“The only thing missing was the food in the vendors’ lounge refrigerator, but it really shook me up to know that someone had been staying here in the Alley for days at a time. I’m often here after closing—all alone for hours on end.”
Edie shook her head with grandmotherly concern. “Haven’t I warned you about that in the past?”
“You warned me about walking into the darkened parking lot—which I admit, can be scary, but I shouldn’t have to worry about trespassers. And Andy’s right next door if I need him. This time I just called nine-one-one and hid under my desk until someone arrived.”
“Good girl.” Edie’s expression turned even more serious. “I understand you’ve ousted Ida.”
“It wasn’t without provocation,” Katie said, sensing a lecture was about to commence.
Edie shook her head. “I know Ida is probably the biggest pain in the neck that ever lived, but I feel sorry for the poor old thing. After all that’s she’s been through these last few months.”
Old thing? Edie had to be at least ten years older than Ida. “Oh?” Katie asked warily.
Edie nodded. “Her sister—bless her heart—died back in early May, just after the two of them returned from wintering in Florida.”
“Oh dear. I had no idea,” Katie said.
“That’s when Ida’s lawyer became her guardian. He knew she couldn’t cope on her own and moved her right into an assisted senior living facility.”
“Isn’t that terribly expensive?” Katie asked. Ida had been crying poverty since the day Katie met her. She hadn’t paid her booth rent to Ezra Hilton in years, and had said she had no means to make up for that shortfall.
“Ida comes from money,” Edie assured her. “Big money.”
Katie fought to control the sudden anger that coursed through her. She swallowed and forced herself to think the best. If Ida had caretakers, chances were she didn’t have control over her finances and perhaps her sister had held the purse strings—and now her lawyer did the same. “If Ida needs to be in an assisted living facility, should she even be driving?”
“She’s fine to drive, but she needs help with other things. She never learned to cook—and she can take her meals in the dining room with the other residents. The facility also provides cleaning and laundry services.”
“How do you know all this?” Katie asked.
“Well,” she started with an air of superiority, “I cared enough to ask her.”
Katie frowned. She believed Edie, but she wasn’t sure she believed Ida. Then again, was Ida creative enough to lie or at least embellish the truth?
“I’m about at the end of my rope dealing with her. Now I want her out of my parking lot.”
“Her problem is she gets fixated on one thing at a time and can’t focus on anything else. She needs to break out of her shell and try something new. But that isn’t easy for people like Ida.”
“Don’t I know it.” Katie glanced at her watch. “I’d love to chat some more, but I’ve got an appointment in ten minutes. I’d better get moving.”
“I’ll be around for a couple of hours. If you get back before I leave, maybe we can talk some more about the potluck.”
“Sounds like a plan. Talk to you later,” Katie said and hurried for the door.
She exited the Alley via the front entrance and paused to look to her right. Sure enough, Ida still sat under Vance’s awning on a white wicker chair outfitted with an overstuffed cushion. On the small table beside her was a plate of what looked like homemade cookies. Ida wore dark glasses and sipped an expensive iced coffee, looking haughty and regal. Worse, she seemed to have gained several attendants—older ladies dressed in Bermuda shorts and shell tops, wearing tennis shoes and unfriendly expressions. Katie didn’t recognize any of them. Were they Ida’s friends from the senior living complex?
“Look, it’s that mean woman who took Ida’s job away,” one of them shouted, pointing at Katie.
All eyes turned to glare at her, and they began to chant. “Unfair, unfair, unfair!”
Katie turned and hightailed it for her car. She couldn’t deal with Ida then and there, but she’d have to come up with something to get her out of her parking lot and away from Artisans Alley. Did Detective Davenport know a hit man out on parole?
She could but hope.
Nick Farrell had made it to the McKinlay Mill Self-Store facility before Katie. She hadn’t expected him to be alone—figuring that his partner, Don, would accompany him—but instead it was an older woman who sat in the passenger seat of Nick’s car. Katie got out of her Focus and approached Nick’s Explorer, which was still running with the air-conditioning on full blast. He hit the power button and his window rolled down.
“Hi, Katie. I’d like you to meet my aunt, Sally Casey.”
Sally leaned forward and gave a wave. She was dressed all in pink—pink slacks, pink T-shirt covered by a pink jacket. She also wore dangly pink flamingo earrings and a pink sequined hat with a faux blonde ponytail sticking out the back, which did not hide the fact that she’d lost all her own hair, as well as her eyebrows and lashes. She had to be the sick relative Nick had come back to McKinlay Mill to take care of.
Katie gave her a smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, honey,” Sally said with the hint of a Southern drawl and what Katie’s aunt Lizzie would’ve said was a whiskey voice, although Katie would’ve bet the huskiness came from too many cigarettes, not an overindulgence in liquor. “After what I’ve been through, I’m thrilled to meet anybody and everybody.” She laughed. “You better open that storage unit before my nephew here pops a rod with excitement. All he’s done for the last few hours is speculate about your stash of goodies. Open that door so he’ll shut the hell up.”
She was Sassy Sally, all right, but Katie had a feeling she would like the old gal.
“I have not,” Nick said in defense, but his ears were going pink.
“Yes, ma’am,” Katie said, and crossed over to the locked entrance. She swiped her key card through the scanner and the gate obligingly opened. She waved Nick through and got back in her own car, scooting through just before the electronic gateway swung shut once again. Inching her car past his, she drove down the narrow strip of asphalt until she came to her own garage door.
The sun beat down on her as she unlocked the unit, pushing the door up to reveal the contents. Nick hit the control that rolled down all the windows in his car before turning off the engine. “Are you sure you won’t get too hot, Aunt Sally?”
“Honey, this heat wave has been a godsend for me. I’ve been freezing my patootie off for weeks. Now get out of this car and satisfy your curiosity before you have a stroke.”
It didn’t take any more encouragement for Nick to hop out of the car, excited as a kid on Christmas morning. His fists were balled, no doubt in an effort to keep from wringing them, and he failed to keep the excitement out of his voice as he asked Katie, “Where do we start?”
She waved a hand in the direction of the open garage. “Go at it. Feel free to bring the stuff out in the open for a better look, if you like.”
Nick practically leapt into the unit and Katie circled around to stand by his car.
Sally shook her head and tut-tutted. “Pitiful, isn’t he?”
“I think it’s rather cute. I felt the same way when I collected all this stuff.”
“You poor little thing. Nick told me a little about your situation. It must break your heart to have to part with all your booty.”
Katie managed a halfhearted laugh. “You don’t know the half of it. But…I can’t use it and Nick and Don can. Maybe we’ll all be happy. I did choose it all to fill that house. That’s where it belongs.”
Both women looked up as Nick hollered, “Ye-ha!” from inside the unit.
Again Sally shook her head. “Pathetic.”
Katie laughed.
“Honey, why don’t you come and get out of the sun and sit in the backseat. I’ve got a feeling that boy is
going to be in there for a while. I wouldn’t want you to keel over from heatstroke.”
“Gladly,” Katie agreed, then opened the door and hopped inside the car.
There was something about Sally that looked familiar. “Have we met before?” Katie asked.
Sally shook her head, her faux ponytail bouncing. “I don’t think so. But I visit Victoria Square quite a bit, including Artisans Alley. Great place to find unique Christmas gifts.”
It was then Katie remembered where she’d seen Sally. The Carol Channing look-alike at Gilda’s Gourmet Baskets on Monday afternoon.
“From the sound of your voice, I take it you’re not from around here.”
Sally shook her head. “I’m originally from bluegrass country. My sister married Nicholas’s Yankee daddy and I wasn’t about to let her come up here all on her lonesome, so I jumped on a Greyhound and…well, I just never left—even after Lucy died.” She sighed, her mouth drooping.
“Are you sorry now?” Katie asked.
“Hell, no. And I’m tickled pink”—she plucked at the shoulder of her T-shirt—“that Nicholas and Don decided to come back to McKinlay Mill. I’m just sorry they had to come back to take care of me.” She shrugged. “Nicholas assured me he was sick of the big city—and who could blame him? So…I’m pretending it was the idea of opening the inn that lured him back, not my lung cancer.”
So that was her problem.
“I understand you and Seth Landers are friends,” Sally said. “What a good boy he is. Like a member of our family. His daddy was my lawyer, and now he is, too.”
“I like to think of him as the big brother I never had,” Katie agreed.
Sally looked toward the storage unit as another whoop of joy burst forth. She shook her head yet again, beaming with pride. “I don’t know what I would have done these last couple of months without Nicholas and Don. Nicholas is like my own kid, and it didn’t take much for Don to worm his way into my heart either.”
“You’re lucky to have a great family.”
“And friends,” she added. “Seth made sure my driveway was plowed in the winter and even came over and cut the grass himself a few times. I’ve been pretty sick for a while. Without my boys and Meals on Wheels, I’d have been in a real pickle. I just wasn’t in a position to cook for myself, and they delivered five meals a week. It made a big difference. Of course, now dear Nicholas and Don are here and have been taking care of me for the past two months and cooking up a storm. I feel positively spoiled.”
Meals on Wheels? The words sparked an idea.
“I’ve got a”—Katie hesitated to say the word—“friend who needs to feel useful. Does Meals on Wheels need any volunteers?”
“Heavens, yes. They’re always looking for people to help out. Can your friend drive?”
Katie nodded.
“As long as she’s got a good driving record, they’d probably welcome her with open arms.”
“This friend is in her sixties. Would they think she’s too old to be out there diving meals to seniors?”
“Heavens, no. Most of their volunteers are the able-bodied elderly who want to help out those less fortunate.”
“That’s good to know.”
“The woman who used to visit me said the program has been active in this county since the late 1950s. They were pioneers in delivering food to what they used to call shut-ins.”
“I had no idea,” Katie said.
“Why don’t you ask your friend if she’d be interested in helping out. They really could use her.”
And it would get Ida out of my hair during the week.
Katie laughed. “I just might do that. How do I get in contact with them?”
“You could go online. I know Google is my best friend—except for my darlings, Nicholas and Don,” Sally said and laughed.
Their attention was diverted as Nick dragged out a big, clear, and very dusty plastic tote filled with wrapped items. “I want everything,” he said with delight.
“Are you sure?” Katie asked. “You’ve only been in there five minutes.”
“I know what I like, and so far I’ve liked everything I’ve seen. Now we just have to come to some kind of financial agreement. Will you take fifty?”
Katie blinked. “Dollars?”
“No, grand.”
Katie started. “Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not.”
“No,” Katie blurted. “That’s far too much.”
“Not if everything else is the same quality as what I’ve already seen.”
Katie shook her head. “I’ve got a complete inventory and a bunch of pictures in an envelope in my car. You take them home tonight and study them. Then tomorrow call me and give me a more realistic bid.”
Sally turned around to give Katie a once-over. “Honey, you have to be the worst businesswoman on the face of the planet. Or perhaps the only honest one. Take the money and run,” she advised.
“Not if I want to live with myself,” Katie countered.
“Okay,” Nick agreed. “I’ll come up with a more reasonable offer. But you have to let me repay you for what you’ve spent on the storage of this stuff for the past few years.”
“I might be persuaded to do that,” Katie agreed.
“Can I take this box home with me?” he asked eagerly.
“Sure, why not,” Katie said. It would be better if she didn’t peek at any of the crystal or linens, lest she change her mind and call the whole deal off.
She got out of the car and went back to her own to grab the envelope with the inventory and pictures, handing it over to Nick as soon as he’d lugged the tote into the backseat of his car.
“I’ll study this and call you in the morning, okay?”
“Believe me, I’ll be waiting for the phone to ring.”
Nick’s grin was nearly ear to ear. “If we strike a deal, I’ll have a cashier’s check for you before the end of tomorrow.”
“My customers and vendors will be eternally grateful for the new air conditioner. Just let me close and lock the unit and we’ll head on out.”
She pulled the garage door down, locked it, and then got in her car and started for the exit, surprised she hadn’t been overcome with an overpowering feeling of sadness. It would be freeing to be rid of all that furniture and bric-a-brac—as well as the monthly rental on the storage unit. She could apply that money to the last outstanding loan and maybe have it repaid by the end of the year. And then she could once again start saving for her English Ivy Inn.
“Saft in the head,” Aunt Lizzie would say about her obsession with that dream.
Saft or not, Katie was determined. And isn’t that what a Scot like Aunt Lizzie would expect?
Nineteen
By the time Katie had stopped at the grocery store to buy a jug of iced tea for Vance, and returned to Artisans Alley, Ida and her friends had given up their protest—at least for that day. Katie was sure Ida would return the next morning. She was also sure if she looked up the word “stubborn” in the dictionary that she’d find Ida’s picture there.
Upon entering the Alley, she spied Vance helping a customer, brandished the bottle, and mimed she’d put it in the vendors’ lounge fridge. He nodded, and went back to his work.
Once back in her office, Katie went straight to her computer and Googled “Meals on Wheels,” found a local number, and picked up the phone. In a matter of minutes, she knew everything she needed to know to give her pitch to Ida. Now to convince the woman that the work would be far more fulfilling and necessary than taping down sales tags—something Katie hadn’t been able to do in the past.
No sooner had she put the receiver back in its cradle than the phone rang again. She picked it up. “Artisans Alley. This is Katie. How can I help you?”
“If you can don an apron and grab a paring knife, you can help me with dinner tomorrow night.”
“Seth, is that you?”
“Of course. We talked about cooking together this week and I was hoping
you were free tomorrow night.”
“Let me check my calendar.” She gazed over the whiteboard calendar that hung on the back wall of her office. It was filled with Artisans Alley’s goings-on, but nothing of a personal nature. “It just so happens I do have a few hours free. Shall I pencil you in?”
“If you would,” he said with amusement in his voice.
“What are we having? Can I bring anything?”
“You don’t have to bring anything, and it’ll be a surprise. It’ll be a surprise because I haven’t figured out what I’m going to throw on the grill yet. But it will be meat.”
“Ooh, you sure know how to impress a girl. Meat. Hmm. Will you be inviting Nick and Don?”
“Maybe another time. This night is just for us.”
“And you make me feel special, too.”
“What are big brothers for?”
“Well, don’t plan any dessert. I’ll bring something.”
“Sounds good to me. Come on over around six.”
“See you then.” They hung up.
Katie sat back in her chair. Seth was a pie lover, and the local orchard had had a bumper crop of cherries this year. She’d buy some and make a cherry pie from scratch. It was a lot of work to stone the cherries, but what else did she have to do that evening? She’d bake the pie in the morning before it got too hot, and put it in her fridge after it cooled. She’d take it out just before she left and was sure it would be room temperature by the time she drove over to Seth’s place.
With that decision made, Katie decided it was time to do some real work. But as usual, before she could pull out the stack of bills that needed to be paid, someone else knocked on her doorjamb. “Katie?”
It was silver-haired Joan McDonald, a woman of about sixty who made and sold primitive-looking figurines of clay. Her booth was up in the loft, the hottest place in all of Artisans Alley.
“I know what you’re going to say. That it’s very hot up in the loft.”
“Yes, it is. Rose told me there’s not much you can do about it without a big influx of money. But that’s not why I’m here. It’s…the smell.”
“Smell?” Katie asked. She didn’t like the sound of this. Joan nodded. “Any idea what’s causing this odor?” Please, don’t let it be a rat that burrowed in and died in one of the walls, Katie pleaded to herself. She couldn’t deal with that, although maybe Vance could. He was usually willing to take on whatever dirty work Katie couldn’t handle herself.
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