Before Katie could question the Lancasters further, Andy came and took her by the arm. “Erikka and I need to get back.”
“And I’m hoping there are some leftovers from lunch,” Phil said, heading toward the kitchen.
“I’ll walk back with you,” Katie told Andy. “Fiona, it was wonderful meeting you and Phil.”
“Likewise, dear. We’ll be to see you at Tealicious—and at Artisans Alley—as soon as we can.”
* * *
—
When Katie returned to her office at Artisans Alley, she immediately phoned Ray. He answered with a seemingly distracted “Hello.”
“Hi, Ray—it’s Katie. Is this a bad time?” she asked.
“Um . . . I’ve got a minute. What’s up?”
Katie debated whether or not to continue the conversation. Ray was obviously distracted. “It can wait.”
“No,” he said. “Go ahead.”
“I simply wanted to tell you that Nick introduced me to a woman named Fiona Lancaster, who told me that while Ken Fenton was working for her, she overheard him speaking on the phone with someone about money he owed them. She said he told the person he’d have the money to them by Thursday. On Friday, someone threw a Molotov cocktail at her building.”
“Is she sure she wasn’t the target of the assault?” he asked.
“She is. From what she told me, I don’t think the police were convinced. But, given everything we’ve heard about Ken Fenton, it couldn’t hurt to see if he was a gambler or—”
“Katie, please stay out of this investigation. I don’t want you to find yourself on Schuler’s bad side.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know that, but—” He sighed. “I need to go. The girls are waiting for me.”
He ended the call before Katie even had a chance to say good-bye. She wondered what was going on with them. Hopefully, not more drama. Ray had enough problems of his own at the moment without having to help teenage girls deal with their either real or—more likely—imagined crises.
She’d just put her phone back into her purse when there was a light tap on her door. “Come in.” She expected it to be Rose and was surprised to see that her visitor was Regan.
“Hey.”
“Regan, hi,” Katie said, with a smile. “What brings you by?”
“I was in the tag room with Ms. Mitchell having my first lesson in tatting lace.”
Katie tried to keep her face from crumpling in a grimace as she asked, “How did that go?”
“Well, I knew it would be delicate work, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be. Ms. Mitchell loaned me a shuttle, but I’ll need to get my own before our next lesson.”
“A shuttle?”
“Yeah.” Regan took a piece of plastic from her pocket that was shaped sort of like an elongated guitar pick with holes at each end. “You wind your thread through the shuttle and around your fingers and then you make loops . . . oh, and knots—can’t forget the knots.”
“That sounds way too nerve-racking for me. I’ll have to leave the lace tatting to you and Ida.”
Regan chuckled. “I feel sure you could get the hang of it if you wanted to.”
“What made you want to learn to tat lace?” Katie asked.
The younger woman shrugged. “I like to see people reviving or continuing historic arts.” She looked down at her high-top sneakers. “But I didn’t stop in to tell you about my lesson with Ms. Mitchell. Roger told me about Paul coming to see you.”
“He was really angry that I’d gone to see his sister. I . . . I took her some chocolates . . . but I suppose I did ask too many nosy questions.”
Regan met Katie’s gaze. “Paul’s a good guy—he really is. I’m sure he was just feeling extra protective of his sister. I mean, their brother died only a few days ago. I’m sure the whole family is a wreck over that.”
“I imagine they are,” Katie said. “Did you know Ken at all?”
“Not really. I mean, I’d met him a time or two, but I wouldn’t say I knew him. Why?”
“At lunch today, I met a couple who said they’d hired Ken to do some work for them. They said someone threw an incendiary device that set their apartment building on fire during the time Ken worked there.”
“And they thought Ken had something to do with it?” Regan asked.
“No, but they believed that whoever threw it did so as a threat to Ken. They thought he was in trouble with someone financially.”
“But that’s dumb. Why would someone throw a bomb or whatever at this couple’s building if they were threatening Ken? Wouldn’t it make more sense to throw the bomb at Ken’s house? Or even his truck?”
Katie frowned. “It makes a lot of sense.”
Regan nodded. “It seems to me that someone had a grudge against this couple rather than with Ken. You say they owned an apartment building?”
“That’s what they said.”
“Then maybe they’d evicted someone or raised the rent or something, and this was that person’s way of getting back at them,” Regan said.
“You’re absolutely right,” Katie said, not pleased that her theory could have holes blown through it with so little thought. She needed to look further into Fiona and Phil Lancaster’s story before taking it at face value.
“And about Paul . . . I know he can get angry sometimes—especially where his family is involved—but he really is a sweetheart. I can’t help but think the two of you got off on the wrong foot. If you got to know each other, I believe you’d be friends.”
“I’d like to think so,” Katie said. “By the way, thank Roger again for me for repairing my lamp. He did a great job.”
“I will. He’s always been handy at fixing things, even before he took that electricity class at vocational school.” She smiled. “Even when we were little kids, he’d take something apart just to see how it worked. Then he’d put it back together again.”
“And did it work when he got it reassembled?”
“More often than not, it did.”
“You sound really proud of him.”
“I am,” Regan said. “Yeah, he got in some trouble, but overall, he’s a great kid . . . and an awesome brother. Do you have brothers or sisters?”
Katie shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I always wished I did have, but my parents died when I was young.”
“That’s rough. Our old man bailed on us, and our mom works two jobs. I want to be able to help her someday . . . make it to where she doesn’t have to work so hard. Roger wants that, too.”
“You’re good kids. Your mom is blessed to have you.”
“We’re the ones lucky to have her,” Regan said. “Well, I guess I’d better get going. Ms. Mitchell is expecting me to have a row of picots by the next class.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll need it.” She left, pulling the door closed behind her.
Katie sat at her desk and ruminated on what Regan had said about Fiona Lancaster. It did make more sense that a person targeting Ken Fenton would threaten him at home. Maybe the Molotov cocktail attack was aimed at the Lancasters. But, then, Ken was the one who’d been murdered.
Twelve
After feeding the cats the next morning, Katie skipped her own breakfast and practically ran to Tealicious. She unlocked the door and called, “Hello!”
“Good morning!” Brad’s deep voice trumpeted from the kitchen overtop the classical music that was already streaming from the speakers.
She smiled as she strode into the kitchen. “It smells heavenly in here.”
“And wait until you taste.” He took a batch of pistachio scones from the oven and placed them on a wire rack.
Katie’s mouth nearly watered as she watched Brad drizzle the scones with a vanilla glaze.
“I’ve made coff
ee if you’d like a cup,” he said.
“I’d love one.” She didn’t admit to him that she’d been so eager to get to work that she’d run out of the apartment without coffee or breakfast. She was afraid, however, that given the tantalizing aromas, her stomach would growl and clue him in.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and added milk. “May I top off your cup?”
“Please.” He plated one of the scones. “See what you think.”
Katie took a fork and cut into the crumbly scone. She was uncomfortably aware of Brad watching for her reaction when she brought the fork to her mouth, but he wasn’t disappointed. When she closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure, he laughed.
“I was hoping that’s what you’d think. In fact, I hope that’s what all our customers will think.”
“You’ve got a hit with these scones.”
“I very much enjoyed lunch yesterday,” Brad said. “It was kind of Nick and Don to host it for me.” He chuckled. “Nick has come quite a way from his casserole-bursting days.”
Katie laughed. “He must have been horrified to have made such a mess while his roommates were out. Thank goodness you were there to help him.”
“Katie!”
It was Ray Davenport, calling to her from the dining room. She excused herself, put her plate on the counter, and went to speak with Ray.
“Hey,” she said. “What brings you by?”
The former detective craned his neck, trying to see into the kitchen. “Sounds like you were having fun back there. You and the new manager must be hitting it off.”
There was something odd about his tone. Something she’d heard in Andy’s voice way too often. Jealousy? And how did Ray even know she was here at Tealicious?
“Yes, we are. Brad is great. But I’m sure that’s not why you’re here. Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no. I just wanted to come by before going to my shop and apologize for blowing you off when you called yesterday. Both Sadie and Sasha were in the room and, well . . .” He trailed off.
Every muscle in Katie’s body tensed. “And they hate me for various reasons.” Something in Ray’s face hinted at a new reason to fan his children’s dislike. “Wait. Do they blame me for the trouble you’re in with Detective Schuler?”
“You know how unreasonable teenagers can be, Katie . . . especially overprotective daughters.”
Those tense muscles weren’t about to relax. “You’re the one who volunteered to speak with Harper Jones—it wasn’t my idea.”
“Hey, I don’t blame you for anything,” Ray said defensively. “But yesterday, the girls and I were having a nice day and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“By talking with me,” Katie finished uncharitably.
He shrugged.
Katie ground her teeth, wishing she had a peppermint to pulverize. How could Ray’s daughters be so unreasonable? And Ray! He simply blew her off yesterday when all she was trying to do was help him get out from under suspicion of murder! If none of them wanted her help, so be it.
Ray cleared his throat, but Katie refused to look at him, preferring to gaze out the window at the sun already heating up the pavement.
“I had my friend in the Sheriff’s Office look into that Lancaster incident,” Ray said. “The investigating officer couldn’t pinpoint who was actually targeted—if anyone. However, the Lancasters had only recently purchased the apartment building and it had been vacant for a couple of years prior, so they had no disgruntled tenants—former or otherwise. And since Ken Fenton had dealings with some shady characters, the officer suspected Ken was the target.”
“Fine,” Katie said flatly.
“Katie, please.”
“No . . . that’s fine. They believed he was the target, but they had no suspect and no proof. Got it.” Why did she feel so angry?
“I . . . uh . . . doubt I’ll be getting any other inside information for a while,” he said. “My friend said he was sticking his neck out for me to get the information about the Lancaster incident. The department has been instructed not to talk to me anymore—unless it’s in an official capacity—until the conclusion of the Ken Fenton murder investigation.”
Katie finally dragged her gaze back to Ray and saw that he was distressed about the fact that his friends could lose their jobs for even talking with him now. “I’m sure everyone in the Sheriff’s Office will still work hard to prove your innocence.”
“Well . . . I hope you’re right.” He sighed and his gaze dipped. “I have to get to work, but I’ll go by the post office later to find out what I can about Hugh McKinney.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll take care of that myself. Your girls are right in their belief that I rely on you too much.”
“That’s their belief, Katie, not mine. Friends help each other.”
“True, but I need to go to the post office anyway. I—”
The kitchen door opened. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Brad said, his tone making it clear he wasn’t sorry in the least. “This is a new recipe, Katie, and you simply must give me your opinion.” He held a white petit four between his gloved index finger and thumb and lifted it to her mouth.
Katie allowed Brad to give her a bite of the cake. She chewed slowly, allowing the taste of coconut and white chocolate flavors to linger on her tongue. “Oh, wow . . . Ray, you need to try this.”
Brad offered him the rest of the tiny pastry.
Ray shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”
“Sorry,” Katie said, realizing the men hadn’t before met. “Ray, this is chef extraordinaire Brad Andrews. Brad, this is Ray Davenport. Ray owns the Wood U gift shop across the Square.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Brad said, his smile about a mile wide.
Ray looked more than a little uncomfortable. “Yeah . . . it’s . . . uh . . . it’s nice to meet you, too.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a business to run. See you later.” With that, Ray turned and left.
Katie wasn’t sure how to interpret what had transpired during the previous five minutes except that there’d been way too much tension. But then her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t yet filled it.
She pointed to the petit four Brad still held. “Any chance I can have the rest of that?”
* * *
—
After working steadily together, Katie and Brad had assembled the buffet table, which was filled with mouthwatering treats for the Square’s merchants arriving for the meeting, including an assortment of pastries and sandwiches.
Nick and Don were the first to arrive. Nick went to say hello to Brad, and Don told Katie that it looked as if things were working out well with Brad.
“So far, so good,” Katie said, holding up her crossed fingers. “He welcomed my input and didn’t seem to mind my being in the kitchen this morning. Of course, I tried to give him plenty of space. And he did tweak my chicken salad recipe, but I have to admit, it’s even better than it was before.”
“I know Nick enjoys having him around,” Don said. “And Brad seems like a nice guy.”
“Yes, he does. I thought he was a bit full of himself at first, but once you get to know him, it becomes part of his charm.”
Don grinned. “That’s probably one of the things he and Nick have in common.”
“Good point,” Katie said. “By the way, did Brad say anything about Erikka last night?”
“Not a word,” Don said. “I know you’re hoping those two will hit it off, but I wouldn’t bet the tea shop on it.”
Not what Katie wanted to hear.
“Oh, my!” Sue Sweeney exclaimed, helping herself to one of the petit fours. “These look marvelous.”
“So do you,” Katie said. Sue wore a bright, predominately yellow dress decorated with cute white flowers, and she looked very . . . well . . . sunny.
Sue bl
ushed at the compliment. “Aw, thanks.” She lowered her voice. “I have a date later.”
“With whom?” Katie asked.
Before Sue could answer, Andy came over to check out the tray. “These look great.” He gave Katie a quick kiss, grabbed a plate, and took a chicken salad sandwich.
By the time Katie had turned back to where Sue had been standing, the woman had wandered off to talk to Charlotte Booth.
Once everyone had arrived and had a plate of food, Seth presented the group with a preliminary partnership agreement stating that all partners would share equally in the expense as well as the profit from buying and leasing the Victoria Square property.
“I’m going to pass around a notepad,” he said. “After you’ve had a chance to read the contract, should you still wish to be a partner in this venture, please print your legal name on the pad and pass it to the person next to you. That way, I’ll have the names of all the partners when I draw up the final agreement.”
“What if we’re having second thoughts?” The question was raised by Nona Fiske, who Katie was, frankly, surprised to see at the meeting in the first place.
“If you’ve decided not to enter into the partnership, simply pass the pad along without adding your name,” Seth said.
When the pad was returned to Seth, Katie could see that these names were on it:
Katherine Bonner
Andrew Rust
Conrad Stratton
Gilda Ringwald-Stratton
Susan Sweeney
Jordan and Ann Tanner
Charlotte Booth
Nona Fiske
Katie raised her brows at Seth when she saw Nona’s name at the bottom, but he merely smiled. It was so like Nona to waffle. Katie only hoped the woman didn’t intend to back out once the deal was underway.
Seth announced that he’d draw up the final contract and then schedule a time when they could all meet at his office to sign the paperwork and prepare the necessary documentation to take to the bank.
Murder Ink Page 11
