Ezra’s office may have been untidy, but on each of his archived boxes he’d recorded, in his precise handwriting, the nature and date of the receipts. Katie selected the one that held receipts for the previous three months and took it downstairs.
She set it on the recliner seat and tugged at the strip of strapping tape that kept it closed. It came off in a sticky curl that she shook from her hand.
Something hit her from behind, nearly knocking her from her feet. A tangle of furry legs and a tail tried to steady itself on her shoulder.
“Good Lord!” Katie gasped, her hands flying back to stabilize the cat, who, despite its precarious position, did not sink its claws into her skin. Intent on the tape, the cat jumped down to the chair.
“Oh no you don’t,” Katie said, grabbing the tape and rolling it into a ball, stuffing it into her jacket pocket. The cat hopped onto the armrest, looking for its now-missing prize, and then jumped onto the back of the chair.
Katie glanced up at the empty topmost shelf on the floor-to-ceiling bookcase. The cat must have leaped down from there. Had Ezra trained it to land on his shoulder?
She turned her attention back to the box, picking up a fat envelope from Ezra’s bank, thumbing through the pages, which listed only the check numbers and amounts. Too bad banks no longer returned the cashed checks themselves; otherwise she would’ve had an opportunity to examine the signatures on the back. She still hadn’t had an opportunity to go online to look—but what a time sink that would be.
Replacing the envelopes, she folded in the carton flaps. The cat was no longer on the chair. Katie looked up to see it sitting high atop the bookshelf.
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
The cat closed its eyes, opened its mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It looked smug.
Grabbing the box, Katie headed for the kitchen. She heard a dull thunk from the living room, and before she’d grabbed her purse and keys from the counter, the cat was winding around her ankles, as though begging her to stay.
“Sorry—I gotta go, little kitty. But I’ll be back to feed you tomorrow.” Somehow she managed to juggle the box, her purse, and her key, and close the door behind her without the cat escaping.
Placing the box in her car trunk, Katie walked around to the driver’s side, noticing for the first time the barn out back. It looked to be in about the same condition as the house. A late-model SUV sat parked next to its main door. Ezra drove a rusty old Chevy station wagon, which was still parked behind Artisans Alley. Yet Katie was sure she’d seen the SUV sitting in the Victoria Square parking lot during the past few days.
Closing her car door, Katie headed for the barn. She stood on tiptoe, and rubbed a hand over one of the dust-caked windows to peek inside. The interior was too dark to see anything clearly. She wandered over to the door. A shiny new lock hung from the hasp.
A heavy hand grasped her shoulder, yanking her around.
“What do you think you’re doing here?”
Heart pounding, Katie tried to catch her breath.
“What am I doing here?” she repeated, staring into the depths of Peter Ashby’s chocolate brown eyes. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“I have a right to be here. I rent the barn from Ezra.”
Katie pulled down on the hem of her jacket, straightening it, trying to regain her composure. “Since I’m in charge of his affairs, I guess you’re now renting it from me. You wouldn’t happen to have a written contract, would you?”
Ashby frowned. “Ezra and I had a verbal agreement. He charged me fifty dollars a month.”
“Why so cheap?” she asked.
“The roof leaks.”
Knowing the state of the house, she didn’t doubt that. Still...
“What are you using the barn for?”
“Storing my merchandise.”
Katie thought about the shiny new lock. “Anything else?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You’re wrong.” She waited, but Ashby didn’t reply. “I’m afraid we’ll have to renegotiate at the end of the month. That is, if you wish to stay,” she said, knowing that only gave Ashby days to make up his mind.
“Hey, what is this? You’re letting low-end crafters in Artisans Alley, and you’re about to jack up the rent, too. You’re a chiseler, lady.”
Katie felt her cheeks flush. “I’m a businesswoman. And if I want to stay in business, I have to charge fair market value for my properties. Including this one.” She jabbed a thumb at the building behind her. “I’ll be in my office at Artisans Alley all day tomorrow if you’d care to discuss it. Otherwise, I’ll give you two weeks to vacate.”
Ashby pivoted, heading for his SUV. “Bitch.”
Katie watched as he got in, started the engine, and left a spray of mud when he spun the tires on the damp earth.
She had acted rather rashly, she reflected, but despite Ashby’s good looks, his bluntness irritated her. Ashby had been the one to advocate charging the crafters more at Saturday’s meeting. And if he could lie about what he paid Ezra for the barn rental, what else was he capable of doing?
The sun was already sinking into the horizon when Katie headed back to town. Besides Nona Fiske and Ezra’s nephew, she’d noticed another person absent from the funeral and reception afterward.
The lights were aglow at Angelo’s Pizzeria. She pushed open the door to the wonderful smells of rising dough, pepperoni, tomato sauce, and melted mozzarella.
Andy Rust paused in his dough throwing, glowering at her—as happy to see Katie as Peter Ashby had been.
“Are we still friends?” Katie asked, keeping her tone light.
Andy didn’t answer, tearing his gaze from her face and riveting his attention on the pizza he was making.
Katie stepped closer to the counter. “I could sure use a friend about now.”
“I had a visit from Detective Davenport last night.” Apparently friendship was the last thing on Andy’s mind.
“Oh?”
“You sent him.”
“I didn’t. But I felt I had to tell him about you and your pet project.”
“And I told you my boys weren’t responsible for Ezra Hilton’s death,” Andy grated.
Katie saw Keith behind Andy, trying to look inconspicuous but listening nonetheless.
“I believe you. But the police wanted to know about any possible witnesses. Maybe one of your boys saw something—maybe ...” But the excuses sounded phony even to Katie.
“I’m sorry, Andy. I don’t believe any of the boys were involved. I’ve never known anyone who was murdered, and I want to make sure whoever killed Ezra is caught and punished. Can you at least understand that?”
Andy shrugged. “I guess so. I keep forgetting Hilton was your friend.”
“Not a close friend, but he had been my husband Chad’s friend and mentor.” She offered Andy her hand. “We’ve both made errors in judgment. Can we try again?”
Andy frowned, puzzled.
“Stick ’em up,” she reminded him.
Andy actually blushed. Still, he peeled off his plastic gloves, wiping his dusty hands on his apron. “I guess so.”
They shook.
Katie let out a breath in a whoosh. “Do you ever take a break from work?”
“Not once I get here.”
“How about lunch tomorrow? Are you free?”
“I could be,” he said, the barest hint of a smile quirking his lips.
“One o’clock? We could go to the tea shop.”
Andy shook his head. “I doubt I’d be welcome. What about the diner next to the grocery store?”
Katie nodded. “We can walk over together. I’ll meet you here.”
“Okay.”
Katie hesitated, not wanting to leave. Despite the day filled with people, she felt starved for meaningful conversation and human companionship.
“I—I guess I’d better get going,” she said at last.
“See you tomorrow,�
�� Andy said.
Katie gave him a quick smile and headed for the door.
She sorted through the keys on her ring as she walked to her car. She could fill a couple of hours looking at the box of papers she’d collected from Ezra’s house. Maybe she’d make a few calls to see if she could find a home for Ezra’s cat, too.
And maybe later, when the emptiness became too much to bear, she’d cry herself to sleep.
Ten
The sky was deep blue when Katie left Artisans Alley the following afternoon. A stiff breeze off the lake had chased the clouds away, and she hoped the clear skies were an omen of good things to come.
Andy Rust was already waiting outside his shop when Katie arrived at his doorstop at one-oh-three the next afternoon. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No problem.” He nodded, turned, and Katie dropped into step alongside him, heading up the sidewalk toward Main Street. “You look nice today. New hairdo?” Andy asked.
Katie smoothed a hand over the windblown hair at her collar. “Hardly.”
“Then maybe it’s the pink in your cheeks. It suits you.”
Katie felt a flush rise from her neck.
“Everything cleaned up from the break-in?” Andy asked.
“I wish. I never seem to get time to work on it.”
“Anything of value taken?”
“It’s hard to say. But the files being dumped has given me an excuse to toss out a lot of old paperwork—stuff that’s at least half a decade out of date. I’m afraid Ezra was a bit of a pack rat.”
“Not surprising, considering he was in a business that stressed collecting things.”
Katie smiled, grateful the tension between them was gone.
They turned the corner, heading for Del’s Diner.
“Have you lived in McKinlay Mill long?” Katie asked.
“Most of my life. My parents are snowbirds—retired to Florida about five years ago. They’ve got a cottage on the lake where they still spend summers. I bought their house here in the village. You’re not a townie. And you’ve got a Rochester accent.”
“You could’ve been a detective. But I grew up in the suburbs, not the city. I went to Greece Olympia High School.”
Andy smiled. “Ah, McKinlay Mill’s arch basketball rival.”
“They still are, I think. Funny how important that stuff seemed at the time.”
“Not to me. Though if I’d been involved in sports, I probably wouldn’t have gotten into trouble with the law.”
“You look a healthy specimen now. Do you work out?” she asked.
“Weights, at the gym here in town. How about you?”
“I’m vying for the state couch potato title. I’m just lucky I inherited good genes.”
The amusement in Andy’s smile helped her relax. It was fun to talk to a good-looking man, getting to know him. And it made good business sense to cultivate a relationship with Artisans Alley’s nearest neighbor.
Del’s Diner wasn’t a charmer from the nineteen fifties as its name might have promised. The nineteen seventies strip mall lacked the aura of that bygone era. Wedged between the grocery store and the local gym, Del’s was rather dark and the decor dated, but the food was good, and the coffee strong.
McKinlay Mill’s luncheon rush was already over, and they found an empty booth with no trouble. Andy tossed his jacket on the seat next to him, but Katie shrugged out of hers, keeping it draped around her shoulders.
A portly bleached blonde of about fifty, in a white polyester uniform dress, black apron, and thick-soled shoes—Sandy, by her name tag—came around with the coffeepot. “Hey, Andy. The usual?”
“Sure. But I think Katie will want a menu.”
“I’ll just have a grilled cheese sandwich,” she said.
Sandy nodded, poured coffee for them both, then bustled off for the kitchen.
“You must be a regular here,” Katie said.
“I hate to cook,” Andy admitted.
Katie laughed. “But that’s how you make your living.”
“Which is why I can’t stand to do it for myself. I practically live here at Del’s. How about you?”
“I can’t say as I’ve been here more than half a dozen times.”
It was Andy’s turn to laugh. “I mean, do you like to cook?”
“Nope, hate it. Chad, my late husband, was the chef at our house. I think he started cooking as a defensive tactic. I have no interest in it. But I do bake—a lot.”
Andy eyed her. “You must not eat much of what you make—at least you don’t look it.”
“I told you. I have good genes.”
Andy doctored his coffee with sugar and creamer, his expression sobering. “Why did you invite me here today? I mean, it couldn’t be just my charm and good looks.” He handed Katie the bowl of sugar packets.
“There’s that, too, but I guess I’m a little concerned. Why hasn’t the Merchants Association asked you to join? Whether they like it or not, you’re a part of Victoria Square.”
“They don’t like it,” he said, “and I have no idea why.”
Katie sipped her coffee, not sure she believed him. “Is it because of your past?”
He shook his head. “That was fifteen years ago. And unlike me, none of my boys has ever been in trouble with the law.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’ve been blackballed. And I’ve got a pretty good idea who’s behind it, too.”
“Who?”
He shook his head.
“Would you like to join the Association?” Katie asked.
Andy toyed with his spoon. “I see the benefit of getting along with my neighbors. Unfortunately, the guy who used to own my shop didn’t feel that way. He wouldn’t contribute to the Square’s upkeep—lighting, snow removal, resurfacing the parking lot, that kind of thing. My business is mostly delivery, so I don’t need much parking. And to tell you the truth, when I took over, I didn’t have the capital to afford it. Now I’m out of the red and could use another write-off. When I mentioned it to Mr. Hilton a couple of months ago, he said he’d take it up with the Association. So far no one’s contacted me.”
“I’m going to my first meeting tomorrow night. I’d be glad to bring it up.”
“I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”
Sandy arrived with two plates balanced on one arm, the coffeepot clutched in her other hand. She set the plates before Katie and Andy. Both contained a grilled cheese sandwich, pickle slices, and potato chips. She topped off their cups, then slapped down the check and a couple of hard candy mints. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she said and departed.
“Hey, we think alike,” Katie said, picking up half of her sandwich.
Andy smiled. “You know what they say about great minds.”
Katie took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “It’s much better than I can make.” She rearranged the chips on her plate, letting Andy guide the conversation, listening with real interest as he told her more about his business and his plans for the future.
Finally he paused, polishing off the last of his pickle slices. Katie took the opportunity to make her pitch. “Besides an evil nephew, Ezra left behind a darling little cat. You wouldn’t happen to be in the market for a pet, would you?”
“I’m never home. It wouldn’t be fair to the cat. Besides, I’m more a dog person. But tell me more about this ‘evil nephew.’”
“Oh, that’s just my perception of the man. He’s probably no more despicable than Hitler or Mussolini, but I don’t want to talk about him. Do you know any of the people at Artisans Alley? I mean, the merchants may never have patronized your place, but surely some of the artists have.”
Andy nodded, swallowing the last bite of his sandwich. “I’m only on a first-name basis with a couple of them. Vance Ingram, Rose Nash, and Ben Stillwell. I’d probably recognize a bunch of other names from orders, but I can’t say I really know any of them.”
“I don’t know any of them, so anything you can tell
me would help,” Katie said, and unwrapped one of the mints. While Andy took a few moments to think about it, Katie bit down on the candy.
Andy frowned. “Yo—don’t you worry about your teeth?”
“I brush a lot,” Katie said around a mouth full of candy splinters.
“Yeah, but you could crack a bicuspid or something.”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “The artists,” she reminded him.
“They seem like nice, decent people. But they’ll place an order and only make small talk if they show up too early to collect it—usually after their shifts end at Artisans Alley.”
Katie nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. She was going to have to find a confidant within Artisans Alley. Chad would have known everyone, although so far his journal hadn’t included much in the way of personal assessments of the vendors. She’d have to make the time to sit down and actually read it.
But as she thought about it more, Katie realized the best person for the job had literally been right under her nose all along.
“Goodness, yes,” Rose Nash said with a gleam in her eye, and motioned Katie closer. “I can tell you everything about everybody in this place.”
“I’m not generally a nosy person,” Katie said. “It’s just that I need to get up to speed—and fast—with how Artisans Alley operates. And that means getting the lowdown on as many artist vendors as possible.”
“I’ve been here since the beginning, so I guess I know just about everybody. We have a few new artists, but I think I at least recognize all the faces.”
“Great. What can you tell me about Vance Ingram?”
Rose leaned against the counter, and then looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. Several customers browsed in a booth down the aisle, but none close enough to listen in. “Janey Ingram’s MS has put a real strain on their marriage. Not so much now, but in the early days it was hard for Vance to take care of her and work a full-time job. Since he retired, it’s been easier.”
“Is he older than her?”
Rose nodded. “By about ten years. She went into remission a couple of years ago and that helped, but Vance hinted that lately she hasn’t been well.”
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