A Crafty Killing (27 page)

“That’s the beauty of the contest,” Edie continued. “The inside of Artisans Alley gets a face-lift, and the prize is one month’s free rent. You could swing that, couldn’t you?”

Katie struggled to stifle a smile. “I think I could manage that. Anything else?”

“We need a website. I can’t think why we haven’t already got one,” Edie complained.

“I agree,” Katie said. “Tracy Elliott has already offered to design one at a discount for us. I may take her up on it.”

Edie shook her head. “My grandson will do it for free. He’s learning this stuff in school and is looking for a project to do for college credit. I’ll give you the URLs of his past work so you can check them out. And we may as well get Myspace and Facebook pages, too—they’re free and we can have them up within an hour. Have you thought about Twittering?”

Katie gaped at the old woman, who didn’t look at all computer savvy. “These are all wonderful ideas, ladies. Please, tell me more,” she said, wishing she could have sat in on the brainstorming session.

“We can offer to hold receptions and maybe even cocktail parties here at Artisans Alley,” Edie continued. “You know, to groups like the Rotary or the Elks, and maybe some nonprofit organizations. They could mingle, drink wine, eat cheese—and have the opportunity to shop here. Maybe we could issue ten-percent-off coupons to those attending. Either way, some of us would sell our wares, and Artisans Alley could rake in some money to pay down expenses.”

“That sounds good to me,” Katie said. “You mentioned your other ideas involved all of Victoria Square,” she reminded Rose.

“That’s right. Our other big idea,” Rose began, “is to play up the Victorian angle. If we can interest the Merchants Association, we could stage a Dickens Christmas gala and involve all the businesses in the Square. Everybody could dress up in period costumes. We’d have music, food—make it a real old-fashioned extravaganza. It could draw people from the whole Rochester area—maybe even bus tours from Buffalo and Syracuse!”

“That sounds rather ambitious, considering Thanksgiving is less than a month away,” Katie said, hating to squash their enthusiasm.

“Oh sure, for this year,” Edie agreed, “but if we stage a miniversion, we could learn from our mistakes and build momentum for next year. We can use the spring and summer months to plan a much bigger celebration and next December we’d all make a killing.”

“More important,” Rose interjected, “we’d make people happy—the artists, the merchants, and all the customers.”

Edie kept talking. Katie listened with growing admiration. Involving the entire Square would assure success and maximize their advertising dollars. Bringing Artisans Alley back into solvency was her chief goal—this might not do it, but it sure couldn’t hurt.

“Ladies, you are amazing,” Katie said, smiling.

“Not just us,” Rose said, looking over at Edie. “There are five of us on the committee. We all contributed ideas.”

“And they’re wonderful. I’d be glad to take them to the Merchants Association. They’re just as eager as we are to improve sales, so I don’t believe it would be a hard sell.”

The two older women beamed with pride.

“Come on into my office,” Katie said with a wave in that direction. “Let’s type your ideas into the computer.”

“See you!” Edie called and waved as she headed out the back door. Katie threw the bolt on the growing darkness and went back to her office.

Rose sat bent over the imposing gray metal desk, red pen in hand. Before her were the scattered papers that had come out of the printer. “I can’t believe how many typos I made. I should have run the spell check. I’m so sorry, Katie.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take a few days to polish up the proposal before we submit it to the Merchants Association.”

They were good ideas, but Katie soon found her elation fizzling. She sat in her chair and stared out the window at the mercury vapor lamp that had just come on over the rusty old Dumpster out back.

“Are you okay, Katie?” Rose asked. “You always look so worried.”

Katie glanced at the elderly woman. Something about the tilt of her head, the gleam in her eyes, reminded Katie of her great-aunt, who’d raised her after the deaths of her parents. She’d lost her beloved Aunt Lizzie MacDuff nearly eight years ago. Then, like now, she’d been thrust into the middle of settling an estate, selling off her aunt’s possessions to pay off creditors. She’d felt overwhelmed then, too—by the task and by grief. Only weeks later, she’d met Chad . . .

Katie shook herself back to the present. “Despite all our best ideas, Artisans Alley’s still got big money problems that only time—and expanding our clientele—can solve. I’m going on faith that I can pull us out of the threat of bankruptcy. In the meantime, Artisans Alley has three loan payments due within the next two weeks. I need to call my health care provider and see what I can do to arrange health insurance. My apartment rent is due on Sunday, and my car’s leaking oil. All these expenses are going to stretch my savings to the limit.”

Rose frowned, her wrinkled brow furrowing deeper. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Katie smiled with affection at the old woman. “Help me get some of the deadbeat artists to pay their rent?”

Rose nodded. “Speaking of Ida, is it true you’re throwing her out of Artisans Alley?”

Katie’s mouth dropped. “I’m not throwing her out. I simply told her she’d have to pay her rent like everybody else or she’d have to leave. And how did you find out anyway? I just spoke to her this morning.”

“She called me, and she was steaming—telling me how unfair you were, and what a witch you were. She even cried. Did you know Ida was one of Ezra’s first artists? Her booth number is four.”

Katie sighed, annoyed that she’d been portrayed as Ebenezer Scrooge before his conversion. She took a calming breath before speaking. “Ida’s booth is nearly empty and it’s in a prime location. I’ve already been approached by several artists, asking if they can have the spot.”

Rose straightened with indignation. “Hey, I’ve been here since the beginning, too. I deserve that spot more than a lot of others who haven’t been here as long. And I always pay my rent on time!”

Katie blinked at Rose’s abrupt turnabout, but declined to comment about it. “I’m sorry Ida is upset about the situation, but I have to think about the good of the business as a whole if Artisans Alley is going to survive. That means bringing more money in than is flowing out—and that’s not happening right now.”

Rose nodded, straightening up the papers on the desk, her lips pursed. Why did the artists find it so hard to understand the cash flow problem?

If money was the root of all evil, was Katie selling her soul to keep this sinkhole afloat? Detective Davenport had said not to mention the outstanding loan, but what if Rose knew who’d borrowed five thousand dollars from Ezra? Or maybe Vance knew? Katie could do so much with that money . . . if she could wring it out of the deadbeat who’d signed and then defaulted on the loan.

No, Davenport was right. It might be dangerous to talk about the loan ... if that was the motive someone had had for killing Ezra. And now that she’d decided to take a longer-term interest in Artisans Alley, she had another problem.

“Rose, what do you know about Gerald Hilton?”

“Next to nothing,” she said offhandedly. “I think he was Ezra’s brother’s boy. He didn’t come around much that I remember. I might’ve seen him two, maybe three times since we opened. That’s going back ten or more years.”

Not at all helpful.

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you talk to Mary Elliott. She knew Ezra . . . intimately,” she said with scorn. “I’ll bet she could answer a lot of your questions.”

Yes, Mary probably could. But would she?

Though the business had closed several hours before, lights still glowed in the back of Tea and Tasties. Katie rapped her knuckles against the unyielding black-painted steel door and waited. Footsteps thumped toward her. She glanced at the peephole above her, feeling uncomfortable.

Long seconds later the handle rattled and the door was thrown open.

“Mary?” Katie asked the figure silhouetted before her.

“Tracy isn’t here.” Mary’s clipped words sent a chill through Katie. “She went home about an hour ago.”

That was odd. Only the day before Tracy had mentioned her misgivings at leaving her mother alone on Victoria Square.

“I was hoping I could speak to you ... about Ezra and Artisans Alley,” Katie began.

“Oh.” Mary’s rigid stance wavered until she seemed to sag. “Come in,” she said at last, sounding suddenly exhausted.

Katie entered the immaculate kitchen, breathing in the yeasty scent of baking bread. Her stomach rumbled. “It always smells wonderful in here.”

Mary ignored the compliment, instead turning to her flour-dusted bread board, which held a round of dough. She punched it down. “I’ve got a lot to do. What do you want to know?”

“For starters, why Ezra left me half of his estate.” The statement came out sounding a lot more desperate than Katie intended.

Mary turned, her lips lifting into vague facsimile of a smile. “Because he knew you’d fight to keep Artisans Alley open.”

“How could he know that when I didn’t?”

“Ezra was an excellent judge of character,” Mary stated, then immediately frowned. “At least ... he thought he was.” Her confidence seemed to falter. Did that mean Ezra had judged Katie wrong—or could Mary be thinking of her former son-in-law? Suddenly, Mary looked every bit her age. She turned watery eyes on Katie. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude to you just now. This past week has been . . .” She paused and took a shuddering breath. “Terrible.”

“Yes,” Katie agreed, “it has.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve treated you shabbily, which is especially rude after you arranged for me to have a private good-bye with Ezra. It meant a lot to me.”

Katie nodded, not knowing what else to say.

“Would you like a cup of cocoa?” Mary asked. “I could sure use something to warm me through. I’ve felt cold for days.” Kindness tinged Mary’s voice, something Katie hadn’t heard from her in days.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“Why don’t you go sit in the shop. I’ll be there in a minute,” Mary said as she took a carton of milk from the industrial-sized refrigerator, then filled a saucepan on the massive Vulcan stove.

Katie nodded and turned for the darkened room. She switched on the lights and took a seat at one of the oak tables in the cozy room. Scalloped pink paper placemats sat at each place, with a matching paper napkin folded to resemble a simple crown. Nice and neat. While she waited, Katie composed her thoughts. She wanted to get this right.

A few minutes later, Mary came through the door with a wooden tray laden with old-fashioned, thick white china mugs, freshly sliced bread still steaming from the oven, and a bowl containing whipped butter. She took the seat opposite Katie.

“When times were tough, my mother fed my three brothers and me on her homemade bread. Fresh-made bread, hot from the oven, always takes me back to those happy days.”

Tough times—happy days?

“It smells wonderful. Thank you.”

Mary sighed and set one of the mugs in front of Katie. “Now, what else did you need to know?”

Katie sipped her cocoa. “Tracy told me you knew Ezra well; what would he want me to do?”

Mary didn’t hesitate. “He would have loved for you to make a success of Artisans Alley. It was something he struggled with. I swear he loved that old building more than he loved life. He looked forward to opening every day, and he didn’t like to be away for even a few hours. I wanted to take a day trip to Toronto to see a big show, but he wouldn’t go. You may think this funny, but he never even invited me to his house. We only ever saw each other at Artisans Alley or at the Merchants Association meetings.”

Then they hadn’t been lovers? And no wonder she hadn’t known about Ezra’s cat.

The wistful look in Mary’s eyes reawakened Katie’s own sense of loss. She cleared her throat, trying not to think about Chad. “Seth Landers told me Ezra changed his will only weeks before he died. I assume he originally intended his nephew Gerald to inherit his entire estate.”

“That’s right,” Mary said, slathering a generous layer of butter on her still-warm bread. “With Ronnie gone, Gerald was the only living relative Ezra had. But he decided to change his will when Gerald told him he wasn’t going to repay the loan.”

Shocked, Katie leaned forward. “Gerald owed Ezra money?”

Mary nodded, took a bite of bread, chewed, and then swallowed. “Five thousand dollars. I know that’s not a lot, especially with the Radisson chain offering Ezra over a million for the Artisans Alley site, but it was the principle of the thing. Gerald had promised to pay Ezra back. He begged and pleaded for the cash last year to pay off his credit card debt. Then when Gerald made money on a stock deal, he went right out and bought a new car instead of paying back Ezra. Well, you can understand how that didn’t set well with Ezra.”