“Oh, no. I love parties, they’re lots of fun—and who doesn’t love to pig out on all the food, especially the Christmas cookies and other holiday fare. I think it’s a great idea. I hope you can at least slip away for ten or twenty minutes tomorrow.”
“I can’t promise anything. You know Saturday night is my busiest of the week, but I will bring, or at least send over, that bowl of pasta salad I promised Rose.”
“I could come over and cover for you,” she offered.
“Then who would I hang out with? It’s you I want to be with—no offense to your friends and the other merchants on the Square.”
She smiled.
He smiled back. “I was going to wait until Monday to tell you, but I figured I better tell you in case you freaked out about me trespassing in your apartment.”
“Trespassing?” she asked, confused.
“Yeah, I had a guy come over from Reed Electric this afternoon to give me a quote on upgrading the circuit box in your apartment.”
“Oh, Andy,” Katie said, “you didn’t have to do that.” Of course it was a lie. She’d been dying for him to do just that.
“You’ve been such a help here at the shop this week. And if I’m honest, anytime I’ve been shorthanded. I don’t know why I made such a fuss about doing the upgrade for all this time. It was really selfish of me. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“You’re a businessman. I know what that means. But that doesn’t mean I won’t take you up on your generous offer,” she said, lunging forward and planting a big wet kiss on his lips.
He looked embarrassed, especially since Keith made smooching noises once again, but continued anyway. “I scheduled the work to be done on Monday. And tomorrow morning I’ll head over to Home Depot and get you a window air conditioner for your bedroom, too.”
“Oh, Andy, thank you.” Then again, he’d already committed to staying over on Monday. Was he looking out for his own comfort? And would a nice cool bedroom mean he might do the same more often? The idea appealed to Katie.
The phone rang again and Katie grabbed it. “Angelo’s.”
“Yes, I want a small cheese, pepperoni, and mushroom pizza for pickup. How long will that take?”
“Twenty minutes,” Katie answered, jotting down the order, and noting the number on caller ID. “And who’s this for?”
“Abby.” The connection ended.
Katie stared at the order blank before her. Abby? Abby Wheeler? The voice had sounded familiar. She hung up the phone, tore off the sheet, and handed it to Andy.
He glanced at the paper. “Hmm. She usually has them delivered,” he said with a shrug, and put the paper down. Grabbing another round of dough, he started on the pizza.
“Does she call often?”
“Once the Ezra Hilton do-not-patronize-Angelo’s curse was taken off my business, the Wheelers were one of my best customers.”
And Abby didn’t want the pizza delivered. Well, she had said she was broke. Did broke people often order pizzas? Of course, she had ordered a small pizza, but then she was only going to eat it by herself anyway.
Seth had told Katie not to seek Abby out, but now she was going to show up practically on her doorstep. She didn’t have to do more than say hello, but she wanted to do so much more than that. How would that scenario go? “Hello, Abby. Were you having an affair with Jerry Murphy? Did you kill him? And if so, why?”
The phone rang again. Katie grabbed it. “Angelo’s.”
“Hi, I just called a couple of minutes ago for a pizza. I’d like it delivered instead of pickup. Will that be okay?”
“For Abby?” Katie asked, lowering her voice.
“Uh, yes.”
“And the address?” Abby gave it. No doubt about it—it was the Wheelers’ address.
“Will I have to wait a lot longer?”
“We’ll try to get it to you ASAP, ma’am,” Katie said, still using her fake voice. She hung up the phone. Andy had been listening, and looked at her with an odd expression.
“What was that all about?”
Katie gave a fake cough. “Frog in my throat. I think I need a sip of water or something.”
Andy shrugged and went back to work, but the wheels in Katie’s mind had already begun to spin. Seth had warned her not to visit Abby, but the perfect opportunity had just presented itself. It was fate. She was meant to deliver that pizza. That said, she had no intension of accusing Abby of anything. But she wondered if she could get inside the house for another quick look around. She’d only seen the entryway and living room. She was sure there was a lot more to see that might help her prove her case to Ray Davenport. And yet she wasn’t about to try anything stupid. If Abby was a killer, she might just come after Katie, and tipping her off that she suspected her of murder could be not only criminally stupid, but deadly dangerous, as well.
Now she had to kill at least eighteen minutes until the pizza would be ready for delivery, and hope that Andy’s delivery boy was busy so that she could volunteer to take the pizza over to Abby’s house. She was glad she hadn’t shared her suspicions with Andy, because then he’d be sure to veto such a suggestion.
Katie kept her eye on the clock as she continued to take the orders. Tony, another of Andy’s charges, arrived back at the shop when Abby’s pizza still had five more minutes left in the oven.
Andy had a pile of pizzas already waiting in one of the bulky insulated delivery bags. “If you wait another five minutes, you can take this one over to Walker Street.”
“Why don’t you go, Tony? I can deliver Abby Wheeler’s pizza,” Katie said, hoping she sounded innocent.
“Yeah, if these pies get cold, my tips go down the toilet,” Tony said. “And that Wheeler woman is notoriously cheap,” he added. “She’s stiffed me the last two times I made a delivery.”
“I’m not expecting a tip either,” Katie told Andy. “I just want to make sure she’s okay after all she’s been through this week. The poor woman.”
Andy didn’t look entirely convinced, but he handed off the boxes to Tony anyway. “Okay. Take off.”
Katie took another two orders before Keith took Abby’s pizza from the oven. “Here you go,” he said.
“Do I need an insulated bag?” Katie asked.
“Only if you intend to dawdle. I want you back here ASAP,” Andy said.
“This is only a volunteer position,” Katie reminded him as she took possession of the pizza.
“Yeah, but you have a propensity for getting into trouble. Please get back here in a hurry so I don’t have to worry about you.”
“Will do,” she said and headed for the door, just in case he changed his mind about letting her go.
Now the burning question was…what was she going to say to Abby Wheeler?
Twenty-four
It took less than two minutes for Katie to drive through the darkened streets of McKinlay Mill to Cooper’s Race, where Abby Wheeler lived. As she turned into the road, she noticed a familiar car and slowed. It belonged to Ray Davenport. She figured he must be staking out the Wheelers’ house. Had he come to the same conclusion as she had that Abby had killed either Jerry Murphy or her husband?
Katie stopped and looked inside the aging sedan, but it was empty. Maybe he’d gone in on foot to peek inside her windows. It wasn’t standard police procedure, but he was now officially retired, so maybe he figured he no longer had to do things by the book. She pressed the accelerator and decided she’d keep an eye out for him when she got to the house.
Katie parked at the curb and got out of her car, grabbing the still hot pizza. The darkness had swallowed some of the day’s heat, but not the humidity, and she felt clammy, fighting the urge to peel her damp clothes away from her skin.
The front steps were awash in light from the colonial-style fixture at the side of the door, and Katie mounted the concrete steps. She looked to her left and right, but didn’t see Davenport lurking around the yard. “Ray? Are you out there?” she called in a harsh whisper. She wait
ed long seconds for a reply, but none came.
Giving up, Katie pressed the doorbell and heard Westminster chimes sound somewhere within the house. In seconds, the door opened, but stopped short because of the chain. Abby peeked through the gap. “Katie. What are you doing here?”
“Delivery,” she said and held up the pizza box for Abby to see. “Andy Rust is shorthanded tonight, so I said I’d be happy to make a few deliveries for him. As long as I’m here, do you have a few minutes to talk?” Katie asked. Already she could feel the cold dry air seeping out of the house.
Abby looked behind her, bit her lip, and considered the request. Finally, she unhooked the chain and opened the door. Katie stepped inside. This time Abby didn’t usher her into the house, but stood her ground in the entryway.
“Please wait here while I go get the money,” Abby said firmly.
Katie nodded, but as soon as Abby went through the living room to the nether regions of the house, Katie stepped farther inside, looked around, and then tiptoed into the living room. She wrinkled her nose at a sour smell. Had Abby neglected to take the garbage out for a while?
Abby soon returned from what looked like the entrance to the dining room with a ten-dollar bill in hand. Her eyes narrowed, her expression darkening as she approached Katie. “I asked you to stay in the doorway,” she said, and handed Katie the money. “I hope you can make change.”
Katie handed her the pizza box and dug into her pockets for change. She counted it out in Abby’s hand. “Everyone at the Merchants Association is worried about you. We know this whole situation is terribly upsetting for you, and we really want you to know that you have a circle of friends who are there for you.” Oh, brother. That was pouring it on thick.
“I’m flattered, but I don’t feel I can show my face on Victoria Square. Look at me, thanks to Dennis, I’m forced to hide out in my own home.”
Katie wrinkled her nose and sniffed. What was that sour odor she smelled? She had an idea, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. She knew she should get out of there—now—especially if Abby was capable of murder, but how else was she going to draw her out? And where the heck was Davenport?
“Maybe what you need is a vacation. To get away from McKinlay Mill for a few days or weeks.”
“I’ve thought of that,” Abby admitted. “But I don’t have the money—thanks to Dennis,” she said with bitterness. “He ruined everything!”
“How so?”
Abby shook her head. “I already told you about him and his selfish ways.”
“You mean because you two never had children?”
“There were more important considerations,” Abby muttered.
“But it was a bone of contention between you.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever consult an attorney about a divorce?”
“What business is that of yours?” Abby asked curtly.
“I did…when my late husband invested all our savings in Artisans Alley.”
“Yeah, we’ve all heard about that—time and time again.” Abby muttered that last under her breath. “Look, I’m really hungry and would like to eat my dinner—if you wouldn’t mind.” She nodded toward the door.
Katie backed up a step, but didn’t move to leave. “Have you spoken to anyone from the Sheriff’s Office lately?”
“I went down to their headquarters just yesterday.”
“Did they have any news to share?”
Abby shook her head.
“Just out of curiosity, when is garbage day in your neighborhood?”
“It was today. Why?”
“What company do you use?”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m just wondering if you might’ve thrown out something that could be of value to the police in their investigation.”
“Such as?” Abby demanded. My, she was getting a little testy.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe one of Dennis’s shirts. Like the one that was found at Artisans Alley.”
“What is it you’re accusing me of doing? Lying to the sheriff’s detectives?”
“It wasn’t Dennis who was hiding in Artisans Alley. It was one of my vendors. It was his shirt Detective Hamilton showed you.”
Abby said nothing, but her hands clutched the pizza box tighter. “I’m running out of patience, and I’d like you to leave.”
“Yes, of course,” Katie said, and backed toward the door. “Don’t forget, if you need anything from the Merchants Association—”
Abby practically pushed her out the door, slamming it in Katie’s face.
Okay, that didn’t go well, Katie thought as she went down the sidewalk, heading for her car. She got in and started the engine. She put the car in gear, but looked back at the Wheelers’ house. Abby was watching her through the crack in the living room curtains. Katie pressed the accelerator and headed down the street.
She pulled around the corner and parked the car, taking the keys from the ignition, not sure what her next move should be. One thing was for sure, Abby was hiding something. A smelly something. And she was antsy about something, too. And yet…she’d ordered a pizza. That didn’t make sense.
Katie fumbled under her seat for the big flashlight she kept in case of emergencies, found it, and got out of her car. Her first priority was to find Davenport.
Cooper’s Race had no streetlights, so at least Abby wouldn’t see her skulking around the neighborhood. She stopped at Davenport’s car, flashing the light inside. A half-filled cup of coffee sat in the holder. She opened the door and reached inside to pick it up. The McDonald’s cup was no longer warm. He’d left it there some time ago. She replaced the cup in the holder and shut the car door. Where the heck could he be?
She looked down the street toward the Wheelers’ house, and frowned. He had to be lurking around the house somewhere. Maybe in the backyard. Katie hefted her flashlight. It would make a pretty good weapon, if need be.
Did she really think she needed a weapon?
Call 911, the voice inside her taunted.
And say what? That Abby Wheeler has a body in her house stinking up the joint? Yeah, they’d take me really seriously with that one.
And what if Abby did have a body in the basement? Maybe it wasn’t hot flashes that were the reason behind her keeping the air-conditioning set at such a low level, but to keep the house cold enough to keep the body from quickly decomposing during the prolonged heat wave.
You are really stupid if you don’t call 911 right now, the voice taunted, but Katie forged ahead, keeping to the shadows as she approached the Wheeler house once again.
She had to have killed Jerry Murphy. But why? They were supposed to be running away together that week. What could have caused her to kill her (supposed) lover when what she wanted (another guess on Katie’s part)—to leave Dennis—was at hand?
Davenport had said Murphy had bought train tickets to Florida. But what if he’d bought round-trip instead of one-way tickets? What if all he wanted was a fling and she’d wanted more?
He had a good job he enjoyed, a budding business restoring old cars. Running away with his married lover just didn’t seem to be a logical step—especially for a man who liked to flirt with women. Was Abby just one entry on his dance card? Had he been seeing others as well as her?
All supposition, the voice said.
One thing was certain: Ray Davenport was hanging around somewhere near, watching the situation.
But what if he wasn’t? What if he’d made it inside the house to talk to Abby and something unforeseen had happened? She’d (possibly) already killed one person. Would Davenport have been so desperate to collar one last felon that he disregarded his own advice to let the Sheriff’s Office handle it?
What if Abby had killed him, too?
Katie hefted her flashlight and slunk behind a tree in the yard next to the Wheeler home. Where would Abby be right now? Sitting alone at her dining room table, scarfing down pizza? That was a good bet. Where would she have put a stinking b
ody? In the basement? That was the coldest part of a house during the summer months, especially if air-conditioning was in use. Katie decided to poke around the foundation and hope she didn’t run into spiders, crickets, and slugs.
Scurrying across the driveway, she saw that Abby’s car was parked close to the house. More cover. She sidled past it and hunkered down to the window well. Damn. Glass blocks filled the rectangle where a window should have been. They let light in, but kept nosy people—and presumably would-be burglars—out. She turned on her flashlight and got exactly the results she expected—the light was reflected back at her. She doused the light and sat back on her haunches. If all the windows had been filled with the blocks, she was skunked.
She duckwalked around the side of the house to the next break in the concrete block foundation and found a real window. She turned her flashlight back on and placed it directly on the glass. The funnel of light shone on the basement floor, but there wasn’t anything to see. She moved it back and forth, and several stacked cartons came into view. Not much help.
She moved along the back of the house to another window, maneuvered her flashlight to touch the glass, as sticky filaments of spiderwebs clung to her hands. She tried not to think about the probable occupant of the web and trained her flashlight on the glass.
She squinted to make sense of the sight. Mounds of what look like sheets and towels along a long cylinder of some type. Cylinder or body?
Katie swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise up her throat. It was all well and good to think there might be a body in that basement, but the realization that there really could be one sickened her.
And then she noticed the foot sticking out at an odd angle. She carefully moved the flashlight across the glass, but from that angle, couldn’t see much beyond it…except what looked like the bottom step from the stairwell that led back to the home’s main level.
Did that foot belong to Ray Davenport?
Katie stood, seized with indecision.
And then the backyard was flooded with light, blinding her.
Within seconds, a voice called out, “Don’t move, or I’ll blow your head off.”
Twenty-five
One Hot Murder Page 25