“The Joneses are still here,” Vicky said in defense, nodding at the general store on the other side of the street.
“Of course they are. All the locals feel obliged to buy from them. They’re an institution around here. I’m talking about newcomers. Like Gwenda and her beauty parlor.”
Vicky clenched her jaw. With Gwenda’s bankruptcy fresh in people’s minds, the scrutiny would be intense. Was she entirely sure that she wanted to try this? It would be terrible to see it go awry in front of all the people who knew her.
In front of Michael Danning even.
Claire said, “Gwenda still does her dog shows, you know. I wonder if that makes her money. She’s always complaining her no good ex-husband is paying her nothing for alimony. Mortimer is a handyman so I suppose he can’t afford much. But Gwenda keeps insisting he has some secret stash of money somewhere. Now I’m asking you: where would he have got money? I do hear he overcharges but that’s hardly a crime. People should negotiate before they accept a price, right?”
Vicky nodded vaguely, looking ahead to where the parlor had sat. The parking spaces on the other side of the street were ideal for customers. It really was a first-rate location.
Which probably came at a matching price, and Everett Baker would squeeze her for every dime he could get.
Vicky looked out for the tall, slightly stooping figure of the real estate agent and then realized that the man waiting for her in front of the parlor was another.
A tall, broad figure Vicky would recognize anywhere.
Michael Danning.
Her mind went blank, as her gaze traveled the familiar broad shoulders and determined stance. It had been so long and yet it seemed like yesterday that she had seen him walk the beach alone, throwing driftwood into the water. Just two days before he had left town to escape the media frenzy. A departure that had been interpreted as a confession of guilt.
Claire took her arm and pulled at her. “Let’s cross the road. I want to show you something.” Lowering her voice, she hissed, “His suits look like he is in dire need of money. But I dare say the Glen Cove Gazette won’t get him a decent salary. Maybe he is using this story about Diane wanting to reopen the case to put pressure on people for gain. He always had this cocky way about him.”
“Mom,” Vicky hissed back, “I’m not going to avoid Michael. Let’s just say hello and act normally, OK?”
She tried to pull Claire back from the curb, but Claire hung on her arm with all her might, whispering, “Even if he asks you to do articles for the paper, you won’t say yes, you understand? He can’t be trusted. I don’t want you to ever be alone with him. He might kill you too.”
Raising her voice, she said in an exaggerated cheerful tone, “Now let’s go see the library, honey. You’ll love the changes they’ve made. And I want you to meet Marge Fisher. She walks the dogs for me sometimes. If you’re going to start a store, you need her help. She can become your assistant or something.”
Vicky wasn’t keen on an impromptu assistant being planted on her by her mother—probably someone from the inner circle of the ‘informers’—but at least Claire seemed to accept the idea there would be a store. If only to keep Vicky away from the Gazette and Michael Danning, of course.
Vicky firmly extracted her arm from her mother’s grasp. “You go ahead to the library. I’ll come over later when I’ve talked to Everett.” She didn’t intend to meet up with this Marge Fisher for as long as she could avoid it, but it was counterproductive to say that to Claire now.
Claire pressed, “You invite Everett to dinner, you hear.”
“Yes, Mother.” Vicky ushered her in the direction of the library’s double doors.
Claire snorted, but obeyed and disappeared inside, already calling out to someone she knew.
Vicky exhaled in relief. There was no way Claire could see her from the inside of the library. And Michael Danning happened to be in front of her meeting point with Everett while Everett wasn’t there yet. Might as well kill time with a little chat. She itched to know more about the paper’s headline, Diane and the old police files that their retired Sheriff Perkins had. It was all purely professional of course. An interest in the news value of the story.
Crossing the street, she reached up quickly to check on her hair. As a future store owner she had to look presentable.
“Victoria!” Michael Danning flashed a broad smile. His dark hair was still thick, graying only at the sideburns. His sophisticated look was underlined by his expensive cashmere sweater over gray pants, which probably belonged to a tailor-made suit. Claire’s remarks just now had made it sound like he was on the brink of poverty, but Vicky knew better. The struggling Gazette might not pay him much, but Michael Danning had made his fortune abroad before he had come back here. The clippings on all the prizes won for his undercover work were in a shoe box among her things. Safely hidden away where nobody would ever see them.
Michael looked her over like he was searching for the familiar. “I heard you were meeting Everett here this morning to negotiate for this piece of property. And since Everett is always late, I thought I could meet you here and chat for a sec.”
He waited a moment as if he wasn’t sure what to say next.
Vicky’s mind raced with all she wanted to know about his reasons for coming back to town, but it was impossible to start that topic out of the blue. They needed casual lines to ease back into the old confidence. And how much confidence had there really been between them? To her their friendship had meant the world, a meeting over lunch to talk about classes, Michael helping her out with an assignment or two. But Michael had been with Celine and…
Michael said, “To be honest, I had no idea you were into beauty products these days. You uh…don’t intend to continue the beauty parlor, huh? Not to discredit you or anything, but that lady outside of town has organized things really well. You won’t be able to take back her clientele.”
Vicky always got defensive when people told her she couldn’t do something. Challenge was the biggest trigger word in her book.
But she wasn’t opening up a beauty parlor just to show Michael Danning that she could. “No, I have a completely different plan for the property. I know nothing about curlers and mineral clay, you know. I never go to such places myself.”
“And you don’t need it.”
Michael Danning could still turn on the charm like the cold-water tap. If she was smart, she’d stay on friendly terms with him to ensure good press about her store, but nothing more. He was just too easy to like, but heartache was the last thing she needed. Her focus had to be on starting her gift shop.
“You can smirk all you want,” a voice said agitatedly, “but you just move in and do better.”
A woman had popped out of the door beside the beauty parlor’s entrance, leading to the upstairs apartment. It was still let to the former owner of the bankrupt beauty parlor. The well-groomed black poodle beside the woman further confirmed to Vicky she was face-to-face with Gwenda Gill. The antagonism in the woman’s words and facial expression didn’t bode well.
Vicky looked for a quick way to lighten the mood and leaned down to pat the poodle. “You must be Jewel. I’ve heard so much about you.” Glancing up at the owner, she said, “My mother wrote to me about the dog shows you go to. You’ve won a lot of prizes with Jewel, right?”
Straightening