Murder Ink

by Lorraine Bartlett

  Five

  Before heading back to Artisans Alley, Katie took advantage of the beautiful sunny day to walk to Sassy Sally’s, intending to thank Nick for recommending Brad for the manager’s position at Tealicious. She was glad to see Nick sitting on the front porch with a glass of lemonade in one hand and a book in the other.

  “Katie—how are you?” he called, as she neared the porch.

  “Not as good as you,” she teased.

  “Want some lemonade?”

  “No, thank you.” She mounted the steps and took a seat on the wicker couch beside him. “I came to say I owe you a debt of gratitude. Your friend Brad starts work at Tealicious on Monday.”

  “I appreciate your letting me know. I’ll give him a call. Maybe Don and I can have him over for dinner one day next week.”

  “You’re a good friend,” Katie said, watching as a monarch butterfly landed on a bright red geranium in the wooden planter near her. “I have to ask, though, why would Brad be content to hide away in Victoria Square when more prestigious venues are bound to be clamoring for his services?”

  “He provided full disclosure, right?” Nick asked.

  “He told me he’d gone to rehab and was one hundred and twenty days sober. But that still doesn’t explain why he’d want to work at Tealicious rather than a much more prestigious venue.”

  “Suffice it to say that Brad really does long for a calmer life, and that his ex-girlfriend is nutty.”

  Girlfriend? Katie shook her head and ignored the mention. “Then you think Brad will stick around for a while?”

  “I believe Tealicious will be perfect for Brad—and vice versa. But even if Brad should ever decide to leave, I can promise you the man will give a minimum of two weeks’ notice.”

  Katie sighed. “I guess I can’t ask for more than that.”

  Nick cocked his head, studying his friend. “Are you okay?”

  Katie sat up straight. “Me? Of course.”

  Nick shook his head. “You look . . . sad.”

  Katie forced a grin. “Not at all. I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “If you say so.”

  Katie stood. “I need to get back to work. Thanks again for steering Brad my way.”

  “You’re welcome. And if you need to talk—you know where to find me.”

  Katie gave his knee a pat. “Of course. See you later.” She headed back down the stairs.

  Did she need someone to confide in? To spill her innermost thoughts to?

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  * * *

  —

  When Katie returned to Artisans Alley and saw a scowling older man standing by the cash desk, she made a mental note to never use the front entrance again. Sure, that idea would fly out the window in a day or so, but for now, she didn’t appreciate the second surprise guest in a row. First Schuler and now this short, balding gentleman. By the looks of him, he might be Grumpy from the Snow White fairytale.

  “Katie, this is Harper Jones,” Rose said, raising her eyebrows as though in some sort of telepathic warning. “He’s been waiting to see you.”

  Harper Jones, the owner of the vacant building where Ken Fenton was electrocuted.

  “Mr. Jones, I’m Katie Bonner. It’s nice to meet you.” She held out her hand, but he didn’t shake it—just stared at her. “If you’ll follow me, my office is this way.” She strode toward her office, assuming he trailed behind her. If he was too ornery to shake her hand, she was too stubborn to look back to see if he’d accompanied her.

  Katie unlocked her office door, pushed it open, and turned on the fan . . . which, thanks to Schuler’s warning, gave her pause. When she turned back toward her door, Jones had shuffled into the office and settled on the chair by her desk.

  Katie closed the door and took a seat. “What can I do for you, Mr. Jones?”

  “You can buy my building, that’s what you can do,” he huffed. “First, you send Ray Davenport over to bully Ken, then Ken gets killed and Paul backs out of his contract. My wife is heartbroken, and your fancy Merchants Association has cost me a profitable business deal. You people need to make this right!”

  “I’m sorry you felt Ken was bullied. It was, in fact, Mr. Davenport who left the conversation with a black eye.”

  Mr. Jones shrugged. “Ken wasn’t ever one to pull his punches, figuratively or literally. You always knew where you stood with him. That said, he didn’t deserve to die like he did.”

  “I agree. No one does.”

  “So, you’ll make things right, then?”

  “Mr. Jones, the Victoria Square Merchants Association is not at fault for Ken Fenton’s death or for Paul Fenton breaking his contract with you to buy your building,” Katie said. “However, we might be willing to acquire the property, if you make us a fair offer.” She slid a notepad and pen across the desk to him.

  He squinted, picked up the pen, wrote a figure, and pushed it back across the desk.

  Katie turned a skeptical glance at the man. “You’ve got to be kidding. That building has been empty for at least two years. There’s no way it’s worth this much. It wouldn’t have been even if Ken had completed the renovations, and we both know he was far from finished.” She pushed the paper back. “You’ll have to do better than that, Mr. Jones, for me to even consider taking an offer to the Merchants Association.”

  He ground his teeth together, making veins pop out in his jaw as well as his forehead, as he wrote down a second figure. He shoved the paper at her. “Final offer.”

  Katie glanced down. The figure was still too high, but it gave her a starting point with the Merchants Association. At least now they could make a reasonable counter.

  “I’ll call a special meeting of the Merchants Association and be back in touch with you as soon as I know something,” Katie said. “Do you have a card?”

  “No.” He retrieved the paper and scribbled his phone number beneath his final offer.

  “Thank you, Mr. Harper. I’ll be in touch by early next week.”

  “See that you do. I don’t want to be kept hanging.” He got up and left the office.

  He left the door standing open, and Katie had to get up to close it before awakening her computer. As she logged in to her email account, she thought about Paul Fenton. There had to be more to the story of why he’d backed out of buying Jones’s building. He hadn’t struck Katie as the kind of man who would give in or scare easily. So what was going on?

  She composed a message to the Merchants Association, asking them to convene for a quick meeting at Del’s in the party room at five thirty that evening. “I’ll make it quick—I promise,” she typed. “It’s about the vacant building.”

  Rose rapped on the door before popping her head into Katie’s office. “I’m just making the rounds and wanted to say hi. That old man looked mean. Who was he?”

  “Harper Jones, the man who owns the vacant building where Ken Fenton was killed.”

  “Oh. Did he come to apologize for your almost getting . . . you know, fricasseed?”

  Katie chuckled. “Mr. Jones was not in the least concerned about my health. The only thing he seems to care about is that Paul Fenton backed out of buying his building, and now he wants to sell it to the Merchants Association.”

  “Well, he wasn’t at all nice to me or to anyone else while he was waiting on you. I’d think twice before committing to a deal with a man like that.” Rose began marching in place. “Are you feeling okay? No aftereffects from being electrocuted?”

  “Not unless I’m hallucinating your walking in place.”

  “Nope, you’re not hallucinating. I am walking in place,” Rose said. “It’s good exercise. But I did an Internet search, and I know what sort of weird symptoms you might have. If you hallucinate anything, let me know.”

  “Will do. And why are you walking in place?”

>   “I’m training for a marathon.”

  Katie’s eyes widened. “You’re running in a marathon?”

  “No,” Rose admitted, “but I’m walking in a five-K for charity.”

  “Good luck. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “Is there a chance the Merchants Association could sponsor me?” Rose asked.

  “I don’t see why not. Get me something in writing that I can present to them at tonight’s meeting.”

  “You’re meeting tonight?”

  “Thanks to Mr. Harper, we are.”

  Rose smiled. “You bet!”

  After she left, Katie decided it was time to do some Internet searching of her own. She Googled Paul Fenton. From a social media site, she learned that the man was currently working as a tattoo artist in Rochester. The place was called Ink Artistry.

  Katie took a peppermint from the jar on her desk and then pushed back her chair. It was Friday. Everything seemed to be running smoothly at Tealicious and at Artisans Alley. And she was going to get nothing done today for wondering what was up with Paul Fenton. She bit the peppermint in half. It was time for a trip to Rochester.

  * * *

  —

  Ink Artistry wasn’t what Katie expected. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure what she had expected, but a cross between a doctor’s waiting room and a beauty salon was not it.

  “Hello. How may I help you?” asked a young woman with spiked blue hair, gauges in her ears, a thin steel bar through her right eyebrow, and a large rose tattoo on her left arm.

  “I’m . . . uh . . . I’m here to see Paul.” Katie looked around the room and saw the man. He was drawing on a woman’s forearm with what looked like an electric pen of some sort—she’d never seen a tattoo needle before and was guessing that’s what it was. “Um . . . hi. I—”

  “I’m with a client,” he said coldly. “You can wait over there, or you can leave.”

  Customer service was obviously not his forte.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Good.” His steely gaze seemed hard enough to cut through stone. “Pick out your design.”

  “My design?”

  “For your tattoo. If you’re here, that must be why.”

  The spiky-haired woman pointed to a portfolio on a table.

  Katie raised her chin. “Very well.” She went over to the sofa and picked up the open book of patterns. She had no intention of actually getting a tattoo—she was getting queasy by simply seeing the woman at Paul’s workstation get hers. Every so often, he used a tissue to wipe away the blood that pooled under his unrelenting needle. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to pretend until she had the opportunity to speak to him.

  “Would you like a water?” Spiky-hair asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The woman walked to a refrigerator, took out a water bottle, and brought it to Katie. Katie thanked her again.

  “No problem. I’m Regan, by the way. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

  “Thanks.” Katie began flipping through the design book when she saw a paw print with a little crown at the top. The image brought sudden tears to her eyes as she was mentally transported to when she was a little girl.

  “Are you okay?” Regan asked.

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “It’s just . . . this design . . . makes me think of a wonderful cat I had when I was growing up. I called him my little prince.”

  The woman shrugged. “I’m a dog person . . . but I get what you’re saying.”

  On the one hand, it seemed like forever before Paul finished with his client. But when Katie realized this big, angry man wanted to give her a tattoo now, it seemed like a matter of seconds before the woman was paying Regan and Paul was looming over her.

  “Come on back.” Paul led the way to his freshly sanitized station.

  Katie still clutched the book of designs, and she took it with her. Paul nodded at the chair, and she sat.

  “What’ve you decided on?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry about your brother.”

  For a moment Fenton looked startled, then his facial expression settled into what she thought of as indifference.

  “Thank you.” He nodded toward the book. “Your design?”

  “Shouldn’t you have taken today off?” Katie asked. “I know how hard this has to be for you.”

  “You don’t know anything about me . . . or anyone else in my family.” A muscle worked in Fenton’s jaw as he leaned in toward her. “There’s nothing I can do for my brother now, and his funeral isn’t until tomorrow.”

  “Mr. Jones came to see me. He said you’ve backed out of buying the building on Victoria Square.”

  “You must be thrilled.”

  “I’m not. I’m confused. Why don’t you want the building anymore? Is it because your brother died there?”

  Paul narrowed his eyes. “How about this, huh? My partners and I decided you and your cronies were right—we’d get more business somewhere closer to the marina.”

  “I think your decision had less to do with location and more to do with your brother.”

  He clenched one fist. “Look, do you want a tattoo or not?”

  “Who do you think killed your brother, Paul?”

  His gaze was icy. “You tell me. Now, if you don’t want a tattoo, then get the hell out of my chair.”

  Katie gave him a hard look and did just that.

  * * *

  —

  Katie didn’t want to wait until she returned to McKinlay Mill before making what she considered an important call. As soon as she got back to her car, she rolled the windows down and pulled out her cell phone.

  “You’ll never believe what I just did,” she said, as soon as Ray answered his phone.

  “Try me.”

  “I went to Paul Fenton’s tattoo parlor in Rochester.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t believe it. You’re not that stupid.”

  Katie was silent. To avow that she really had gone to see Paul would confirm to Ray that she was indeed that stupid.

  “Katie?” he prompted.

  “Maybe you’re confusing bravery for stupidity,” she said.

  “Two sides of the same coin.” He blew out a breath. “Sue Sweeney flat-out told you that Paul Fenton was abusive toward women. Please tell me you didn’t let him anywhere near your . . . your body . . . with a tattoo needle.”

  “Of course, I didn’t. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “No, I don’t. But the thought of you being near people with mean streaks like the Fentons scares me. Ken was sneaky and brutal. I can easily imagine his brother would be the same way.”

  A smile quirked Katie’s lips. “Aw, you’re worried about me.”

  “This isn’t something to joke about,” Ray said sternly.

  “I know. But, gosh, Ray, I didn’t arrange to meet the man in a dark alley. I met him in his place of employment, and there were other people around.”

  “People who would take his side against yours.”

  “You don’t know that,” Katie huffed.

  “And you don’t know they wouldn’t. I’m only asking you to be careful.” He paused. “I have to wonder if you’d even be pursuing this if it wasn’t for me.”

  “You’re not the only person with something at stake here.” The very idea that she was trying to be Ray’s savior in this was laughable . . . wasn’t it? “I could’ve been killed at the same time Ken Fenton was.”

  “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t imagined your being there . . . being close to him . . .” He sighed. “It makes me sick.”

  She needed to change the subject. Fast. “Here’s what I think—Paul Fenton is scared. Now, you and I both know a man like that probably doesn’t scare easily. I believe he thinks that whoev
er killed his brother is going to come after him next. And I highly doubt he thinks it’s a member of the Victoria Square Merchants Association.”

  “No. If Fenton thought I did it, he’d have been in my face by now . . . probably beating it to a pulp.”

  “Exactly. So who is Paul frightened of? When we find that out, we’ll find out who killed his brother.”

  “No, Katie. No we. Let Schuler do his job.”

  “If Schuler does his job, you’ll be the one rotting in prison for this. And who’s going to take care of your girls?”

  Ray swore under his breath. “I’ll have my friend in the Sheriff’s Office look into it.”

  “Can you trust him to keep it from Schuler until we have something more tangible to go on than a gut feeling?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I can trust him.”

  Katie certainly hoped so.

  Six

  Katie parked her car in the lot behind Artisans Alley and walked over to Angelo’s Pizzeria to talk to Andy. The take-out restaurant was a flurry of activity, and one of Andy’s delivery guys brushed past Katie with a pizza—pepperoni, if her nose was correct. The aroma reminded Katie that she’d only eaten half a sandwich that day.

  Andy held up a finger to let her know he’d be with her as soon as he could.

  She shook her head. “I know you’re busy!” she called. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “I can cover for you,” Erikka said, bumping her shoulder against Andy’s. “Go on and take a break. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks.” Andy grinned at Erikka before stepping out from behind the counter to lead Katie into his office. Once there, he gave her a lingering kiss, pulled back, and beamed at her. “How are you feeling?”

  She grinned. “Much better now.” Her stomach growled. She closed her eyes in mortification while Andy laughed.

  “I’ll get you something to eat before you leave,” he said.

  “Maybe we could grab something together before the Merchants Association meeting.”

  “No can do, Sunshine. I’m not going to be able to make the meeting. We’ve been slammed all day—we had two guys call in sick—and we’re expecting extra traffic tonight after that concert in the park.”