One Hot Murder (7 page)

“But it
is
the only property that would make a good inn on Victoria Square.”

“We’ve been over this before,” he said, stabbing a grape tomato with his fork. “When you
are
in a position to buy a property, your best bet is to acquire something down by the new marina. That way you’d have guests for the entire summer—not just for four weeks at Christmas. And you could rent rooms to fishermen all year.”

“Even in winter?”

“Have you ever heard of ice fishing?”

She nodded, but still felt hurt—maybe even a little betrayed—that he was responsible for the latest sale of the Webster mansion.

“What are they going to call it?” she asked.

“Sassy Sally’s—after Nick’s aunt.”

Katie cringed. “That name is all wrong for the property.”

Seth shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. It fits her to a T. She wouldn’t be alive today if she wasn’t full of piss and vinegar. She’s a pistol. Literally.” He turned his full attention to his salad.

“What?” Katie asked, confused.

Seth didn’t bother to look up from his food. “She used to run the skeet range at the country club. She’s a hell of a shot.”

Katie ate a couple of bites of her sandwich before she spoke again. “Fred said I’d probably become good friends with the new owners. Nick and…who else?”

“Don Parsons. Great guys. You
will
love them.”

Katie took another bite of sandwich and made a noncommittal “Hmm…”

“If you like, I could introduce you to them,” Seth offered.

Katie swallowed, her eyes widening. “Sure. I wouldn’t mind. I could invite them to join the Merchants Association. It
would
be in their best interests.”

“Of course,” Seth agreed.

Katie polished off the first half of her sandwich. “When?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When could you introduce me to your friends? Tonight? Tomorrow?”

“Whoa—whoa! What’s the rush?”

“Oh, come on, Seth, you know I’ve been dying to get my hands on that place for years. If somebody else is going to have it, I want to be in on the plans. I need to. I love that old house. It was meant for
me
, but if I can’t have it, I want to make sure the new owners are going to love it and take care of it just like I would have.”

“That sounds very noble, but are you sure you won’t
become a pain in their—” Like Davenport, he paused in his description.

“Does everybody go around McKinlay Mill thinking of me as some kind of a nuisance?”

“Not at all,” Seth assured her. “It’s just…you
do
have a dynamic personality. It’s a big part of your charm.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere with me. You and Andy both know what buttons to push.”

“All part of being a good lawyer.” He sipped his iced tea. “I’ll give Nick a call and try to set something up. Are you free every night this week?”

“Usually I would be, but Tuesday I’m cooking dinner for Andy.”

“You—cooking? Isn’t that an oxymoron?” he asked, aghast.

“I’ll have you know I dug out my aunt Lizzie’s favorite cookbooks and bought several new ones, too. I’ve been working my way through them. The way to a man’s heart
is
through his stomach, right?”

“I’ve heard it said, but it doesn’t work with me,” Seth muttered.

“I might just invite you to dinner so you can see how much I’ve improved. But the truth is you’d melt.”

“How would you like to come to my place to cook? I’ve got central air-conditioning.”

“I might just move in with you,” she countered.

“Let’s not go that far,” he teased. “You could seriously cramp my lifestyle.”

“And you, mine.”

They both laughed.

“Are you coming to the potluck at the Alley on Saturday night? Everybody’s going to be there.”

“Everybody?” Seth asked.

“Everybody who’s anybody on Victoria Square.”

“That doesn’t include me,” he said sadly.

“You’re the Alley’s lawyer. And I’m looking for a tenant
for one of my empty storefronts inside the Alley,” she reminded him.

“You know how fond I am of Artisans Alley, but that’s not the ambiance I want my clients to experience when they come for legal services.”

Katie sighed. “You can’t fault a girl for trying. But the invitation is still open. I would love for you to be there. You can bring the mansion’s new owners.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think hard,” Katie said, and ate another potato chip. She watched as Seth stabbed another piece of lettuce and realized just how much she enjoyed his company. Now if she could just get him to spill the beans on the new owner of Wood U. But now wasn’t the time to badger him. He’d tell her in good time.

If she didn’t uncover that fact for herself first.

Seth dropped Katie off at the front of Artisans Alley, and she was grateful that the front of the building was air-conditioned. If she stood there and soaked in the cool dry air for a few moments, she might actually cool down from the quick but hot ride in Seth’s car before she had to face the hot box that was her office. Seth gave a wave and turned the car around. He was headed to the new marina and his sailboat, which he’d named
Temporary Relief
. He’d have fun on the lake, with the wind blowing through his hair, while she toiled away in her own little sweatshop.

Swell.

As she walked through the lobby toward Artisans Alley’s entrance, she could once again hear Ida ranting. Enough was enough.

“And there she is!” Ida accused, pointing a finger as Katie entered the store.

She took Ida by the arm and escorted her back into the tag room.

“I told you, I will not work under these conditions,” Ida said.

“I’m not asking you to,” Katie shot back, and instead she picked up Ida’s purse, which had been sitting on the floor beside her chair, and handed it to her. “It’s time for you to go home, Ida.”

“I can’t go home. It’s the middle of the day.”

“You’re not staying here if all you’re going to do is complain and say disparaging things about me in front of the customers.”

“Was I doing that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well. Oh.”

“You may come back tomorrow, but only if you’re dressed appropriately and don’t talk to customers. Do I make myself clear?”

Ida slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and stalked out the door in a huff. Katie didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with her anymore that day and soon followed, turning right and heading toward the back of the building and her office.

As she ducked into the vendors’ lounge, she ran straight into the opened refrigerator door. “Hey, watch it,” said a surly voice she recognized. Vance Ingram straightened. “Oh, Katie. It’s you. Sorry,” he said and slammed the fridge door.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Yeah. My lunch. It’s gone. I’ve been thinking about those leftover barbecue ribs for hours and I just searched every shelf and my container is definitely missing. So now I’m out lunch
and
my Tupperware. Janey”—his wife—“is going to kill me when I don’t come home with it.”

With his snow-white beard and wire-framed glasses, Vance always reminded Katie of Santa Claus, but in his present mood he was definitely not emulating Jolly Old
Saint Nick, and that was unusual for Vance, who seldom got angry about anything.

“We’ve had a rash of food and pop thefts for the past few days. I’ve been meaning to put a sign up on the fridge to warn people not to take what doesn’t belong to them.” She sighed and shook her head. “I feel like a grade school teacher—I shouldn’t even have to do that.”

“You print it—I’ll hang it,” Vance offered, and followed Katie to her office. “Have you thought about putting up a video camera?” he asked, as Katie stowed her purse in her desk drawer and tapped the spacebar on her keyboard to awaken her computer.

“No, but it’s a good idea. The truth is, I don’t have the money to put one up. And if I did, I’d probably train it on one of the exits to catch shoplifters.”

“I’ve got a fake one in my booth. It’s battery operated and has a little red light that blinks every couple of seconds. Since I put it in, I haven’t had as many items disappear.”

“Yeah, but everybody here knows it’s fake. It wouldn’t be much of a deterrent in the vendors’ lounge.”

“I guess you’re right,” Vance admitted.

Katie typed the message, changing the font size so that it filled the page, and then hit print. The page came rolling out seconds later. She glanced over it to look for typos before handing it to Vance.

“You and Janey and Vance Junior will be at the potluck on Saturday night, right?” Katie asked.

“We wouldn’t miss it. Janey’s bringing her me-maw’s ambrosia pudding. Rose has me manning the barbecue. Thanks for supplying the burgers and hots.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Katie hadn’t yet decided what else to bring to the dinner. It had to be some kind of dessert. She’d have to figure it out soon before Rose got on
her
case. “Anything happen since I went to lunch?” she asked.

“Just Ida and her nonsense. Detective Davenport was
poking around Wood U for a while and then came in to talk to some of the vendors.”

Katie shook her head. When Ezra Hilton died, she couldn’t get Davenport to even think about the murder…but then, he’d had enough on his plate. It was just days after his own wife had died. He really should have taken his retirement then. But maybe he figured he could work through his grief better if he kept involved. That was how Katie had survived her husband’s early demise.

“Have you spoken with him?”

Vance nodded. “But I didn’t know Wheeler well—despite the fact we both worked in wood. I admit, I went in his shop a few times to check out his merchandise, but it was usually a woman working behind the till. We just never crossed paths.” He brandished the piece of paper and swiped a piece of tape from her desk dispenser. “I’ll hang this up—then I guess I’ll hightail it over to McDonald’s and get me a Big Mac and some fries. I’m starved.”

“I’m not confident the sign is going to stop the pilfering,” she called at his retreating back. No more than it would deter Nona Fiske from hauling out her parking signs again. Katie turned back to her computer. Maybe she should enlist Detective Davenport’s help in capturing the fridge food felon—that was one case he might surely solve before he was to retire at the end of the week.

She sat down at her desk and glanced at her list of things to do and decided to ignore it for just a while longer. Instead, she logged on to the Internet and clicked the bookmark for her favorite local TV station. She clicked on the update for the Wood U murder but found nothing new reported. A murder out in the sticks didn’t draw as much attention as one in a more affluent suburb.

She sat back in her chair and stared at the computer screen. It was still there on the corner of her screen—the Excel document that was simply labeled inventory. It
called to her on a regular basis. It and the file of pictures that was located elsewhere on her hard drive. She straightened, grabbed her mouse, and clicked on the icon. Seconds later, the inventory popped open. There, in loving detail, was every item she’d purchased for The English Ivy Inn. The bed frames. Claw-foot soaker tubs that needed to be painted on the outside with a new finish on the inside. Sconces. Dishes. Glassware. Cutlery. Two China cabinets. Dressers. Hand-painted Limoges dresser sets. A trunk full of doilies and other vintage linens. She’d even gotten a deal on a gross of padded hangers, figuring she could hang them in the closets and the armoires she’d purchased at auctions.

Her gaze fixed on the bottom of the spreadsheet, where all the figures were totaled. She’d spent nearly twelve thousand dollars on her treasures. She’s spent thousands more on the rent for the storage unit.

A rivulet of sweat trickled down her temple.

If she could sell the items in the storage unit, she could not only fix Artisans Alley’s HVAC problems, but eliminate the monthly storage fees.

They’re only things
, she told herself.

Things that were doing her no good.

Things that would deteriorate in long-term storage.

Things that she loved but had no personal use for.

I’m not ready to part with them
, she thought and closed the file.

She could afford to carry the rent on the unit for a few more months. Maybe in the fall she’d be ready to make a decision on selling them. Or maybe she’d cave in and move in with Andy if he would let her store her treasures in the apartment over the pizza parlor for the same discounted amount she was paying him for rent.

But she didn’t want to do that either.

She surely was channeling Scarlett O’Hara, because she
turned away from the computer and refused to contemplate the situation anymore. She’d think about it tomorrow. Or next Wednesday. Or in October.

More sweat trickled down her face.

She bent down and turned the fan on higher.