A Crafty Killing (28 page)

“I don’t imagine it did,” Katie said, following her hostess’s lead and applying a thick layer of the sweet creamy butter onto a slice of bread. “The police think the outstanding loan might be a motive for murder.”

Mary gaped. “Gerald a murderer?” She laughed. “He hasn’t got the guts.”

“Would he have the guts to ransack Ezra’s office looking for proof of the loan?”

Mary gazed at the steam curling from her mug of cocoa. “Yes, I’ll bet the little weasel
could
do that. In fact, it would be just like him.”

“That still doesn’t explain why Ezra left me half his estate.”

“Don’t think me bad for saying this, but Ezra had a bit of a mean streak, although I’m sure he would’ve called it a sense of justice,” Mary said, a hint of laughter entering her voice. “I think he knew that you’d give Gerald a fight. He didn’t feel it was right for open hostility to break out between family members, and he felt deeply about preserving family relationships. Ezra also knew that Gerald would never honor his wish to keep Artisans Alley alive. But he guessed right that you would.”

“I didn’t know Ezra well. Hardly at all,” Katie admitted. “I’m really doing this for my late husband, Chad.” Okay, that wasn’t the
total
truth, but it was more socially acceptable.

Mary smiled. “I think Ezra realized that would be your motivation ... but I also think it was his last chance to annoy Gerald. And he would have been proud of what you’ve already accomplished.”

Which seemed to be damned little in Katie’s estimation.

“I need that five thousand dollars to keep Artisans Alley going. I’ll call Seth Landers first thing in the morning to find out how I can collect it.”

“You do that,” Mary encouraged. She’d lost all her former air of animosity. Katie wondered if she would antagonize Mary once again by bringing up Andy’s name. There was only one way to find out.

“Tracy told me about her marriage to Andy. It’s sad they weren’t able to patch things up.”

“Katie, I was raised a good Catholic. You don’t leave your husband, and you never get divorced. At least, that’s the way it used to be. After Tracy and Andy separated, I wanted to believe it was all Andy’s fault. I’ll never understand why Tracy found marriage to be such a trap.”

“Do you think they’ll ever get back together?”

“No,” Mary said with certainty. “And it doesn’t do to hold grudges. I’m afraid I let Ezra influence me there. He couldn’t forgive Andy for crashing his beautiful car. I think Andy reminded Ezra of his son, Ronnie—a bit of a hellion with a reckless nature in his teenaged years. Of course, Ronnie straightened out—even owned his own business. I thought one day he might even be my ....” Her voice faltered.

Mary buttered another slice of bread. “Ezra was so proud of Ronnie, but I think he probably meddled too much in his son’s life. Above all, Ezra wanted Ronnie to be a successful businessman. He never thought any girl was good enough for Ronnie, and he broke up every serious relationship the poor boy had.”

It wasn’t Ezra’s dead son Katie wanted to talk about. “Why didn’t Ezra leave anything to you or any of his other friends?”

Mary shrugged. “None of us really needs anything. You did. You needed a reason to start living again. And now you have one.”

Halloween dawned gloomy with gray clouds and intermittent rain. Another perfect day for retail, Katie told herself. After a makeshift breakfast of dry toast and tea, she headed for Ezra’s house to feed the little tabby, chiding herself for not yet calling the local vet. She was getting fond of the fur ball and, truth be told, had more or less decided to keep her—based on the vet’s report, of course. She’d make that second on her list of things to do today. Getting back in her car, she headed for Artisans Alley.

Once in her office, Katie picked up the phone and dialed Seth’s work number. As it was Saturday, she expected to reach a switchboard and leave a message, but instead his secretary answered, and put her right through.

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting to actually talk to you. I thought I’d have to leave a message.”

“You’ve become my most important client,” Seth said, sounding quite happy about it.

The warmth in his voice sent a glow through Katie. “I wish I could say this is strictly a personal call, but I need some professional advice.” Katie told Seth about the loan agreement, that it was Gerald who’d signed it, and asked what she could do about it.

“That’s easy. Gerald owes the estate that five thousand dollars and he has to pay before probate can be settled. Since the debt is already due, the estate—that’s you—may collect any way you see fit. You can take it out of any future profits, or you can go to court to attach his other sources of income.”

“I need that money
now
just to keep Artisans Alley afloat.”

“I’ll write him a letter advising him to pay up. It won’t be worth court costs for him to try and fight it.”

“Does it make me look cowardly, not calling him myself?”

“Not at all,” Seth assured her. “I’m an officer of the court. This is a legal matter. It’s really the most efficient way to remind him of his obligation. Of course, I’ll need a copy of the loan agreement.”

“Uh ... I only have a copy. Detective Davenport has the original. In fact, he told me not to tell anyone about it. In case the loan was the reason someone killed Ezra. We both thought whoever owed Ezra the money probably broke into Artisans Alley’s office on Saturday night or Sunday morning looking for it.”

“I see.” Seth was quiet for a moment. “Why don’t I give Detective Davenport a call. It’s only natural that you would consult your attorney on this. He can confront Gerald, then I’ll send the letter. That would solve both your problems.”

“Thank you, Seth. You always have a way of making me feel better.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Any chance you’re free tonight? I promised you dinner in a real restaurant.”

Katie hesitated, enjoying the smile that tugged at her lips. “I’d love to.”

“Great. You can give me a copy of the loan agreement when I pick you up at your apartment. How about seven o’clock?”

“That would be lovely.”

“See you then.”

Katie hung up the phone, savoring her sense of elation. A real date. Her first in ages and she had absolutely nothing to wear.

She frowned. Swell.

“Her name is Della,” said the vet tech on the other end of the line. “She’s three years old, and she’s up-to-date on all her shots, including feline leukemia. We’ve got her down as being an indoor cat, so she should be safe to bring into your home. Did you want us to add her to your records?”

“Yes,” Katie said.

“Fine. We’ll send you a reminder when it’s time for her rabies booster,” the woman said and ended the call.

Katie hung up her phone. Della? Now, wasn’t that a coincidence? Chad had named their cat, Mason, after guitarist Dave Mason, but Katie had secretly thought of him as a diminutive Perry Mason in a dark furry suit. Now she’d have to introduce Mason to his new companion ... Della Street? The thought brought a smile to Katie’s lips.

“Excuse me,” said a vibrant female voice.

Katie looked up at the stranger framed in her office doorway. Although the lines around her eyes suggested she was older than Katie by a good ten or fifteen years, the woman was still a knockout dressed in a low-cut, form-fitting red dress that seemed more appropriate for a cocktail party, or maybe a stint at the Grand Ole Opry, than an excursion to an artisans’ arcade. Her long lacquered nails and big, perfectly coifed honey blond hair reminded Katie of a certain well-known country-western singer.

“Katie Bonner?” the woman asked.

Katie pushed back her chair to stand. “Yes. Can I help you?”

“Where’s my husband?” she snapped.

“I’m sorry?”

“Vance Ingram. Where is he?”

“Uh . . . I don’t know. Why do you think he’s here?”

“Because his truck’s parked out back. He told me he’d be here all day. He told me
you
needed him.”

This was not the frail, MS-afflicted woman Katie had envisioned. In fact, despite her age, Janey Ingram still looked like a bombshell. And a jealous one at that.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ingram, but I haven’t seen Vance in two days. I really have no idea where you can find him.”

Janey’s chin jutted out. “Oh yeah, we’ll see about that.” She turned perfectly, steady on her stiletto-clad feet as she stalked off.

Katie followed the woman through Artisans Alley’s main showroom to the front of the store.

Rose was already stationed behind the register. Her face lit up as she recognized the woman advancing on her. “Janey! It’s been ages. You’re looking well.”

Janey stopped dead. Hands on hips, she regarded the older woman with disdain. “Cut the crap, Rose. Where the hell is Vance?”

Rose blinked, taken aback. “He hasn’t been here in days. Isn’t that right, Katie?”

Katie hooked her thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans, thinking how dumpy she must look in her sweatshirt, crummy old pants, and scuffed-up sneakers. “That’s what I told her.”

Janey turned back to Katie. “Page him.”

Katie shrugged, stepped over to the phone on the wall, and pressed the intercom key. “Vance Ingram, please meet your party at the front desk. Vance Ingram.” She hung up the phone.

Janey surveyed her surroundings, throwing her chest out until her breasts looked ready to pop out of her push-up bra.

“I don’t mean to intrude, Mrs. Ingram, but I understood you were ill,” Katie said.

Janey frowned. “I’ve been in remission from MS for ages. Is that the line Vance has been feeding you—that I’m feeble and helpless?”

“No, it’s just—”

“I take damn good care of myself and my family, and I won’t stand for a sexy young widow going after my man.”

Katie blinked, tempted to look around to see who the woman was referring to, then realized with a start: “You mean me?”

“Who else am I talking to?”

Katie looked to a puzzled Rose, then back to Janey, then laughed. “Me? And Vance?”

Janey’s eyes blazed.

Katie cleared her throat and sobered as Edie Silver approached the front cash desk. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ingram, it’s just that Vance doesn’t even seem to like me. I can’t imagine he’d—”

“All I’ve heard for the last week is ‘Katie this’ and ‘Katie that.’ Now I demand you tell me where my husband is!”

“He ain’t here, that’s for sure,” Edie said. Everyone turned toward her. “I saw him pull up in his truck about an hour ago when I was unloading my stock. A car was waiting for him. He got in, then he and a woman drove off.”

“A woman!” Janey shrilled. “Who?”

Edie shrugged. “Beats me.”

“What kind of car?” Rose asked.

“It was blue. I don’t know the make and model.”

Only the radio playing a Faith Hill tune being broadcast over the PA system broke the quiet. Janey’s Iron Woman facade slipped. Her lower lip trembled, her eyes growing moist.

Katie fought the urge to hug the poor woman, deciding Janey probably wouldn’t appreciate her concern. “I’m sure when Vance gets back, he’ll have a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

Janey took a breath, straightening. “He’d better. I’m not leaving here until he shows up. Even if it takes all day.” Squaring her shoulders, she stomped off in the direction of Katie’s office.

Katie glanced at Rose and Edie and shrugged.

“Swell.”

“What a way to increase business,” Katie murmured as she closed the spreadsheet program on the computer. Despite being closed for two days, Artisans Alley took in more money than it had during an average week before the murders occurred. Ezra’s and Ashby’s deaths had sure pulled in the ghouls—but at least they’d dropped some cash during their gawking.

A heavy sigh from the chair three feet away reminded Katie of her not-so-welcome visitor. Janey Ingram stared morosely out the newly replaced window, her gaze riveted on Vance’s pickup truck.