One Hot Murder (29 page)

“I thought we were calling each other by our first names,” she said, and pushed another pit from a fat, ripe cherry.

“Okay then, Katie. I did some checking on your Big Brown pal and learned his beautifully restored Chevy was found in the bottom of the Erie Canal. It was hit by a barge late last night. Two people were hurt.”

Katie’s heart skipped a beat. “Were they hurt bad?”

“Bumps and bruises only.”

Whew!
“And the car?” she asked and went back to her work.

“No longer a shining example of his restoration skills, I’m afraid. The plates had been stripped. They got the ID from the VIN number.”

“Strange place to put your car if you’ve just retired,” Katie commented.

“Retired, my ass,” Davenport said. “The guy never showed up for work on Monday morning. The receptionist said they’d received an e-mail from Murphy’s home account instructing them that he was retiring and to send his last check to his home, as well as any other paperwork that needed to be filled out.”

“Isn’t it a little unusual, let alone suspicious, to quit your job via e-mail?” she asked.

“It sure is.”

“Could you do a little more pushing to find out more?”

He sighed. “I can try.”

“Great. Any chance you can go and check the guy’s house out, too? See if he’s been back there? Maybe you could check his credit card report to see if there’s been any action since he went missing on Saturday.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy?” Davenport asked.

“It may have come up once or twice during my life,” she admitted, amused. “But honestly, Ray, this could be a big break in the case.”
And what else have you got to do?
she felt like asking, but decided it wouldn’t be in her best interests.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll call you back if I have any news.”

“Thanks, Detective—er, I mean Ray.” She hung up.

With the cherries now pitted, Katie decided to see what she could rustle up for her dinner. She inspected the contents of the refrigerator. A half-empty box of Bisquick, bran flour, all-purpose flour, half a carton of milk, its expiration date growing near, and one egg. She’d need that for the glaze on Seth’s pie. The freezer compartment held an assortment of frozen dinners, but none of them appealed to her.

One good thing about living over a pizzeria—she might be sick of the fare, but there was always something freshly cooked to eat. She took her plastic bowl of washed and pitted cherries downstairs and entered the shop.

“Hey, Katie,” Andy called, just as the phone rang. He hadn’t sounded too cheerful. Had he heard more news about Blake?

When Andy finished taking the order, he hung up the phone and turned to Katie, noticing the bowl of cherries on the counter. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

She looked down and laughed. “Yes, I guess I am.”

“Tell you what?” Keith asked from behind Andy as he checked on the progress of the pies in the oven.

“That life is just a bowl of cherries.”

“Is it? I never knew what that meant,” Keith said.

“Me either,” Katie admitted. “But I thought you guys might like to snack on something healthy for once. I already pitted them, too.”

“Even better,” Andy said, then grabbed a couple and tossed them into his mouth.

“Sweet, aren’t they?” Katie asked.

He nodded.

Keith moseyed over and grabbed a handful. “Thanks, Katie. There’s a lot here.”

“I thought the guys might like to grab some in between deliveries.”

“Thoughtful of you,” Andy said and smiled wanly. Something was definitely up.

Keith went back to his work while Andy donned his gloves once again and concentrated on the pizza he was constructing. “Did you want something to eat?”

“Just a slice if you’ve got one available.”

“Coming right up,” Keith said.

Katie leaned over the counter. “Is something the matter?”

Andy nodded. “Not much escapes you.”

“I’m just a nosy busybody. Is it anything you can talk about?”

“Blake.”

“I thought as much.”

Keith handed Katie a slice of pizza on a paper plate. “Thanks,” she said. He grabbed a few more cherries and retreated back to his oven. Katie grabbed a couple of napkins before she helped herself to a Coke from the cooler. “Are you going to tell me about it?” she asked Andy.

“There’s not much to tell. The DA wouldn’t cut him any slack. They offered a plea bargain, and he took it.”

“Jail time?” Katie asked.

Andy nodded. “They said they’d cut the time if he admitted he set the Wood U fire, too.”

“How long will he get?”

“Five years.”

Katie winced. An eternity—at least to an eighteen-year-old boy.

“At least they’ll send him to a minimum-security prison. I’d hate to think of what would happen to him in a place like Attica.”

“Small comfort, though,” she said and took a bite of pizza.

He nodded grimly.

She swallowed. “I’m so sorry, Andy.”

He shook his head and transferred the pizza to a wooden paddle, handing it to Keith. He started on the next pizza. “It’s always kind of bittersweet when my kids go off to college. I miss them, but I know they’re on the right track and will make something of themselves. That they’ll make me proud. It feels like I failed with Blake.”

“You didn’t fail him, Andy. He failed himself—and his parents.”

“They’re heartbroken,” Andy admitted. “He’s their only child.”

Katie took another bite of pizza and chewed slowly. It was inevitable that not all his charges would straighten up and become model citizens, but this first failure seemed to have hit Andy particularly hard.

She looked over at Keith, who was one of Andy’s stars. The kid had worked at the shop for almost two years. He’d been accepted at Brockport State College, where he intended to study business administration. He thought he might want to open his own pizza parlor one day. In another month, he’d be gone, although Andy had assured him he could work anytime he wanted—on school breaks and weekends. Did Andy already have a recruit to man the ovens or would he wait until the school year started and the principal offered him another batch of troublemakers to mentor?

The phone rang, and Andy abandoned his pizza, stripping off his plastic gloves to answer it. He took down the order, hung up, and returned to his work. “I meant to ask you, what was Detective Davenport doing in your apartment the other day?”

“Oh, you saw him?” Katie asked, her voice sounding higher than usual. “We were talking about Abby Wheeler.
I’d gone to visit and took her a box of cupcakes from Tanner’s.”

“I suppose he grilled you.”

“Pretty much.”

“I’ll be glad when he’s retired and we won’t have to see him here on the Square anymore.”

“Um…haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Davenport is the new owner of Wood U.”

Andy stopped what he was doing and leveled an annoyed glance at Katie. “I guess it must’ve slipped your mind.”

Katie laughed nervously. “I’m afraid he’ll soon be a fixture around here. Or at least as soon as he can reopen the shop. He’s still waiting to hear from his insurance company.”

“Why did he want to know what you talked about with Abby Wheeler? I thought he was off the case,” Andy said, and went back to work.

Katie shrugged. She wasn’t about to admit she was helping the almost-former detective out. Andy would have a fit. “I guess you can take the detective out of the Sheriff’s Office, but you can’t take the need to detect out of the man. Or…something like that.”

Katie ate the last bite of her pizza and figured now would be an excellent time to escape before he could interrogate her any more. He was almost as good at it as Davenport was. “I’d better get going.”

“Do you want to take your bowl back now?”

“I’ll get it tomorrow.” She beckoned him closer and gave him a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You better believe it,” Andy said, and kissed her again.

“Smooch, smooch, smooch!” Keith teased from his station at the ovens, and plopped another pizza into a box.

“Get back to work, you,” Andy said with chagrin, and Katie laughed.

“Do you want a kiss, too, Keith?”

“Ah, heck, no,” the kid said, and flushed. “Andy would fire me.”

“You said it,” Andy said with mock indignation. At least he was smiling again, although Katie knew it would be short-lived.

“See you later,” she said, and headed out the door, turned the corner, and started up the steps to her apartment. The phone was ringing when she entered the hot box known as her kitchen. She grabbed it. “Hello?”

“It’s me again,” Davenport said.

“Didn’t I talk to you less than an hour ago?” Katie said as she stared at the cherries and wondered if she ought to bake the pie that evening. Lighting the stove wasn’t going to make it much hotter than it already was.

“You did want me to keep you informed,” he reminded her. “I’m only hearing stuff thirdhand these days, but I just got a call from a buddy of mine. You want an update on the freeloader at Artisans Alley?”

“Um, sure.” Oh, dear. Had they figured out it was Godfrey?

“No fingerprints on file to match those found in Chad’s Pad, so whoever it is has no criminal record—as of yet. If we ever find the guy, you can always press for trespass.”

“That’s a comfort to know,” she commented, and searched one of the bottom cupboards for her nine-inch pie pan. Since she’d promised she wouldn’t turn Godfrey over to the deputies, pressing charges wasn’t likely to happen.

“The thing is,” Davenport continued, “nobody you suspect has fingerprints on file…your pal Jerry Murphy, nor Dennis Wheeler. And I did as you asked and looked into Murphy’s credit report. His Visa card was last used last Wednesday, when he booked two Amtrak tickets going from Rochester to Miami.”

“When were they for?” she asked, and opened the fridge to take out the flour and the shortening.

“Monday. Amtrak says they were never used.”

“See, the evidence is mounting that your dead guy in the morgue
could
be Jerry,” she said and took the measuring cups from the cupboard by the sink.

“You almost say that with glee. I thought you were friendly with this guy.”

“I was. And if it is him lying there in a stainless steel drawer, I will be very sad. But if it
is
him, he deserves to be mourned by his friends and buried. Don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.

“What’s the next step?” she asked, and pulled out the silverware drawer, looking for her set of measuring spoons.

“To see if I can convince someone at the Sheriff’s Office to buy into this theory of yours and dig up a relative for a DNA sample. Since the remains can’t be identified by visual means, it’s our only hope at this stage.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you there. I only knew him casually. But some of the other merchants might have more information. I know he used to talk to Gilda Ringwald-Stratton quite often. He was in her shop every day. You might want to start there.”

“Okay, okay.”

“And will you call me if you find out anything else?”

“Haven’t I been doing that on a regular basis already?” he asked wearily.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Talk to you later,” Davenport said and cut the connection.

Katie hung up the phone. They were getting to be real pals, thanks to this murder case. She wasn’t sure if she was entirely happy about that.

As she measured the flour into a mixing bowl, she wondered if what she told Andy was true. Would Davenport be able to keep his investigative nose out of things in the future? Would he really be content to stand behind a retail counter during the day and putter in his workshop at night?

Time would tell.

Meanwhile, her pie pan beckoned and she measured the shortening to add to the flour. Now if she could just stop being nosy and keep her mind on things related to Artisans Alley, the Merchants Association, and Andy, she’d be a lot better off herself. And yet without her, would anyone have made the connection to the abrupt disappearance of the Big Brown driver?

Dennis Wheeler hadn’t been hiding in Chad’s Pad. He hadn’t shown up on anyone’s radar since before the fire on Saturday night. He seemed to have annoyed plenty of people over the years, but was being annoying enough to get one killed?

She pondered that thought as she baked her pie. Dennis had to have killed Jerry Murphy and taken off. It was the only reasonable explanation. But until they could prove the body in the morgue was actually Jerry, no one was going to ask Abby Wheeler if she’d had a relationship with the (possibly) dead man.

Katie had a feeling Davenport wasn’t going to be able to add one more solved case to his career résumé. Not, at least, in the next twenty or so hours before he was officially retired.

Friday morning dawned and Katie woke up hungry. Very hungry. A few cherries and a slice of pizza weren’t nearly enough food to keep a stomach busy during a twelve-hour period. Unfortunately, the breakfast options were just as limited as the dinner selections had been the night before. She’d spent a lot of money at the grocery store a few days before. What on earth had she bought, for there seemed to be nothing edible in the fridge or cupboards? She’d used her last egg to glaze the top crust of the pie she’d baked for Seth and she longed for an omelet. There was just one cure for that—breakfast at Del’s Diner.