“Not really,” she said, “other than I’m guessing the police are going to stop by my office any day to ask me questions about Josh Kimper.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” Don scooped coffee beans from a canister and dumped them into a small grinder. He pushed a button, and Katie waited for the loud grinding noise to subside before she answered the question.
“The day before Josh was killed, we had a rather loud discussion on the dock at Thompson’s Landing.”
Don peered at her. “Did you prevail?”
She frowned. “With what?”
“The discussion.” He put his arms up into a boxing stance.
“It wasn’t like that. We exchanged words, is all.”
“Another illusion destroyed.” With smooth, economical movements, he set up the ground beans and filter, then added water and started the machine. “But, you know, I bet that during the week before Labor Day half the village argued with Josh Kimper, so I’m not sure why they’d single you out.”
Something about the way he said that made Katie look up from the cookbook she’d started to flip through. “Half the village. You mean you argued with Josh, too?”
Don opened a cabinet door and took out two large mugs. “Of course I did. That man would have picked a fight with Mother Teresa.”
“What did you and Josh tussle over?”
“The fact that he was the biggest weasel ever,” Don said. “He denied it, if you can believe that. Gave all sorts of reasons why he was backing out of the deal.”
“What deal?”
Don’s glance darted to the empty doorway. “Promise you won’t tell Nick?”
She hated promises like that. “If it’s not illegal or immoral.”
He held up three fingers in a scout salute. “Word of honor?” She nodded her promise, and he came around the end of the island’s counter and leaned in close. “I wanted to get a boat,” he said softly.
“Okaayyy,” she said, drawing the word out. “And Josh had one?”
“He is—was—our insurance agent. Insured this place, our cars, our lives, everything. I stopped in last week to make sure the dates were right, to make sure this place was insured properly when it opens, and there was this boat brochure on the front desk. We got to talking about boats.”
“No argument yet,” Katie commented, still puzzled.
Don held up his finger, indicating that it would come up in a minute. “He said he could get me a great deal on a thirty-three-footer.” Her friend stretched his arms out wide, indicating the hugeness that thirty-three feet would be. “A beautiful boat. Big enough for Lake Ontario, small enough to cruise the canal. Big enough for parties, small enough for the two of us out alone. We could have taken guests out on it, for a small fee, of course, and we might have offered it up to guests as a rental.”
“But . . . ?”
“But it never happened.” Don scowled in the direction of Josh Kimper’s old room. “Kimper called a few days before he was killed. He said he’d left his wife and he needed a place to stay.”
Katie remembered that Marcie had told the story differently; she wondered which version was correct. And if it mattered. It probably didn’t. It was most likely another he said/she said—two ends of a story with the truth somewhere in between.
“So,” Don went on, “I answered the phone and told him that I’d let him stay for free if he could swing me an even better deal on the boat. He didn’t have a problem with that, or at least that’s what he said.”
“I take it the boat never materialized?” Katie asked. She also wondered how Don had the money to be without an income for months, spend a small fortune on renovations, and still have the wherewithal to purchase what was essentially a very expensive toy. Neither Don nor Nick ever seemed to worry about money, a situation she couldn’t imagine.
A loud thump came from upstairs. Katie and Don simultaneously looked to the ceiling, but there were no shouts, no calls for help, and there was no dust drifting down. Don shrugged and said, “No boat. Kimper stayed here for days, getting a free bed and free breakfasts. He kept talking about the boat, but I never got any details. If he’d even given me a name, I could still work the deal myself.”
The coffeepot finished its dripping. Paying little attention to what he was doing, Don reached for the pot, filled both mugs, and restored the pot to the burner, talking all the while.
“I couldn’t say anything to Kimper about it when Nick was around, which made getting information about the boat tough for me.” He rolled his eyes as he handed Katie a mug. “And that made it easy for Kimper to get away with welshing on the whole deal while he was getting free room and board from us.”
There was something Katie didn’t understand. She hesitated to ask the question—the answer might be too personal—but Don had mentioned it, so she went ahead. “Why couldn’t you talk about it in front of Nick?”
Don checked the doorway again. It was still empty. “Nick has a big birthday coming up, and we’ve been talking about getting a boat for years. I thought setting up a deal like this would be the perfect present.”
Though Katie could follow the reasoning, she wasn’t sure committing to a large purchase like that without a partner’s consent was the wisest course of action. When her husband, Chad, had withdrawn all their savings to invest in Artisans Alley without consulting her, she’d felt so betrayed and angry that they’d separated. Maybe they would have eventually reconciled, but Chad had died in the car accident before that could happen. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” she asked. “A boat like you’re describing is a pretty big deal.”
“It would have been perfect,” Don said firmly, “if only it had happened.”
Katie had another thought. “Have you told the police about the boat?”
“The boat that’s not a boat?” Don asked. “Probably. Or, now that I think about it, yes, I’m sure I did. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I tend to talk a lot when I’m upset, and the morning I found Kimper in our bathtub”—he made a sour face—“my mouth ran like you wouldn’t believe.”
As he sipped his coffee, Katie asked, “Aren’t you a little worried that you gave the police a motive for murdering Josh?”
Don’s versatile eyebrows went sky-high. “You’re joking, right? No boat—or lack thereof—is worth killing someone over. Besides, if one deal falls through, there’s bound to be another one around the corner. You just have to be patient about these things.”
“Some people don’t have any of that particular quality,” Katie said.
“Well, that’s true enough. But I have an alibi,” he said. “And so does Nick.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re vouching for each other?” Katie asked, worried.
Don laughed. “Of course we are. That’s what married people do. But that night we were at a friend’s house. An end-of-the-summer party. Dozens of people saw us.”
A wave of relief that swept through Katie. “That’s good to hear,” she said, grinning at him. She held up her coffee mug in toasting position. “To alibis.”
“To alibis,” Don said. “Long may they last.”
“Hear, hear,” Katie agreed, and they tapped their mugs together. And yet, doubt still niggled at her brain, and she mentally crossed her fingers, because she knew that no matter how logical things seemed to her, the ever-suspicious police might think otherwise.
A little later, full of coffee and new recipe ideas for scones, muffins, and biscuits, Katie walked across Victoria Square, greeting the energetic Charlotte Booth of Booth’s Jellies and Jams and the not-quite-elderly Nona Fiske, owner of The Quiet Quilter, with a smile and a cheery, “Good morning.”
The two women, who were chatting in front of Nona’s store, returned the smile and wished her a good morning, too.
Katie and the prim-and-proper Nona didn’t see eye to eye on many things, such as the
fact that Nona had to abide by all the rules in the Merchants Association charter, not just the ones she felt like abiding by, but for the last few weeks Nona had been, if not friendly, at least polite, and Katie considered that a victory of sorts.
But Katie’s smile dropped off her face the second she stepped inside the door of Artisans Alley. “What is that awful smell?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
Rose Nash, who was standing at one of the cash registers straightening the various sizes of bags, nodded in the direction of the Envy Salon and Day Spa. “It’s coming from there.”
“What is it?” The smell was astringent and had high, acidic tones that were making the back of Katie’s nasal passages start to burn.
“I think it’s something to do with nails.” Rose shrugged. “I do my own nails, so I’m not sure, but I can’t think what else it would be. The products they use to dye hair or give a permanent don’t smell anything like this.” She sniffed at the air and shuddered.
Frowning, Katie looked at the glass door to the salon. “Brittany didn’t say anything about doing nails when we set up her lease. I’ll have a talk with her. We can’t have this smell permeate the building.”
“That’s good to hear.” Rose glanced toward the main showroom, where they could hear the rattles and chatter of various vendors coming in for a morning check of their booths. “You can bet someone’s going to complain about it sooner rather than later.”
“Probably more than one person,” Katie said. “Because one of them will be me.”
Katie had planned to spend the morning catching up on financial reports, but that could wait. She stopped at her office to drop off her purse, then made her way purposefully to the salon.
As soon as the glass door shut behind her, Katie realized that she hadn’t been inside Envy since before Brittany had officially opened. Katie had been closely involved with the renovations, but once the fixtures were in and the inspections approved, she’d given Brittany free rein to decorate as she pleased.
“Wow,” Katie said quietly. The lobby was tiny, but the calming colors and indirect lighting helped her to forget that fact, and a well-placed seascape painting on the far wall drew the eye diagonally to make the space feel much larger than it really was. Even the new age music that played through hidden speakers encouraged thoughts of wide skies and open spaces.
Katie stood there, enjoying the transformation, when a young woman walked into the short hallway and caught sight of Katie. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here. My name is Crystal. Can I help you?”
For a moment, Katie couldn’t look away from Crystal’s auburn hair. Tied back in a loose braid, her thick locks had richly colored hues and golden undertones. It was hair that looked like a living thing; glorious hair of a kind that Katie had never seen.
“Uh . . .” Katie said, blinking. She shook her head and took in a breath to help pull herself together. “I’m Katie Bonner.” Then, since it couldn’t hurt to establish her position firmly, she added, “I own and manage Artisans Alley.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to meet you!” Crystal crossed the distance between them, beaming and holding out her hand. “Brittany told me all about how you took over this place less than a year ago. She said you took a losing enterprise and turned it into such a big success that all of Victoria Square is feeling the benefits.”
“Uh . . . how nice of her.” But Katie knew most of that wasn’t true. Yes, in the past Artisans Alley had been losing money hand over fist, but she wouldn’t call the current situation a big success, not by a long shot. A qualified success, at best. And as for the rest of the Square benefiting? What she mostly heard were complaints about the lack of parking spaces.
Katie shook Crystal’s hand and saw that the woman couldn’t be much more than twenty-five. She was a few inches shorter than Katie’s very average height and had a stocky body that Katie had a feeling made her a natural for playing softball.
“Brittany is the absolute best,” Crystal said, still smiling. “I can’t believe how lucky I am. I mean, I’m pretty new at all this. How many people would give me a shot like this?” She gestured to the wall behind her, behind which Katie knew stood a fully equipped hair salon station. “This is so great! So far I only have a few customers, but you’ve made the Square such a cool place that I’m sure I’ll have more than I can handle in no time.”
“You’re cutting hair, too?” Katie asked.
“Hair?” Crystal laughed. “Not me. I get my hair cut twice a year whether I need it or not. I do nails. Acrylic nails.” She flourished her own. “And I can do almost any kind of polish design you can dream up. Someone like you?” Tipping her head slightly to one side, Crystal said thoughtfully, “Something understated, but with hints of bold. A traditional deep red base, say, but with small gold glittery stars.”
Katie couldn’t help it; she glanced at her fingernails, imaging them looking nice for a change instead of ragged and ridden with hangnails. But glitter? Not in her lifetime.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Crystal,” she said, “but there’s a problem with the nails.” And she was, in fact, sorry. She’d taken an instant liking to the young woman, who was obviously talented and professional in a very sociable way.
“A problem?” Crystal reached around for the end of her braid. As she untied and retied the band that held it in place, she asked, “What kind of problem? Brittany and I have an agreement, honest. You can check with her if you’d like.”
Katie certainly would; that would be her first phone call once she returned to her office. “It’s the smell,” she said. “The air circulation for this building is pretty ancient. Whatever odors you’re generating in here are going straight into the building instead of being vented outside.” She was sure that’s what was happening—none of the noxious odor present in the lobby was inside the salon. “Step out a minute and I’m sure you’ll know what I mean.”
Katie moved to the doorway. Crystal followed, and they were barely out of the salon when Crystal stopped. “Oh, geez. I am so sorry, Ms. Bonner,” she said, sniffing the air. “I had no idea this was happening. I can see why it’s a problem.”
“I’m sure you can understand why I need you to do something about it?” Katie asked, pleased that Crystal recognized the situation as a problem.
“Oh, absolutely,” the younger woman said. “And I know exactly how to take care of this situation.”
“That’s great.” Katie was about to ask what Crystal was planning when she saw Ray Davenport enter the lobby. “Thanks for being so cooperative,” she said, “but I need to talk to this gentleman. It was nice meeting you.”
Ray had heard her and stopped short. “Gentleman?” He looked down at his old, ratty sneakers, jeans that had seen at least four different painting projects, and a T-shirt advertising a high school football championship from more than a decade earlier. “You sure you’re talking to me?”
“Do you see any other man around? And I was using the term loosely.”
“It’s because of my cane, right? Makes me look dapper.”
“That must be it.”
“I get to ditch it in a couple of weeks.”
“Good for you.” She changed the subject, gesturing in the direction of the booth he’d picked out a few days earlier. “It looks nice back there.”
Ray made a wry face. “You call me a gentleman and call that mess nice? Either you want something from me or your standards are slipping.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Katie said as they ambled into Artisans Alley and stopped in front of the registers, where Rose was humming and still straightening. “Your space does look nice. No one expects a booth in a venue like Artisans Alley to be Tiffany’s, you know. All that’s needed is a decent presentation and reasonable prices. If you spent a fortune on fixtures, it would take years to get back the money invested.”
Ray studied her, th
en nodded. “Okay, you’re right. But I still don’t see the gentleman thing.”
She grinned. “Guess I must want something from you.”
“Ha!” He pointed his index finger at her, pistol-style. “I knew it.”
“How about a cup of coffee?” she asked. “I’m sure there’s a pot going in the lounge by now. Rose? Can I bring you a mug?”
“No thanks, dear.” Rose patted her chest. “I’ve already had my cup for the day, and that new doctor of mine has asked me to cut down on caffeine. She’s so sweet and earnest; I’m really trying to take her advice.”
Katie hoped she’d never wind up with a sweet and earnest doctor. Forgoing her regular morning cups of coffee would be more painful than she wanted to think about. But that wasn’t going to happen that day, because in the vendors’ lounge, the pot was more than half full. Katie pulled two mugs from the cupboard, checked their insides to make sure they were clean, and poured.
As she added creamer to hers, Ray took a long slug of his. He thumped the mug down on the table and asked, “Okay. Now I’m ready. What do you want?”
“Your expertise.”
“In what?” Ray asked. “My woodworking skills, my lawn mowing talents, or in how I got to be high scorer in my bowling league?”
“None of the above,” she said. “It’s your detecting abilities.”
“Oh, geez.” Ray cast his gaze heavenward. “She’s at it again.”
“Of course I am. Did you really think I’d leave this alone when two of my friends might be suspected of murder?”
“Not to mention yourself,” Ray said, taking another sip of coffee.
She shrugged. “No one’s stopped by to talk to me. I think I’m off the hook.”
“You think?” Ray laughed. “Or maybe they’re busy with that double homicide on the other side of the county and will get back to you when they have time. You’re not going anywhere, right?”
Katie had heard about the double murder, but she hadn’t thought about how it would affect the workload of the Sheriff’s Office. “I thought someone had confessed to those murders.”
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