Katie picked up the mail and flipped through it. Bills, bills, and more bills. No, she did not believe Ezra was a finalist in a million-dollar sweepstakes. And being deceased, he didn’t need another credit card either.
Seth’s law firm’s return address on one of the envelopes drew Katie’s attention. She ripped it open, leaving a jagged tear in the top, and then removed and unfolded the crisp linen stock paper. As her eyes scanned the page, her body tensed until fury made her wail in disgust.
Storming over to the first cash desk, Katie waved the paper under Rose’s nose. “Do you believe this?”
Rose took the sheet, her gaze darting back and forth as she read the long list of expenses. “Oh, my.”
“I thought he was just being nice,” Katie ranted. “When he took me to Del’s Diner, he not only charged me for his time—he charged me for the meatloaf, too! Plus the flowers at the funeral home, and every phone call, too!”
“Lawyers do have that reputation,” Rose said, handing back the page. “But I never would have thought that of Mr. Landers. He always seems so nice.”
Of course, Katie wasn’t about to mention that Seth had also kissed her—twice—reinforcing her mistaken notion. Seth had made it seem like he’d wanted to be with her, to get to know her.
“How could he?” Katie muttered, the hurt bubbling up until she thought she might choke.
Rose blinked watery eyes. “You were kind of sweet on him, weren’t you?”
Katie’s throat tightened, and her bottom lip trembled. Had everybody guessed?
“Real life bears so little resemblance to the stories I like to read,” Rose said, patting the cover of her romance novel. “I know what it’s like to think a man might care for you, then find out he doesn’t.”
Katie swallowed, still unable to say anything without blubbering.
“It happened to me some forty years ago,” Rose admitted. Her eyes darted left and right as she looked around, and when she saw no one nearby, she continued. “I worked in accounts at a big department store in downtown Rochester. It was March, nearly spring, when a big storm blew in off Lake Ontario. The roads were terrible. My car died just a mile outside the village. I thought I could make it home on foot, but my poplin coat was more fashionable than warm.”
“Rose, you don’t have to—” Katie started to say, but Rose waved a hand to interrupt her.
“My legs were frozen. I couldn’t even feel my feet. I cried with relief when I saw the lights on in the local appliance store. The doors were locked, but I hammered on them until someone came to let me in.” She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I came that close to dying.”
“Rose—” Katie said again.
The old woman’s eyes were wistful once more. “The owner took me into his office in the back, pulled out a bottle of Four Roses whiskey from his desk drawer, and said it would warm me right up. He took care of me,” she said, her voice strained. “He helped me out of my wet clothes, put them on the radiator to dry—and let me wear a store apron and a baggy sweater he kept on hand. The wind howled outside, and the snow kept falling. There was no way either of us could leave. So we talked and drank and talked and ... somewhere in the middle of the night, we made love. Just like in one of my novels. It was beautiful.” Rose took a shuddering breath.
Katie stared at the weathered face before her, unable to picture the faded beauty that hid behind the wrinkles creasing the old woman’s cheeks.
“He was married,” Rose continued, “and had a child. There was no way we could ever be together. I suppose that’s why I never told him about . . . our baby.”
“Oh, Rose,” Katie said. Suddenly her embarrassment over Seth seemed minuscule in comparison to the old woman’s decades-old heartache. “I’m so sorry.”
Rose shook her head. “I went away. I told everyone I was visiting a cousin in Pittsburgh. That’s what women did back then. At least, I did. I never even saw my child after the birth. He was put up for adoption. When I met my Howard, I never told him about my shame. He always believed he was the first ... my only . . .” Rose pulled a tissue from her skirt pocket and wiped her nose.
“It was all so long ago, but I’ve hardly slept for days worrying the police might find out about my shame and make it public. That pink quartz was mine—it came from my booth! They might think that if I had one incident from my past to hide, I might have others. I would never have hurt anyone. In my own way, I loved Ezra. He was my friend. But Howard was the love of my life.”
Katie patted the woman’s bony back, not quite sure what to make of her last few sentences. “I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I’ve never told anyone in McKinlay Mill about this until now. But it’s weighed so heavy on my soul I had to tell someone.”
Katie fought tears and could only nod, totally at a loss for words.
An overweight, balding man in a too-tight Bills sweatshirt walked up to the register, clutching a dog-eared magazine. “Any JFK memorabilia in this place?” he asked.
Rose wiped her eyes and brightened, turning on the charm, chatting with the customer while she rang up the sale. Okay, maybe Rose didn’t like cats, but by sharing her heartbreak she’d endeared herself to Katie.
Something registered in Katie’s peripheral vision, and a figure in the doorway captured her attention: Vance Ingram.
Adrenaline surged through her, and Katie bolted to head the man off. “Vance, your wife is in my office. She got here just before we opened. She’s in a terrible snit, and—”
“Where the hell have you been?” Janey Ingram demanded from across the Alley’s showroom. Her eyes blazed and her ample bosom heaved as she glared at her husband. At last, she charged forward.
Bug-eyed and wary, Vance backed up a step, his eyes darting from his wife to Katie. “At Mindy Shaffer’s house,” he blurted out defensively.
Janey’s dilated eyes narrowed in anger, giving her a decidedly sinister appearance.
“I was remodeling her kitchen,” Vance explained lamely.
“Like hell you were,” Janey hollered, coming up short in front of him.
“Wait, wait,” Katie interrupted, seeing customers craning their necks to watch the show. “Give Vance a chance to explain,” she said in a low tone, hoping Janey would take the hint and pipe down.
Vance gave Katie a look of thanks, turning to his wife. “I only told you I was here because ... because I didn’t want you to know where I’d be.”
“Of course you didn’t!” Janey yelled. “You cheating, lying son of a—”
“Janey—Vance! Can’t we take this discussion into my office?” Katie begged.
Janey turned on her, with as malevolent a glare as Katie had ever received. Then the Dolly Parton look-alike transferred her weight from one hip to the other, exhaling impatiently as she turned back to glare at her husband. “Well?” she demanded of Vance.
“Go on, Vance,” Katie said, throwing her hands up into the air and giving up.
“It’s our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in two weeks,” Vance explained. “I needed the money to take you on a second honeymoon.”
“Oh, yeah?” Janey challenged, her scorn almost palpable.
“Yeah,” Vance said, reaching for his back pocket. Taking out his billfold, he showed a cluster of crisp, one-hundred-dollar bills safely tucked inside. “I got paid in full today. There’s enough for us to go to Branson. Take in all the shows, and to go to—”
“Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede Dinner and Show?” Janey squealed, as though she’d recited the words a thousand times before.
“And now you’ve ruined my surprise,” Vance complained as Janey threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over.
“Oh, sweetie pie, you’ve made me the happiest girl in the whole USA.”
Katie scowled, vaguely remembering an old country tune by the same name—and not sung by Dolly—but decided not to mention it.
“Isn’t that romantic,” Rose said and sigh
ed, clasping her romance novel, a sappy grin plastered across her wrinkled features.
“Ezra knew what I was up to,” Vance admitted, guilt shading his voice. “He covered for me. I was at Mindy’s the night he was murdered. How could I know someone would rob the place and kill him?” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
How indeed?
Vance turned to face Katie. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Katie. I wanted Janey to be surprised, and I figured if even one other person knew, it would get back to her and ruin everything.”
“You surprised me all right,” Janey said, her grin so wide it threatened to crack her cherry-colored lips.
“And wait till you see Mindy’s kitchen,” Vance said. “It turned out great.”
“Show me now, Vance,” Janey said, wrapping her arm around his and dragging him toward the door.
“See you tomorrow, Katie,” Vance called over his shoulder.
Katie gave them both a feeble wave. “Ciao.”
With the show now over, the customers went back to browsing. Katie moved to stand beside the cash desk.
“I’m so glad Vance wasn’t fooling around on Janey,” Rose said, picking up her romance novel and extracting the bookmark. “It restores my faith in mankind.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Katie said, doubly relieved that Vance hadn’t had anything to do with Ezra’s death.
A customer holding a large pottery vase walked up to the register. “Wow—lots of drama in this place.” His voice was familiar.
Katie squinted at the man. “Deputy Schuler?” she asked. He looked different out of uniform and dressed in jeans, boots, a Buffalo Bills jacket, and a Mets ball cap. “What are you doing here?”
“Shopping,” he said, and put the vase down on the cash desk. “Boy, is this thing heavy. Think my wife will like it? It’s her birthday tomorrow.”
“I think she’ll love it,” Rose said, peeling the adhesive price tag from the front of it. She turned to her register to ring up the sale.
“Who’s out protecting us if you’re off duty?” Katie asked.
“Don’t worry, McKinlay Mill is covered, and I’ll be back on duty later this afternoon,” Schuler assured her.
“I’m glad to know I can count on you—even if I can’t count on Detective Davenport,” Katie said.
Schuler frowned and shook his head sadly. “That poor guy.”
“Poor guy?” Katie repeated. “I admit, investigating deaths all day can’t be a fun job, but he could at least appear to be interested in solving his cases.”
“He’s got a lot on his mind. His wife died two weeks ago, and he’s got three teenaged kids to look after, two of them girls.”
“His wife died?” Katie asked, suddenly feeling like a heartless harpy.
Schuler nodded. “The whole family’s pretty shook up. I was surprised he came back to work so soon. I don’t think I could have.”
“H-How?” Katie managed.
“It was sudden. A traffic accident.”
“Like my husband,” she murmured, her heart suddenly filled with compassion for the poor man. No wonder he’d found it hard to concentrate on Ezra’s case with his own loss so fresh and painful.
Rose had wrapped the vase in tissue, bagged it, and handed it back to Schuler. “I hope your wife likes it.”
“I’m sure she will,” he said and smiled.
Katie fumbled for something to say. “Uh ... thank you for shopping at Artisans Alley.”
Schuler gave her a smile. “Christmas is coming. I’m sure I’ll be back.” He nodded a good-bye and headed for the door.
“That poor Detective Davenport,” Rose said, shaking her head in sympathy.
Much as Katie wanted to be angry at Davenport, she now found she couldn’t. How awful it must be to be thinking of death day and night—at home and on the job. Ezra had been dead a week and a day—that really wasn’t an awful lot of time. She knew from reading books, newspapers, and magazines that murder investigations usually took months—sometimes much longer—to solve. She’d have to cut the detective some slack and let him heal—and do his job in his own way, in his own time. What else could she do?
Then Katie’s gaze wandered back to Seth’s bill still clenched in her hand, the sight of it reigniting her anger. She wanted nothing more than to yell, to throw something breakable against the wall, to release her ire, but she didn’t want to air her grievances in front of the vendors or Artisans Alley’s customers. She glanced at her watch—it was just about lunchtime. Tracy would no doubt be waiting tables and unavailable to talk. That left only one other person Katie could think of to talk to.
The door to Angelo’s Pizzeria was locked. A CLOSED sign hung from a little suction cup on the plate glass door, but Katie pressed the doorbell anyway. Cold fat raindrops plopped from the edge of the gutters, splashing onto Katie’s head. Since the last time she’d visited, something new had been added below the soffit on the ends of the building and along the peak: white-painted, wooden gingerbread accents. When had Andy had time to do that?
Plop! Katie moved aside only to be hit by another fat drop of water. She rang the bell yet again.
Andy came out from the back room, his Buffalo Bills sweatshirt dusted with flour, his hands covered in plastic gloves. His annoyed expression melted to mild interest as he moved toward the door, peeling off the gloves as he went.
“What’s up?” he asked, letting Katie inside.
She indicated the additions just visible through the plate glass window. “Very nice.”
Andy’s smile was genuine. “I decided I should try to have my shop blend in with the rest of the neighborhood. I’m glad you approve, but that’s not why you came to see me, is it?”
“No. I remembered you said you came in around noon to get your dough started. Would you have time to talk while you work?”
Andy studied her face. For a moment she thought he might refuse, then his expression softened. “Sure.”
Katie followed Andy to the back room, stopping short at the sight of an enormous mechanical mixer with an evil-looking hook that stretched sticky dough inside a gigantic stainless steel bowl. Racks of finished dough, in premeasured sizes, stood against the opposite wall to rise.
“Wow,” Katie said, breathing in the same yeasty smell she’d encountered in Mary’s kitchen the evening before, only this was dough production taken to the max. “Will you use all this up tonight?” she yelled over the wunk wunk wunk of the mixer.
“That and more,” Andy hollered. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Can we go back in the shop where it’s quieter?”
Andy shook his head. “I’ll be done with this in a minute. Then we can talk.”
As if on cue, the machine abruptly quit. Andy donned a new pair of plastic gloves and raised the mixer’s safety guard. Katie watched as he disentangled the dough from the hook, then moved the bowl to an adjoining worktable and began shaping gobs of the stuff into circular mounds, all the same size.
“Isn’t there a machine to do that for you, too?” Katie asked.
“Yeah, but I like the feel of the dough,” he said. “Now, what did you want to ask me?”
“I need a man’s opinion.”
Andy looked up, but continued to work. “About what?”
Katie hesitated. “Signals.”
This time, Andy paused in his dough manipulation, raising an eyebrow in interest.
“The kind of signals a man gives a woman when he’s interested in her,” Katie explained.
Was that a look of panic in Andy’s eyes?
“I don’t think I’ve been giving you signals,” he said, sounding alarmed.
Katie frowned. “Not you, someone else.”
“What kind of signals?” he asked suspiciously.
“Oh ... affectionate kisses. Holding hands. Little favors. That kind of thing.”
“Sounds pretty tame to me,” Andy said with relief, turning his attention back to the dough.
“I suppose it
does,” Katie admitted.
“Just who’s been sending you these signals?” Andy asked, his tone now amused.
“Seth Landers.”
Andy looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Seth Landers the lawyer?”
“Yes, why?”
“Katie,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Didn’t you know Seth Landers is gay?”
Twenty-one
Katie’s throat tightened. “Gay, as in happy?”
Andy shook his head.
“I didn’t think so,” Katie said, suddenly feeling ten kinds of foolish. “How do you know he’s gay?”
Andy shrugged. “Gaydar. A man just knows these things. But if he has been flirting with you, you have to ask yourself, what did he hope to accomplish by taking you in?”
Katie thought about it for a moment. Just what had Seth been up to, kissing her, holding her hand? She swallowed down a walnut-sized lump in her throat. “Gerald Hilton said the Radisson Hotel chain offered Ezra a million dollars for Artisans Alley site.”
“The Radisson?” Andy repeated and laughed. “Hardly. It was Motel Six. Their lawyers talked to me about it, too.”
“Did they?” she asked, surprised.
He nodded. “I own the tip of the tract of land they’ve been after. They wanted me to convince Ezra to sell.”
“That wouldn’t have worked. Were you willing to sell?”
“I considered it. But the charm of this place is its location. I wasn’t eager to be the cause of Victoria Square’s downfall.” Andy smiled, resuming his work. “Besides, I didn’t stand to make half the money Hilton did either. And it wasn’t anything like a million. Maybe Hilton told his nephew that just to piss him off.”
“If he did, it worked. I know Gerald told Seth about it. He said Gerald wanted him to convince me to sell.”
“Hand me that flour bin from the shelf, will you?” Andy said. “What did you tell Seth?”
Katie passed him the canister. “That I wasn’t interested in selling.”
A Crafty Killing Page 22
