One Hot Murder (4 page)

She broke the quiet. “How can I help you, Detective?”

Davenport took another sip of coffee and then cleared his throat. “The autopsy on the Wood U fire’s victim was set for this morning. I should have the prelim on my desk when I return to the office, but it’s pretty clear this was murder.”

She nodded. “I heard the fire chief say the victim had been shot in the head.”

“While we believe the deceased to be the owner of the shop, Dennis Wheeler, the damage to the victim’s face was too great for a visual ID.”

Katie’s breath caught in her throat. The fire chief had made the wound sound almost incidental. “Does that mean—”

“He was shot in the back of the head with a large-caliber gun. Probably a Magnum. The exit wound obliterated almost all the facial features, and took most of the teeth with them, so dental ID is going to be just about impossible, too.”

“It sounds like whoever did it didn’t want the victim to be identified at all.”

“You got that right. We’ll be doing DNA testing, but that could take months. Our governor was serious when he said he wanted to balance the state budget. The crime lab took a hit along with just about every other agency in the state.”

“Does that mean you won’t solve the case before you leave the department?”

“I’m determined to solve it, but we might not have a positive ID on the victim for some time.”

“Where do you start?”

“By talking to the merchants on Victoria Square. I assume you can give me a list of everyone.”

“I’d be glad to.” She reached into her desk drawer, took out a folder, and withdrew a sheet of paper. She turned in her chair to place it on the platen of her all-in-one copier/printer. Seconds later she handed Davenport the copy.

“This will be a big help. Thank you.” He folded the sheet and put it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. He had to be boiling in that suit coat. With the door closed, Katie had started to sweat as well. She switched the fan’s speed to its medium setting.

“Now, tell me what you know about Dennis Wheeler,” Davenport said quietly.

Katie sighed. “Truthfully, I didn’t know him well. He seemed perfectly nice. He always participated in our Association meetings, making good suggestions. Until recently he worked full-time at the McKinlay Mill High School as an industrial arts teacher.”

“Did your late husband know him?”

Katie shrugged. “If he did, he never said so. These past few years Chad was more interested in talking about his friends here at Artisans Alley than those at school.” She looked around the shabby office and again felt a pang of regret that she was stuck here instead of refurbishing the old Webster mansion. And though she felt more charitable toward the place of late, that Chad had invested their life savings in this money pit—without her knowledge or consent—still galled her.

“I’ll be talking with the school principal later today to see if Wheeler had any trouble with his students.”

Katie’s eyes widened and she remembered Andy’s expression the night before when they’d spoken about Dennis with the fire chief. He’d looked concerned. He employed boys from the high school who were considered at-risk, mentoring them to keep them out of trouble. Did he suspect one of his employees had something to do with the fire at Wood U? Surely none of those boys was capable of murder.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Bonner?”

Katie laughed nervously. “Not at all. Just thinking.”

“Was Wheeler well liked by the other merchants?” Davenport went on.

“He seemed to be.”

“Was he a good businessman?”

Katie frowned. “As far as I know. Like many of the other merchants, his business seemed to pick up since…” To say since she took over managing Artisans Alley and became the Merchants Association president sounded self-congratulating, no matter that it was true. “Since the rebirth of Victoria Square.”

Davenport nodded. “What about his wife? Do you know her?”

“Just to say hello. She rarely came to our meetings, but she seemed perfectly nice, too.”

“Could they have had marital problems?”

Katie started, then realized cops always asked that question. “Not as far as I know.” Abby had been awfully upset the night before. Katie couldn’t imagine she’d been putting on an act.

“I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t seem to be much help to you this time. I guess I’m still in shock. The other deaths I’ve dealt with here on Victoria Square were of people I wasn’t well acquainted with. I know I just told you I didn’t really know Dennis, but—he was one of
my
people. As president of the Merchants Association, I feel a certain responsibility for keeping everyone here on the Square safe. Somehow, I feel I’ve failed.”

“Mrs. Bonner, you’ve always been a help. A pain in my—side…” Katie had the distinct impression he’d been about to mention a portion of his lower anatomy. “But always a help.”

Was it cynical to wonder why he was being so pleasant? Katie watched as Davenport sipped his coffee. The man must be made of strong stuff to drink hot coffee in such a small, airless room on a blistering hot day. “One last question, and then I’ll stop bothering you. As far as you know, did Wheeler have any enemies?”

Katie shook her head, but her thoughts went back to Andy’s employees. Her husband had a few troublemakers in his classes over the years. One of them had been vindictive after Chad had failed him for the year, slashing the tires on his car. Insurance had covered it, but the boy was unrepentant, and though he admitted he’d done the deed, Chad had no tangible proof and they had both taken care where they parked their vehicles after the incident. Could Dennis have had a similar experience?

Davenport drained his cup and stood. “Thank you for speaking with me today, Mrs. Bonner.”

Katie stood as well. “You’re welcome.” He was still being nice, and she felt obliged to return the favor. “When will you be speaking with the rest of the merchants?”

“That’s next on my list of things to do.”

“Since The Perfect Grape is the closest shop to Artisans Alley, I’d be glad to introduce you to Conrad Stratton, or have you already met him?”

“I don’t believe I have. And thank you, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll walk you over,” she said and opened her office door, startled to find Godfrey Foster bent over, as though he’d been listening to their conversation. “Can I help you?” Katie asked rather sharply.

“Uh…I just came from the washroom and noticed my shoe was untied,” Godfrey said and laughed nervously. Katie looked down. Sure enough, the laces of his left shoe had come undone. He shuffled away from the door, put his foot on one of the chairs around the table in the vendors’ lounge, and tied it.

Katie and Davenport cut through the lounge and, ignoring the lint art vendor, started for the side door. Artisans Alley wouldn’t be opening for at least another hour, and neither would the other shops and boutiques that ringed Victoria Square, but Katie was pretty sure Conrad would already be at The Perfect Grape. He liked to dust the wine bottles and make sure everything was shipshape before opening each day.

She and Davenport walked across the already hot tarmac in amiable silence. The lights were on in the wine shop, although the sign that hung in the window said closed. Katie knocked on the glass. Conrad looked up from the paperwork spread across his sales counter, smiled, and hurried to the door. “Can I help you Katie?” he greeted her.

“Conrad, this is Detective Davenport with the Sheriff’s Office. He’d like to ask you some questions about Dennis Wheeler.”

Conrad shook his head and tsked. “Poor man, poor man.” He offered his hand and Davenport shook it. “Please, come in. Will you be staying, too, Katie?”

Katie noticed movement at the end of the Square, recognizing the car that had just pulled into the lot. “No. I have some other business to attend to. Nice seeing you. And if you have any other questions, Detective, feel free to call me.”

“I will,” he said, and allowed Conrad to usher him into The Perfect Grape.

Katie knew she shouldn’t pay attention to what was happening at the other end of Victoria Square. She should just mind her own business and get back to work. But instead of heading back to her office, Katie turned north toward the old Webster mansion. Something was up, and she was determined to find out just what.

With hammer in hand, Fred Cunningham, of Cunningham Realty, climbed out from behind the wheel of his Cadillac. That could only mean one thing: The for sale sign would be coming down. Someone had bought the old Webster mansion. Again.

Katie hightailed it across the parking lot. By the time she arrived at the old Victorian mansion, Fred was already removing the nails from the sign that had hung on the porch column for the past three months.

Katie slowed down and walked the last twenty feet. Once again her dream of owning the old place had evaporated. “Who bought it this time?” she asked, fighting the urge to cry. “Anyone I know?”

Fred turned. He’d left his sports jacket and tie in the car. Despite the hour, his white, short-sleeved dress shirt looked wrinkled and damp—just like she felt. “I figured I’d see you today. You have an uncanny knack for showing up whenever I come to take down this sign. And no, I don’t think you know the new owners.”

“When will they be taking possession of the old place?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon?” she asked.

Fred nodded. “A couple of gentlemen from Boston. Or at least one of them is originally from Boston. The other is a McKinlay Mill native, Nick Farrell. He and his partner are relocating to the area so they can take care of an ailing relative.”

“And they just happened to want to buy
my
inn.”

“Katie,” Fred admonished, “I know you love this old place and you wish it was
you
taking stewardship, but the fact is you—”

“Can’t afford it and never will,” she finished for him.

Fred shook his head sadly. She didn’t want his pity. She wanted that house!

“You’d better tell me everything. I’d rather know what’s coming than waste time guessing and brooding about it,” she admitted.

Fred’s lips quirked into a smile. “They’ve had an architect go through the place, and they’ve hired a contractor who’ll start work the day after closing.”

“That quick?”

“They’re motivated to open the place by Thanksgiving. They want to take advantage of Victoria Square’s Dickens Festival. They’ve already booked a wedding for New Year’s Eve.”

“What?” she cried. How could they book a wedding when they didn’t even legally own the place?

Fred’s smile widened. “Apparently it’s the daughter of a friend. They plan to do a lot of weddings—and even have plans for a wedding suite up on the top floor.”

“Swell,” Katie groused. She’d planned the very same thing.

Fred turned back to the sign and yanked out another nail. “That’s not the only change coming to Victoria Square.”

Katie wasn’t sure she could take any more good (or was it bad?) news and felt like leaning against the weatherworn picket fence, but knew it would probably topple over, taking her with it. “What do you mean?”

“I closed the deal on another property just last month…well before the fire.”

Katie blinked. “On Wood U? I didn’t even know it had been up for sale. Just the building or the business, too?”

“Both.” He shook his head and frowned. “I feel bad for the new owner.”

“Who bought it?”

“I’ve been asked not to divulge that information.”

Hmm. Just because he wouldn’t say didn’t mean she couldn’t find out. The deed would be filed with the county clerk…eventually. She’d have to schedule a trip to the local tax assessor’s office. It would certainly be on file there, too. Then again, did she really care all that much? Not personally, but…since she was the head of the Merchants Association, it behooved her to find out.

“How long had it been up for sale?”

“It wasn’t. The new owner approached me to intercede. I asked Dennis if he’d consider selling and he jumped at the chance.”

Katie frowned. “I thought he was happy in his work.”

Fred shrugged.

“Did you know about the fire?” Katie asked.

Fred glanced at the boarded-up building. Yellow crime tape hung limply from its front façade. “Oh, yeah, I heard.”

“So what happens to the business? I mean, I saw Dennis working there yesterday, still acting like he owned the place.”

“The new owner wasn’t prepared to take over the business for a while. He hired Dennis to stay on and run it, at least until the end of summer.”

“And now Dennis has been murdered.”

“Another reason the new owner doesn’t want a lot of bad publicity. As it is, he’s got to wait for his insurance company to assess the damage so he can make a claim. He wants to reopen before—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katie cut him off. “Thanksgiving, so he can take advantage of the increased traffic during the Square’s Dickens Festival.”

Fred wrenched the last nail from the sign and pulled it down. “What’s good for the Square is good for Artisans Alley,” he reminded her. “And how are things going?”

“They’d be better if the old place didn’t double as an oven.”

“How long will it be before you can improve your HVAC systems?”