Dead, Bath, and Beyond

by Lorraine Bartlett

  Del’s face was starting to look like a rock, unmoving and unyielding, so Katie hurried to say, “Nick and Don over at Sassy Sally’s are good friends of mine, and they’re concerned that the murder investigation might hurt their business. I want to do whatever I can to help them, and, like I said, boats keep turning up in a lot of conversations.”

  “That Don.” Del laughed. “He’s a nut. A good one, but still a nut. Okay, I guess I see where you’re going with this. And you’ll never guess the guy who was behind that great boat deal I was supposed to get.”

  “Josh Kimper,” Katie said. Something Del had said that day had lingered in the back of her mind and had finally burst into her consciousness the night before at Seth’s dining table.

  “Bingo.” Del’s shoulders heaved up and down as he blew out a heavy sigh. “You know Warren Noth? He’s the contractor at Sally’s. I was out at Thompson’s Landing about a year ago and saw his boat. It would have been perfect. Right size, the right engines, the right cabin setup, everything.” He stared off into space, remembering.

  Katie waited, but Del didn’t say anything for what felt like half an hour. Then, when she was ready to interrupt, he stirred and said, “Anyway, a few weeks ago I ran into Kimper at that big boat supply store in Irondequoit—I needed a new anchor for my dinky little Boston Whaler—and we got talking. I mentioned Noth’s boat, and Kimper said he had a line on one a lot like that. He said he’d able to work out a deal for me if I was willing to wait a little bit.”

  “How long?” Katie asked.

  “A few months,” Del said. “So I wouldn’t get it in time for this season, but in plenty of time for next year.” His face twisted. “And now I got nothing. Even now, at the end of the season when prices are the lowest they’ll probably get, there’s nothing close to what Josh was promising. It’s either get a loan, which my wife isn’t about to let me do, or accept the fact that any new boat I get is going to be a lot smaller than what Kimper was going to get for me.”

  Katie, who had by now finished her oatmeal, gave him a sympathetic smile. “Well, I seem to be running into a lot of people with boats these days. If I hear of a good deal, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Thanks, Katie,” Del said and pushed himself to his feet. “But I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  Watching him go, she thought about what she’d just learned. Josh had been brokering yet another boat deal. Why? What did selling boats have to do with the insurance business? And, more to the point, did it have anything to do with Josh’s murder?

  Once inside her office, Katie got to work on updating her spreadsheets to generate a mid-month report. In a few more weeks she would have a complete year of financial data she’d assembled herself, and she was looking forward to being able to make solid comparisons between this and the previous year.

  She was so engrossed in the data that she didn’t realize anyone had come in until someone cleared her throat so loudly it make Katie jump.

  “Rose!” Katie put her hands to her throat. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Sorry,” Rose said, not sounding sorry at all. “But you need to know what’s going on in the lobby.”

  “Haven’t we had this conversation before?” Katie asked, half smiling.

  “Close but not quite.” Rose made a come-along motion with her head, her honey-blonde curls dancing as she did so. “Better do this now. The natives are getting restless.”

  Katie saved her data, then pushed her creaky chair backward and stood. “Isn’t it a little early for that?” she asked. “Restlessness, I mean. It isn’t even noon.”

  “You’ll see why,” Rose said as they walked down the short hallway and turned the corner to the lobby. “Or rather you’ll—”

  “Holy cow!” Katie stopped dead and wrinkled her nose. “What is that awful smell?”

  Rose held her arm out like the ghost of Christmas past and pointed to a cluster of air fresheners. A big cluster. As in a dozen or more, sitting on a small table in the center of the lobby. An orange extension cord snaked its way from a wall outlet to the table, where it exploded in a mass of tangled short extension cords plugged into more extension cords so that each air freshener had its own power source.

  The competing smells were even worse than the smell from the candles had been, but to Katie, that wasn’t the real problem. It was the incredible fire hazard the extension cords were creating. And the tripping hazard. And the—

  Katie stopped listing all the problems in her head and practically ran to the end of the main extension cord. She yanked it out of the wall and started looping it in one hand.

  “I’ve heard,” said Rose, who was standing by and watching, “that those plug-in air fresheners are a fire hazard in and of themselves, and studies have concluded their emissions are carcinogenic.”

  Katie nodded. She’d heard the same thing and had immediately unplugged the one she’d installed next to the cat’s litter box. She missed the fresh linen scent, but the possibility of a fire, even if remote, wasn’t worth it.

  Once she’d finished with the orange cord, she crouched down and started unplugging the tangled mess under the table.

  She and Crystal were going to have to have a serious talk. No artificial scent was going to cover up the sharp odor coming from the salon. Although, now that both candles and air fresheners were out, Katie wasn’t sure what was left, but Crystal would have to try something else. Katie knew she was going to have to play the bad guy, and she regretted that. Crystal seemed like a hard worker who, if she was given a chance, would go far, and Katie wanted to encourage that kind of attitude, but she couldn’t let it happen at the expense of Artisans Alley.

  The last air freshener was just out of her reach. She went down onto her knees and stretched out with her arm, reaching, then saw a pair of very wide and brown shoes come to a stomping halt six inches from her outstretched right hand.

  “This can’t be allowed to continue,” thundered a deep voice.

  Katie closed her eyes for a moment. Of all the things she didn’t want to deal with right now, talking to Godfrey Foster was in the top ten.

  “I want to know what you’re going to do about this,” he continued loudly.

  Or, possibly, the top five.

  Recognizing that she was at a huge psychological disadvantage by being on the floor, Katie didn’t respond at first. Instead, she finished unplugging the last air freshener and crawled out from under the table while dragging the conglomeration of fresheners and extension cords.

  Godfrey went on with his tirade as she got to her feet and dusted off her pants. “This is inexcusable,” he said, waving at the pile she’d just created. “How could anyone be so ridiculous as to think cheap little products like this could possibly mask the stench coming out of there?” He pointed at the salon. “It’s bad enough that we have to smell the shampoos and conditioners and dyes and whatever horrific chemicals they use for permanent waves, but the reek of those acrylic nails is beyond the pale. It cannot be borne, and I insist that you do something about it right this instant.”

  Katie, still leaned over in the act of making sure her pants weren’t dusty, could have sworn that Godfrey stamped his foot, just like a three-year-old.

  “I demand to know your plan,” he said. “We demand to know.”

  Katie looked around Godfrey’s large, soft body and didn’t see anyone except Rose. The few shoppers who’d been in the lobby had vanished either out the front door or into the sales room when Godfrey had started shouting, so she didn’t know what “we” he was talking about, exactly. The royal “we” just did not pertain to Godfrey.

  Still, much as she’d didn’t want to admit it, he had a point. And when he stopped talking, she would tell him so.

  “It’s got to be a breach of the lease contract to subject the rest of us to this smell,” he was saying. “We have a right to safe premises, do we n
ot?”

  Katie frowned, her ire rising. “What isn’t safe here? Artisans Alley has women’s and men’s bathrooms, a vendors’ lounge with a kitchenette. I’ve installed fire extinguishers, emergency exit signs, automated external defibrillators, and air-conditioning, at great expense, I may add. And last winter I spent a small fortune on salt for the sidewalks and parking lot. What more can I possibly do?”

  Godfrey smiled, and Katie averted her eyes from the sight of his rubbery lips turning upward. “If you can afford all that,” he said, “why don’t we have an elevator? That should be required in a two-story building. I can’t believe you haven’t been cited for that.”

  Katie put her shoulders back and started straight at him. “Are you saying that I’m breaking the law by not having spent over a hundred thousand dollars on an elevator?”

  “Well, no,” he said, shifting his eyes away from hers. “Not breaking the law, precisely, but skirting it, perhaps.”

  “There is no requirement,” Katie snapped. “Not for a store that hasn’t changed from its retail purpose in decades.”

  “Then you’d best figure out what to do about that place.” He pointed at the salon again. “I have allergies, you know. Very bad allergies. And if something happens to me, you can bet that I’ll be suing you for every penny you have and then some.”

  He spun around and marched off.

  Katie’s shoulders slumped. Now what was she going to do?

  Katie’s early lunch at Del’s with Andy didn’t provide her with any answers to the Godfrey dilemma, but it did give her a needed respite from the morning’s stress. But at the end of the meal—which lasted no longer than the time it took to order, get the food, and eat—Andy got up, said a quick “Got to go, I’ll see you later,” and left the restaurant.

  Katie lingered over her coffee for another five minutes or so before she, too, got up and left the diner. As she walked back to Artisans Alley, zipping up her jacket against air that held a chill, Katie wondered where the relationship between herself and Andy was likely to go. They were good together, but with their work schedules, how were they ever going to spend enough time together to see what they both truly wanted?

  Her steps slowed as a new thought occurred to her. Was Andy spending so little time with her because he didn’t see that they had a future? Was he intentionally pulling away from her gradually? Would their time together be less and less until it just dribbled to nothing?

  Katie shook her head and started walking again. Andy wasn’t like that. He didn’t play games. He was open and straightforward, and if he wanted something different, he wouldn’t beat around any bushes; he’d come out and ask.

  With that settled, at least in her own mind, Katie went back to thinking about the latest crisis at Artisans Alley. She thought about it as she walked across the Square, thought about it as she walked in the front door, and was still thinking about it when she stood in front of the door to the Envy Salon and Day Spa, which held a handwritten sign that said, “Out to lunch, back at 1.”

  “Swell,” Katie muttered. Well, she’d have to talk to Crystal later. She made a mental note to get the young woman’s phone number from Brittany at the earliest opportunity, and that would be later in the afternoon when she’d scheduled herself to work at the front cash register. She did want to get the financial statements in line first, but Saturday was the busiest day for the vendors, and she wanted to give them as much face time with their customers as she could.

  Before heading back to her office, though, she decided to take a walk around the sales floor, something she always enjoyed. But it was more than enjoyment, she realized as she went past a booth of handmade cards, a booth of fused glass jewelry, a booth selling nature photographs, and a booth filled with blown glass. Walking the floor gave her a deep sense of pride and accomplishment for what she’d achieved by turning around a dying business. She’d provided a sales vehicle for her dozens of artists and provided access to original arts and crafts for people not only in McKinlay Mill, but for miles around.

  Katie glowed as she watched customers exclaim over the vendors’ wares. She was doing good work, running Artisans Alley, and even with the occasional crisis, she was far happier here than she’d ever been working in the insurance business.

  “Hey, Ms. Bonner. What do you think?”

  It took Katie a moment to realize that she’d been asked a question. She couldn’t think of the last time anyone other than the deputies had called her by her last name, and the young voice that had hailed her was no police officer.

  She turned from the booth of pressed flowers she’d been looking over and faced two of Ray Davenport’s three daughters, Sadie and Sasha. Both were teenaged, blonde, and dressed in jeans, sneakers, and hooded sweatshirts that had the name of the local high school emblazoned across the front. The two were nearly identical in height, and Katie had no idea which one was older, nor did she have any idea which one had spoken.

  But it didn’t matter, since both had dimpled smiles and were obviously eager to show her something.

  “What do I think of what?” Katie asked.

  Like a precision team, the two girls stepped apart and flung out their arms, gesturing toward the booth that Ray had recently rented. “This!” Sadie said proudly.

  Katie blinked at the transformation. Ray had handed over a month’s rent the week before and early that next morning he’d put together a simple booth arrangement of shelves filled with his wooden creations. It had been nice enough, but on the plain side, and anyone not specifically looking for a wooden toy or frame would have passed right by.

  That minimalist display was gone, and a spectacularly attractive booth was in its place. The serviceable wooden shelves had been replaced by jet-black displays with indirect lighting that lit Ray’s wares crisply. The harsh overhead light was no more; it had a clip-on shade that bathed the booth in a warm glow. The plain white plastic table was now covered with the sheen of a dark gray silk that hung to the floor in luxurious folds, and the plain three-ring binder that had contained photos of other pieces by Ray had vanished. Instead, an electronic picture display set inside one of Ray’s wooden frames automatically rotated images of different pieces.

  “This is . . .” Katie struggled for words.

  “Amazing?” Sasha suggested.

  “Stupendous?” Sadie asked, giggling.

  “Fantastic,” her sister said.

  “Awesome.”

  “Stunning.”

  “Breathtaking.”

  Katie laughed, ending the superlative contest. “All of the above. But . . . how?” She gestured at the booth. “And does your dad know about this?”

  The girls looked at each other and shrugged. “Sure,” Sadie said. “I mean, he doesn’t know the details, but we told him he needed to fix up his booth a little.”

  Katie’s eyebrows went up. “This is what you call a little?”

  Sadie grinned. “So we inherited the gift of understatement from our dad. Is that our fault?”

  No, Katie thought, but she decided brokering communication between the girls and Ray wasn’t her job. She moved on to the bigger questions. “But how did you do all this? These fixtures must have cost a fortune.”

  Sasha was shaking her head. “Hardly cost anything. Out at the mall? One of Dad’s friends works security, and he was over at the house the other day, said a store was going out of business and we could pick up stuff for next to nothing.”

  “That’s what gave us this idea in the first place,” Sadie said, picking up the story. “One of the guys in my class, his dad has a landscaping business where my friend works in the summer, so it was no big deal to get him to borrow a truck and trailer and haul these things over. We packed it all up last night and got here first thing this morning.”

  “And that silk?” Sadie pointed, beaming. “I found that at a resale store. Can you believe it? Yards and
yards. It was in a back corner and dirty, but still, all I had to do was wash it in the bathtub a few times, dry it out on a clothesline I rigged up, and iron it.”

  Yes, that was all she had to do. Katie smiled at the girls. Whoever said that the youth of today wasn’t willing to work had never met this pair.

  “We paid all of two dollars for that lamp shade,” Sasha said eagerly. “It was in same resale shop where we found the silk.”

  “And that electronic picture display,” Sadie said, “was a Christmas present Dad had never used. It’s just perfect for this, don’t you think?”

  Katie nodded and anticipated that many of the other vendors would start doing the same thing.

  “You know,” Sadie said, looking around, “Dad likes it here a lot. This is so nice, I bet he thinks twice about moving to that old barn of a store when that construction is done.”

  Katie smiled. She had a feeling Sadie was projecting her own feelings onto her dad. “I doubt that. He needs more space than this booth if he’s going to make much money. And there’s certainly no place here for him to do his woodworking.”

  “But you’d like it if he stayed, right?” Sasha asked.

  “Of course I would,” Katie said. If she was any judge of human behavior, a booth like what they’d just created would push other vendors to step up their game, and how could that be bad for Artisans Alley?

  “That’s what we thought,” Sadie said, grinning. “Thanks, Ms. Bonner.”

  Katie walked off, thinking that Ray was lucky to have children who were willing to work so hard for him.

  Halfway back to her office, she saw Vance walking toward her. She snapped her fingers and said, “Vance, there’s something I wanted to ask you, but I can’t remember what.”

  He stopped to talk to her. “Hope it’s not the price of tea in China, because I haven’t a clue.”

  “No, no.” She frowned, trying to think. Who had she been talking to about Vance? And when? Then she smiled. “You know Andy Rust?”