The Walleld Flower

by Lorraine Bartlett

  VJ settled into a chair and started tinkering with the motor.

  Katie started for Edie’s new booth. On second thought, she changed direction. Before she confronted Edie, she needed more information. She’d talk to Rose first. Either way, she was going to have to deal with what she’d found up in Edie’s old booth.

  Swell. Just swell.

  Seventeen

  Artisans Alley had been open for almost an hour when Katie sidled up to cash desk one. A few customers ambled among the aisles, but it looked to be a slow sales day. Rose had her nose buried in a romance novel, its cover showing two scantily clad figures clinging to one another.

  Katie leaned against the counter. “Have you noticed anything different about Edie lately?”

  Rose looked up from her book. “Different?”

  “When Edie first came to Artisans Alley she was…” Katie faltered. She had to get this right. “A very dynamic individual. Yet lately she’s been…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Kind of frail?” Rose offered.

  “Yes.” Katie waited, but Rose made no other comment. “She seems to have—” Had Edie been a man, Katie might’ve said that she’d grown some balls. Vulgar—but an accurate assessment. “Overcome that in the past half hour,” Katie finished tactfully.

  “What are you saying?” Rose asked.

  Katie thought about it. How had she felt just minutes ago? Like a fool? Like she’d been taken in? Manipulated? Or had she just imagined Edie’s sudden transformation back to her old forceful self?

  “Nothing.” As Rose and Edie were friends, she decided it would be better not to discuss the situation with Rose. “I’m going back to my office to make some calls. Holler if it gets busy and you need help.”

  “Sure thing,” Rose said, her gaze dipping back to her book.

  VJ had disappeared from the vendors’ lounge, probably off to buy the parts the old VCR needed, Katie thought as she cut through to get to her office. She sank into her chair and eyed the phone book. She didn’t want to call every apartment complex within a ten- or twenty-mile radius of Artisans Alley. She was tired of living in one of those boring, cookie-cutter rabbit warrens. That’s why she’d targeted her home search at finding a duplex.

  No, if she was really honest with herself, she wanted to live in the old Webster mansion, and that was never going to happen.

  The box of wedding favors still sat on her desk. It was time to declutter—which would also delay her phone book search. Getting up from her chair, she grabbed the box and headed for the cash desk again. “Rose, I’m going to drop these off to Gilda and take a walk around the Square. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Rose waved a hand in acknowledgment, not shifting her gaze away from her book.

  Katie left the building and started across the parking lot, navigating past parked cars lined up in front of the Square’s shops. The cool gray morning hinted at rain showers to come—always good for perking up afternoon sales.

  Katie made a beeline for Gilda’s Gourmet Baskets. The quicker she relinquished custody of the wedding favors, the happier she’d be.

  The bell over the door tinkled cheerfully as Katie stepped inside Gilda’s shop. There seemed to be a lull in business, which was the perfect time to talk—about a number of subjects.

  Gilda was busy putting together yet another one of her wonderful gift baskets. She held a stemmed wineglass with a piece of iridescent curly ribbon tied on. She took a small pair of scissors and pulled the ribbon until it curled artistically. Katie took in the rest of the basket’s contents. “Someone else getting married?”

  Gilda looked up and smiled. “Yes. Lots of brides. The bridal shower package is one of my bestselling baskets, along with my themed baby shower and birthday creations. Somehow, I never get tired of putting these gift baskets together.”

  Which again reminded Katie that she needed to get a shower gift for Monday. And where was she going to find the time to do that? She’d have to shop Artisans Alley, because it wasn’t likely she’d find time to go anywhere else in the next few days.

  She set the box on the counter. “Here are the favors. There are fifty of them. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Oh, it’s perfect. Thanks.” Gilda peeked inside the box. “You did a lovely job. Thank you.”

  “I can’t take credit for another woman’s work. Edie Silver, one of my vendors, did them for me.”

  Gilda’s smile faded just a little. “Oh. I thought you might have had some fun putting them together.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not very crafty. Edie said she’s made a lot of these over the years.”

  Gilda sighed, her unspoken disappointment obvious. Katie pretended not to notice.

  “Everything’s set for the bridal shower on Monday,” Katie said. “I couldn’t book a place on such short notice, so we’re having it in the lobby of Artisans Alley. I’ve already sent out the invitations.”

  Gilda lips pursed. “I had my heart set on a tearoom.”

  “I’m sorry, but there just wasn’t time to find one and set it up.”

  She sighed. “I’ll just have to make the best of it, I suppose.”

  Yes, you will, Katie thought sourly, and had to bite her tongue not to say it. “We’ll decorate it nicely, and Blueberry Catering will do a great job with the food.”

  Gilda perked up. “They do nice work,” she allowed, and went back to curling ribbon.

  Katie had expected just a little bit more gratitude for her efforts, but when it wasn’t forthcoming, she decided to forge on to other subjects. “Have you had to field many calls from the press since the… remains… were found at the Webster mansion?”

  Gilda shook her head. “As Ezra Hilton’s death last fall proved, there’s no such thing as bad publicity. In between wedding arrangements, I managed to poll most of the other merchants; we all agreed that we saw a spike in business the day after the young woman’s bones were found.” She brandished a thumbs-up.

  As long as they were talking Merchants Association business, Katie went on. “I’m still concerned about the unrented spaces on Victoria Square. I’ve spoken to Fred Cunningham from Cunningham Realty. It looks like the old Tea and Tasties location will once again open as a tea shop. The new owners take possession at the end of the month and hope to be up and running within three weeks of occupying the space.”

  “That’s terrific,” Gilda said. “I’ll get Ann Tanner to send them the Merchants Association welcome information.”

  “Thanks.”

  The phone rang, which gave Katie the perfect excuse to exit. She gave a quick wave as Gilda picked up the phone. As she left the shop, two customers entered, which pleased her. What was good for one merchant was good for all of Victoria Square.

  Katie gazed around the parking lot. She could just head back to Artisans Alley, but she’d meant it when she’d told Rose she wanted to walk around the Square. She passed Wood U and waved at Dennis Wheeler, who seemed to be polishing a handcrafted wooden bowl. He waggled his cloth in return as Katie quickened her pace and headed east. As she’d hoped, the Webster mansion’s front door was open. Katie headed up the steps. “Janice? Toby?” she called.

  “C’mon in,” Janice yelled.

  Katie stepped over the threshold. The crime tape was gone. The mansion’s dark interior felt more chilled and damp than the outside air. Katie hugged herself for warmth as she took in the work tools stacked in neat piles. The boxes from the attic had been brought downstairs. Janice appeared from the hall with a broom in hand. She seemed older than she’d been five days before when Katie had first met her.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Katie. Toby had to work and I don’t like being here on my own anymore.”

  “I saw the sign outside. I’m so sorry you had to put the place back up for sale. What happened?”

  Janice sighed and her face seemed to collapse. Her distress was obvious. “Losing nearly a week to the police investigation really hit us hard in the pocketbook. When the contractor canc
eled, it meant we’d have to put off the construction for up to two months. That set a domino effect in motion. The electrical work can’t be done until the walls are moved. The plumber can’t come in until the floor joists are reinforced. All of a sudden we’re drowning in debt, with no hope of opening until late summer—if then.”

  “But you’ll still be paying your mortgage, even if you don’t work toward opening.”

  Janice frowned. “To tell you the truth, I just don’t think we could go through with it now. It was bad enough when you found that skeleton in the wall. But this last death…” She shook her head. “Just being here upsets me. I’d never get a good night’s sleep in this house knowing what happened to those women.”

  “But a lot of old houses have a scandalous history. If you market it right—”

  Janice shook her head. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  And I’d sell my soul for the opportunity to try, Katie thought bitterly.

  “I was going to come over to Artisans Alley today to try to sell some of this old junk. Do you think any of the vendors would buy it?”

  “It’s possible. I’ll spread the word,” Katie promised.

  “Thanks. Can you give me a hand loading these tools into the car?” Janice asked.

  Katie mustered her most reassuring smile. “Sure.”

  Twenty minutes later, and with her minivan loaded, Janice gave Katie a halfhearted wave as she pulled out of the Victoria Square parking lot.

  It began to drizzle as Katie started back for Artisans Alley. She let her gaze swivel toward the pizza shop and the apartment above it. If only Andy would let her rent it, part of her dream of living on Victoria Square would’ve come true, but even that seemed impossible right now.

  Damp and disheartened, Katie entered Artisans Alley via the main entrance, as the side entrance was locked during business hours. The lobby was huge and empty—a vast wasted space during the times when no special sales event was planned. She paused, remembering something the real estate agent who’d represented the Webster mansion had once said. If she could get a small cafe going on-site, she’d be able to keep customers in-house to buy the vendors’ wares—and she’d make more money, too.

  Katie knew next to nothing about food service, but she supposed she could learn. No doubt Andy would be a font of useful information on the subject—if he wished to share it. Or maybe she should try to rent the space for special events after hours. Perhaps for bridal and/or baby showers and other such gatherings. Having extended hours—and a captive buying audience—would please her vendors… if she could get enough of them to commit to working during those times.

  She filed the thoughts away for future contemplation and entered Artisans Alley’s main showroom.

  Arms crossed and sporting a sour expression, Edie Silver stood at cash desk one. Katie winced as she realized more than an hour had passed since she’d promised to help Edie arrange her new booth. “Edie, I—”

  “Where have you been?” Edie demanded. “You said you’d help me!”

  “I did what you asked. As I told you before, I have other things I have to get done today. Honestly, I expected you to move your merchandise on Monday, not today.”

  “And I told you why I needed to do it today.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  Edie didn’t bother to listen. Instead, she turned on her heel and stalked off.

  Katie flushed, suddenly transported back to first grade. Mean Mrs. Memmitt had chastised her just as harshly when she’d found Katie had fibbed about having a pony in her backyard.

  “Edie,” Katie called, but the older woman didn’t turn or slow down. Katie looked to Rose, who merely shrugged.

  Katie swallowed the lump in her throat, noticing several customers staring at her in judgment, as though she’d just blasphemed the Pope.

  “I didn’t—” she started but let the words trail off. She did too have other things to do, but in all honesty she hadn’t wanted to help Edie with her booth because she felt used.

  “Can you help me with this order?” Rose asked with just the hint of a clipped tone, and Katie stepped up to the counter to bag a customer’s handmade paper note cards.

  The busywork soothed Katie’s frayed nerves. Edie’s expectations reminded her of another obligation she hadn’t fulfilled—telling Rose about her meeting with Bastian. Rose would no doubt want to know what Katie had learned but would be hurt that she hadn’t been invited to attend the dinner meeting. She seemed to be disappointing everyone she spoke to that day.

  Katie waited until the customers had departed to speak. “Remember that call you took yesterday from Mark Bastian?”

  “Vaguely,” Rose said, already flipping through her paperback and withdrawing her makeshift bookmark.

  “He’s Rick Jeremy’s personal assistant.”

  Rose slammed her book shut, her eyes going wide with interest. “Great! What have you found out?”

  Katie gave a recap of her conversation with Bastian—leaving out where it had taken place—including what he’d said about having a place to get drunk.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?” Rose asked, sounding hurt.

  Katie gave a guilty sigh. “Because I only spoke to him last night.” And please don’t ask me where.

  Rose didn’t. Instead she said, “You suspected it might be him and Jeremy who did the renovations at the mansion.”

  Katie nodded.

  “Why were they replacing the walls in Barbie’s apartment?”

  Katie opened her mouth to speak, realized she had no answer, and then shut it. Bastian had said he’d done some drywall, but he didn’t specify where. Instead she asked, “What do you mean?”

  “If they were in the habit of going over there to hang out, presumably the apartment was intact. What happened to the walls that they needed to be replaced?” Rose asked.

  Katie felt even more uncomfortable. “I don’t know. It never occurred to me to ask.”

  Rose raised a wispy eyebrow. “Maybe you should call him back and do just that.”

  Katie punched the phone number into the keypad and waited. “You have reached Mark Bastian. Leave your name, number, and a short message. I may or may not return your call.”

  Beep!

  Katie slammed the phone’s receiver back into its cradle. She’d left a message more than an hour before but kept trying the hotel every fifteen minutes in hopes Bastian might have returned. Jeremy would pick up his lifetime achievement award later that evening. No doubt they were taking advantage of any possible PR opportunities they could get, of which there seemed to be many. In between calls, Katie had retrieved the newspapers from the recycling box and cut out every article that mentioned Rick Jeremy. A sidebar gave his filmography. That might help with her Internet search.

  She spread the cuttings out before her, still pondering why Bastian and Richards had been hired to fix Barbie’s apartment. Why hadn’t she thought to look more closely at the area that had encompassed Barbie’s apartment when she’d been there hours earlier?

  On impulse, Katie dialed another number.

  “Cunningham Realty,” answered a male voice.

  “Fred? It’s Katie Bonner.” She waited impatiently as they exchanged pleasantries. “Any chance I can get a walk-through at the old Webster mansion today?”

  “Katie.” He said her name with an air of pity and subtle irritation. He’d been only too willing to take her through the mansion during those years when he thought she might buy the place. But now he knew her financial situation—how much she owed and exactly how long it would take her to get out of debt. “You know you can’t afford it,” he said, reasonably.

  “Please, Fred, it’s important to me.”

  Fred sighed deeply. “I don’t have the time today. Maybe Monday or Tuesday—”

  “I wouldn’t ask, except…” Her words died off. Jeremy would be gone by tomorrow—back to Los Angeles. If Bastian didn’t give her another audience, she might lose the opportunity t
o confront him with… what? What evidence could she possibly find at this late date? But she knew she had to try.

  “How about if I stop by Artisans Alley and drop off the key?” Fred suggested.

  Katie’s hope soared. “Fred, I could kiss you.”

  “Don’t tell my wife about that. And you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone else that I’m letting you into the place. And for heaven’s sake, not the owners.”

  “I promise, I promise.”

  Fred sighed, sounding weary. “Okay, I’ll be there a little after four. See you then.”

  Katie hung up the phone, jubilation coursing through her. Her feet did a jig under her desk until someone cleared his throat to her right. VJ stood in her doorway, trying hard not to laugh—but not entirely succeeding.

  “Miz Bonner, I got the video recorder going. Ya wanna see an old episode of Dragnet my dad taped years ago? I’ve already tested it and it’s working fine.”

  “Wow, that was quick. But Dragnet doesn’t interest me. Let me get my own tape.” In seconds she’d retrieved the beta tape from her desk drawer and was standing next to VJ at the venders’ lounge table. The TV was on but showing only electronic snow. A harsh hiss issued from its speaker. Vance ambled up as VJ shoved Katie’s tape into the machine.

  “Ya wanna push the ‘play’ button?” VJ offered.

  “Sure.” Katie hit the switch with perverse delight. A loud hum replaced the static as the TV screen went a murky green. Was the tape a duplicate of a duplicate? Tinny music began before a picture formed. Fuzzy titles appeared and Katie’s mouth dropped open as she read them:

  JER-MARK PRODUCTIONS PRESENTS

  STAR WHORES—Episode 3

  Starring Sleazy Galore

  Once upon a time, in a suburb far, far away…

  “A porn flick?” Vance asked, aghast.

  “Yeah!” VJ said with obvious relish.

  A tall, thin woman decked out in a cheap-looking, silver lame catsuit strutted across the screen. Her short, Clara Bow wig might have been purple—it was hard to tell through the distortion. The audio was so lousy Katie couldn’t make out what the woman was saying to a stringy-looking guy in a Luke Skywalker karate suit. There was something familiar about the man’s stance, but his appearance was all wrong. The hair should’ve been darker. He, too, was wearing a bad wig. The flesh tones bled into the predominantly green background.