Vivian Conroy - Dead to Begin With

She glanced around her, up and down the empty beach. “I thought it was a great idea when my psychiatrist suggested this trip. So much time had passed that I believed I could go back to the Glen Cove I had always cared for. That I could recover what I had lost and sort of find healing. But now I’m not so sure anymore. It’s not just the past. It’s the present. People have acted so hostile when I want to talk to them, like they are all protecting some guilty secret.”

“They need not.” Vicky buttoned up her coat again. It was chilly in the wind. “They’re just upset that the old story is alive again. People were made suspects at the time and they couldn’t defend themselves. It’s always worst to feel helpless.”

“Yes, I know.”

Vicky bit her lip. Perhaps Glen Cove should have taken a different attitude toward Diane’s return, welcoming her and even welcoming her questions, no matter how painful they might be. It was not Diane’s fault that her family name had become associated with a crime. The real person to blame was the abductor.

“Shall we walk together?” she suggested.

Diane appeared surprised at her offer, but agreed, falling into step beside her further down the beach toward the vantage point. The German shepherd was still chasing waves, while Mr. Pug padded along on the other side of the beach close to the cliffs. Coco had found a piece of wood, which she sniffed from all sides, before running after Mr. Pug, her tail up and her sharp bark filling the air.

Diane asked, “Where do you live?”

“At the far end of Main Street, where it turns away to Culver Road. There are several empty cottages there so I could rent one at short notice.”

“Then we’re almost neighbors,” Diane said. “I rented the one old widow Black used to live in.”

“The captain’s widow?” Vicky could still see the man in her mind, in his uniform coming back from a week at sea. Fishermen then still stayed out for days on end, and he had been in charge of a large ship that employed about ten men from Glen Cove and a neighboring town. The captain’s wife had been a nice petite woman who bought cookies at the baker’s and then handed them out to the children in the street. Her own grandchildren had lived on the other side of the country, and she had only seen them at Christmas.

Diane walked vigorously, almost smiling at her. “Yes, it’s a cute place with old-fashioned curtains and tiny rooms compared to what I’m used to. But I feel right at home. The kitchen is great with an old stove. I had to get used to handling it, but now I’m fine. It gives so much warmth that I spend a lot of time near it.”

She hesitated a moment. “Often I can’t sleep and get up to do some chore in the kitchen. Cleaning, breaking beans. I hadn’t done that in years, but it’s very relaxing. The same movement over and over again. Until your head gets empty.”

Vicky wondered if Diane had anybody to talk to now that she was out here. It seemed like she was dwelling mainly on her sister’s fate. That could not be healthy.

Maybe she should engage her in something distracting?

“I empty my head here on the beach,” Vicky said, gesturing around her. “I can forget all the craziness of my store renovations and just re-energize.”

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