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,