A Country Gift Shop Collection: Three cosy crime novels that will keep you guessing!

Claire came up to her. “Come on, Coco.”

Nails scratched on the floorboards, and a cuddly white bichon frise ran past Claire up to Vicky, whining for a pat. Vicky smiled as she leaned down to scratch the doggy behind the ears. Her shoe-box apartment hadn’t allowed her to have pets. Here she intended to take full advantage of the nearness of her mother’s beloved lapdogs. “Where’s Mr. Pug?”

“On his walk.”

“His begging tour, you mean.” Mr. Pug always took a morning stroll on his own, just down the road and back, around the time when people went to their mailboxes or left for shopping. His cute black face usually persuaded them to give him a cookie or another snack.

“He likes the good life.” Claire leaned down with the leash in her hand. “Come here, Coco; be a sweet girl now.”

With a playful yap the dog jumped just out of Claire’s reach.

Claire sighed. “Stand still now, girl. Come on.”

“Let me do that,” Vicky said, trying to pull the leash from her mother’s hand. Coco could be just like a naughty toddler staying out of reach.

“I can put my own dog on the leash,” Claire protested, tearing the leash away and leaning even further to clip it onto Coco’s collar. “Turning seventy doesn’t make one weak or senile.”

Vicky held her breath, worried that the playful dog would scoot away again and Claire would hurt her back. Her mother had suffered from joint trouble for some time now, although in her letters she had always pretended everything was fine. But Vicky had seen the tightness in her mother’s facial muscles this morning as she had struggled to get the lid off the tin with biscuits.

“There.” Claire put the leash in place and straightened up with a satisfied grunt. She cast Vicky a glance. “That retirement home Emma was raving about doesn’t even allow pets.”

“I didn’t know Emma had any pets,” Vicky said innocently, although she knew full well what her mother was driving at. Ever since Vicky had told Claire she was coming home, Claire was convinced it was a conspiracy to get her out of her cottage and her independent life and into a retirement home. The idea of losing her freedom, and her dogs, set her mother’s blood on fire. But Claire did need someone to be close to her and cater discreetly to her needs. Board up the cottage windows when a storm was about to blow in, get an old photo album out of the attic. Or just spend a night together watching Claire’s favorite gardening show. But if Vicky really wanted to help her, everything would have to be done in a way that made Claire feel like she was still doing everything on her own.

“There is Mr. Pug now,” Vicky said quickly and opened the back door to meet the dog halfway along the driveway. She squatted and patted his sturdy body. Mr. Pug grunted in satisfaction, tilting his face up to her. The crumbs around his mouth looked a lot like blueberry muffin.

Just a few feet away from them the Glen Cove Gazette rested in the grass, thrown there by the newspaper boy who never bothered to get off his bike. The whole front page seemed to be taken up by a photograph of a stunningly beautiful woman.

A woman who seemed somehow familiar.

“Celine…” Vicky said under her breath.

A chill went up her spine, and she scrambled to her feet. Snatching the newspaper up from the grass, her hands began to tremble. She stared into those familiar eyes. It was a stunning portrait of the girl who had gone missing over twenty years ago, but somehow more mature, even more commanding in her stark classic beauty. The blonde hair so soft around her face, the eyes a little sad, boring their way straight into the beholder’s heart.

Celine Dobbs’ disappearance had been a life-changing event for the entire town. Also for Vicky herself. Looking out of her window at night seeing the searchlights on the beach where workers combed the caves for a dead body…

Somehow her hometown hadn’t felt the same anymore. Perhaps that had even pushed her to become a foreign correspondent and leave the States altogether. Leave behind a confusing time of insecurity for a whole new life far away. First in Switzerland, then in the UK.

Frowning, Vicky read the thick black letters above the photograph: Missing girl’s twin: Reopen case.

So it was not Celine in the picture.

No, of course not, how could it have been? Celine had vanished at nineteen. This woman was of Vicky’s own age, but still with that ageless beauty that had made the Dobbs twins legendary in the area. This had to be…

Vicky dug through her memories. What had Celine’s sister been called?

Diane?

Yes, her name was in the piece below. Diane Dobbs.

Vicky held the paper up to Claire. “Didn’t Diane leave for Europe to study there?”

Claire nodded. “Got married there, has kids.”

Vicky ignored her mother’s reference to her favorite topic of marriage and babies and asked, “Why would she suddenly want to revisit the little town where her family was torn apart? Her likeness to her vanished sister will cause a stir.”

“A sensation is more like it, and that’s exactly what they want.” Claire crossed her arms over her chest, her chin up in a challenging gesture.

“They?” Vicky queried. She studied the large photograph again. “Is Diane doing this for her parents? I suppose it doesn’t get any easier to live with when people get older, have time on their hands to think about it.”

She searched the facial expression, the eyes, of the woman in the photograph as if those could give away the reasons for this rather desperate action. After all, after so long a time all evidence, if there had been any, had to be gone.

Did Diane really think people would remember something? That someone would suddenly come forward with new information to support her request to reopen the case?

Scanning the article to look for the vital paragraph on what kind of new information was wanted, Vicky’s gaze descended on the byline.

Interview by Michael Danning.

Another shock went through her, worse almost than the one before. “Michael Danning wrote this article?” Had he visited Diane in Europe?

No, this picture was taken in Glen Cove. Vicky recognized the iconic lighthouse in the background.

Claire huffed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know he was back in town.”

“Michael back in town? Here in Glen Cove? Why would he come back here when…”

“When we all know he abducted and killed Celine.” Claire leaned back on her heels. Her prim nod underlined her harsh words.

Vicky shuddered at the thought such talk would get around town. “Mom, you can’t call someone an abductor or a killer before he is actually convicted. And even then people do get convicted for crimes they didn’t commit.”

Vicky clutched the paper. Michael’s fate if he had ever been forced to go to trial had been on her mind every now and then over the years. When a story hit the news about someone getting accused of a crime and trying to clear his or her name. Or when a story hit about someone having spent time in jail and then the true culprit getting arrested, based on DNA evidence for instance. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be locked up and know you were innocent but had no way of ever proving it.

She said with difficulty, “A lot of people worked hard at the time to make sure Michael got smeared, but there was never enough evidence to take the case to trial.”

“Because there was no body found.” Claire held her gaze. “That was Danning’s smartest move. They couldn’t prove murder, as they could never establish Celine did die. But how could she still be alive? Do you believe a daughter is so heartless she would never let her parents know what happened to her? That she is just living her life someplace not caring for how her own family feels?”

Vicky pursed her lips. It didn’t seem likely.

Claire said, “You only came back here to see Michael Danning again. I knew from the moment you told me about your return.”

Vicky tried to scoff. “I had no idea he was out here. You sure didn’t tell me, and who else would have? How long has he been here anyway? He and Diane? All those times we talked on the phone or you wrote to me, and not a word about either of them.”

“Diane hasn’t been here long,” Claire protested.

“That’s not the point,” Vicky said. “You even called me to tell me a neighbor painted his garden gate yellow.”

“Canary yellow. Quite hard on the eyes.”

“Mom! Celine’s disappearance is the biggest thing that ever happened in Glen Cove. Why would your friends not talk about it? Pam just called to say Roberts is selling his place. She must also have called to tell you about Michael’s return, Diane’s, and this whole thing about the disappearance case being reopened, right?” Vicky tapped on the paper’s headline. “You knew and yet you never mentioned it to me.”