The Walleld Flower

by Lorraine Bartlett

  “And Fawn?” she asked.

  “Fawn?” he repeated, bewildered.

  “Your granddaughter.”

  Hartsfield’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know.” His shoulders slumped and he looked away, falling quiet again.

  The sound of the outside door opening once again shattered the funeral home’s terrible quiet. This time it was VJ Ingram who entered. Dressed, as ever, in baggy cutoffs and a T-shirt, he looked completely out of place. Had something happened at Artisans Alley? Had Vance sent him?

  VJ made eye contact with Katie, his expression one of guarded sheepishness. He motioned for her to join him.

  Katie rose from her chair. “I’ll speak to Donna, Mr. Hartsfield, but I can’t promise anything.”

  “I understand that. Thank you, Mrs. Bonner.”

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Katie crossed the room to meet VJ, who hovered just outside the viewing room. In his hand, the boy clutched a wrinkled paper sack.

  “Is something wrong at Artisans Alley?” Katie asked.

  VJ shook his head. “Uh, no, Miz Bonner. I—uh—need to talk to you. Kinda in private.”

  Katie glanced in Rose’s direction and found her still engaged in conversation with Seth. Katie nodded and led VJ down the corridor, outside one of the empty rooms.

  “What have you got to tell me?”

  VJ’s usually pale complexion was tinged pink, and he stared at his worn Nikes. “My Dad made me come over here. Right after he grounded me.”

  Grounded? Only yesterday Vance had bragged that VJ never got into trouble. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because… because…” Instead of explaining, he shoved the bag at her.

  Katie took it and a wave of relief swept through her. She didn’t have to look inside to know she held the last copy of Star Whores in her hand. “You took it? Why?”

  VJ squirmed inside his enormous clothes. “I wanted to show the video to my friends. Malcolm Gilman said his dad had an old beta machine in his basement and—” VJ’s head dropped lower. “How often do we get to see some girl get banged?”

  Katie figured it was a regular rite of passage for all teenaged boys, but refrained from commenting on the depth of her disgust.

  “How did you get into Artisans Alley?” she demanded, her voice hushed.

  VJ’s cheeks went a shade darker. “I kinda borrowed my dad’s keys. I’ve been with him lots of times when he closes and I’ve seen him punch in the security code. It isn’t that hard to remember.”

  Katie frowned. Note to self: Change Artisans Alley’s security code tonight!

  “Anyway,” the boy continued. “I’m real sorry, Miz Bonner. And I’ll have lots of time to ponder my mistake.” That last sounded like a direct quote from Vance.

  “How long will you be grounded?”

  “Three months,” he nearly wailed.

  Katie had never heard such a heartbroken voice. She winced at the length of the punishment, which seemed a bit excessive. She’d talk to Vance about it later. In the meantime, she stashed the bag in her oversized purse. Unbeknownst to him, VJ had just made Mark Bastian’s day, and Katie was also glad Davenport hadn’t seen the exchange take place.

  “I appreciate your returning my property,” she said.

  VJ began to back away. “Okay, well, I’ll see ya later, Miz B.”

  VJ continued to shuffle backward until he ran into the opening door. “Whoa! Sorry,” he said, and ducked past the young woman who entered.

  If VJ was the last person Katie expected to see at Heather’s service, Donna Gordon was the next to last. She’d donned a dark denim coat and, as a nod to decorum, had removed the studs in her nose.

  “Donna, what brings you here?”

  “I know Ma would’ve come. She still considered herself Heather Winston’s best friend. I thought I should come in her place.” Donna looked inside the room toward the casket and leaned forward. “I’ve never been to a funeral home before. What am I supposed to do?”

  Katie gave Donna a quick rundown on funeral etiquette. “Mrs. Nash is the one in the pink dress.”

  “I thought people were supposed to wear dark clothes,” Donna said.

  “Mrs. Nash wants to celebrate her niece’s life—not mourn her death.”

  Donna took a step forward, but Katie’s outstretched hand stopped her. “Your mother’s high school math teacher is here. He’d like to meet you.”

  Donna’s gaze swept the room, landing on Hartsfield. Her lip curled. “My sperm donor? I don’t think so.”

  “You know?” Katie asked, shocked. “But you told me—”

  “What was I supposed to say?” She exhaled a shaky breath. “My ma was my best friend. She never kept anything from me.”

  “Then what was she really doing at the Webster mansion on Tuesday night? Have you told Detective Davenport?”

  “That jerk? I wouldn’t give him the time of day. He thinks Ma’s death was an accident, but I know better.” Donna nodded, her gaze fixed with determination. “And—one way or another—the person who killed Ma is going to pay.”

  Twenty-four

  Katie gaped at Donna. “Please don’t do anything foolish. Think of Fawn, if nothing else. If something happened to you, she’d be all alone.”

  Katie absentmindedly looked in Hartsfield’s direction, but Donna still wouldn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she actually patted Katie’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not as trusting as my mother. And I can take care of myself.”

  Famous last words.

  Donna looked back at the crowd still surrounding Rose. “I guess I’ll wait a few minutes before I talk to Mrs. Nash.”

  “Some of your pillows are already in her booth.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then I guess I’ll have to thank her.” Donna’s eyes wandered over to the casket, and she pursed her lips as though in an effort to keep from crying. Was she thinking of her own loss, which was still so fresh—and the fact she had no money for a proper burial for her mother?

  She cleared her throat. “I noticed you had a bunch of old dolls on top of your file cabinet. Do they sell well?”

  “We don’t sell commercially made product. I bought them at an auction the other night. I’m going to clean them up and try to find them all new homes. All except the wooden one. That one I’m keeping.”

  She tilted her head in surprise. “Why that one?”

  A blush warmed Katie’s cheeks. “I guess because it looks like it needs to be loved.”

  Donna’s gaze flickered back to Katie, and her lips quirked into a smile. “What time do you want me to bring the rest of my stuff to Artisans Alley?”

  “How about five thirty?”

  “Can do.” Donna’s gaze wandered. “Think I’ll go look at the flowers. I saw an ad in the paper this morning for a job at a florist. Maybe I could learn flower arranging. See you later.” And with that, she crossed the room without looking at Hartsfield, who apparently had no clue he was in the same room as his daughter.

  With Rose still occupied, Katie found herself at loose ends and wished Andy would show up. She let her mind wander. If Donna was arriving at Artisans Alley at five thirty, perhaps she could convince Bastian to meet her at six. They needed to talk.

  She left the room and took out her cell phone, making sure Detective Davenport was well out of earshot before she punched in the number. Voice mail picked up and she left a message for Bastian to call her.

  Katie returned to the parlor and glanced at her watch. Shouldn’t the service have started by now? Or had Rose asked Mr. Collier to wait awhile on the chance some of Heather’s peers might show? But when the door opened again, it was Burt Donahue and his wife Sylvia who’d arrived. The arrogant auction house owner paused at the entryway, assessing the crowd before him, while his meek wife stayed a step behind.

  Katie stepped forward. “Mr. Donahue, I’m surprised to see you here. You said you’d never met Heather Winston.”

  “Rose has been a good customer of mine for more than a decade.
Being here is just a business courtesy,” he said blandly.

  That was a rather coldhearted explanation. Katie hoped he wouldn’t be as blunt when speaking to Rose. At the same time, she wondered if Donahue had already inspected the Webster mansion property.

  “Will you stay for the service?” Katie asked.

  “No. We’re meeting my son and daughter-in-law over at the mansion within the hour.”

  Bingo! It was a good thing Fred had collected the key before she’d had to leave for the service.

  Donahue turned his head toward his wife but didn’t bother to look at her. “Stay here.” He strode off, his gait almost a swagger. Sylvia took a step backward, as though trying to blend into the woodwork, but not before Katie saw anger flash across her features. Katie hadn’t thought Sylvia capable of that emotion—or any other, for that matter.

  “Is something wrong, Sylvia?”

  The toad of a woman clutched her handbag tighter. “We shouldn’t have come here. That young woman had no business being on our property, let alone dying there. Our mistake was renting to lowlifes. That won’t happen when we open Donahue’s Shamrock Inn. We’ll host a strictly high-end clientele.”

  Her words had tumbled out—more than Katie had heard her utter before. But it seemed her font of conversation had run dry, and Sylvia seemed to withdraw into herself and reverted to her usual submissive demeanor.

  Katie’s phone chimed. She retrieved it from her purse and retreated farther into the hallway, stabbing the green call button.

  “Katie, it’s Mark Bastian.”

  “Thanks for returning my call so quickly. I have your… property, and I’d like to return it.”

  “Katie, you’re a lifesaver,” he said, and she heard the gratitude in his voice.

  Katie turned her back on Sylvia and lowered her voice. “Can you come and get it tonight?”

  “Name the time and place.”

  “How about Artisans Alley at six? Do you know where it’s located?”

  “The old applesauce factory that used to be part of the old mansion site?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I know the place. Fine. I’ll see you then.”

  The connection broke and Katie replaced the phone in her purse.

  Sylvia was staring at the crown molding near the ceiling, trying to look as though she hadn’t been eavesdropping. But Katie hadn’t mentioned a name. There was no way Sylvia could tell who she was talking to or what it was about.

  Stop being paranoid, Katie chided herself.

  “Excuse me,” Katie said as she sidled past Sylvia and reentered the parlor.

  Donahue had already finished his brief conversation with Rose and charged toward the exit. “Sylvia!” His wife fell in step behind him.

  Katie scowled. How had Donahue achieved so much business success with such poor people skills?

  Mr. Collier approached Rose, and those assembled made for the dual row of chairs. Katie sat beside Seth and behind Edie, leaving an empty chair on the end in case Andy showed up. Hartsfield also sat up front, and Donna took a chair in the row behind, as far away from him as she could.

  Collier cleared his throat. “We’ll begin today’s remembrance with a short prayer.” They all bowed their heads. Behind them, the door opened and closed quietly. Collier finished with, “Amen,” and Andy slipped into the empty chair beside Katie.

  “What’ve I missed?” he whispered.

  “Plenty.”

  A dry-eyed Rose approached the podium, took in all their faces, and smiled. “I suppose you’ve all been wondering why I chose to wear such a vibrant pink dress to Heather’s service. It’s because I wanted this to truly be a celebration of her life, not her death. Most of you didn’t know my niece. I’d like to tell you about her.”

  Rose spoke for almost twenty minutes, recalling with love and humor a life that had ended more than two decades before. How sad that so few had gathered to remember Heather.

  Katie looked over her shoulder at the closed door. Though she’d just spoken with him, she’d hoped Bastian might show up. He was probably busy coordinating Rick Jeremy’s funeral. Thanks to the director’s celebrity, there’d be far more than ten people in attendance.

  At last Rose left the podium, and a bagpipes rendition of “Amazing Grace” filled the small room. Had Mr. Collier pressed some remote control to start the music? It was a tune sure to break the hearts of anyone who’d lost a loved one. Tears stung Katie’s eyes as she remembered the last time she’d heard a similar recording at her beloved aunt Lizzie’s memorial service. Andy reached for her hand and squeezed it.

  When at last the music faded, Mr. Collier approached the podium and spoke. “Mrs. Nash would like to invite you all to a reception at her home.” He gave the address and directions, although Katie was sure everyone, with perhaps the exception of Donna and Hartsfield, knew where Rose lived.

  Everyone stood, but only Davenport made a beeline for the exit. Katie hurried to catch up with him. “Detective, you haven’t mentioned how your investigation is progressing.”

  “There doesn’t seem much point in pursuing it now that Rick Jeremy’s dead.”

  “You think he killed Heather? Then why was he assassinated?”

  “Hollywood types always make enemies. I’ll wait and see what the RPD comes up with, then decide how to proceed.”

  “And what if they don’t come up with anything? Heather deserves justice!”

  Davenport sighed, thrusting his beefy hands into the depths of his raincoat pockets. “Mrs. Bonner, Heather Winston’s been dead for twenty-two years. It’s a cold case and now the prime suspect is dead. No one can guarantee justice will be served, and I’m sorry to tell you, but sometimes people do get away with murder. That’s just the way it is.”

  Katie clenched her fists to keep from hitting Davenport. With that attitude, she’d be surprised if he ever solved a case. She had to work to keep her voice level. “What about the note I received?”

  “Jeremy probably sent it before he died.”

  “And what if it wasn’t him?” she demanded.

  Andy and Seth approached, each wearing an expression of concern. “Is there a problem here?” Andy asked, in full protective mode.

  Davenport shook his head. “Not with me. Good-bye, Mrs. Bonner. Tell Mrs. Nash I’ll be in touch if I have some news.” He turned. The three of them watched the door close behind him.

  Seth spoke first. “I hope high blood pressure doesn’t run in your family, Katie, because you look like you’re ready to have a stroke.”

  Andy loosened his tie. “Ready to murder that cop, more like. What did he do this time?”

  “That’s just it—he never does anything!” Katie exploded.

  “It’s not your job to take up the crusade,” Seth warned her.

  Andy nodded. “Agreed.”

  Katie exhaled through her nose, hoping her snorts of frustration didn’t make her look like Polly. Donna Gordon stood nearby, nervously eyeing the door.

  Seth pulled Katie down the hall to clear the exit and give them more privacy, and Donna fled the building before she could bump into her biological father.

  “Katie,” Seth said, his voice somber. “I know you’re upset with the detective, but let it go for now. You know Rose means a lot to me. I’ve got friends within the Sheriff’s Office. I’ll ask them to make sure Davenport follows up on any leads he’s got, but only if you promise you won’t keep digging into this.”

  “Hear, hear,” Andy agreed.

  “I’m not investigating Heather’s murder. I’m only trying to give Rose some peace of mind.”

  “Which looks a lot like you’re poking your nose into things you shouldn’t.”

  “Oh, Andy—go make a pizza!” Katie cried in exasperation.

  He leaned forward to kiss her. “That’s exactly where I’m going. Keep talking sense into her, will you, Seth? And I’ll see you around seven for dinner, right?”

  Katie exhaled another sharp breath, sorry for sn
apping at him. “Okay.”

  Andy leaned forward again, planted a quick kiss on her lips, and then turned to follow the queue out of the funeral parlor. Seth and Katie brought up the rear. Rose had already put on her rain bonnet and coat and was in the parking lot, heading for her car as Katie and Seth left the building.

  “Are you going to Rose’s?” Katie asked.

  Seth nodded. “It’s the least I can do. I never knew Heather, but she was my cousin.”

  They hadn’t spoken about Seth and Rose’s connection in quite some time.

  “I didn’t think you and Rose had ever talked about the past.”

  “We don’t need to. Concentrating on the present is much more important. And I want you to promise me that’s what you’ll do, too.”

  “Okay,” Katie said, grudgingly.

  Seth clasped her hand and walked her to her car. “I’ll see you at Rose’s house.”

  Katie nodded and got into her Focus. But instead of starting the engine, she sat for a few minutes, thinking about everything that had transpired during the previous hour. Truth be told, she felt exhausted and couldn’t face dealing with anything else that evening. After she closed Artisans Alley and dealt with Donna, she would spend an hour or so with Andy at the pizzeria before heading back to her apartment to soak in the tub and then go to bed early.

  With that decision made, she withdrew her cell phone from her purse and punched in Mark Bastian’s number. Voice mail picked up. “Mark, it’s Katie. I’ve had a change of plans. Don’t come to Artisans Alley tonight. I’ve got to be in the city tomorrow anyway. I’ll deliver your missing item then. Please call back and let me know you got this message.”

  Next, Katie dialed Artisans Alley’s number. Vance answered on the second ring. “Hi, Vance, it’s Katie. Can you look out the window and see if there’s a crowd looking over the old Webster mansion?”

  “Is there a reason you care?” he asked.

  “Well, sort of. I haven’t mentioned my suspicions to anyone else, but…”

  Only six mourners trooped out to Rose’s house for cookies and punch. Edie Silver had assembled quite a spread. She’d obviously visited the McKinlay Mill Bakery, but Katie didn’t doubt that she’d baked a few batches of cookies herself. Rose had assembled every picture she had of Heather—some framed, some in albums, but most of them lying flat on the coffee table or propped up against china cups on the shelves above her sideboard. Time crept on, and Katie kept looking at her watch, anxious to get back to Artisans Alley before it closed.