A Crafty Killing (29 page)

Why, Katie wondered, had she allowed the woman to camp out in her office?

She had a lot to do in the next couple of days, including making the flyers for the improve-your-booth contest. Putting together a list would keep her from forgetting every little task. She opened the desk drawer to grab a pad of paper and saw the journal she’d avoided reading. Had Chad ever mentioned his impressions of Vance in it? Katie risked a glance at Janey. There was no time like the present to check it out.

She withdrew the book, flipping through the pages, her gaze settling on an entry just a week after their breakup.

Katie frowned. Would Chad have welcomed crafters into the Alley as opposed to artisans? Hadn’t he said something about scouring the Clothesline Art Show and the Corn Hill Arts Festival to look for new vendors? He’d never had the opportunity.

She flipped through a few more pages, her gaze settling on a date six weeks before Chad’s death.

Chad would never have believed that he, the much younger man, would have died first.

Katie skimmed the next passage, but there was no further mention of Vance. Flipping pages, another entry caught her attention.

Yes, he had.

 

 

Katie remembered him briefly mentioning the meeting during one of their conversations, but she hadn’t given the subject much importance at the time. She shook her head. And now she was the head of the organization. How times changed.

Katie closed the book, swallowing down a pang of regret. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. Most of what Chad had written—his frustrations—mirrored her own thoughts. Only now she had the authority to implement Chad’s ideas. Maybe they’d work and maybe they wouldn’t. She’d read the rest of the journal and try to adopt whatever suggestions seemed viable.

Katie put the book into the desk drawer. Until she figured out what else she might want to do with the rest of her life, the whole Artisans Alley experience would at least be a managerial entry on some future résumé.

She pushed back her chair and rose. “I think I’ll go see if the mail has arrived.”

Janey’s only reply was another bored sigh.

Katie escaped the office to wander through Artisans Alley’s main showroom, her attention caught by a display case filled with Rose’s jewelry. It really was depressing to walk past the poorly lit booths. It amazed her that the vendors ever sold anything. Somehow she had to find the money to upgrade the whole building’s electrical system. And before the day ended, Katie vowed she’d complete the booth decoration contest flyer and place a copy in every vendor’s mail slot. That would be a good start. And maybe after that she’d approach Edie Silver to ask her to hold a workshop for the other vendors to show them how best to set up a display.

Rose finished ringing up a sale as Katie sidled up to the cash desk. A neat pile of envelopes and circulars sat on the back shelves that housed “hold” items and reshops—articles customers had decided against purchasing.

Katie picked up the mail and flipped through it. Bills, bills, and more bills. No, she did not believe Ezra was a finalist in a million-dollar sweepstakes. And being deceased, he didn’t need another credit card either.

Seth’s law firm’s return address on one of the envelopes drew Katie’s attention. She ripped it open, leaving a jagged tear in the top, and then removed and unfolded the crisp linen stock paper. As her eyes scanned the page, her body tensed until fury made her wail in disgust.

Storming over to the first cash desk, Katie waved the paper under Rose’s nose. “Do you believe this?”

Rose took the sheet, her gaze darting back and forth as she read the long list of expenses. “Oh, my.”

“I thought he was just being nice,” Katie ranted. “When he took me to Del’s Diner, he not only charged me for his time—he charged me for the meatloaf, too! Plus the flowers at the funeral home, and every phone call, too!”

“Lawyers do have that reputation,” Rose said, handing back the page. “But I never would have thought that of Mr. Landers. He always seems so nice.”

Of course, Katie wasn’t about to mention that Seth had also kissed her—twice—reinforcing her mistaken notion. Seth had made it seem like he’d wanted to be with her, to get to know her.

“How could he?” Katie muttered, the hurt bubbling up until she thought she might choke.

Rose blinked watery eyes. “You were kind of sweet on him, weren’t you?”

Katie’s throat tightened, and her bottom lip trembled. Had everybody guessed?

“Real life bears so little resemblance to the stories I like to read,” Rose said, patting the cover of her romance novel. “I know what it’s like to think a man might care for you, then find out he doesn’t.”

Katie swallowed, still unable to say anything without blubbering.

“It happened to me some forty years ago,” Rose admitted. Her eyes darted left and right as she looked around, and when she saw no one nearby, she continued. “I worked in accounts at a big department store in downtown Rochester. It was March, nearly spring, when a big storm blew in off Lake Ontario. The roads were terrible. My car died just a mile outside the village. I thought I could make it home on foot, but my poplin coat was more fashionable than warm.”

“Rose, you don’t have to—” Katie started to say, but Rose waved a hand to interrupt her.

“My legs were frozen. I couldn’t even feel my feet. I cried with relief when I saw the lights on in the local appliance store. The doors were locked, but I hammered on them until someone came to let me in.” She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I came that close to dying.”

“Rose—” Katie said again.

The old woman’s eyes were wistful once more. “The owner took me into his office in the back, pulled out a bottle of Four Roses whiskey from his desk drawer, and said it would warm me right up. He took care of me,” she said, her voice strained. “He helped me out of my wet clothes, put them on the radiator to dry—and let me wear a store apron and a baggy sweater he kept on hand. The wind howled outside, and the snow kept falling. There was no way either of us could leave. So we talked and drank and talked and ... somewhere in the middle of the night, we made love. Just like in one of my novels. It was beautiful.” Rose took a shuddering breath.

Katie stared at the weathered face before her, unable to picture the faded beauty that hid behind the wrinkles creasing the old woman’s cheeks.

“He was married,” Rose continued, “and had a child. There was no way we could ever be together. I suppose that’s why I never told him about . . . our baby.”

“Oh, Rose,” Katie said. Suddenly her embarrassment over Seth seemed minuscule in comparison to the old woman’s decades-old heartache. “I’m so sorry.”

Rose shook her head. “I went away. I told everyone I was visiting a cousin in Pittsburgh. That’s what women did back then. At least, I did. I never even saw my child after the birth. He was put up for adoption. When I met my Howard, I never told him about my shame. He always believed he was the first ... my only . . .” Rose pulled a tissue from her skirt pocket and wiped her nose.

“It was all so long ago, but I’ve hardly slept for days worrying the police might find out about my shame and make it public. That pink quartz was mine—it came from my booth! They might think that if I had one incident from my past to hide, I might have others. I would never have hurt anyone. In my own way, I loved Ezra. He was my friend. But Howard was the love of my life.”

Katie patted the woman’s bony back, not quite sure what to make of her last few sentences. “I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I’ve never told anyone in McKinlay Mill about this until now. But it’s weighed so heavy on my soul I had to tell someone.”

Katie fought tears and could only nod, totally at a loss for words.

An overweight, balding man in a too-tight Bills sweatshirt walked up to the register, clutching a dog-eared magazine. “Any JFK memorabilia in this place?” he asked.

Rose wiped her eyes and brightened, turning on the charm, chatting with the customer while she rang up the sale. Okay, maybe Rose didn’t like cats, but by sharing her heartbreak she’d endeared herself to Katie.

Something registered in Katie’s peripheral vision, and a figure in the doorway captured her attention: Vance Ingram.

Adrenaline surged through her, and Katie bolted to head the man off. “Vance, your wife is in my office. She got here just before we opened. She’s in a terrible snit, and—”

“Where the hell have you been?” Janey Ingram demanded from across the Alley’s showroom. Her eyes blazed and her ample bosom heaved as she glared at her husband. At last, she charged forward.

Bug-eyed and wary, Vance backed up a step, his eyes darting from his wife to Katie. “At Mindy Shaffer’s house,” he blurted out defensively.

Janey’s dilated eyes narrowed in anger, giving her a decidedly sinister appearance.

“I was remodeling her kitchen,” Vance explained lamely.

“Like hell you were,” Janey hollered, coming up short in front of him.

“Wait, wait,” Katie interrupted, seeing customers craning their necks to watch the show. “Give Vance a chance to explain,” she said in a low tone, hoping Janey would take the hint and pipe down.

Vance gave Katie a look of thanks, turning to his wife. “I only told you I was here because ... because I didn’t want you to know where I’d be.”

“Of course you didn’t!” Janey yelled. “You cheating, lying son of a—”

“Janey—Vance! Can’t we take this discussion into my office?” Katie begged.

Janey turned on her, with as malevolent a glare as Katie had ever received. Then the Dolly Parton look-alike transferred her weight from one hip to the other, exhaling impatiently as she turned back to glare at her husband. “Well?” she demanded of Vance.

“Go on, Vance,” Katie said, throwing her hands up into the air and giving up.

“It’s our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in two weeks,” Vance explained. “I needed the money to take you on a second honeymoon.”

“Oh, yeah?” Janey challenged, her scorn almost palpable.

“Yeah,” Vance said, reaching for his back pocket. Taking out his billfold, he showed a cluster of crisp, one-hundred-dollar bills safely tucked inside. “I got paid in full today. There’s enough for us to go to Branson. Take in all the shows, and to go to—”

“Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede Dinner and Show?” Janey squealed, as though she’d recited the words a thousand times before.

“And now you’ve ruined my surprise,” Vance complained as Janey threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over.