A Crafty Killing (30 page)

“Oh, sweetie pie, you’ve made me the happiest girl in the whole USA.”

Katie scowled, vaguely remembering an old country tune by the same name—and not sung by Dolly—but decided not to mention it.

“Isn’t that romantic,” Rose said and sighed, clasping her romance novel, a sappy grin plastered across her wrinkled features.

“Ezra knew what I was up to,” Vance admitted, guilt shading his voice. “He covered for me. I was at Mindy’s the night he was murdered. How could I know someone would rob the place and kill him?” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

How indeed?

Vance turned to face Katie. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Katie. I wanted Janey to be surprised, and I figured if even one other person knew, it would get back to her and ruin everything.”

“You surprised me all right,” Janey said, her grin so wide it threatened to crack her cherry-colored lips.

“And wait till you see Mindy’s kitchen,” Vance said. “It turned out great.”

“Show me now, Vance,” Janey said, wrapping her arm around his and dragging him toward the door.

“See you tomorrow, Katie,” Vance called over his shoulder.

Katie gave them both a feeble wave. “Ciao.”

With the show now over, the customers went back to browsing. Katie moved to stand beside the cash desk.

“I’m so glad Vance wasn’t fooling around on Janey,” Rose said, picking up her romance novel and extracting the bookmark. “It restores my faith in
man
kind.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Katie said, doubly relieved that Vance hadn’t had anything to do with Ezra’s death.

A customer holding a large pottery vase walked up to the register. “Wow—lots of drama in this place.” His voice was familiar.

Katie squinted at the man. “Deputy Schuler?” she asked. He looked different out of uniform and dressed in jeans, boots, a Buffalo Bills jacket, and a Mets ball cap. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping,” he said, and put the vase down on the cash desk. “Boy, is this thing heavy. Think my wife will like it? It’s her birthday tomorrow.”

“I think she’ll love it,” Rose said, peeling the adhesive price tag from the front of it. She turned to her register to ring up the sale.

“Who’s out protecting us if you’re off duty?” Katie asked.

“Don’t worry, McKinlay Mill is covered, and I’ll be back on duty later this afternoon,” Schuler assured her.

“I’m glad to know I can count on you—even if I can’t count on Detective Davenport,” Katie said.

Schuler frowned and shook his head sadly. “That poor guy.”

“Poor guy?” Katie repeated. “I admit, investigating deaths all day can’t be a fun job, but he could at least appear to be interested in solving his cases.”

“He’s got a lot on his mind. His wife died two weeks ago, and he’s got three teenaged kids to look after, two of them girls.”

“His wife died?” Katie asked, suddenly feeling like a heartless harpy.

Schuler nodded. “The whole family’s pretty shook up. I was surprised he came back to work so soon. I don’t think I could have.”

“H-How?” Katie managed.

“It was sudden. A traffic accident.”

“Like my husband,” she murmured, her heart suddenly filled with compassion for the poor man. No wonder he’d found it hard to concentrate on Ezra’s case with his own loss so fresh and painful.

Rose had wrapped the vase in tissue, bagged it, and handed it back to Schuler. “I hope your wife likes it.”

“I’m sure she will,” he said and smiled.

Katie fumbled for something to say. “Uh ... thank you for shopping at Artisans Alley.”

Schuler gave her a smile. “Christmas is coming. I’m sure I’ll be back.” He nodded a good-bye and headed for the door.

“That poor Detective Davenport,” Rose said, shaking her head in sympathy.

Much as Katie wanted to be angry at Davenport, she now found she couldn’t. How awful it must be to be thinking of death day and night—at home
and
on the job. Ezra had been dead a week and a day—that really wasn’t an awful lot of time. She knew from reading books, newspapers, and magazines that murder investigations usually took months—sometimes much longer—to solve. She’d have to cut the detective some slack and let him heal—and do his job in his own way, in his own time. What else could she do?

Then Katie’s gaze wandered back to Seth’s bill still clenched in her hand, the sight of it reigniting her anger. She wanted nothing more than to yell, to throw something breakable against the wall, to release her ire, but she didn’t want to air her grievances in front of the vendors or Artisans Alley’s customers. She glanced at her watch—it was just about lunchtime. Tracy would no doubt be waiting tables and unavailable to talk. That left only one other person Katie could think of to talk to.

The door to Angelo’s Pizzeria was locked. A CLOSED sign hung from a little suction cup on the plate glass door, but Katie pressed the doorbell anyway. Cold fat raindrops plopped from the edge of the gutters, splashing onto Katie’s head. Since the last time she’d visited, something new had been added below the soffit on the ends of the building and along the peak: white-painted, wooden gingerbread accents. When had Andy had time to do that?

Plop! Katie moved aside only to be hit by another fat drop of water. She rang the bell yet again.

Andy came out from the back room, his Buffalo Bills sweatshirt dusted with flour, his hands covered in plastic gloves. His annoyed expression melted to mild interest as he moved toward the door, peeling off the gloves as he went.

“What’s up?” he asked, letting Katie inside.

She indicated the additions just visible through the plate glass window. “Very nice.”

Andy’s smile was genuine. “I decided I should try to have my shop blend in with the rest of the neighborhood. I’m glad you approve, but that’s not why you came to see me, is it?”

“No. I remembered you said you came in around noon to get your dough started. Would you have time to talk while you work?”

Andy studied her face. For a moment she thought he might refuse, then his expression softened. “Sure.”

Katie followed Andy to the back room, stopping short at the sight of an enormous mechanical mixer with an evil-looking hook that stretched sticky dough inside a gigantic stainless steel bowl. Racks of finished dough, in premeasured sizes, stood against the opposite wall to rise.

“Wow,” Katie said, breathing in the same yeasty smell she’d encountered in Mary’s kitchen the evening before, only this was dough production taken to the max. “Will you use all this up tonight?” she yelled over the
wunk wunk wunk
of the mixer.

“That and more,” Andy hollered. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Can we go back in the shop where it’s quieter?”

Andy shook his head. “I’ll be done with this in a minute. Then we can talk.”

As if on cue, the machine abruptly quit. Andy donned a new pair of plastic gloves and raised the mixer’s safety guard. Katie watched as he disentangled the dough from the hook, then moved the bowl to an adjoining worktable and began shaping gobs of the stuff into circular mounds, all the same size.

“Isn’t there a machine to do that for you, too?” Katie asked.

“Yeah, but I like the feel of the dough,” he said. “Now, what did you want to ask me?”

“I need a man’s opinion.”

Andy looked up, but continued to work. “About what?”

Katie hesitated. “Signals.”

This time, Andy paused in his dough manipulation, raising an eyebrow in interest.

“The kind of signals a man gives a woman when he’s interested in her,” Katie explained.

Was that a look of panic in Andy’s eyes?

“I don’t think I’ve been giving you signals,” he said, sounding alarmed.

Katie frowned. “Not
you
, someone else.”

“What kind of signals?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh ... affectionate kisses. Holding hands. Little favors. That kind of thing.”

“Sounds pretty tame to me,” Andy said with relief, turning his attention back to the dough.

“I suppose it does,” Katie admitted.

“Just who’s been sending you these signals?” Andy asked, his tone now amused.

“Seth Landers.”

Andy looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Seth Landers the lawyer?”

“Yes, why?”

“Katie,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Didn’t you know Seth Landers is gay?”

Katie’s throat tightened. “Gay, as in happy?”

Andy shook his head.

“I didn’t think so,” Katie said, suddenly feeling ten kinds of foolish. “How do you know he’s gay?”

Andy shrugged. “Gaydar. A man just knows these things. But if he
has
been flirting with you, you have to ask yourself, what did he hope to accomplish by taking you in?”

Katie thought about it for a moment. Just what
had
Seth been up to, kissing her, holding her hand? She swallowed down a walnut-sized lump in her throat. “Gerald Hilton said the Radisson Hotel chain offered Ezra a million dollars for Artisans Alley site.”

“The Radisson?” Andy repeated and laughed. “Hardly. It was Motel Six. Their lawyers talked to me about it, too.”

“Did they?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded. “I own the tip of the tract of land they’ve been after. They wanted me to convince Ezra to sell.”

“That wouldn’t have worked. Were you willing to sell?”

“I considered it. But the charm of this place is its location. I wasn’t eager to be the cause of Victoria Square’s downfall.” Andy smiled, resuming his work. “Besides, I didn’t stand to make half the money Hilton did either. And it wasn’t anything like a million. Maybe Hilton told his nephew that just to piss him off.”

“If he did, it worked. I know Gerald told Seth about it. He said Gerald wanted him to convince me to sell.”

“Hand me that flour bin from the shelf, will you?” Andy said. “What did you tell Seth?”

Katie passed him the canister. “That I wasn’t interested in selling.”

Andy sprinkled flour on the gummy mass before him. “And Seth’s reaction was?”

Katie shrugged. “Just that I should concentrate on keeping Artisans Alley open—if that’s what I wanted.”

Andy filled the first tray with rounds of dough, setting it on the rack and reaching for another. “What brought this whole Seth thing to a head anyway?”

“This,” Katie said, pulling out the by-now crumpled letter from her jacket pocket. She held it for Andy to read.

“I’d say Landers blew it. He had to know this was going to make you mad. Unless it’s a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“Sure, maybe he’s got an overzealous secretary looking for a raise. It’s the end of the month. She probably sent out bills to all his clients. See the signature? She signed his name, then initialed it.”

Katie squinted at the letter. She’d been too angry to notice that before.

“Okay, but that still doesn’t explain why a gay man has been coming on to me.”

“Are you sure he was coming on to you, or was it just wishful thinking?”

Boy, that stung! But could it be true? Katie had been out of circulation for a long time, and these last few months had been the loneliest of her life.

Maybe Seth
was
just trying to be kind.

“What are you thinking?” Andy asked, scrutinizing her face.

“That maybe I
am
in over my head.”

“Then take your time, look at all the possibilities before you make any major decisions. Whatever’s going on, stall. The more time you have to think, the better. Don’t let anyone bamboozle you, Katie. Not Seth, not Gerald. Not Rose, not Tracy. Nobody.” He smiled and winked. “Not even me.”

Back at Artisans Alley, Katie stared at her office phone, brooding for a good ten minutes before dialing Seth’s office number. The line rang and rang. Finally, voice mail kicked in.