with the sea. Especially when it was incoming tide and the waves rolled to the sand with huge foaming white heads, crashing and breaking.
Claire always said not to take Mr. Pug and Coco to the beach. According to her, their fur got dirty from the sand in the air and they couldn’t walk up all those steps leading to the boulevard.
But Vicky believed the dogs enjoyed the beach as much as she did and took them anyway. She clambered down via a steep sandy path close to Claire’s home, carrying Mr. Pug, who was a bit fussy. Coco just ran down ahead of her, barking like crazy.
There were light clouds in the air but nothing suggesting bad weather, and Vicky unbuttoned her coat to let the wind play with it. Walking with the strong gusts in her face, picking up some shells here and there, she could forget about the headaches of all the repairs that still had to be done and focus on what she was happy and grateful about. Having leased the store, having connected with Marge. She had some great ideas for the store, and her love of all things British caused an instant connection between them. Maybe Claire’s idea of hiring Marge as an assistant had been a great suggestion after all. Then Vicky need not always be in the store herself. She had to talk it over during the call later tonight.
Vicky spread her arms and inhaled the salty air with relish. Things were coming together nicely.
Except for one thing.
A frown formed over her eyes. She really had to call Mortimer Gill and ask if he could start on the fireplace early tomorrow morning. Now that Marge had suggested involving him in the grand opening it made sense to use him as a mason as well. If Mortimer could really restore the old fireplace in a single day as he had claimed, his price for the job was not bad, and she could always squeeze him to give a small discount. Like five percent?
But something about the man still bugged her.
Mortimer’s interest in those old police files on Celine’s disappearance.
What could he possibly want with those? As far as Vicky could recall, Mortimer hadn’t been involved back then. Not as a witness or as a suspect. Why would he suddenly feel the need to look into it? Had Diane’s reappearance in town convinced him there was something to be found? For gain?
Michael’s mention of Mortimer’s little business in spare car parts suggested that already as a teen he had figured out how to make easy money. His current tendency to overcharge underlined he was still the ‘in for a quick score’ type.
What if Mortimer Gill intended to find some bomb in the old police reports that he could then drop on Glen Cove?
Once the lid was lifted, nobody knew what would come out. Vicky had lived in small towns long enough to know how rumors could get out of control, even out of the control of the one who had started it all. Like wildfire, they consumed everything in their way.
Loud barking tore Vicky from her worried contemplation. A couple of yards ahead of her Mr. Pug was trying to defend Coco from a much bigger dog who nuzzled her so wildly she almost fell over.
“Hey! Stop that!” Vicky broke into a run. Coco was terrified of larger dogs especially if they stood way over her. If she got hurt, Mom would never forgive her!
“Hey! You big lump!” Vicky ran up to the dogs and grabbed the German shepherd by his collar to drag him away. The dog looked up at her with a sort of surprise in his friendly face. He wagged his big bushy tail and even wriggled his head round to lick her hand.
“OK,” Vicky panted, “so you’re a good boy. And you only meant to say hello. But don’t fall all over Coco. She’s way too small to be your playmate.”
Not to mention what flying sand would do to her fur. Coco didn’t like to be bathed and last time Claire and Vicky had tried to coax the little princess into the tub, it had taken them an hour to clean up all the water and soap in the bathroom and change their own soiled clothes. It was surprising how strong a small dog could be.
“Excuse me, but that’s my dog.” The voice was cool and a bit haughty.
Vicky turned to the woman who wore an expensive sweatshirt over cargo pants. Her long blond hair fluttered loose on the breeze. Vicky held her breath. Even after so many years the likeness was stunning. Almost eerie.
“Celine,” she said, then could have kicked herself. “I mean, Diane. Ms. Dobbs. Or did you take your husband’s name?”
She realized she was starting to ramble and released the German shepherd, who ran off to snap at the waves. Coco pushed herself against