Dead, Bath, and Beyond

by Lorraine Bartlett

  The younger woman nodded. “He said you were so—”

  Katie cut her off, knowing what was coming. “So incompetent?” she asked wryly. “So incapable, so inept, and so unlikely to ever be more than an office manager for a small insurance agency?”

  “What? No, of course not!” Erikka’s perfectly plucked eyebrows drew together. “Josh kept saying how great you were. He said you were great with clients. And that you’d reorganized the office filing system and made it easy as pie to find anything.” She smiled. “He went on and on about the cookies you used to bring in, said he’d never tasted anything so good.”

  None of that sounded like Josh. Then again, he’d probably been manipulating Erikka, just as he’d manipulated Katie. Once again, she mentally kicked herself for working there for so long. “That’s nice to know,” she said. “I just wanted to say that I was sorry.”

  “Th-thanks.” Erikka’s tears started to flow again. Up came the tissue. “I appreciate it. Very much,” she said. “You’re as nice as Josh always said.”

  Katie, who just barely managed not to roll her eyes, told Erikka to take care of herself, but as she got in her car and drove away, her mind was whirring with new possibilities.

  At Thompson’s Landing that day, Josh had said his new office manager was a whiz. But his wife had said she was useless. What neither one of them had said was how flat-out gorgeous Erikka was. Was is possible that Josh had been having an affair with her? Was that why she’d been crying? Was that why Josh and Marcie had separated? Could Marcie have killed Josh in a jealous rage? Yes, Marcie was already seeing that attorney, Rob Roth, but jealousy didn’t always make sense.

  “A lot of things don’t,” she muttered to herself.

  But she was going to do her best to figure out what was really going on.

  The drive to the office park and back had taken longer than Katie had anticipated. She fished out her keys to unlock the side entrance and was so focused on thinking about what she needed to accomplish that she made a beeline for her office, intentionally not looking around. If she caught someone’s eye or stopped in the vendors’ lounge, she’d get drawn into conversation, and she didn’t have time, not right then. After the bills were paid, maybe then. Or maybe not. The schedule still wasn’t done, and she still wanted to run projections for the upcoming Christmas season.

  After unlocking her office door, she turned and shut it almost all the way. A casual observer would assume she wasn’t there, but she’d be able to hear if anything tragic started happening out on the floor.

  Katie sat down, put her purse away, and got straight to work. She’d just started making serious progress when there was a knock on the door and Rose Nash poked her head inside. “Hello, there. I hate to bother you, but I have a quick question for you.”

  “Um, sure.” Katie waved Rose in and turned to face her, but her gaze lingered on the computer screen for a moment longer. “What’s up?” If only she could have two solid hours without interruptions, she’d be able to zip out the schedule. Maybe she should invest in a laptop so she could work from home. Not now, but if the Christmas season met her projections, she’d be able to afford one and—

  “Did you talk to that girl, Crystal, about the smells from her business with the fingernails?”

  Though Katie hadn’t forgotten Rose was standing there, her thoughts had definitely wandered in those few seconds. “I did. That very day, whenever it was.” She frowned, trying to remember, but gave up. “After I brought her out to the lobby, Crystal immediately understood there was a problem and said she knew how to take care of it.”

  Rose pursed her lips. “Did she give you any details on how, exactly, she was going resolve the situation?”

  “No, but—”

  The phone on Katie’s desk shrilled, startling them both. Katie held up a finger, indicating to Rose that she’d be just a minute. “Artisans Alley, Katie Bonner speaking. How may I help you?” She listened to the voice on the other end for a moment, then said, “Absolutely, but can you hang on just a second? Thanks.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Sorry, Rose, but this is a potential new vendor I’ve been playing telephone tag with for almost a week.”

  “I understand,” Rose said, but hesitated. “But please come out to the lobby when you have a moment.”

  “I will, just as soon as I’m off the phone.”

  But after that phone call, Katie forgot all about Rose’s request and dove right back into setting up the schedule. An hour later, Rose barged into the office and marched over to Katie’s desk. “Please come with me.”

  “Right now?” Katie asked, looking longingly at the computer. “In another half hour, I’ll have this almost done. Can’t whatever this is wait?”

  “Only if you’re not worried about what unattended open flames might do to your building.”

  “What!?” Katie shot out of her chair and all but ran for the lobby. She didn’t understand how this could be happening. The lease agreements with all the vendors explicitly stated that they were not to use open flames of any kind at any time for any reason.

  Artisans Alley was an old applesauce warehouse, built about a hundred years before from wood. It was drier than plain toast, and Katie’s insurance bills were evidence of that. The no-open-flames lease agreements had decreased those rates to some extent, but nightmares of fire had brought her out of a deep sleep more than once, panting and sweating and wishing she had the money to install a sprinkler system.

  When Katie emerged into the two-story lobby, she immediately saw and smelled why Rose was so concerned.

  Close to a dozen large pillar candles were waving their tall flames and scenting the air with their heavy perfumes. Cinnamon and rose and—Katie sniffed—lilac competed with the astringent smell from Crystal’s acrylic nails to create an amalgamated odor that was just short of horrific. But the stink didn’t worry Katie. The front door opened, and the flames danced around, guttering high and sending a thin stream of smoke straight to the ceiling where, over time, it would stick tight and accumulate into a black layer that would never, ever come clean.

  Katie banished those thoughts from her head as she walked fast to the closest candle and blew out the triple flames that were putting out more vanilla scent than could be found in the bottle of extract in Katie’s kitchen.

  Next was a ruby-colored candle spewing cinnamon into the air. By the time she reached the purple-colored, lilac-scented candle placed in a frightening location mere inches away from a stack of fliers that described all the Artisans Alley vendors, Katie shuddered to think about what might have happened and gave thanks that she’d put off decorating the lobby in a harvest theme. Dried corn shocks? Bales of hay? Scarecrows stuffed with straw? Katie shuddered again.

  “Oh no!”

  Katie spun around at the sound of Crystal’s voice. “The candles all went out!” she said with dismay. “How did that happen? I’m so sorry, Ms. Bonner.” She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a book of matches. “I’ll relight them all right away.”

  “No, you won’t,” Katie said firmly.

  “Sorry?” Crystal froze, one hand holding a single match, the other holding the matchbook, strike plate at the ready.

  “I can’t have you lighting candles in here,” Katie said. “This building was built of wood about a century ago. Everything in here is a fire-starter’s dream, and there’s no sprinkler system. If something caught fire, it would spread so fast that the whole place would burn down before the first fire truck arrived.”

  “It . . . would?” Crystal asked in a small voice.

  “In a New York minute,” Katie replied. “All my leases include a statement that no open flames will be used anywhere in the building. Brittany signed one, too. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

  “If she did, I don’t remember.” Crystal’s face was crestfallen. “I’m so sorry about the fi
re danger. I never thought about that. I just thought lighting these candles would take care of the stink. It was my best idea. What am I going to do about the smells from my business now?”

  Katie opened her mouth to say it was up to Crystal to figure it out when a deep male voice asked, “Ms. Bonner? I need a moment of your time.”

  Turning, Katie saw Detective Hamilton, who’d replaced Ray Davenport in the Sheriff’s Office. Sudden fear rose up the back of her throat. Why was he here? She ran through the possibilities in her mind and didn’t like any of them. Unless he was here to buy something and needed her help to choose the perfect present for his wife. That would be okay. “Hello, Detective,” she said, sounding more cheerful than she felt. “How are you this fine day?”

  Hamilton, who was tall and wide and thick, looked down at her. “Is there somewhere quiet we can go? I have a few questions for you.” He wore khaki pants, a polo shirt, and a navy blue jacket that must have been purchased at a Big and Tall men’s store.

  No purchase, then. “Of course,” she said. “We can sit in my office.” She turned back to Crystal. “We’ll talk later,” she said firmly and looked back to Hamilton. “This way.” She led him to her office.

  As soon as Katie had cleared the stack of papers off her guest chair and they’d both sat down, the detective pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped through a number of pages. When he got to the one he wanted, he reached into the same pocket for a pen, clicked it, and looked at her. “Can you account for your whereabouts on Labor Day?”

  The rush of adrenaline suddenly coursing through her veins took Katie by surprise. Why was she reacting to that simple question? She’d known they would eventually get around to talking to her; too many people had seen her at the marina that day. There was nothing to worry about, just as Andy and Ray had said. Detective Hamilton was doing his due diligence, that was all.

  “Sure,” she said as calmly as she could. “I was out all day sailing with a friend who keeps his boat at Thompson’s Landing. We got back to shore in late afternoon and then went to dinner at his house. I got home about eleven.” Short, simple, concise. She wasn’t about to volunteer information he hadn’t asked for.

  “Uh-huh.” The detective was writing in the notebook. “Can anyone corroborate your arrival at your residence and that you didn’t leave again?”

  “I live above Angelo’s Pizzeria. You’d have to talk to the guys who were working that night. I’m not sure if anyone saw me come home or not.”

  “I will,” he said, making a note. “What is your friend’s name, the one with the boat?”

  She wanted to ask if that was truly necessary, but she knew it was. “Seth Landers.”

  Hamilton’s eyebrows rose. “The . . . attorney?”

  “Yes,” she said, knowing that the missing word in his sentence was “gay.” She looked at him steadily. “Seth is a good friend of mine. He invited me out on his boat once or twice a week most of the summer.”

  “I see.” Hamilton scribbled more notes. “And, upon your return to the marina, did you encounter Josh Kimper?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  The detective waited, but when she didn’t say anything else, he asked, “And did you and the deceased have an argument?”

  It had not been an argument. “We both raised our voices,” she replied.

  “During that argument, did you or did you not tell him he was rude, arrogant, and a male chauvinist pig?”

  “I did.”

  “And, during that same argument, did you threaten him in any way?”

  What? Katie’s eyes flew open wide, but she took a slow breath. “I did not.”

  “No?” Detective Hamilton consulted his notepad. “You didn’t tell him that he was a useless human being and that the world would be a better place without him in it?”

  Had she? She’d deeply wanted to say something along those lines, but Seth had come up and pulled her away before the words came out of her mouth. “I did not,” she repeated, more slowly, trying to remember the incident more clearly. “I did say that I hoped I’d never see him again.”

  “Interesting.” Hamilton looked up from his notebook. “That didn’t work out very well for you, did it? You were the one to identify the body.”

  Katie closed her eyes briefly. “I never wished him dead,” she said. “I didn’t think much of the guy, but I never wanted him dead. His children . . .” She shook her head and didn’t say any more.

  “You didn’t think much of him,” the detective said, “but you worked for him for a number of years. Why did you stay at the insurance agency if you disliked him so much?”

  “Because I very much liked getting a paycheck,” she said dryly. “Jobs weren’t exactly easy to come by in those days.”

  Detective Hamilton made a few more notes, flipped his notebook shut, and tucked both it and his pen away. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Bonner,” he said and grunted with the effort of getting his huge body up out of the chair. “I’ll let you know if I have any more questions.”

  She just bet he would.

  Katie watched his departing back. She desperately wanted to ask him what was going on with the investigation, if he really suspected her of murder, if he suspected Don or Nick of murder, and how Josh had drowned without a mark on him and then had been hauled over to Sassy Sally’s.

  She sighed, knowing that Hamilton wouldn’t answer any of those questions. It took her a few moments to reorient herself and realize she had other concerns that needed to be addressed. She got up and headed back to the lobby. Whatever Crystal cooked up next to combat the stench of acrylic nail smells, Katie wanted to know about it ahead of time.

  But when she reached the salon, the lights were off and the door was locked with a CLOSED sign hanging from a suction cup on the door’s glass.

  Katie scowled. So much for that little task.

  “How very adult,” Ray said and chuckled. “I tell my girls that if they make too many faces like that their muscles will freeze.”

  Katie turned around, forcing her expression to stay in its exaggerated frown. “Oh no,” she said, trying not to move her face. “You’re right! I’m stuck this way.”

  Ray studied her thoughtfully. “I doubt the hospital has ever seen a case quite like this. Maybe I should look it up on the Internet.”

  “Better do it fast,” Katie said. “I’m not sure I can last much longer.”

  Rose came up between them, carrying half a dozen of Crystal’s candles. “You two should go on the road with that routine,” she said, smiling and shaking her head. “But before you leave, what should I do with these? If neither one of us happens to be here when Crystal comes back, I don’t want her to light them again.”

  “Absolutely not.” Katie took them from Rose. “I’ll put them in my office and leave a voice mail for her.”

  With Ray’s help, the candles were soon tucked away on the top of her filing cabinet. “So much for that idea,” he said, sniffing the palms of his hands and wincing. “Wonder what she’s going to come up with next?”

  “As long as it doesn’t have open flames, I’m not sure that I care.” Katie dropped into her chair. “Guess what I just found out?”

  “That aliens have, in fact, landed and that they’ve been living among us, undetected, for years? They’re just waiting for the signal from their leader before rising up, taking over the planet, and making the rest of us their slaves—or dinner?”

  “Um, no.” Katie looked at him. “Do your girls think you’re funny?”

  “Hardly ever.” He sat in the guest chair Detective Hamilton had recently vacated. “I get eye rolls like you wouldn’t believe, though.”

  She would, actually. “I stopped by Josh Kimper’s insurance agency.” Briefly, she told him about Erikka and the differing opinions of her from Josh and from Marcie. “It just makes me wonder,” she s
aid in conclusion. “Do you think Josh could have been having an affair with Erikka?”

  “There are two great big problems with that,” Ray said. “One, why would a young and attractive woman, like you say Erikka is, be attracted to a guy like Kimper?”

  “No accounting for tastes,” Katie suggested. She’d been about to make a joke that even he’d been able to get someone to marry him, but she was grateful that she stopped herself before the words came out. After all, Ray’s wife had passed away only a year before.

  “Problem number two is Josh’s wife being so jealous over his theoretical affair that she’d kill him.” Ray shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense, not if what you said is true about her already seeing some other guy.”

  “Seems to me that anything is possible,” Katie said. “Who really knows what could tip someone over the edge?”

  “True enough,” Ray said. “But I just don’t see Josh Kimper as the type of person who would inspire such emotional passion.”

  Katie didn’t either, not really, but she stood by her statement. “Anything is possible.”

  “Possible is different from probable, and neither one gets you probable cause. When you get a real theory, let me know and I’ll pick that one to shreds, too.” He started to stand, then dropped back down into the chair. “Forgot to tell you. Of course, I’m trying not to think about it so my head doesn’t explode with frustration, so forgetting is good.”

  Katie could think of only one thing that could get Ray so irritated. “Don’t tell me your insurance check is being delayed even more.”

  “Worse,” he said grimly. “They’re promising the check will be cut next month, but now the contractor says he won’t be able to finish up my Wood U job until after Thanksgiving because he’s too busy with his other project.”

  “Can’t you just switch to another builder?”

  He shook his head. “All the approved contractors for the insurance company are booked solid to January, and I don’t want to mess with someone who isn’t approved.”

  Katie started to say that just because a contractor wasn’t approved didn’t mean they weren’t reputable, it just meant a little more hassle on his end, but Ray was still talking.