The Walleld Flower

by Lorraine Bartlett

  Edie crowded in. “Looks like the same guy to me.”

  She was right, although the man in the newspaper photo was twenty years older, with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. Still, there was no mistaking the sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. Rick Jeremy was Jeremy Richards.

  Katie remembered what she’d read earlier that day, and an idea blossomed in her mind. “The article says he’s holding a press conference tomorrow afternoon in downtown Rochester. We’re going to be there, too.”

  “Do you think he’d admit to knowing Heather?” Rose asked.

  “It can’t hurt to ask,” Katie said.

  “What about Artisans Alley?” Edie asked. “We need you here.”

  “Vance can babysit, right?” Rose asked.

  “Well, if he can’t…” Katie’s gaze slid to Edie, who blanched.

  “Me?”

  “Sure. You can fix a tape jam in the register. You’re practically a fixture here. You pretty much know how everything runs.”

  Edie seemed to think it over, and then straightened with pride. “I’d be glad to help out.”

  “Great. And as long as I’m asking for favors… Gilda Ringwald from Gilda’s Gourmet Baskets is getting married next week. She’s asked me stand up for her.”

  “Oh, so that’s why she brought over that dreadful purple nightmare,” Edie mused. “Why is it brides choose the ugliest dresses for their wedding party?”

  Katie forced a smile. “I have no idea. And it’s miles too long for me. I was wondering if I could pay you to adjust the hem.”

  “I mostly work with terrycloth and cotton, but I’d be willing to give it a try.”

  Uh-oh. Had she made a mistake trusting Edie with the dress? Katie’s forced smile resurfaced.

  “And you don’t need to pay me,” Edie said. “When do you want to have me work on it?”

  “Whenever it’s convenient. The wedding isn’t until next Saturday.”

  Edie nodded. “We’ve still got plenty of time.”

  “Thanks. And since we’re on the subject, do you know anything about making wedding favors?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve made so many over the years, I could probably write a book on it, why?”

  “Gilda left a box of stuff. Apparently I’m in charge of making them, and I have no idea where to start.”

  “Leave it to me,” Edie said with a nod.

  “Thanks.” She was starting to sound like a broken record. “The box is in my office. I’ll be more than happy to turn it over to you.”

  “How many do you need?”

  Katie took a wild guess. “Fifty.”

  “That won’t take long.”

  “Great.” Katie glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s time we locked up for the night.”

  “Maybe I should practice closing down the register.” Smiling broadly, Edie bustled from the cloakroom.

  Katie glanced back at Rose, who’d been silent during the last exchange. Her lips were pursed, and Katie could see she looked hurt. “I’m surprised at your insensitivity, Katie. You were the one who found Heather’s remains right here on Victoria Square, and now you’re going to participate in a wedding?”

  “It’s not until a week from Saturday. And believe me, it wasn’t my idea,” Katie muttered. “But, Rose, would you deny Gilda and Conrad the chance to celebrate what could be the happiest day of their lives?”

  Rose seemed unmoved by her words.

  She tried again. “You’ve told me how much you loved your husband, Howard. Well, Gilda loves Conrad. It’s taken them decades to come to this point in their lives.”

  “I know,” Rose said, defeat coloring her voice, “but did they have to do it now?”

  “A week from now,” Katie reminded her. “Were you invited to the wedding?”

  Rose shook her head. “Why would I? I don’t know them.”

  “But I do. As the leader of the Merchants Association, I work with Gilda and Conrad and the rest of the merchants on a regular basis. We’ve all gotten to be friends.” Okay, that was stretching the truth just a bit. “Please don’t ask me to choose.”

  Rose hung her head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Of course you should be in Gilda’s wedding. Just because Heather is dead and can no longer experience joy doesn’t mean others should be miserable. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You were thinking that Heather was cheated out of a beautiful wedding day, and the joys of motherhood, and maybe a wonderful career—everything her parents and you had wished for her. I don’t think that’s too hard to understand.”

  Rose nodded and looked back down at Jeremy’s photograph, worry creasing her already lined face. “What if the security people at that press conference tomorrow won’t let us in?”

  Katie picked up a steno pad from the table, handing it to Rose. “We’ll pretend to be reporters. If you put a pencil behind your ear, the disguise will be complete.”

  “What about you?” Rose asked.

  “With Chad’s Nikon camera slung around my neck, I’ll look just like any other press photographer.”

  Rose picked up the newspaper, folding it carefully. “I’m sure Jeremy knows something about Heather’s death. He’s just got to!”

  Katie studied her friend’s face. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about the other news article. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “I’m still angry—but not at you.”

  Katie let out a breath. Thank goodness.

  Rose’s mouth settled into a determined straight line. “In fact, I’m so angry at Detective Davenport, I’m going to call a lawyer.”

  “I want to sue!” Rose declared, and paced two steps and back in the confines of Katie’s tiny office.

  “Now, Rose, please be reasonable,” said Seth Landers, McKinlay Mill’s only lawyer. He’d taken a position on the edge of Katie’s desk, as far away from Rose and the door as he could get.

  “I’m tired of being reasonable,” Rose ranted. “I want an apology from Detective Davenport—in writing—and I want damages. Lots of them. Punitive, monetary, and any others you can think of. I don’t care what it costs.”

  Katie shrugged as Seth’s handsome face collapsed into a frown. At Rose’s insistence, Katie had called the small-town attorney, knowing he’d give Rose his best counsel.

  “Why would Detective Davenport lie to me about Heather?” Rose said for at least the tenth time. “Why?”

  “Perhaps to spare your feelings?” Seth suggested, giving Katie a sidelong glance.

  “Yes, but he had to know she’d find out the truth eventually,” Katie said. “It’s extremely unprofessional behavior on his part. Can’t Rose at least complain to his superior officer?”

  Seth sighed. “I’ll tell you what; tomorrow morning I’ll make a couple of calls and see what I can find out. It may just be that the detective is drowning in casework and was simply having a bad day. It happens.”

  “I don’t trust that man,” Rose said. “He wasn’t that motivated to solve Ezra’s murder, and I’m afraid he’ll show the same lack of interest in Heather’s case. I can’t have that. She was like my own child. I have to make sure that the person or persons who killed Heather are brought to justice.”

  Seth let out another sigh. “I’ll do what I can. In the meantime, how would you ladies like to accompany me to Del’s Diner for dinner? There are no two people I’d rather be with tonight.” When Rose gave no answer, he added in his most sincere voice, “The special tonight is chicken and biscuits.”

  Rose glanced at Katie, her expression one of defeat. “All right. I’ll get my coat.” Rose exited the room, leaving Katie and Seth alone.

  Katie strained to look around the door to make sure Rose was out of earshot before speaking. “You’re a peach, Seth.”

  “Hey, I gotta eat, too,” he said, rising. “And why shouldn’t I have the company of the two prettiest women in town?”

  Katie raised an eyebrow. “Do all lawyers lie as sweetly as you?”
<
br />   “Only the good ones,” Seth admitted, smiling.

  Ahh, that gorgeous smile. Months before, Katie had nearly fallen for Seth. His good looks, his kindness, and his charm made her feel giddy with infatuation. It was only when Andy informed her that Seth found guys more attractive than gals that she realized his overtures were of a friendly—not romantic—nature. In the intervening time, he’d become her best friend.

  “We ought to take separate cars,” Katie said, grabbing her sweater from the peg behind the office door. “Afterward we can head home without coming back here.”

  “Good idea,” Seth agreed. “I’ll tell Rose.”

  The phone rang.

  “I’ll meet you at Del’s,” he said, and sketched a wave as he exited the office.

  The phone shrilled again and Katie grabbed it. “Artisans Alley. Katie Bonner speaking.”

  “Mrs. Bonner, we need to talk. Tonight.”

  Katie couldn’t immediately place the woman’s voice. “Who is this?”

  “I don’t have much time,” the woman insisted. “Now—and not on the telephone.”

  “Now’s not good. How about eight o’clock at Del’s Diner?” What better place for a rendezvous? A public place, well lit, with plenty of witnesses. Katie shook herself. Polly’s paranoia must be contagious.

  “Okay, eight o’clock,” the woman said.

  Katie heard a click, and then silence. It was only as she put the receiver down that she realized to whom the voice belonged: Barbie Gordon.

  The chicken and biscuit special at Del’s did not disappoint, and in fact, the portions were so generous Katie and Rose would each have enough leftovers for a hearty lunch. Katie didn’t tell Rose or Seth about the phone call she’d received prior to her leaving Artisans Alley, knowing they’d both insist on staying and their presence might scare Barbie off. Instead, she surreptitiously looked at her watch at least a hundred times, hoping she could get rid of her dinner companions before the appointed hour.

  Seth insisted they all have dessert—cherry pie for him, and lime Jell-O for the ladies—and over a second cup of coffee, Katie told him about her plan to attend the press conference scheduled for Rick Jeremy the next day.

  Seth frowned. “You really should inform Detective Davenport about Jeremy and his relationship with Heather.”

  “Why?” Katie asked. “He gets paid to investigate. I’m willing to let him do it.”

  “That’s my point. He should be the one to talk to the man. Especially if you consider him a suspect in Heather’s death.”

  “We’re certainly not about to accuse Jeremy of anything as heinous as murder,” Rose said, although Katie doubted her sincerity on that account.

  Seth wasn’t easily fooled. “Are you sure showing up Davenport isn’t part of your motivation?”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Katie said.

  “Because he’s treated you, and now Rose, badly.”

  Betty, the portly night waitress, reappeared and hovered with a carafe of coffee. “Can I get you folks anything else?”

  Rose pushed back her thick white coffee mug. “Any more and I won’t sleep tonight.”

  “Same here,” Seth said. “Can we have the check?”

  Katie, too, felt bloated and ready to explode, but needed an excuse to linger. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay for another cup.” She proffered her cup as Betty handed Seth the bill.

  “I’ll wait with you,” Seth volunteered.

  “Andy said he might take a break and meet me here right about now,” Katie lied.

  Rose’s smile was conspiratorial. “We don’t want to stand in the way of romance,” she said and winked at Seth as she slipped out of the booth. Seth helped her with her coat. As Rose fastened the row of buttons, he peeled several bills from his wallet, setting them under his empty water glass.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Katie,” Seth said, and leaned down to plant a brief kiss on her cheek.

  Rose waved good-bye, letting Seth escort her out.

  Katie watched as her two friends left the diner, then painfully got to her feet. “I’ll be right back,” she told the waitress, and hightailed it to the back of the restaurant and the ladies’ room.

  When she returned, Katie found the table wiped clean and occupied. One of Del’s large faux red-leather menus hid the person’s face.

  “Barbie?” Katie asked.

  “Shhh!” The menu sank to half-mast, revealing Barbie Gordon’s wan face. “About time. I’ve been standing outside for almost ten minutes waiting for your friends to leave.”

  Katie resumed her seat with her back to the door. “Sorry, but I couldn’t exactly throw them out. Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “Can I get you anything?” the waitress asked Barbie.

  “Yeah. A cheeseburger and fries to go. Add a slice of pie, too—whatever travels best.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Instead of replacing the menu on the tabletop stand, Barbie raised it to cover her face up to her eyes once again, keeping watch on the door across the way.

  “What did you want to tell me?” Katie repeated.

  “Just talking to you could get me killed. You have no idea what I’ve been going through.”

  No doubt Barbie had read about Rick Jeremy being in town, too. Did he already know Heather’s murder had been discovered? Had he contacted Barbie?

  “Keeping a secret can be wearing. Especially for as long as you’ve carried this one,” Katie said.

  For a moment Barbie looked confused. “Oh, yeah, sure. I can handle being threatened, but now that lunatic says my granddaughter is in danger. In case anything happens to me, I’ve arranged for certain evidence to be delivered to you.”

  “What kind of evidence?” Katie asked.

  “I’m not proud of my part in this whole mess, but I really didn’t have a choice.”

  “No, I can see that,” Katie bluffed. “Why don’t you just give me the evidence now?”

  “Then I’d have nothing to bargain with. I could go to jail for what I know,” Barbie insisted.

  Betty appeared with a brown paper sack in hand, setting it and the check on the Formica table. “I’ll take that when you’re ready.”

  “Fine,” Barbie said, her curt tone one of dismissal.

  Betty shrugged and walked away.

  “You haven’t really told me anything about Heather,” Katie reminded Barbie.

  Barbie tore her gaze from the doorway and for a moment looked confused. She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts. “Everybody thinks Heather was such a sweet little Goody Two-shoes. They didn’t know the real girl. Not like I did.” Barbie looked over Katie’s shoulder once more. “Oh, hell.” The menu popped back up to hide her face again.

  Katie turned her head to see what—or who—had spooked Barbie.

  “Don’t draw any attention this way,” Barbie pleaded.

  Katie’s head whipped forward again. She was tempted to blurt that Barbie’s handling of the menu had already done that, but decided against it.

  In seconds, Barbie slid across the booth’s shiny synthetic leather, scrambling to her feet. She grabbed the food sack and bolted for the kitchen. “Later.”

  “Wait!” Katie called, but the swinging door had already whooshed shut behind Barbie.

  Betty reappeared and picked up the check from the table. “I have to cover for patrons who stiff on checks, ya know.”

  Katie grabbed her purse, dug for her wallet, and plucked out a couple of bills. “Does this cover it?”

  Betty nodded. “Thanks.” She stuffed the money in her apron pocket and turned away.

  Katie slid from the booth and donned her sweater. As she headed for the door she passed a number of familiar faces—Artisans Alley vendors and customers—and more than a few unfamiliar ones, and wondered which of them had scared Barbie Gordon half to death.

  Seven

  Barbie Gordon’s frightened face haunted Katie’s slumber. So much so that she haule
d herself out of bed long before dawn’s early light to search the stack of boxes for Chad’s camera. The cats thought it was terrific fun and practiced daring dives into opened cartons filled with breakables. It was only extra rations that distracted them long enough for Katie to find the correct box. She wished she’d been more diligent about labeling each container.

  Katie assessed the piles, deciding she ought to start moving some of the boxes to Artisans Alley—just in case she didn’t find a new apartment and had to stay at Andy’s for a while. Not the best solution, but marginally workable.

  She restored order and longed for some semblance of home. The aroma of baking always did that for her, but she didn’t have time for that. Instead, she rummaged through the foil-wrapped packages in the freezer. She liked to keep a couple of loaves of frozen quick breads on hand for just such an emergency, and took out a some banana bread to thaw while she filled the back of her car with cartons and the things she didn’t think she’d need right away.

  After that, she lingered an extra five minutes in the shower, but still ended up trucking into Artisans Alley an hour earlier than usual. She was sweating by the time she’d carted the boxes up to Chad’s pad. She’d have to call a couple of movers to get estimates on moving the furniture. There was enough room in the north storage room to fit all of it… she hoped.

  Her thoughts trailed back to Heather. What had she left behind? She’d still lived with her parents at the time of her death. Did they take her belongings with them to Florida or leave them with Rose in hopes Heather would one day return, or had they disposed of them?

  On that depressing note, Katie closed and locked the door to her husband’s last place of residence and went back downstairs.

  The coffee had finished brewing and she sat down at her desk with a mug and cut herself a slice of banana bread, deciding to shun work for a little research. Even the old Webster mansion property abstract wasn’t enough to keep her thoughts from straying to the bones she’d discovered days before. Her questions about Heather’s death were multiplying at an alarming rate—uncomfortable questions Rose may or may not have answers for, and might not want to consider.