One Hot Murder (6 page)

Katie unplugged the heater and picked it up. It wasn’t exactly heavy, but it wasn’t featherlight either. Suddenly Ida seemed to come back to the here and now.

“You can’t take that away.”

“It’s
mine
,” Katie reminded her.

“Yes, but
I’m
using it.”

“Without my permission,” Katie reminded her.

“Why would I need permission to use it?” Ida asked.

“Because it doesn’t belong to you.”

“But without it, I’ll be cold.”

“Then I suggest you dress more appropriately in the future.”

“How?”

Katie sighed. “If you know you’ll be cold working here in the tag room, then you should wear slacks and long sleeves—or bring a sweater when you come here.”

Ida waved a hand in annoyance. “That’s really stupid. I’d be much too hot when I drive here and then when I go back home at closing time.”

“Does your car have air-conditioning?” Katie asked.

“Yes, but I never use it. The car uses more gas when you turn on the AC. Everybody knows that, and I’m on a tight budget.”

“Believe it or not, so is Artisans Alley,” Katie said. The bulky heater was getting heavy, making her arms ache.

“How does that affect me?” Ida asked, clueless.

“You are not to use this heater. Tomorrow I want you to bring a sweater,” Katie reiterated.

“But then my legs and feet will be cold.”

“Bring some sweatpants and socks.”

“I can’t wear socks with sandals,” Ida said.

“Why not?”

“Because that just looks
dumb
,” she asserted.

Katie sighed. There was no use arguing with the woman. She turned and stalked out of the room.

“Hey, bring that heater back,” Ida called, but Katie ignored her and headed out the door.

Rose had been waiting for Katie to return to the main showroom. “You got your heater,” she said in amazement.

“Of course I did. It’s mine.”

“But without it, Ida will be cold.”

Rose was beginning to sound just like Ida. “She only has to work another seven hours and then she can go bake in her car on the drive home.”

Rose looked appalled. “But Ida’s old.”

“And…” Katie had to stop and remind herself that Ida was…special. Therefore, she did not holler “aggravating.” Instead, she headed back to her office. “And I have to get back to work,” she said in exasperation.

It was going to be a very long day.

The phone was ringing when Katie got back to her office. She put the heater down and was about to answer it when it went silent. Rose must have answered it up front.

Katie sat down at her desk and started straightening the papers that had been living on the heater for the past few weeks when she heard a loud
boop
over the intercom. “Katie, call for you on line one,” came Rose’s voice.

Katie lifted the phone’s receiver and pressed the blinking hold button. “Katie Bonner.”

“Katie, my love, what are you doing for lunch?”

Katie smiled. She and her lawyer, Seth Landers, had been lunching together at least once a week since the first week she’d taken over Artisans Alley. “I hope I’m having it with you. But why are you calling on a Sunday?”

“There’s a chance I’ll be tied up in court all week. And I didn’t want to miss out on your company.”

“You make me blush.”

“It’s very becoming.”

She actually did blush. “Okay, where shall we meet?”

“How about
our
place?”

Katie shook her head. Their place was Del’s Diner. Seth had a particular fondness for their meatloaf platter. “Meet you there at noon?”

“How about ten after.”

“You’ve got a date.”

“See you there,” he said and rang off.

Katie settled the phone back on its cradle. Andy had never been jealous of the time she spent with Seth, who was gay—no need to feel threatened at all, although Katie would have enjoyed seeing Andy just the slightest bit jealous…at least once.

But Katie was looking forward to this lunch date for more than just the egg salad on rye she was likely to order. Seth was the only lawyer in town and had once specialized in real estate law. Chances were the new owners of the Webster mansion had employed his services to seal the deal, and if so, she fully intended to pick his brain about them.

Before Katie could start work again, the phone rang. Hopefully it was something Rose could handle, so she turned her attention to her computer. It was time to start hounding those who were late with their rent. She opened her spreadsheet and heard the
boop
of the intercom. “Katie, call for you on line one.”

It was a wonder Katie ever got anything done. She picked up the receiver. “Katie Bonner here.”

“Katie? It’s Vonne Barnett.”

For a moment, Katie drew a blank on the name.

“From Afternoon Tea?” Vonne reminded her.

Ah yes. The new co-owner of the recently reopened tea shop on the Square.

“What can I do for you, Vonne?”

“It’s that Fiske woman again.”

Katie closed her eyes and let her head droop.
Swell
. Just before the tea shop reopened, Nona Fiske, owner of The Quiet Quilter, had put out signs giving her shop designated parking—in direct violation of the Merchants Association’s charter, and directly infringing on the area around the tea shop. She’d been told to take them down, had at first refused, and then grudgingly done so, but apparently they were back up again.

“It’s bad enough this heat wave has kept people from visiting the shop…” Who wanted to drink hot tea when it was ninety-plus degrees outside? “But now she’s kept the few that do show up from parking in front of our shop.”

“I will speak to her again. And I will make a point to bring it up at the Merchants Association meeting on Wednesday. Will you be there?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. My mom has been out of town, but she heard about the murder at Wood U. She’s very upset. Will you be addressing that, too?”

“I’m sure the topic will come up.”

“We heard about the other killings on the Square, but we thought that was over. I’m not sure we would have opened here if we’d known there were going to be more killings.”

“I understand your concerns. These things usually happen in a fit of passion, and there seems to be a lot of passion here on the Square.”

“I just hope it’s the heat and not this latest death that’s keeping my customers away,” Vonne said.

Katie sighed. “Me, too.”

“I’d better get back to work. I suppose there’s a chance somebody might show up for brunch,” Vonne said.

“Good-bye,” Katie said and hung up the phone.

Fine. Another problem. She’d had no idea when she was suckered into taking the job how much time being president of the Merchants Association would be.

Sweat rolled down her neck as Katie twirled the knob on her Rolodex, and then called The Quiet Quilter. It rang several times before an answering machine picked up, telling Katie that the store was closed Sundays. She’d expected as much and hung up the phone. Now she’d have to trudge across the lot and remove the cement-filled wheels that held the signs. She’d roll them to the back of The Quiet Quilter, which would make it more difficult for sixty-something Nona, who was rather petite, to haul them back out. But first she’d draft a note and attach it to the front and back
doors of the shop so Nona would find it first thing Monday morning—no matter which entrance she came in.

She put a sheet of Merchants Association letterhead in the printer, typed up a note, and hit the print button. Next up, to build an even greater sweat hauling those heavy signs out of the parking lot.

Some days Katie absolutely loathed the sight of Victoria Square.

Lunchtime approached, and Ida was on the warpath. She stood outside the tag room, rubbing her arms as though she were shivering, and telling anyone who would listen—vendors
and
customers—what a terrible, mean witch (although she told them they should substitute the
w
with a
b
) Katie was.

Katie ignored her as she sailed out the front door and headed for the strip mall a few blocks away that housed a number of businesses—including Del’s Diner. Although the temperature was in the mid-nineties, her car was sure to be over one hundred and twenty degrees, and it wasn’t worth frying to travel such a short distance. She’d be just as hot and sweaty in the car as walking, and anyway, she needed a break from sitting at the desk in her stuffy office.

Katie had nearly reached the melting point when she stepped inside Del’s, which felt like a refrigerator compared to the great outdoors. She looked across the booths, which were divided by a central aisle, and saw Seth in the back, waving for her to join him.

Seth sipped his iced tea as Katie slipped into the booth seat opposite him. “Hot day,” he said. Most days he was dressed in a suit coat, but today he sat there in a golf shirt, looking relaxed. “I thought I’d melt on the drive over here. My AC never got a chance to really kick in.”

“That’s why I walked. I feel cooked, too.”

Seth signaled to Sandy, the waitress who worked the lunchtime trade, for another glass of tea for Katie. While Katie perused the menu she knew by heart, Sandy filled a tumbler from a sweating pitcher of tea, then refilled Seth’s glass.

“I’ll have the Cobb salad with raspberry vinaigrette on the side,” Seth said. “And what do you want, Katie?”

She sighed and set the menu aside. “Egg salad on rye, with extra pickles on the side, please.”

Sandy gave them both a wink. “You got it.” She took back Katie’s menu and headed toward the kitchen.

“No meatloaf?” Katie asked.

“I refuse to be predictable,” Seth said. “So, what’s the gossip about Wood U burning?”

“I spoke to Detective Davenport this morning. At that time they hadn’t identified the body.”

Seth pursed his lips and shook his head. “I heard Wheeler’s car was out back. It’s likely it
was
him.”

“I’m afraid so,” Katie agreed. “Did you know Dennis had sold Wood U?”

Seth squirmed in his seat and wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Um…I—I…”

“You represented him at the closing, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t,” he said, picking up his tumbler and swallowing a big gulp of tea.

“Does that mean you represented the buyer?”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Fred Cunningham wouldn’t tell me who bought the business.”

Seth still wouldn’t look at her.

“And you aren’t going to either, are you?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been asked not to. The new owner doesn’t yet feel comfortable enough to be revealed.”

Katie frowned. “Oh, come on. We’re not talking about the Pope or Santa himself owning the joint. It’s just a little gift shop on Victoria Square.”

Seth held up a hand to stave off any more complaints. “I know, I know. But I promised. And unlike some of my colleagues, I keep my word.”

Katie’s frown deepened. “Do I look like a blabbermouth?”

Seth shook his head and reached for her hand, holding on to it in brotherly fashion. “No, you don’t. I’d trust you with my life.”

“You would?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded. “But like I wouldn’t break a promise to you, I won’t break one to the new owner either.”

Katie sighed. “Well, if you put it that way.” Still, she wasn’t about to completely let him off the hook.

He patted her hand and reached for his glass once again. Sandy arrived with their orders. “Can I get you anything else?” They both shook their heads. “Eat hearty!” she said, and headed to the next booth to check on her other patrons.

Seth dived into his salad, while Katie nudged a pickle slice around on her plate. “Did you know the old Webster mansion had been sold again?” Katie asked.

Seth stopped chewing, frowned, and again seemed to squirm inside his shirt.

“You
did
know,” she said with consternation. “Was that a secret, too?”

He swallowed, shook his head, and took another gulp of tea. “As it turns out, I know the new owners.”

“Just a couple of guys from Boston, eh?” Katie asked and picked up a sandwich half.

“I went to their wedding back in February,” he admitted.

She vaguely remembered him telling her that. “Then you’ve known them for a long time?”

“Well, one of them anyway. Nick and I have been friends since high school.”

“Then he really
is
a local lad? Fred said one of the guys was coming back to help take care of an ailing relative.”

“He’s a good nephew. And his husband is a great guy, too.”

Then it occurred to Katie just what Seth was not saying. “
You
told them about the Webster mansion, didn’t you?”

“Nick called me in early May. He remembered that I used to specialize in real estate law and asked me if I knew of a property that would make a great inn. Of course I told him about the Webster mansion.”

“But you knew that I had my heart set on it,” Katie said. Well, whined.

“Your heart maybe, but your wallet was in no position to acquire it. Not now—and maybe not ever.”

“Do you have to put it so bluntly?”

Seth sighed. “Katie, why do you torture yourself over that place so much? It’s not the only potential inn in McKinlay Mill.”