One Hot Murder (12 page)

“Even if they did, what’s that got to do with the murder and arson at Wood U? Especially if they haven’t even identified the body
as
Dennis? Besides, Abby Wheeler was genuinely distraught when she arrived on the scene on Saturday night. No one could fake that kind of worry and tears.”

Katie nodded and sipped her coffee. No doubt about it—the
night of the fire Abby had been beside herself with worry and grief. “Abused wives are often reluctant to leave their husbands. It’s all about emotional manipulation. Sometimes these women are brainwashed into thinking they deserve the abuse.”

“Abby Wheeler doesn’t come across as that gullible,” Gilda pointed out.

Katie had to agree with that assessment. She took another sip of coffee before she tried a different tack. “Do you know how long Dennis owned the business?”

Gilda frowned. “I’ve been on the Square for almost five years now, and Wood U was here before I was. But I’m not sure if Dennis was the first owner.”

“Did you know the business had been sold?”

“No,” Gilda said, sounding genuinely surprised.

Again Katie nodded.

“Who bought it?”

“I haven’t found out—yet. Seth Landers represented the new owner, but he won’t say who it is.”

“And you’re such good friends, too,” Gilda teased.

“Something about ethics and all that stuff.”

“Oh, yes,” Gilda said and chuckled. “A lawyer with ethics. That’s kind of an oxymoron, isn’t it?”

“It’s bound to come out any day now. I mean…what if that person had the motive and the opportunity to kill Dennis? Or what if Dennis killed the new owner?” Katie asked, postulating what had only occurred to her at that moment.

“But why?”

Katie shrugged. “Who knows what drives people to kill? An argument over money? Maybe Dennis got caught pilfering merchandise after the business was sold.”

“Oh, he’d never do that,” Gilda protested.

“Until last night, I would have never thought him capable of bullying his students either,” Katie pointed out.

Gilda shook her head. “All this speculation is useless until the police identify the dead man found at the store.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Katie admitted. She polished off the last of her coffee and tossed the paper cup in the trash next to the makeshift coffee station.

“Why do you obsess about these things, Katie?” Gilda asked.

Katie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t have anybody left to care about.”

“What about Andy?”

Katie smiled. “Yes, there is Andy. But with no one else, I feel like I have to look out for my vendors—or at least those who are helpful and kind.”
And not maddening like Ida
, that irritating voice inside her reminded her. “And those in the Merchants Association, too. You’re all I’ve got.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Gilda said. “Although you haven’t been a part of Victoria Square for very long, Katie, we feel the same way about you.”

Katie felt a blush rising up her neck to color her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to get maudlin. “Thanks, Gilda.” She glanced at her watch. “And thanks for the coffee, too. I’d best be getting back to the Alley. No doubt I’m needed to solve yet another crisis.”

“Have you already had one today?”

Katie nodded. “A doozie. I had to tell Ida Mitchell to leave.”

“Well, that was long overdue,” Gilda said, her expression darkening. “Ezra let her walk all over him. Now don’t you go feeling guilty about it either. I give you a lot of credit for juggling so many balls. There’s a reason why I work alone in my shop for most of the year. I’ve found dealing with employees to be the most exasperating part of the business, so I’m glad I only have to deal with them during the holidays.”

“The situation became intolerable,” Katie said, but was determined not to go into the details. She was sure everyone on the Square would know about the altercation before the end of the day anyway. “I’d better get going.”

“I’ll see you Wednesday at the Merchants Association meeting, if not before,” Gilda called as Katie opened the door. A blast of heat hit her in the face with the force of a sucker punch. She waved a quick good-bye and hurriedly shut the door.

She wondered if she’d have better luck talking to Rose.

One thing was for sure—if she couldn’t get Rose to come up with more information than Gilda had, Andy would be less than pleased to hear the poor results of her sleuthing efforts.

Rose was back at her post at Cash Desk 1, ringing up a sale, when Katie arrived back at Artisans Alley. Since there was no one standing behind her to wrap the fragile blown-glass ornaments, Katie stepped up to the counter, grabbed a piece of paper, and wrapped the first of several colorful orbs. With the sale complete, Katie handed the customer the package and said, “Have a nice day.”

“You, too,” the woman answered and headed for the exit.

Rose hadn’t turned around, and unlike other times when Katie had stepped in to help, she hadn’t thanked her either.

“Are you angry with me?” Katie asked.

Rose sighed—rather theatrically, too. Finally she turned to face Katie. “No. Just a little disappointed. Then again, I know how maddening Ida can be. She’s caused me to lose my temper more than once in the past. And it wasn’t right of her to say disparaging things about you to the customers.”

“Thank you for that. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not happy about the situation either. But I couldn’t back down. Not this time.”

Another customer arrived at the cash desk, holding one of Chad’s small floral paintings. Rose rang up the sale and Katie took one long last look at it. Pink poppies. They’d seen them in a churchyard on a day trip to Fair Haven, New
York. Chad had snapped several photographs and used them as the inspiration for the painting. There were only four or five paintings left now, and when each one sold, Katie felt a pang of regret. But she had no room for more and, in fact, had put ten or twelve of the larger paintings in her storage unit, with the intention of hanging them at The English Ivy Inn.

That wasn’t going to happen now.

“Take good care of it,” Katie told the man, who said it was to be a birthday gift for his wife.

“It hurts to see them go, doesn’t it?” Rose asked.

Katie nodded. “But hopefully that man’s wife will enjoy it for years to come.” She found she had to swallow down a lump in her throat.

“Is there something else you want to talk about?” Rose asked.

“Actually, there is. Dennis Wheeler.”

“Has there been a break in the case?” Rose asked eagerly.

“Not that I know of. But I heard some rather disturbing news about Dennis, and I wondered if you’d heard something similar.” Without naming names, she conveyed what Andy and Keith had told her the night before.

Rose listened, nodding now and then. Finally, she shrugged. “If Dennis had been a vendor here, I’m sure I would’ve known all the dirt. Not much escapes me—and we’re a gossipy group. But being as he was one of the merchants…Sorry, I can’t help you, Katie.”

“That’s okay.”

“Your husband was a teacher at the high school. Do you know any of the other teachers there?”

“Not really. But I met Kevin Hartsfield back in April while we were trying to find out what happened to Heather. He used to teach math at McKinlay Mill High School.”

“Oh, yes, I remember him. Another sterling example of the quality of teachers they’ve hired around here. Do you
really think he’d be a good character witness for Dennis Wheeler?”

Katie shook her head. “I guess not.”

“I suppose you could go up to the school and speak to a secretary or maybe even the principal, but they aren’t likely to talk about a man who was asked to retire, now, are they?”

“No,” Katie agreed.

“And you’re not thinking of talking to Abby Wheeler, are you?” Rose asked with disapproval. “That poor woman has enough on her mind.”

“I agree,” Katie said.

“Good. Now, as long as you’re here, we should talk about the potluck on Saturday.”

Katie sighed. “I can’t thank you and Edie enough for taking charge of this.”

Rose waved a hand in dismissal. “You have far more important things on your mind than organizing a party. And it’s fun. Of course, I’ve had a heck of a time getting people to commit to a specific dish to pass. Too many people want to bring dessert. I’ve had to put my foot down and insist that we get some good side dishes.”

“Oh, dear. I was going to bring a dessert.”

“What were you thinking of?”

“Since it’s been so unrelentingly hot, I thought I’d make a no-bake treat. Maybe homemade peppermint patties.”

“Oh, they’re my favorite. And they’re candy, not dessert, so I think I can make an exception. But if you have some extra time, we could sure use a side dish, too,” she stressed.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Katie promised.

She returned to her stuffy office and turned on the fan once more, thinking about her conversation with Gilda. What if Dennis had killed the new owner and then taken off? There was only one person she knew of to call to check. She picked up the receiver and punched in Seth Landers’s office number.

“I’m sorry, Katie, but he’s tied up with clients all morning.
Is this something important? An emergency?” Seth’s secretary, Carrie, asked.

“No.” Whoever had been killed had been dead for almost thirty-six hours. She could wait to ask her questions.

“I’ll ask him to call you,” Carrie said.

“Thanks.” Katie hung up the receiver. It rang almost immediately. She sighed and picked it up. “Artisans Alley—”

“She’s at it again,” came the angry woman’s voice. Vonne Barnett.
She
had to be Nona, and
it
had to be that she’d once again set out the signs in the parking lot.

“I’ll be right over,” Katie said, then hung up the phone and rued the day she’d ever accepted the job of president of the Victoria Square Merchants Association.

Nona Fiske might consider herself The Quiet Quilter, but she was also a major pain in the butt. And right now, Katie’s butt was in agony. She hated playing the bad guy, and if she’d known she’d have to do it so often between dealing with the vendors at Artisans Alley and the merchants on the Square, she might have refused her inheritance of another forty-five percent of the Alley. Well, probably not, because she’d quit a job she’d despised, and most of the time she enjoyed the interaction with the people on the Square. This week? Not so much.

She donned an Artisans Alley promotional baseball cap and dark sunglasses before she left the building—like taking on the persona of a bad cop. She knew she’d find it easier to confront Nona if the woman couldn’t see her eyes. She needed to be the intimidator—not the intimidated. As she walked across the Square, Katie wondered if she should have borrowed a piece of gum from one of the vendors. Didn’t people look tougher when they chewed gum?

Her first stop was at Afternoon Tea, where, sure enough, she saw the professional-looking signs Nona had paid someone to make. They even had the Victoria Square logo added to the bottom to make them look official.

The door to Afternoon Tea burst open and Vonne Barnett
came out to join Katie. She was a little taller than Katie, with glasses and short dark hair. She wore a soiled apron with the name of the tea shop on it, and there was the hint of flour dusting the left side of her cheek. “See, see,” she said, waggling her hand as she pointed to the offending signs.

“I see them, all right.”

“I know I’ve only been to one Merchants Association meeting so far, and I don’t like to look like a complainer right out the gate, but I did read the charter and—”

“It’s okay, Vonne,” Katie said, holding up a hand to interrupt. “You’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, you’ve done everything right.”

Vonne sighed. “Thank you. But honestly, what can you do if she won’t take them down? If you toss her out of the Merchants Association, she can essentially do as she pleases.”

“I’ll remind her about the snowplowing and other perks she gets as a member.”

“And if she decides they aren’t worth it?”

Katie didn’t answer. “You’d better go inside. Nona isn’t the most reasonable person I know. I don’t want her screaming at you and making a scene potential customers can witness.”

Vonne nodded, turned, and reentered her shop.

Katie approached The Quiet Quilter’s covered porch and climbed the two steps up. She was about to enter the shop when the door swung open and Nona Fiske barreled through, nearly knocking her over. Though small in stature, and nearing the end of her sixth decade, Nona seemed to have boundless energy. She reminded Katie of a tornado—all force and fury but with no constructive mission.

“Good morning, Nona,” Katie said, keeping her voice bland. “It seems we have a problem with parking.”

“Yes, someone removed my signs, hiding them in back of my store. I’ll bet it was those cretins who bought the tea shop next door.”

“No, it was me,” Katie said, still keeping her tone even.

“You!” Nona accused, then lowered her voice. “I should have known.”

“Now, Nona, you know why they had to be removed.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” Nona said, raising her chin, perhaps as a way to look taller.