One Hot Murder

by Lorraine Bartlett

  Katie had a feeling Davenport wasn’t going to be able to add one more solved case to his career résumé. Not, at least, in the next twenty or so hours before he was officially retired.

  Twenty-one

  Friday morning dawned and Katie woke up hungry. Very hungry. A few cherries and a slice of pizza weren’t nearly enough food to keep a stomach busy during a twelve-hour period. Unfortunately, the breakfast options were just as limited as the dinner selections had been the night before. She’d spent a lot of money at the grocery store a few days before. What on earth had she bought, for there seemed to be nothing edible in the fridge or cupboards? She’d used her last egg to glaze the top crust of the pie she’d baked for Seth and she longed for an omelet. There was just one cure for that—breakfast at Del’s Diner.

  Overnight the temperature had dropped to a pleasant seventy-two, but the humidity still hovered at a sticky eighty percent. Del’s would be cool and soothing and didn’t she deserve to be comfortable for a crummy thirty minutes out of the day?

  Katie walked the two blocks to Del’s, enjoying the early morning peace. Except for the commuters heading for work in Rochester, McKinlay Mill looked like it could have subbed for Mayberry. It boasted no fishing hole, but she wouldn’t have been surprised to see a small barefoot boy with a fishing rod running down the sidewalk. Ahh, thank goodness for TV Land reruns.

  She arrived just before seven o’clock and found ten or twelve cars parked in the strip mall’s lot, with an equal number parked in the McDonald’s lot across the way. The senior citizens of McKinlay Mill were both establishments’ best breakfast customers. Sure enough, when Katie entered the restaurant, she was the youngest patron by at least thirty years. However, she did see one familiar face among the crowd.

  Sally Casey looked up from her menu, smiled, and waved to Katie. She waved back and Sally beckoned her to join her.

  “You’re up early,” Sally said in greeting. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here for breakfast before now.”

  “I ran out of eggs and got the urge for an omelet.”

  “This is the place. Will you join me?”

  “I’d love to,” Katie said and slipped into the booth’s opposite seat.

  Sandy, the morning waitress, arrived at the table. “What can I get you ladies?”

  “More coffee, please. And then I’ll have French toast, bacon, and a side of grits,” Sally said.

  “I’ll have the western omelet, home fries, and white toast,” Katie said. “And I’ll take some of that coffee, too, please.”

  “You got it,” Sandy said, and headed off toward the urn.

  Seconds later, Katie was spilling a container of half-and-half into her cup. She looked up at her companion. “I know this is going to sound like a bad come-on line, but do you come here often?”

  Sally laughed, her eyes crinkling with delight. “A couple of times a week. Even at the worst of my chemo treatment, I dragged myself in here, if only to eat a small bowl of yogurt and then go puke in the john. I needed to be with people.” Her expression turned somber. “Don’t ever get the big C, Katie, because people you thought were your friends will bail on you for fear they’ll catch it—which is impossible. The scariest word in the English language has got to be ‘cancer.’”

  “I’m so sorry,” Katie said, stirring her coffee. How could anyone abandon a friend at the time they most needed support? “But you said you’re better now.”

  Sally frowned and shook her head. “I have to sound positive around my dear Nicholas to try to lift his spirits, but my oncologist has confirmed it. My days are numbered. So for the time I’ve got left, I’m going to do what I want to do, eat what I want to eat, drink what I want to drink, and if necessary, throw my middle finger at the world in general—and especially at my cancer.”

  “Oh, Sally, I’m so sorry,” Katie said with a catch in her voice.

  Sally reached across the table and touched Katie’s hand. “Darlin’, don’t you be sad for me. I’ve had one hell of a good life, and I have no regrets. None at all.” Something about her tone made Katie shiver. Or was it just the air-conditioning? Sally sighed and continued. “And when I die, I’ll leave my sweetheart Nicholas a bit of money to help him get that inn of his on its feet. I’ll die happy, knowing he’s doing well, ’cause it wasn’t always so.”

  “Oh?” Katie asked.

  Sally shook her head. “My poor Nicholas. He was always a sensitive boy. Wouldn’t step on an ant. But then something happened to him at a young age that…turned him.”

  Was she referring to Nick’s homosexuality? Katie wasn’t about to speculate aloud.

  “When he was older, he came out to someone he thought of as a mentor. That was a big mistake. And when his daddy found out he was gay, he disowned him. My poor sister was forced to choose between her husband and her child. She was a fool, too.”

  “Oh, dear,” Katie said sympathetically.

  “From that day on, Nicholas became my boy. He lived with me and I put him through college, but those years weren’t easy either. There was even a time when I thought Nicholas might kill himself, he was so distraught. Nobody should have to go through that kind of hell. Nobody,” she said, her mouth quivering, her expression going blank.

  Katie wasn’t sure what to say, or even if she should say anything in response.

  Suddenly the noise in the busy diner seemed to magnify by a factor of ten. Silverware rattled, the voices around them seemed more dissonant, and somewhere in the kitchen came the sound of breaking china.

  Sally seemed to shake herself, and reached for her coffee cup. She took a gulp, leaving a pink lipstick smear on the rim. She sighed. “There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done to save Nicholas from any kind of heartache. And now I’ll have to leave him just when he’s about to start a new adventure—an adventure we once planned together.”

  “Oh, Sally,” Katie said, sadness welling within her.

  Sally shook her head. “Don’t you worry, darlin’. Nicholas has Don now. He’s a wonderful guy. He’ll take good care of my boy and I just know they’ll be happy in that big old house. And wasn’t it just sweet that they named it after me?”

  “Yes,” Katie agreed without hesitation. “I think the name is perfect for their inn.”

  And it was.

  Katie arrived back at Victoria Square just minutes before she needed to open Artisans Alley, and saw Nona Fiske rolling out her parking signs once again. She jogged over to The Quiet Quilter, her anger building with each slap of her sneakered feet on the tarmac.

  “Nona! What are you doing?”

  Nona looked up, but instead of looking embarrassed, she merely kept moving the heavy sign until it stood only feet from the entrance to Afternoon Tea.

  Katie halted mere feet from her, panting for breath. “I thought we agreed on Wednesday night that you wouldn’t be putting these signs out again.”

  “You agreed. Not me,” Nona said, and pivoted, heading for the back of her shop, where the other signs had been stowed.

  “This is a direct violation of the charter. You’ve been warned.”

  Nona turned, planted her feet on the asphalt and her hands on her hips. “What are you going to do, throw me out of the Merchants Association?”

  “That’s an option.”

  “Well, then, do it!” she said with a sneer.

  “Very well, but I hope you understand what you’re giving up.”

  “Not a thing as far as I can see.”

  “Do you remember how much snow we had last winter? If I’m not mistaken, over one hundred and fifty inches. If you leave the Association, you’ll be giving up snowplowing and will have to contract to have the snow removed from in front of your shop.”

  Nona’s mouth twitched, but she said nothing.

  “And this lamppost,” Katie said, indicating the one that hung near the front of Nona’s store. “You’ll have to replace the bulb yourself when it blows.” It happened to be the bulb that seemed to short out most often, an
d Nona would badger Katie until the job was done.

  “The other merchants will not carry brochures for your store,” she added.

  Nona was frowning now.

  “And you’ll no longer be included in the publicity for Victoria Square or for any of the special events we hold throughout the year, including the Dickens Festival.”

  Nona’s eyes widened at that. One of the biggest perks of the Association was the publicity, where all members were mentioned. It was the most expensive part of their yearly budget, and Katie waited to see if Nona would capitulate.

  “Are you sure you really want to leave the Association over something as silly as these parking signs?” Katie asked.

  Nona’s gaze had fallen. There had to be a way Katie could talk her out of her decision without Nona taking a massive hit to her pride. “Won’t you tell me the real reason you’ve been putting these signs out?” Katie asked softly.

  Nona’s mouth trembled, and suddenly she burst into tears. She hung her head and covered her face with her hands. Katie wasn’t sure what to do. The woman had already called her a bitch and made it clear she wanted nothing to do with her, but Katie felt compelled to do something. She moved closer.

  “Nona, please tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s been a year. A year!” she shrieked. Her face had gone an ugly shade of puce.

  “A year since what?” Katie asked, confused.

  “Since Ezra started hanging around with that tramp Mary Everett. He dumped me for her!”

  “But what’s that got to do with Vonne and Francine Barnett? They didn’t do anything to you.”

  “It’s this stinking tea shop,” she said, waving a hand at the offending building. Mary owned it. Every time I drive into Victoria Square, I see it. Every time I look out of my shop windows or door, I see it, and I’m reminded of my shame and how that brazen hussy ruined my life.”

  “Mary hasn’t shown her face on Victoria Square for almost nine months,” Katie said reasonably.

  “That doesn’t matter. If it wasn’t for this shop, I’d still have my Ezra. He’d still be alive.”

  “But aggravating the Barnetts isn’t going to change what happened. Nothing will bring Ezra back. Nothing,” Katie said quietly.

  Nona wrapped her arms around herself and cried even harder. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  Katie took a chance and wrapped her arms around the distraught woman and was surprised when she didn’t pull away. “Nona, is this the first time you’ve cried for Ezra?”

  Nona shook her head. “No, but I haven’t cried for a long, long time.”

  And it sounded like it was long overdue.

  “Everyone mourns in their own way. I don’t think you’ve completely dealt with your feelings of loss.”

  “You certainly got over the death of your husband fast,” Nona accused.

  “No, I haven’t.” A day didn’t go by without Katie thinking of Chad and wondering what would have happened had circumstances been different.

  “You’ve got a boyfriend. I’ve seen his car parked outside your place at all hours of the day and night,” Nona said.

  “He owns the building,” Katie reminded her. “He comes in early to make the dough for his cinnamon buns and he stays open late with his pizza business.”

  “And sometimes the car is there twenty-four hours a day,” Nona accused.

  “Sometimes,” Katie admitted. And not nearly often enough.

  Nona’s sobs were beginning to slow. She pulled away and found a tissue in her skirt pocket, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose.

  “Mary Everett has been punished enough. And nothing you do to aggravate the new owners of the building will change what happened last year. Nothing.”

  Nona sniffed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “You’re a valued member of the Merchants Association. You’ve been with us since the beginning. You helped draft our charter. We rely on you,” Katie said. Okay, she was pouring it on a little thick, but she figured Nona wanted—and more important, needed—to hear it.

  “Yes, you are right,” she said, and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes.

  “Now, let me help you put these signs away,” Katie offered, and was surprised when Nona offered no resistance. She grabbed the nearest one and started rolling it toward the back of the quilt shop, while Nona did the same with the other. And Katie was pretty sure there’d be no more violations of the Merchants Association parking policy from that day forward.

  Katie arrived outside Artisans Alley at seven fifty-eight—just two minutes to spare before some of the vendors would expect to be let in to tend to their booths. She saw Godfrey’s car parked in the lot, although she didn’t see him hanging around the door waiting to be let in. And unfortunately Ida and her entourage were already ensconced for the day.

  As she approached the building’s side entrance, the women raised their placards and began to once again chant, “Unfair, unfair, unfair.”

  Katie held up both hands, waving them to help make her point. “Ladies, ladies—would you mind? Ida and I need to talk. Privately.”

  The women looked to Ida, who pursed her lips and shrugged. Grumbling, the three women moved toward the Alley’s main entrance, but not far enough that they couldn’t hear the ensuing conversation.

  “Ida,” Katie began, “we can’t go on like this. You need to find something else to fill your hours,” she added with authority.

  “I don’t have anything else to do,” Ida said, her voice breaking. “My sister is gone, my home is gone. I’ve got nothing left except my job here at Artisans Alley.”

  “That’s not true,” Katie said, throwing a glance at the other women. “You’ve obviously made new friends at your new home at the assisted living center. They came here to support you with your protest, didn’t they?”

  Ida shrugged, and stared at the ground.

  “I admit, the job of tag supervisor is necessary here at the Alley, but you have far more talent than you’re giving yourself credit for.” Okay, that was probably a lie, but Katie was on a roll and she needed a resolution to this impossible situation. “Have you ever thought about volunteering your time with a worthy organization?”

  “No,” Ida said emphatically.

  “Why not?”

  “Because only losers do volunteer work.”

  “Why on earth would you say that?”

  Ida shrugged again. “Somebody told me that once.”

  “Well, they were wrong. Volunteering is one of the best, most generous things a person can do with her life.”

  Ida looked up at Katie. “Do you volunteer?”

  “Not right now, but I have in the past—and when my circumstances change and I don’t have to be at Artisans Alley seven days a week, I’ll do it again for some worthy cause.”

  “They don’t pay you to volunteer, do they?” Ida inquired.

  “No. That’s why they call it volunteering.”

  Ida frowned, her gaze fixed on the asphalt.

  “Would you at least think about volunteering to help people not as fortunate as you?”

  “I’m pretty unfortunate myself,” Ida said with a bit of a pout.

  “I don’t see how. You’ve got your health. You’ve got a car. You drive. You can go anywhere you want. But there are a lot of senior citizens who can’t get out. They aren’t well, or they don’t have the means to buy food to feed themselves.”

  “Old people are hungry?” Ida asked, sounding surprised.

  Katie nodded. “They need friends, and they need food. Wouldn’t you like to meet new people and become their friends?”

  Ida shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “You could deliver meals to people several days a week. You could chat with them for a few minutes and make their days brighter. You could make sure they were okay, and if they need help, you could make sure they got it.”

  “It’s important work?” Ida asked.

  Katie nodded. “Very important work. Much more important a
nd interesting than working in the tag room here at Artisans Alley.”

  “I suppose,” Ida said.

  “I can give you the telephone number of the Meals on Wheels coordinator. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

  “I’m not promising anything,” Ida declared.

  “I won’t ask you to. All I ask is that you consider making a difference in your own and other people’s lives. If it isn’t Meals on Wheels, there are plenty of other organizations that could use the talents of a woman like you.”

  Ida frowned, but her eyes gave away her interest. “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Ida looked over at her friends, who stood in a cluster, their arms crossed over their pastel shell tops, their expressions sour and unforgiving.

  “Now, why don’t you and your friends go back to the center and talk this over. Maybe they’d like to volunteer as well.”

  “Does Meals on Wheels need more than just one person to help?” Ida asked.

  “They sure do.”

  “I guess maybe we could all help. I’ll have to think about it and talk with them.”

  “You do that. And if you decide you do want to volunteer, we’ll talk about you coming back to the Alley and putting your lace back on the shelf in one of the big display cases.”

  “Could I come in every day and work on my tags, too?”

  Katie shook her head. “That wouldn’t be fair to you. You really only have to work one day a month.”

  “Only one day?” Ida cried.

  “It isn’t fair to make you work more than what you’re required.”

  “But Rose and Vance and Edie do.”

  “You’re right. I guess I could make an exception for you, too.”

  “I could come in on Sundays,” Ida offered.

  “We’ll talk about that after you decide what you want to do about volunteering. Does that sound acceptable?”

  Ida didn’t look very happy about the situation, but she finally nodded.

  “Very well. I’ll wait for your call,” Katie said. Sheesh—she sounded like an old schoolmarm.

  “I could come in and tell you, and then maybe I could work on the tags.”