Written into the Grave. Vivian Conroy

hitched a brow at her tone and expression, but turned to the store’s door.

      At that moment a voice rang out on the other side of the street. “I’m not letting them lie here on offer. It’s shameful!” Mrs. Jones of Jones General Store plucked the Gazettes from their display despite protestations from her husband who was standing next to her and trying to pull the newspapers from her grasp. To put them back in place it seemed.

      “What are they arguing about?” Marge asked with a hitched brow.

      They could hear Mrs. Jones screech, “I’ll not let an advertisement for murder lie around my store.”

      “Did she say murder?” Marge asked, even more surprised.

      Vicky patted her shoulder to usher her onward to the store’s door. “Inside, and we’ll tell you all about it.”

      Marge froze and glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me we’ve had another murder in Glen Cove. It can’t be so soon after the others.”

      Vicky nodded at the store’s door. “Inside. Please.”

      They went in and closed the door. Marge leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Who’s dead?”

      “Archibald Goodridge. Shot while he was jogging along the cliffs.”

      Marge grimaced. “Robbery? I didn’t know him well, but I did see once that he had this expensive gold watch on him and gold cuff links.”

      “Probably not while jogging,” Vicky said. “Besides, the impact of the bullets made him fall down the cliffs so the killer would have had to clamber down to get anything off him.”

      Marge grimaced even more. “The body must have been … How do you know this?”

      “I hit on the crime scene while I was walking Mr. Pug and Coco.”

      “Did you see … Oh, Vicky, I’m so sorry for you.” Marge reached out to her to hug her.

      Vicky smiled at her friend in reassurance. “I didn’t see anything gruesome fortunately. The police were already there. Tipped off by someone walking his dog, I heard. Cash told me a thing or two. And … I also knew details. From the Gazette.”

      “The Gazette?” Marge echoed. “You’ve lost me. How would you know details of a murder from a newspaper that you read before you went for the walk with Mr. Pug and Coco?”

      “Yes. But the piece in the Gazette described the murder. In details that couldn’t be mistaken.”

      Marge stared. “What? So that’s why Mrs. Jones doesn’t want it to stay on offer. Because as she puts it, it advertises murder. But why on earth would Michael Danning write about a murder that was still to happen?”

      “Not Michael,” Vicky said. “Trevor Jenkins. His entry in your writing group serial described the murder exactly as it happened in real life.”

      Marge stared at her, mouth open. “That can’t be.”

      “Yes. I read the piece to my mother when I was at her home to get the dogs for our morning walk. I was kind of struck by the details and the raw emotion in the piece. Then when I met Cash and heard about the victim—what he wore, what he had been doing there, how it had happened, with two gunshot wounds to the chest …”

      “And you told Cash about the newspaper piece?” Marge asked at once.

      “Yes, I had to. Cash even has Trevor at the station right now.” Vicky checked her watch. “I bet Cash has never had a crime where the presumed culprit was under lock and key so soon after the discovery of the crime.”

      Marge shook her head. “There must be some kind of mistake. Trevor is a perfectly nice guy. He came to our home, played with the boys. He helped baking pizza. He’s not a murderer. I’m going to the police station right now. Trevor needs a lawyer.”

      “Marge …” Vicky caught her friend’s arm. “Before you rush in and start defending Trevor, you should know he might have had a motive for the murder.”

      “A motive? What then?”

      Vicky told her everything that had happened during her visit to the Goodridge home, ending with the mailman’s remark about Kaylee and her father having a bad fallout after which Kaylee had left the house. “Gunhild said that Trevor worshiped Kaylee and Goodridge couldn’t stand that. Maybe he talked to Trevor about it, told him to stay away from his daughter? Trevor lashed out at Cash the second he felt intimidated. Maybe he has a violent streak he can’t control?”

      Marge had listened without interjecting, her brows drawing together in concentration. “I do know Trevor mentioned Kaylee didn’t have it easy because her father expected a lot of her. I think he wanted her to take an interest in his business, maybe come work there when she had her college degree? From Trevor I got the impression Kaylee wanted to do other things. Something more creative like modeling. Trevor thought she had talent and wanted to support her.”

      Ms. Tennings made a gesture. “There you go. Motive. With her father out of the way, Kaylee could pursue her modeling dream.”

      Marge leaned back on her heels. “I’m not buying into it. Yes, Trevor might have a temper but does that fit with the way in which this murder was set up, with the piece in the paper and all?”

      Vicky and Ms. Tennings looked at each other.

      Marge continued, “Maybe it was the real killer’s intention to create a scenario in which a quick arrest was inevitable and the police would be fully focused on the wrong suspect. The gun could have been put in the shed by anybody. I don’t suppose that the shed door is locked?”

      Vicky shook her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t see a lock on the door.”

      Ms. Tennings asked, “And where did the gun come from in the first place? Did Goodridge own a gun?”

      “No idea. Gunhild didn’t mention that her husband owned a gun.”

      “She was upset,” Ms. Tennings said. “She might not have thought about it. But it would be poignant if Goodridge was shot with his own gun. Cash will have to find out as soon as possible.”