“Whoever wrote this concluded neither of you is a suspect,” Marge said with relief in her voice. “Maybe Michael Danning has been released also, and the whole accusation against him will blow over?”
Ms. Tennings looked at them with surprise. “Neither of you a suspect? Does that mean Michael Danning and you are the two locals mentioned here who found Mortimer Gill’s body?”
Vicky exhaled. Ms. Tennings caught on quick.
Marge said, “Ms. Tennings here has a keen insight into people. I guess it comes from working with children all of her life. I think we should tell her what happened, so she can help us figure it out.”
Vicky hesitated. The elderly lady had been living across the pond when Celine had disappeared so she had not been personally involved in that. And a psychological insight might be just what they needed. Marge seemed to trust the elderly lady for having helped her out with the boys.
But could she just share what she knew with someone she had barely met?
Ms. Tennings seemed to notice her reluctance and said, “I was in a position of trust with all the families where I served. I’ve never talked about the things I learned within the intimacy of their households. And when something serious is concerned like this murder case, I consider it my duty as a citizen of this town to try and help solve it. I’m well connected and might help you find out information you will otherwise have no access to.”
Vicky glanced at Marge, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Apparently Ms. Tennings was good for her word.
Vicky decided to take the plunge. After all, Michael was being held, perhaps even charged with the murder. They had little time to gather evidence that another had been involved to divert suspicions away from Michael. Right now every insight could provide an essential piece to the puzzle.
Vicky gave Ms. Tennings a quick recap of events, including the find of the hundred-dollar bill, the note with the three phone numbers and the curious absence of Mortimer’s cell phone that might prove whom he had called last before he died.
Ms. Tennings had pulled some knitting from her large bag and sat bent over the tiny baby blue sweater, her needles ticking away. She didn’t interrupt, but only hm-hmed and nodded. But it was clear from her intense listening expression that she took it all in and that her opinion on it developed like the knitting under her busy hands.
Vicky concluded with her most recent discovery from having called the unknown first phone number off the list. “It was Deke Rowland’s, but I don’t see how he would be involved. At the time he was not dating Celine, but her twin sister Diane. And my mother also told me this morning that there was a hair curler found in the house, presumably dropped by Gwenda. But I haven’t seen that personally.”
Vicky was suddenly reminded of the paper in the toolbox, the drawing of her fireplace and the lone 5 and 3 underneath it. She glanced at the unfinished hearth. Why had Mortimer added those numbers, at some later time?
Both Marge and Ms. Tennings were eyeing her expectantly, so Vicky felt obliged to explain. “I did see one little thing that was a bit odd. But for the life of me, I can’t see how it would be related to Mortimer’s murder.”
She explained about the paper in the toolbox and the odd numbers, added later. “Five, three. They stood apart from the calculation, underneath the left part of the fireplace. Scribbled hastily, as if they were an afterthought.”
“I guess,” Ms. Tennings said, “that the numbers could refer to the left-hand side of the fireplace. To the rows of bricks.”
Vicky stared at her fireplace.
Marge clapped her hands in excitement and said it was just like in a Bella Brookes cozy.
Vicky was reminded of Mortimer’s actions the other day as he had just about disappeared into the fireplace. He might have hidden something in a place where only he could later retrieve it. Then later he had marked the drawing of the fireplace to remember where exactly he had put it. The fireplace would not be used until it was finished, so he didn’t run a risk of someone lighting a fire in it right now. That all made sense.
She walked over and knelt down in front of the fireplace. Loose bits of brick and mortar left on the floor crunched under her knees. She hesitated a moment, then leaned forward, putting her head in, like she had seen Mortimer do. It was as claustrophobic as she had expected. She pulled back hastily.
“Five, three. Right?” She counted rows of bricks from the bottom up. “Five. Then three stones, inside maybe?”
She put her hand in and ran her fingers over the rough bricks. Nothing.
“There is nothing here,” she reported, disappointed. “It was too good to be true that Mortimer would have hidden it here in my store.”
“Maybe it is five rows of brick from the top down?” Ms. Tennings suggested, her knitting forgotten. “Then three stones, inside. We have got to at least try to find it. Or make sure nothing is there.”
“Right.” Vicky felt better, leaned over further. There seemed to be a small cavity. If only her hand didn’t get stuck. That could be the Gazette’s next headline. Local Business Owner’s Hand Caught in Chimney.
“I think I…” She poked her fingers in, felt around, got the slip of something, pulled and grunted. “There is something here. But I can’t get to it.”
“Be careful,” Marge warned, “or it might break.”
“It seems to be rolled together or something.” Vicky tried to move her arm to get a better grasping position. “I can’t get… Oh, yes, wait a second.”
Once she had a bigger part of it, it came out easier.
A piece of paper turned into a finger-thick roll.
Marge gasped. “It’s actually paper. Notes.”
Vicky undid the roll. Several sheets, a bit yellowing…
She unfolded them and smoothed them on her knee. Marge looked down over one shoulder; Ms. Tennings stood on the other side. Even Mr. Pug pressed his head against Vicky’s knee, looking up as if he also wanted a peek at the papers.
Three pages from an old police report. Giving the information of eyewitnesses about the night of Celine Dobbs’ disappearance. To one of the sheets a photocopy of a newspaper page was attached. The Glen Cove Gazette from the fatal summer in which Celine had disappeared.
“This really came from Perkins’ barn.” Vicky’s mouth was dry. “So Mortimer wasn’t kidding when he suggested to me that not everything had been destroyed. He really had something.”
“Yeah,” Marge said, “but is it worth anything?”
“Let’s see.” Vicky began to read.
The first sheet from the old files concerned an unfamiliar car in town. A conspicuous car that several witnesses had claimed to have seen on the night of Celine’s disappearance, first on Main Street, later along one of the roads leading away from town.
A red Jaguar, license plates unknown.
Mortimer had attached a small yellow sticky note, saying Deke/Cash R.?
“Deke and Cash did like to drive flashy cars,” Vicky said pensively. “It could have been either one of them. They didn’t own a Jaguar though—their father only had a Rolls and a Buick—so it must have been borrowed from a friend. If they returned it that same night, nobody in town would have known it was them.”
Something inside her chilled, thinking of the link with the assumption twenty-three years ago that Sheriff Perkins had been shielding someone influential. Had Daddy Rowland been willing