“In a box, buried in my father’s basement in Pittsford.”
“Had you always planned to someday make it public, to humiliate Jeremy?”
“No. But when I heard on the news that they’d found Heather’s remains in that old house, I felt I had to do what I could to uncover the truth.”
“No matter who it hurt?”
Bastian didn’t answer.
“What is the truth, Mark? Did you or Jeremy kill Heather?”
“I can’t speak for Rick, but I swear I didn’t do it. And we were all in trouble when Barbie’s apartment caught fire. We thought the owner was going to sue us. Either that or have us arrested.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“Oh, yeah. He made us not only pay for the repairs—but do them, too. He said he’d go to my father, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.”
“But you said the owner didn’t let you finish the job,” Katie insisted.
“That’s right. When Heather called Jeremy to end their relationship, she also told him we didn’t have to finish the repairs, that she had taken care of it.”
“How had she taken care of it?”
“She didn’t say, just that she didn’t need Rick anymore and good-bye forever.”
“Did you or Barbie actually speak to Heather before she disappeared?” Katie asked.
“No. It was Rick who told me what she said.”
“Did Heather make any money off those films?”
“No. She was out of the picture by the time we started seeing any cash. Rick wasn’t happy about the whole deal, especially as he was behind the camera filming me with his girlfriend. It bothered him—a lot. He never felt good about the money and shared the profits with Barbie and me equally. And I guess he figured it was insurance that we’d keep quiet in the future.”
“Did it?”
No answer.
“Did Jeremy keep you in a job because he was afraid you’d one day try to blackmail him?”
More silence.
“Mark?”
“I did throw it in his face once. I was drunk. I guess I was jealous of his success—and the beautiful women who threw themselves at him. It was petty and stupid and I wish to God I’d never done it.”
“And that’s what ruined your friendship?”
“No. Our friendship was never the same after he saw me doing it with Heather,” Bastian said bitterly.
“But he didn’t abandon you. He made sure you had a job all these years.”
“Sometimes I think it might’ve been better if he had just told me to go to hell and fired me.”
It was Katie’s turn to be silent.
“Katie, please don’t give the cops that tape. Rick’s dead. It would be the ultimate betrayal if that film became public now.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have it anymore. I was about to turn it over to the detective in charge of Heather’s murder investigation, but it’s gone missing.”
Bastian sounded panicked. “Someone stole it?”
“Yes. And I don’t have a clue who could’ve done it.”
Twenty-two
The lights were already on at Angelo’s Pizzeria when Katie drove past at seven fifty-eight the next morning. Poor Andy, closing after midnight and back again to make cinnamon buns for her breakfast. Katie felt a little guilty, but only a little if it meant he’d have to hire an assistant manager and they could ultimately spend more time together. His ad for the job was supposed to be in the morning newspaper. She’d check while she drank her first cup of coffee.
Several vendor cars and vans were parked in the back lot, their owners getting out to unload their vehicles when they saw she had pulled in. Among them was Polly with her little granddaughter, Hannah.
Katie gathered her purse and the bulky Sunday newspaper, locked her car, and hurried to open the door to let the vendors in. Next on the agenda was coffee. She probably wasn’t the only one who needed a cup. Back at the apartment, her coffeepot was already packed, and Katie hadn’t felt like searching for it. Today she’d have to make a point to call all the apartment complexes in and around Rochester. She had to find a place to live—or if nothing else, a sublet.
Once inside and settled, Katie measured coffee and dumped it into the filter basket, set it in the coffeemaker, and hit the start button. Too restless to wait for it to brew, she went back to her office. Her cluttered desk did not welcome her. The answering machine blinked hopefully: just one message.
“Hi, Katie, it’s Fred Cunningham. I’ve got a hot prospect for the Webster mansion. They want to see the house ASAP so I’ll be by to pick up the key before lunch. See you then.”
Katie’s shoulders sagged. No doubt Fred would be showing the property to Burt Donahue. Sooner or later it would penetrate her thick skull that she was never destined to own that money pit, but Katie wasn’t yet ready to give up all hope.
She turned her attention to a stack of envelopes on the right side of her blotter. Saturday had been so hectic she hadn’t even had time to glance at the mail.
She retrieved the letter opener from her desk drawer and opened all the envelopes. Bills, bills, bills. Two solicitations to advertise in local ad rags and…
She removed the folded piece of white paper from a nondescript envelope and scanned the brief message.
MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS
A skull and crossbones leered up at her from under the words.
Katie exhaled a shaky breath. Detective Davenport wasn’t going to like this. Seth was sure to say, “I told you so,” only maybe not with those exact words. And Rose would be frantic with worry…
The coffeemaker had finished its chugging. Katie grabbed her mug, noting that her hand shook as she poured. The note had rattled her more than she wanted to admit.
Katie toyed with a sugar packet. Only two people could’ve written that note. Rick Jeremy or Burt Donahue.
Jeremy’s story was that Heather had dumped him. She’d disappeared without telling another soul she’d broken up with him. According to Bastian, it was Jeremy who’d said Heather told them to stop work on the apartment. Was Jeremy angry enough at his budding acting protégée to wall her up alive because she’d spurned him?
Was Donahue a credible suspect? His apartment had been damaged, but insurance would’ve paid for the repairs if Jeremy and Bastian hadn’t been bullied into making them. Donahue had no apparent reason to kill Heather or Barbie. And yet… Katie remembered the man’s NRA belt buckle. Was he a member or was it just something he’d picked up at the auction house to keep his pants from falling down?
Then there was Kevin Hartsfield. Something about him bothered Katie. He seemed to have known Barbie was dead before the news hit the papers or other media. He lived outside of town and apparently had no friends or local support system. Nonetheless, could he have been plugged into the local gossip pipeline anyway? And something about the way he spoke about his former students didn’t seem right. Had he known something about Heather and Barbie he hadn’t told her?
The sound of pounding footsteps caught Katie’s attention. Polly hurried through the vendors’ lounge and out the back door without even a word of greeting. Preoccupied, Katie turned away and doctored her coffee before heading back for her office. She happened to glance out the window to see Polly jump in her car and pull out of the parking lot.
Polly alone?
Where was Hannah?
Katie set her cup down with a thunk on her desk and started for the back stairs at a brisk walk. If Polly had left that little girl all on her own in her own booth…
Katie rounded the corner. Sure enough, small Hannah sat in a child’s wooden rocking chair across the way from Polly’s booth, her wee fingers white where she clenched the armrests. Silent tears trickled down her pale cheeks.
Katie glanced around to see if Polly had left the child in someone else’s care, but there were no other vendors in sight. She swallowed her fury and crouched down next to the girl, softening her voice. “Hannah, where’s your grand
mama?”
“I don’t know. She told me to stay here. If I don’t she’ll, she’ll—” Her lower lip trembled and she screwed her eyes shut.
“Why are you crying?”
The girl hiccupped. “My toys—all gone.”
Katie reached into her jeans pocket for a clean tissue and dabbed at the girl’s face. “What happened to them?”
“I put them away. Until I saved my money. Grandmama says you have to buy the things you want. I have two nickels and three pennies.” The teary girl’s gaze traveled to the empty booth where Edie’s merchandise had sat until the day before.
“Did you put them in a box under the table?” Katie asked gently.
The small head nodded. Hannah pointed to the bare walls, her lower lip trembling. “They’re all gone.”
“Did you take the things from your grandmama’s booth, and the other stuff like the little horse?”
Hannah nodded. “I want to be like Grandmama. She makes pretty things.”
Katie looked up at the shelf behind the girl, seeing the clay horse that had been in the box of missing items she’d found the day before. The other things that had been missing from this booth accompanied it. Katie stood and took the horse down, handed it to Hannah. “Is this one of your toys?”
Hannah’s mouth opened in a joyful grin. “Mine, mine!” She held it to her chest, her small body twisting back and forth with pure happiness. “I can pay for it.” She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew five coins, holding them out for Katie to see. “Is it enough?”
Katie smiled, her heart about to break. “I think so. Why don’t we go buy it, and then we’ll see if we can find something good to eat.”
But Hannah shook her head. “Grandmama said I’ll be in trouble if I don’t stay here ’til she comes back.”
“It’s pretty lonely up here. Why don’t you come downstairs and keep me company until she gets back. You won’t be in trouble. I promise.”
Hannah thought it over. “Well… okay.”
Katie offered Hannah her hand and gently squeezed the small fingers as they curled around her own. “Do you like cinnamon buns?”
Hannah shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “I don’t know what they are.”
They started off toward the stairs. “Well, then you’re in for a big treat.”
Hannah had drawn three pictures of her clay horsey, and Katie had found not only Andy’s ad but had circled two possible apartments in the newspaper’s “For Rent” section. She was still pondering what—and even if—to tell Detective Davenport about the sort of threatening note she’d received when the McKinlay Mill Cinnamon Bun King arrived with a plate full of heavenly delights.
“Boy, am I glad to see you,” Katie said, and gave Andy a quick kiss.
He looked down at the child seated at the table. “I see you have a new friend.”
“Yes. Andy, this is Hannah. Hannah, this is Andy.”
Hannah looked up. “Grandmama says I’m not allowed to call grown-ups by their first name.”
Katie nodded. “Then you may call him Mr. Rust.”
Hannah giggled. “Rust is on my daddy’s car.”
Andy looked down his nose at Katie. “And I went to college for four years for this kind of abuse.”
“It could be worse,” Katie offered.
“How?” he demanded.
She shrugged, unable to suppress a smile. “I dunno. It could be raining.”
Andy glowered at her, set down the plate of cinnamon buns, and moved the hulking Betamax machine from the vendors’ lounge table to the floor. Then he and Katie joined Hannah at the table for a leisurely breakfast.
Hannah scraped a finger full of white glaze from her cinnamon bun, sampling it. “Mmm. Good!” she declared, and concentrated her efforts on unraveling the concoction.
“So where’s Grandma?” Andy asked Katie, and took a bite of his bun.
“Who knows. She took off in her car, leaving Hannah upstairs all alone in her booth. She’s got a lot to answer for.”
Andy glanced at the black circles on the newspaper laid flat before Katie. “Looks like you’ve got a couple of prospects on the home front.”
“It’s too early to call and ask what their pet policies are. I’ll do it later. And I guess I better call a couple of movers for estimates. Man, I really bungled this new-home hunt.”
“You’re running a business. That takes up all your time.”
“You’re being kind.” She watched as Andy took another huge bite of cinnamon bun. A mischievous imp came to life within her. “By the way, a tall, dark, and handsome man called me last night.”
Andy grinned. “Of course. That was me.”
“He called after I spoke to you.”
Andy’s grin faltered. “Oh?”
Katie decided not to tease him any further and told him of her conversation with Mark Bastian.
“You aren’t attracted to him, I hope,” Andy said with reproach.
“If I wasn’t so enamored with you, I could be,” Katie admitted. She sighed wistfully. “He comes with a lot of baggage that I just couldn’t handle. But I think he’s basically a good guy. I hope he can conquer the demons that haunt him. He deserves to be happy.”
“Then you don’t think he had anything to do with Heather’s—” Andy paused and glanced at Hannah, who was coloring the tail on yet another horse picture. “D-E-A-T-H?”
“No.” But unease filled Katie. Jeremy was dead. Surely his death was connected to Heather’s and Barbie’s. But what if it wasn’t? She shook her head, dismissing the notion. She didn’t want to discuss Heather, the note she’d received, or her other suspicions in front of Hannah. It could wait. She’d tell Andy about it over lunch.
Andy drained his cup and slapped it onto the table. “I’ve got a ton of dough to make for tonight’s pizza.” He leaned over and kissed Katie’s lips. She pulled his face closer for a slower, more sensuous kiss.
“Oh, lady, if we were only at my place,” he breathed, and kissed her again.
“If only I had a place nearby,” she answered, and gave him another lingering kiss.
“Yuck!” Hannah squealed and covered her eyes with her hands. “Just like Mommy and Daddy.”
Andy pulled back and smiled. “I predict that one day you’ll like kissing a boy.”
“Not me,” Hannah declared. “Boys are icky.”
“Only until you’re about thirteen,” Katie told her, and glanced askance at Andy. “Then they become… different.”
Andy cocked his head in her direction. “Am I different?”
“The best.”
“And you say it’ll be available next week? That sounds… wonderful.” Katie clenched the phone and grimaced. She couldn’t bear the thought of living in yet another cookie-cutter apartment complex, and it was her own fault for not finding suitable accommodations sooner. “Yes, I can be there to inspect it tomorrow morning at nine. Thank you.” She hung up the phone.
Katie glanced at the threatening note that poked out of her upper-right desk drawer. She’d procrastinated long enough. It was time to call Detective Davenport.
Hannah appeared at Katie’s side, waving yet another crayon drawing of the little clay horse. “Can we hang this with the others?”
Katie smiled. “Sure.”
Hannah was such a pretty, well-behaved child. That Polly could have abandoned her so readily nearly broke Katie’s heart. And where were the girl’s parents? They probably had no clue how Polly treated the child—and would be horrified to learn she’d left Hannah alone at Artisans Alley.
Katie closed her desk drawer. She attached a piece of tape to the top of the drawing and stuck it to the front of her file cabinet.
Hannah folded her thin arms over her chest, studying her artwork with pride. “One day I’m going to have a real horse. He’ll be just like the Black Stallion and I’ll go for rides and win races and make big money.”
Big money. Hadn’t Barbie Gordon’s granddaughter, Fawn, used the same
phrase? Poor little Fawn. No daddy, no grandma, and likely a life of poverty before her. Like Katie, Fawn’s mother, Donna, faced a housing crisis. She needed a place to live and would lose her minimum wage job if she couldn’t find affordable day care. Hannah’s parents probably depended on Polly for day care, too. It was with a pang of regret that Katie realized it was probably better that she and Chad had never had to face that hurdle.
Hannah’s eyes shone with pride as she studied her drawings. Right now she didn’t have a care in the world. No one was sending her threatening notes like the one Katie had received. Mark Bastian had sent her the tape, so it was unlikely to be him trying to intimidate her. For a moment Katie even considered Detective Davenport as a possible suspect. After all, he was always complaining about her constant interference.
Katie thought back to the other night at Del’s Diner. Barbie Gordon had said that a lunatic had threatened little Fawn. Had she received a similar threatening note? Would Donna know if she had?
“What are you doing in here?” Polly Bremerton thundered and stepped through the office doorway. She yanked Hannah’s arm, turning the girl around and making her cry out. “I told you to stay put upstairs”
“Polly!” Katie scooped up the child. Hannah wrapped her arms around Katie’s neck, burying her face in Katie’s shoulder.
“Stay out of this, Katie. This is family business,” Polly growled.
“I will not stand by while you manhandle this child. There are laws to protect kids.”
Polly’s eyes blazed, but Katie wasn’t sure if it was with anger or terror. She’d had nearly the same reaction the day before when Katie told Polly to make a police report about the missing items from her booth.
Brushing past Polly, Katie set Hannah back down on her feet in the vendors’ lounge. “Why don’t you go sit at the table and color while I talk to your grandmother.”
Hannah seemed to grow smaller as she pulled her arms tightly around her and looked uncertainly from Katie to Polly. Finally, she escaped to the safety of a chair at the big Formica table, farthest away from her grandmother. Had that monstrous woman ever hit the girl?
The Walleld Flower Page 21
