Dead to Begin With. Vivian Conroy
her Michael sighed. “It’s sad, I suppose, but people just don’t take Gwenda seriously. She likes to exaggerate. And she married a local man while she isn’t from Glen Cove herself. That alone guarantees that in the case of a conflict the locals will side with her husband, against her.”
“That may be, but she didn’t exaggerate about those letters. My mother told me you did print them, and just a hint of such allegations can ruin a business overnight. I guess you were very sure that there really was something amiss. Abroad you always did such careful research to capture the essence of what was going on.”
Michael’s intense stare made Vicky’s face flame. She muttered, “Not that I followed your career or anything. You just notice when somebody you used to know hits the news, you know.”
Her words rang a little false even to her own ears, and she was glad Michael couldn’t know about all the clippings she had saved over the years. It was a little silly for a woman her age.
“It’s of course possible that Mortimer wrote those anonymous letters.” Michael held Vicky’s gaze. “Mortimer is Gwenda’s ex-husband. He divorced her, or she divorced him. They don’t exactly agree on the details, you know.”
Vicky frowned hard. “I remember him from school. Pretty sporty, right? Didn’t he have a chance to get a baseball scholarship?”
Michael nodded. “He didn’t take it though, started working at a garage right away. He could always get the college kids spare parts at reduced prices.”
Vicky eyed him. “And how did he get those parts?”
“Who knows? I was sort of surprised when I came back here that he was still around. I had expected a guy like him to move away to a place with more action.” Michael shrugged. “Anyway, rumor has it his marriage never really worked. They were poles apart, him working with predator birds, her being into dogs. Not a great combination. Most birds are terrified of dogs. They get defensive and aggressive. I think his great horned owl almost got one of her Chihuahuas once. She called him a filthy farmer; he called her a stuck-up makeup doll. And then I’m just quoting the nice bits.”
He made a face. “Anyway, I heard that he did help her lease this building, start the beauty parlor. I guess he hoped it would give her something to do, so they wouldn’t be at each other’s throats all the time. From my sources I got the impression he genuinely wanted to save their marriage.”
He thought for a moment.
“So?” Vicky asked. “I don’t understand why a man who did everything to save his marriage would have written poisonous accusations about his wife’s business. Especially as he had even helped her start it.”
Michael nodded. “Exactly. That’s why it didn’t make sense to suspect Mortimer of having written those letters. He tried all he could to build bridges with Gwenda. But it didn’t work out. They split up anyway. Gwenda moved into the apartment over the beauty parlor. Kept saying Mortimer was spreading lies about her, wrecking her business. But I guess that people just got tired of coming in for a facial and hearing Gwenda rant about her ex, the skimpy alimony, the vacation she couldn’t afford. You come to a beauty parlor to be pampered, relieve stress, right? Well, all of Gwenda’s harping just drove them out of their minds. So when this New York socialite with the institute moved in… It has some kind of Greek name, but everybody around here just calls it the Glam Parlor.”
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