Cash sat up like he’d been stung. His hands on the table clenched into fists. “Why do you ask about her?”
“Oh, I don’t know. She was all over the front page of the Gazette the other day.” The sudden tension made Vicky wish she had left it alone. Still she was sort of curious why Cash reacted like that. “She seems to think the disappearance case can be reopened?”
“Just talk.” Cash’s expression was tight and dismissive.
Vicky scanned Cash’s expression. “So there are no new facts? Something to throw light on what happened to Celine back then?”
Cash exhaled. “Look, Diane should have known better.” He scooted to the edge of his seat and gestured with his hands as if to underline his point. “She moved away from here after the disappearance, remember? Not everybody understood her decision to leave. Some thought it was terrible for her parents. Others even said she knew more. Had covered for Celine’s secret meetings with that unknown man.”
“So Diane knew there was a man involved?” Vicky leaned forward.
“That’s what they said.” Cash made a gesture with both hands. “But Diane left, graduated, met her future husband and got married. She lived abroad for all this time, raising three kids, who are all in an international school now. Then the marriage started to show cracks, so she went to a shrink. I guess she only wanted to hear that she had empty nest syndrome, and should get a hobby or something. But the guy told her that it all goes back to her sister’s disappearance. To unsolved business that burdens her life.”
It was obvious that it was all psychobabble to Cash.
“Her doctor,” Cash continued grimly, “told her she has to find some way to end the thing, for herself, in her mind.” He tapped his temple. “So instead of taking a nice vacation or something, and thinking it over for herself, Diane decided she has to show up here again. She’s back for the summer, intending to talk to all the people involved back then, in the investigation. Police officers, witnesses, friends. She’s walking around with a tape recorder, actually taping conversations. She says it’s just for closure and she’ll do nothing with the material she collects. Like write a book about it or something? But that big spread in the paper tells me a different story. She does want something.”
Vicky watched the tension flicker over Cash’s features. Knowing he was sheriff now, responsible for peace and quiet in Glen Cove, she could understand his resentment.
“Nobody can forbid her to do it of course,” Cash continued, “and I’ve heard there are actually people who enjoy talking about it, coming up with bizarre details they never shared with the police back then. To them it’s just something interesting, out of the ordinary. But…among other people there’s a feeling that it might do a lot of damage If not to Diane, then to the others who were intimately involved.”
Vicky exhaled slowly. She saw the risks as well. Had Michael and Diane understood the full impact of what they were doing? Also to each other? For Michael, seeing Diane, who was Celine’s mirror image, might bring back a whole lot of unwanted memories. Frustration and anger he might have believed to be long forgotten.
She said slowly, “Diane must believe she has something to go on. Else she would not have risked this.”
Cash nodded. “Well, you’d start thinking that. More than one person asked me recently if there were old police files on Celine’s disappearance they could see. I told them they had to talk to Perkins about it. He took some old stuff with him, when he retired, to keep as his private archive in his barn. Not sure if they did turn to Perkins, and if they did, how Perkins responded to it. Knowing him, he won’t want any interference with his old files.”
“And who wanted to see those old police files?” Vicky asked. Her heart was pounding so fast she could barely breathe.
“Michael Danning of course,” Cash said. “And Mortimer Gill. Gwenda’s ex-husband.”
Cash left Vicky and Marge soon after saying he had things to do. Marge checked her watch and exclaimed she had to run to pick up her kids from a friend. “Call me tonight to discuss things some more,” she called as she rushed off.
Vicky waved in agreement and finished the last draft of her now cold coffee. Her fingers still sticky from the cinnamon rolls, she returned to the store and spent the afternoon on her knees working on the floorboards. Smoothing, removing nails, filling up cracks and rubbing out stains. It started to look half decent, but her back felt broken and her stomach protested that a banana on the go did not really count as lunch. The fridge at her cottage, however, was half empty, and Vicky concluded her mother’s place was the better bet for a hot meal.
At Claire’s she found some great-looking lasagna and put it in the oven, set the table and selected some wine, then took Mr. Pug and Coco for a walk on the beach to ease her sore muscles. That was something she had missed in London: the wide desertedness of the beach, the sounds of the ocean, the scent of the salty air. There had been the Thames of course to walk along. At night with lights everywhere it had been very idyllic. But it hadn’t been the sea. Having been born in a coastal town, Vicky needed her regular encounters with the sea. Especially when it was incoming tide and the waves rolled to the sand with huge foaming white heads, crashing and breaking.
Claire always said not to take Mr. Pug and Coco to the beach. According to her, their fur got dirty from the sand in the air and they couldn’t walk up all those steps leading to the boulevard.
But Vicky believed the dogs enjoyed the beach as much as she did and took them anyway. She clambered down via a steep sandy path close to Claire’s home, carrying Mr. Pug, who was a bit fussy. Coco just ran down ahead of her, barking like crazy.
There were light clouds in the air but nothing suggesting bad weather, and Vicky unbuttoned her coat to let the wind play with it. Walking with the strong gusts in her face, picking up some shells here and there, she could forget about the headaches of all the repairs that still had to be done and focus on what she was happy and grateful about. Having leased the store, having connected with Marge. She had some great ideas for the store, and her love of all things British caused an instant connection between them. Maybe Claire’s idea of hiring Marge as an assistant had been a great suggestion after all. Then Vicky need not always be in the store herself. She had to talk it over during the call later tonight.
Vicky spread her arms and inhaled the salty air with relish. Things were coming together nicely.
Except for one thing.
A frown formed over her eyes. She really had to call Mortimer Gill and ask if he could start on the fireplace early tomorrow morning. Now that Marge had suggested involving him in the grand opening it made sense to use him as a mason as well. If Mortimer could really restore the old fireplace in a single day as he had claimed, his price for the job was not bad, and she could always squeeze him to give a small discount. Like five percent?
But something about the man still bugged her.
Mortimer’s interest in those old police files on Celine’s disappearance.
What could he possibly want with those? As far as Vicky could recall, Mortimer hadn’t been involved back then. Not as a witness or as a suspect. Why would he suddenly feel the need to look into it? Had Diane’s reappearance in town convinced him there was something to be found? For gain?
Michael’s mention of Mortimer’s little business in spare car parts suggested that already as a teen he had figured out how to make easy money. His current tendency to overcharge underlined he was still the ‘in for a quick score’ type.
What if Mortimer Gill intended to find some bomb in the old police reports that he could then drop on Glen Cove?
Once the lid was lifted, nobody knew what would come out. Vicky had lived