The Walleld Flower (12 page)

Polly pursed her lips. “That woman is stealing from my booth, and you won’t do anything about it.”

“I’ve told you that your word alone is not ample proof of anything. I’m putting you on notice: If you verbally abuse any of the vendors—including Edie—I’ll have to ask you to leave Artisans Alley.”

Polly’s mouth dropped. “You can’t do that.”

“I’m afraid I can, and I will. There’s also another problem that needs to be addressed. We’ve had a complaint that the dolls in your locked case aren’t antiques—that they’re reproductions.”

Polly’s eyes bulged. “That’s impossible. My source has impeccable credentials.”

“Not according to The International Folk Doll Confederation. One of their representatives came to see me this morning. She showed me the fiberfill stuffing inside one of them. It was definitely new material.”

Polly flushed. “I-I don’t believe it.”

“The Folk Doll people want us to at least post that these are reproduction dolls.”

“I’m sure these dolls are antiques and I’ll prove it.” She unlocked her cabinet, where an entire family of similar dolls sat primly on a purple velvet tufted cushion. Polly grabbed what looked like the mama doll. Next, she borrowed a pair of scissors from a sewing box she had for sale. She pulled the doll’s clothes aside and made a small incision along a seam. A gush of wood shavings escaped the small hole. “This doll is genuine. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“The doll I saw this morning definitely was not.”

“Can you produce it?” Polly demanded.

“No.”

“Then it’s
your
word against
mine
.”

“Polly, as the manager of Artisans Alley, I cannot allow you to sell the dolls as genuine antiques. I have the reputation of Artisans Alley to consider.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you let in crafters.”

Katie ignored her outburst. “You’ll either have to post a sign saying the dolls are reproductions, or remove them from your booth.”

“I’ve never been so insulted,” Polly said.

You ought to get out more,
Katie thought.

Polly straightened to her full imposing height and stepped forward, forcing Katie to step back and stagger against a shelf jammed with replacement doll parts. The shelf tottered, its contents threatening to fall.

As Katie stumbled against the toy carriage, a large, bald doll’s head whizzed past her cheek, crashing on the wooden floor and smashing.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Polly scolded. She reached out, and Katie jerked back, expecting a blow.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” Polly demanded, and picked up a jagged chunk of porcelain from the floor, holding it in her fist as though it was a weapon.

Katie swallowed and realized she was trembling. Was it her imagination, or had Polly been ready to clock her?

Vance Ingram scowled as he handed Katie a cup of coffee. “It’s the dregs, I’m afraid.”

Katie reached for the cup and noted her hands were still shaking. “Thanks. I need something to sooth my jangled nerves.” She took a sip, feeling its warmth course through her. Hopefully the caffeine would soon kick in.

Like her predecessor, Ezra Hilton, Katie considered Vance to be her right-hand man. Behind gold wire-framed glasses, the retired gentleman’s bright blue eyes took in everything that went on in Artisans Alley. And as the former manager’s second-in-command, Vance knew every vendor by name and reputation.

“Strange as it seems, Edie’s terrified of Polly. I have to admit, for more than a moment, I thought she was going to hurt me.”

Vance leaned against one of the file cabinets. “Ezra didn’t like that woman, but he needed to rent the booth.”

“We’re not that desperate anymore.”

“I admit she’s disagreeable, but she didn’t cause any real trouble until just the last few weeks.”

Katie nodded. “By the way, I hope my asking Edie to babysit Artisans Alley today didn’t bother you. I thought she needed a shot of confidence. Polly’s been riding her hard.”

Vance shook his head. “It’s a good idea to have more than one backup. Janey’s been feeling good lately, but on her bad days I’d prefer to stay close to home.”

Katie nodded. Vance’s wife suffered from multiple sclerosis and, quite naturally, he was devoted to her. “I should let you get back to Janey now.” Katie polished off her coffee and tossed the cup into the wastebasket. She took her purse from the desk drawer and got up to retrieve her coat from the peg behind the office door.

“I’ll help you shut down,” Vance offered, and the two of them split the tasks of killing the lights and setting the security system for the night, and then locking up.

The drizzle had escalated to a downpour, and Katie gave Vance a quick wave before she pulled her coat up over her head and made a dash for Angelo’s Pizzeria. As she neared, Katie noticed the apartment window above the pizza shop was open. Andy had probably forgotten to close it the last time he’d been up there.

The brass bells jangled on the back of the plate glass door as Katie opened it. “Hi, Katie,” chorused a couple of Andy’s teenaged employees. A new face among the blue T-shirted crew tonight looked up at her.

“Hi, guys. Is Andy around?”

“Right here,” Andy said, coming in from the back room with a stack of empty pizza boxes. “I’ll be right with you.”

Katie took one of the white plastic lawn chairs Andy kept for customers and watched as he removed steaming pizzas from the oven, deposited them in the boxes, and loaded them into the warming bags for the deliveries. The
addresses were on Post-it Notes, which he stuck to each bag. “Head on out,” he told the two waiting boys, who waved to Katie before exiting for their cars.

Andy donned clean plastic gloves and started on the next pie. “You’re early tonight,” he said to Katie.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asked, indicating the tall, dark-haired boy who stood beside Andy, watching him assemble a pizza.

“Sorry. This is Richie. Richie, Katie.”

They exchanged pleasantries, and Andy let the boy take over making the pizza.

“You’ve got a window open upstairs—in front,” Katie said. “Do you want me to go up and close it?”

“Nah. I’ll do it later.”

“It’s raining pretty hard,” she said.

“Yeah, but it’s coming from the west.” He was right. The open window
was
on the east side of the building.

“Okay. Oh, shoot! I just remembered I was supposed to confirm an appointment to see another apartment tomorrow. Do you mind if I use your phone?”

“Sorry, but yeah, I do—this is my peak ordering time.” To prove him right, the phone rang. “What about your cell phone?” Andy asked and reached for the receiver.

“I think it might need to be charged.” Katie dug in her purse. She located the tiny phone, checked the battery graphic, and noticed it didn’t yet need life support. She found the scrap of paper where she’d jotted down the number from a couple of days before, punched it in, and then stuck a finger in her right ear so she could hear.

The call was answered on the third ring. “Hello, Mr. Hartsfield, it’s Katie Bonner. We spoke a few days ago about my coming to see your apartment. Have you rented it yet?”

He hadn’t. She arranged to see it first thing in the morning, before Artisans Alley opened, so as not to inconvenience Vance, Edie, or Rose. With that settled, she folded her phone and put it back in her purse.

Andy finished taking another order, handing it to the new boy. “How goes the apartment hunt?”

“Nothing yet, and I’ve only got nine days before I’m out on the street.”

“You have a lot of options,” Andy said. “Including the one I offered you.”

“Right now living with you isn’t the one I’d prefer. How about offering me something to eat—that would placate me for at least an hour.”

Andy smiled. “Richie, please make a small white pizza with double garlic, double cheese, and double pepperoni for the prettiest lady on earth.”

“Oh, really, Andy, I’m probably only the second most beautiful woman,” Katie deadpanned. “And triple the garlic, will you, Richie?”

“Then you’d better pucker up now, because I’m not kissing you after that,” Andy said and laughed.

“I’ll go shut the window and wait for you upstairs.”

Andy shook his head. “It’s Richie’s first night. I don’t want to leave him here alone. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” Katie said, and tried to keep a frown from her lips.

“Have a Coke while you wait,” Andy offered, and grabbed the ringing phone once again.

Katie took a can of pop from the refrigerated case in the corner. That was twice he’d discouraged her from going upstairs. Very curious, especially since this morning he’d again refused to rent her the place. She sniffed the air. Was that paint she smelled behind the aroma of sauce and spices? No wonder the window was open, Andy was probably trying to dissipate the fumes. He should have used a non-VOC paint. Did painting the place mean he’d changed his mind and was going to rent the place? If so, why not just own up to it?

Katie wasn’t about to argue and was glad she’d made the appointment to see the half house at the edge of town the
next morning. Instead, she plastered what she hoped was a genuine-looking smile across her lips and forced herself to sound cheerful. “How’s that pizza coming, Richie?”

“Another fifteen minutes, Ms. Bonner.”

“Thanks.”

Katie choose the seat farthest from the door to wait, and sipped her Coke. She didn’t dare pick up one of the well-thumbed magazines Andy kept in a stack on a small table under the front window. Who knew what kind of germs lived within the pages, and Katie’s little bottle of hand sanitizer was locked in her desk back at Artisans Alley.

Not a minute passed before Sue Sweeney, owner of Sweet Sue’s Confectionary—Victoria Square’s heavenly chocolate shop—entered Angelo’s. Katie liked cheerful, plus-sized Sue, whose personality matched her shop’s name. “Hi, Andy,” she called. “Is my pizza up yet?”

Andy looked at the stack of pizza boxes waiting to be filled. “Coming right up.”

Sue nodded and looked around the shop, her face brightening when she spied Katie. “Hey, Katie, I heard you were arranging a bachelorette party for Gilda Ringwald?”

Katie gaped, panicked. “Who told you that?”

“Gilda,” Sue said in all innocence. “I hadn’t received an invitation yet and I wanted to make sure I didn’t have to be elsewhere on whatever night it’s planned for.”

“Bachelorette party?” Katie repeated in disbelief, her voice squeaking. Where was she supposed to find time to arrange for a party with only ten days before the wedding.

“Yeah,” Sue said. “So, where will it be held and on what day?”

“I have no idea. Gilda and I haven’t spoken about it.” But they surely would—she’d make sure of that.

“Pizza’s ready, Sue,” Andy called, with a large, sealed box in hand.

Sue handed him a twenty and he made change. “Thanks,”
she said and turned back to Katie. “You’d better get those invitations out in the mail tomorrow—or else you’ll have to hand deliver them.” She laughed and, with hands full of her purse and the pizza, she backed out of the shop. The cheerful little bell on the door rang after her.

Andy shook his head ruefully. “Katie, you’re going to have to back out of that wedding. You haven’t got the time for all the stuff Gilda has planned.”

“I can’t back out now. Edie’s already started to alter the matron of honor’s dress. I was Gilda’s second or third choice as it is,” Katie said, although she was unable to squelch that panicked feeling that continued to grow inside her.

“Then you’d better find Gilda and pin down exactly what she expects you to do and when. Maybe you can recruit one of her other friends to help you with the arrangements, although why she hasn’t made them all herself is beyond me.”

“Me, too.”

“Pizza’s ready, Ms. Bonner,” said Richie, coming up behind Andy with the small cardboard box. He handed it to Katie.

“Thanks. But I think I just lost my appetite.”

“Then now’s the perfect time to give Gilda a call. Or better yet”—Andy gazed out the pizzeria’s plate glass window—“there’s a light on in her shop. You’d better go see her now.”

Katie’s shoulders slumped. She wanted to confront Gilda like she wanted to grow a third leg. “Yes, sir.”

Andy leaned across the counter to give Katie a quick kiss on the top of her head. Then he grabbed her shoulders, turned her about, and gave her a shove toward the door. “Do it now, before you lose your nerve.”

Losing her nerve wasn’t what she worried about. It was more her temper.