Dead to Begin With. Vivian Conroy

put her hand on Michael’s arm. “I saw Diane’s story in the paper today. I was kind of surprised by her visit to town. I thought she was settled in Europe.”

      Michael nodded. “She is, with her family. But she’s back in town for the summer. Alone.”

      There was a strange tone to his voice as if he didn’t like it. Vicky frowned. “Did you ask her to come out here?”

      “Of course not. It’s a terrible idea.”

      Vicky was stunned. “But…you did print her story. You must have realized how it will stir things up.”

      Glancing past Michael, Vicky saw the wife of the general store owner peeking at them around her postcard display. While pretending to rearrange something, she was keeping an eye on everything that happened in the street. Most gossip that traveled along the Glen Cove grapevine originated at Jones General Store.

      Vicky couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Jones had known, at the time, if Celine was seeing another man than Michael. If anybody in town had known, it would have been her.

      Had the police ever asked her?

      Would it be in those old files that former Sheriff Perkins had?

      “Are you coming?” Everett Baker’s voice demanded from the door.

      Vicky shook herself. “Sorry, Michael, I have to go in.” From Claire’s disclosures she knew that Everett Baker had no time or patience for people who wanted to see a property ten times and then decided that the living room windows were too small for their liking anyway. He expected people to judge his objects as he did: by their obvious potential for an intended purpose.

      That was OK with Vicky. She knew exactly what she wanted. The location of the former beauty parlor, in the heart of town, with parking space in front, was already perfect. So unless it looked really bad or small inside, her mind was fully made up. She’d take it. Then her adventure could really begin.

      Light-headed with anticipation, she followed Everett Baker inside.

      It was dark and clammy, with that typical scent that permeates a room that’s been shut off for too long. There were ugly marks on the dark wooden floor where the chairs had been clamped for the customers of the beauty parlor. Dust bunnies hovered in the corners, fluttering in the draft that came in through the open door.

      The walls were bare, and tape had left broad yellowish stripes on the white where apparently posters had hung. The white itself wasn’t white anymore, but grayish, with scattered dark spots as if decay was eating its way right into the walls.

      Vicky glanced up at the ceiling. The low beams should be authentic plain oak. But they were painted a shocking lilac.

      All in all, it was the least likely place for an elegant English country gift shop.

Chapter Four

      “You’d better think twice about what you’re doing,” Michael Danning said solemnly behind her back. He had ambled in after her like it was natural. “The Joneses won’t like another business moving in. Competition, that’s the way they’ll see it.”

      “What for?” Vicky was still working through the shock of the store’s sad interior. It needed a lot of work. Much more than she had bargained for. That was kind of daunting. On top of that she didn’t need Michael Danning’s gloomy predictions.

      She turned to him defiantly. “So the Joneses sell food, ice cream over the counter and those typical souvenirs any coastal town sells: postcards, shell-rimmed mirrors. I’ll sell cozy mysteries, teapots, scented candles, pillows… My sales wouldn’t bite theirs. In fact, my store’s appeal can pull in customers from a larger area, who might also buy food and souvenirs at their place. It will only be an advantage to them.”

      She raised a hand and counted on her fingers. “And to the diner, the baker, the gas station just out of town. You know what it’s like when people drive out for a holiday. They spend more time than they intended. They want to have coffee, buy some souvenirs. They might even take a boat out for the afternoon. Everybody will benefit from my initiative.”

      “Save it for the city council,” Michael said glumly. “I don’t think the Joneses will see it quite that way.”

      He exhaled in a huff as if he was sorry for what he had to point out, but felt obliged to say it anyway. “People don’t like change around here, Vicky.”

      The confidential Vicky struck a chord inside of her. Having grown up in Glen Cove, she knew the town better than an optimistic newcomer might. People talked down about outsiders who moved in and tried to do something different. After the disaster with Gwenda’s beauty parlor, they would be twice as skeptical. Convincing them might prove to be an uphill battle.

      “Look…” Michael put his hand on her arm “…if you decide to do it, I will support you all the way. I can even write a nice little article about your business. And offer you advertising space at reduced rates.”

      The golden specks in his eyes lit as he leaned closer. “We would of course need to spend some time together so I can get to know your uh…vision for the store?”

      She stared into his eyes, noticing how little he had changed. Some lines here and there but still a firm jaw and an irresistible smile.

      Everett Baker cleared his throat. “I haven’t got all morning.”

      “Yes, uh…” Vicky stepped away. Michael Danning’s hand slipped off her arm. Her mind spun with the scent of his aftershave, and the possibilities of their seeing each other more often.

      Everett Baker gestured up to the lilac beams. “It’s just paint. It can be changed back. I imagine that you have a big vision for this place. That you’d really make it stylish. Old oak beams again, soft beige walls, sheepskin in front of the fireplace.”

      “What fireplace?” Michael Danning asked skeptically.

      “Well, there used to be one, but Gwenda had it bricked up. Didn’t fit the parlor’s modern image, she said.”

      “I thought tenants couldn’t make any big changes?” Michael retorted.

      “The owner sort of let it slip by. Gwenda was so nice at first.” Everett Baker pulled a sour face. His large sinewy hands knotted and unknotted in front of him. “She wound everybody round her little finger. By the time we got to know her true character, we were all stuck in a long-term lease. She was having problems with her husband, so we didn’t want to push her too hard. But we’re more than willing to let you change it all back.”

      “Yes, of course. That way you’d have a better building at no cost to you.” Michael measured Everett with a hitched brow. “If Vicky needs to hire people to bring back the old fireplace and get those beams out from under that ugly paint job and…”

      “Look, if she wants changes, that’s her business.” Everett Baker straightened up. The gleam in his eyes told Vicky he had smelled her interest and would bargain for every bit he could get out of her. “We’ll let you do it and give all permissions of course. But you’ll have to hire your own people and pay for it from your own pocket. Maybe you could hire Mortimer.”

      “Mortimer? Forget it,” Michael said.

      “He is a first-class handyman,” Everett said to Vicky.

      “And a first-class scam artist,” Michael said. “He overcharges.”

      “So negotiate for the price.” Everett leaned back on his heels, sizing up Michael. “Mortimer knows he won’t get the first price he asks for, so he starts out higher. That’s only logical. Vicky can stand her ground.”

      Michael shook his head. “It’s a terrible deal for her and a great one for the owner. Vicky’s changes would make the property more valuable, and in case she leaves it again, you can rent or sell it to someone new for