Dead to Begin With. Vivian Conroy

      “A sensation is more like it, and that’s exactly what they want.” Claire crossed her arms over her chest, her chin up in a challenging gesture.

      “They?” Vicky queried. She studied the large photograph again. “Is Diane doing this for her parents? I suppose it doesn’t get any easier to live with when people get older, have time on their hands to think about it.”

      She searched the facial expression, the eyes, of the woman in the photograph as if those could give away the reasons for this rather desperate action. After all, after so long a time all evidence, if there had been any, had to be gone.

      Did Diane really think people would remember something? That someone would suddenly come forward with new information to support her request to reopen the case?

      Scanning the article to look for the vital paragraph on what kind of new information was wanted, Vicky’s gaze descended on the byline.

       Interview by Michael Danning.

      Another shock went through her, worse almost than the one before. “Michael Danning wrote this article?” Had he visited Diane in Europe?

      No, this picture was taken in Glen Cove. Vicky recognized the iconic lighthouse in the background.

      Claire huffed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know he was back in town.”

      “Michael back in town? Here in Glen Cove? Why would he come back here when…”

      “When we all know he abducted and killed Celine.” Claire leaned back on her heels. Her prim nod underlined her harsh words.

      Vicky shuddered at the thought such talk would get around town. “Mom, you can’t call someone an abductor or a killer before he is actually convicted. And even then people do get convicted for crimes they didn’t commit.”

      Vicky clutched the paper. Michael’s fate if he had ever been forced to go to trial had been on her mind every now and then over the years. When a story hit the news about someone getting accused of a crime and trying to clear his or her name. Or when a story hit about someone having spent time in jail and then the true culprit getting arrested, based on DNA evidence for instance. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be locked up and know you were innocent but had no way of ever proving it.

      She said with difficulty, “A lot of people worked hard at the time to make sure Michael got smeared, but there was never enough evidence to take the case to trial.”

      “Because there was no body found.” Claire held her gaze. “That was Danning’s smartest move. They couldn’t prove murder, as they could never establish Celine did die. But how could she still be alive? Do you believe a daughter is so heartless she would never let her parents know what happened to her? That she is just living her life someplace not caring for how her own family feels?”

      Vicky pursed her lips. It didn’t seem likely.

      Claire said, “You only came back here to see Michael Danning again. I knew from the moment you told me about your return.”

      Vicky tried to scoff. “I had no idea he was out here. You sure didn’t tell me, and who else would have? How long has he been here anyway? He and Diane? All those times we talked on the phone or you wrote to me, and not a word about either of them.”

      “Diane hasn’t been here long,” Claire protested.

      “That’s not the point,” Vicky said. “You even called me to tell me a neighbor painted his garden gate yellow.”

      “Canary yellow. Quite hard on the eyes.”

      “Mom! Celine’s disappearance is the biggest thing that ever happened in Glen Cove. Why would your friends not talk about it? Pam just called to say Roberts is selling his place. She must also have called to tell you about Michael’s return, Diane’s, and this whole thing about the disappearance case being reopened, right?” Vicky tapped on the paper’s headline. “You knew and yet you never mentioned it to me.”

      Anger rushed through her, pushing her happy expectations for her gift shop away. How could her mother have stayed silent about something as important as this?

      “Reopening the case, hah!” Claire grimaced. “That’s just what Michael Danning is printing in that paper of his. It’s what the both of them want, not what will happen.”

      Vicky tilted her head. Her mother’s tone intrigued her. “How can you be so sure?”

      Claire marched to the gate. “They should have left it alone. Everybody had forgotten about it. We don’t want it all dragged up again.”

      She waved a hand in the air. “You were questioned by the police at the time. My only daughter, questioned by the police.” The indignation was thick in her voice like it had been a personal slight she couldn’t forget.

      “Everybody in college was questioned,” Vicky protested. “It had nothing to do with me personally. They were just trying to find clues to that mystery man Celine was allegedly meeting. But nobody had ever seen him or could give a clear description of him.”

      “Because he doesn’t exist. He was just some fabrication of Danning’s to shift the blame. He killed Celine.”

      “You don’t know that so please stop saying it.”

      Claire continued as if she had not heard Vicky’s protestations, “Now that you have left London behind and come to live here for good, you will go work at the Gazette. What else would you do with your time? You’re a reporter, a good one; you love your work. You’re not going to sit on your hands. You’re not going to Monday afternoon bingo or whatever else they think up around here for people who have nothing to do all day long.”Claire’s hand tightened on the gate. “You’re young and ambitious. You can’t fool me that you suddenly want to do something else, outside of the reporting world. No, this was all a setup from the start. You’re on your way now to the Gazette’s building, to see Michael Danning about freelance assignments. Or maybe even about a part-time job there? You have enough experience; he might take you on for that. But I’m telling you it’s a bad idea. That paper is dead, has been for ages. And with him in charge, people won’t touch it for sure. No matter what he comes up with for a cheap headline. They all know about him.”

      Claire pulled back her narrow shoulders in her lilac cardigan. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to explain to my friends that my daughter is going to work for that man.”

      So that was why her mother had been so reluctant to accept her homecoming as good news. Not only because she was afraid of a retirement home, but also because she had suspected Vicky wanted to work with Michael Danning. The Houdini among bachelors as Claire had called him, before Celine had vanished. After that, Claire had been convinced Michael was to blame. He was the last person alive she wanted associated with her only daughter.

      Cheerful chimes wafted over to them on the breeze. The church tower’s melody for the quarter of an hour. A quarter to ten.

      Vicky started, dropping the paper in the grass. It was a good ten-minute walk, and she didn’t want to arrive in a sweat from rushing. If only she had brought her bike to her mother’s. But she had figured it would be nice to walk into town, the old route she had taken countless times, and see if much had changed. It had seemed nostalgic and fun. Right now, however, she was shaken to the core by the news of Michael’s return and the possibility the old disappearance case would be reopened.

      Taking a deep breath, she said, “I have to go. And no, not to see Michael Danning. You kept that hidden from me very cleverly. Too bad really. If I had known Michael was back in town and this whole thing was about to unfold…I might have decided to stay away until it was over.”

Chapter Two

      Vicky stepped out of the garden gate, Claire hot on her heels with the dogs.

      “How