A Crafty Killing

by Lorraine Bartlett

  Once Chad had left her, Katie spent many a lonely evening baking her great-aunt’s favorite recipes. She enjoyed the process of carefully measuring the ingredients, and beating the batters by hand with an old wooden spoon. The problem was, she couldn’t possibly eat the bounty of cookies, cakes, and quick breads. Her boss, Josh, had been the happy, although not necessarily grateful, recipient of all those sweets, so it was with real pleasure that Katie baked a batch of her Aunt Lizzie’s shortbread for the vendors at Artisans Alley.

  The building felt cold and damp on Sunday morning, as though it had reverted to the apple warehouse it had once been. Katie didn’t know enough about the old building’s mechanics to even attempt to coax more heat out of the mishmash of blowers and machinery. And she wasn’t sure she could afford the extra gas ... or did it run on oil or electricity? Maybe she shouldn’t bother, hoping that lights and the customers’ body heat would warm the place. She sighed. She still had a lot to learn about Artisans Alley.

  She set the plate of shortbread on the table in the center of the vendors’ lounge, and made a fresh pot of coffee so that all would be ready by the time the day’s workers arrived. She unlocked the side door—what she now thought of as the employee entrance—and headed for the cash desks up front. A glance at Ezra’s work schedule on the cash desk confirmed that six of the Alley’s artists had signed up to work that day. Ezra had devised a good system to staff Artisans Alley. Each vendor worked four days a month—that way Ezra didn’t have to pay wages and worry about payroll taxes—but six didn’t seem nearly enough for a building of this size. She’d have to rethink that strategy, and quickly, too, as she’d need to worry about staffing the place for November and the holidays to come.

  As the clock ticked toward the 10 A.M. opening, Katie was still the only one on the premises. She could run a cash register if she had to, but doing that, plus walking security, in addition to attending to matters in the office, was more than one person could reasonably do. If no one showed up by ten fifteen, she might have to close.

  She couldn’t afford to do that either. You didn’t make money with the doors locked tight.

  “Anybody here?” called a familiar voice from the vicinity of the side, employee entrance.

  Katie looked up. “Rose, is that you?”

  “Katie?”

  At least Rose had decided not to address Katie so formally. “Mrs. Bonner” reminded her of Chad’s late mother, who hadn’t been the nicest, friendliest woman. Like the worst fictional mothers-in-law, Mrs. Bonner had believed no woman was good enough for her son—especially Katie. And Mrs. Bonner—she’d never even asked Katie to call her by her first name, let alone “Mom”—had made it clear minutes after Chad’s funeral service that she wanted nothing more to do with Katie.

  The night that followed had been the loneliest night of Katie’s life.

  Rose appeared around the corner and strode up to the counter, untying her kerchief as she approached. “Good morning, Katie. Isn’t it a lovely day?” she asked cheerfully. “I’ll hang up my coat and be right with you.”

  Heartened by Rose’s greeting, Katie parked herself by the cash desk, firing up the computer and making sure that there was change in the cash drawer to start the business day. She needed to get another roll of quarters for Register 1, she reminded herself. And she still hadn’t called the security company to learn the combination of the safe. That would have to wait until Monday. Yet another item on her ever-growing to-do list.

  Rose trundled back up to the register, decked out in a brown skirt suit with amber beaded jewelry adorning her ears, neck, and wrist. Katie also noticed the steamy romance novel Rose clutched in her hand.

  Rose blushed. “Romance novels are my sin. Since my Howard died, they’re my only vice.”

  Katie smiled. “Maybe I should try them.” She winced as her voice cracked on the last word.

  Rose’s lips trembled as she patted Katie’s hand. “A pretty girl like you doesn’t need to worry. You’ll find another someone. You have a long life ahead of you.”

  A long, lonely life, Katie thought, then shook her head to banish such thoughts from her mind.

  Setting her book down, Rose rubbed her hands. Artisans Alley wasn’t exactly toasty warm first thing in the morning. “Boy, it’s cold in here today.”

  “And I know nothing about powering up the heating system,” Katie admitted.

  “Vance will take care of it when he gets in,” Rose assured her.

  “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

  Rose sighed. “His wife, Janey, has multiple sclerosis. Lately it seems her bad days outnumber the good, or so I’ve heard.”

  Katie tried to squelch her irritation at Vance, reminding herself she wasn’t the only person on the planet with problems.

  “I’m surprised Ida hasn’t shown up. At least I didn’t see her coat hanging in the tag room,” Rose said.

  Ida-with-the-giant-wart. Much as she tried not to think of the woman that way, Katie just couldn’t help herself. “Does she come in every day?”

  Rose nodded. “Most days.” She leaned in and spoke conspiratorially. “Ezra let her slide when it came to paying her rent.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I can tell you, that’s caused hard feelings among more than a few of the artists.”

  Especially you? Katie wondered, but somehow refrained from saying it aloud. “I can understand that. But Ezra’s gone now. If Artisans Alley is to stay afloat, everyone has to pull his or her financial weight. Including Ida.”

  “That won’t go over well. The woman has more than one screw loose. I try not to talk to her because she talks in circles. It’s maddening.”

  Katie shook her head, trying to suppress a grin. “Duly noted.” She glanced at her watch. “Showtime.” With her key ring in hand, Katie headed for Artisans Alley’s main entrance.

  Several people stood outside the door, waiting to enter, including a woman Katie recognized from the previous morning. Repeat customers were always good for business.

  Katie unlocked the door and welcomed her customers before returning to the cash desks. “Do you think you can handle things here, Rose? I have some work I need to get done in the office.”

  “If I have a problem, I’ll call you on the PA. Besides, Cheryl and Gail will be here in a few minutes—church services end at ten thirty. They’re always late, but they will be here.”

  Katie nodded, took a step toward the office, then hesitated. “Thank you, Rose. For being here,” she said, suddenly flustered. “You’ve already worked more than your scheduled hours, and from what I understand, you’ve been doing it for a long time now.” She didn’t have to elaborate just where she’d gotten that piece of information.

  “I told you, Artisans Alley is like my second home. The people here are like family to me. Now you’re a part of our family, and we’ll take care of you, too.”

  A smile tugged at Katie’s lips. “Thanks, Rose.”

  Feeing just a bit more secure, Katie headed back to the office, opened the door, and turned on the light to find the room knee-deep in paper. Every file cabinet and desk drawer had been dumped. A gale gusted through the broken window over the desk.

  “Oh no,” she groaned, her stomach flip-flopping as adrenaline coursed through her. First Ezra, now this!

  Katie swallowed. “I will not cry,” she commanded herself, and took a deep breath. “I will not cry,” she repeated. Instead, she bit her lip, turned on her heel, and made her way back to the front of the store and the wall phone near the cash registers.

  Rose stood behind the counter, her nose already buried in her novel. It was too early for any sales to be rung up. She looked up. “Is something wrong?”

  Katie nodded and, hands shaking, picked up the phone, punching in 911.

  “I’d like to report a break-in.”

  “Is anything missing?”

  Sunday was apparently Detective Davenport’s day off, so he’d taken his time to arrive at Artisans Alley. In c
ontrast, Deputy Schuler had arrived only minutes after Katie reported the crime. The younger officer wasn’t happy when she’d refused to close Artisans Alley, so he stood guard over Ezra’s office, detouring any curious customers who ventured too close.

  “Since I didn’t know what was in the files to begin with, and I couldn’t touch the mess until you got here—how would I know if anything’s missing?” she asked tartly.

  Detective Davenport’s glare could have blistered paint. Katie refused to be intimidated.

  He watched the tech team dust the room for fingerprints. “Once they finish, you can go through everything and attempt an inventory.”

  Swell.

  “Have you gotten any further with Ezra’s murder investigation?” Katie asked.

  Davenport gave her a long, level stare. “I’m making progress. I’ll let you know if anything develops in the way of fingerprints,” he said, nodding at the tech still at work.

  “Thank you,” Katie said politely—albeit through clenched teeth.

  Davenport gave her a curt nod and headed for the exit.

  “Wait a minute!” Katie said, hurrying to keep up with him. “Aren’t you going to speak to the vendors who are here? They might know something that happened the day—night—Ezra was murdered.”

  Davenport didn’t slow his pace. “I’ve got a timetable for doing that, and it’s not on my list of things to do today,” he said over his shoulder.

  “How about the robbery angle? Did you find any fingerprints on the cash drawer?” Katie asked.

  “Only the victim’s.”

  Katie walked double time to keep up. “How about the murder weapon? Any ideas on what the killer hit Ezra with?”

  Davenport exhaled, irritation causing the wrinkles on his brow to deepen. “No, ma’am, and I wouldn’t be at liberty to discuss it with you if I did.”

  “Just what is the county paying you for, Detective?” Katie said, losing her patience.

  Davenport stopped, pivoting to face her—his expression a scowl. “Today they’re not paying me anything. If you’ll excuse me,” he said and continued for the exit.

  Deputy Schuler caught up with Katie. “I’ll be leaving, too, ma’ am. You might want to call your security firm to get the windows wired. Right now only the doors are covered. It’s a big hole in your security.”

  “I’ve already called them. They’ll come by sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ve got to get the glass replaced.” She walked him to the exit.

  “Detective Davenport will never win any personality contests,” Schuler said, “but he is good at his job. And he’s had a hard time lately—at home.”

  Katie refrained from commenting. With such an abrasive personality, Katie could well understand it.

  “I know you want Mr. Hilton’s murderer found, but you’d be better off letting us handle it,” Schuler added.

  “Are you saying I shouldn’t ask questions?” Katie asked.

  The deputy frowned. “A man has already been murdered. And when someone has killed once, it’s easier the second time. I’d sure hate to think your curiosity might cause you to be the killer’s next victim.”

  Six

  No mob of customers crowded Artisans Alley’s aisles as they had the day before. Still, Katie got the impression that those who had crossed the county to shop there weren’t exactly regulars either.

  With the deputies now gone, things had definitely settled down and no doubt the sold-out Buffalo Bills game had influenced a number of potential customer/rubberneckers to park their bodies in front of their TVs rather than park their cars in Victoria Square’s lot.

  Vance hadn’t shown up, so it was up to Katie to fumble with printer glitches and all the other mundane problems that arose that morning.

  Long after the midday rush, Rose assured Katie everything was under control. With that in mind, Katie figured she could risk taking an extended break.

  She snuck out of Artisans Alley’s back entrance and threaded her way through the cars in Victoria Square’s parking lot, heading for Tea and Tasties. When the heavenly scent of baking met her halfway, she breathed deeply and quickened her pace.

  The brunch crowd was long gone and the shop’s front door was locked. The darkened storefront looked anything but welcoming, but a car parked at the side of the building told her that someone was still inside. Katie went around to the back of the store and knocked on the door marked DELIVERIES.

  Wiping her damp palms on the back of her jeans, Katie rocked on her heels, waiting for someone to answer. Over the years she’d lost contact with old friends. Thanks to their full-time jobs, Katie’s schoolwork, and Chad’s booth at Artisans Alley, the couple had scant time to build or maintain outside friendships. Since Chad’s death, Katie had occupied herself working long hours at Kimper Insurance with little time for anything else—with the exception of her baking hobby, that is. Now, when she really needed it, her support system was definitely lacking. Had Tracy’s invitation the evening before only been polite conversation? The thought depressed her.

  Finally the door rattled open. Mary Elliott greeted her, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hello, Katie. Tracy said you might stop by, but we were expecting you much sooner.”

  “I was detained,” Katie said simply, grateful for the cheerful welcome.

  Mary frowned. “Yes, we saw the police cars. Please, come in.”

  Katie stepped into the cocoon of warm air, her eyes wide with envy as she took in the banks of ovens on the far wall. The kitchen’s center island workstation contained sacks of opened flour and sugar, bowls of separated eggs, and tubs of spices. Despite the chaos of the work area, the rest of the room was spotless. A rack of trays stood nearby, filled with fresh-baked cookies. Envy burned within her. Oh, if she could only have such a wonderful kitchen to bake in.

  “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Katie said, and took in yet another deep lungful of the heavenly aromas.

  Mary pursed her lips, swallowing. Katie had forgotten the poor woman had found Ezra’s body just two days before. Swallowing down guilt, and not wanting to bring more attention to her stupid remark, she asked for Tracy.

  Mary stepped over to the wall and pressed a button. A harsh bell sounded in some other part of the converted house. Moments later Tracy appeared, dressed in tight jeans, a bulky blue sweater, and black suede high-heeled boots, looking comfortable, yet smart. “Glad you could make it, Katie. Have you had lunch?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, no. And after everything that happened this morning, I could sure use a pick-me-up.” Did that sound like too blatant a plea for a freebie? And truthfully, Katie felt that a shot of whiskey was more likely to hit the spot, but she didn’t voice the idea.

  “You’re in the right place for tea and sympathy,” Tracy said, her voice welcoming. “Come on into the shop.”

  “Put the kettle on, Tracy. The walnut scones will be out of the oven in a few minutes,” Mary said, and went back to her work.

  Mary had been occupied with customers the day before, so Katie had only told her about the vendors’ meeting before hurrying on to Nona Fiske’s quilt shop. Now she had a real opportunity to study the shop, and was absolutely delighted. Several small tables, with seating for two or four, lined the west wall. Linen-covered, each table held a bud vase with a pink or red carnation and a spray of baby’s breath. The opposite wall housed a large refrigerated case, filled with all sorts of tempting sweets, a counter, and a lovely antique cash register. Dainty rose-patterned wallpaper decorated the walls, with a teacup border edging the ceiling. An old oak schoolhouse clock told Katie it was already after three. Shelf upon shelf of floral teapots and matching cups or mugs, tea cozies, and toast racks were available for sale, as were the packages of imported blended teas Tracy had mentioned the day before.

  “The scuttlebutt is Artisans Alley had a break-in overnight,” Tracy said, and moved behind the counter.

  “That’s true. My office was ransacked. There’s no telling if the burg
lar found what he was looking for.”

  “This is getting downright scary. That’s why I insisted on being here this afternoon. I don’t want Mom working here alone anymore.” Tracy sighed. “Do you have a tea preference?”

  Katie shook her head. “Anything’s fine.”

  Tracy grabbed a teapot from one of the shelves. “How about Earl Grey? It’s my favorite.”

  Katie nodded, taking in the soothing atmosphere, something she’d hoped to convey if or when she opened the English Ivy Inn. “Your shop is lovely. It makes me want to pull out my checkbook and buy everything in sight.”

  Tracy smiled. “That’s just the ambiance we’d hoped for.”

  “Of course, the reality is—” Katie started.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Tracy said. “Discretionary spending has been on the wane for a long while now. That’s why Mom still takes on the occasional catering order. She’s working on one now. We had a rough first year, but we’re already pulling in a modest profit. I’m praying that continues.”

  Was that yet another veiled reminder that Victoria Square’s merchants were dependent on Artisans Alley for their survival?

  Katie took a seat and stared at the linen tabletop. “By any chance do you have time to listen to a sob story?”

  Tracy’s smile was warm. “All the time you need.”

  While Tracy made the tea, Katie poured out her troubles, starting with the break-in, and backtracking to her heated discussion with Gerald Hilton the evening before. She even told Tracy about her job at Kimper Insurance, and how unhappy she was with the way Josh treated her.

  Tracy served the steaming brew in delicate, primrose-patterned bone china cups. “Sorry about your day job, and it sounds like Gerald hasn’t got a leg to stand on. Serves him right for being so mean to the artists.”

  Mary joined them, bringing in a tray laden with still-warm scones piled on a three-tiered plate, sweet butter, raspberry jam, and clotted cream to the table. She served, placing a paper-doily-covered plate before each of them.