One Hot Murder

by Lorraine Bartlett

  Abby Wheeler stood at the corner of the house, arms extended, clutching a mammoth gun—her late husband’s Magnum.

  Katie raised her hands in submission, still clasping the flashlight in her right. “Are you really going to shoot me, Abby—in all this light? I’ll bet your neighbors can dial nine-one-one just as fast as I can.”

  Katie’s phone rang.

  Abby stood there, staring at her.

  Katie stared back.

  The phone continued to ring.

  “I’ll bet it’s Andy. I told him I’d deliver your pizza and be right back. If I don’t answer this call, he’ll probably call nine-one-one.”

  The gun wavered ever-so-slightly.

  “Face it, Abby. You’re done.”

  The phone kept ringing.

  “I could still blow you away, you nosy bitch.”

  Katie sighed. Why did nasty people always call her a bitch?

  “You could, but that would just make your jail sentence that much longer.”

  “You think I’d ever get parole after killing that bastard husband of mine?”

  The phone abruptly stopped chirping. It must have rolled over into voice mail.

  Katie blinked, stunned by Abby’s last words. “Dennis? But I thought you killed Jerry.”

  “Why would I want to do that? I actually loved him.”

  “Then whose body did they find in Wood U?”

  “It was Jerry,” she said bitterly. “Dennis was going to do the deed. He texted Jerry and told him I wanted to meet him at the shop. Told him where the key was hidden. Jerry let himself inside, but Dennis got there late—and found someone had already killed him.”

  Oh dear God. Did Sally Casey even know what Dennis looked like? Had she mistaken Jerry for Dennis and killed him without proof of identity?

  “Did Dennis know about the trip you and Jerry were taking to Florida?”

  Abby sniffed and the heavy gun again wavered in her grasp. “He laughed. He said he’d taken steps to make sure I couldn’t touch any of the money in our joint accounts. He’d moved it to other banks. He’d canceled all my credit cards and burned my driver’s license. I had nothing—no money or access to it, and no way to prove my identity without a lot of hassle.”

  “But he made one big mistake, didn’t he?”

  Abby laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “He put the gun down. I picked it up and I shot him.”

  “Was that before or after Gilda called to tell you about the fire?”

  “Before. Maybe a minute before.”

  “So you really didn’t have to act when you arrived at the Square last Saturday night. You knew your lover was dead—and you’d just killed your husband.”

  “I still haven’t figured out why anyone would want to kill Jerry. Maybe another jealous husband—I never figured he was the monogamous type.”

  The faint sounds of a siren cut through the night.

  Katie could see light behind the drapes of the neighbor’s house. Movement told her that someone was watching the spectacle. Thank you for dialing 911, she thought.

  “I’d say we’re about to get company any minute now,” Katie said calmly.

  “I’ll have them arrest you for trespassing.” She glanced over her shoulder to look at the lighted window next door. “My neighbor will back me up.”

  “And how will you explain the bodies in the basement?”

  “Bodies?” Abby asked innocently.

  “There’s someone lying at the bottom step of your basement stairs. I presume it’s Detective Davenport.”

  Abby’s face twisted into a scowl.

  The sirens got a whole lot louder.

  “Give it up, Abby. It’s all over.”

  “Never, bitch,” she said, and pulled the trigger.

  Katie dove to her right as the big gun’s recoil knocked Abby off her feet. Katie scrambled in the dew-soaked grass as Abby fired again. Katie kept moving until she was out of the bright light, but smacked into a wooden fence. She scrambled to climb it, but found it was higher than her outstretched hands could reach. She couldn’t find the top to pull herself up.

  The gun fired again, taking out a big chunk of the fence to her right. Katie darted left. This side of the yard was hemmed in by chain link fence, and a good deal shorter. She leapt it like a fleeing gazelle.

  “Put your hands up!” a male voice ordered and Katie instinctively pivoted.

  Abby whirled, drawing the gun up to fire.

  An explosion of sound erupted, but not from Abby’s gun. She was thrown backward, smashing into the wet ground, her pretty peach sweatshirt awash in scarlet.

  Twenty-six

  “Will you stop complaining?” Katie grated as she walked alongside the gurney, trying to stay in step with the EMTs.

  “I’ve got a broken foot, I’ve got a concussion! Don’t you think I have a right to complain?” Davenport asked, and winced as the gurney bounced on the uneven driveway.

  Katie sighed. “You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you’d called me in for backup.”

  “You?” he accused. “I was crazy to come over here on my own. I should’ve done what I always told you to do. I should’ve minded my own business.”

  “But you didn’t. And Abby Wheeler pushed you down a flight of stairs. Just how did that happen, by the way?”

  “It’s embarrassing. I said I noticed the smell in her house, and she said she thought there was a dead rat in the basement. She opened the cellar door, I looked down, and she gave me a shove. It all happened rather fast.”

  “And while you were out of it…well, you know the rest.”

  “Yeah. Now my suspect’s dead, and a fine deputy has got to live with the guilt for the rest of his life.”

  “She could’ve killed you, too. She tried to kill me. I was just lucky she couldn’t see in the dark. And I’m grateful that Andy and Abby’s neighbors both called nine-one-one.”

  They approached the ambulance, and the EMTs halted.

  Davenport made a grab for Katie’s hand. “Could you call my girls? I don’t want some unfeeling cop to tell them what happened and that I’m in the hospital. It’ll scare them half to death, especially after what happened with their mother last year.”

  Davenport’s wife had died as the result of a car accident. Had one of the girls fielded that call, too?

  “I’d be glad to,” she assured him. He gave her the number and she programmed it into her cell phone.

  “And ask for Sophie. She’s the levelheaded one,” Davenport added.

  “And what will we do about your party tomorrow night?” Katie asked.

  “You don’t think a broken foot is going to keep me from my retirement party, do you? Not a chance!”

  “All right. Then I’ll see you tomorrow night. Call—or have Sophie call—if you need anything,” Katie said sincerely.

  Davenport nodded and sank back against the gurney’s pillow, grunting as the EMTs loaded him into the back of the ambulance. Katie watched as they slammed the back door. She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the damp chill that had settled.

  She glanced toward one of the patrol cars. Deputy Schuler leaned against the trunk, his face pale in the blazing light of the headlights from another cruiser. She’d heard him tell his superiors that he’d never before fired his service revolver during the ten years he’d been a deputy. He was terribly upset, but Katie had no qualms about telling Detective Hamilton what she’d seen, and that Schuler had acted in self-defense. Abby Wheeler would have shot Schuler dead where he stood if he hadn’t fired first, but that knowledge didn’t help the man now. He was a nice guy. As Davenport had intimated, the events of this night would no doubt haunt him forever.

  Detective Hamilton suddenly loomed before her, shaking his big, heavy head. “Mrs. Bonner,” he began with what sounded like profound disappointment. “It seems you still haven’t learned to stay out of the Sheriff Office’s business.”

  “Are you holding me personally responsible for th
e death of Jerry Murphy, the assault on Detective Davenport, and the death of Abby Wheeler?”

  “Of course not. But you could have been hurt or killed. If you’d simply called my office, some of this might have been avoided.”

  “If I hadn’t shown up when I did, I’m sure Ray Davenport would be just as dead as Dennis Wheeler.”

  “Be that as it may,” he said sternly, “in the future I don’t expect to have to warn you again that civilians should always call the Sheriff’s Office and let us handle whatever crimes you wish to report.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah, and be tolerated—or worse ignored. She’d gone that route before, too.

  She glanced back at Deputy Schuler. “Will he ever return to duty?”

  “With your testimony, I’m sure he’ll be exonerated. In the meantime, he’ll be restricted to desk duty.”

  “I’m sorry Abby’s dead. I’m even sorrier that Deputy Schuler was put in the terrible position of defending himself from her. The only thing I’m glad about is that it’s over.”

  “Over?” Hamilton said. “Are you forgetting the body that was found at Wood U?”

  No, she hadn’t. And she wasn’t sure what she was going to do about her theory of who actually fired a gun the previous Saturday. One thing she was going to do was to keep her mouth shut about her suspicions about Sally Casey. At least…for now.

  Hamilton seemed to have finished his little speech and wandered off to talk to the other deputies. The ambulance took off and Katie opened her cell phone once again, hitting the button for the number Davenport had just given her. It rang three or four times before being picked up. “Hello?”

  “Is this Sophie?”

  “Yes,” the young woman said warily.

  “Your dad asked me to give you a call…” Katie began.

  Twenty-seven

  Two brightly lit and fully decorated Christmas trees flanked Artisans Alley’s main entrance, while Bing Crosby wished everyone a “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year” from the building’s public address system. Everywhere Katie looked, someone was laughing or smiling or spreading good cheer. The weather seemed to have broken, but it was thundershowers that had driven the party inside—not snow.

  Katie examined one of the long tables laden with holiday food. As Rose had mentioned, she’d made tent cards with the names of all the dishes and who had contributed them. Edie Silver had brought her famous cheesy potatoes. Andy’s pasta salad sat next to it. There were a variety of dips sitting on ice, accompanied by bite-sized veggies, chips, and crackers, and on another paper plate sat a pile of saltines, which apparently had been Ida Mitchell’s contribution to the feast. Alongside that was a tent card for the stack of white napkins that Godfrey had supplied.

  “It sure feels like Christmas in July,” Vance said from beside a long table filled with holiday food and drink. He hoisted a paper cup filled with Gilda’s champagne punch. “Or at least it will next week when the new air-conditioning system is up and running.”

  “I envy you for having so much faith that everything will fall into place and they won’t be stymied at every turn,” Katie said. To be on the safe side, she anticipated the final bill to be a good twenty-five percent over the estimate she’d been given. That was just the way things went when any kind of repair was needed at the one-hundred-plus-year-old building.

  “Aw, come on, Katie—don’t go looking for trouble. This is a celebration, and goodness knows we have a lot to celebrate here at Artisans Alley,” Vance said.

  “You are so right,” Katie said, and let him pour her a cup of punch, too. “Just knowing Ida has found a new vocation and won’t be in my hair on a daily basis is enough to send me into fits of the giggles.”

  “I’m only sorry you had to part with all the stuff you’ve been collecting for your English Ivy Inn.”

  “In a way, they’ll all get to be there anyway, and hopefully in rooms that look the way I’d planned for all along. They just won’t belong to me anymore.”

  “But you are getting what you want. Beautiful things decorating a beautiful home. It’s like it was meant to be…sort of,” he finished lamely.

  Katie’s smile was wistful. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Sorry to eavesdrop,” Rose said, joining them at the punch bowl. “But there’s lots more than that to celebrate. The Alley’s intruder has been exposed. Shame on Godfrey for scaring us all half to death.”

  “And taking our food and pop out of the fridge,” Gwen Hardy said, coming up from behind them.

  “I got my Tupperware back,” Vance said, “and that pleased Janey.”

  The celebration in the empty storefront was also in full swing by the time Katie tore herself away from the Christmas cheer to visit Ray Davenport’s retirement party. Although as she’d anticipated, the parties seemed to have overlapped. The last time she’d looked, she’d seen Detective Hamilton munching Christmas cookies.

  Sophie Davenport had set up large fans that roared in the background, while big band music blared from a large boom box at the back of the room. It was standing room only, with festive crepe streamers, and several easels filled with pictures chronicling Detective Davenport’s career.

  Katie moseyed on up to a refreshment table and sampled one of the stuffed mushrooms from a platter of hors d’oeuvres. She felt a tug on her sleeve and looked down. Davenport sat in a wheelchair with his elevated left foot encased in a fiberglass cast. Other than that, he didn’t look too worse for wear, although the ear-to-ear grin he sported was a little unsettling.

  “The kids made all the food,” he said, nearly shouting to be heard over the music and the buzz of voices.

  “My goodness, they’re certainly hard workers.”

  “Sophie’s been accepted at the Culinary Institute of America. She starts this fall.”

  Katie savored the flavor of the mushroom’s stuffing. “Are you even sure she needs to go? This is to die for.”

  Davenport positively beamed. “She takes after her mom. Rachel was a whiz in the kitchen. She’d be so proud,” he said wistfully.

  “As you must be. But it looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” she said, gazing over at the beautiful inlaid wooden jewelry boxes and other objects that were displayed on the stands that had been empty the last time Katie had passed the storefront.

  She helped herself to another mushroom and glanced through the shop’s big display window. She could see Nick pushing Sally in a transport chair. She was dressed in a gaudy green-and-red Christmas sweater, with red jingle bells hanging from her pierced ears, and a fuzzy red-and-white Santa hat.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Katie told Davenport, then grabbed a napkin to wipe her fingers and headed out the door.

  Elbowing her way through the crowd, Katie soon caught up with Nick and Sally. “I’m so glad you could come,” she said, but immediately noted Sally’s sallow complexion. Her fingers clutched the arms of the chair and she looked distinctly ill. “You look festive,” she said, trying to make her voice sound cheerful.

  “I figured I probably wouldn’t make it until Christmas and this would be my last chance to wear such a silly outfit.”

  “I didn’t think we should come,” Nick said. He hadn’t dressed up for the occasion, looking somber in his jeans and a dark green golf shirt. “Sally hasn’t felt well since this morning, and—”

  “Nicholas, don’t you go spreading gloom and doom at Katie’s lovely party.”

  “Is Don here?” Katie asked.

  Nick shook his head. He looked like he was about to cry.

  “Nicholas, would you be a dear and steer this chair over to that corner over there. I’d like to have a private chat with Katie.”

  “Aunt Sally,” he began, but she held up a hand that made him immediately go silent, and he did as she asked. He turned away, and Seth appeared from nowhere, shoving a beer bottle into his hand. Katie figured he probably needed it. She pulled up a chair. She had a feeling she knew what the topic of this discussion would be.
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  “Sally, I think you should know that I—”

  “Oh, darlin’, you don’t have to say a word. I had a feeling you’d figured it out,” Sally patted Katie’s hand and sighed heavily. “What gave me away?”

  “Seth told me you used to run the skeet range at the country club. I figured you were probably familiar with and felt comfortable handling guns.” Katie shrugged. “But most of all, you love your nephew as if he were your own son. You couldn’t stand the thought of him being hurt. And when you found out that Wheeler would be Nick’s neighbor—that there was a chance he’d have to face him almost on a daily basis—you knew you had to do something. You knew Nick never would.”

  “And then earlier this week I found out that the bastard had sold the shop. That he would be out of there before Sassy Sally’s ever opened.” Sally sighed. “I really did mess things up. But you know, somewhere in my own mind, I still felt like I’d done the right thing.” She took a shuddering breath. “Nicholas was not the only student that man publicly humiliated. He never physically abused my darling boy, but his words left lasting scars on him and on many other young men. Thank goodness Nicholas had such a friend as Seth Landers, and Don has been the best thing that ever happened to him.”

  Voicing the words seemed to have taken a lot out of Sally.

  “Wheeler was never punished for what he did. I had to make sure that he would never wound a young boy ever again. Except…I learned this morning that it wasn’t Wheeler who was in the shop. I’d never met the man, you see. I didn’t know what he looked like. The man I confronted told me over and over again that he wasn’t Dennis Wheeler, but I figured he was just scared yellah. Turns out, he had a right to be. Oh, Katie, I killed an innocent man. What am I gonna do now?”

  Katie looked toward the shop and Davenport’s party. She could see Hamilton nodding his big head as he listened to someone speaking. Didn’t the man ever smile? But, considering his job, maybe he had little to smile about.

  “The lead detective in the case is right over there in that room. Would you like to speak to him?”

  “No, but…I’ll never rest in peace with this terrible secret. I’m just so ashamed. I never wanted Nicholas to think badly of me, and now I’ve committed the absolute worst crime. I deserve to die. And I have a feeling, it won’t be long now.”