One Hot Murder

by Lorraine Bartlett

  “Not what,” Joan said, “who.” She wrinkled her brow for a moment. “Or should that be whom?” She shrugged. “It’s Godfrey. The man positively reeks.”

  Katie wasn’t sure how to answer. “I believe he has a medical condition that makes him sweat profusely,” she said as tactfully as possible.

  “Sweat may be a part of it, but I don’t think he’s changed his clothes in several days.”

  Katie glanced at the worker schedule she’d drawn up at the end of the previous month. “That’s funny, I don’t see him as listed to work this week, and yet I think I’ve seen him here every day of late.”

  “It’s one thing if he’d take his stinkiness with him, but once he’s left the area, the odor lingers. Between that and the heat, I haven’t had a sale all week. Will you please speak to him?”

  Doing so was not the top item on Katie’s list of things to do. But she guessed she’d have to make it so. She sighed. “Yes. Is he here now?”

  “He was around a few minutes ago. If you go up to the loft, maybe you can catch him. In the meantime, you might want to dig around in your tool drawer to see if you have one of those disposable dust masks. You’ll need something to cover your nose and keep the worst of the smell out.”

  “Duly noted. Will you be at the potluck on Saturday?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ve already made and decorated five-dozen cutout cookies. I just have to hope my husband doesn’t find them hidden in the freezer and eat them all before the party.”

  Katie remembered that Joan had brought some in during the holidays. She’d used anise instead of vanilla extract. They were damn fine cookies. “I’m looking forward to them.”

  “See you there,” Joan said with a wave, and turned to leave.

  Katie stood. She’d better go upstairs and try to find Godfrey. But surely the smell couldn’t be as bad as Joan described.

  She’d been wrong. To say the stench took her breath away was putting it mildly. Waving a hand in front of her nose did nothing to drive away the smell. Too bad the windows had been painted shut many years before. Gasping, Katie hurried for the next room, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe in untainted air.

  Joan was right. This was a serious problem.

  Katie wandered through the aisles to the balcony that overlooked Artisans Alley’s main sales floor. At the top of the stairs was a phone. She punched in the code for the intercom. “If Godfrey Foster is in the building, please come to the manager’s office. Godfrey Foster, please report to the manager’s office.” She replaced the receiver and headed toward the back of the building, hoping to run into him on the way, but had no such luck.

  Katie impatiently waited in the vendors’ lounge for a good ten minutes, using the time to tidy up where vendors had left crumbs on the table and well-read copies of not only the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, but USA Today. The place was shipshape in no time, but Godfrey never showed up. He’d probably already left the building, which was fortunate for her vendors and their customers, but not for Godfrey’s future visits—that is, if he didn’t clean up his act, and specifically his body odor.

  Katie returned to her office, checked her Rolodex of vendor numbers, and called Godfrey’s home. His phone rang and rang—eight, nine times. No answering machine kicked in, and neither did voice mail. She hung up her phone. Now she’d have to be on the lookout for him.

  Swell. Just swell.

  Katie glanced at the clock on her wall. They’d be closing in a little over an hour. How had the day gotten away from her? Before she had a chance to start anything, Joan reappeared in her office doorway. “He’s outside! He’s outside!” she called. “Go catch him.”

  “Where?”

  “In the parking lot. I was helping a customer carry something to her car and saw him sitting on the hood of his car. He’s got it parked in the shade over by The Angel Shop.”

  Katie practically jumped out of her chair and headed for the back door. In moments, she’d jogged across the hot parking lot. Joan hadn’t been kidding. She could smell Godfrey from a good five yards away.

  “Godfrey, I need to speak to you,” Katie said, and halted, staying downwind.

  Godfrey looked more than a little rumpled, his hangdog expression reinforcing the air of depression that seemed to surround him. “I suppose you’re going to yell at me.”

  “Not yell, but I must ask that you stay away from the Alley until you bathe and change your clothes. I’ve had complaints from other vendors.”

  “I know, I know,” he said and seemed to slump even lower. “But I—I can’t,” he stammered.

  “This isn’t like you, Godfrey. Something’s going on. Why don’t you tell me about it,” Katie said impatiently.

  The man sighed, looking thoroughly miserable. “I don’t have a home. At least not right now. For the past couple of days I’ve been living in my car.”

  “In your car?”

  “And before that…I was staying over in the Alley,” he nodded toward the old building. “That is, until you and the cop chased me off.”

  Godfrey was the owner of the suitcase with the ladies’ pink disposable razor?

  “Godfrey, what on earth were you doing hiding here in Artisans Alley?” she demanded.

  “It’s a long story,” Godfrey said, his face turning an unattractive shade of red. It seemed to cause his sweat glands to shift into overdrive. Rivulets of perspiration ran down his temples onto his cheeks and dripped from his chin. Was it the heat or his confession that made him look like he’d just stepped out of the shower—which was where he needed to go immediately.

  “I’ve got plenty of time to listen, although I’m not sure I can stand the stench,” Katie admitted.

  Godfrey sighed, seemed like he was going to say something, and then sighed again, maintaining his silence.

  Katie had plenty to say. “You are guilty of trespassing. You’re guilty of stealing food from the vendors’ lounge’s refrigerator, and you’re guilty of scaring the heck out of me! If you don’t give me a reasonable explanation, I’m going to hand-feed you to the Sheriff’s Office.”

  “No, no—please! I can explain everything.”

  Katie crossed her arms and waited.

  Godfrey looked away and bit his lip.

  “I’m waiting,” Katie reminded him.

  Godfrey let out an exasperated breath. “Last Saturday my wife went to Syracuse to visit her sick mother for the week.”

  “What’s that got to do with you squatting here at Artisans Alley?”

  “I kind of had the boys over for a poker party that night and things got a little out of hand.”

  Katie frowned. “In what way?”

  “One of the guys ate more than his fair share of the pizzas and washed it all down with a little too much beer. Then he had an intestinal problem and had to use the facilities, which are upstairs in my house.”

  And where was this story leading?

  “Suffice it to say, I had a little water problem.” He paused and thought that over. “Actually, I had a really big water problem. Ya see, we were all in the garage ’cause my wife would give me hell if they made a mess in the house and…well, we were out there for a long time before we heard this big crash. We went running inside and, well, the bathroom and bedroom floors were sitting in the living room and kitchen, and Niagara Falls was running down all the walls. All we can figure is the toilet overflowed for more than an hour.”

  “And it caused all that damage?”

  Godfrey rolled his eyes. “Mike thinks he mighta left the water running full force in the bathroom sink, too. He was kind of drunk.”

  “Don’t tell me. You’re trying to get it all fixed so that when your wife comes home, she won’t even notice.”

  “Oh, she’s going to notice all right, but…yeah, I want it fixed and I had to move out. This is gonna cost me a small fortune. I don’t have the money to stay at a hotel, too.”

  “Why couldn’t you just stay with the buddy who ca
used all these problems?” Katie asked reasonably.

  Godfrey shook his head. “His wife isn’t happy with me. My buddy fell asleep in the chaise lounge and got eaten alive by mosquitoes. He didn’t go home until almost six the next morning. She already threatened to throw him out, so she wasn’t about to let me stay there.”

  “What about the other guys that came to your party?”

  “Their wives don’t want a houseguest either,” he said glumly.

  “So you just decided to park your carcass in my building, breaking all kinds of occupancy laws that could shut down Artisans Alley, as well as inconvenience all my other tenants in the building.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Godfrey said, sounding like a contrite little boy.

  “Did you also break into the Webster mansion and squat there for a day?”

  “What a nightmare,” Godfrey admitted. “No plumbing, no electricity. I couldn’t even run a fan.”

  Katie shook her head, thoroughly sick of dealing with the little twerp. “Godfrey, you’re done. Not only staying here, but you’re done as a vendor. I want your booth vacated by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Please, Katie, don’t throw me out. No other gallery in the area will let me show my stuff. They said it’s not good enough.”

  “So now you insult me by saying the arts and crafts displayed at Artisans Alley are pure junk?”

  “I didn’t mean that,” he said, waving his hands in the air as though to erase his previous words. “But those galleries are juried—you have to jump through loads of hoops just to get in—and Artisans Alley lets just about anybody in.”

  Katie sighed. “No, I don’t suppose a real gallery, like the Dawson, would let you sell your dryer lint art,” she said with mild reproach.

  “You know my stuff sells. I make more than double my rent every month.”

  Katie had to admit he was right. As the one who cut the weekly checks, she knew who made their rent—and a profit—and who didn’t. Godfrey had been doing better than the average vendor even if his lint art did look tacky. There was no accounting for his customers’ tastes.

  “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I’m going to need every cent I make here at Artisans Alley to help me pay for the repairs on my house. Please—please don’t make me leave or report me to the cops,” Godfrey begged. Was it sweat or tears pooling in his eyes?

  Katie felt her resolve melting. Again her aunt Lizzie, in her thickest Scottish accent, would’ve said she had “saft” written across her forehead for everyone to see.

  “All right. I won’t turn you in. But I want you to apologize to everyone whose food or drink you took from the vendors’ refrigerator and make restitution.”

  “But I already told you I need the money I make here to—”

  Katie held out a hand to stop his gush of words. “I’m sorry, but your actions caused stress for a lot of people—me included. Apologizing and making things right is the very least you can do.”

  Godfrey hung his head, looking thoroughly miserable. “All right. I’ll do it.”

  “Good. And you can start by giving me back my pretty rose plate. The one that had the peanut butter buckeyes on it. I didn’t notice it stashed in Chad’s Pad along with all the other stuff you pilfered.”

  “Uh…I kind of had an accident with it.”

  Katie felt her blood pressure start to rise again.

  “I was so hungry, and in such a hurry to get that candy out of the vendors’ lounge and up the stairs…” The very narrow stairs with steep treads that were easy to trip on. “That I kind of fell and…broke it.”

  Not only had Katie lost her trove of treasures in the storage unit, now she’d lost one of her favorite vintage plates. That would teach her to bring in treats in anything other than throwaway plastic containers.

  “Where are you staying now?”

  “In my car,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze.

  “When will the work be done at your house?”

  “Saturday—and hopefully before my wife gets back into town.”

  Katie frowned. She couldn’t let him stay in his car, but she also couldn’t risk having the Alley shut down by letting him stay there. The man had not ingratiated himself with the other vendors, so it wasn’t likely any of them would take him in. She certainly had no room in her apartment for a visitor—and he was the last person on the planet she would want as a guest. Maybe she could ask Andy…

  If nothing else, though, she could offer him the use of her shower, and told him so.

  “Thank you, Katie. You have no idea how terrible it feels to wear the same clothes for days. Not to be able to shower. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I sweat a lot.”

  No kidding.

  “Do you have clean clothes?”

  “No. Everything I brought with me was in the storeroom upstairs.”

  “It’s your lucky day, then. The Sheriff’s Office has decided they’re done investigating. You can go up there and retrieve your stuff and then I’ll walk you over to my apartment so you can shower. I’ll also see if I can rustle you up a place to stay until you can go back home.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Katie.”

  “Don’t cause me any trouble ever again.”

  “I won’t,” he promised.

  They walked back to Artisans Alley. Katie gave Godfrey the key to Chad’s Pad and told him to meet her outside in five minutes, then she called Andy.

  “No!” he said emphatically. “You’ve already told me this guy is a major pain in the ass. I don’t want him as a houseguest—especially as I couldn’t be there to supervise things. I don’t want my house wrecked, too.”

  “It was a buddy who ruined his house,” she said, wondering why she was defending the jerk.

  “No.” The silence lengthened between them. “Are you mad at me?” he asked.

  “No. I wouldn’t want the guy as a houseguest either. But I figured I should make the effort—before he’s arrested for vagrancy or something for living in his car.”

  “All right. Well, I’ll see you later, then,” Andy said, and cut the connection.

  Katie put down the phone and headed for the front exit. She passed several vendors on the way, but didn’t know any of them well enough to ask if Godfrey could bunk with them for a few days. She paused at the register. Rose was reading a romance novel. She placed a bookmark between the pages and closed the book. “You look like a woman with a problem,” Rose said.

  “Yes, and his name is Godfrey Foster.” Should she ask Rose to let the man stay with her? She was a widow with a big empty house…Then again, she didn’t want to lose Rose’s friendship either. Still, Rose was good at problem solving.

  “What’s wrong with Godfrey—besides the fact that he smells?” Rose asked.

  “Seems he’s got a contractor working in his house and has been ousted for the next few days. Thanks to the damage—he had a flood—he hasn’t got the cash to stay in a motel.”

  “Don’t tell me he was the one in Chad’s Pad.”

  “I won’t then.”

  Rose shook her head.

  “Since Tuesday night, he’s been staying in his car.”

  “That’s not good.” Rose pursed her lips. “Let me make a few calls. My church has an emergency fund for situations like this. Pastor Anderson may be able to come up with something to help Godfrey.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you. I’m taking him over to my place right now to let him take a shower. We should be back in about half an hour.”

  Rose nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” She set her novel aside and pulled out her purse, retrieving her cell phone. Godfrey trudged down the main staircase holding an armful of rumpled clothing. She could smell him before he came within ten feet. Would she need to fumigate the Alley and her apartment?

  “Hurry,” Katie said, and led the way out the door. Several customers turned their heads sharply as they passed. “It’s not me,” Katie whispered, much to Godfrey’s chagri
n.

  A hot breeze assaulted them as they exited the building. Katie found herself looking at the clothes Godfrey held. “The Sheriff’s Office took one of your shirts. At the time we thought Dennis Wheeler might be hiding out in the loft.”

  “I guess I can’t ask them for it back—not if I don’t want to be arrested,” Godfrey grumbled as they approached the stairs that led to Katie’s apartment.

  No, he couldn’t. But then…Abby Wheeler had positively identified the shirt as belonging to her husband. Hundreds of the same shirt could have been sold in the greater Rochester area. She was probably just mistaken.

  Wasn’t she?

  Rose’s pastor did come through, and found a family willing to host Godfrey for the next couple of days. Of course, that wasn’t the end of his problems. He admitted he hadn’t even warned his wife of the destruction in their home. Katie was glad she would not be around when they began that discussion.

  With Godfrey taken care of, Katie turned her attention to more pressing matters—closing the Alley and heading out to buy the cherries for Seth’s pie.

  After she and Joan walked through the building to check that everyone was out, Katie headed for her office to shut down her computer for the day. She walked through the main showroom to the light panel in the front of the store, threw the switches, and locked the French doors.

  The dance studio was still open and Katie peeked through the glass door to see a line of little girls in black leotards scuffing across the wooden floor in their ballet slippers. The sight never failed to delight her.

  Next she passed the unrented storefront the Davenport girls had tidied earlier in the day. She unlocked the door, stepped inside, hit the lights—and did a double take. The space was transformed. It sparkled. Not a speck of dust remained on the floor, and it looked as though the dingy walls had been washed. In addition to the streamers, they hung a banner that said, happy retirement, detective davenport. It looked professionally made, with a rainbow of vinyl letters and balloons. The girls had also set up tables, chairs, a buffet table, and another empty table. A small note sat on the center of the dark tablecloth. It said, “Dad’s Stuff.”