A Crafty Killing (32 page)

Dear Lord
, she realized with horror,
could Seth have killed Ezra?

“Hold it—hold it,” Seth said, exasperated. “Where did you come up with all of this?”

“You knew the land Artisans Alley is on was worth a lot of money. As Ezra’s heir you could—”

Seth’s mouth dropped open, his eyes narrowing. He stared at Katie for long seconds, then his lips curled into a smile. “You really think I want his estate?”

“It’s a logical assumption.”

Seth started to laugh.

“It’s not funny.”

“Oh, yes, it is,” Seth said, trying his best to stifle his amusement. “Katie, it’s really none of your damned business, but I’m not some maladjusted adoptee who went looking for his birth parents. I happened to have loved the people who adopted me very, very much. And they also happened to have left me a very rich man. I’ll say one thing, I probably inherited some of my business acumen from Ezra, but unlike him, I’m a lot more successful.”

Katie decided to blast ahead with both barrels. “What percentage of the marina do you own?”

Seth’s eyes widened in admiration. “Very astute.”

“I figured you did more than just real estate closings at that big firm in Rochester—before you took over your father’s practice. And you haven’t answered my question. What percentage of the marina do you own?”

“Almost half.”

“I suppose you’ve been quietly buying up land for the past couple of years,” she said. “And you wanted this place, too.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Seth said, sobering.

“Honey, I own three parcels of land that would make much better locations for a hotel site. I’ve been negotiating with the Motel Six chain for the past four months. We’ll probably close the deal before the end of next week. And then there’s the new water park. Big things are about to happen in the township, but Victoria Square will still be a big draw. I’m betting it’ll keep those hotel rooms filled to at least fifty percent capacity during the winter months when the marina is closed. Why would you think I’d want to kill a cash cow?”

Katie hadn’t considered that. But then, she’d only harbored her harebrained theory for a matter of minutes.

“I suppose I look pretty stupid, what with all my wrong conclusions, and then thinking you were coming on to me.”

Seth took the chair near her desk, leaned forward, and took her hands in his. “Sweet Katie, I think you’re a woman who’s had a hell of a lot to adjust to in the past week. Thanks to Ezra’s murder, you’ve been tossed into quite a traumatic situation. You quit your job. You’ve been vandalized. You found a dead body, and have even been overcharged by your overbearing lawyer. I think any mistakes you’ve made this week can be entirely forgiven. They would be, at least, by a friend.”

Katie’s bottom lip quivered. “I feel like such a fool.”

“Why? Because you’re human?”

She nodded, avoiding his warm brown eyes.

With one finger, Seth tilted her chin upward. “I’m offering myself in the role of big brother ... if you’ll accept me.”

“I never had a big brother.”

“And I’ve never been one. What do you say we struggle through it together?”

Tears burned her eyes, but Katie managed a smile. “I accept.”

“Then are we still on for dinner?” Seth asked.

Katie sniffled. “I forgot it was Halloween. I’d kind of like to see the kids all dressed up in their costumes. How about a rain check?”

“How about tomorrow night?” Seth asked.

“Sounds great. I have a lot of stuff to tell you. And I’ve got that copy of the loan agreement Gerald Hilton signed that you wanted.” She got up, fumbled in the file cabinet, and extracted the paper. She folded it into thirds and stuffed it into a business-sized envelope from the box on the top of the cabinet. Seth took it and thrust it into his raincoat’s inner breast pocket. Again, he took both Katie’s hands in his own. They were warm and dry, the touch giving Katie a feeling of security—something she hadn’t felt since Chad’s betrayal almost a year before.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Katie said.

Seth leaned forward and gave her a quick, brotherly peck on the cheek. This time, it made her happy. “See you then,” he said.

With both her purse and Chad’s journal tucked under her arm, Katie turned the key in Artisans Alley’s back door lock.

“Happy Halloween!” Rose called brightly as she headed for her car.

Katie waved, and then hurried through the drizzle to her own car. Rain on Halloween was just plain no fun. She felt sorry for all the little kids in their soggy costumes, their wet paper sacks dragging on the ground until they tore, leaving a trail of candy treasure behind them. She got in her car, tossed the book and her purse onto the passenger seat, buckled up, and then started the engine. The windshield wipers thumped as she headed for the parking lot’s exit. She paused behind Rose’s car, which was turning left.

Katie looked over at the pizzeria on her left, saw Andy in the window, and waved. He tossed pizza dough in the air and waved back, which messed up his timing. The dough came down on the brim of his baseball cap and tore in half. Katie laughed, feeling better than she had in months, then pulled forward, and checked oncoming traffic before she turned right.

Daylight was quickly fading as she headed east on shiny streets for Ezra’s house. She’d have to stop at the grocery store on the way home to pick up Halloween candy. Her apartment complex was a favorite spot for McKinlay Mill’s kid population. Many doors in a small area expanded the potential for chocolate bars, peanut butter cups, and other sweets.

Katie pulled into Ezra’s darkened gravel drive. How had he ever gotten out of it in the winter when lake-effect snow pummeled the region? She turned off the engine. Only the sound of raindrops tapping on her car roof broke the silence. Fingers clutching the door handle, she hesitated before opening it. Why hadn’t she changed that burned-out bulb over the house’s side door? And why hadn’t she left a light on in the house for Della when she’d left that morning? No other cars lurked in the drive or out by the barn. Had Detective Davenport been out to check on Ashby’s merchandise? She really should check on that herself, but not tonight. Suddenly every nerve in her body was on alert.

Ridiculous! There’s nothing to be afraid of
, she told herself. Except that two people associated with this property had ended up murdered.

Katie switched on the car’s dome light and sorted through the set of keys Seth had given her. On impulse, she grabbed Chad’s journal. Maybe she’d spend a few minutes with Della, getting to know her better, and read a few more passages. And maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone and skittish in the strange house if she had Chad by her side. Well, what was left of him anyway.

Clutching the book and her purse, Katie bolted from the car, dashing for the back door. Her hand trembled as she fumbled to insert the key into the lock. She practically fell into the kitchen, slamming the door and locking it in one fluid motion.

Della was waiting and launched herself at Katie, purring and meowing at once—happy, yet scolding Katie for being late.

Katie turned on the kitchen lights, then dropped her keys and purse on the counter. She stooped to pick up the empty kitty bowl from the floor. “I’m going as fast as I can,” she told Della, swishing the bowl with a wet paper towel. She opened another can of food, dumping it into the bowl. “You’re going to a new home on Monday, little girl. You’ll probably have to live in the spare room while I’m at work—at least for the first week or so. But you won’t be stuck out here all alone anymore. I don’t know how your new brother will feel about that, but we’ll manage somehow, won’t we? Hey, we’ll both have new big brothers,” she said, smiling, the thought warming her.

Della wound around and around her ankles, more interested in dinner than talk of her new living arrangements.

As she attended to the cat’s needs, Katie wondered if she ought to start calling estate liquidators. There was no sense in waiting. Maybe Rose or one of the other Alley artisans knew of someone who did that kind of thing. She’d have to ask. Of course, the house was probably filled with items Ezra would not like to see on the auction block. Photos, personal mementos, the family Bible ... She’d have to let Gerald go through the house and take what he wanted in the way of personal effects. That was the decent thing to do, even if Gerald hadn’t acted decently himself.

While Della, nose buried in her dish, happily lapped up her food, Katie grabbed Chad’s journal from the counter and wandered into the living room, turning on lights as she went.

She sank into Ezra’s easy chair and opened the book. What had Chad’s last recorded thoughts been, she wondered, flipping to the last few pages of entries.

Katie blinked. She? Who? Her gaze dipped back to the journal.

Katie well remembered that conversation. It had been their last. And they’d said good night on good terms. But whom had he written about?

She read the next entry, written only two days later.

Katie’s stomach tightened. Someone had tried to run Chad off the road only days before he died? Was that possible? Could someone—some woman—have actually tried to kill him? What for? Who could it have been? Another teacher at the school? She hadn’t heard from any of Chad’s colleagues that he’d had a problem at work. But if he’d turned down someone’s advances, could the spurned woman have been angry—humiliated—enough to take revenge?

No. That was silly. That was impossible.

Then why did her stomach feel so tense?

Was there a pattern to the deaths? Chad? Ezra? Ashby?

A lake-effect snowstorm had hit that March afternoon. Chad had stayed late at school finishing a lesson plan. At least, that’s what the police had told her. Could someone have lain in wait for him?

No. The police said Chad lost control of his car on the icy road. Nobody mentioned any other tracks or skid marks.

Katie sprang to her feet, jostling the chair-side table, knocking over one of Ezra’s framed photos, dropping the journal on the floor. Her paranoia was definitely getting out of control.

With unsteady hands she retrieved the photo, setting it back on the little yellowed doilies. Too many pairs of dead eyes stared at her from the faded photos around the room.

Katie was drawn to the framed snapshot she’d just set down. Ronnie, holding a chain saw in one hand. It was the tool of his trade, she remembered. Had Ezra sat in his worn recliner, night after night, brooding over the picture? Maybe, but then, Ezra hadn’t been entirely lonely these last few years. First he’d sought companionship from Nona Fiske, and more recently Mary Elliott.

Della sauntered into the room, then jumped on the back of the shabby recliner, the first stop to her perch atop the bookshelf, where she began to groom her paws.

Katie looked back at the snapshot, squinting under the inadequate lamplight. She thought again how handsome Ezra’s son had been—like Seth—and noticed that the photo inside the frame looked bunched on one side, as though it had been folded over. On impulse, she slid off the frame’s backing, took the photo out, and unfolded it.

Katie gazed at the picture, her face going lax as snatches of conversations filled her head. Gossip, innuendo, and all the myriad pieces of information she had gathered during the past week suddenly fell together, and she thought she knew just who had murdered Ezra, Peter Ashby—and probably Chad, too.

Katie stared at the photo still clutched in her hands. Okay, so she had a good idea who
might
have killed Ezra. But what was the motive, and how could she prove it? And how in the world would she ever convince Detective Davenport to accept it?

She let out a breath, feeling deflated. Davenport already thought she was a borderline crackpot, and possibly his prime suspect. He wasn’t likely to believe her newest wild theory. But somehow it all made sense ... in a weird, convoluted way.

As she placed the framed picture back onto its crocheted tidy, she heard a knock at the kitchen door and glanced at her watch. Could it be trick-or-treaters?