Dead, Bath, and Beyond

by Lorraine Bartlett

  Could Andy really be jealous of Ray Davenport?

  Had she given him reason to do so?

  Katie pondered that thought a little too long as she puttered around her kitchen, tidying up before she gathered her cats and went to bed. But instead of a restful sleep, she spent the night tormented by dreams of overcooked chicken dinners served on boats captained by faceless men covered in algae who laughed and laughed and laughed.

  Fifteen

  The next morning, Katie woke with the itchy feeling that she should be working harder on figuring out what happened to Josh. Her original wish, which was to keep Don and Nick’s reputation clean, had edged into worry that Don was . . . well, not guilty of murder, of course, but serious worry that the police might think he was guilty. And if they were convinced he was guilty, then they’d work hard to build a case against him and not spend much time working on who else might have killed her former boss. And if that happened . . .

  “What do you two think?” she asked Mason and Della.

  The cats, who were sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, staring at her with twin “feed me” expressions, didn’t respond to her question. This was probably just as well, because in spite of her question, she wasn’t quite ready to take advice from her cats. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t talk to them.

  “I’m working on the assumption,” she said, “that it wasn’t Don or Nick who killed Josh. That’s a given.”

  Mason yawned, which she took as agreement.

  “Right. So then we have to figure out who else might have done it.” She ticked off the suspects on her fingers. “There’s Marcie and her attorney friend, Rob. I still think they’re the most likely suspects, no matter what Ray says. I used to think maybe Erikka might be involved, but now I’m sure the main reason she was so upset at Josh’s death was that she knew she was going to be out of a job.”

  Della began to wash her front paws.

  “Glad we’re thinking the same,” Katie said. “So now we’re down to the boat people. Yes, I know it’s a huge leap to think that boat ownership by someone on Victoria Square could have anything to do with Josh’s death, but consider the connection. Josh’s body was left in Sassy Sally’s, remember? How many people knew that Josh was even staying there?”

  The more Katie thought about it, the more she realized what a good question it was. She hadn’t known Josh was a guest at the B and B. Who had? Though there was no way of knowing who Josh had told, she was willing to bet it wasn’t many. His wife had kicked him out, after all, and he wasn’t likely to tell everyone on the street that little fact. No, she’d known Josh well enough to predict that he’d have to lick his wounds for a few days before trumpeting the “fact” that he’d left his wife.

  “That’s something I need to figure out,” she told the cats. “Who besides Don and Nick knew that Josh was staying at the bed-and-breakfast?” She had no idea how she was going to figure that out, so she tucked it into the back of her mind and continued on.

  “Back to boats. Duncan, Gwen, and Vance all acted weird when I started asking about their boats. I know now why Gwen did, but what about Duncan? And . . .” She sighed, not wanting to suspect her assistant manager of having anything to do with Josh’s death. She needed to ask Vance some questions, but maybe she could do it gently, in such a way that he wouldn’t think she was asking about anything having to do with Josh’s murder.

  But it was Sunday, and Vance wouldn’t be back at Artisans Alley until Tuesday.

  Katie looked at the cats. “What should I do?” she asked. “What can I do today? Marcie’s gone, and I don’t know where her attorney friend lives. I can talk to Vance the day after tomorrow, and I’m not sure what to do about Duncan.”

  She wondered for a moment about Fred Cunningham, who seemed to be enamored of Marcie. Was that enough to suspect him of murder? Then again, it seemed as if the police might be suspecting Don or Nick of murder for ending up with a body in their bathtub, so—

  “Got it,” Katie said out loud. “Thanks for your help.” She patted the cats on their heads and stood, knowing exactly where she was headed.

  Katie took her foot off her car’s accelerator as she approached the address where she’d followed Don a few nights earlier. She recognized the strange cluster of buildings of varying shapes and sizes and slowed even further.

  The other night it had been dark and spattering rain, and now that the world was bright and sunshiny, she was seeing things she hadn’t noticed earlier. Primarily the big sign that proclaimed to all and sundry that this was SHATTERED SEAGULL ART GALLERY, but also the number of sculptures that were placed around the grounds.

  A seagull, naturally, was front and center; a seagull created from scraps of metal and then welded together in a way that left gaps, giving it the appearance of being a Humpty Dumpty seagull that had been put back together again.

  There was also a sculpture of multiple metal rings that rotated in the light breeze, a pair of dancers that looked as if they’d been carved from a single log, a carefully constructed pile of rocks that glittered in the sun, and a three-foot-high three-dimensional trio of maple leaves made of . . . resin?

  “Which one is your favorite?”

  Katie hadn’t noticed the man’s approach. She jumped a little as he spoke. Turning, she saw the man she’d seen with Don, or at least it was someone about the same size and wearing the same kind of newsboy hat that she’d caught a glimpse of that rainy evening.

  He had his hands in his pockets and was smiling, the very picture of ease and nonconfrontation, so she relaxed and nodded toward a metal framework that held a collection of colorful scarves, all fluttering as the wind caught them. “It’s beautiful, but I have to wonder how it’s going to look after a Western New York winter.”

  “You’re the practical type,” he said, tipping his head to one side. “Form follows fucntion?”

  Katie recognized the intentional misuse of the Louis Sullivan quote. “I don’t see why it can’t be function and form. Why do we have to give one a higher priority over the other?”

  He laughed. “You know, I’m not sure I ever thought about it that way. I’m Shaw Jennings, by the way; owner and proprietor of this eclectic establishment.”

  “And I’m Katie Bonner. I own Artisans Alley, over in Victoria Square.”

  Shaw took off his hat, revealing a bald pate, scratched the top of his head, then replaced the hat. “I’ve heard about your place. If you’re looking for more artists, I’m not interested, but I might know some folks who are.”

  “That’s not why I’m here, but I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word. I have some openings that benefit artists in time for the holidays.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Thank you.” Katie hesitated, then said, “You know Don Parsons.”

  “Don?” Shaw nodded. “Sure, I know him. He and his partner are opening up . . .” The man’s gaze sharpened on her. “Opening up a bed-and-breakfast on Victoria Square. So you know them?”

  “They’re good guys. I wonder if you’d mind telling me why Don was here the other night?”

  Shaw’s gaze slid past her. “You seem like a nice enough person, but I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

  “Normally, it wouldn’t be,” she conceded. “But if you know Don and Nick at all, you know that a dead body was found in Sassy Sally’s not long ago. The police haven’t made any arrests, and they’re starting to spend a lot of time at Don and Nick’s place.”

  Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Shaw said, “I heard about that. But I’m not sure what that has to do with me.”

  “Don and Nick said they were at a party the night of the murder,” Katie said. “Unfortunately, there was a point when Don was gone for quite a while.”

  “He doesn’t have an alibi for the murder?”

  Katie shook her head. “He’s told m
e that there was a good reason he was gone, and I believe him. I’m not sure that the police will, though. And I’m not sure Don’s taking this whole thing seriously enough.”

  Shaw’s smile was ironic. “That sounds like Don.”

  “Which brings me to the other night. I’m worried about Don and Nick, and when I saw Don sneaking out of Sassy Sally’s, I followed him here. Then I saw . . .” She stopped and waited to see what Shaw would say.

  “You saw him give me a bear hug. And now you’re thinking that Don is cheating on Nick and that’s why he won’t talk about his alibi.” Shaw studied her. “I could tell you you’ve got the wrong end of the stick, but you don’t have any reason to believe me.”

  She smiled. She was liking this guy. “Nothing personal.”

  “No offense taken.” He gestured toward the largest outbuilding, the one he’d walked out of that rainy night to greet Don. “Let me show you something.” He smiled. “A couple of things, actually.”

  Katie glanced around. Three other cars were parked in the driveway, indicating that other people must be around somewhere, so she followed Shaw across the gravel and through the plain metal door.

  Inside, the noise was tremendous. Saws shrieked, hammers banged, and from ceiling-mounted loudspeakers, classic rock from decades earlier poured out. Katie counted at least four people working on various projects of varying sizes. A man wielding a three-foot-long tool stood in front of a whirling wood lathe, a woman was feeding a thick piece of wood into a buzzing table saw, and two young men were banging on a massive hunk of metal.

  Shaw didn’t give her time to gawk, though; he led her across the room and stopped in front of a large cabinet with holes all over. “It’s for drying,” he said. “The cabinet is lined with filters, and we can hook it up to a blower system. Speeds the drying process tremendously and keeps the dust off.

  He unlatched the cabinet. “I need you to swear that you won’t tell Nick, or even give the slightest hint.”

  “As long as it’s not illegal or immoral,” Katie said, “I’m good.”

  “Okay then.” Shaw opened the cabinet door and stood back. “Don stopped by the other day to see how I was getting along on this.”

  The this in question was a small table, the size and shape of what Katie had always thought of as a card table. The darkly stained wood reflected back the light so well that Katie put up a hand to shield her eyes. The top of the table was inlaid with an intricate pattern of vines and leaves. It was gorgeous, and Katie felt the stirrings of table envy.

  “Marquetry,” Shaw said, nodding at the tabletop. “That’s my specialty these days. Nick has a big birthday coming up, and Don wanted to surprise him with something special. He left that party to come finalize the details with me.”

  The saw’s noise cut off, and the woman who’d been pushing wood through it looked over. “Showing it off again?”

  Shaw smiled, a little sheepishly, Katie thought. The woman approached, and Shaw slung his arm around her shoulders. “My wife,” he said, “thinks I’m getting a little too proud of my work.”

  His wife reached up to give him a peck on the cheek. “Just the tiniest bit. It’s kind of cute, actually.”

  “You should be proud,” Katie said, honestly. “It’s beautiful.”

  “That’s the best part about making things and giving them away.” Shaw eyed the table critically. “You don’t have to live with the flaws.”

  Katie laughed. “I’m sure Nick will never notice anything. And I’m sure he’ll love it.”

  “They’re a lucky couple,” Shaw’s wife said. “They’re one of the best matches I’ve ever seen.”

  “Hey, now,” Shaw said, protesting. “What about you and me?”

  “I said one of the best.” She grinned. “We’re obviously the best match ever.”

  Katie chatted with the couple for a few minutes, gave them a few of her cards to distribute to any of their friends who might want to rent a booth at Artisans Alley, and headed out. The second she got outside and out of the din, she pulled out her cell phone and called Sassy Sally’s. Luckily, Don answered.

  “Can you talk?” she asked.

  “Well, sort of. I’m trying to figure out how much we should spend on holiday decorations for this place.”

  “Is Nick around?”

  “He’s upstairs. I can get him if—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I need to talk to you about Shaw Jennings.”

  There was a long pause, then Don said, “Umm.”

  “Umm, yourself. If all you’re doing is buying something special for Nick’s birthday, why on earth didn’t you just say so? And why haven’t you told the police?”

  “How did you find out?” he asked.

  “Never mind that. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

  A long sigh gusted into the phone. “Because if I told you, then you’d know. And you might tell Rose, who might tell Edie, who might tell someone who might tell Nick.”

  “I can keep a secret,” Katie said, more than a little stiffly.

  “And you can keep it even easier if you don’t know what the secret is,” Don replied. “Now don’t go all huffy on me. I’m just accustomed to not saying anything to anyone about things. And if I tell the police, the first thing they’ll do is go to Shaw, then they’ll talk to Nick, asking about his birthday and what kind of thing I normally get him, and then he’ll know something’s up and the surprise will be ruined. All I want is to surprise him.”

  Katie rolled her eyes. “If you’re not careful, your need to surprise him could land you in jail.”

  “Nick’s birthday is next week,” Don assured her. “What can it hurt to wait until then to explain?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Please don’t tell. Please?” Don begged.

  Feeling almost as if she were making a pact with a five-year-old, Katie sighed and hoped that she wouldn’t live to regret the promise.

  Monday was Katie’s only day off. Theoretically, at least. She had to spend a good chunk of the day printing lists of the vendors’ sales and their checks. Thankfully, she usually had help on Tuesday morning sealing and stuffing envelopes and distributing them in the mail slots in the Alley’s tag room.

  By Tuesday morning the warmth of the previous few days had waned. Katie hated to turn on the big furnace at Artisans Alley before October, but she also knew that cold vendors and cold customers wouldn’t make for a pleasant shopping experience. Cold Katies weren’t all that pleasant either, so she was standing in the vendors’ lounge with her hands wrapped around her mug, hoping that the heat from the coffee would transmit through her hands and into her bones. She had a small auxiliary heater in her office, but every time she turned that on, she could almost see the electric meter spinning. She hoped the customers would arrive clad in jackets.

  Katie liked to hike the aisles of the Alley before it opened and hoped to find one particular vendor on that gloomy morning. She paused. “Vance, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Vance, who’d been wheeling one of the Alley’s vacuum cleaners back to the storage area that ran behind the salon, said, “Sure. Hang on just a second.” A few rattles and thumps later, he came out, dusting off his hands. “What’s up?”

  “Do you think it’s time to turn on the furnace?”

  He squinted, which somehow made him look even more like Santa. A skinny version, the kind that Mrs. Claus would need to fatten up before the holiday. “Now?” he asked. “Is it cold in here?”

  “You’ve worked up a sweat vacuuming. It’s sixty-two,” Katie said. “Given the extended forecast, I doubt it’s going to warm up anytime soon.”

  Vance pushed up his glasses. “I sure hate to turn it on before October.”

  Katie shivered. The coffee’s warmth wasn’t helping as much as she’d expected. “I just hope this isn’t an indication of a long winter.�
�

  Vance grinned as they advanced toward the vendors’ lounge. “That’s right, you’re not a big fan of snow, are you?”

  “If I can ever retire,” she said, “I will be moving south. Snow is fine on two days, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Other than that, it should stay in the mountains where it belongs.”

  Vance laughed. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Every winter day can be a thrill. Will I make it to work without sliding into someone, or someone sliding into me? Will I be able to walk out to get the mail without falling flat on my face? Will our flight to visit my brother over Thanksgiving be delayed due to a blizzard?”

  Katie winced. “You shouldn’t joke about things like that.”

  “Ah, it’ll be spring before you know it,” Vance said as they entered the lounge. He stopped at the sink and turned on the water to wash his hands. “Time ticks away pretty fast, seems like.”

  “It sure does.” Katie studied her assistant manager, a man she considered a friend. The conversation had opened up a perfect opportunity to question him, but did she really suspect him of murdering Josh? She wouldn’t have except for his oddly fierce reaction to her gentle probing about his boat ownership. Which was worse, thinking Vance might have had something to do with Josh’s death, or not asking enough questions and maybe having the deputies arrest the wrong person for murder?

  Katie thought about what would await Don in prison and shivered again. Then she said, “But you must be a big fan of summer. That’s the best boating weather, after all, and what’s the point of having a boat if you don’t go out on it?”

  “I have no idea why anyone would want to own a boat.” Vance turned off the faucet, shook the extra water off his hands, and reached for a paper towel.

  Since he had his back to her, Katie couldn’t see his facial expressions but did detect a stiffening of his shoulders. She thought about what to say and what to ask, and she finally said, “I didn’t really like boating at all until Seth started taking me out this summer.”

  The shoulders remained stiff, but Vance turned to face her. “You took to it like a duck to water, is what I heard.”