Vicky tilted her head. Her mother’s tone intrigued her. “How can you be so sure?”
Claire marched to the gate. “They should have left it alone. Everybody had forgotten about it. We don’t want it all dragged up again.”
She waved a hand in the air. “You were questioned by the police at the time. My only daughter, questioned by the police.” The indignation was thick in her voice like it had been a personal slight she couldn’t forget.
“Everybody in college was questioned,” Vicky protested. “It had nothing to do with me personally. They were just trying to find clues to that mystery man Celine was allegedly meeting. But nobody had ever seen him or could give a clear description of him.”
“Because he doesn’t exist. He was just some fabrication of Danning’s to shift the blame. He killed Celine.”
“You don’t know that so please stop saying it.”
Claire continued as if she had not heard Vicky’s protestations, “Now that you have left London behind and come to live here for good, you will go work at the Gazette. What else would you do with your time? You’re a reporter, a good one; you love your work. You’re not going to sit on your hands. You’re not going to Monday afternoon bingo or whatever else they think up around here for people who have nothing to do all day long.”
Claire’s hand tightened on the gate. “You’re young and ambitious. You can’t fool me that you suddenly want to do something else, outside of the reporting world. No, this was all a setup from the start. You’re on your way now to the Gazette’s building, to see Michael Danning about freelance assignments. Or maybe even about a part-time job there? You have enough experience; he might take you on for that. But I’m telling you it’s a bad idea. That paper is dead, has been for ages. And with him in charge, people won’t touch it for sure. No matter what he comes up with for a cheap headline. They all know about him.”
Claire pulled back her narrow shoulders in her lilac cardigan. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to explain to my friends that my daughter is going to work for that man.”
So that was why her mother had been so reluctant to accept her homecoming as good news. Not only because she was afraid of a retirement home, but also because she had suspected Vicky wanted to work with Michael Danning. The Houdini among bachelors as Claire had called him, before Celine had vanished. After that, Claire had been convinced Michael was to blame. He was the last person alive she wanted associated with her only daughter.
Cheerful chimes wafted over to them on the breeze. The church tower’s melody for the quarter of an hour. A quarter to ten.
Vicky started, dropping the paper in the grass. It was a good ten-minute walk, and she didn’t want to arrive in a sweat from rushing. If only she had brought her bike to her mother’s. But she had figured it would be nice to walk into town, the old route she had taken countless times, and see if much had changed. It had seemed nostalgic and fun. Right now, however, she was shaken to the core by the news of Michael’s return and the possibility the old disappearance case would be reopened.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “I have to go. And no, not to see Michael Danning. You kept that hidden from me very cleverly. Too bad really. If I had known Michael was back in town and this whole thing was about to unfold…I might have decided to stay away until it was over.”
Copyright
HQ
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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017
Copyright © Vivian Conroy 2017
Vivian Conroy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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E-book Edition © March 2017 ISBN: 9780008239190
Grand Prize: Murder! Page 22
