She arrived at the estate at top speed, left the van off the road and walked in. The gate was open, which was not unusual in the daytime. Glen Cove was relatively free of crime, and she bet Lilian and Deke had great security on those rooms in the house that contained their valuables.
She doubted, however, that Bob Jones would be after those rooms. He wanted to look in the conservatory, to get the envelope. He probably knew that his prints were on it and that he had to retrieve it before somebody else found it, like the gardener who took care of the orchids.
She went up the gravel driveway and raced across the neatly trimmed lawn for the conservatory’s outer doors. Panting, she peeked in. Nobody. She took the time to look a bit longer to make really sure.
She had been so certain Bob Jones would be here and she could notify the police and catch him, that she felt a sharp disappointment.
On the one hand, she was happy she had not called the police and looked a fool, drawing them all out here.
On the other hand, now the resolution that had seemed within her grasp had slipped away again.
Was Bob Jones innocent anyway?
Was she overlooking something that would make everything fall into place?
Vicky walked around the house slowly, trying to rearrange her thoughts and decide on the next step. She had to take the soda bottle to the police station anyway and have them check out whether the fingerprints were the same as those on the envelope. Then they could at least prove Bob Jones had handled the envelope hidden in the conservatory.
If he also turned out to be that wanted con man, they might make a case for him having carried out some con at the party, the guard confronting him and ending up dead as a result.
A crunch of gravel disturbed the silence, and Vicky looked up.
Bob Jones stood at the back door from which he had just emerged. He wore black leather gloves. She saw the surprise on his face, the moment of panic, then the calm returning. Determination lit his normally warm brown eyes.
And a cold shiver went up her spine.
If she was right about him, this amiable-looking man had killed before to protect himself.
What would he do now?
“I just delivered some groceries,” Bob said in his warm, pleasant voice. “I guess you are here for Lilian, right? She is not at home. Some charity thing, I guess. Deke is not here either. Must be hard at work for his mortgages.”
He had moved his hands behind his back. “I guess they’re planning another party. All that food and drink they ordered at the store.”
“I don’t think you brought anything,” Vicky said slowly. “They would know they ordered none. You only used it as an excuse to come out here and search. What did you look for? The photos?”
Bob Jones’ pleasant face froze. “You have them?”
“The police do. Sydney Haverton gave the camera to them the morning the dead body was found. I was there when he did. And I saw all the photos on it. You are also in them. I guess you noticed that the murdered guard was photographing people and wanted the camera to delete the shots you were in. Unfortunately, Sydney had already confiscated the camera because he objected to his sister’s guests being photographed without them knowing about it. Did you argue with the guard about it?”
Vicky saw no response on Bob’s face. She pushed on. “Or was it even worse? He snapped your picture and then realized that he knew you from some prior occasion. What was it? Another party at a house where you sneaked off with some jewelry? Or did he know about the fake marriages in Michigan? It seems you have a rap sheet as long as my arm.”
Bob laughed softly. “Nothing so prim and proper on his part. He wasn’t always a guard, you know. He has been my partner for years. When I was just a small-time crook. He got nervous about it and quit. Found this nice job in security. I continued down the path of vice and became better. At least the scores became worth more.”
He was still looking his nice approachable self. “You know, Vicky, Glen Cove seemed like the ideal town to work for the summer. The heat was on in other places, and I needed a spot where I could lie low and not attract attention for a while. It always helps when you can claim to be the relative of some respectable citizens. Everybody takes you into the fold at once. Nice little old ladies to cheat into giving me money with some sob story about a sick relative. Taking them to the bank and helping out with getting money, then taking just a little for myself. Bored housewives just waiting to be seduced by the handsome deliveryman and then I ask for some money to keep it quiet from their husbands. And some very rich people like the Rowlands family, where you can always lift something they will never ever miss.”
Vicky gasped. “You took the jade statuette.”
Bob shrugged. “Does it really matter? They have so much. Too much when you think about it.”
“But you made a mistake.” Vicky tried to sound calm. “Several, actually. You came to a party where you were not invited. That should have alerted me right from the start.”
“But it did not,” Bob said still smiling. “Because you liked me, Vicky. Everybody likes me. I’m so easy to like and so hard to suspect. That is what makes me so good at what I do. People never think about it until it’s too late. They feel embarrassed by their gullibility or they want to hide what they did from others. They don’t talk.”
“But at the party Friday night you got spotted by the guard, your former partner in crime. You did not see him at first so you were doing your thing. You had heard mention of a scam surrounding the scavenger hunt and you tried to put the squeeze on Paul DuBree.”
“I scored too,” Bob said in satisfaction. “Eight grand in an envelope. Not bad for a night’s work, huh?”
“Maybe not but then you noticed the guard with his camera. Your former partner suddenly appeared on the scene. Who also talked to the sheriff? That could be bad. So you hid the money in the conservatory so it would not be found on you. And the curious guard who followed you around got offed. Just one blow, and the threat was gone.”
“I put on gloves then,” Bob said. “Just like I did now. No prints on anything.”
“Not at the murder scene maybe. But on the envelope, yes. You weren’t wearing your gloves then, probably because you thought you didn’t need them. You prepped the murder better. But because of the envelope the police already have your prints. A con man. How else do you think I know about you?”
“They might know there is someone, but they do not know it is me. Do they, Vicky?”
Bob came closer, walking softly on his sneakers, his eyes on her, holding her tight. “Do they?”
She inched back. “I called Cash before I came here. He’ll be here any minute now.”
“Uh-uh.” Bob shook his head. “That can’t be, and you know it. The sheriff is after the tickets to London. I made sure of that before I came here. I’m too smart to take chances. Nobody is coming. Nobody knows about me. Yet. And I intend to keep it that way.”
Sweat beaded between Vicky’s shoulder blades. Her hands tensed into fists, but she knew it was pointless to strike out at Bob. He didn’t turn out to be a phys ed teacher at all, but he was fit enough to strike her down in a heartbeat.
Bob was right in front of her. “Now we are going to take a little walk. I know there is a pond on this land. A nice stretch of water. You’re going to fall in. Nobody will know what you did here, or why you fell and hurt yourself so badly that you could not get out of the water again. They will speculate about it for time to come. The new mystery at Glen Cove. But they will never ever tie it to me.”
“Don’t be so sure,” a voice said.
Bob jerked his head in the direction of the voice.
It was Grace Dinks. Her face was calm, her posture ramrod straight. She had approached across the grass so her shoes never made a single sound.
Grace said, “People think I am a bad reporter because I can never get a big story. But now I am about to have one. I am about to uncover one of the most successful con men ever. Let Michael D
anning and Cash Rowland fight for a ticket to London. I want a ticket to my own show. And you are it. There are so many people in so many states dying to get their hands on you. The list of charges will be so long the trial will take months. And with murder in the mix, you will never get out again.”
Bob Jones stood motionless, measuring her up. “Look, lady, I’ve got money. I can buy you your own show. Just tell me what station you want, and I will get it for you.”
Grace shook her head.
Bob snarled. “Don’t give me the conscience act. You’d do anything to work your way up. Seduce men, betray people, take money. You are just as selfish as I am. What I offer is good.”
Grace shook her head again. “I don’t want to be bought into it. I want to earn it.”
She glanced at Vicky. “You might think I am a lousy reporter preying on hurt, but I do want to do a good job. I do want to earn my right to be among the best.”
Bob Jones used the moment in which Grace was distracted to run straight at her. He pushed her to the ground. The crash as her body hit the gravel banged through Vicky’s head. Her spine hurt as if her own body was taking the impact.
Bob sprinted away across the lawn.
Vicky ran to Grace, asked if she was all right and when she said that she was, Vicky told her to warn the police and ran after Bob Jones. Her shoes weren’t as suited for a workout as his were. He was on his way to the wall surrounding the grounds. He would no doubt have climbed over it before so his car had to be left on the other side.
Abandoning her futile attempt to catch up with him, Vicky made for the exit and her own borrowed hardware store van. Her lungs were burning, and sweat dripped down her face.
At the van she got in, started the engine and turned in the direction where she expected to see Bob Jones’ vehicle.
Indeed she saw the general store’s delivery van drive off ahead of her.
Her hands on the wheel were full of sweat. She followed the van at the highest speed she dared to use. She didn’t drive too often and she felt insecure, at risk of losing control and veering off the road.
Ahead of her Bob Jones had no such qualms. He was getting away fast.
Vicky muttered under her breath. She was sure he’d give her the slip and they’d never find him again. How could they pin the murder on him if he was a fugitive?
Her sweaty blouse stuck to her shoulder blades. The cold air from the blasters on the dashboard made her shiver.
How could they ever completely clear Bella?
Ahead of her the delivery van was suddenly swaying. Then it came to a screeching halt.
Vicky herself hit the brakes and hoped the van wasn’t too old. She doubted the hardware store owners ever used it quite this way.
She came to a stop a few yards away from the van Bob Jones had clambered out of. He was holding his hands over his head. Past him Vicky saw a sheriff department’s car standing across the road, forming an effective roadblock.
Cash beside it held his gun trained on Bob.
Vicky released her breath. “I thought you were out for the scavenger hunt.”
“I was. The correct answer is around here somewhere. The location of the big reveal.”
Vicky doubted it, but did not tell him. Cash looked so satisfied that it would be a shame to spoil his happy feeling.
Cash said, “This madman came tearing down the road way over the speed limit, so I decided to stop him before he hurt somebody. Now what’s up?”
Vicky nodded at Bob Jones, who still had his hands up in the air.
The sweat on her face was cooling in the breeze, and she had enough breath again to speak clearly, albeit in gasps. “I got the killer…and guess what? It wasn’t the cozy author…after all.”
Chapter Eighteen
“At the end of an exhilarating ride,” Bella Brookes said into the microphone, “we are all gathered here to hear who will carry off the grand prize.”
She wore a forest green pantsuit with an extravagant shawl from Vicky’s connection on Jersey and she looked like her usual flamboyant self. Done no harm by her stint in jail.
The crowd gathered outside the community center listened intently. A delicious scent of meat was on the air from the many barbecues that would soon cater to all these hungry people. The barbecue was part of the One-Mile Book Market’s closing event and fell in nicely with the grand prize reveal.
“You have by now found out, either by your own ingenious deductions or by following the progress of more fortunate friends…”
Laughter all around.
“That the culprit in our little scenario was the cozy author. Not only did she mind that the actor changed her carefully crafted lines, but she also believed he had hurt her book sales by saying to a reporter that she never wrote her own stories, but had a ghost writer do it for her. The sleuth who discovered these additional clues confronted her at the site of Glen Cove’s old open-air theater, which is no longer in use.
“There were quite a few people who had worked that out right, but in addition one had to come up with the way in which the sleuth could survive the encounter—as it turned out the cozy author was armed with a gun to silence the sleuth. Of course the solution had to make use of the location. We ended up with two people who provided exactly the right answer, namely that the amateur sleuth used the old trapdoor in the theater’s podium to escape the cozy author’s assault on her. Now we decided…”
Vicky glanced at Paul DuBree, who was watching Bella with a calm expression. There was a mild glow of admiration in his eyes, but Vicky had no illusion he’d ever stick around. He was too restless for that.
Bella said, “…that we could have a draw, but I was not in favor. I think it is only fair that we hand out two sets of two tickets for each of our winners.”
There were gasps of delight in the audience.
Paul DuBree started forward as if this revelation was all new to him.
Vicky grinned to herself. Bella had told her in advance she’d pay for the extra tickets out of her own pocket. “People have been so enthusiastic and nice, and not resentful at all because of all the consternation with the murder and the fake newspapers. So I feel I should give them something extra.”
She squeezed Vicky’s hand. “To Glen Cove and to you. To thank you for everything.”
Bella pulled an envelope from her pocket. “The names of the two winners who will each get two tickets to travel to London, all expenses paid, are in here.”
Vicky looked at the crowd. Michael was in front smiling. Cash stood further to the left, nearer the barbecues, with a burger in his hand. His smug smile said it all.
Both were sure they had won.
What if they had both won?
With whom would she go to London?
Vicky’s hands became clammy for a sec.
With Cash, she’d have fun and show the city to a friend she felt at ease with.
With Michael, she’d see the city in a whole new light, exploring it with a man who could still make her heart flutter when he looked at her and smiled.
He had denied he had ever been with Grace and knowing how Grace lied to manipulate people, she might have lied about the relationship as well to hurt Vicky and drive her and Michael apart.
Still the intense pain Vicky had felt at Grace’s revelation had opened her eyes to the dangers involved in a closer friendship with Michael.
Was a relationship with him what she really wanted?
Was she able to invest the time and energy in it, not even knowing if it would ever work out? Couldn’t she just be happy with her store? With the kind of life she had lived in London, finding satisfaction in her work, in friendships?
Getting closer to Michael was a risk that she wasn’t sure she was willing to take right now.
Bella exclaimed, “The first winner is…Dudley Tate.”
A man of about thirty jumped up, hugged his blonde wife, then came forward with his arm around her, calling out that they’d go there to celebrate their fourth we
dding anniversary. That they’d go up and see the city from the air and then he’d ask her to marry him all over again.
The woman danced beside him, kissing him over and over.
All of Glen Cove cheered for them.
Bella handed out the tickets with a wide smile, kissing the young woman on the cheek.
Cash and Michael exchanged a glance. Now it was between them. Which one of them had won the other set of two tickets? Which one of them would go to London?
With Vicky, or without?
“And the second winner is…” Bella dropped a silence for suspense. “Ms. Agatha Wells.”
Agatha jumped up and down, hugged Ms. Tennings and her other friends who applauded her, and screeched that she was going to London. That she was actually going to walk the streets where Sherlock Holmes had walked, with Watson, to find out what Moriarty’s latest trick was.
In her excitement she seemed to forget that Sherlock Holmes had never actually existed.
The elderly lady came forward to receive her prize, her eyes wide with the thrill of having secured this big prize, not by a draw or luck, but by her own ingenuity, her sleuthing talent.
Vicky looked at Michael, who stared ahead as if he could not believe it.
Cash had almost dropped his hamburger and said something to a man by his side. She bet he was claiming it was fraudulent or he would have won. After all, he had known all the answers.
And nobody had his sense of navigation, right?
“Thank you all for making my stay in Glen Cove so worthwhile,” Bella went on. “I enjoyed your town, the scenery, the fabulous food and most of all, the Country Gift Shop where I felt right at home. Please keep in mind that you can always go there for a touch of the UK and you can of course find all of my books there. Stay safe and have a great evening with all of this delicious food.”
She stepped back, received a thunderous applause and was then helped down the platform by a young woman with a ponytail. The real Lisa Coombs, who had come back from Florida, had made her abject apologies for the situation, had admitted she had just been eager for a little free vacation, and had humbly asked if she could work for Bella anyway.
Grand Prize: Murder! Page 20
