One Hot Murder

by Lorraine Bartlett

  “Ida, I don’t think you understand what I’m telling you. If you wish to remain a vendor here at Artisans Alley and work in the tag room, you’ll have to dress appropriately for the air-conditioning. If you don’t wish to do so, then you will no longer be welcome here.”

  “But I’ve been a vendor here for years, and you’ve only been here a few months. I have more rights than you.”

  Katie sighed. “Ida, I own Artisans Alley.”

  Ida’s mouth dropped in shock. “How can this be?”

  “I explained to you last fall that when Mr. Hilton died, I inherited the business. That means I’m the boss.”

  “But you’re a woman!” she cried, aghast.

  Good grief! Hadn’t Ida ever heard of equal opportunity?

  “I’d be happy to open the glass display case now so you can gather your lace,” Katie offered.

  “To take it home?” Ida asked.

  “As of right now, you are no longer a vendor here at Artisans Alley.”

  “But who will be the tag room manager?”

  “We don’t need one. I’ll have one of the walkers take over for the rest of today, and we’ll all take turns during the day from now on.”

  “But it’s my job,” Ida said, tears filling her eyes. Her lower lip trembled and the gigantic wart on her cheek began to wobble. It gave Katie the creeps.

  “Not anymore. Pick up your purse and come along with me,” Katie said.

  Ida’s mouth opened and closed and then she burst into loud, wailing sobs, making Katie feel like ten different kinds of a brute.

  Steeling herself, she unplugged the heater, picked it up, and left the tag room. She tried to ignore the stares of the other vendors as she walked away, with the sounds of Ida’s howling following her.

  Back in her office, she deposited the heater back under her desk, grabbed the master key ring from the hook on the wall, picked up an empty paper box she’d stashed alongside the file cabinet, and walked back through the vendors’ lounge and out into the main showroom, making her way to the back display cases.

  Unlocking the case, she removed Ida’s dusty stock. Not one piece had sold since she’d helped Ida put it on the shelf some ten months before.

  Once everything was in the box, she closed and locked the case, and headed for the tag room once more. Rose had left the register and was attempting to calm a still-weeping Ida.

  Katie placed the box on the table. “Here are your things, Ida. I wish we could have parted under better circumstances. But I can’t have you taking my things without permission, as well as being unwilling to work with me on the air-conditioning problem. It’s better that we part company now. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Go away,” Ida shouted, her tearstained face flushed with anger.

  “I’ll walk her to her car,” Rose said, looking at Katie with disapproval.

  “Thank you, Rose.”

  Then Katie turned and left the tag room.

  She quickly came to an abrupt halt. Bad news travels fast, and every vendor present in the Alley stood outside the tag room, looking shocked. Katie held her head high and walked back to her office, where she shut the door and fell into her chair. Her hands were shaking badly, and she wished she kept a bottle of sherry or maybe even something a little stronger in her desk drawer. Instead, all she had were peppermints in her jar. She unwrapped two of them, popped them in her mouth, and crunched.

  A knock on her door startled her, and her heart began to pound even harder in her chest. Was she having a heart attack?

  The door cracked open. “Katie, are you all right?”

  It was Liz Meier, whose booth was filled with stained glass art. Was she, too, going to berate Katie for being heartless? She wasn’t sure she could take that.

  “Is Ida gone?” Katie asked.

  “Rose took her over to the tea shop. She’ll be okay.”

  Katie nodded, tried to look Liz in the eyes, but found she couldn’t.

  “I think I speak for many of the vendors when I say…” Liz sighed. “It’s about time you chucked Ida out on her derriere.”

  Katie’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “That woman,” Liz said through clenched teeth. “I know she has issues, and we’re supposed to have compassion for her—and I do—but she has made life here at the Alley unbearable at times. For years her disruptive personality has caused problems with the vendors, and she’s upset quite a few of our customers, too.”

  “I do feel bad for her. I wish I could’ve helped her more,” Katie began, “but—”

  Liz held up a hand to stop her. “Mr. Hilton turned a blind eye to the problems Ida caused. He turned a blind eye to a lot of the things that were wrong with this place. I’m happy to say that most of the problems that used to exist are gone since you took over.”

  Most? Katie wasn’t sure she wanted to hear a litany of what else needed fixing at Artisans Alley—at least not then.

  She forced a smile. “Thank you, Liz.” But somehow, she really didn’t feel better about the situation. She felt she should have been able to come up with a better solution. It would be hard to overcome the guilt. But honestly, she had to look out for what was best for Artisans Alley—not just for herself, but for all the vendors, too.

  Doing what was best for the greater good didn’t always feel that great.

  “I’d better let you get back to work,” Liz said. “And I’d better get back out on the sales floor. We have customers to take care of and need to stop the drama once and for all.”

  “I appreciate you stopping by.”

  Liz gave her a quick smile and left the tiny office.

  Despite Liz’s reassurance, Katie felt she’d handled the situation badly. She found her hands were still shaking as she picked up a stack of papers and sorted them into tidy piles. She’d neglected her filing for a few days and decided now was as good a time as any to do it.

  The desk was clear and she was about to start compiling the list of antiques and other furnishing stores for Nick Farrell when she turned to find Andy standing in her doorway with a grease-stained brown paper bag in hand. “Need a little pick-me-up?” he asked.

  “And a friendly face,” she admitted, then stood and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I had another run-in with Ida. I’ve asked her to leave the Alley for good.”

  Andy sobered. “Then it looks like I came at just the right time.” He proffered the bag. “Did you have breakfast? Sorry it’s a little smooshed. It wasn’t perfect enough to send out with the rest of this morning’s batch, but it’ll still taste as good.”

  “Thank you,” Katie said, and accepted the bag and peeked inside. Sure enough, it was one of his heavenly cinnamon buns.

  Andy took the only other seat in the office. “Boy it’s hot in here.”

  “No worse than standing out in the parking lot in full sunlight,” she said, and rooted through her desk until she came up with a few crumpled paper napkins. “Besides playing brunch deliveryman, what brings you over to the Alley so early?”

  “Blake,” he said, his eyes filled with worry. “He must’ve gotten wind that Detective Davenport was looking for him. He never came back from his run last night.”

  “I know. I was watching for him. He collected money for those pizzas. Does that make him—”

  “A petty thief?” Andy answered. He shook his head. “The kid’s good for it. He’s scared. And who can blame him? Talking with Davenport doesn’t inspire confidence. More like dread of a life sentence—even if you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “He’s been very nice to me these last few days. It’s almost creepy,” Katie admitted, and took a big bite of her cinnamon bun. Oh! Heaven.

  “We’ve got to figure out what happened over at Wood U before the detective does,” Andy said.

  “To protect Blake?”

  “Of course.”

  “But what if he was somehow involved?”

  “I’ll n
ever believe that.”

  “But you yourself said Dennis bullied some of his students. What if he pushed Blake too far?”

  “I might believe that if school was still in session. The kid doesn’t strike me as someone who’d hold a grudge.”

  “How well do you really know Blake?”

  “He’s worked for me almost every week for the last eleven months. I think I know him—and the rest of my boys—pretty well. I’m not a terrible judge of character.”

  “Of course not. You love me,” Katie said, scraping a bit of frosting from her bun and dabbing it on Andy’s nose.

  He was not amused. Grabbing one of her napkins, he brushed away the offensive topping.

  “How can a teacher get away with bullying a student—especially in this day and age when the topic seems to be in the news so often?” Katie asked.

  “Back in the day—a whole thirteen or so years ago—pretty easily. Now, I’m not so sure. I questioned Keith a bit more after you left last night—asking him to clarify what he meant when he said Wheeler was always ragging on Blake. He said Wheeler said all the right things, as though to encourage Blake to try harder with his projects—but it came out sounding very condescending and critical. I can believe that, having gone through the same thing myself.”

  “Do you think kids today are more fragile than when you were in school?” Katie asked, and nibbled on her second breakfast.

  “Maybe. I don’t like the fact that Wheeler got away with it for so long.”

  “If they forced him to retire, he finally paid for his behavior.”

  “It was the threat of lawsuits that finally made the school act. And of course, the teacher’s union backed him up over the years whenever there was a complaint—but I think the possibility of lawsuits made it hard for them to keep making excuses for his bad behavior.”

  Katie decided it was time to change the subject. “I met the Webster mansion’s new owners this morning. They’re nice guys. And get this—the house had been broken into over the weekend. The kitchen had a bunch of fast-food wrappers and it looked like someone had slept on an old mattress upstairs.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Demo on the place will start tomorrow, so whoever is squatting can’t come back. And let’s face it, with no electricity or plumbing, the house isn’t all that pleasant a place to stay right now.”

  “Are you suggesting Wheeler has been hiding there?” Andy asked.

  “Well, they haven’t identified the body at the morgue as being his.”

  Andy shook his head. “I think you’re on the wrong track. I honestly think it’s Wheeler who died on Saturday. After all, any son of a bitch that can pick on kids can pick on an adult, too. We just have to figure out who he was picking on.”

  “If he was picking on anyone. We don’t know that he had any enemies. I mean, apart from his wife, none of the other merchants seems to have really known him. I sure didn’t.”

  “Can you come up with something else? I mean, you’ve done this kind of thing twice before,” Andy said.

  “It seemed like there was a lot more to go on when Ezra Hilton was killed, and Rose was close to her deceased niece. I’m not sure I want to bother Abby Wheeler right now. And what would I ask her? If she knew her husband was a bully? What was he capable of?”

  “You can bet she knew firsthand what the man was capable of. She wouldn’t be the first wife who stayed in an abusive marriage.”

  “We don’t even know if they had a dysfunctional marriage,” Katie pointed out. “I don’t even know if they ever had children.”

  “Who could you ask?”

  Katie shrugged. “Maybe Rose or Gilda.”

  “Would you ask them?”

  Katie polished off the last of her cinnamon bun and nodded. “I’ll try, but Rose didn’t approve of me ousting Ida, so I might have to wait a day or so to hit her up. Gilda might be more receptive.”

  “See what else you can find out about the guy, too, willya?” Andy pushed.

  Katie scrutinized his face. If she was a naughty girl, she could tie her acceptance to a new breaker box for her apartment. But she decided it was better—nobler—to be nice. “Okay. But don’t get your hopes up.”

  “I know it sounds dopey, but…I don’t have children of my own, and yet I feel as protective as any parent when it comes to the boys who work for me. They’re just kids. They don’t realize that what they do now could follow them for the rest of their lives. I just don’t want them messing up and regretting it for as long as they live.”

  Katie nodded, and didn’t for a second doubt Andy’s sincerity. But if Blake was involved with the murder and arson at Wood U, it was already too late for him.

  Eight

  Katie finished getting the checks ready for distribution the next day, and locked them inside the file cabinet before she ventured out of her office. By then it was nearing the noon hour and she figured things might be slower for Gilda, giving her an opportunity to talk.

  Rose wasn’t at the cash desk when Katie passed the front register. She’d probably already gone to lunch—or could she still be consoling Ida? When she got to the parking lot, Katie noted that Ida’s car was gone, and that Rose’s red Mini Cooper was parked in its usual spot. At least she hadn’t hightailed it out of the Alley. As it was, she worked most days, although she wasn’t assigned, and thank goodness for that. Getting the vendors to show up on their allotted workdays was difficult enough—but even more so during the heat wave.

  They’d show up if you sold your treasures to Nick and Don to pay for the AC upgrade, taunted the logical voice within her.

  She ignored it. Or tried to. Ignoring good advice went against her better judgment, especially if the person giving her the good advice was…herself.

  When Katie opened the door to Gilda’s Gourmet Baskets, she was immediately assaulted with a blast of frigid air. It felt jarring after walking across the blast furnace that was the Victoria Square parking lot. Gilda was with a customer, ringing up a sale, but the rest of the shop was empty. Katie poked around the finished baskets, admiring the time and care Gilda employed when assembling them.

  “I’m sure your nephew will love this basket. It’s got everything a new homeowner could ask for,” Gilda said to her customer.

  Katie looked up. A new homeowner. One day she’d own her own home and not have to live in a tiny apartment—especially over a very hot pizza parlor. But then, that was her own decision. Most days she didn’t regret it. Most days.

  If the woman were dressed with a bit more panache, she could have won a Carol Channing look-alike contest. She wore what Katie’s aunt Lizzie had called a muumuu—a tentlike purple floral dress. The sheen of her platinum hair was just a tad off, giving away that it was a wig. The woman’s lipstick was a bright magenta that clashed with her outfit, and her eyes were hidden behind large sunglasses. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon,” she said and gave a wave as she exited the store.

  “Have a great day,” Gilda called as the woman exited the shop.

  Katie hightailed it to the counter. “Did you get a load of that outfit?”

  “I wasn’t paying attention,” Gilda admitted. “All I cared about was the color of her credit card. Gold. Now, what are you doing here during business hours?” Gilda asked, but her voice held no reproach.

  “I had to escape my oven of an office for a while. And I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk about Dennis Wheeler.”

  Gilda glanced around the empty shop. “A few minutes. Would you like a cup of coffee or something?” She waved a hand in the direction of a shelf against the wall that held airpots of coffee and hot water for cocoa. If Gilda had asked the question when Katie first entered the shop, she would have said no—but she found herself chilled in the frigid air.

  “Thanks.” She helped herself to a cup of coffee and doctored it with hazelnut creamer. “I haven’t been cool enough to drink coffee for over a week,” she admitted.

  “Why do you think I have the AC s
et so low in here?” Gilda asked. “Between the cold air and the free samples, I’m selling the artisan-ground coffees like hotcakes. It more than pays for my utility bills.” Gilda always was a sharp businesswoman. “Now, what did you want to know about Dennis? Have they figured out if it was him who died in the fire?”

  Katie shook her head. “Not as far as I know. I heard some rather disturbing news about Dennis last night and I wondered if you’d heard the same.”

  “What kind of news?” Gilda asked.

  “Word is that he was bullying his students over at the high school, which is why he was forced to retire early.”

  “Oh my,” Gilda said, shocked.

  “One of the first things Detective Davenport asked me was if Dennis and Abby had a good marriage. I didn’t give the question any relevance until I’d heard about Dennis bullying his students. Do you think they could have had a bad marriage?”

  “Even if they did, what’s that got to do with the murder and arson at Wood U? Especially if they haven’t even identified the body as Dennis? Besides, Abby Wheeler was genuinely distraught when she arrived on the scene on Saturday night. No one could fake that kind of worry and tears.”

  Katie nodded and sipped her coffee. No doubt about it—the night of the fire Abby had been beside herself with worry and grief. “Abused wives are often reluctant to leave their husbands. It’s all about emotional manipulation. Sometimes these women are brainwashed into thinking they deserve the abuse.”

  “Abby Wheeler doesn’t come across as that gullible,” Gilda pointed out.

  Katie had to agree with that assessment. She took another sip of coffee before she tried a different tack. “Do you know how long Dennis owned the business?”

  Gilda frowned. “I’ve been on the Square for almost five years now, and Wood U was here before I was. But I’m not sure if Dennis was the first owner.”

  “Did you know the business had been sold?”

  “No,” Gilda said, sounding genuinely surprised.

  Again Katie nodded.

  “Who bought it?”

  “I haven’t found out—yet. Seth Landers represented the new owner, but he won’t say who it is.”

  “And you’re such good friends, too,” Gilda teased.