One Hot Murder (21 page)

Abby shook her head, her face crumpling. “Not if Dennis doesn’t come up with some kind of support—which isn’t likely if he’s skipped the country, or if he ends up going to jail. I’m going to have to find a job pretty quick if I’m going to make the next mortgage payment. And what can I do? I gave up any hope of continuing my career to help Dennis in the shop.”

“What did you do?” Katie asked.

“I was an office manager for a construction company in Rochester. Right now my skills are rusty. Nobody is going to hire me to do more than a minimum-wage keyboarding
job. I sacrificed so much for that man and look how he repaid me.”

“I’m so sorry, Abby,” Katie said and shivered. It was downright
cold
in the room. Abby could save some money by turning off the air-conditioning.

“Still, it doesn’t make sense—especially if he’s guilty of murder.” Abby shook her head. “I believe Dennis has taken off. With everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a girlfriend on the side and had been planning on leaving me all along. I mean, what if the woman couldn’t leave right away? Maybe that’s why he’d be hiding at the Alley.”

Katie clasped her arms. “Maybe.”

“Are you cold?” Abby asked.

“A little,” Katie admitted.

“Sorry. I hate this whole menopause thing. I’ve been having wicked hot flashes. They make me absolutely miserable. I’m either boiling hot all the time or freezing.” She indicated her sweater. “You caught me in one of my freezing moments. But any minute now I’ll be peeling it off.” At Katie’s startled expression she laughed. “I have a sleeveless shell on underneath.” She pulled back the neck of her sweater to show off the light blue shirt. She sank back into the couch. “Menopause. The time of life when your husband looks at you with a jaundiced eye and wonders what happened. Where the wrinkles came from. The weight you just can’t seem to take off. And he thinks, ‘I’m going to be stuck with this old woman for the rest of my life.’” She gave an ironic laugh. “It’s a pity that kind of man doesn’t look in the mirror and see that he’s deteriorated, too.”

This wasn’t a conversation Katie was interested in continuing. She stood. “I’m sorry, Abby. I’ve taken up way too much of your time.”

“I’m glad you stopped by,” Abby said, then stood and walked Katie to the door. “I feel so cut off from everyone
and everybody. I even miss working at the store, which is something I never thought I’d say. And I miss being on the Square. The smell of chocolate and jellies and fresh-baked bread. I miss waving to my shop neighbors. I miss hearing the gossip. Speaking of which, besides the fire, has anything new happened on the Square?”

“The Webster mansion has been sold. It’s going to be a bed-and-breakfast called Sassy Sally’s. It’s supposed to open in November.”

Abby’s eyes lit up. “Just in time for the holidays. And what a great name. Oh, darn. I’m going miss seeing it transformed from a wreck to the beauty it deserves to be.”

“Artisans Alley’s Christmas in July party for the vendors and the Square’s merchants is on for Saturday evening. We’d love to have you join us.”

“I’ll think about it,” Abby said with a wan smile.

“Oh, and we have a new Big Brown delivery guy.”

Abby blinked. “What happened to Jerry?”

“I heard he retired.”

Abby looked thoughtful. “That seems odd. He never mentioned it to me the last time I saw him.”

“That’s what Gilda Ringwald-Stratton said, too.”

Abby shrugged, and then she bit her lip for a moment. “I know I’ve never worked with you at the Alley or at the Merchants Association, but would you mind if I put you down as a character reference on a job application? I’ve decided that first thing Monday morning I’m going to seriously start looking for work.”

Katie hesitated but saw the look of fear in Abby’s eyes. Her future livelihood might depend on it. “Sure.” She dug into the pockets of her shorts and came up with a wrinkled business card. “You can use this number.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, Katie. Dennis always said you were one hell of a woman. Now I know he was speaking of more than just your physical appearance.”

“Oh…well, thank you. I think.” She smiled. “If you
need anything, the Merchants Association is…” She was about to say willing to do anything it could to help. But technically Dennis was no longer a member and no longer eligible for assistance. Katie forced a smile and changed tacks. “Call me.”

“I’ll do that,” Abby said and opened the door.

Katie caught sight of Davenport’s car halfway down the block. She turned back to face Abby. “We’ll talk soon.”

“I’d like that,” Abby said. Letting out a big puff of air, she began unbuttoning her sweater.

Katie could see a light sheen of perspiration on her forehead. “Another flash?”

“Hardly a flash. They seem to last for at least five minutes.”

“You have my sympathy.”

“And you have mine. You’ve still got this to look forward to.”

Hadn’t Rose said the same thing? Katie didn’t want to think about it.

The door closed and Katie walked down the stone path to her car at the curb. She got in and buckled her seat belt. She looked back at the Wheelers’ house, but there was no one peeking through the curtains.

She started the car and pulled back into the street, eyeing her rearview window. When she got to the stop sign, she could see Davenport’s car slowly rolling behind her. She turned and steered the car toward Artisans Alley, wondering what she was going to tell Davenport. She’d learned nothing of any real value—except that Abby believed her husband to be a louse. Well, Katie had been leaning that way for the past day or so anyway.

But she didn’t like the idea of facing her new pal Davenport. Would he be angry? Would he think her incompetent? Or maybe her lack of anything interesting to report would convince him that he should work on this little project by himself.

She could but hope. And Andy was sure to be just as disappointed when she told him of the conversation with Abby.

It was turning out to be one very disappointing day.

As predicted, Davenport was distinctly unhappy. He paced the confines of Katie’s kitchen, scowling, the wrinkles in his forehead multiplying in an alarming number. Was this the look his gave his children when he was upset with them? Had they needed extensive psychiatric care during their young lives because of it?

“I had hoped for better,” he said, using a distinctly fatherly tone. A disappointed father.

Katie wasn’t buying into that and shrugged. “Sorry. What’s the next step?” she said, and cut her ham sandwich into triangles. “Do you want one?”

Davenport shook his head and continued to pace her small kitchen/dining area, his footsteps heavy on the creaky old wooden floor. The term “flatfoot” seemed appropriate. What would Andy think as he sliced and diced his veggies and meats for that night’s pizza sales down below?

“I’m going to have to think about what we do next.”

Katie sat down at the table. “Well, while you’re thinking, think about joining us at the Merchants Association meeting tonight. As a member, you can
nicely
”—she stressed the word—“interrogate everyone under the guise of educating yourself on the organization.” She bit into her sandwich, chewed, and swallowed.

“That’s true,” he said.

“And you’ll have a nice meal and a couple of glasses of wine. But not too much wine, you have a long drive home.”

Davenport merely grunted.

“We’re meeting at six thirty at Del’s Diner.”

“I know the place.”

“And you’ll be there?”

Davenport sighed. “I’ll be there.”

“And try to be nice. But don’t smile too much. You’ll freak everyone out.”

As usual, the dinner conversation around the big table in Del’s Diner’s function room, for the Merchants Association’s monthly meeting, was boisterous. The group had given Nick and Don a warm welcome. However, Katie wasn’t exactly sure the welcome mat was out for Detective Davenport. Was it reticence on his part, or were the other members actually avoiding talking to him? Since he’d been seated on one end of the table, with Katie on the other, there wasn’t much she could do to include him in the various discussions—at least not without shouting.

Nona Fiske sat as far away from Katie as she possibly could, while Vonne and Francine sat to Katie’s left, as far away from Nona as they could be. Vonne kept shooting daggers at Nona, who seemed oblivious. That was just as well. Katie wasn’t eager for open warfare to break out before the meeting even began.

Andy had not joined them, but then, he rarely did. His business hours were on the opposite end of the clock from that of most of the Association members.

Conrad walked around the table, topping everyone’s glass with a lovely pinot grigio. No one seemed in a hurry to start the meeting, probably because Del’s air-conditioning was in tip-top shape and not everyone’s home would be as cool or humidity free. Katie consulted her watch. They usually started the meeting well before seven thirty.

She picked up her own glass and struggled to come up with yet another topic of conversation. She turned to her right. “Gilda, did you know Jerry Murphy, the Big Brown delivery guy?”

Gilda scraped the last of the peanut butter mud pie from the dessert plate in front of her. “Oh, sure. Everybody on the Square knew him.” She set down her fork. “I saw him every day. Not only do I ship with Big Brown, but I get deliveries from them just about every day.”

“Did you know he retired?”

“Yes,” she said and sighed. “The new guy told me. I was surprised he never mentioned it to me. We talked a lot. I understood he intended to stay on the job until he could no longer heft those fifty-pound cartons, and believe me, he did that for me just last Friday. He must have changed his mind.”

Katie took another sip of wine. “Maybe there was a family emergency or something.”

“I could be wrong, but I don’t think he had much family. I know he was single, and he liked to flirt, so I’m sure he had plenty of female admirers.” She giggled. Was it the wine or had Gilda—who herself was newly married—fallen for Jerry’s glib tongue?

Jordan Tanner—who owned the Square’s bakery—took a knife and clinked his half-full water glass until the conversations had quieted to a murmur. “Hadn’t we better start the meeting, Katie?” he asked. “We have a lot to cover tonight.”

“So we do,” she agreed, and stood, knowing there was also a baseball game on ESPN that he probably had TiVo’d. Taking her gavel in hand, she struck the table twice. “We’ll
now bring the monthly meeting of the Victoria Square Merchants Association to order. Sue, will you hand out copies of the agenda to everyone?”

Sue bounced to her feet and collected a sheaf of papers from a bag she’d set against the wall before taking her seat for dinner. She handed one to everyone before sitting once again.

“First of all, I’d like to officially welcome our newest members, Nick Farrell and Don Parsons, owners of Sassy Sally’s Inn, what we’ve known for many years as the old Webster mansion.” A smattering of applause greeted her announcement, and both men nodded at the enthusiasm shown by all.

“I’d also like to welcome Ray Davenport. Many of you know Ray as a detective with the Sheriff’s Office.” There was no applause as everyone turned to look at the detective. “Mr. Davenport—Ray—bought Wood U from Dennis Wheeler and the transaction was recorded more than a month ago, but I’m not sure if he’s actually a member or needs to join the Association. Nothing in our charter says that when a business is sold, the membership must go along with it—”

“Probably because we’ve never had a situation like this before,” Gilda put in. As one of the founding members of the Association, she had helped draft the charter. “Most of the businesses that fail on the Square just die without a change of hands. The people who next buy or lease the building usually join under a new business name.”

“Then it’s something we ought to address. Business has picked up on the Square in the past nine months—”

“Thanks to you, Katie!” Sue called out, and again there was a smattering of applause.

Katie waved away the compliment. “We’ve all worked hard and our increased budget for advertising has greatly enhanced our visibility.”