Dead to Begin With. Vivian Conroy

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      Michael’s grin intensified. “She won a lot of people around fast. She doesn’t complain about her ex, but plays relaxing music. She also doesn’t bill every single drink.”

      “It sounds like you’ve been there yourself.” Vicky scanned him suspiciously.

      “I did an article on the new business in town. That’s what an editor does, especially if it’s a small town. People like to be informed about newcomers.” Michael looked innocent. “Of course she showed me around the premises and we had a drink, talked about her reasons for settling here. In my newspaper article I left out some bits of that, as they were uh…too personal.”

      Oh, boy. Vicky could just picture how he had enticed the woman to share all about her past—maybe some unhappy love affair or the death of a beloved spouse—while he listened to her and said all the right things. Michael Danning was still the natural-born charmer he had been in college.

      And now he might also want to know all about Vicky’s London years and her business initiative and… She might end up toasting to her new success with him, and staring into his dark chocolate eyes and feeling kind of light-headed…

      No way. She’d better arm herself against Michael Danning’s charm, before her old crush on him returned full force. It had been embarrassing at eighteen. She really didn’t want to think about how it might look today.

      “So,” Michael said in the meantime, “if it’s not beauty-related, then what are your plans for this piece of real estate?”

      “Some home decoration shop, right?” a voice said behind Vicky. Everett Baker stepped into full view, his face red from rushing, his hand clammy as he pressed hers.

      Glen Cove’s real estate agent was so tall he always stooped a little and looked awkward in his crumpled gray suit. But looks could be deceiving. According to Claire’s letters, Everett Baker negotiated aggressively for his clients and could hold his ground against competitors from bigger firms.

      “Sorry to be late,” Everett said in a casual tone. “I had an urgent call and… Well, you know how it is when you lead a busy life.” He glanced at Michael Danning as if to make sure he heard it too. “They never give you five minutes to breathe.”

      “A home decoration thing?” Ignoring Everett, Michael Danning studied Vicky with a frown. “Tourists who come in for the day don’t take along a big dresser, and smaller objects don’t bring in real money. Gwenda Gill might be a pest at times, but she is right about one thing: you need a good plan to open a store here or it will tank.”

      He pointed at the hardware store across the street where an age-old man in gray coveralls was shaping a wooden dog for a little boy. “Since it’s become fashionable to buy a fixer-upper cottage in Maine, people run to the hardware store to do their own repairs. Besides that, the old men still have their share in the fishing business. Don’t have to depend on the hardware store alone.”

      Vicky exhaled in a huff. “I know that. I grew up here, remember?”

      Michael pushed on like he hadn’t heard her. “But home decorations? If you want to make a living off this… Or are you still writing?”

      She made a so-so gesture. “More or less. A magazine asked me to do a column about my move from London back to the countryside of Maine. It will run biweekly for a year.”

      Back Home With Vicky Simmons offered a way for her loyal readers to say good-bye to her gradually. As they had followed Away With Vicky Simmons for ten years, it would be a big change for all of them.

      Vicky continued, “That’s some income. But it won’t last forever. Besides, I really wanted to try something different. I had made some plans already and got my confirmation on the plane over here. A fellow passenger overheard I came from London and wanted to know everything about the royal family. She even asked me if I had any memorabilia that I wanted to sell to her and her friends. That clinched it for me. There is a huge potential market for British products in the US. And having lived in London for so long, I’m an expert on those. I know the best places for plaids, sweaters, home decoration, books. And royalty memorabilia, of course.”

      Just talking about it filled her with energy again. “I’ll also have to sell via a website for bigger reach. I need business cards and flyers to spread in the area and…”

      Her mind buzzed with everything she needed to do, making her both excited to get started and just a little overwhelmed. After all, she had never done anything like this before.

      Everett Baker said, “Well, I’d better let you look inside then so you can see how perfect this object is for your purpose.” He pulled out a bunch of clinking keys and dived at the door.

      Vicky expected Michael to be leaving now that she was supposed to tour the building with Everett. Before he could do so, she 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 СКАЧАТЬ