She sighed once more as she studied the old Victorian home. For years she’d pictured it restored to its former glory, from the outside color scheme to the redecoration of every room within. Years ago the house had been split into apartments, so it had six bathrooms that would make perfect on-suites. She even hung on to a storage unit filled with antique furniture and collectibles meant to fill each room, despite the pain of writing a check every month to pay for it.
Katie had had big plans for The English Ivy Inn. Not only would she host sumptuous breakfasts for her guests, but also put on teas in the afternoon—for wedding and baby showers, as well as birthday and anniversary teas. And she
wouldn’t have been in competition with the Square’s tea shop, as she intended them to be for special groups or her guests, and not open to the public at large.
At least, that had been her intent—something she hadn’t been able to give up on. After all, what was life worth without hopes and dreams?
For now, she’d just have to be content hosting Artisans Alley’s Christmas in July potluck dinner. During the holiday season, everyone was too busy working or celebrating with their own families, so it was decided that the Alley’s vendors would party after the Fourth of July holiday. It was to be an after-hours cookout in the Square’s parking lot. A record heat wave had hit the area and didn’t want to dissipate. She could pray for a little of the snow western New York is so famous for, but she didn’t think it would happen.
Her gaze traveled back to the old Webster mansion.
You’re a fool, my girl. You’ll never get the inn, even if it
is
up for sale once again.
Yet no one seemed in a hurry to buy the old place, and that suited Katie just fine.
She pulled at the sweaty collar of her yellow Artisans Alley T-shirt, wondering if she should take a walk to the strip mall and the seasonal ice cream stand there. Hot as it was, it had to be cooler outside than in. And one triple vanilla cone rolled in slivered almonds would make her feel a lot cooler—at least for the five or so minutes it would take to eat it.
She glanced out the window one last time. Though it needed so much work before it could become habitable once again, gazing at the old Webster mansion never bored her. But this time it wasn’t the mansion that caught her attention. The south side of Victoria Square seemed to glow in the gathering twilight, and it wasn’t from the warm feelings she felt for the lovely shopping district.
“Good Lord!” Katie cried and jumped to her feet. “The Square’s on fire!”
Grabbing her cell phone, she ran for the stairs, flew
down them, but paused at the front of the pizzeria and yanked open the door. Andy stood in front of one of the ovens with a long-handled wooden paddle in hand loaded with a large pizza.
“Andy—the Square’s on fire—the Square’s on fire!” she hollered and turned, letting go of the door. She punched in 911 and started running east toward the end of the Square, where a trail of smoke rose from the back of one of the shops—Wood U.
The dispatcher came on the line.
“There’s a fire on Victoria Square—send the fire department fast!”
“Address, please?”
Katie’s mind whirled. “I don’t know. Number five—or six—or maybe seven Victoria Square in McKinlay Mill. Please, send someone fast!”
She halted in front of Wood U—a shop specializing in wooden gifts and small furniture—and took in the sight. From this vantage point, there seemed to be more smoke than actual fire. Maybe the fire department could save it, or at least contain the blaze before it spread to the other shops—or worse, to the old, tinder-dry Webster mansion, which was its closest neighbor.
Luckily the fire department wasn’t more than a couple of blocks from Victoria Square, and soon Katie heard the piercing wail of sirens as two fire trucks and a rescue squad pulled into Victoria Square. With all the shops closed for the day, there was plenty of room for them to spread out. Eight firefighters spilled from the trucks, grabbed hoses, and hooked them to two of the hydrants in the Square, while their chief and another firefighter ascertained where best to approach the blaze.
“Can you save it? Can you save it?” Katie called, but the men were too intent on their work to answer her.
A Sheriff’s Office cruiser pulled up about the same time
as the first of the rubberneckers arrived to watch the show. One of them called and waved a hand to capture Katie’s attention.
“Good heavens,” Gilda Ringwald-Stratton called, her face flushed from running from her store, Gilda’s Gourmet Baskets. Trust Gilda to still be working at this hour. “Is Dennis inside?” she asked, her eyes flashing with worry.
Dennis Wheeler owned Wood U. During the school year, his wife, Abby, took care of the store when he was at work as the industrial arts teacher at McKinlay Mill High School. He took care of it during the summers—or at least that had been their arrangement. Now that Dennis had retired from teaching, he wasn’t sure what they were doing. Like most of the businesses on Victoria Square, the store should have been closed at this time of the evening—with no one inside. At least, Katie hoped so.
“Maybe one of us should call their house to make sure,” Gilda suggested. “I’ve got the Merchants Association member list in my store.”
“You do that. I’m sure they’ll be heartsick to learn there’s been a fire. But at least if it’s one of the merchants who tells them, it might come as less of a shock.”
Gilda nodded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, and scooted back toward her store, leaving Katie to worry alone.
The smoke billowed from the back of the shop as the firefighters manned their hoses, spraying it down. Another fire truck arrived from nearby Parma. These firefighters set up a pump beside McKinlay Creek, and soon they, too, were dousing the building. Within a minute or so, they shut down their hoses and began the work of investigating what had started the fire.
“That wasn’t too bad,” she heard the fire chief tell one of his men.
The Square’s gas lamps seemed to grow brighter as the
sky darkened, and Katie moved back from the structure, hoping to get away from the stench of burned wood. Her mind was awhirl. How could this have happened? What would it mean for the Square? And what would Dennis say when he learned about the condition of his store?
Cell phone still in hand, Gilda hurried across the parking lot. She was nearly breathless when she reached Katie. “I called Abby. She’s on her way.”
“Was Dennis at home?”
Gilda shook her head. “She’s pretty frantic. She said Dennis was working late in the shop tonight. She hadn’t heard from him since he closed about six.”
A little more than three hours before.
Katie bit her lip, wishing the darkness had brought a cooling breeze with it.
Gilda craned her neck to try to see what the firefighters were doing out back. “Have they come up with a cause yet?”
Katie shook her head. “I’m going to take a walk around the Square’s back parking lot to see if Dennis’s car is back there.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Gilda offered.
“You’d better wait here for Abby. She might need a familiar face—and maybe a shoulder to cry on.”
“Hurry back,” Gilda called.
The crowd of onlookers had grown considerably, and Katie had to thread her way through them. She jogged around the side of The Perfect Grape, the Square’s wine shop, until she could see the back parking lot. Sure enough, Dennis Wheeler’s aging green minivan was parked not far from the back of his shop, which was still crawling with firefighters.
With a heavy heart, Katie headed back to the front lot.
She had almost made it back to Gilda when a familiar gray Sebring—its horn honking frantically—made its way through the throng of onlookers. Finally the driver shoved the gearshift into Park and pulled the keys from the ignition.
She yanked open her door, jumped out, and started running toward Wood U.
Abby Wheeler’s face was already red and puffy from crying. Katie picked up speed to intercept her just as she joined Gilda.
“Was Dennis inside?” Abby called, her eyes wild.
“We don’t know,” Gilda said.
“I’m afraid his car is still parked out back,” Katie said, hating to be the bearer of bad news, but Abby would have learned the truth soon enough.
“I’m so sorry,” Gilda said, patting Abby’s arm.
“Just because the car is parked out back doesn’t have to mean Dennis was inside,” Katie said, trying to sound encouraging, although she felt anything but.
There didn’t seem to be much else to say. A trembling Abby stared at the scorched building as silent tears continued to cascade down her cheeks.
Eventually the sooty fire chief exited the building and removed his face mask. “Better send for the meat wagon,” he told the deputy. “We found a body inside.”
Abby closed her eyes and began to sob.
“Come on, Abby. Come and sit down over here,” Gilda said, and managed to turn Abby away from the building, leading her back to her car.
“Do you think it was smoke inhalation?” the deputy asked.
The chief shook his head. “Not unless he could breathe through a hole in the middle of his face.”
“Murder?” Katie whispered and was instantly sorry, hoping Abby was well out of earshot.
The deputy turned to face her, his expression grim and angry. “Don’t you say a word about this,” he commanded.
“It’ll be common knowledge by tomorrow,” she said.
“Yes, but let the Sheriff’s Office be the one to announce it to the world—not you.”
She nodded and stepped away from the deputy.
A clatter behind her caused Katie to look up. Andy had arrived with a couple of his teenaged employees and begun to set up a folding table. Once it was up, the boys set out four large pizzas and a case of pop for the firefighters. “Just a little thank-you for saving the Square,” he said, handing out napkins to the first of the guys in the helmets, heavy fireproof jackets, and boots.
Katie wandered up to stand beside Andy. “That was thoughtful of you to bring food for the firefighters.”
“I’m damn grateful they put out the fire before the whole Square could go up—including my shop. And I figure it’ll be a trial run for the party next Saturday.” The Merchants Association members—those who owned the businesses that made up Victoria Square—had been invited to the potluck as well.
Too bad Andy wasn’t as thoughtful about making Katie comfortable in her apartment and upgrading the wiring. If she used the air conditioner—which she wouldn’t—
it
might start a fire. But then, he hadn’t wanted to rent her the place to begin with, although she had—in her unbiased opinion—already proven to be an outstanding tenant. She swallowed down a pang of guilt. Okay, she was feeling just a little testy—but it was more directed at the heat and humidity, not at Andy.
“What’s the extent of the damage?” he asked, with a nod toward the building.
“I’m not sure. From the front, it looks like mostly smoke. But they did break down the back door.”
“Then there’s a chance the Wheelers could reopen soon?” he asked, his tone neutral.
“That’s debatable. Insurance companies are notoriously slow about paying claims. Worse than that, they found a body in there.”
“Was it Dennis?” Andy asked, shocked.
“His car is parked out back, but I’m hoping it wasn’t
him. Maybe someone broke in and set the place afire and then couldn’t get out.” But not with a bullet through the brain. So far she was the only one on the Square who knew that little fact, and though she’d already decided to share it with Andy, this wasn’t the time or the place.
“That’s not as ridiculous a theory as you might think,” the chief said as he reached for a slice of pizza. “There’s evidence the back door had been tampered with.”
Oh no! Had Dennis surprised an armed robber who’d expected the premises to be easy pickings on a Saturday night?
Andy’s brow furrowed. He bit his bottom lip and he shot a concerned glance back toward his shop. Was he thinking about missing calls from customers? Katie shrugged it off. “How long will you and your men stick around?” she asked the chief.
“We’ll wait for the medical examiner and hang around long enough for the emergency closure crew to board up the place. We’ve already got a call in to them. They should be here at any time now.”
“We’ll stay out of your hair,” Andy said, and snagged Katie’s arm. They moved out of the way and watched as some more of the firemen arrived to scarf down pizza, while the others continued their cleanup.
Andy nodded toward Abby and Gilda still leaning against the side of Abby’s car. “What about her?”
Gilda had wrapped an arm around Abby’s shoulder, which still shook with wrenching sobs. “I don’t know her well, so I hope maybe Gilda or another of the merchants can call a relative. I don’t think she should be alone tonight.”
“Are they sure the dead guy was Wheeler?” Andy asked again. There was something odd in his tone.
“No one’s said. I mean, no one asked for any of us to identify the body. Maybe they make a relative do that at the morgue.” Katie didn’t like to think about it. She looked
back at Abby and wasn’t sure the poor woman could handle it.
A large truck pulled into the lot. The emergency enclosure firm. That was fast. A couple of brawny guys spilled from the cab and spoke with one of the firefighters before they went around back and started unloading plywood.
“Looks like the party is about to end,” Andy said. He was right. All the pizza boxes he and his employees had brought over were now empty, and all the pop cans were gone. “I’m going to pack up my stuff and go back to the shop. I’ve already spent far too much time away from there.”
“Are we still on for dinner on Tuesday?” Katie asked.
“Sure. Despite the fact Jim’s on vacation”—the assistant manager Andy had hired after embarking on his new venture selling cinnamon buns—“I’ve already arranged for coverage from the guys. We’ll have a nice uninterrupted dinner.”
For all of an hour. But then, she’d known Andy was married to his pizza business when they started going out. Still, she’d gotten spoiled during the past few months when they’d actually gone out on some real dates—to restaurants and the occasional movie. For the most part, their relationship had worked out. And she had an ulterior motive for inviting him. Maybe if he experienced just how hot it could get in the apartment…