“Well, it isn’t.” She groaned. “If she brings this nonsense to me—which she’ll have to if she truly wants Ray kicked out of the association—I’ll set her straight.”
“You’re a good friend, Katie.”
Yes, she was Ray’s friend. Period.
As she walked to her office, Katie wondered why it was so easy for some—namely Andy, Nona, and possibly even Rose—to believe Ray might have killed Ken Fenton. For goodness’ sake, he had no motive whatsoever. And even if he had, Ray Davenport would never kill someone. He had his daughters to think of. He wouldn’t want them to grow up alone. Second, he took an oath to protect and serve the people of Monroe County and became a homicide detective to put murderers behind bars.
But they say everyone has his limits.
Katie rubbed her eyes. Good grief. They even have me doubting him. But I know better . . . I do.
She sat at her desk and awakened her PC. She took out Healy’s card and logged on to the hidden web page to which he’d directed her. There was an impressive list of client names. One stood out to her—Fiona Lancaster.
This was perfect. She could not only ask Fiona about John Healy’s work, but she could also ask her why Phil didn’t think Katie should have allowed Hugh to have a vendor booth at Artisans Alley. She picked up the receiver of the phone on her desk.
Fiona answered promptly. “Katie, dear, hello.”
“Hi, Fiona. How are you?”
“Wonderful, thanks. You?”
“I’m fine. I’m calling regarding John Healy. I’m planning to renovate the upstairs of Tealicious, and John came to check it out today. He’s going to work up a couple of different plans, and you’re on his list of references.”
“Of course I am! John is a genius. I adore his work. He’s professional, direct, doesn’t like surprises any more than I do, and he usually comes in not only on time but slightly under budget. I highly recommend him.”
“That’s good to know. Thank you. I was impressed with him, but it helps to hear you speak so highly of him.”
“I know you’ll be satisfied with his work.”
“Fiona, while I have you on the line, could I please ask you a question?”
“Fire away.”
“Why does Phil think I shouldn’t have allowed Hugh McKinney to rent a vendor booth at Artisans Alley?” Katie asked. “Is there something about him I should know?”
“I don’t think so. Phil merely likes giving people—especially his old Army pals—a hard time. I’ll ask him, though, just to make sure.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“I have to return to Victoria Square sooner than expected,” Fiona said. “I’ll be arriving on Sunday. Would you happen to be free for dinner?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
“Good. I should be able to give you Phil’s thoughts on Hugh McKinney—good, bad, or otherwise—then.”
“All right. See you then.”
After speaking with Fiona, Katie decided to wait until she had the estimates before talking with anyone else on John’s reference page. Besides, she got the feeling they’d all be as complimentary as Fiona. She doubted he’d have his disgruntled clients’ information on the page. But she had a good feeling after meeting Healy. That, coupled with Fiona’s glowing praise and Roger’s desire to work with the man, made her feel he was the man for the job . . . provided she could afford him.
She opened her email account and saw a message from Seth with the subject line Jones Building. The message had gone out to all the buyers in the contract, and Seth was asking each of them to come by his office that day at four o’clock to review and sign the contract.
If you’re unable to be here at four o’clock, please try to come in prior to that time to review and sign the document independently. This will facilitate my taking the contract to the bank on your behalf on Monday morning.
Katie was pleased that the building purchase was moving forward so quickly. When she thought about it, she had a lot of positives in her life right then. If she could only erase the two giant negatives—Ray’s arrest and its implications, and Erikka.
She had no time to dwell on either her positives or her negatives just then, because the phone rang. Caller ID alerted her to the familiar number.
“Margo, hi. How’s everything going?” Katie asked, charging her voice with positivity and praying her former mother-in-law hadn’t changed her mind about buying and renovating the building.
“Everything’s going swimmingly.” Margo hesitated. “Classy people in the know still say that, don’t they?”
Katie rolled her eyes. “Well, you would certainly know.”
Margo gave a tinkle of laughter. “I’m calling to tell you I’m having your friend Seth handle the arrangements for the Tealicious building purchase.”
“Fantastic.”
“I thought you’d be happy about that. He did a great job with our partnership agreement, so I thought it only natural that he’d take care of this for us, too.”
“Exactly. I couldn’t agree more,” Katie said. “By the way, I met with a contractor today, and he’s going to draw up a couple of different layouts and give me some estimates. Would you like to see the layouts before I choose?”
“Sure. I can take a look at them—if he has them ready—when I come to McKinlay Mill for the closing.”
Every muscle in Katie’s body tensed. “The closing . . . right.”
“And, no offense, but I do believe I’ll take those young men at Sassy Sally’s up on their offer to stay at their charming B and B this time,” Margo said.
“Right.”
Thank goodness. No way did Katie want to give up her bed and, more importantly, her privacy for Margo. Then again, she’d sold her soul to get Tealicious, so it was only natural that Margo would want to be a part of its expansion and her financial stake in it.
When Katie ended the call, she mentally added Margo’s pending visit to her list of negatives. She wondered if she should’ve mentioned Ray’s predicament to her former mother-in-law but then decided she was right not to have done so. There was nothing Margo could do to help, after all, and—hopefully—this mess would be behind them long before she arrived.
But Katie didn’t have to like it.
Twenty-Two
It was just after two when Andy showed up at Katie’s office door carrying a small white bakery bag. He held it up and shook it slightly. “I thought you might be in need of a pick-me-up this afternoon.”
Despite the closed bag, Katie closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of spices. “A cinnamon bun . . . just what I wanted.” Actually, she was still full from lunch, but she wasn’t going to say so after he went to the trouble of leaving work to bring her a treat.
Katie stood and, as Andy placed the bag on her desk, she stepped around her desk and put her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you.”
“It’s only been a day,” he said.
“And a night . . . a really lousy night.” She kissed him.
“I’m glad you missed me,” he said and pulled back. “Maybe it’ll make you appreciate me more.”
She cocked her head and scrutinized his face. “You think?”
“If not, maybe this will—I went by the apartment first thing this morning to check on Mason and Della.”
She smiled. “You do know the way to my heart, don’t you?”
“I sure do. They still had plenty of kibble, so I gave them a can of wet food and refilled their water dish.”
“Thank you. You’re wonderful, you know that?”
“Just to you,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m an ogre to everyone else.”
She knew that wasn’t true—he was especially un-ogre-like to Erikka—but she let the thought pass and enjoyed his kiss.
“How was it spending time with the bad seeds
?” Andy asked at last.
“I wouldn’t call them bad seeds. They were just worried about their dad, that’s all. But Ray is out on bail, so the girls should feel relieved . . . for now, at least.” Katie wasn’t particularly comfortable talking about Ray or his daughters with Andy, especially since Andy seemed willing to believe that Ray might have caused Ken Fenton’s death. She changed the subject to something neutral. “Have you read the email from Seth?”
“I have. I thought I could drive us over to his office.”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
“And after we meet with Seth, I’d like to take you to dinner at the steak house, if you’re up for it.”
“I’m definitely up for that! A romantic dinner for two? How could I turn that down?” She frowned. “But we can’t, Andy. I couldn’t possibly keep you from Angelo’s that long on one of your busiest nights of the week.”
“Ah, but that’s where a trusted assistant manager is invaluable. I talked it over with Erikka, and she’s happy to run the pizza parlor until I get back.” He gave her a smug grin. “See? I told you offering Erikka a full-time position was a smart move.”
“You sure did.” Katie hoped the sentiment didn’t come out of her mouth as hollow and flat as it felt.
* * *
—
Between nibbling on the rich cinnamon roll and her semi-sleepless night, it was no wonder that Katie’s eyelids were drooping, and her chin kept falling to her chest as she attempted to work that afternoon. More coffee didn’t seem to help, so Katie decided to find someone with whom to chat for a few minutes . . . just until she could revive herself.
She stepped into the vendors’ lounge, but since there was no one there at the moment, she strolled to the cash desks up front, smiling at shoppers on her way and asking how they were doing. When she got to cash desk one, Rose was sitting on a stool, holding another paperback with a buxom blonde in a full-length gown and a bare-chested Scot in a kilt and sporran on the cover. Katie was glad to see that there were no customers in line to prevent Rose from engaging in a quick conversation.
“Katie—I’m so glad you’re here,” Rose said. “Do you have one of those stain-removing wipes in your office?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t. Want me to check around and see if I can find one?”
“No, that’s all right. I was ringing up a sale earlier and some white powder fell out of a satchel of some sort. It got all over me.” Rose stood and showed Katie the white powder that she’d tried to wipe off her shirt but had only succeeded in rubbing in.
“Powder? Why was there powder in the satchel?”
“Who knows?” Rose shrugged. “The customer wasn’t trying to steal powder by concealing it in the satchel or anything.”
“It didn’t fall out while you were checking the pockets to make sure they were empty?”
“No. It was after that—when I was handing the bag to the woman who purchased it. I don’t even know where it came from. But I’m fairly certain it wasn’t on the counter before I rang up the bag.”
“Was the customer upset about the powder?”
“No.” Rose flicked her wrist in dismissal. “She wasn’t a bit upset about it . . . told me not to worry about it.”
“I’ll get you a damp paper towel,” Katie said. “Maybe that will bring the powder out.”
“All right. I’d appreciate that.”
As Katie hurried back to the vendors’ lounge, her mind was spinning. She’d checked all the saddlebags that had been sold when she’d worked the cash desk, and there hadn’t been anything in any of them . . . especially not white powder.
White powder. A chill snaked down Katie’s spine. Could Hugh McKinney be using Artisans Alley to traffic cocaine? Sure, it seemed like a far-fetched idea, but given the things Phil Lancaster had said—and the sheer number of saddlebags that had been sold at Artisans Alley over the past couple of days—anything was possible.
Katie returned to the cash desk with the damp paper towel. Rose gratefully accepted it and managed to blot the majority of the powder off her blouse.
“Thank you, Katie. That helps a lot.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll . . . um . . . be upstairs for a few minutes if anyone needs me.”
She stiffened her backbone, headed for the central staircase, and walked up the steps. Katie had no idea how she was going to ask Hugh about the white powder, but she’d come up with something. There was no way she would allow illegal activity to take place inside Artisans Alley.
Katie took a deep breath and approached Hugh’s booth. “Good afternoon, Hugh.”
“Hi, there.” He straightened, looking up from the leather he’d been tooling. “I’d advise you not to get too close. This stuff gets all over everything.”
The piece of leather over which he’d been working had a piece of paper on top of it. The paper was covered with—judging by the container on his worktable—baby powder.
“You’re using powder on your leather?” Katie moved closer. “Why?”
“To etch in the design. See, I place the paper with the design onto the leather. I then take an awl and poke holes all around the design. After that, I put the paper back onto the leather and pour powder over it. And”—he lifted the paper—“voila. The design stands out, thanks to the powder, and I can tool the design into the leather.”
“That’s fascinating. But all that intricate work I saw come through yesterday and the day before . . . there wasn’t any powder on those.”
Hugh chuckled. “There had been. I take a sponge and clean the powder off after the design is etched in. But I know you didn’t come all the way up here to watch an old man tool some leather.”
“I’m actually just wandering around for a few minutes to keep from falling asleep,” she said. “I didn’t sleep very well last night. Besides, your leatherwork is really interesting.” She forced a short laugh. “But, you’re right, I can see how it would be messy. Rose said a woman bought a satchel earlier today and apparently got powder all over the cash desk.”
Hugh shrugged. “I’m telling you . . . it gets everywhere.”
Katie nodded, gave him a good-bye wave, and walked to the back stairs that led to the vendors’ lounge and back to her office wondering if she’d overreacted about the powder or if she was right to think that there was more to Hugh McKinney’s leather goods booth than met the eye. One thing was for certain, however; with all the possibilities swirling around in her brain, she was now totally wide-awake.
* * *
—
Later that afternoon, when Katie and Andy walked into Seth’s conference room, she was surprised to see that every other member of the new Victoria Square Merchants partnership was already sitting at the table. She’d thought at least one or two of them would have come by beforehand to sign the paperwork. As Katie and Andy took their seats, Seth closed the door, dimmed the lights, and walked to the head of the table.
He clicked a few keys on his laptop, and the first page of the partnership agreement appeared on the projector behind him. “Can everyone see this okay?”
Amid a chorus of yeses, Nona Fiske asked, “Before we talk about the partnership agreement, can we take a moment to discuss Ray Davenport?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Fiske, but no, we can’t,” Seth said. “Mr. Davenport isn’t a partner in this venture, and as we have a lot of material to go over in a short amount of time, we can’t venture off course.”
Nona pressed her lips together and folded her arms across her chest.
Katie managed to hide her smile as Seth continued with the meeting. After the paperwork had been signed by all parties and Seth had dismissed them, he asked Katie if he could speak with her privately.
When everyone else except Andy, Seth, and Katie had left the conference room, Seth asked, “Have you spoken with Margo?”
“Yes. She to
ld me she’d enlisted your aid in buying the Tealicious building.” She scrunched up her face. “And she’ll be here for the closing.”
Seth chuckled. “That shouldn’t be so bad.”
“Let’s hope not,” Katie said.
Andy grinned. “Aw, come on. I like Margo.”
Katie merely shook her head.
“Will she be helping you renovate the loft?” Seth asked.
“I’m not sure.” Katie avoided looking at Andy. “Since the apartment will be for my private use, I’d rather incur the costs of renovation myself.”
“Sure. That makes sense.” Seth escorted them to the conference room door. “She can always pitch in if you need to make any changes should you decide to rent it to someone else.”
Katie nodded. “Thanks for helping us make this happen, Seth.”
“Just part of being your pseudo big brother.”
Katie smiled. “Just be sure to send your bill to Margo—not me.”
“She insisted on it.”
Good old Margo. Maybe her visit won’t be so terrible after all.
* * *
—
After the meeting, Andy took Katie to the Blue Star Steak House for a celebratory dinner. He raised his glass of beer. “To the new Victoria Square Merchants Partnership, LLP.”
Katie clinked her glass to his. “To the partnership.”
“And, I’ll say again how lucky we are to have Erikka to allow us this opportunity for a romantic dinner,” he said.
Katie’s back stiffened but somehow she managed a smile. “True. But let’s not ruin dinner by talking about work.”
“Fine, then answer me this: Why do you still insist on moving to the loft above the tea shop?”
She shrugged. “It makes sense—that’s all. I’d have my own place and not have to pay rent. I can decorate it however I want . . .”
“I’ve never said one word about your decorating the apartment over Angelo’s,” Andy said.
“I know. But, if you’ll recall, I had a hard time talking you into leasing to me in the first place. Now, I’ll only be a stone’s throw away, I’ll have my own place, and you—”
Murder Ink Page 20
