Written into the Grave

Cash waved a hand. “Whatever. I’ll think about all that later. Now I need to get our hot-headed suspect to the station.”

He reached up as if he wanted to touch his painful nose, then thought better of it and pulled his hand down again. “At least I now have something to hold him on. Until I’ve figured out the whole connection between the newspaper bit and the murder.”

Vicky followed him out of the shed.

At the police car Trevor was wailing out of the open window. “I did nothing wrong. I did …”

Then Gunhild came from the house in a run, something in her hand. Her face was ashen, and her light hair caught on the wind. She looked like a fury in a painting Vicky had once seen, a creature of vengeance coming down on the world.

At the police car she waved the thing in her hand at Trevor. It was the Glen Cove Gazette. “You … You killed him. You …” She gasped for breath. “You wrote down exactly how you’d do it and then you did it. You’re sick. Sick! You even dare show your face here after …”

The paper fluttered into the grass as Gunhild staggered.

Cash and the deputy each grabbed her from one side. Cash said, “Quickly back into the house. She’s in shock.”

Trevor called, “I didn’t do anything. I don’t understand. Gunhild! I didn’t do anything. Please. Gunhild!”

His calls were like those of a child for a mother he is separated from.

The despair in his face seemed real.

Vicky swallowed as she followed the men who carried the collapsed woman back into the house.

Chapter Five (#ulink_2dc4d60f-4829-5111-8317-2c1708150bdd)

After they had put Gunhild on the couch to come to her senses, Cash said to Vicky, “You have to stay here with her. She can’t be alone like this.”

Vicky checked her watch. “I should have been at the store already. There might be customers. Marge isn’t there because she’s helping a friend with a move and …”

“Call Ms. Tennings or somebody else,” Cash said brusquely. “This is more important.”

Vicky eyed him. “Trevor just showed up here, acting like nothing was wrong. He was making tea for us and all.” She gestured at the teapot and cups on the sink. “Can he really have believed he could get away with it?”

“Maybe he’s mentally unstable.” Cash shrugged. “Doesn’t have a conscience or a sense of guilt like other people do. I’ll have to bring someone in to assess him, I suppose. The risk he poses to others and possibly to himself. If we’re locking him up, I don’t want to take any chances of him hurting himself and escaping his trial.”

Vicky said, “I think he’s still very confused as to why he’s being taken in. You didn’t exactly explain it to him.”

Something about Trevor’s bewildered cries at Gunhild made her pity the young man. He might be a clever actor, or someone who was falling from one emotion into the other without having control over it himself, but he also might genuinely be ignorant of the developments.

Cash gave her a dark look. “Are you criticizing my behavior?’

“No, but … he seemed so confused and … Maybe he really has no idea what’s up?”

Cash leaned back on his heels. “He wrote the piece for the paper. If anybody knows what’s up, it’s him.”

“Yes, that certainly seems so, but …” Vicky’s thoughts raced. “Maybe Trevor discussed it beforehand with others. Maybe people knew he was sending it in. Maybe they took advantage of this opportunity. The doctor did use odd words for the dead man, that he was an unlikable type and even that he was guilty of something. If Goodridge had enemies …”

“Enemies who just happened to know what exactly Trevor was writing up for his contribution to the serial in our local paper? Doesn’t seem likely to me.”

“Well, at least you can explain to him what’s wrong.”

“I might get more while he’s still confused. I want to know where he was before he came here and how the gun came to be in the shed.”

Cash waved at her. “I have to get on it. You stay here with Mrs. Goodridge and take care of her until she is better or someone else is here to see to her needs. I’ll call you later, OK? Bye.”

Vicky sighed as Cash stalked off. She pulled out her phone again and called Marge. Her friend answered at the third ring. “Vicky! I’m so relieved. I heard something was up near the beach and when you didn’t turn up here, I thought—”

“You’re at the store?” Vicky interjected.

“Yes. The move has been postponed again so I came to work. Where are you?”

“With someone who’s feeling ill and needs someone to sit with her for a while. I’ll explain everything to you later, OK? Just take care of the store for me. I’ll stop by as soon as I’m done here.”

Vicky hung up before Marge could ask more.

Gunhild was lying on the couch, her hands over her face. Vicky heard her slow, deliberate breathing. She asked carefully, “How are you now?”

“I wish I had never read that paper. I can’t get the words out of my head, describing the dead body’s fall to the cliffs below. Describing Archie’s …” Her voice choked. “How can Trevor have thought up something so … terrible. And done it. Done it!”

Vicky said, “Take it easy now. No need to get all worked up.”

“Worked up?” Gunhild shot into a sitting position and stared at Vicky with burning eyes. “My husband’s dead. Dead because someone shot him. And that someone wrote about it in the newspaper as if it was some kind of an accomplishment. Something to gloat about! How can I not be worked up? I could kill Trevor right now.” She made a grabbing movement with her hands.

“How well do you know Trevor anyway?”

Gunhild took a moment to calm herself before she could reply. “Oh, he’s worked for us since we came to this house. He seemed a nice boy, really good with the flowers. There didn’t seem to be a violent bone in his body. And he liked my art. Or so he said.”

She rubbed her forehead. “Archie never liked him. He said Trevor was worshiping Kaylee. He always … got jealous of other men showing an interest in his daughter. Kaylee used to say she’d never find a boyfriend this way, because Archie scared them all off. It wasn’t that bad really. He was just protective of her. Afraid she’d make wrong decisions.”

Gunhild glanced at the open cupboard along the wall. It held several photographs in silver frames. “Have a look there, Vicky. See what a handsome man he … was.” Her voice cracked on the past tense.

Vicky went over and picked up a photograph of a man holding a trophy. “He liked sports?”

“Tennis foremost. A little golf. Always liked to be the best in everything he did.” Gunhild smiled thinly. “That was his way.”

Vicky put the photo back and studied the wedding picture beside it. The man in a suit, Gunhild in a stunning white dress with a big bouquet. There was also a girl of sixteen or seventeen in the shot, standing next to the man. She was smiling, but her eyes were full of a strange intensity. Daring maybe?

“Is that Kaylee? She’s the daughter from his first marriage, right?” Vicky asked.

Gunhild looked and nodded. “Yes. She came to live with us when we married. I’ll have to call her to tell her the news. But I really don’t want to do it. She’s a real Daddy’s girl, you know. This will completely destroy her. Oh, I can’t understand why Trevor did it.”

She began to sob again.

Vicky didn’t know what to say or do. She stayed in place, rubbing her hands together.

Gunhild said between sobs, “I liked him and wanted to keep him on while Archie wanted to fire him. If only I had listened to him. Then maybe Archie would still be alive.”

Vicky didn’t follow. “Why would he? If your husband had fired Trevor, he would only have made Trevor mad, giving him more of a reason to come after him and kill him. Right?”