“Math. I spent my whole career at McKinlay Mill High.”
Heather raised an eyebrow. “By any chance did you know Heather Winston?”
He eyed her for what seemed like an eternity before answering. “She was a student of mine. So was Barbie Jackson. It’s hard to believe they’re both now dead.”
“And that the same person probably killed them,” Katie said.
Hartsfield frowned. “I heard Barbie fell.”
“As far as I know, it hasn’t been ruled a homicide—yet. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. What do you remember about Heather?” Katie asked, recalling Barbie’s gibe of days before.
Hartsfield shrugged. “She was a good student, but she was out sick a lot. She wanted to be a model or something.”
“Was she a popular student?”
He shook his head. “Not like Barbie. The boys used to fight over that little cheerleader. I wasn’t surprised when Barbie had a baby not long after graduation. Her parents threw her out of the house.”
“Do you know where she lived after high school?”
He shook his head. “Sorry.”
Katie thought about it. Back then there would’ve been fewer apartment complexes in and around the village. Could Barbie have been living in one of the Webster mansion’s apartments? If so, it was no wonder she hadn’t volunteered information that might have implicated her in Heather’s death. She had definitely been frightened on Tuesday night. Less than twelve hours later, she was dead.
Hartsfield cleared his throat and looked around the kitchen. “What do you think?”
Katie sighed. “Is the rest of the apartment in the same shape?”
He nodded. “You aren’t going to rent it, are you?”
“To be honest, it’s farther than I wanted to drive to my job. I’ve got to be out of my apartment in nine days. And I don’t have the time or the skills to make the kind of repairs this place needs.” She glanced around the kitchen. “It’s a shame. It looks like this was once a pretty place.”
“That it was,” Hartsfield agreed. “My late wife decorated the apartment. It broke my heart to see what those people had done to it.” His gaze drooped to the scarred and dirty floor.
Katie looked around the room. Why did she have to disappoint the old man? Then again, maybe she could help.
“Mr. Hartsfield, I have a friend, one of the businessmen in McKinlay Mill, who hires teenagers to work in his pizza parlor. He mentioned that the high school shop class often takes on repair projects for people in need. If you paid for the supplies you might be able to negotiate with the school for student labor. I’ve heard the kids do a great job.”
Hartsfield’s dour expression lightened. “I’d forgotten all about that. Thank you for reminding me, Mrs. Bonner. But that doesn’t solve your problem.”
“No. I have just over a week to find a home, or else inconvenience one—or a succession—of my friends.”
Hartsfield squinted at her. “Mrs. Bonner, I have a feeling that you can accomplish anything you set your mind to. No doubt you’ll be in your new home and settled in before your deadline.”
She squinted at the older man. “Are you psychic, Mr. Hartsfield?”
A smile cracked the older man’s lips. “Just a good judge of character.”
The drive to Hartsfield’s duplex really was longer than Katie wanted to drive on a daily basis. She was already ten minutes late for dealer setup by the time she arrived at Artisans Alley. Polly Bremerton stood outside the employee entrance, with several piles of stacked boxes flanking her. A pale, thin little girl, no more than four, dressed in a pretty red and white polka-dot dress with red stockings and patent leather Mary Janes, stood beside her, clasping the older woman’s hand.
Katie grabbed her morning newspaper and sorted through her keys before she got out of her car. She wasn’t about to delay Polly any longer. She locked her car door and headed for a tongue-lashing.
“You certainly took your time,” Polly said in lieu of a greeting.
“Good morning. And who are you?” Katie asked the girl, as she opened the door.
“Hannah,” the child said with a shy smile.
“Haven’t I told you never to talk to strangers,” Polly growled at the girl.
Hannah’s bottom lip trembled, her gaze dipping to the ground. “I’m sorry, Grandmama.”
Polly grabbed the first box from the stack and handed it to the child. “Carry this one.”
“Polly,” Katie chided, “surely that’s too heavy.”
“It’s only got a few items packed in bubble wrap. Hannah won’t drop it, will you, girl?”
“No, Grandmama.”
“Could you give me a hand?” Polly asked, shoving a box at Katie.
“I really need to get the lights on, and—”
“Well, then as soon as you can,” Polly said, and headed off into the darkened Alley, with little Hannah struggling to keep up.
Katie stared after the woman. What gall! Yet she found herself moving the stack of boxes into the building. If anything was stolen, Katie was sure Polly would want her to file a police report and an insurance claim. It wasn’t worth the hassle.
By the time Katie had the lights on and the coffee going, Rose and Edie had arrived. They hung up their coats and Rose poured the coffee for the three of them. Edie dropped the familiar favor box on the desk before plunking herself down in Katie’s visitor’s chair. “All done.”
Katie peeked inside the box to see the bundles of lilac tulle encircling five or six of the deep purple Jordan almonds. But Edie hadn’t just tied them with the ribbon. Each sachet sported a small label that had been die-cut with a scroll motif, along with the centered words “Gilda ♥ Conrad” in purple and the wedding date.
“Oh, they’re darling,” Katie said with pleasure, but Edie just waved a hand in dismissal.
“I told you I could make them in my sleep. It only took me a couple of hours, too.”
That long?
“Seeing all that tulle reminds me that the matron of honor dress still needs hemming. Do you think we could do that sometime today—just to get it out of the way?” Katie asked.
“How about this afternoon?” Edie suggested.
“Wonderful.” She sighed. “I need to tap your brains about a place for Gilda’s bridal shower.”
“What does she need that for?” Rose asked. “Haven’t she and Conrad been living together for something like thirty years? Surely she doesn’t need any china or linens.”
“Is the woman delusional?” Edie seconded.
“I admit, I was a little surprised myself, but she wants a dream wedding, and a bridal shower. She suggested a tearoom, but except for Tea and Tasties, which is closed, I don’t know where there are any. And how can I book a party on such short notice?”
“Have it right in the lobby after hours,” Edie suggested. “We can help you decorate. And you should get it catered. That’ll save you time, effort, and money.”
“Great idea. I can call Blueberry Catering in Parma. They did a great job providing food, chairs, and tables for the gathering after Ezra’s funeral, and they pulled it off with only a day’s notice.”
Katie realized she needed to do something special to repay Edie for all she’d done and her good advice on Gilda’s behalf, but before she could say so, Edie spoke first. “I saw Polly’s car in the lot and I’m not going upstairs to straighten my booth until she leaves.”
“I don’t blame you one bit.” Rose folded her arms across her chest and propped up the file cabinet. The ladies were definitely here for the duration.
Katie settled at her desk and unfolded her newspaper. “Polly brought in her granddaughter, Hannah,” Katie said.
“Oh, she’s a cutie-pie,” Edie said. “And so well behaved.”
“Nice manners, too,” Rose chimed in. “But Polly treats that child so badly.”
“Just like she treats everyone else,” Edie said.
“Does Polly bring Hannah in often?” Katie
asked, idly turning to the local section of the paper. Had Hartsfield read about Barbie there?
“Almost every day,” Edie said, and sipped her coffee.
Katie frowned. “I’ve never seen her before today.”
“Polly makes her sit in a little rocker in Joan MacDonald’s booth,” Edie said. “She’s as good as gold. I’ve seen her sit still for close to an hour. Sometimes Hannah pretends to read, but often she has to sit there with nothing to do. It’s almost like a punishment.”
Katie leaned back in her own chair. “I haven’t seen any myself, but Polly must have some good qualities.”
“I heard she used to be very active in her church,” Rose said. “But so many of the parishioners complained about her bossy ways that they had to ask her to stop volunteering.”
“She buys a lot of old clothes at yard sales, repairs them, and gives them to Goodwill and other charities,” Edie said.
“That’s nice,” Katie said.
“I’ll bet she only does it so she can take a tax deduction,” Edie muttered.
“Come on. Nobody is as bad as we all think Polly is. You’ve known her the longest, Rose. What do you know about her?”
Rose picked up her cup and took a sip. “She’s only ever been an acquaintance.” Her brow furrowed as she concentrated. “Polly’s garden is the nicest one in all of McKinlay Mill. She must have twenty or thirty varieties of roses.”
Katie barely heard her as she scanned the paper’s side columns looking for mention of Barbie Gordon’s death, but there was none. However, a boxed advertisement on page 4B drew her attention. “Hey, Burt Donahue’s weekly auction is tonight in Parma. He’s the guy who owned the Webster mansion when Heather disappeared,” she said, for Edie’s benefit. “Do you want to go, Rose?”
“I’d love to. But don’t you need to pack for your move?”
Katie shook her head. “I’m practically finished. I’ve just got this wedding stuff hanging over me—and there’s not much I can do about it in the evening. And since Andy works every night—I’m always free.”
“Oh, goody,” Rose said.
“Would you like to come?” Katie asked Edie.
The woman shook her head. “I always get suckered in and buy something dumb, like an old moth-eaten antelope head. Nope, you girls can have all the fun.”
“We’re not going for fun,” Katie assured her. “If Donahue can tell us who rented that front apartment, we might be able to trace him or her down and find out who killed Heather.”
“Won’t the cops already have that information?” Edie asked.
“Maybe,” Katie said. “But Detective Davenport isn’t likely to tell us what he knows. Although he may have stepped up his investigation since Barbie Gordon turned up dead yesterday. It’s likely Barbie knew a lot more than she told either of us.”
“Do you really think she was murdered?” Rose asked, anxiety tingeing her voice.
“She knew Heather. And she seemed anxious to tell me what she knew. If only she hadn’t been spooked at the diner the other night.”
“You spoke to Barbie again?” Rose asked.
“Just for a few minutes. Unforunately, she didn’t tell me anything that helped.”
Edie polished off the last of her coffee. “You girls have fun playing Sherlock Holmes and Watson. I’ll stick with retail.”
With her cup in hand, Edie headed out the office door and into the vendors’ lounge.
Katie glanced back down at the newsprint ad. Would Donahue have kept records for a business he no longer operated? And if not, would he remember his tenants from two decades past? What if Barbie had been one of them?
Rose cleared her throat, reminding Katie she was still in the office. “Are you thinking about Barbie?”
Katie nodded. “She might have known what happened to Heather and was afraid to tell anyone.”
Rose’s lips pursed, her expression hardening. “And took that information with her to her grave.”
“If she’d told what she knew, she might still be alive. She left behind a daughter and a granddaughter.”
“I feel bad for them—but I feel worse for my sister and brother-in-law. They died not knowing what happened to their child. Barbie could’ve eased their pain.” Rose moved toward the door, her eyes filling with tears. “And mine.”
Eleven
Katie closed her computer file and sat back, staring at the screen. Checking Artisans Alley’s financial spreadsheets had become a daily obsession. At least for the month to date, they were in the black. But paying off the previous owner’s debts… well, she had a five-year plan. And it might not take that long… if she won the lottery.
“Penny for your thoughts,” came a voice from the doorway. A smiling Seth Landers stood poised at her office threshold.
“I can use the money.” Katie glanced at her watch. “What are you doing here at this time of day? Playing hooky?”
“My client settled before the judge could even bang his gavel, so I’m sprung for an hour or so. How would you like to go for an early lunch?”
“I’d love to, but we’re shorthanded today, and I have to cover the register when Rose goes to lunch.”
“Too bad the pizza place doesn’t open until four.”
“Don’t tell Andy, but I’m about pizza’d out,” Katie admitted.
Seth’s smile always made her feel better. He sat down on her visitor’s chair and grabbed a wrapped candy from the jar on her desk. “Per my promise, this morning I finally got ahold of a friend of mine in the Sheriff’s Office.”
Katie sat up straighter. “And?”
“Twenty-two years ago, a rookie deputy by the name of Raymond Davenport took a missing persons report on a young woman here in McKinlay Mill. It was the deputy’s opinion that she voluntarily left the area to pursue her career dreams.” He popped the peppermint into his mouth.
“And that woman just happened to be”—Katie patted her leg in a poor imitation of a drumroll—“Heather Winston.”
Seth winked, sketching an imaginary stroke in the air. “Got it in one.”
“No wonder the detective’s so testy about anyone encroaching on his territory. He blew off Heather’s disappearance and now she’s come back to haunt him.”
“Literally,” Seth said. “Have you found out anything new since yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” she asked.
“Didn’t you read the newspaper this morning?” Seth grabbed the stack on the corner of her desk.
“Just the local section. Why?” Katie asked.
Seth unfolded the front page and pointed to a picture of Rose and Katie taken at the press conference the day before.
“Oh no,” Katie groaned. “Look at my hair!”
“Even worse, I’ll bet Heather’s ex is really pissed at you for ruining his big homecoming.”
“Pissed enough to come after me?” she asked.
“It was stupid of Jeremy to lie about knowing Heather. And if he killed her…” Seth’s voice trailed off. “And I’ll bet you annoyed Detective Davenport—again—by showing him up and asking the right questions of the right person.”
“Swell. But at least he now has a suspect in Heather’s disappearance and murder. I doubt he would’ve put two and two together if Rose and I hadn’t pointed him in the right direction.”
Seth reached out to touch Katie’s arm, his expression sobering. “Katie, please don’t poke into this anymore. I know you want to help, but I don’t want you—or Rose—to get hurt.”
“Oh, Seth, don’t be silly. We’re just asking questions.”
“Yes—and probably disturbing a snake’s nest.”
Katie frowned. “You’ll have to come up with something better than that to deter me.”
“Okay, Barbie Gordon died under suspicious circumstances. You were seen talking to her at the diner the night before she died.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw you there. And if I could see you, so could—and probably did—others.
”
“But you left the restaurant before she arrived.”
“Rose forgot her purse. I retrieved it for her just as Barbie sat down. I was almost out the door when you returned.”
Katie frowned. “Did you happen to see a stranger, a tall man with a ponytail and a bushy mustache?”
Seth frowned. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“One of Rick Jeremy’s entourage looked very familiar to me. I thought he might be the one who frightened Barbie at Del’s the other night. She flew out the back door in a panic. This was after she’d told me someone had threatened her—and her little granddaughter.”
Seth shook his head.
“Did you recognize anyone at the diner?” Katie asked.
Seth frowned. “A couple of my clients. Some of your vendors. Nobody out of the ordinary.”
Katie chewed at her bottom lip. “I know I’ve seen that guy with the ponytail. His face was so familiar.”
Seth patted her hand. “It’ll come to you. In the meantime, will you at least consider what I said?”
Katie blinked, all wide-eyed innocence.
Seth sighed in defeat. “All right. In the meantime, how about I get a quart of soup and a couple of egg rolls from the Chinese takeout? Then we can still have lunch together.”
Katie tried without success to stifle a smile. “Make it hot and sour, and you’ve got a deal.”
The cash drawer popped open and Katie scooped up a five, two ones, three quarters, and a penny. “Your change is seven dollars and seventy-six cents. And thank you for shopping at Artisans Alley.”
The elderly woman gave her a faint smile, collected her bag of tissue-swaddled stained glass sun catchers, and headed for the exit. Crissy Hunter, McKinlay Mill’s buff, forty-something letter carrier, passed her. She held a stack of envelopes and a small brown-paper-wrapped box. “Mail call,” she said, and paused to lean against the counter.
“Is it my imagination, or are you wearing shorts?” Katie asked.
Like a diva, Crissy stood back, raised her arms, and turned in a circle to model her uniform. “It’s regulation standard. But isn’t the red piping down the seam just darling?”
The Walleld Flower Page 10