“No, I’ll wait for you to call,” Katie reiterated. No way did she want Ida to slip back into her old routine.
“Oh, all right,” Ida acquiesced.
“Fine. I’ve got the number written down in my office. I’ll go get it and be right back.”
Ida nodded and wandered over to talk to her friends while Katie unlocked the door to the building and made her way to her office. She grabbed the paper with the telephone number she’d written down the day before and turned to leave. As she reentered the vendors’ lounge, she found Godfrey Foster standing in front of the opened fridge. “You’re here early.”
Godfrey started. “Are you trying to scare me to death?”
“I hope you’re not going to swipe anything else from the fridge,” Katie admonished.
“Don’t worry. The Peterson family not only put me up for the night, but they gave me dinner and breakfast. I was just going to pour myself a glass of water. A person gets thirsty when they sweat as much as I do.” He was already damp around the edges, she noted. He took out the water bottle, poured himself a mug full of water, and replaced the jug, closing the door.
“When did you say the renovations at your house would be finished?” Katie asked.
“Hopefully by Saturday. I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed again.” He chugged the water.
“Have you apologized to the other vendors yet?”
Godfrey shook his head, and stuck the mug on the back of the counter, no doubt hoping someone else would wash it and put it away. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to anybody. But I did buy a six-pack of pop for Gwen Hardy.”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that. She’ll be at the potluck tomorrow night. You are planning on attending, right?”
“If my wife lets me,” he said, hanging his head like a beaten dog.
“Rose is counting on you to bring the napkins,” Katie reminded him.
“I’ve got them in my car. Maybe I’d better give them to her this morning in case I can’t make it to the party.”
“Very well.” He was about to walk away. “Ahem,” Katie said. He looked at her, confused. She pointed to the mug he’d left on the counter. “You used it, you wash it,” she reminded him.
Again, Godfrey hung his head, duly chastised. Really, hadn’t anyone (his wife, his mother?) ever taught the man common courtesy?
As Godfrey turned to the sink, Katie headed back outside to give Ida the telephone number. When she returned, she turned on all the lights in the Alley and made her way to her office. She sat down at her desk and pondered the day so far, grateful she might have solved the parking problem, and hoping she’d managed to talk Ida into taking the Meals on Wheels volunteer job. But it was something else that niggled at the back of her brain—her breakfast with Sally.
Katie picked up a pen and began to doodle on a piece of scrap paper, tracing circles over and over again. What exactly had Sally meant when she’d said she had no regrets? Had she lived a less-than-exemplary life before she’d taken Nick under her wing? Had she done something others might think was wrong, but in her present state of health, with time running out, figured she had nothing to lose?
Like murder?
Katie shook herself. What was she thinking? Sally Casey was a lovely woman who was counting the days until she died. How could Katie even think such a thing?
And yet…what was it she’d said about her darling Nicholas? That he wasn’t always happy. That he’d contemplated suicide after being disowned by his parents. That he’d come out to a mentor he thought he could trust and it had been disastrous.
What—just what—if Nick had come out to his industrial arts teacher? Say Dennis had no clue the teen was gay until Nick admitted it, and then Dennis had taken to picking on him mercilessly? Seth had taken steps to keep the other boys in the class from doing the same, but he couldn’t protect Nick from a teacher who took delight in verbally bullying his students.
Sally could handle guns. Seth had said that at one time she had run the skeet range at the McKinlay Mill Country Club. A Magnum had quite a kick, but what if she knew how to handle it? How accurate did one have to be to blow someone’s head off with such a powerful weapon?
Katie shook her head and tossed the pen aside. There’s no way Sally would have killed Dennis. No way.
And yet…She knew that Nick would be living and working next door to Wood U. Nobody on the Square had known that Dennis had sold the business, intending to retire to Florida. Could the thought of Dennis tormenting Nick have driven her to take care of the problem once and for all? To take out the man who had humiliated and teased the boy she had come to think of as her own?
Sally had known her way around the Square. She patronized some of the shops—even buying Nick a gift basket at Gilda’s Gourmet Baskets earlier that week. Or had she gone to Gilda’s with the real intent on finding out more about the murder investigation? Gilda wasn’t a blabbermouth, but the murder was sensational and she wouldn’t mind talking about it if a customer asked questions—especially if she thought she could make a better sale.
The curious had asked Katie about Ezra Hilton’s death the year before. The more grisly-minded had even inspected the place where the poor man had lain at the bottom of the stairs leading to the balcony that looked over Artisans Alley’s main sales floor.
Sally had no regrets.
Could she really have killed Dennis Wheeler?
But what if the body found in Wood U was really Jerry Murphy? Would Sally have known he wasn’t the store’s owner? And yet, what would Jerry be doing at the store anyway?
No, the body found in Wood U had to be Dennis. It was maddening that the crime lab was so backed up it could take months for a DNA identification. What was Abby supposed to do in the meantime? They weren’t about to release a body they couldn’t identify. And how was she going to pay for a funeral anyway?
And yet…if Dennis was dead, who emptied the Wheelers’ bank account?
It suddenly occurred to Katie that Abby might not have told her the truth—about anything. She didn’t owe Katie any explanations. Did everyone on the Square know that she and Davenport had talked during his previous murder investigations? Could Abby have allowed Katie to come into her home in order to use her to feed information to Detective Davenport?
But that didn’t make sense either. Abby had known that Davenport had already been replaced as the case investigator. Did she just assume Katie would run to Hamilton and repeat everything she’d been told?
Katie felt her face grow hot, and it wasn’t because of the temperature.
Had Abby played her for a fool?
Wait a minute, wait a minute. You’re making an awful lot of assumptions, the voice inside Katie warned. She had no way of knowing if Sally had killed Dennis, or that Abby killed him either. And just because Jerry Murphy had disappeared didn’t mean he was even involved with the death at Wood U.
Still, despite all the conflicting ideas floating through her mind, it all made sense in some kind of convoluted way.
Now, who was she going to tell her theory to first? Her new friend Ray or her trusted attorney and surrogate big brother Seth?
There was a cherry pie with Seth’s name on it just sitting there in her apartment refrigerator. The decision was made. Now, to wait out the day until she could talk to Seth, and hope she wouldn’t go completely crazy.
Twenty-two
No matter what task she attempted to start that day, Katie could not stop thinking about Dennis Wheeler and Jerry Murphy. How could two men she barely knew occupy so much of her mental resources?
Hot and restless, she tossed her pen down on her desk and stood up to look out the window that overlooked the back parking lot. The late afternoon sun continued to beat down, the heat shimmering off the tarmac. Here it was only mid-July, but the heat wave that wouldn’t quit had made the summer already seem eons long. She knew she’d regret that thought come November, when the skies would be perpetually gray and the temperatures in the thirties.
&nb
sp; Maybe Dennis had had the right idea to leave the area for warmer climes. What was keeping her here in McKinlay Mill? Her job? She could sell Artisans Alley. It wasn’t one hundred percent solvent, but plenty of businesses were sold with the hopes they’d turn more profitable under new management.
A year ago she’d felt alone and empty. Now she had friends—people who cared about her. People who looked to her as a leader, as a mentor, and as an accomplished businesswoman—even if she did mostly dress in jeans and Artisans Alley Tshirts.
And, of course, one of the biggest draws for staying in McKinlay Mill: Andy. A year ago she hadn’t thought she’d ever find love again. Theirs was a rather lopsided relationship, thanks to their respective work hours, but even that had worked out for the best. When they spent time together, every second counted.
The thought of Andy made her smile. She’d hang out at the pizzeria after her dinner with Seth. If he was shorthanded, she’d jump in and help make pizzas, too. She liked working beside him and soaking up the camaraderie that prevailed among Andy and his teenaged workforce.
She shook her head and was about to sit again when she heard noise in the vendors’ lounge.
“Katie! Katie!” came an agitated voice. Could that be Ida Mitchell? Someone who either showed no emotion at all or boiling anger? Katie glanced at her watch. It was nearly five. She’d thought she’d seen the last of Ida—for that day, at least. The woman was supposed to call—not show up once again.
Katie moved to stand in her doorway. Ida stood in front of the fridge, her clenched fists beating the air in an excited manner. “What’s wrong?” she asked, growing concerned. Was Ida about to have a seizure?
“I got it! I got it!”
“Got what?” Katie asked.
“A job delivering food for Meals on Wheels! I start on Monday.”
“That’s wonderful,” Katie said. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me all about it?”
Ida pulled out a chair and sat down, but she still couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting. “I’m so excited. This is just like having a real job. The girls and I went in to interview this morning and they let all of us volunteer.”
“I’m so pleased to hear that,” Katie said, and breathed a sigh of relief. No more Ida on a daily basis. Now to negotiate her new work schedule.
“We’re going to make a real difference in people’s lives,” Ida went on to say, and Katie felt instantly ashamed. This was big news for Ida, and who knew how many new friends she would make and how many people would benefit from her—and her friends’—volunteer efforts.
“I’m very proud of you, Ida.”
Ida positively beamed. After all, she probably hadn’t heard many compliments during her life. Again, Katie felt ashamed.
“Would you like to talk about coming back to Artisans Alley?”
“Yes, but not today. After delivering meals all week, I may not have the time or energy to work in the tag room anymore,” Ida said seriously.
Katie nodded. “I understand completely. Still, I hope you’ll come to the potluck tomorrow night.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss that.”
“Bring your friends if you’d like,” Katie added.
Ida rose from her chair. “I will. Thank you, Katie.” Ida looked apprehensive for a few moments, and then lunged at Katie, giving her a stiff and awkward hug. Katie found herself patting Ida’s back.
Ida pulled back, all business once again. “I have to go. The girls and I are going shopping to find outfits that match. We want them to look like uniforms, because they’ll make us look important.”
Katie laughed. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“See you tomorrow night,” Ida said with a wave, and exited the vendors’ lounge.
Well, one problem solved.
Katie was about to give the store closing warning when the phone rang. She grabbed it.
“Katie? It’s Ray Davenport.”
“Detective, I was wondering when I’d hear from you next.”
“I was wondering if you had anything new to tell me. Anything you want checked out. I’ll only officially be a member of the Sheriff’s Office for another fifteen minutes.”
“Well, I—” Katie started, but then thought better of it.
“This isn’t the time for reticence. If you’ve got something to say, say it now.”
“I’ve been going over everything we know—over and over it, in fact—and some things are starting to make a lot of sense. To me at least.”
“You’re blathering,” Davenport accused. “What is it you aren’t telling me?”
“Okay, I’ve got some harebrained ideas I’m trying to make sense of before I share them with you.”
“Harebrained or not, it never stopped you before,” he said.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to accuse someone of murder and then have egg on my face if I’ve got it all wrong.”
“So you’ve actually got someone in mind?” he asked mildly. He probably had one of the people she was thinking about in mind as the killer, too.
“Two someones in mind,” she admitted.
“You think the killer had an accomplice?” Davenport asked.
“I think the Sheriff’s Office has two murders on their hands, done by two separate people. And I don’t think one murderer has a clue about the other either.”
“When do you think you’d like to share this information with me?”
“I want to talk to someone who knows both the people I suspect, get some feedback, and then we’ll talk. Probably tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. And in less than just about twelve minutes, I can’t officially act on whatever it is you might say that could lead to capturing a murderer.”
“Or two,” Katie added.
“Or two,” Davenport grumbled.
“But surely you could talk to your former deputies and share whatever information you gather. They’d listen to you, wouldn’t they?”
“In a perfect world. Sadly, we’re not living in that fantasyland.” He cleared his throat. “Whatever you do, don’t act on anything you think you know.”
“Ray, would I do that?”
“Yes.”
“I would not. I don’t want to get killed.”
“Then repeat it like a mantra, will you?”
Katie sighed. “Whatever you say.” She heard someone in the background call Davenport’s name.
“I gotta go. See you tomorrow,” he said, and broke the connection.
Katie frowned and set down the receiver. Poor Davenport. He hadn’t gotten to solve his last case. He was leaving his job of over thirty years with one last murder unsolved. It had to be frustrating for him—just like it felt for her.
She’d invested too much time thinking about it. It was time to get on with her own life. And she had somewhere to be in just over an hour. But she had a feeling thoughts of murder would follow her, niggling at her brain until this case was finally solved—no matter how long it took.
Twenty-three
Katie swallowed down a pang of envy as she stood on Seth’s front porch, one arm clutching a brown paper bag with two bottles of wine, the other balancing the cherry pie. She wasn’t sure what they’d be cooking, so she’d brought both red and white wines. She used her elbow to press the doorbell.
Seth had inherited the house from his adoptive parents and had done an extensive renovation in the past five years. From the outside, it looked like an old farmhouse. Inside it was a showplace. He’d decorated with an eclectic palette of contemporary and antique pieces. The building Katie lived in was probably just as old, but much smaller, and with none of the finery. And it wasn’t hers. Andy gave her a break on the rent, but she wasn’t building equity. Heck, at the slave wages she paid herself, she never would be able to afford a modest bungalow, let alone a Victorian beauty like—wince—Sassy Sally’s.
She elbowed the bell again and Seth obligingly opened the door.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t home,”
she said, and handed him the bag.
“Sorry, I was in the kitchen getting things ready.” He looked inside the sack. “The red will go perfect with the steaks I’m going to grill.”
“I thought we were going to cook together,” she said, entering his foyer, which was lovely and cool—a pleasant change from the heat and humidity outside. “Afraid to take a chance on me?”
“Not at all. You can help me make the salad. And it looks like you brought dessert.”
“It’s a made-from-scratch cherry pie.”
“Hey, it’s my favorite. And I’ve got some ice cream to go with it.”
“Vanilla?”
“You do know me,” he admitted. “Now we can have pie à la mode.”
They passed through to the kitchen, which always made Katie’s tongue hang out in envy. Her aunt Lizzie’s kitchen had been serviceable, but small. Since her aunt had died, Katie had always lived in apartments and never had enough room to store all her various baking pans and other equipment. Seth’s kitchen was nearly the size of her apartment over the pizza shop. Granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and what seemed like miles of counter space, with an island big enough to moor a cruise ship.
She sighed. “I just—”
“Love my kitchen. I know. You say that every time you visit,” Seth said with a smile. He’d set out a head of romaine lettuce, some tomatoes, celery, and a red onion, as well as a large crystal bowl. “Everything’s washed. We just need to put it together. Why don’t we do that now and then we can sit back and share a glass of wine.”
“Fine with me,” she said, setting the pie on the counter. “Just let me wash my hands.” In a minute, she joined Seth at the island, where he handed her a paring knife from the block before them.
“How are things at your law office?” Katie asked, and picked up a stalk of celery.
“Not bad. Nothing like the excitement that goes on at Artisans Alley or on Victoria Square. Although I can say I know a lot of what goes on behind the scenes around McKinlay Mill.”
“Like who bought Wood U?” she suggested.
“Like who bought Wood U,” he agreed. “And yet I can’t talk about it, even to friends like you.”
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