Written into the Grave. Vivian Conroy

didn’t know for sure if Trevor was actually involved in the death.

      “So you’re in Marge’s writing group?” she said.

      Trevor had opened a cupboard to get out another tin. He pulled the lid off and helped himself to two chocolate-covered cookies, putting them between his teeth while he put the lid back on and returned the tin to the cupboard shelf.

      “Hmmm,” he grunted in affirmation of her question.

      “You’re all in the newspaper these days with an installment in the serial Seaside Secrets,” Vicky continued. She didn’t know if it was smart to discuss this topic, but she’d feel better if she could ascertain how much Trevor knew about his contribution bearing a striking resemblance to a real-life incident in town.

      Trevor had pulled the cookies out of his mouth again, resting one on the edge of the sink while he broke the other in halves. He pushed a half into his mouth and nodded again.

      “Your entry was today, right?” Vicky continued, determined to keep the conversation going so Trevor wouldn’t get spooked until Cash arrived. “I wasn’t quite sure about the details of the serial idea. Does everybody get to choose the contents of their own entry?”

      Trevor nodded. “We agreed on the theme summer and secrets, but the rest is up to each writer. It helps to get the creative juices flowing.”

      “And how do you send it in?” Vicky asked.

      “Via email. They then get it in the paper.” Trevor ate the rest of the cookies and nodded again. “I heard that they cut it off if it’s over word length. I hope mine wasn’t. The last sentence was quite a cliffhanger.”

      The word cliff made Vicky cringe.

      Gunhild looked up. “Really? I haven’t read it yet. Where’s the paper? It might take my mind off all this miserable mess today.”

      Vicky jumped. “No, you shouldn’t read it. It’s not … uh wise in your state of mind.”

      Gunhild hitched a fine brow. “I don’t understand.” She looked at Trevor and smiled. “Have you added in some naughty bits?”

      Trevor flushed. “Of course not. They told us from the start we weren’t supposed to shock people. Danning doesn’t want to lose readers.”

      Vicky was stunned. “And you don’t think your piece was shocking?”

      “Not really. I stuck to the rules.” Trevor shrugged. “I like my writing darker, but hey, if you’re part of a group project, you have to stick to the rules.”

      Darker than a man plummeting to his death off the cliffs? Damaging his face so even his own wife might not be allowed to see him anymore?

      Vicky swallowed. Outside she heard a police siren. Relief flooded her.

      Trevor perked up. “What’s that? Why did you call the police to arrive like …” He fell silent.

      Gunhild also shook her head. “I know it can’t be kept a secret for long, but I can’t stand the idea of all those people feeling sorry for me.” She hid her face in her hands. A sob rang out.

      Trevor came over at once and put his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed. “Don’t cry. I’m here for you.”

      Vicky inched back. If Trevor was the killer, his behavior was … most peculiar.

      Or maybe not? Did he really think that he could support Gunhild now that her husband was gone for good?

      The back door was torn open so hard it almost came off its hinges, and Cash stormed in. When he saw Vicky, he exhaled. “You look all right. Good. Great. You gave me a scare. Why leave such a cryptic message with my dispatcher?”

      He focused on Gunhild at the table. “Are you all right, Mrs. Goodridge?”

      His expression darkened as he saw Trevor. “Jenkins … What are you doing here?”

      Trevor seemed surprised at the question. “Working of course.”

      “He’s our gardener,” Gunhild said. “He tends to the lawn and all.”

      Meaning Trevor came into the shed often. Where the gun had been found. Hidden in the cotton pocket organizer for the tools.

      Cash hmm-ed.

      Trevor said in a challenging tone, “Is gardening illegal these days?”

      Cash said, “Not that I know of.” He looked at Vicky again. “So what did you call me about?”

      Gunhild said in a shriek, “We found a gun in the shed.”

      Trevor stepped back from her. “A gun?” he echoed.

      Cash said, “Have you touched it? Smeared the prints?”

      Vicky shook her head. “It fell to the floor. Nobody touched it. You can get prints off I suppose.”

      Trevor inhaled hard.

      Cash looked at him. “You know anything about that gun?”

      Trevor jerked up his shoulders. “Me? Why me?”

      “Well, as gardener you work in the shed, I suppose.”

      “Of course. But gardening isn’t done with guns.”

      Cash nodded. “Still I’d like you to come to the station with me for a statement.”

      “About what?” Trevor asked. His expression was confused, but something flashed in his eyes. Resistance.

      “Your little contribution to our morning paper.” Cash leaned back on his heels. With his bulk he obstructed the way to the back door.

      Vicky held her breath.

      Trevor eyed Cash. “Are you nuts? What’s wrong with writing a piece for the paper?”

      He looked at Vicky. “First it’s my gardening that you don’t like, now something else. What’s really up here?”

      “We’ll talk about it at the station,” Cash said. “Can I trust you to come quietly or do I need to handcuff you?”

      Trevor’s jaw sagged. “What am I, a suspect?”

      He glanced at Gunhild. “You don’t think that the gun in the shed is mine, do you?”

      “Well, is it?” Cash asked.

      Trevor kept his eyes on Gunhild. “Do you think that the gun in the shed is mine?” His voice pitched as if he was desperate for her to deny she thought that.

      Gunhild shook her head wearily. “I don’t know, Trevor. I just need to sit quietly.”

      “What’s wrong here?” Trevor said. His voice lowered as he repeated the questions, “What’s wrong here? What are you doing to her? Hey?”

      He stepped up to Vicky and eyed her with a frown. “Who are you anyway? I’ve never seen you around here before. Have you made Gunhild cry?”

      “Calm down,” Cash said, taking Trevor by the wrist.

      Without warning the young man swung at him with his free arm, hitting Cash full in the face. He grunted, and blood began to run from his nose.

      Gunhild shrieked. She was deadly pale and looked ready to collapse.

      Trevor pushed past Cash and was out of the back door in an instant.

      Vicky yelled, “Hold him.”

      She wanted to go after the guy herself, but having just seen what he had done to Cash, she knew there was little point in it. She would only get hurt.

      Outside she heard shouting—and looking out of the kitchen window she saw Trevor and a deputy wrestling in the grass. Trevor was on top of the deputy, and she just wanted to alert Cash, who was nursing his bleeding face, when the deputy made a lightning-fast move and was now on top of Trevor.