Katie counted out the day’s receipts for the third time. She liked to do it at least three times in case she made an error, but each time she’d totaled the day’s cash, checks, and credit card receipts, they’d matched. She added Saturday’s receipts to the blue bank bag and totaled up the numbers for the morning’s bank deposit.
No doubt about it, she could cover the checks to the vendors and there’d still be a couple grand left over to pay some of the bills. One more week to the month and then she’d see how far ahead she was when it came to paying on the last of the loans still outstanding. That had to come first before she even thought about taking out another loan for the HVAC. And anyway, there were only another eight or ten weeks of hot weather until she’d have to start thinking about heating bills. Why waste the money on air-conditioning now?
Because she was
hot
! And she was sick and tired of being
hot
!
After locking the receipts in the back of the file cabinet,
Katie shut down the computer for the night. But before she left to go to Angelo’s Pizzeria to visit Andy, she decided to wash her hands. There was nothing as filthy as cash money, and she’d handled quite a bit of it. She rose from her chair and headed for the washroom behind her office.
Soon after she’d become a vendor at Artisans Alley, Edie Silver had decorated the small washroom. She’d put up pretty wallpaper, hung a few floral pictures in gold frames, and installed a rectangular basket for the folded paper towels. After a day’s use by customers and vendors, the little basket was now empty—and the wastebasket was full. Katie shook her wet hands until most of the droplets had fallen, and opened the vanity’s cabinet door to reach for a new package, but instead of the towels she found a small, shabby, imitation alligator-skin suitcase.
She withdrew it and set it on the vanity. Flipping the old-fashioned latches, she opened the case and found it filled with personal items. Soap, clean washcloths, a purple toothbrush, a whitening toothpaste, and a pink disposable razor.
“Now who would have left this under the sink?” she asked herself. Had one of the vendors had somewhere to go after closing one night, dolled up, and then left the case to collect some other time? She’d put a note in with the checks on Tuesday and hope the owner would collect it. In the meantime, she closed the case and put it back under the sink. She filled the basket with towels and emptied the wastebasket. She’d give the room a more thorough once-over in the morning before opening.
She turned out the last of the lights and locked up, pocketing her keys. It was still light—and hot—out. The tarmac held the heat of the day even when it had been in shadows for hours. The lights were on at Angelo’s and she could see several customers lined up to pay for their pizzas. After leaving the deadly after-hours quiet of Artisans Alley, she looked forward to the boisterous noise Andy and his workers made.
Angelo’s Pizzeria wasn’t quite as hot as Katie’s office at Artisans Alley, but it came close, despite the air-conditioning unit chugging along outside. Andy kept his pizza ovens at a temperature of seven hundred degrees. They were well insulated, but sometimes the place still felt like a sweatshop.
“Good evening,” she called, and received a chorus of greetings from Andy, his number one helper, Keith, and two of the boys waiting for pizzas to deliver.
“What’ll you have tonight?” Andy asked.
“Nothing for me. I’m too hot to eat.”
“We’re just too hot,” said Tony, one the delivery boys. “I can’t wait to get back in the car and crank up the AC.”
“Me, too,” agreed Blake, the other driver.
Andy finished putting a pizza into an insulated bag and handed a stack to Tony. “Here’s yours.” He grabbed the other stack and handed it to Blake. “And here’s yours. Go forth and deliver.”
The boys yelled a good-bye to Katie, and she gave them a wave as the door closed on their backs.
“So what’ll you have tonight, Katie?” Andy asked. He usually seemed pleased to see her, but this evening he looked preoccupied.
“I told you, nothing. But if you’re going to force me, I’ll have a pepperoni calzone.” That was an easy order. Andy had them made up in advance, and neither he nor Keith would have to fuss with making something special for her. Besides, she had a date with a big bowl of cold, wiggly raspberry gelatin and whipped topping later on and she wanted to leave room for it.
“One calzone for the lady, Keith.”
“It’ll be ready in five minutes,” he called.
The phone rang. Andy took the order, hung up, donned a new pair of gloves, and started making another pizza.
Katie sidled up closer to him. “I’ve known you long enough to tell when something’s bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?”
Andy nodded, quickly looking to see if Keith was eavesdropping. He was singing along with the radio as he checked the progress on the pizzas in the ovens.
Andy leaned closer and dropped his voice. “I think one of my boys could be in trouble.”
Andy hired at-risk boys from the local high school, not only giving them work to keep them out of mischief, but mentoring them, too. He had been just such a kid and working in a pizza parlor had kept him out of reform school. Well, mostly. He felt the need to offer that same kind of help to other young men.
“Which one?”
“Blake.”
The boy who’d just left. For someone in possible trouble, he’d seemed rather cheerful. “What happened?”
“Blake was one of Dennis Wheeler’s students. They didn’t get along and everyone knew it.” Andy frowned. “Blake was out delivering a pizza when the fire started. The thing is…” He paused, his expression darkening. “The customer called to complain that the pizza was an hour late and cold. Blake showed up at the shop and said the air in his tire was low and that he’d had to stop at a gas station to get it filled.”
“The closest gas station is at the corner of Manitou Road,” Katie said.
Andy nodded. “I know it. And that’s the opposite end of Route 8 from where the customer lived.”
“What are you saying? That he’s been accused of setting the fire—or murder?”
Andy shook his head. “I don’t believe it for a minute.” But he didn’t look as convinced. “Detective Davenport has already paid the kid a visit.”
“Surely the gas station has surveillance cameras. Their video could prove he was there,” Katie said.
“And what if he wasn’t?” Andy shook his head. “I’m
sure as hell not going to suggest Detective Davenport take a look.”
“He doesn’t need your encouragement. You know he’s going to check Blake’s alibi.”
“He hasn’t always shown that kind of initiative,” Andy offered.
“This is his last case. He’s going to want to go out on top by solving it quickly and delivering a suspect the district attorney can convict.”
Andy looked even more uncomfortable. “I’ve had thirty kids work for me since I opened the shop and not one of them has gotten into trouble.”
Katie had to bite her tongue to keep from saying
there’s always a first
. Instead she said, “So what does Blake say?”
“His father warned him not to say anything—even to me,” Andy complained.
“That doesn’t sound fair. You’ve given him a chance to prove himself.”
“As with any of my boys, it’s always a case of guilty until proven innocent,” he said bitterly.
“Someone died,” Katie reminded him.
“And there’s no proof Blake is responsible. Now, can we talk about something else?”
“Like a new breaker box in my apartment?” Katie asked hopefully, and took a can of Coke from the fridge.
“That wouldn’t be my first choice of topic,” Andy admitted, looking sour. “You know, if you’d like to move, I’d be happy to let you out of your lease.”
“And where would I go?”
“To my house. I have plenty of room for you. I’ll even let you bring your cats. And you’d save a fortune on rent.”
“I appreciate the offer, but for now I think I’ll stick with our current arrangement.”
Even if I have to live in my shower just to keep from melting.
He wasn’t going to get rid of her that easily.
“Katie, your calzone is up,” Keith called as he maneuvered a wooden paddle and slid the steaming pastry into a small box. He handed the box to Andy, who passed it along to Katie, along with a handful of paper napkins.
“Thanks.”
“Are you going to eat it here or upstairs?”
“Definitely here. It’s at least ten degrees cooler down here.” Was that rubbing it in too much?
Katie sat down in one of the chairs Andy provided for customers who came too early to pick up their food. She opened the box, broke the calzone in two, and blew on it to cool it. Movement outside the big glass window caught her attention. “Will you look who just parked outside?” Katie said.
Andy squinted, gazing past the big red vinyl lettering on the plate glass window at the front of his shop.
Detective Davenport got out of his car. He’d lost the suit coat, and was wearing a brown, short-sleeved polo shirt. He was definitely out of uniform. “Do you think he wants to order a pizza?” Katie asked.
“I doubt it,” Andy said, sounding worried, and peeled the plastic gloves off his hands.
The strip of sleigh bells jangled as Davenport opened the shop’s door. “Good evening, all,” he called, his voice jaunty.
“Detective, did somebody slip happy juice into your afternoon coffee?” Katie asked, and took a bite of her calzone.
Davenport managed a crooked smile. “Not at all. Short-timer’s syndrome has made a new man of me.”
New or old, it was obvious Andy wasn’t at all pleased to see the detective.
“What are you doing here on the Square so late?” Katie asked, and wiped the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin.
“My job.” Davenport slouched against the counter, directing his attention to Andy. “I thought the Taylor kid was
supposed to be working here tonight—at least that’s what his parents told me not ten minutes ago.”
“He’s out on a delivery,” Andy said. Katie could tell by the grim set of his mouth that he wasn’t likely to help Davenport—not if it meant ratting on one of his charges.
“Why the interest in Blake?” Katie asked the detective.
“Seems he and Dennis Wheeler almost came to blows a couple of times during the past school year.”
And who had told him that?
“That’s not surprising. The jerk—and I’m talking about Wheeler—loves to bait his students.”
“And how would you know that, Mr. Rust?” Davenport asked.
“Because I was once one of his students. The guy’s a ball breaker—and he can get nasty.”
Katie blinked. She had no idea Andy had known Dennis before he joined the Merchants Association. She’d always found Dennis to be an amiable kind of guy. To hear he wasn’t…
Davenport’s gaze was penetrating. “Did you ever have a beef with the man since high school, Mr. Rust?”
“No.”
Katie studied the set of Andy’s mouth. Was he telling the truth?
Davenport’s gaze remained riveted on Andy’s face. “Here’s what I know. You said the Taylor kid was out delivering a pizza last night.” Andy nodded. “So how come when I talked to a Mr. Olsen, the guy whose pizza was delivered an hour late and colder than an iceberg in January, he says he didn’t see the kid until almost ten o’clock? So where was the kid from the time he left here with a hot pie ’til he ended up at Olsen’s house, where he didn’t get a tip?”
“I can honestly say I don’t know,” Andy said with annoyance.
“Did he ever pull that kind of crap before?” Davenport demanded.
Andy shook his head. “Until today, I thought he was my greatest success story.”
“Hey, what about me?” Keith asked, who’d obviously been eavesdropping on the conversation.
“Did I say greatest? I meant second greatest,” Andy said and shot Keith a weak grin.
Davenport’s tongue seemed to be massaging the gums along his front teeth. He poked around at his molars, too, before he spoke again. “Do you mind if I hang out here and wait until the kid returns?”
“Be my guest,” Andy said, and waved a hand toward the plastic lawn chairs sitting against the wall under the front window. “Would you like to order a little dinner while you wait? My pizza is the best in the area.”
“You know I can’t take free food. It might be looked at as a bribe,” Davenport said, his voice level.
“I wasn’t offering it for free,” Andy grated and jerked his right thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the sign that hung on the back wall listing his prices.
Katie sipped her Coke, every nerve in her body on alert. She couldn’t remember when she’d seen Andy so tense.
“I’ll have a small cheese and pepperoni pizza. And a can of orange pop, too,” Davenport said.
“Coming right up,” Andy said, and turned his back on the detective.
Davenport craned his neck to watch Keith, who was pulling a pizza out of the oven. He looked like he’d just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But then, Davenport seemed to have that effect on most people—making them feel guilty for things they hadn’t done.
Davenport turned around to gaze over Victoria Square in the direction of Wood U.
“Have they positively identified the body found in the fire?” Katie asked.
“Not yet,” Davenport answered succinctly.
There was something about his expression—or perhaps
it was his eyes—that hinted of a willingness to talk…if she asked the right question.
“Is there any possibility that Wheeler
isn’t
the victim?” Andy asked.
Davenport frowned. “Until we get a positive ID, anything’s possible,” Davenport admitted. But then why was he so interested in Blake? Did he have any other suspects?
“That’ll be seven fifty-five, Detective,” Andy said, and shoved a can of pop across the counter toward Davenport. “Your pizza will be up in a few minutes.”
Davenport dug out his wallet and handed Andy a ten. He made change and gave it back. Davenport grabbed his pop and turned to Katie. “Is there a bench or somewhere where we can sit and talk?” he asked, sounding downright friendly.
Katie nearly choked on her calzone.
“Not really. Although the Merchants Association is looking at plans to do just that. And maybe add a gazebo.”