Grand Prize: Murder!. Vivian Conroy
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I can understand though that Michael didn’t want to come. It’s odd to…be in the center of attention like this. All the while the mayor was talking I was wondering what Celine would have thought of this. She never could stand pompous people, you know.”
Diane’s voice trembled a bit. “Alain insisted that I come, also for…closure as he calls it. But I don’t know if anything like it even exists.”
Vicky squeezed her arm in silent sympathy.
Diane said with a sigh, “I can’t explain it, but now that we know for sure that Celine did die, it’s like she’s more alive than ever. I remember all the things we used to do and how much fun we used to have. There is a memory around every corner here in Glen Cove.” She blinked.
Vicky didn’t know what to say. Maybe the same reason had prompted Michael to leave for Copenhagen? He had claimed to her it was a sort of paid vacation, but his expression had told her something else. He had to get away again, run from the hurting, like he had always done. It was his way of survival. That didn’t change overnight.
Maybe in a way it was even worse now that he had found the answers he had been hunting for so long. There was nothing left to do now. Just an emptiness in which he felt the loss all the deeper.
She said to Diane, “Look, if you need distraction, you can always stop by at the store and lend a hand. It will be busy with Bella around for the book signing and the scavenger hunt. It’ll last through next week.”
Diane smiled thinly. “Thanks. And you have to come to dinner at my place sometime so we really have time to catch up. I want to show you the books for the architecture classes I’m taking. It’s an online course, ideal to put some time into whenever you want. Early in the morning or at night. I think you’ll really like it.”
“Sure, I’ll give you a call to determine the night.” With her hand on Diane’s shoulder Vicky accompanied the couple out of the store.
To her surprise the man who had been looking up at the apartment from across the street was now in front of the apartment’s door, peering in through the glass pane. The For Rent poster obstructed most of his view so he was tilting his head in every possible angle to see something.
With a frown Vicky stepped up to him and asked, “Excuse me? Can I help you?”
A normal person would have felt some kind of shock or shame at being caught red-handed like that, but the man simply faced her and asked, “Is Bella Brookes staying here?”
He waved up at the upstairs windows. “I rang the bell a couple of times, but she doesn’t come to the door.”
Ignoring his demanding tone, Vicky asked, “And you are?”
“Giverny. Haven Herald. I’d love an interview with her about her books.”
“Then you have to contact her PR people. They are in charge of the entire book tour. They know her schedule and can determine if they can fit you in.”
Vicky tried to stay polite and accommodating, although she thought the man was being quite pushy in an off-putting way. Did he really expect Bella would just invite him in for a chat?
He also had a three-day stubble and a huge mustache that looked like it came from an amateur theater kit.
Giverny said, “I only want to know if she’s staying here. I saw her lugging a big suitcase in.”
“You have to call the PR people,” Vicky insisted. If she confirmed to this guy Bella was indeed staying here, he might keep ringing the bell until Bella opened the door out of sheer annoyance at the noise. “They can tell you much more than I can, I’m sure. Good day, Mr. Giverny.” She stared at him, forcing him to back away from the door and cross the street again.
Diane and Alain had watched the exchange, and Diane now asked, “What does he want?”
Vicky shrugged. “He claims to be a reporter out for an interview with Bella.”
Alain said, “Must be some paparazzo. His camera doesn’t have a real big lens though. It’s more like a holiday kind of camera.”
Vicky made a dismissive gesture. “Maybe he’ll bring a photographer to the interview he wants to do? It doesn’t matter really. As long as he doesn’t bother Bella. Thanks so much for coming to see the sign being unveiled, and I’ll be in touch about dinner.”
She hugged Diane and watched as the couple walked away, hand in hand, down the busy street.
Then, involuntarily, she scanned for the brash Mr. Giverny again. He was outside the diner, pretending to read the menu on the chalkboard beside the entrance. He held a cell phone to his ear and was talking fast, excitedly. Probably reporting to his newspaper that he had found Bella Brookes.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it. Bella was used to attention and judging by her determined way of handling things, she’d be quite able to deal with the press.
After a long, loving look at her brand-new sign Vicky went back into the Country Gift Shop.
Marge had put the laptop on the counter and was working the keyboard with two fingers. Still it produced a sound as if someone was typing with ten. Marge only had one speed: full tilt.
Claire had sat down in a chair by the fireplace with the dogs in her lap and called out that computers were a mystery to her. “I don’t trust them.”
Ms. Tennings nodded in agreement. She sat opposite Claire with a wooden tray on her lap. On the tray were a dozen small soaps she was decorating with ribbons, each in a matching or contrasting color. “I do use email to stay in touch with some old friends in the UK,” she confided, “and I know how to pay bills electronically, but I can’t work out all the functions of such programs.”
“Aren’t there courses for senior citizens at the community center?” Marge said as she clicked on the touch pad.
Ms. Tennings grimaced. “Yes, but going to one of those makes me feel quite helpless. I’ve been the teacher for all of my life, you know.” She held up a reddish soap with a white ribbon to Vicky. “How do you like this?”
Vicky came over for a closer look. “Great. I’m also thinking about some finishing touches. Maybe a sprig of lavender and herbs from the garden? I really want to make the gifts stand out so I’ll get more orders for hen parties.”
“When are you delivering this order?”
“Saturday morning at the hotel where the bride-to-be and her family are staying.”
Ms. Tennings nodded. “We’ll do the finishing touches then. I can bring material from my garden as well so we have enough. Everything else is arranged for?”
Vicky enumerated on her fingers, “For each guest to the hen party a small soap from my exclusive collection, a scented candle in a glass holder with heart decoration and a mini book with quotes, appropriate to their connection to the bride-to-be. So quotes on motherhood for Mom, being sisters for the sisters, friendship for the friends et cetera.”
“You forgot to mention,” Marge said, “that the bride-to-be mailed us a list with everybody’s favorite color and favorite scent so we can customize the whole thing. Imagine this: Monica likes red so she has to have the strawberry-scented candle and the soap with the reddish tinge and then the book on friends. Oh no, she is a sister-in-law so she has to get the book on sisters.”
Vicky laughed. “You make it sound so terrible. My client just wants bespoke presents.”
Marge grimaced. “I’m used to bulk orders. If you had ever washed the outfits for a Little League team, you’d know what I mean.”
Vicky laughed even harder. “So Kev made the promise to the trainer and you are doing all