“Okay,” he said. “I know this looks bad, especially since that’s probably where Kimper died—or at least where he was transported after he drowned—but there’s a good reason why I was gone. A reason that doesn’t have anything to do with Kimper’s death.”
“I never once thought you were involved,” Katie said softly.
“Of course not.” Don reached across the table to pat her hand. “I thank you for that, very, very much. And though I’d trust you with my life, there are some things I’d rather not share right now, not if I don’t have to.”
Katie looked at him, still troubled. “It’s not me,” she said. “It’s the police. They’re bound to find out that your alibi is far from solid. What are you going to do then?”
Don grinned. “I’m going on the assumption that they’ll find the real killer before they get around to poking holes in my alibi. Now, drink your coffee before it gets cold, and eat those cookies before they get stale.”
“But—”
“My darling Katie,” Don said. “It will be fine. Don’t worry.”
But Katie knew that she would.
The clouds that Katie had woken to had blown off by mid-morning, but there was a distinct chill to the air that somehow translated into one of those days that defy retail lore and expectations.
Normally, on weekdays there was no need for more than minimal help at the checkout registers and on the floor. That particular Wednesday, however, Artisans Alley was deluged with shoppers who had questions, who wanted to purchase items, who wanted gift wrapping, and who wanted to gush to anyone present about how wonderful it was to find so many fantastic artists and artisans under one roof.
Katie had hurried out to help after a panicky summons from Liz Meier, who was spending the day at Cash Desk 1, and there wasn’t a single break in the action until late afternoon.
“Wow,” Liz said, leaning back against the counter and blowing out a breath. “What a day! I can’t believe how busy we’ve been.”
“It’s been wild,” Katie agreed. She was also wondering why it had happened. Had it been a freak occurrence, or was it something else? Her marketing classes had taught her not to jump to conclusions on the basis of one day of sales, but there had to be a reason. There was always a reason. Well, unless there wasn’t. Sometimes things just happened.
Brittany Kohler poked her head out of the salon’s door. “Have you guys been bizarrely busy, too?”
“Beyond belief, for a Wednesday,” Katie said. “You, too?”
“Sure have.” Brittany nodded. “And I think I know why. There was an article about Victoria Square in Rochester’s Sunday paper.”
“There was?” Katie was surprised. Months ago, as part of her duties as president of the Victoria Square Merchants Association, she’d sent all the newspapers in the area a press release about the changes in the Square. One or two had picked it up, but Katie had never been sure it had done any good.
Brittany smiled. “Half a page, pictures and everything.”
“That’s funny,” Liz said. “I don’t remember hearing about any reporter coming around.”
“Or seeing any photographer taking pictures.” Katie frowned, then shrugged. “But I guess I don’t care,” she said, starting to smile, “since it must have been written by someone who liked the Square.”
“A number of them told me they’d come back to shop for Christmas,” Liz said.
Katie held up her hands and crossed her fingers. “Here’s hoping!”
The women laughed, and the happy sound filled the lobby. It gave Katie a warm, fuzzy feeling deep inside, and she sent up a wish that all their hopes would come true.
“Well, I have to get back,” Brittany said. “See you ladies later.”
Just then, a wisp of hair fell out of Katie’s ponytail. She hurried toward the salon and caught the door just before it closed. “Brittany, do you have time to cut my hair?”
The other woman shook her head. “Sorry, I have an appointment in ten minutes. Do you want to schedule something for tomorrow?”
“I’d better not,” Katie said regretfully. “I can’t count on having the time. I’ll just have to wait and catch you when there’s an opening.”
“Happily, they’re getting to be few and far between.” Brittany, behind the counter now, tapped at a computer. “If this keeps up, I’m going to have to hire someone early next year.” She rolled her eyes. “Then I have to learn about doing payroll and keeping back taxes and workers’ compensation and who knows what else.”
Katie laughed. “The high price of success.” Then she sobered, because hoping for a haircut hadn’t been the only reason she’d followed Brittany into the salon. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Sure,” Brittany said. “Highlights? A new cut?” She looked at Katie’s hair judiciously. “There’s a pixie cut that I bet would look great on you.”
Katie flashed on an image of herself in short hair. Not a chance. Then again . . . She shook her head. “It’s about Crystal.”
“Isn’t she great?” Brittany smiled. “She’s really good at nails. It’s almost artwork, which is why I thought she’d fit in well here.”
“She does,” Katie said, “but the smells don’t belong at all.”
Brittany went still. “Smells?”
So Katie explained that the pungent aromas were permeating the lobby of Artisans Alley and the sales floor, surprised Brittany hadn’t noticed it herself. “It’s a real problem,” she said. “One of the vendors has severe allergic reactions to it. And if a vendor does, who knows how many customers might. I’m sorry, but it’s just not working out.”
“Not working out?” Brittany’s voice was tight. “You mean she has to leave?”
“I’m sorry,” Katie said, “I really am, but I can’t risk anyone’s health.”
“There has to be a solution. Can’t she . . . ?” Brittany’s eyes darted around, looking for answers. “How about if she uses something to mask the smell, like air fresheners? That would help, wouldn’t it?”
But Katie was shaking her head. “She’s already tried that. What really needs to happen is to get a ventilation system installed, and that would cost thousands. If the two of you could come up with that money . . .”
Now it was Brittany who was shaking her head. “I’ve already borrowed all I can to pay for this.” She waved at the walls around them. “There’s no way I can get any more.”
Katie figured it was a vain hope, but she asked the question anyway. “How about Crystal? Could she borrow from somewhere? Or someone? Her parents, maybe?”
“Not Crystal’s.” Brittany made a rude noise. “Her dad hasn’t been in the picture since she was conceived, and her mom bounced from wonderful new boyfriend to wonderful new boyfriend, dragging her daughter along until Crystal turned eighteen and went out on her own.”
“No grandparents? No aunts or uncles?”
“None that were willing to step up. Sounds like they washed their hands of Crystal’s mom when she turned up pregnant at sixteen.”
“But it wasn’t Crystal’s fault she was born out of wedlock.”
Brittany gave a helpless head-shaking kind of a nod. “I know that and you know that. Try telling that to people who think premarital sex is a sin.”
“Poor Crystal,” Katie said quietly.
“Yeah. It’s a miracle she’s turned out as well as she has. She’s my little sister’s best friend, and I’ve always liked her. She’s one of those people who sees the best in everyone, you know? Always has a cheerful disposition.”
“I like her, too.”
“Then can’t you cut her some slack?” Brittany pleaded. “There has to be some way this can work. All she needs is a little help to build her clientele and she’ll be out on her own in no time.”
“I’d love to,” Katie said, trying to stay f
irm. “But I can’t risk anyone’s health. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Just a few more days? We’ll wrack our brains, talk to people, figure out something, I promise. Please? All Crystal needs is a chance.”
Katie caved—but only so far. “No more than a week,” she said. “If there’s no solution inside of a week, she has to go.”
As the day wore on, Katie’s mind kept summoning images of a younger Crystal dragged from pillar to post by her ne’er-do-well mother. Her mind’s eye saw the wan look of the child Crystal when her mom said they were moving yet again, that she’d be going to yet another school, and wouldn’t it be fun?
But Katie knew for a fact that it almost certainly hadn’t been. It’s never easy being the new kid, and harder for some more than for others. After her parents had died she’d been the new kid when she’d gone to live with her great-aunt, and then again when her great-aunt had retired and moved to a smaller house with less upkeep.
Katie tried to stop comparing her story with Crystal’s—they were two different people, and she barely knew the younger woman—but it was hard when she kept walking across the lobby and seeing the salon.
She truly wanted to give Crystal that break, truly wanted to help someone struggling to make it, wanted to be supportive of a new business owner, yet . . . how could she? If any customer or any vendor fell sick due to the noxious odors from Crystal’s nail business, and it was shown that Katie had known about the problem and failed to do anything about it, she would undoubtedly be liable for who knew what.
Which meant that, unless Crystal and Brittany came up with a magical solution, Crystal had to leave.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Katie was taking a ten-minute break in the vendors’ lounge, staring into her last cup of coffee for the day, thinking about Crystal and Don and Nick and Marcie and Rob and Del and Erikka and Duncan and all the things she’d learned in the last couple of weeks, much of which she would rather have never learned at all. She looked up at the kindly words and smiled. “Hey, Gwen. How are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you since the vendors’ meeting last week.”
The fiftyish woman returned her smile, but it didn’t last long. “I’m fine, how about you?”
Katie, whose greeting may have been more perfunctory than deeply meant, caught a tone in Gwen’s voice that wasn’t usually there. “Busy,” she said carefully, studying the pale-skinned woman. “But that’s pretty normal, so it had better be fine.”
“I know what you mean,” Gwen said, but it was a vacant statement that lacked feeling.
“How about I buy you a cup of coffee?” Katie asked. She had long since instituted an honor system for coffee payment; if everyone put in a quarter for every mug they drank, Katie would purchase the supplies and stock the break room with coffee and tea fixings. And she was no exception. She dropped a dollar into the jar every morning and rationed herself accordingly. Thus, the coffee in front of her was the last of the day unless she put in more money. And if Gwen wanted one . . . She felt her pockets for loose change.
“Oh, no, thanks.” Gwen took a mug from the cabinet and turned on the faucet. “I wanted water, that’s all. Trying to get in that two liters a day my doctor is always scolding me about.”
Katie grimaced. Right. Water. Like Gwen and practically everyone else, she knew she should be drinking more water. And she’d think about that right after she started exercising more. “I like water just fine,” she said, “as long as I’m out on top of it in a boat.”
She’d happened to be looking straight at Gwen when she spoke, and she was surprised to see a sad look cross her face. Hmm, she thought, then said, “Speaking of boats, I think someone told me that you have one. What kind is it?”
The look on the hazel-eyed woman’s face changed from sadness to something that looked like desperation. “A sailboat,” she said, so quietly that Katie almost didn’t hear. “A thirty-four-foot kit boat we built ourselves after the kids were out of the house. It’s . . .” She looked at the glass she was holding, blinked, then turned and heaved the contents into the sink.
“Sorry,” she muttered, putting the glass upside down onto the drying rack. “I have to go.”
Katie, who had half stood in preparation for offering whatever emotional assistance Gwen might have needed, sat back down with a light thump.
Hmm, she thought. Was it just her, or suddenly did everyone in McKinlay Mill who owned a boat look perpetually guilty?
The rest of the day remained busy with shoppers. Katie was exhausted down to the marrow in her bones. She didn’t know how Andy worked his long days after long days without having to check himself into a restful spa for a week.
“Holy cannoli, what a day!” Edie smiled, her round face flushed red with exertion. “We have more days like this and we’re going to have to hire some staff to give you a hand, Katie.”
“One day does not a hiring decision make,” she said. “It was probably an anomaly.”
“Want to bet?” Edie asked, looking smug.
“If I were the betting kind,” Katie said, “but I’m not, I’d . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“You’d what?” Edie prompted.
“Um . . .” She tried to concentrate on what she’d been saying, but it was hard because of what she’d just glimpsed back on the sales floor: two people standing close, their backs to her and their heads together, clearly deep in conversation.
Gwen Hardy.
And Duncan McAllister.
Since Katie had spent almost the entire day out front, working a cash register, wrapping and bagging goods, she hadn’t had a minute to spend in her office until the front door was locked and all the vendors were gone.
She flicked on the light switch and sighed at the pile of mail she’d plopped on her desk that noon. Her email box would undoubtedly be full, and in her hand was a small stack of special requests from customers about which she’d promised she’d follow up.
The requests were mostly simple things like “Does the lady with the stained glass do commissions for personal homes?” and “Is there anyone here who would make a Santa outfit for the cement goose my husband gave me for my garden?” But there was a question about selling baked goods that she had a feeling would require a complicated answer that might take her a full day of research and a discussion with the county board of health.
“Tomorrow,” she murmured, firing up the computer. Maybe Edie was right; maybe she did need to consider hiring someone. A college student, perhaps, who needed some practical bookkeeping experience. Or someone who’d recently retired and wanted to get out of the house a couple of days per week.
Katie fantasized about this for a few minutes, even to the extent of starting up a fresh spreadsheet and running some numbers. In the end, though, she repeated what she’d told Edie earlier; that one high-volume weekday didn’t mean anything on a long-term basis. She’d track the data, watch the revenues and expenditures, and maybe consider hiring someone next year. The vendors often brought in family members to help during the holidays, so that wasn’t an issue. Next year, though . . .
Smiling, Katie starting working on the email in her inbox.
Lost in the work, it was hours later when Katie finally surfaced, and that was only because the emptiness in her stomach was starting to give her a headache. She stretched, yawned, and only then noticed the time on the corner of her computer screen.
Half past eight? No wonder she was hungry! And, now that she was noticing things, she was also tired and stiff, too. It was definitely time to go home and rustle up something to eat.
She saved her documents, shut down the computer, gathered up her purse and the light coat she’d worn that morning, locked the door, and headed out of Artisans Alley.
But prior to opening the back door, her ears picked up the clues before her eyes saw what was going on outside. “Oh, swell,” she said out lou
d. Rain was dropping from the heavens as if it would never stop. Big, fat drops that would drench her to the skin the moment she stepped out into it. She pulled on her coat and rolled out the hood she hardly ever used and was grateful for the large brass stand that sat near the main entrance and was filled with brightly colored golf umbrellas used to usher happy patrons to their cars during inclement weather. She grabbed one.
The rain drummed down, and Katie looked through the Alley’s plate glass door at a dark, watery world. The sun had set some time ago, and with the rain clouds, there was no lingering afterglow. All she saw were the vague shapes of the Victoria Square buildings and the dim light from the ornate street lamps. Not a soul was moving; not a single living thing was in sight.
Katie shivered involuntarily. She needed to get to Angelo’s and see Andy. She was about to leave the building when she paused, squinting to focus on a blur to the east. What was that? Or rather, who was that?
The murky darkness concealed a lot, but across the Square, she detected movement. Movement that could only be made by a human being, coming from the direction of Sassy Sally’s. But who would voluntarily go out in this weather? Katie dodged under the eaves and out of the light but leaned forward, watching the figure move along the asphalt. It was an odd movement, too. Whoever it was would trot along, then stop and look back. Trot, stop, look. Trot, stop, look. The only thing Katie could think was that someone was headed off on a nefarious mission and kept checking to make sure he—or she—wasn’t being followed.
Katie moved away from the side of the building, despite knowing the security lighting might reveal her presence. The figure was a male, she decided, after the shadowy shape passed close to one of the Square’s gas lamps. The shape itself, the walk, the clothes, the stance; everything suggested the male version of the human species.
She moved back and then peered around the edge of the building at the man as he neared another gas lamp. If he would just get a little closer, maybe she would recognize who it was and maybe she would be able to figure out why he was acting oddly. She reached into her purse for her cell phone. If she needed to call 911, she wanted to be ready.
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