One Hot Murder (32 page)

And, of course, one of the biggest draws for staying in McKinlay Mill: Andy. A year ago she hadn’t thought she’d ever find love again. Theirs was a rather lopsided relationship, thanks to their respective work hours, but even that had worked out for the best. When they spent time together, every second counted.

The thought of Andy made her smile. She’d hang out at the pizzeria after her dinner with Seth. If he was shorthanded, she’d jump in and help make pizzas, too. She liked working beside him and soaking up the camaraderie that prevailed among Andy and his teenaged workforce.

She shook her head and was about to sit again when she heard noise in the vendors’ lounge.

“Katie! Katie!” came an agitated voice. Could that be Ida Mitchell? Someone who either showed no emotion at all or boiling anger? Katie glanced at her watch. It was nearly five. She’d thought she’d seen the last of Ida—for that day, at least. The woman was supposed to call—not show up once again.

Katie moved to stand in her doorway. Ida stood in front of the fridge, her clenched fists beating the air in an excited manner. “What’s wrong?” she asked, growing concerned. Was Ida about to have a seizure?

“I got it! I got it!”

“Got what?” Katie asked.

“A job delivering food for Meals on Wheels! I start on Monday.”

“That’s wonderful,” Katie said. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me all about it?”

Ida pulled out a chair and sat down, but she still couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting. “I’m so excited. This is just like having
a real job. The girls and I went in to interview this morning and they let all of us volunteer.”

“I’m so pleased to hear that,” Katie said, and breathed a sigh of relief. No more Ida on a daily basis. Now to negotiate her new work schedule.

“We’re going to make a real difference in people’s lives,” Ida went on to say, and Katie felt instantly ashamed. This was big news for Ida, and who knew how many new friends she would make and how many people would benefit from her—and her friends’—volunteer efforts.

“I’m very proud of you, Ida.”

Ida positively beamed. After all, she probably hadn’t heard many compliments during her life. Again, Katie felt ashamed.

“Would you like to talk about coming back to Artisans Alley?”

“Yes, but not today. After delivering meals all week, I may not have the time or energy to work in the tag room anymore,” Ida said seriously.

Katie nodded. “I understand completely. Still, I hope you’ll come to the potluck tomorrow night.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss that.”

“Bring your friends if you’d like,” Katie added.

Ida rose from her chair. “I will. Thank you, Katie.” Ida looked apprehensive for a few moments, and then lunged at Katie, giving her a stiff and awkward hug. Katie found herself patting Ida’s back.

Ida pulled back, all business once again. “I have to go. The girls and I are going shopping to find outfits that match. We want them to look like uniforms, because they’ll make us look important.”

Katie laughed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“See you tomorrow night,” Ida said with a wave, and exited the vendors’ lounge.

Well, one problem solved.

Katie was about to give the store closing warning when the phone rang. She grabbed it.

“Katie? It’s Ray Davenport.”

“Detective, I was wondering when I’d hear from you next.”

“I was wondering if you had anything new to tell me. Anything you want checked out. I’ll only officially be a member of the Sheriff’s Office for another fifteen minutes.”

“Well, I—” Katie started, but then thought better of it.

“This isn’t the time for reticence. If you’ve got something to say, say it now.”

“I’ve been going over everything we know—over and over it, in fact—and some things are starting to make a lot of sense. To me at least.”

“You’re blathering,” Davenport accused. “What is it you aren’t telling me?”

“Okay, I’ve got some harebrained ideas I’m trying to make sense of before I share them with you.”

“Harebrained or not, it never stopped you before,” he said.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to accuse someone of murder and then have egg on my face if I’ve got it all wrong.”

“So you’ve actually got someone in mind?” he asked mildly. He probably had one of the people she was thinking about in mind as the killer, too.

“Two someones in mind,” she admitted.

“You think the killer had an accomplice?” Davenport asked.

“I think the Sheriff’s Office has two murders on their hands, done by two separate people. And I don’t think one murderer has a clue about the other either.”

“When do you think you’d like to share this information with me?”

“I want to talk to someone who knows both the people I suspect, get some feedback, and then we’ll talk. Probably tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. And in less than just about twelve minutes, I can’t officially act on whatever it is you might say that could lead to capturing a murderer.”

“Or two,” Katie added.

“Or two,” Davenport grumbled.

“But surely you could talk to your former deputies and share whatever information you gather. They’d listen to you, wouldn’t they?”

“In a perfect world. Sadly, we’re not living in that fantasyland.” He cleared his throat. “Whatever you do, don’t act on anything you
think
you know.”

“Ray, would I do that?”

“Yes.”

“I would not. I don’t want to get killed.”

“Then repeat it like a mantra, will you?”

Katie sighed. “Whatever you say.” She heard someone in the background call Davenport’s name.

“I gotta go. See you tomorrow,” he said, and broke the connection.

Katie frowned and set down the receiver. Poor Davenport. He hadn’t gotten to solve his last case. He was leaving his job of over thirty years with one last murder unsolved. It had to be frustrating for him—just like it felt for her.

She’d invested too much time thinking about it. It was time to get on with her own life. And she had somewhere to be in just over an hour. But she had a feeling thoughts of murder would follow her, niggling at her brain until this case was finally solved—no matter how long it took.

Katie swallowed down a pang of envy as she stood on Seth’s front porch, one arm clutching a brown paper bag with two bottles of wine, the other balancing the cherry pie. She wasn’t sure what they’d be cooking, so she’d brought both red and white wines. She used her elbow to press the doorbell.

Seth had inherited the house from his adoptive parents and had done an extensive renovation in the past five years. From the outside, it looked like an old farmhouse. Inside it was a showplace. He’d decorated with an eclectic palette of contemporary and antique pieces. The building Katie lived in was probably just as old, but much smaller, and with none of the finery. And it wasn’t hers. Andy gave her a break on the rent, but she wasn’t building equity. Heck, at the slave wages she paid herself, she never would be able to afford a modest bungalow, let alone a Victorian beauty like—
wince
—Sassy Sally’s.

She elbowed the bell again and Seth obligingly opened the door.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t home,” she said, and handed him the bag.

“Sorry, I was in the kitchen getting things ready.” He looked inside the sack. “The red will go perfect with the steaks I’m going to grill.”

“I thought we were going to cook together,” she said, entering his foyer, which was lovely and cool—a pleasant change from the heat and humidity outside. “Afraid to take a chance on me?”

“Not at all. You can help me make the salad. And it looks like you brought dessert.”

“It’s a made-from-scratch cherry pie.”

“Hey, it’s my favorite. And I’ve got some ice cream to go with it.”

“Vanilla?”

“You do know me,” he admitted. “Now we can have pie à la mode.”

They passed through to the kitchen, which always made Katie’s tongue hang out in envy. Her aunt Lizzie’s kitchen had been serviceable, but small. Since her aunt had died, Katie had always lived in apartments and never had enough room to store all her various baking pans and other equipment. Seth’s kitchen was nearly the size of her apartment over the pizza shop. Granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and what seemed like miles of counter space, with an island big enough to moor a cruise ship.

She sighed. “I just—”

“Love my kitchen. I know. You say that every time you visit,” Seth said with a smile. He’d set out a head of romaine lettuce, some tomatoes, celery, and a red onion, as well as a large crystal bowl. “Everything’s washed. We just need to put it together. Why don’t we do that now and then we can sit back and share a glass of wine.”

“Fine with me,” she said, setting the pie on the counter. “Just let me wash my hands.” In a minute, she joined Seth at the island, where he handed her a paring knife from the block before them.

“How are things at your law office?” Katie asked, and picked up a stalk of celery.

“Not bad. Nothing like the excitement that goes on at Artisans Alley or on Victoria Square. Although I
can
say I know a lot of what goes on behind the scenes around McKinlay Mill.”

“Like who bought Wood U?” she suggested.

“Like who bought Wood U,” he agreed. “And yet I can’t talk about it, even to friends like you.”

“I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do. Sometimes clients confess things I’d really rather not hear. They ask for my advice. I have to give it,
and
I have to keep my mouth shut about it.”

“Especially if what they tell you is illegal?”

He shrugged. “It’s a slippery slope.”

“Could whatever you know be relevant to the death at Wood U?” she asked.

“No.”

Who in McKinlay Mill—possibly someone right on Victoria Square—could have told Seth something in confidence? Dennis? His killer? Someone Katie hadn’t even suspected of the killing? Had Jerry Murphy ever contacted Seth?

It was circular thinking. Far better to concentrate on making the salad…among other things. “If it makes you feel any better, I forgive you,” she said.

“For what?”

“Not telling me who bought Wood U and the Webster mansion.” She sighed. “And I think I’m a step closer to closure on The English Ivy Inn.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad to hear that. You’ve tortured yourself over it for far too long.”

“I’ve been vacillating about fixing the air-conditioning in Artisans Alley. It costs so much money and I’m desperate to get out of debt. But today one of my vendors took a nosedive because of the heat. Vance found her in her booth passed out. What if she’d fallen? What if she’d broken a bone or, worse, fractured her skull?”

“I take it that didn’t happen.”

“No, but it could have.”

“And how have you solved the problem?”

Katie sighed. “I’m selling everything I collected for The English Ivy Inn to your friend Nick.”

Seth let out a long breath. “I never told him you had the stuff.”

“I’m sorry to say for a moment there I thought you might have, but I suppose it must have been one of the other merchants who spilled the beans.”

Seth shook his head and continued to tear the lettuce.

“Nick offered me an outrageous amount of money and I told him to get back to me tomorrow when he’d gotten over his initial glee. You should have seen him—like a kid with a new bike on Christmas morning.”

“You’re a good person, Katie.”

She shook her head. “I just want fair market value.”

Seth smiled. “You’re still a good person.”

Katie reached for another stalk of celery and started chopping once again. She had a lot to get off her chest, and she wanted to do it in an orderly manner. “Nick told me how you kept Dennis Wheeler from picking on him when you were both in high school.”

“Someone needed to. The problem with a bullying teacher is they teach their students that it’s okay to pick on their targeted victim. I wasn’t going to let that happen to Nick.”

“You’re a good person, too,” Katie said and laughed. But her smile soon waned. “I’m sorry to say Dennis continued to pick on students for the rest of his career. Including Andy, and just recently one of the boys who works in his shop.”

“The kid who was arrested for arson?” Seth guessed.

Katie nodded. “Abby Wheeler told me that Dennis’s father used to ridicule him. Maybe he associated that behavior with love, although she also said he never wanted to have children.”

“Smart move on his part. Children often emulate what they learned from their parents, be it bad behavior, crappy parenting, or repeating the patterns of domestic abuse. Abby came to see me a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh?” Katie asked.

“I can’t tell you what we talked about, but I’m sure you can probably guess.”

“Let’s see…her bullying husband just retired from his day job. That would mean he was going to be underfoot twenty-four/seven. And maybe that didn’t appeal to the lady?”

“I won’t tell,” Seth said, and ripped another piece of lettuce.

“I visited Abby the other day at her house. Talk about weird. She had the AC set so low I wouldn’t have been surprised to see my breath vaporize.”