“What happened?” he asked gently. “You look a little upset.”
“It was Josh,” she blurted out. “Josh Kimper, my old boss.”
“The jerk?”
She nodded. “None other. It’s hard to believe, really. I spent so much time disliking him”—hating him, to be honest—“and now he’s gone.”
“You mean he’s dead?”
Again, she nodded. “He was staying in the one room that was ready. Don found him this morning in the bathtub after he didn’t come down for breakfast.”
“He drowned in the tub?” Andy’s voice was cautious.
She shrugged. “I doubt it was suicide, if that’s what you’re thinking. They asked me to identify the body, and I didn’t see anything that made me think he’d done himself in. Knowing Josh, I’d guess he had a heart attack. He didn’t take care of himself, and when I was working for him, I don’t think a week passed without him losing his temper over something.”
Andy poked at his flat stomach. “Remind me to get more exercise,” he said. “I can’t die young. I have too many things I want to do.”
“Same here,” Katie said, and their conversation turned to the top ten items on their own personal bucket lists, none of which included anything about Josh Kimper.
A couple of evenings later, in spite of what she’d said to Ray Davenport, Katie pulled up and parked in front of a lovingly restored Queen Anne Victorian home on Church Street in Fairport, one of the prettiest villages on the Erie Canal. She got out of the car and started up the front walk, noting that the wraparound porch was full of cardboard cartons. Each box bore a description in bold black marker: clothes, desk items, tools. Was the Kimper family in the middle of moving? Was that why Josh had been at Sassy Sally’s? But that didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t his family been with him?
Katie climbed the porch steps and strode up to the door, but before she could knock, the door jerked open.
“Katie!” Marcie Kimper said in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Who did you think it might be?”
“Another reporter,” Marcie said bitterly. She stepped back. “Won’t you come in?”
Katie entered the home’s lovely foyer. The interior had been restored to its former glory, but with a contemporary flair. The once-natural trim had been painted a bright white, which seemed a crime to Katie. Instead of period-specific wallpaper with large, gaudy roses, a more subdued pattern with tiny pink flowers on a white background made for a cheerful entry. Bright sunlight poured through the windows in the parlor, and Katie followed Marcie inside.
“Have a seat,” Marcie said, ushering Katie into one of the comfortable armchairs. She took the matching one. She looked younger than the last time Katie had seen her, more than a year before. Had she had her eyes done, or was it Botox? And her hair color was several shades lighter. While she’d never been overweight, Marcie also looked thinner, and it suited her. Though dressed casually, her clothes had obviously come with much higher price tags than the ones Katie was wearing.
“I came because—”
“Because you wanted to offer your condolences,” Marcie finished for her. “Well, we both know that’s not exactly true.”
Katie blinked, startled. “But—”
“Josh treated you like dirt.” She settled back in her chair and sighed. “I was surprised you stayed with him as long as you did. I always thought you had more on the ball.”
“Well, I—” Katie began but wasn’t sure where to go from there. Marcie certainly didn’t seem like a bereaved widow. “I am sorry Josh has . . . passed. In fact, I was asked to identify his body.”
“That couldn’t have been pleasant,” Marcie said with a scowl.
“It wasn’t,” Katie admitted. “Marcie, if you don’t mind my asking, why are you—”
“Not distraught because Josh’s dead? I am, to some extent. Don’t forget, my children’s father is dead. The kids have been so upset—and who can blame them? They loved their daddy. The fact that I no longer did . . . Well, as you could see by the boxes out on the porch, Josh and I were no longer together. He was supposed to come and pick all of them up on Monday. Now they’ll just go to Goodwill.”
That explained a lot. “Don’t you want to save anything for the girls?” Katie asked.
Marcie thought about it for a moment. “I don’t think so. When they’re older, I’ll give them all the family pictures. In fact, I took my flash drive in earlier today to have a couple of shots made into photos, and I’ll frame them. They seem to want that.”
“Where are the girls now?”
“I sent them to be with my mother. I thought a change of scenery might do them good. I’m still not sure what to do about a funeral. Josh’s brother and his family live in Oregon. They weren’t close, so I doubt they’d want to come all the way here. And I don’t want to spend a lot of money on a funeral for someone who was about to become my ex-husband, either.”
“Don’t you think the girls need some kind of closure?” Katie asked, appalled.
Marcie sighed. “I was thinking a memorial service at the funeral home would be enough. I’m sure some of his clients would make an appearance. I’m having the bastard cremated and hope to quickly move on with my life. I may even put the house up for sale. This is all still so new . . . I’ll have to carefully consider my options.”
“With a divorce pending, did Josh change his will?”
“I doubt it. I only threw him out last Thursday night, although it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d already seen an attorney. I’m sure he was determined to screw me any way he could—since he could no longer do it literally. But even if he talked to a lawyer, there wasn’t time to sign any paperwork.” Her smile was icy. “It looks like I inherit it all.”
“What will you do with the business?”
“Put it up for sale. I’ve already got some feelers out. Someone needs to go in and take over the day-to-day operations. The girl Josh had working for him is useless—not at all like you. I wouldn’t trust her to make the coffee, let alone write a policy.” She looked at Katie, her eyes widening. “You wouldn’t want to buy the agency, would you? After all, you’re the one who made it what it is today.”
“That’s very flattering, but I already have a business.”
“So I heard,” Marcie said. “Josh wasn’t impressed. But then, his ego was so inflated he didn’t have the time or the inclination to give anyone else a compliment, even just to make nice. He said he didn’t like to lie.” She looked thoughtful. “In the long run, I think it’s better that he’s gone from Emily’s and Alison’s lives. They’re little girls yet. They’ll always have an idealized vision of their father. I’m not going to speak against him, but if he’d lived, they’d eventually have learned what a misogynist bastard he really was.”
And what had taken her so long to throw said bastard out of the house?
The doorbell rang, and Marcie got up to answer it. Katie took the quiet moment to look around and saw there really was nothing of Josh in the room. It had been decorated with a woman’s touch.
Marcie returned to the parlor with the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome man in tow. He was dressed in jeans and a golf shirt, looking relaxed. “Katie, this is my attorney, Rob Roth. I’m sorry, but we really do need to go over some important papers. I hope you don’t mind.”
Katie stood. “Not at all. I need to get back to work anyway. Thanks for seeing me.”
“It was good to talk to you. I never did like the way Josh had left things with you.” She walked Katie to the door. “Unless you come to the memorial service, I don’t suppose we’ll ever see each other again,” Marcie said quite casually.
“No, I don’t suppose we will.”
“Have a nice life,” she said brightly, and before Katie could answer, she closed the door.
Katie slowly turned, fighting the
urge to tiptoe along the porch to peek in through the window. She had already gone down one step when she decided what the hell. She tiptoed back up and crept across the porch. She edged around the window just enough to look through and, as expected, saw Marcie and Rob kissing—tongues and all.
Well, no wonder Marcie hadn’t been all broken up about Josh’s death. She’d already had someone else waiting in the wings.
Katie walked back to her car and got inside. A Mercedes was parked in the driveway. She opened her purse, took out a pen and pad, and jotted down the license plate number.
Just in case.
Three
The next morning, Katie entered Artisans Alley through the front door. To the right, a glass door had recently been installed in what had been a storage area. Inside, instead of a haphazard mess of extra tables, chairs, mismatched flower vases, and, somehow, a hand-lettered sign that had been trying to entice people to buy a used car, there was now the Envy Salon and Day Spa.
Several months before, when Katie had gone to a franchise hair salon to get her hair cut by her favorite stylist, Brittany Kohler, she’d noticed a real estate listing on the counter. Just to make conversation, Katie had asked if she was looking to buy a house, and the young woman had stammered an odd reply. Katie couldn’t let that go, of course, and she’d eventually drawn the real story out of the woman at a nearby restaurant.
“I want my own place,” Brittany had told her over a cup of coffee, her thick, dark hair showing brassy highlights in the low-hanging lights. “I’ve been saving and saving and I think I have enough. All I need is the right place for the right price.”
Immediately, Katie thought about Victoria Square, and more specifically, Artisans Alley. There wasn’t a single hair salon on the Square, and a top-notch stylist like Brittany could turn out to be a huge draw.
After one visit to Victoria Square, Brittany was sold on the idea. An intense few months of planning, construction, and marketing later, the Envy Salon and Day Spa was off to a good start. Not a great start, but Katie was sure that if Brittany could make it through the first year, she’d have a solid business, just like Artisans Alley was turning out to be.
Katie unlocked the door of her closetlike office. Inside was little more than a desk and filing cabinets and enough floor space to walk around the furniture. She kept meaning to spruce up the walls with a new coat of paint, but there always seemed to be more important things to do.
Today, for instance. Now that September was under way, she needed to set up the vendor work schedule for October. The agreement for every vendor’s booth stated that the vendor would spend two days a month at one of the various jobs that needed doing, from working the cash registers to walking security to maintenance.
Setting up the work schedule was a huge headache, due to so many of the vendors having complicated lives, and getting it done early was the best way Katie had found to ensure that all the tasks got covered.
She dropped her purse into a desk drawer, sat down in her creaky chair, and got to work. The more she could get done before anyone else showed up, the better off she’d be, because for many vendors, one of the things they liked to do best was talk, and Katie was a prime target. Much of that week had been occupied by calming people shocked with the news of Josh’s death, and Katie sincerely hoped that most of the talk was over. She knew it probably wasn’t, but it didn’t hurt to be optimistic every once in a while.
“Good morning, Katie. How are you this fine morning?”
Katie looked up from the computer monitor, an ancient monster that took up half the space on her desk. Talking did indeed take up a lot of her time, but with some people she didn’t mind in the least.
She pushed herself back from the desk. “I’m wonderful, Rose. How are you?”
Rose Nash was a widow in her mid-seventies and was one of Katie’s favorite vendors. The jewelry Rose made and sold was delightful, as was the plastic rain bonnet she wore over her determinedly honey-blonde curls whenever there was the slightest chance of rain.
“Looking forward to the Christmas shopping season,” Rose said, her pale blue eyes twinkling, “as I’m sure you are, too.”
Katie nodded. She certainly was. Labor Day was over, and so was the summer tourist season. The next few weeks would be a serious shopping lull, and as far as Artisans Alley was concerned, Christmas couldn’t come soon enough. Katie had some minor sale events planned—a harvest sale, a fall colors sale, and there would be a big Halloween party—but nothing brought in customers like Christmas.
“Are you the first one in?” Katie asked.
“First in and first to start the coffee. That’s why I stopped in, to tell you there’s a fresh pot in the vendors’ lounge.”
“You’re an angel,” Katie said.
“How nice of you to notice.” Rose laughed and fluffed her curls. “And how do you like my new do?”
To Katie it looked the same as it always did. “It makes you look twenty years younger.” Rose blushed a light shade of, well, rose, and Katie’s slight guilt over what wasn’t exactly a lie faded.
“That Brittany is a marvel,” Rose said. “I wasn’t sure at first that a hair salon was a good fit for Artisans Alley, but it’s turning out wonderfully.”
Rose hadn’t been the only vendor against the salon, Katie remembered a little sourly. She’d lost count of the concerned comments and outright protests about how she was going to ruin Artisans Alley. First she’d let crafters in, now this? She was going to confuse the customers.
Katie had gently pointed out that hair salons and spas were a staple in malls across the country. That had calmed most of the vendors; only Godfrey Foster, who made reproductions of master artworks from dryer lint, had harped on Katie to the point where she’d had to remind him that she was the owner of Artisans Alley. The decision was hers, and it was already made.
Godfrey had stomped away. Katie had half hoped that he’d decide to leave for good, but it was not to be.
Rose studied Katie’s hair. “You could do with a cut yourself. How long has it been? With Brittany right over there”—she fluttered her arthritic fingers in the salon’s direction—“you can’t say you don’t have time.”
“Time for what?” Vance Ingram stood in the office doorway, sipping a mug of coffee. Vance was Katie’s assistant manager, and even though she’d known him for as long as she’d been part of Artisans Alley, she couldn’t talk to him without thinking that he looked like a skinny Santa Claus—white hair, white beard, gold wire-rimmed glasses, and all.
Rose and Katie said good morning, then Rose added, “Don’t you think it’s time for Katie to get a haircut?”
Vance’s eyes widened. He’d been married for more than twenty years to Janey, a gorgeous woman with a figure Katie envied, and knew when to leave a conversation. “Speaking of time,” he said, glancing at his wristwatch, “I really have to get going. I have glue setting up on a project in my booth, and glue doesn’t wait.” He vanished from the doorway.
“Soon,” Katie said, pulling her hair back into a ponytail and tying it up with one of the many hair elastics she kept in her office drawer. “You’re right—I need a haircut, and I’ll get one soon.”
“Excellent.” Rose started to leave, then stopped and turned back to look at her. “Katie, dear, why do I suddenly get the feeling that your definition of ‘soon’ and my definition are two very different things?”
Katie grinned. “Speaking of time, I really have to get this schedule done.” Still grinning, she turned back to her computer.
“What do you think?” Katie asked, patting her hair and turning this way and that.
Her cats, Della and Mason, stared at her and didn’t say a thing.
“No opinion? You two are as bad as Vance,” she said, giving them both pats on the head. “But with tails and purrs.”
“Meow?” Mason jumped off the couch and paraded to
the kitchen, where he stood next to the cat food bowl and looked at her expectantly. “Meow?”
Katie laughed and followed him. Her apartment was comfortable, reasonably priced, and just along the way from Artisans Alley; her commute took less than two minutes. If she was ever going to have a body like Janey Ingram’s, Katie knew she needed to get more exercise than walking to work and back every day, but she’d been so busy with trying to make her business profitable that she hadn’t made time.
While opening the bag of cat treats and tossing a few to the bowls on the floor, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the microwave’s door and blinked. Her hair really was getting long, just as Rose had said. A haircut was something else she hadn’t made time to do.
Sighing, she opened the refrigerator door. And sighed again. It was time for dinner, and since she hadn’t gone to the grocery store in ages, she had nothing worth eating, not unless a leftover calzone counted. Katie pulled it out and peered inside. No, calzones in the fridge long enough to start growing mold didn’t count at all.
After tossing the carton into the garbage, she opened the freezer, where dinner awaited in the form of a frozen grocery store pizza.
The cats eyed her as she turned on the oven. “If you don’t tell Andy,” she said, “I certainly won’t.”
Mason kept staring, and Della yawned, showing sharp white teeth.
“How about if I bribe you?” Katie opened a can of an especially stinky cat food and scooped out enough for two. The cats went at the food as if they were starving.
Katie smiled and started tidying the kitchen as she waited for her pizza to heat. Cleaning was also something she hadn’t had time to do. The dishes were washed and put away, but she had a sneaking suspicion that dust lurked behind the flour and sugar canisters, and she was getting a little concerned about the condition of the under-sink cabinet.
By the time the pizza was piping hot, the kitchen counter was spic-and-span, the utensil drawer was emptied and wiped down, and the under-sink cabinet had been inspected; no need for deep cleaning.
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