She smiled. “It took me a couple of times. I was scared stiff at first. I mean, they call Ontario a Great Lake for a reason.”
The tension started to ease out of Vance’s shoulders. “Exactly,” he said. “Ships go down out there. Sometimes they never find any trace of boats that vanish.”
Katie nodded. “And they’re expensive. The gas alone costs a small fortune.”
Vance was nodding along with her. “That’s just what I told Janey. We’re not boaters, I keep saying to her. Why should we keep this boat, just because my uncle Archibald left it to me? He didn’t have any children is the only reason it came to me. There’s no reason we shouldn’t just sell the beast and be done with it.”
“The beast?” Katie asked. “What kind of boat is it?”
“Big.” Vance spread his arms out wide. “Way too big for us. The only boat I’ve ever been on is a canoe, for crying out loud. What do I know about boats? Nothing!”
Katie chose her next words carefully. “Big boats can be intimidating.”
“You’re darn tooting they are,” Vance said firmly. “Intimidating and . . .” He stopped, then looked down at his feet. He sighed. “To tell you the truth, I’m a little scared of it. And that’s downright embarrassing for a man to admit. I guess that’s why I lashed out at you. Sorry.”
“I won’t tell a soul,” Katie promised, then she asked, “Did you care for your uncle?”
Vance smiled. “Best uncle a guy could ask for. Taught me how to drive. Taught me how to play hockey, too. My dad was great, but he wasn’t a sports kind of guy.” His voice went distant. “It was my uncle who got me interested in woodworking, come to think of it.”
“I bet your uncle would appreciate it if you gave his boat a chance,” Katie said. “Don’t you think?” She patted Vance on the shoulder and headed to her office.
Now she knew why he reacted as he did when she’d asked about the boat earlier. She was glad it was simple fear of the unknown that had spurred his reaction. Gwen was out as a suspect, and now Vance was, too.
She sat at her desk and glanced at the wall clock. She was trying not to worry for Don, but time was ticking away there, too.
The days sped by so fast that on Wednesday afternoon Katie found it so hard to believe that it was mid-week that she checked the Internet to make sure. When she got confirmation, she still wasn’t completely convinced. She pushed back her chair and went out front to the Alley’s lobby.
“What day is it?” she asked Rose, who was admiring and tweaking the harvest decorations. “Is it really Wednesday?”
Rose rotated a wagon wheel the slightest bit then stepped back, studying her work. “What day do you want it to be?”
The day before Labor Day, Katie thought with a pang. If she could have known then what she knew now, Don wouldn’t be under suspicion of murder, because she would have told him not to leave the party. She would also have told Brittany she couldn’t sublease her space to Crystal, and she certainly would never have gone to the Davenports’ house for a dinner. Andy was still being a little standoffish about that whole thing, which didn’t seem fair, but then she probably wouldn’t have been completely forgiving if the situation had been reversed.
But instead of all that, she asked Rose, “Why is it that whenever I don’t have much to do, time crawls, but when I’m trying to get something done, time zips by too fast?”
“It’s a corollary to Murphy’s Law,” Rose said, smiling.
“You think?” Ray Davenport, who’d just walked in from the back, made a snorting noise. “I’d say it’s more someone isn’t paying attention to the clock. And speaking of not paying attention, I have some news for you, Ms. Bonner.”
Katie’s eyebrows went up. “Ms. Bonner? You haven’t called me that in months. Have we regressed?”
He shook his head. “More the company I was just keeping. Have you had lunch?”
“Not yet.”
“Me neither.” He made a come-along gesture. “I’ll even buy, since you won’t have any appetite in a minute.”
Katie and Rose exchanged glances. “Sounds like an offer I better not refuse,” she said dryly, and within five minutes they were sitting in a booth at Del’s. It was where she often sat with Andy, and she automatically chose the side where she always sat.
Sandy came over with the coffeepot and two mugs. “Haven’t seen you in a few days,” she said to Katie. “Is Andy too good to eat here anymore?”
“No,” Katie said, “he’s just . . . busy.” At least that’s what she hoped was going on. “His assistant manager quit on him last weekend, and he was understaffed even before that.” He had hired Erikka straightaway, but even with the hours she was willing to put in, there were still gaps.
“Well, tell him I miss his ugly face.” Sandy filled the mugs. “I’ll be back in a minute to get your orders.”
Ray watched her walk away. “Wish I’d had shoes like hers when I was on the force. Those things don’t make a sound.”
Shoes were not of interest to Katie, not just then anyway. “So what news do you have that’s going to make me lose my appetite? Because you should know that I’m pretty hungry.”
“Remember the other day when we were talking about Kimper’s murder?”
“Of course I do.” Katie pulled the plastic menu from the rack and flipped it open. There wasn’t much chance she was going to eat anything other than tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, but it never hurt to look. “You were pooh-poohing my theory that Marcie and Rob killed him.”
“For good reason,” he said, pushing the small dish of creamer over to her.
She looked up, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is both Marcie and her lover boy have alibis. I stopped by the office the other day, and Hamilton checked that out first thing. They’re both in the clear.”
He grinned, looked straight at her, and Katie, way deep down inside, felt a spark of . . . something. Hurriedly, she glanced down and started working on getting creamer into her coffee. The man was old enough to be her father, for heaven’s sake. There was no way she was attracted to him. No possible way. Besides, she had Andy, who was young and extremely good-looking and smart and busy, of course, but wasn’t everyone?
“Solid alibis?” she asked, concentrating on stirring the creamer into her coffee without slopping any on the table.
“Solid as they get. The lawyer was at a fund-raiser for clean water, and the future widow and her children were at a friend’s house for a sleepover with two other women and their kids. They stopped getting corroborative statements when they hit five each.”
Katie removed her spoon from the cup. That was good news for Marcie and Rob, she supposed, and she was glad that Marcie and Josh’s girls didn’t have to endure the heartbreak of a mother in prison, but the woman and her lover had been the easiest people to suspect.
She looked at Ray. “Do the police have any other leads?”
“Yeah.” He looked away. “Why don’t we do this part after we eat? If you’re still hungry, that is. I know how being wrong can mess with your meal plans.”
Katie wasn’t having any of that. She laid her hands flat on the table. “Tell me.”
“It can wait until—”
“No, it can’t. Tell me now.”
Ray grimaced but said, “Hamilton told me he’s putting together a case against Don Parsons.”
Though he kept talking, Katie didn’t hear a word. Because Don had left that party and wouldn’t tell anyone why, he was going to be arrested for Josh’s murder. She clenched her fists. Don was being so stupid about this that he wasn’t going to see that the publicity surrounding an arrest, even if it was later proven wrong, was going to damage Sassy Sally’s future.
She had to do something to save her friend from his own stupidity, but what could she do that she hadn’t already done?
Nearly choking down a mouthful of coffee, Katie knew Ray had been right. She wasn’t going to be able to eat a thing.
Sixteen
Katie had scarcely set foot inside Artisans Alley when she felt presences on both sides of her. Before she had a chance to react, her upper arms were gripped by strong hands, and she was brought to an abrupt halt.
“You’re coming with me,” growled a low female voice on her right.
“No ifs, ands, or buts,” said the voice on her left, which Katie realized belonged to Rose. On the other side was Brittany.
She relaxed, since her two friends were obviously not going to drag her to the Sherriff’s Office for interfering with official business or take her to an undisclosed location where she’d be locked up forever because she’d come too close to fingering Josh’s killer. “Where are we going?” she asked.
The two women exchanged a loaded glance. “Seriously?” Brittany asked.
“I told you,” Rose said. “She’s been ignoring the problem for weeks now.”
“That part is obvious,” Brittany said grimly.
Rose sighed. “I’ve discussed this with her over and over again, and though she keeps telling me she’ll take care of it, nothing gets done.”
“Which is why we needed to intervene.” Brittany grinned. “Yes, Katie Bonner, this is an intervention. The best part about this one is it’ll have a hundred percent chance of success in less than half an hour.”
Katie laughed, because she finally clued in to what was happening. “The ponytail thing isn’t working out very well, is it?”
“It’s fine,” Rose said, but her tone didn’t convey much sincerity. “But I think you should give Brittany a chance to do something different.”
“How different are we talking?” Katie asked, her internal radar sounding off. “The last time I let a stylist try something different on me, I ended up wearing a baseball cap for six weeks.”
Brittany opened the door of the salon and ushered her in. “Ah, but you can trust me.”
“That’s what the last one said,” Katie muttered, but she walked to the first chair of her own volition. A smiling Rose waved good-bye, and the door closed behind her.
“Let’s get you settled.” Brittany whirled a cutting cape around her front and fastened it around her neck. “Now, do you trust me?”
“With what?” Katie asked warily.
“To give you a good cut without knowing what it is beforehand.”
That was easy. “Not a chance.”
Brittany laughed. “Fair enough. I’m not sure I’d trust anyone to do that, either. How about this, because I still want to surprise you with what I’m thinking. Are you okay with bangs?”
“I haven’t had bangs in years.” Katie brushed at the hair draped against her forehead. “But I guess I’m not completely dead set against them.”
“Excellent. Are you okay with a style that touches your face?”
“Absolutely not.” Katie shook her head. “Can’t stand styles like that. I’ll end up putting it back with bobby pins or barrettes.”
Brittany sighed. “Somehow I figured you’d say that.” She asked a few more questions, then tipped the chair back and turned on the water to warm it up before she started shampooing. “And now that I have you where I want you, I’d like to talk about Crystal. No, you sit back and relax.” The warm water hit Katie’s scalp. “I’m not going to hold you hostage or anything, or give you a horrible haircut because of what you told Crystal.” Brittany pumped out some shampoo and started lathering Katie’s hair. There was something luxurious about closing her eyes and having her hair washed by someone else that always put her into a dreamlike state.
Almost against her will, Katie felt her muscles loosen. “I’m not sure there’s much to say at this point. But I do regret that Crystal has to leave. She’s very talented.”
“Bright as a shiny penny, as my grandpa used to say.” Brittany rinsed out the shampoo, blotted out Katie’s hair with a towel, and sat her upright in the chair. “I’ve known her for a long time, and she has success written all over her. She’s bright and energetic and intelligent, and the only thing she lacks is a little self-confidence.”
“I know the feeling,” Katie murmured.
“I’d guess all women do, right?” Brittany combed out Katie’s hair and sectioned it off. “So that’s why I’m asking you to let Crystal stay.”
Katie wanted to shake her head but didn’t dare, not with those sharp scissors starting to snip away. “I can’t. We already had a vendor go to the hospital with an allergic reaction.” She realized she hadn’t seen Godfrey since, either. Strange. “Those fumes are just too strong. Manicures and nail painting are fine, but I can’t allow the acrylic nails. I just can’t.”
“Hmm.” Brittany cut and combed and cut some more. “And that won’t work for Crystal. The acrylic business is too lucrative.”
Katie opened her mouth to apologize, but really, what did she need to apologize for? Instead, she said, “It’s too bad this didn’t work out. I’d like to give Crystal the chance to succeed, I really would.”
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the salon were the soft music and the scissors. Finally, Brittany said, “I know she tried candles and the air fresheners and trying to route the smell out the window, but what if there’s another solution?”
“The only thing that will work,” Katie said firmly, “is a true ventilation system, and that will cost thousands.”
“Hmm.” Brittany put away the comb and scissors and started up the roaring blow-dryer. When Katie’s hair was dry, Brittany went at it with a flat iron. “What if there’s another way to get at the problem?” she asked. “What if there’s another way altogether?”
Katie sighed. She didn’t want Brittany to get her hopes up. “If there’s another way, I’d be glad to hear it.”
“Great! When I think of it, I’ll let you know.” Brittany beamed and turned the chair to the mirror. “So, what do you think?”
Katie blinked. “Wow,” she said slowly. “With a capital W.”
It was hard to believe that a haircut could make so much difference, but two days later, Katie was still feeling the effects of Brittany’s skill. Everyone from Andy to Rose to Vance to Del at the diner complimented her new look. Sitting at her desk, Katie ran her hand through the layered locks and felt her hair settle back down into what Brittany had intended: a simple style that framed her face and made the most of the cheekbones she’d always thought were invisible to the naked eye.
Though Katie was reluctant to admit it, the cut had given her a much-needed boost of self-confidence. Not only that, but she was still mulling over what Brittany had said about finding a new solution for Crystal’s problem. It had been an impassioned speech, and Katie felt Brittany’s persuasive words pushing her to reconsider a lot of things, things far beyond the fumes issue.
Her relationship with Andy, for one, which seemed to have grown more complicated for reasons she wasn’t sure she wanted to delve into. Plus there was her vague intention to get more exercise and eat better. And then there was Josh’s murder. And Don’s stupidity in not giving the police his real alibi.
Katie abruptly stood. She wasn’t going to come up with new solutions to old problems spending a fruitless half hour trying to convince him of the error of his ways.
She made her way to the Alley’s lobby, which was devoid of life, and took in the completed harvest decorations. It had all turned out wonderful, and it never would have looked so great without a group effort.
“What’s going on over there?”
Katie turned to see Sharon Reece, the photographer who’d rented space on the upper level.
Not knowing what she was talking about, Katie turned to see the photographer staring out the front window. From wh
ere she stood, Katie couldn’t see anything unusual, so she walked toward the plate glass doors and peered out in the direction of Sassy Sally’s. A cold, hard ball immediately formed in the bottom of her stomach.
“What . . . the heck?” Sharon asked slowly.
The two of them watched in shock as Don was led down the stairs of the bed-and-breakfast and put into the backseat of a patrol car. A uniformed deputy shut the door behind him got into the driver’s side, and the car pulled away.
As the vehicle went past, Don turned to look into Artisans Alley. Katie felt a chill as her horrified gaze met his for the briefest of seconds before the car moved out of view.
Sharon shook her head. “That doesn’t look good. Did you see the expression on Parsons’s face? I haven’t seen anyone look that scared since back in high school when my BFF thought she might be pregnant.”
Katie wasn’t paying attention to Sharon’s comments, because she, too, had recognized Don’s panicky fear. She needed a new answer, a new solution, and she needed it fast.
“Do you think they arrested him?” Sharon asked. “He wasn’t in handcuffs, but I hear they don’t always do that, if they don’t think there’s a risk of violence or running away.”
“I don’t know.” But what did she know?
Sharon turned to her. “Do you think they think he killed Josh Kimper?”
“No!” Katie said automatically.
“Okay, but what really matters is what the police think, right?”
She was right, but Katie didn’t want to go there. She knew that Don was innocent. She knew that Josh’s widow hadn’t killed him. She knew that her former boss had been promising people he’d get them good deals on pre-owned boats. She knew that he’d drowned in Lake Ontario. And she knew that Vance and Gwen had nothing to do with it. She’d rejected Erikka as a suspect because she so clearly hadn’t been in love with Josh, but . . .
What was it Erikka had said? That Josh had told her not to write up any policies that had anything to do with boats. That she was to send boat insurance referrals to three companies. Katie had worked in the insurance business for years and had never heard of any of the three.
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