A Crafty Killing (12 page)

Andy’s smile warmed her. It had been a long time since that had happened. She swallowed back a twinge of guilt, thinking about Chad. She shook the hurt away. “Is it always this busy?”

“Football season’s my most lucrative time of the year, but it’ll slow down after eight. We only take orders until ten o’clock on Sundays—unless there’s a late game.”

“Then you go home?”

“Then we clean up. I’ll be back at noon tomorrow to get the dough ready.”

“Sounds like a busy life,” she said.

“That’s what it takes to be successful. You’ve got to pour your heart and soul into your business if you want it to thrive.”

Katie laughed. “How does your significant other feel about that?”

“I wouldn’t know. She left me,” he deadpanned.

“Oh. I’m—I’m so sorry,” Katie stammered, embarrassed.

Andy waved off her concern. “It’s okay. I like to work. It keeps me from dwelling on the past—and out of the poor house.”

Andy’s words reminded her of her most pressing problem: hiring a manager. Could Artisans Alley be rescued from the brink of bankruptcy, let alone thrive, without someone who cared about it taking charge?

“I’ve got a lot to learn about running a business,” Katie said. “Like how and when to take the money to the bank. I’d feel vulnerable going to the night deposit drop.”

“Vary the times and days you do your banking. Otherwise you’re a prime robbery target,” Andy advised. “And don’t keep more than your operating expenses in cash on the premises. Don’t give creeps a reason to rob you.”

“Do you think Ezra operated that way?”

“If he was any good at his job, he did.”

That was debatable. Still, the register had only recorded some four hundred dollars in sales for the whole day of his death, and that was money long gone. The safe was still locked—and no one but Ezra had had the combination. Katie would have to call a locksmith. Could Ezra have cleaned out the register before he was murdered, giving the thief a reason for hitting the old man?

Andy passed another pizza to his assistant.

“Are you going to the funeral home tomorrow night?” Katie asked.

Andy shook his head. “Although it might not be on network TV anymore, Monday Night Football’s still great for pizza sales. I might try to make the Tuesday morning service, but I don’t know. What have you heard from the cops?”

“I spoke to Detective Davenport this morning.” She told Andy about the break-in. “I tried to call him later today, but all I got was his voice mail. Unless he’s working behind the scenes, he doesn’t seem to be putting much effort into solving the crime.”

“Crimes,” Andy corrected, “if the motive was robbery.”

“Sounds like you know about police work. Were you ever a cop?”

Andy choked on a laugh as he started on another pizza. “Hardly. Let’s just say I’ve had my share of brushes with the law.”

Katie chewed slower on her calzone. Was Andy a criminal? To run a successful business in a small town like McKinlay Mill, he’d have to be a reformed one.

“You look like I just stole your Popsicle. Was it something I said?” Andy asked with a laugh.

“Uh, no,” she lied.

Andy’s gaze held hers. “Look, I’ll level with you. When I was in high school, I got picked up for joyriding. Three times. It got so I could hot-wire a car in my sleep,” he said, ladling tomato sauce onto a round of dough, then swirling it to cover the entire surface.

“Grand theft auto?” Katie asked.

“I spent some time locked up before I figured out I’d get my own car faster if I got a job and worked for it.”

“Jail?” Katie asked, the word coming out a squeak.

“Same as. Juvenile detention,” Andy clarified.

Katie watched as he grabbed a handful of shredded cheese, liberally sprinkling it over the sauce. Next, he dipped his plastic-gloved hands into containers filled with sliced bell peppers, mushrooms, onions, and broccoli, until the pizza was heaped with veggies.

“Gee, that looks good,” Katie said, and took the last bite of the calzone. She licked her fingers, resisting the temptation to wipe them on her jeans-clad leg, and reached for a napkin from the counter dispenser.

Andy lifted the uncooked pizza with a wooden paddle and handed it to his assistant, a flushed-faced boy whose name tag read KEITH.

“I was lucky. My high school guidance counselor took an interest in me. She got me an after-school job in a pizza parlor,” Andy said.

“In McKinlay Mill?”

“No, Rochester. I bought myself a car within six months. I worked there all through college. A couple of grants paid for the rest of my education. It took me five years, but I earned a degree in accounting.”

“That sounds lucrative. What on earth are you doing running a pizza place?”

“It’s a lot more interesting than staring at numbers all day. Besides, I got sick of the commute pretty quick—as well as working for someone else. I like being my own boss, and I like it out here in the sticks. I have a deal with the local high school. They send me their troublemakers, and I try to straighten them out before they screw up their lives like I did. Right, Keith?” he said. The boy’s already heat-flushed cheeks blushed a shade darker.

Katie wondered what laws the blond boy had broken. Had he been arrested for vandalism? Robbery? Could one of Andy’s truants have robbed—and killed—Ezra? An old man would be easy prey. What if—

“No, Katie, it wasn’t one of my boys,” Andy said, as though reading her mind. “They’re all good kids. I promise you . . .”

But his words couldn’t wipe away the suspicion that filled her.

“I’d better be going,” she said, slipped off the stool, and struggled back into the sleeves of her jacket.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Andy said, peeling off his gloves and reaching for his coat from a hook on the wall. “I’ll be right back, Keith.”

Andy followed Katie out the door and into the parking lot.

“I’m parked out back,” she said, her breath vaporizing in a cloud.

They walked in silence, dodging puddles that dotted the asphalt. The rain had stopped, but clouds still loomed overhead. Andy’s revelation about his past, and those he employed, weighed heavily on Katie’s mind. She shivered in the damp cold and decided in future she’d park under one of the lot’s mercury vapor lamps.

Katie unlocked her car, and then turned to face Andy. “Thanks for the calzone, and for walking me out here. I have to admit, after what happened to Ezra, I’m a little nervous.”

“McKinlay Mill is a safe place. Ezra’s death was an isolated incident,” Andy said. “It won’t happen again.”

Katie nodded, opened the door, climbed into her car, and started the engine. She waved at Andy as she pulled out of the lot, wishing she felt as confident as he did.

Katie balanced a plate of fresh-baked scones, her office keys jangling as she let herself into Kimper Insurance at six fifteen the next morning. Arriving early would give her almost a two-hour head start to catch up on the work that had accumulated during her absence on Friday and Saturday. She hoped the scones would be received as a peace offering.

As expected, Josh hadn’t even attempted to keep up with any of the daily tasks that kept the office going. File folders and other papers littered Katie’s desk, which had been clear when she’d left the place on Thursday afternoon.

She set the plastic-wrapped scones on the corner of her desk, hung up her jacket, and jumped into work. Her voice mailbox was also full. Katie transcribed the messages, coding them by importance. She’d return the calls later.

She was finishing the last of the filing when she heard the office door rattle at seven fifty. Katie steeled herself.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Josh said by way of a greeting.

“There’s fresh coffee in the pot,” she said, not bothering to raise her gaze to otherwise acknowledge his presence.

Josh tramped through the outer office to the small conference room that also served as a makeshift kitchen. Katie felt her blood pressure rising and wondered how long he would wait before picking a fight.

“I’m trying to run a business here,” Josh hollered from the other room. “That means every day, not just when you feel like showing up.”

Katie let the file drawer roll shut with a bang. Ten seconds, she thought—a new record—and considered Josh’s next rebuke. Would it start, “I pay you too much,” or “My clients deserve the best . . .”? Not
their
clients, despite the fact she’d helped him build the business these last six years. Since day one, Josh had never given her credit for the part she played in the company’s success.

“I pay you too much . . .” Josh began, and Katie tuned out the rest of the all-too-familiar speech. Eventually he’d run out of steam, slam his office door, and sit down at his desk to trim his fingernails ... or some other time-wasting activity. She busied herself until that happened, then fielded the first of the morning’s phone calls. Afterward she returned the calls she needed to make, but Ezra’s wake, later that evening, never strayed from her mind.

Josh would pitch a fit when she told him she intended to take tomorrow off for the funeral. She wondered if she should host a gathering afterward for Ezra’s friends and colleagues. Could Tracy and Mary Elliott cater such an affair, or was it thoughtless to ask Mary to do all that work when she hadn’t yet recovered from her own heartache at Ezra’s loss? Tasty as they were, Andy Rust’s pizza, calzones, and chicken wings were hardly dignified enough for such an occasion. Katie wished she knew someone else in the restaurant business. With all his contacts, Josh probably did, but she wasn’t about to ask for his advice.

Katie remembered her conversation with Tracy and Mary the day before. Why, exactly,
did
she want to stay at this job anyway? For health insurance? Vacation? Despite the present economy, she knew she could get another office manager’s job in a heartbeat. Why had she put up with Josh’s bullying tactics for so long? After all, she’d managed to accumulate more than a couple of months’ rent. That would hold her until she located another, more satisfying job—maybe even one that paid more.

No. Quitting was out of the question. Making decisions without a clear-cut plan was just plain dumb. And Mary had been right. She didn’t need to decide what she wanted or needed to do today. Like Scarlett O’Hara, she’d think about it tomorrow.

Josh emerged from his office at nine-oh-three, ready for Round 2. Monday meant the blue suit with the lighter blue shirt. Would it be the paisley tie or footballs? Basketballs in basketball season, hardballs in baseball season, with golf sprinkled in now and then. Katie looked up as Josh stopped before her desk. Bingo! Paisleys. Hands on hips, Josh planted his feet a foot or so apart, trying to look formidable. That, too, was a joke. Only a midget would be intimidated by this little Napoleon.

“I have to take another day of vacation tomorrow,” Katie said, deciding to take the offensive.

Josh grabbed a scone and shook it at Katie, just inches from her nose. “Uh-uh. You’ve already had two days off.”

“A day and a half,” Katie corrected him.

“I need you here tomorrow afternoon while I firm up the Henderson deal.”

“I have a funeral to attend,” she said, not backing down.

“Then come into work afterward.”

“Sorry, I need the whole day,” she said, keeping her voice level.

Josh shook his head again. “You seem to have forgotten just who runs this business.”

Katie wanted to wipe that smug look right off his face, but somehow managed to keep her cool. “I have a moral and business obligation to be at Ezra Hilton’s funeral tomorrow morning. Then, as Ezra’s executor, I have other business matters to wrap up. We can talk rationally about getting coverage from a temp agency, or you can bellow and moan and threaten to fire me. Either way, I won’t be in tomorrow.”

Josh’s face flushed and his eyes narrowed, but for once he held his temper in check. Still, his voice was low and as menacing as he could muster. “Where do you get off telling me how to run my business?”

“I’ve learned from experience not to even try. You don’t listen,” Katie said, knowing she was fueling the pending argument.

Josh’s eyes widened in indignation. “What the
hell
has gotten into you?”

Katie stood, towering five inches over him. “Maybe I’m tired of the way you treat me, Josh. Of the way you belittle me in front of clients. How you think you can bully me simply because I’m on your payroll. And you know what, I won’t stand for it any longer.”

“You run that hoity-toity artisan joint for a day or two and think you know all there is to operating a business.”

“No, I don’t. But I know that common courtesy is the key to good customer and employee relations, and I’m tired of not receiving it in this office.”

Josh backed up a step, his lips parting as he began to breathe through his mouth—a sure sign he was about to explode.