She took her plate and a book—Nightmares Can Be Murder by Mary Kennedy—to the small table to eat, but half a dozen bites in, she closed the book, unable to concentrate.
The problem was, she wasn’t taking care of herself, not properly. The haircut was the most obvious sign, but now that she was thinking about it, there were lots of others. Poor eating habits. Lack of exercise. Not enough sleep. Too much stress. About the only fun she’d had all summer was going out on Seth’s boat, and though that was always relaxing, a few afternoons on the water didn’t make up for the many consecutive months of hard work and worry.
Katie started counting the significant life events of the last eighteen months. Her husband had emptied their savings accounts; she’d separated from said husband, become a widow, identified a dead body while simultaneously becoming a business owner, quit a full-time job with benefits, jumped into a completely different life at Artisans Alley, and gained a boyfriend. Oh, and a man she’d dispised had died in the house she’d once pined for.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that she felt frazzled, but somehow it still was. The big question, though, now that she was thinking about it, was how to get un-frazzled?
She smiled. There was an easy answer to that.
It was time to get baking.
The next morning, Katie put together a plate of the almond cookies she’d made and walked it across the Square to the bed-and-breakfast. Don and Nick were so busy with the renovations that she was sure a few homemade goodies would be welcomed.
As she had for months, Katie felt a small pang of sorrow as she read the wood-carved sign indicating that the Webster mansion was now SASSY SALLY’S INN. Not so very long ago, her sadness would have been due to the purchase of the mansion being forever out of her reach. She’d made so many plans and dreamed so many dreams, but now that she was making Artisans Alley a small success, and now that she saw how much darned work it was to run a bed-and-breakfast, she was content with how things had worked out.
But now her sorrow was for the death of the sassiest Sally she’d ever met, Nick’s aunt and the namesake of the enterprise. Sally Casey, who often dressed in a perky shade of pink, had had a sparkling wit and a Kentucky accent that had charmed Katie the first time she’d met her. She’d also had stage four lung cancer and, fortunately, died before her trial for murder had even started.
Katie smiled, thinking of some of Sally’s antics, and was still smiling as she gave the oak front door a perfunctory knock and opened it, poking her head inside. “Hello? Is anyone here? It’s Katie!”
“Come on in,” Don called. “We’re in the kitchen.”
Shutting the door behind her, Katie traipsed through the foyer, which was decorated just as she’d always imagined, with Oriental carpets on the wooden floor, benches and chairs upholstered with a flower print, a long wood check-in desk with a brass cash register, and globe lights hanging from the ceiling.
She made her way down the hallway, which was covered with framed historic photos of the area, and entered the brightly lit kitchen. This, too, was designed with a period look, but with the acknowledgment that it was a kitchen that had to put out breakfasts for fifteen on a regular basis.
A deep and extremely wide soapstone kitchen sink sat beneath windows that let in the morning sun, but instead of the white lace curtains that would have been in place a hundred years ago, Nick and Don had chosen wooden blinds that were far easier to clean. Similarly, instead of butcher-block countertops, they’d installed stainless steel and softened the harsh look with knife blocks and vases of flowers.
All in all, it was the perfect kitchen for a bed-and-breakfast, and Katie knew she couldn’t have done better herself.
Don and Nick were both pulled up to the counter, sitting on tall stools. “I know it’s like bringing coals to Newcastle,” she said, setting down the plate, “but with all the construction, I thought you might not have had time to make treats.”
“Snacks!” Don reached out and peeled back the aluminum foil. “Have a seat, you darling girl. How did you know this was just what we needed?”
“After the morning we’ve had,” Nick said, “this is exactly what the doctor ordered.” In seconds, the plate was half empty.
“Doctor?” Katie asked with concern as she pulled out a stool. “Are you both okay?”
“We’re fine,” Don said, spluttering out a few crumbs of cookie as he talked. “It’s—”
His partner jabbed him in the side with an elbow. “Quit talking with your mouth full. It’s just an expression,” Nick said. “Although after that telephone call, a doctor’s visit might be a good idea.”
Don swallowed, looked at Katie’s face, and gave a short laugh. “We’re not explaining this very well, are we?”
“As far as I can tell,” she said, “you’re not explaining it at all.”
The two men exchanged a look that communicated volumes. “First thing this morning,” Nick said, “a detective from the Sheriff’s Office stopped by. Hamilton, I think his name was. Huge guy.”
Don nodded. “He said the medical examiner had sent over his autopsy report for Josh Kimper, and there was a conclusive cause of death.”
“It was drowning, just like everyone thought,” Nick said. “Only he didn’t drown because of a heart attack.”
Katie didn’t like the sound of this. She desperately wanted to ask questions, but she didn’t want to interrupt their story, so as hard as it was, she just waited.
“There wasn’t a heart attack at all,” Don said. “Although from what the report said, it was only a matter of time. Kimper had a serious case of cardiovascular disease. Lots of blockages. Either he had a horrible family history or he didn’t take care of himself at all.”
Nick took another cookie. “But there wasn’t any heart damage at this point,” he said. “The cause of death was straightforward drowning.”
“What?” Katie didn’t understand. “So what happened? Was there a head wound? Maybe he slipped and hit his head on the side of the tub.”
But the two men were shaking their heads. “All drowning and nothing but,” Nick said.
“I don’t understand.” Katie’s frown deepened. “How can someone just plain drown in a bathtub?”
“That’s the thing.” Don’s voice was tight with strain. “Kimper didn’t die in our bathtub.”
Katie’s first instinct was to laugh, but the expressions on the men’s faces were so serious that she instead asked the next obvious question. “Then where did he die?”
“In Lake Ontario.”
“What?” Katie’s mouth fell open. “How? Why? I mean . . .” She shook her head. “That makes no sense. They must have it wrong.”
Don and Nick exchanged another glance. “You sound like we did half an hour ago,” Nick said, smiling sympathetically.
“The medical examiner tested the water in Kimper’s lungs,” Don explained. “It wasn’t the purified stuff that came out of those brass taps that I polished last week. It had . . . oh, I don’t know,” he said, sighing. “Lake stuff in it. Silica, calcium, magnesium. Things that wouldn’t be in our city water.”
“Which means,” Nick said, “that Kimper was almost certainly murdered.”
The word didn’t fit in the cheerful kitchen, and Katie was glad when its last faint echo faded from her ears. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “I really don’t understand.”
“Join the club,” Nick said morosely.
Don took another bite of cookie. “You are definitely not alone,” he muttered.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” his partner told him.
Katie ignored the exchange. “First off,” she said, “is why? Why would someone drown Josh in Lake Ontario and then go to all the trouble to bring him here? I mean, that’s a lot of work. Josh wasn’t a huge man, but he certainly wasn’t small.”
Th
e two men stared at her, and Nick, then Don, started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, a little annoyed.
“You are,” Nick said, chuckling. “Here we’ve been, starting to worry ourselves sick over this, and you turn it into a logistics class.”
Katie smiled at him. “Well, logistics count.”
“They certainly do.” Don patted her hand. “Thank you for reminding us.”
Katie wasn’t sure why they needed to thank her, but she said, “You’re welcome. But you know, there’s something more important than how Josh got from Lake Ontario to your bathtub and even why he was moved.”
Though both Nick and Don nodded, neither one said anything.
“The most important question of all,” Katie said, “is, who did it?”
But like the other questions, none of them had an answer.
“I don’t get it,” Andy said.
Katie swallowed a bite of toasted cheese sandwich and said, “Don’t feel bad. No one else does, either.”
Around them, the late-morning clatter at Del’s Diner was a low background noise. Few people frequented the restaurant at this time of day. Even so, Katie spoke quietly. “Nick and Don are on pins and needles, afraid they’re going to be arrested for Josh’s murder.”
“That’s just stupid,” Andy said. “Why would they kill Josh Kimper?”
“They wouldn’t, but that doesn’t mean the deputies won’t consider them as suspects.”
“You’d have to be nuts to kill someone staying in your own place,” Andy insisted, “and neither one of those guys is nuts.”
Katie smiled at him, glad he was defending her friends. “I’m sure the police will figure that out soon enough.” She made a mental note to talk to Ray Davenport about the murder investigation. Even though he was retired, he must still talk to his former coworkers. Maybe he’d be able to tell her something reassuring that she could pass along to Nick and Don.
“I just can’t figure it out.” Andy stuck his fork into a pancake smothered with syrup. “Why on earth would anyone take the time and energy to move a body from the lake to Sassy Sally’s? It’s nuts.”
Katie had been thinking about little else for the last two hours. “It could be someone who has mental issues,” she agreed, “but there’s one other reason.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Someone wanted to point the investigation in a different direction. To confuse things.”
Andy chewed and swallowed, nodding. “You’re right,” he said. “But it’s weird to think of someone that calculated living here in McKinlay Mill.”
The thought had occurred to Katie, too, and she liked the idea even less than Andy did. “Whoever it is could be from anywhere,” she said. “Just because it happened here doesn’t mean anything.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Andy said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “You worked for Kimper for a long time. Was there anyone he pissed off enough to kill him?”
“Other than me?” She laughed, but there was no answering laugh from across the table. “What’s the matter?”
“Josh Kimper has been murdered,” Andy said, frowning. “You used to work for him. Last year the two of you had a huge argument, and you quit. Last weekend you had another huge argument with him, and now he’s dead.”
Katie blinked. She hadn’t put all the pieces together. “I hadn’t thought of how it would look to anyone else.” She glanced at her plate, but the congealing cheese didn’t appear appetizing in the least. Pushing the plate to the edge of the table for Sandy to pick up, she said, “The police are going to question me, aren’t they?”
“Maybe not.” Andy shrugged. “That argument you and Kimper had on the dock, was there anyone else around? Maybe no one saw it.”
Katie flashed back to the family picnicking on their boat. And the couple walking down the dock. And Seth. Because even though he was one of her best friends, he wouldn’t lie to the deputies for her, and she wouldn’t want him to.
“They’re going to question me,” Katie said. She tapped the table with her fingertips. “It may take a few days, but they’ll find people who remember the argument.” She considered going in and talking to the police to be up front about it, then decided that was something else she could ask Ray about.
Andy grinned at her. “My girlfriend, the murder suspect.”
“I’m glad you can laugh about it,” she said a little tartly.
“Aw, don’t be like that. The police know you’re not a killer, or they will once they figure out that you have a solid alibi.” He stopped and looked at her. “You do have an alibi, right? You were with Seth that night.”
She nodded. “But I don’t know the time of death. Nick and Don didn’t say, and I didn’t think to ask. I left Seth’s house around eleven and probably got home about eleven fifteen.”
“Did anyone see you go up to your apartment?” He tipped his head, studying her. “I went home at ten, but didn’t you stop in? You usually do.”
“I was tired,” she said. “All day on the boat, then dinner with Seth, then a couple of his friends stopped by and we played cards. I was beat. It was all I could do to drag myself up the stairs. I don’t remember if any of your guys saw me or not.”
Andy glanced at his watch. “Got to go.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and started sliding out of the booth. “I’ll ask. But don’t worry. I’m sure all the cops will do is ask you a few questions and cross you off their list.” He opened his wallet and tossed some bills on the table. “My treat today,” he said, leaning down for a kiss.
Katie watched him walk out the door. Andy was a great guy, and she appreciated all the things he did for her, but he didn’t understand that not worrying was an impossibility. Of course she was going to worry; how could she not?
She scooped up the bills and went to the vacant front counter to pay. But, just exactly the opposite of being on a used-car lot and having sales guys swarm you when all you wanted to do was look, there wasn’t a soul in sight. “Hello?” she called. “Is anyone there?”
“Coming!” called a male voice, and Del himself bustled out from the back, a white apron not quite hiding the fact that his white T-shirt was stretched taut around his middle. “Hey, Katie,” he said. “How was your lunch?”
“The toasted cheese was toasty, and the tomato soup was tomatoey,” she said, laughing. “And Andy paid today, so that was even better.” As she handed over the bills, one fell out of her hand and fluttered to the floor.
“I’ll get that,” Del said.
“No, I’m the clumsy one.” She crouched down to pick it up, but the front door opened, letting in a slight breeze that sent the bill even farther under the counter. “Swell,” she muttered and got down on her hands and knees, grateful that she wasn’t wearing white pants. Without putting her head to the floor—which she wasn’t about to do—she still couldn’t see the money, but it couldn’t be far. Stretching her fingers out long, she reached out, hoping that Del cleaned much better than she did.
Her fingertips touched the corner of what she assumed was Andy’s money, but as she started to pull it out, the edge of her hand brushed against something else. Though the surprise made her jerk away, she quickly realized it was just a wadded-up piece of paper.
She gathered up both items and stood. “Got it,” she said, slapping the five-dollar bill on the counter. “And this, too.” She looked at the ball of paper in her hand. It was shiny, but a little heavier than a page from a magazine should be. Curious, she flattened the paper.
Del grunted. “That was mine,” he said in a low tone that made Katie even more curious.
The paper was a brochure for a boat, a good-sized one, if Katie was any judge. Which she wasn’t, but she’d spent enough time around boats that summer to know that any boat with the floor plan in front of her had to be more than thirty feet long. Kitche
n below deck, master cabin, small second cabin, and a separate head; it all spoke of serious money.
“That’s quite a boat,” she said, admiring the lines of the photo at the top of the brochure. “I didn’t know you were into boating.”
“All I’ve been able to afford for years is a little Boston Whaler,” Del said. “Then when I finally get some money saved up, when I finally find a great deal for a great boat, well, doesn’t it just figure that the whole deal went to hell and gone and here I am, still in my dinky little tug of a boat.”
Katie glanced at his face. He sounded and looked angry. “What happened?” she asked. “Did someone back out on a deal?”
“Worse than that,” Del said shortly. “The guy I was going to buy from is—”
“Del, I could use some help back here!”
The voice had come from the kitchen, and it had contained more than a little panic.
Already on his way, Del called, “Coming!” He looked over his shoulder to call a good-bye to Katie, and then he was gone.
Katie left the diner and walked around Victoria Square on her way back to Artisans Alley. She took a moment to chat with Gilda Ringwald-Stratton, the Brooklyn-accented owner of the Square’s basket shop, and her husband, Conrad Stratton, who owned the wine shop that connected to Gilda’s store. The two had been married only a few months—Katie winced at the memory of the horror of a maid of honor’s dress she’d been talked into wearing—and were still displaying the cooing affection of newlyweds.
The couple stood side by side and hand in hand while they talked about the upcoming meeting of the Victoria Square Merchants Association. Katie was the president, albeit reluctantly, and she devoutly hoped to pass the mantle to someone else when her year was up.
“It doesn’t take up that much time,” she told them, not quite lying. Because being president didn’t take much time; not if you didn’t have any life outside of Victoria Square.
“We’ll think about it,” Gilda said, but Katie sensed all the thoughts would be negative. She said good-bye and headed into Artisans Alley, wondering how to spin the role of Merchants Association president into something appealing instead of a chore. What she needed was to present it as an opportunity. A challenge. Something to sink your teeth into. A chance to make a difference.
Dead, Bath, and Beyond Page 4
