“I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do. Sometimes clients confess things I’d really rather not hear. They ask for my advice. I have to give it, and I have to keep my mouth shut about it.”
“Especially if what they tell you is illegal?”
He shrugged. “It’s a slippery slope.”
“Could whatever you know be relevant to the death at Wood U?” she asked.
“No.”
Who in McKinlay Mill—possibly someone right on Victoria Square—could have told Seth something in confidence? Dennis? His killer? Someone Katie hadn’t even suspected of the killing? Had Jerry Murphy ever contacted Seth?
It was circular thinking. Far better to concentrate on making the salad…among other things. “If it makes you feel any better, I forgive you,” she said.
“For what?”
“Not telling me who bought Wood U and the Webster mansion.” She sighed. “And I think I’m a step closer to closure on The English Ivy Inn.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad to hear that. You’ve tortured yourself over it for far too long.”
“I’ve been vacillating about fixing the air-conditioning in Artisans Alley. It costs so much money and I’m desperate to get out of debt. But today one of my vendors took a nosedive because of the heat. Vance found her in her booth passed out. What if she’d fallen? What if she’d broken a bone or, worse, fractured her skull?”
“I take it that didn’t happen.”
“No, but it could have.”
“And how have you solved the problem?”
Katie sighed. “I’m selling everything I collected for The English Ivy Inn to your friend Nick.”
Seth let out a long breath. “I never told him you had the stuff.”
“I’m sorry to say for a moment there I thought you might have, but I suppose it must have been one of the other merchants who spilled the beans.”
Seth shook his head and continued to tear the lettuce.
“Nick offered me an outrageous amount of money and I told him to get back to me tomorrow when he’d gotten over his initial glee. You should have seen him—like a kid with a new bike on Christmas morning.”
“You’re a good person, Katie.”
She shook her head. “I just want fair market value.”
Seth smiled. “You’re still a good person.”
Katie reached for another stalk of celery and started chopping once again. She had a lot to get off her chest, and she wanted to do it in an orderly manner. “Nick told me how you kept Dennis Wheeler from picking on him when you were both in high school.”
“Someone needed to. The problem with a bullying teacher is they teach their students that it’s okay to pick on their targeted victim. I wasn’t going to let that happen to Nick.”
“You’re a good person, too,” Katie said and laughed. But her smile soon waned. “I’m sorry to say Dennis continued to pick on students for the rest of his career. Including Andy, and just recently one of the boys who works in his shop.”
“The kid who was arrested for arson?” Seth guessed.
Katie nodded. “Abby Wheeler told me that Dennis’s father used to ridicule him. Maybe he associated that behavior with love, although she also said he never wanted to have children.”
“Smart move on his part. Children often emulate what they learned from their parents, be it bad behavior, crappy parenting, or repeating the patterns of domestic abuse. Abby came to see me a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh?” Katie asked.
“I can’t tell you what we talked about, but I’m sure you can probably guess.”
“Let’s see…her bullying husband just retired from his day job. That would mean he was going to be underfoot twenty-four/seven. And maybe that didn’t appeal to the lady?”
“I won’t tell,” Seth said, and ripped another piece of lettuce.
“I visited Abby the other day at her house. Talk about weird. She had the AC set so low I wouldn’t have been surprised to see my breath vaporize.”
“It’s been hot—but not that hot,” Seth said.
Katie shrugged. “She said she gets hot flashes.”
Seth laughed. “Of course, maybe she’s got a body in the basement and she’s trying to keep it from rotting.”
Katie stopped chopping and caught Seth’s gaze. “Ya think?”
“I’m joking,” he said.
“I’m not. One of the very first things Detective Davenport asked me was about the state of the Wheelers’ marriage. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it because I really didn’t know either of them. And while Abby was terribly upset the night of the fire, she seemed to have gotten over it by the time I spoke to her again on Wednesday.”
“Gotten over it? I don’t think so. Maybe gotten used to the idea,” Seth suggested.
Katie shook her head.
“The outside of the house was messy. The yard hadn’t been tended to, paint peeled around the doorway. But the inside was immaculate. Like she’d spent a lot of time scrubbing.”
“Maybe she was bored. Maybe she needed to work out her anxiety by cleaning. When my mother got out the silver polish, Dad and I knew it was time to vanish—at least for a few hours. That’s how I ended up taking up golf.”
“Oh, come on now. Isn’t it a prerequisite for being a lawyer?” Katie said, but she wasn’t finished with speculating about Abby Wheeler. “What if Abby had something she had to clean up? Say bloodstains from a very messy death. Say a death caused by a shot from a Magnum handgun.”
“And just who did she kill? The Sheriff’s Office hasn’t established who died at Wood U.”
“I’ve got two likely candidates.”
“Her husband, and who else?”
“The Big Brown delivery guy. And now he’s suddenly retired—via e-mail. If that doesn’t sound suspicious, I don’t know what does.”
“It’s unorthodox, but not impossible,” Seth said.
“And get this, he reserved two Amtrak tickets for Monday that were never used. Tickets for Florida.”
“And that’s significant because?” Seth asked.
“What if he and Abby were going to take that trip together? And what if something came up that interrupted their plans? Something like a jealous husband.”
“Okay, now you’re getting my attention.”
“I’m guessing Abby came to talk to you about representing her in a divorce case.”
“I don’t handle divorces.”
“But I’ll bet you know plenty of other attorneys who do.”
“I’ll take the fifth on that one—or at least, part of that hypothesis.”
“Aha!” Katie said with delight.
“What else do you have on the woman?”
Katie’s amusement faded. “Nothing, I’m afraid, but don’t you think it makes sense?”
“No, I don’t.”
But Katie wasn’t listening. “I wonder if I should visit her again. By now the corpse has got to be stinking pretty badly—air-conditioning or not.”
“You’re not going to visit her. If you really believe in this demented theory of yours, call Detective Davenport.”
“He’s off the case. And for good reason, as you well know.”
“Well, then, whoever has taken over for him.”
“And is he likely to listen to me? He doesn’t know me.”
“Call Detective Davenport. If you don’t, I will,” he threatened.
“He’d blow me off, too. Even if we have sort of been working together on this one.”
“If you’ve been working together, then he’s not going to blow you off. And if Abby did kill Dennis—or her supposed lover, and why would she do that anyway?—it wouldn’t be wise or safe for you to confront her.”
“I wouldn’t confront her. I just want to go into her house and take the sniff test.”
“I forbid you to do that.”
“You can’t forbid me to do anything.”
“Oh ye
s I can. When I signed on to be your surrogate big brother, I took the role seriously.”
Katie glared at him.
“I’ll tell Andy,” he said with menace.
“That’s a low blow—pulling the boyfriend card.”
“You know as well as I do he wouldn’t let you talk to Abby Wheeler either. And about what? A couple of guesses about her supposed bad marriage and a man who may or may not have been her lover.”
“Gilda said Jerry Murphy was a terrible flirt. Don’t you think a woman with a rotten husband might be susceptible to the guy’s charm?”
“Maybe. But you don’t know if they were even acquainted.”
“Everybody on the Square knew Jerry.”
“Did you?”
“Enough to say hello,” she admitted. “And there’s more. Ray told me that Jerry’s car was found submerged in the Erie Canal. The plates were missing. They had to identify it by the VIN number.”
“So now you’re on a first-name basis with Detective Davenport?”
“If he’s going to be a member of the Merchants Association, it makes sense.”
“I guess. Was there a body behind the wheel of Murphy’s car?”
“Not that Ray mentioned. He didn’t say they were going to drag the canal, so I’m assuming someone dumped it there. And why couldn’t that person be Abby Wheeler?”
“It could have been the Easter Bunny for all you know.”
“Don’t you see, everything fits.”
“No, it doesn’t. You’re taking a lot of unrelated circumstances and trying to cram them together to make a finished jigsaw puzzle.”
“Was I wrong about who killed Ezra Hilton?”
“No. But you could’ve been killed—and someone else was shot. And you didn’t even confront that killer—who came after you.”
Katie shrugged.
“What have you got to lose by calling Davenport? What’s the rush? Do you think Abby’s going to skip town? The murder happened seven days ago and she’s still right here in the village. She either thinks she got away with it, or she thinks she has something to gain by staying.”
“And what would that be?”
“The appearance of innocence.”
Katie looked down at Seth’s hands, which had mangled the lettuce. “I’ll bet you’re good in court.”
“You don’t want to find out,” he said with the hint of an edge to his voice.
Katie rescued the lettuce and inspected it for anything edible. There wasn’t much. She tossed the good stuff into the bowl. “Jerry Murphy is only one of the probable victims.”
“That’s right, you haven’t mentioned Dennis Wheeler.”
“Yes, and while it’s possible Abby killed him, too…I think there’s another just as viable suspect. And you aren’t going to like my theory.”
“Oh?” Seth said, and picked up the onion to slice it.
“I had a long talk with Sally Casey this morning at the diner. She told me how Nick’s parents abandoned him when they found out he was gay. And that when he came out to someone he thought of as a mentor, that mentor turned against him.”
Seth let out a long breath, his expression turned to despair. “You got it. Nick did talk to Wheeler about it. The guys used to tease him because Wheeler gave him special treatment since he took to the subject better than anyone else. Nick thought of Wheeler as a mentor, but he turned on the poor kid when Nick admitted he like guys better than girls.”
“Poor Nick.”
“Don’t tell me you think Nick might have killed Wheeler, because there’s just no way.”
“Actually, I think Sally did it.”
Seth dropped the knife. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
Katie shook her head. “She told me she’s dying. She told me she’d do anything for Nick. She knew he’d see Wood U from the inn on a daily basis. She didn’t know it had been sold. What if she thought the sight of that store—and knowing that Dennis would be there every day—might be psychologically detrimental to Nick? Someone who felt suicidal after coming out to the bully who then picked on him mercilessly.”
Seth stared at the counter as though it weren’t there.
Katie went on. “You told me yourself she can handle guns. I admit, a Magnum is pretty heavy, but maybe that’s why she chose to use it. She wanted to obliterate the man who’d caused her darling Nicholas so much pain, and make sure—with one shot—that he’d never harm anyone else again.”
Seth still said nothing, his expression blank.
“Sally knew that even if she did get caught, the consequences were nil. She’s dying anyway. She wouldn’t spend years in prison. And the most compelling thing she told me was that she has no regrets. None.”
Finally Seth heaved a big sigh. He opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it and frowned.
“How well do you know Sally?” Katie asked, hoping she hadn’t just lost a friend by explaining her theory.
“Pretty well.”
“Is she capable of murder?”
“I don’t know. But you’re right about one thing, she would do just about anything she could to protect Nick.”
“And that might—just might—include murder?” Katie asked.
Seth finally looked up, his gaze piercing. “I don’t think you should say anything about this to anyone, least of all your new friend Detective Davenport.”
“That’s the thing…I like Sally. A lot. I understand the fierce devotion she feels toward Nick, and I don’t get the sense that she has ever done anything like this in her life.”
“You’ve got that right. She’s the kindest woman I’ve ever known.”
“I won’t say anything to Ray about it, and just hope I can live with myself for keeping such a terrible secret.”
“You don’t know if it’s the truth. You have no proof. You’re just taking a wild guess.”
“And what if Sally comes to you to confess her sin of murder so that she can die with an easier conscience? What would you do?”
“I hope I never have to face that situation. What about your other theory?”
“I suppose I could call Ray. Just to get his feedback.”
Seth pointed to the wall phone across the kitchen. “Be my guest.”
Katie crossed the room, lifted the receiver, and punched in Davenport’s number, which she’d by now memorized. It went straight to voice mail. Well, what had she expected? He was probably having dinner with his daughters. “Ray, it’s Katie Bonner. I’ve got an idea on who killed Jerry Murphy and why. Give me a call if you want to talk about it. You can catch me via my cell phone.” She hung up.
“Why didn’t you just tell him you suspect Abby?” Seth asked.
“And let him get the jump on having her arrested? Uh-uh.”
“Unless she makes a full confession, the cops will have to do more than just suspect she’s involved. They need proof before they can arrest her. They need evidence the DA can convict her on, and hearsay—from you—isn’t going to cut it.”
“You’re probably right. But I’ve got a stake in this. Jerry served all of Victoria Square. As head of the Merchants Association, I feel I need to find out what happened to him,” she said.
Seth shook his head. “You, my love, are certifiable.”
“Maybe,” she conceded. “Now, let’s hurry up and get those steaks on the grill. Ray might call at any minute, and I might have to leave.”
“What for?”
“To talk to him. He might want to go and confront Abby.”
Seth shook his head. “He’s been removed from the case. He can’t confront her.”
“Then I suppose it’ll be up to Detective Hamilton,” she grumbled. “But Ray said the guy moves at glacial speed. Abby could take off—be long gone—before he gets around to catching her.”
“If—and that’s a pretty damn big if—she’s guilty of anything other than being a grieving widow. Now, can we finish this salad and go sit with a nice soothing glass of wine? I don’t know about you, b
ut after this conversation, I need it.”
“Great. We’ll drink to me solving at least one of these cases.”
He shook his head. “Oh no we won’t. We’ll drink to anything but that.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Spoiled brat,” Seth countered.
Katie squinted at him. “You know, you are starting to sound like my big brother.”
Davenport did not call. At least, not while Katie was at Seth’s house. Maybe he’d gone out to dinner with his girls to celebrate his last day of work. Or maybe his workmates—those who might be on duty during his party—had taken him out for a drink to toast his retirement.
Katie returned to her apartment, changed clothes, and went back down the stairs to hang out with Andy and his boys at the pizzeria.
“Hey, Katie,” Keith called from his station at the ovens. During the summer, he seemed to work just about every night. But then he was saving up for college.
“I thought you might need a hand tonight,” Katie said when Andy got off the phone from taking an order.
“We’re swamped. If you could take the orders, it would save me from peeling off my gloves every time the phone rings.”
“Be glad to,” she said, and stationed herself next to the wall phone, which promptly rang. She grabbed the pencil that hung from a string and jotted down the order on the pad that was attached to the wall. She hung up, ripped off the top sheet, and handed it to Andy, who gave her a smile.
“We work like a well-oiled machine.”
“Better than a clunky one that breaks down,” she said and laughed.
“How did your dinner with Seth go?” he asked, and handed off a finished pizza to Keith before starting another.
“Great. We had some very interesting conversations…about murder.”
“I don’t think I want to hear about it,” Andy said with a frown.
“Don’t worry, this isn’t the place to discuss it,” she said, eyeing Keith, who seemed more interested in the radio that blasted from the back of the shop. “Maybe we can share a couple of beers after you close.”
“Do you really want to stay up that late the night before your big party?”
“Party?” she asked, confused. And then she remembered. “Oh, yeah. The potluck tomorrow night. Pooh—I forgot all about it.”
“Is that wishful thinking?”
One Hot Murder Page 24
