“Like subtraction?”
Katie blinked at Ray Davenport, who was standing in front of her, and realized she must have said aloud at least part of what she was thinking. “What?” she said blankly.
“You said something about a difference. Subtraction is the difference between one number and another.” The balding middle-aged man shrugged. “It was a joke. At least that’s how it started out. Now it just sounds stupid.”
“Not as stupid as I probably sounded, talking to myself.”
Ray grinned. “You’re okay as long as you don’t start answering yourself, right?”
Katie wasn’t so sure about that; she could think of a number of people who weren’t okay and didn’t talk to themselves. “Do you have a minute?”
“I’ve got lots of minutes,” he said. “I’m retired from the Sheriff’s Office, remember? I came here to take you up on that offer of a booth for a couple of months if that cut-rate price you mentioned the other day is still good.”
She’d almost forgotten. “Sure,” she said. “Wander around and take your pick.”
“My pick?” He looked uncertain, an emotion that Katie almost didn’t recognize on him. “Which one do you recommend?”
“Well, it depends.”
“On what?”
“On if you’re a new vendor or if you have established customers that will seek you out. On if you work on the theory that grouping vendors selling the same type of items will increase sales to everyone or if you think the grouping will decrease business.” Katie could talk for hours about retail theory. “On if you think that a location near a door helps, or if you think that a location in a corner is better, or if you think that the booth’s display can speak for itself. Or if you think that—”
Ray held out a hand to stop her lecture. “Who else sells things made out of wood?” he asked.
Katie thought a moment. “Vance has the only other booth dedicated to wooden items, but lots of others offer a few wood things.”
“And Vance sells big stuff, right? Furniture?” When Katie nodded, he said, “Then I’ll take a booth near him. My stuff is smaller. Picture frames, animal carvings, toys. We’ll complement each other.”
“Sounds good.” Katie led him down the aisle, past gorgeous hand-thrown pottery, past Rose’s beaded jewelry, past stained glass, past greeting cards crafted from handmade paper, past paintings and sculptures, and past weavings, right next to Vance’s. “Here it is,” she said, gesturing to the ten foot by ten foot square of concrete floor. “Home sweet home.”
Ray stood in the middle of the space. “I like it,” he said, looking around. “What are you going to charge me?” Katie named the price, and he nodded. “I can do that.”
She described how the rental agreement worked, that he needed to sign up for two days a month for one of the appointed tasks, that the utilities were included in the rent, and that there was no cleaning done inside the booths. “Then all I need is a month’s rent up front and a signed statement that you agree to everything I just told you.”
“Paperwork.” He made it sound like a curse. “Thought I was done with paperwork when I retired.”
“Benjamin Franklin had it wrong,” Katie said as the two of them walked to her office. “There are three things in this life that are certain: death, taxes, and paperwork.”
Ray stood back as she unlocked her office door. “You’re onto something. There’re a few things I miss about being a detective, but filling out all those forms isn’t one of them. Whatever happened to that paperless office they promised us?”
“I don’t remember that promise.” Katie opened the door and they went in. “Just as well, I suppose. If I did, I might try and hold someone accountable.” She moved a stack of catalogs from the guest chair and put them on top of the filing cabinet, on top of a pile of trade magazines. She sat at her paper-covered desk, opened a drawer full of paper, and pulled out a letter of understanding.
Seth, who gave her legal advice, had recently badgered her into putting together the simple statement, telling her it was protection for both parties. “Just fill in the name and address at the bottom,” she said, “sign it, give me a check, and we’re done.”
Ray took the pen from her. “As far as paperwork goes, this isn’t so bad.” He took the time, though, to read everything on the document. Katie’s respect for him, which was already fairly high, went up another notch. Few vendors bothered, saying that Katie had explained everything, and were then surprised at the date the rent was due.
“Looks good,” he said, filling out the blanks at the bottom of the form. “When can I move in?”
“As soon as you get me a check.”
“How about cash?” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and opened it to reveal more bills than Katie had ever seen outside a cash register. Or a bank.
“Holy cow,” she said involuntarily.
Ray handed her the money. “I don’t like credit cards,” he said. “Even checks. Retailers run them electronically, so you might as well be paying with a credit card.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” he said, “if you don’t mind people looking over your shoulder every time you pump gas, buy groceries, go to the doctor, eat out, or buy a pair of socks.”
Katie didn’t see the problem. “I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Neither do I, but I figure that when and why I buy stuff is no one’s business but mine.”
He had a point. Still, Katie wasn’t about to give up the convenience of a credit card. Besides, there was another thing. “Are you sure it’s safe to carry around all that cash?”
Ray gave her a slow smile. A dangerous smile. She got an odd feeling somewhere in her middle, and she was very glad that Ray was a friend and not an enemy.
“I’m safe enough,” he said. “And I bet it was cash that got Josh Kimper murdered.”
Katie’s thoughts shifted back to what she’d learned just a few hours ago. “How did you hear that it was murder?”
“I’m retired, not dead. I hear things.”
She reached for the candy jar on her desk and took a peppermint from the collection of hard candies she kept at the ready. “Want one?” Ray shook his head, and she unwrapped the treat. “What kind of things do you hear?” she asked.
“That Kimper was murdered,” Ray said flatly. “What are you getting at?”
“It’s just . . .” She sighed. “Remember I told you that I saw Josh the day before he died?” Before he was murdered, she revised mentally. Ray nodded. She took a deep breath and said, “We kind of had a disagreement. Sort of a loud one.”
“And you killed him?” Ray smirked. “That means I get to make a citizen’s arrest. Please stand up and put your hands behind your back, ma’am.”
“Ha-ha,” she said flatly. “But it was a very public disagreement, and when that Detective Hamilton starts asking questions, my name is sure to turn up.”
“Yeah, so?”
Katie’s teeth crunched hard on the candy, and she was rewarded with seeing Ray flinch a little. “So they’re going to suspect me of killing him. And depending on the time of death, I might not have an alibi.”
“Aw, don’t worry about it. Say, can I get a copy of this?” He held up the lease agreement.
She took it and spun around on her chair to open the lid of the printer/copier/fax machine. “Don’t worry? That’s easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “You’re not the one who’s going to be suspected of murder.”
“Sure it’s easy for me to say. That’s because I know what I’m talking about.”
Katie stabbed the “Copy” button but turned her head to indicate that she was listening.
“If what you’ve told me about Kimper is anywhere close to the truth, and I have no reason to think it isn’t, that guy will have had public arguments with a hundr
ed people in the last few months. Yeah, you argued with him the day before he was killed, but I bet you can establish that the two of you had previous arguments that didn’t end up with a dead body in a bathtub.”
“Lots of them,” Katie said. “Sometimes with clients in the lobby.”
“There you go.” Ray shrugged. “Since you quit working for him almost a year ago, there’s no real reason to suspect you. Unless . . .” His eyebrows went up. “Unless there were romantic entanglements?”
Katie’s mouth dropped open from pure disgust. “You have got to be kidding. I always found it hard to believe Marcie conceived two children with him.”
“Then don’t worry about it.”
And, though Katie knew she would keep on worrying until the real killer was found, she did start to feel a little bit better.
“Will you be speaking to your former colleagues about this case anytime soon?”
Ray shrugged. “You never know. I suppose you want me to pump them for information.”
“Would I ever ask such a thing?”
“Yes.”
Smarty-pants. He had no clue about the real Katie McDuff Bonner—and it wasn’t likely he ever would. Still . . .
“Naturally, I wouldn’t ask you to break a confidence—just to share whatever nuggets of information you thought pertinent.”
“Why?”
“Because . . .” That wasn’t much of a stumper. “Because I’m nosy.”
Ray stood, obviously trying not to give in to the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “That you are, Katie Bonner.”
Four
It wasn’t often that Katie suffered a sleepless night, but the fact that her encounter with Josh had been so public—so strident—kept her awake during the night. Her tossings and turnings had kept her cats awake, too, so it wasn’t surprising that all three were grumpy when the sun came up all too soon the next day. And they’d had another repeat the next night, too.
By Tuesday morning, Katie couldn’t help herself. She had to find out what, if anything, was going on at the bed-and-breakfast. She debated calling but decided that she’d learned so much the last time she’d brought goodies to Don and Nick that she might as well use the technique a second time. If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, maybe the way to get both men to talk was pretty much the same. Luckily, she had a batch of apple raisin muffins in the freezer and only had to let them thaw half an hour before she had yet another excuse to visit.
That morning, though, she could tell things were going to be different. Three pickup trucks crowded the driveway. All three had beds packed with construction equipment, and there was a tidy pile of lumber on the lawn. With a covered plate in hand, Katie left her apartment to investigate.
The closer Katie got to Sassy Sally’s, the louder the noises became. Power saws shrieked, hammers pounded, men called to one another, and underneath it all was pulsing music of a type that set Katie’s nerves on edge.
She skirted a pile of lumber and saw a man, already covered with sawdust from the top of his baseball hat to the bottoms of his scuffed work boots. He was sitting on the opened tailgate of one of the trucks and studying a set of what she assumed were plans for the renovations.
“Good morning,” she said politely as she started up the front steps.
“Are those for us?” the man asked, smiling, and nodded at the plate she was carrying. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with a stocky but fit frame. “Just kidding. But watch yourself if you go upstairs, okay? The guys are studding out a bathroom.”
“Thanks.” Katie could just picture the mess a construction crew would be making as they created a new room. Bits of old plaster would be scattered across the floor, sawhorses would be in the way no matter which way you turned, extension cords would be trip hazards, and the men would have to shout to communicate over the noise of a boom box turned up loud enough to loosen the fillings in their teeth.
Inside, someone had laid down thick plastic to protect the floor. There was also a temporary plastic doorway taped around the stairway to keep the construction dust from infiltrating the rest of the house.
Katie thought it was a valiant effort, but she had a suspicion that no matter what, dust would seep into every room. Still, it wouldn’t last too much longer, and she hoped Don and Nick owned a super-sucking vacuum cleaner.
The thought of the long-empty mansion coming into its full glory gave her spirits a lift, and she had a smile on her face as she went into the kitchen. “Good morning. I come bearing gifts.”
Don and Nick, huddled together at the kitchen island’s counter, looked up.
“Aw, Katie.” Don patted the stool next to him. “Have a seat and distract us from our labors.”
She sat down, putting the plate on her lap and taking the plastic wrap off as she looked at the books and papers that covered every square inch of available counter space.
“Here,” she said absently, proffering the muffins. “Have one.” Both of the men immediately took her up on her offer. “I take it you’re planning menus?” she asked, nodding at the scattered materials: cookbooks, recipe cards, and recipes on full-sized paper printed from various websites.
“Yep,” Nick said, grimacing. “And here I thought this would be the fun part.”
Katie had always figured the same thing. “It’s not?”
Don snorted. “It was great fun until we started taking reservations.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” She surveyed the wealth of information. “Seems as if you have a huge selection of recipes.” The top layer of paper alone had recipes for chocolate chip pancakes, apple cinnamon French toast, eggplant quiche, herbed hash browns, and . . . really? . . . a recipe for maple-glazed bacon with toasted pecans. Katie’s mouth started to water.
“The recipes aren’t the problem,” Don said. “It’s the guests.”
“Now, now.” Nick gave a sideways smile. “That’s no way to talk about the people who are going to run up nice, big credit card bills in our fine establishment.”
Don sighed. “I know. But I had no idea we’d get reservations for people who needed a gluten-free meal, people who are vegetarians, people who are lactose intolerant, and people who are allergic to onions.”
“Well,” Katie said reasonably, “lots of people need special diets. Weren’t you expecting this kind of thing?”
“All in the same weekend?” Don asked, his eyebrows raised.
Katie looked from Don to Nick and back again. “You’re joking, right?”
“I wish we were.” Don pulled a single piece of paper. “The only thing we’ve come up with that we can serve everyone is soft-boiled eggs.”
“And that’s not exactly the food you expect at a bed-and-breakfast,” Katie said. “And cooking half a dozen different meals would be a logistical nightmare, not to mention far more expensive per plate than you’ve calculated.”
“Bingo,” Nick said, sighing.
“I feel for you two.” Katie patted both their shoulders sympathetically. “But there is a silver lining.”
“Please tell us,” Don begged.
She grinned at her friends. “Hearing your problems makes me even happier that I didn’t wind up running this place. Chad and I would have been at each other’s throats before we even opened. At least you two are working together toward a solution.”
“Hear that?” Nick asked. “She thinks we’re going to find a solution.”
“It’s nice to know that someone has confidence in us.” Don looked at the piece of paper that was still in his hand. “Soft-boiled eggs. God help all bed-and-breakfast owners.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Katie said. “I’m sure of it.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Nick slid off his stool and headed for the massive refrigerator. “Anyone else want some orange juice?”
“On the rocks,
please,” said a voice behind them.
They all turned, and Katie recognized the guy she’d seen out front, sitting on a truck’s tailgate.
“Hey, Warren.” Nick took a pitcher out of the fridge. “How big a glass?”
“Aw, I was kidding,” the man said, looking at Katie. “I’ve seen you around the Square. You run Artisans Alley, don’t you?”
“That’s right.” She stood and, introducing herself, held out her hand. “And you’re the contractor Don and Nick hired to do their renovations.”
“Warren Noth,” he said pleasantly. His handshake was just the right amount of firm, not too tight and not limp, as if he was afraid he’d hurt her hand. “I thought one of the perks of this job would be a good breakfast every now and then, but all I get is this.” He nodded at the pile of papers.
“When you’re done,” Don promised. “We’ll make you and your guys something special when the job is finished.”
“If we feed you guys now,” Nick said, “you might slow down in order to get more meals. It’s best to hold it out in front of you like a carrot.”
Noth laughed. “With the guys I have, you could be right. Speaking of which, they need a little guidance about where the new pedestal sink is going. I know you said under the window, but we had to put the window in lower than we wanted because of that beam, remember? If the sink goes where you wanted, it’s going to look weird.”
Don gave his partner a pointed look. Nick sighed. “I know. It’s my job to deal with all the renovation issues and it’s your job to track the work and pay the bills.”
“Equal division of labor,” Don said happily. “I’ll be here, working on recipes, when you get back.” But as soon as the two men left the room, he got off the stool and starting coffee-brewing preparations. “So what’s up with you, Katie? Anything new?”
Dead, Bath, and Beyond Page 5
