One Hot Murder (24 page)

“Were you the only one in the class that got picked on?”

“Most of the time. It seemed like he singled out one kid in every one of his classes. Lucky me, huh?” He took a long sip on his frappe.

“When you and Don bought the Webster mansion, did you know Dennis had a shop on Victoria Square?”

Nick nodded. “Seth mentioned it when he first told us about the property. He knew if we bought the house, we’d run into Wheeler at the Merchants Association meetings.”

“Did the idea bother you?”

“A little. But my dealings with the man happened twenty years ago. I was hoping the jerk had at least learned to hide his homophobia.” He sighed. “But talking about Wheeler is not why I came to see you this morning.”

“Aha! Now for the
real
reason for your visit,” Katie prompted, just as glad to drop the former subject.

Nick hesitated then smiled, flashing those dazzling teeth again. “I’d love to hear about your storage unit filled with goodies.”

Every muscle in Katie’s body tensed. “Yes. I do have quite an inventory.”

“I wonder if there’s anything in there you’d be willing to part with?”

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t thought about it.”

Liar!

“I know we’re not in a position to take possession of anything quite yet, but I did want to broach the idea with you. And maybe you could tell me about what you’d planned for the inn.”

“I’d planned to furnish it with antiques and collectibles, just like you.”

“I’ve already made up a list of tentative items. Don and I both love brass beds, and we’re hoping to find some great-looking full beds and convert them to queen size.”

“That was on my agenda, too,” Katie admitted. She could feel the sweat beading in her hair, despite the fan. She wouldn’t have to swelter in this sauna of an office if she could upgrade the HVAC systems. To do that, she needed at least fifteen thousand dollars—probably more like twenty to do the job properly. Selling off her antiques wouldn’t pay for it. It just wouldn’t.

“I love old oak—golden oak,” Nick corrected himself. “And it’s appropriate for the house. I’ve been looking for a commode with a marble top, too.”

And I have a gorgeous one in mint condition in the storage unit.

“Shopping at online galleries is fun, but it’s so expensive,” Nick went on.

“I haven’t had a chance to gather that list I promised you. But I will. Have you tried craigslist?” Katie asked.

Nick took another sip and nodded. “I’m searching every day.”

Katie wouldn’t meet his eyes. He had brown puppy-dog eyes. Eyes that could melt your resolve. If she dared look, she’d be
giving
him the stuff for a song.

“Do you have pictures?” Nick prodded.

“I took a few,” she admitted.

“I don’t suppose they’re on your hard drive,” he said, nodding in that direction.

“As a matter of fact…”
Go ahead, tell him NO!
“I do.”

“Could I see them? Not all of them. Just a few.” He smiled and laughed. “Go ahead—tease me.”

If you open that file, he’s going to wheedle at you until you cave
, the voice said.

“Sure.” She reached for her mouse and gave the right button a double click, awakening the slumbering computer. She didn’t have to search for the file because she’d moved it to her desktop and kept it in the right-hand corner for easy access. And she’d found herself accessing it a lot in the past couple of days.

She clicked open the folder and ten subfolders appeared. “What did you want to see? Bedroom furniture? Dining room? Linens? Lighting? Dishes and silverware?”

“Bedroom furniture,” Nick said, and there was a hungry set to his eyes.

Katie clicked on the file marked bedrooms, and eighteen or twenty thumbnails appeared on the screen in tidy rows. She clicked on one of them and a brass headboard appeared. Because of its shape, it reminded Katie of a piece of commercially made bread—rounded on the top with little indents on each side, and a series of spindles of different lengths running under the top rail.

“Oh wow,” Nick breathed, leaning in to study the photo. Katie had stood the headboard on the side of the storage unit before she’d wrapped a mover’s blanket over the top to protect it from…she wasn’t sure. Just to keep it safe, because she loved it so much.

“I’ve seen something similar in a reproduction catalog,” she said.

“I know the one. They call this a rainbow bed. The catalog wanted over two grand for a queen-size model. How much did you pay for this?”

Katie sighed. “Two hundred dollars.”

“With a matching footboard?” he asked. Katie nodded. “Omigod!”

Katie clicked on another view—a close-up of one of the spindles.

“It sure would look nice all polished and shiny,” Nick said wistfully.

Katie clicked on another photo. The twin headboard had been painted red at one time, but it was peeling and in need of some serious TLC. It was probably lead paint, which meant it would need careful restoration, too. “I have two of these, with footboards. They’re kind of pretty,” she said without enthusiasm, much as she wanted to gush. Heck, they were
gorgeous
!

“We’re going for down duvets with high-thread-count covers. Some matching shams and accent pillows would look divine.”

Katie looked at him askance. “Have you been reading my mind?”

Nick laughed. “I have been accused of that in the past—at least when it comes to plans for Sassy Sally’s.”

The name still made Katie cringe. “Have you planned to open a B and B for a long time?” she asked.

“Ever since I graduated from Cornell’s School of Hotel Administration—just about twenty years. I’ve worked all over the hotel industry. As a night manager in a mom-and-pop operation, assistant manager at a Holiday Inn Express, concierge at a Marriott in San Francisco, and I’ve done a couple of stints managing small bed-and-breakfast operations. I liked them best, but of course they didn’t belong to me. This is my first opportunity to do it all—and this time make it
all
mine.” He laughed. “And a little of it will be Don’s, too.”

“I’m impressed with your résumé. Makes me feel like I haven’t done my homework.”

“I’ll bet you have. How long have you had the innkeeping bug?”

“Ever since my college days when I worked a summer job as a maid in a small inn. It was hard work—but I knew
from that first day that it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Of course, I took time out to get my master’s in business administration—I figured it couldn’t hurt when it came to running my own business.”

“I’ll say,” Nick agreed. “So how did you end up here?”

“It’s a long story. But I think I’d rather tell it to you over a glass of wine and in a much nicer location.”

“I’d love to take you to lunch sometime.”

Katie smiled. “I’d love to go.”

“I’ll call you in a few days. That’ll give you time to get used to the idea of parting with your stuff.”

“I can’t promise my answer will make you happy.”

“Nothing in life is certain,” Nick said and rose from his seat. He dumped his empty frappe container in Katie’s trash.

“Maybe when you’re ready to decorate, you might want to take a walk around Artisans Alley. We have a lot of lovely things for sale.”

“I’ll do that.”

Katie walked him to the front door. “I’ll call you in a couple of days,” Nick promised, and leaned forward to give her an air kiss. He pulled back, gave a wave, and headed out the door, passing the Big Brown deliveryman, who was on his way in.

“Hey, Greg. Need help with those boxes?” Katie asked.

The deliveryman hefted three of them, his arms extended to their full length, holding them steady by tucking the top one under his chin. “No, thanks,” he said and tipped them up and onto the empty cash desk.

“Still enjoying the route?” Katie asked.

“I sure am. Jerry Murphy always called it a plum assignment. Said the people were really friendly. He was right, too.”

“I was wondering, have you heard anything from Jerry since he retired?”

He shook his head. “Didn’t expect to. But I was hoping he might part with his wheels.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jerry restores old cars. He’s been working on a ’57 Chevy for the past year. I was hoping he’d sell it to me. I mean, he was going to retire to open a shop and restore cars full-time. What’s he need with a finished car?”

“Yeah,” Katie muttered.

“Gotta go. The route calls,” Greg said and headed out the door.

Katie bit her lip and started back for her office. It bothered her that Jerry had just dropped out of sight. It was crazy to think that he could’ve been the body at Wood U. After all, she thought once more, what would he be doing there on a Saturday night?

“He’s a flirt,” Gilda had said. Had he flirted with Abby Wheeler and Dennis was jealous? Jealous enough to kill the guy?

That didn’t make sense. And there was no proof the dead man was Jerry Murphy or even that it was Dennis Wheeler. And why would Jerry want to kill Dennis anyway?

And there were others who held grudges against Dennis Wheeler. Blake Taylor had set the fire at Wood U as an act of revenge. Nick had only recently returned to McKinlay Mill, and there was no denying he hadn’t gotten over being the brunt of Dennis’s so-called jokes. But the idea of such a nice man—a man who Seth admired enough to participate in his wedding—killing Dennis Wheeler was impossible.

And yet…nothing felt right about that death. The fact that the deceased’s face had been blown apart so that identification would be difficult. Not impossible, but such a delay would give the perpetrator enough time to come up with an alibi, or to make a contingency escape plan. That would explain the intruder hiding at Artisans Alley.

But something was missing from that equation, and what that was, Katie had no idea. Davenport didn’t seem to have a clue either. Maybe it would take Detective Hamilton a year or more to figure it out, because right now the task
seemed insurmountable. Maybe they’d never know the whole truth. Maybe there’d never be closure—for Abby, for Davenport—for anyone on Victoria Square. That thought depressed Katie. But then, if she was honest with herself, it really wasn’t her problem.

But it seemed like it should be.

Katie hadn’t been back at her desk for even five minutes before a knock on the doorjamb caused her to look up from her computer screen. Liz Meier, the stained glass artist, stood in the doorway, and Katie could see a couple of blonde-haired beauties standing behind her.

“Katie, there’re some people here to clean one of the shops out front,” Liz said, sounding uncertain.

“Oh, yes. They must be Detective Davenport’s daughters.” Liz stepped aside and the tallest of the young women fingered a wave. “Ms. Bonner? My name is Sophie Davenport. Mr. Cunningham said it would be all right if my sisters and I cleaned the space for our dad’s party.”

Katie stood. “Yes. And please, call me Katie.”

Sophie giggled. “Thanks. These are my sisters, Sasha and Sadie.” The other two young women waved. They looked like identical twins, from their blonde tresses and dimpled smiles down to their matching tops, jeans, and sneakered feet. How did grumpy old Detective Davenport ever produce such beautiful children?

“I’m afraid it’s pretty dusty,” Katie admitted. “It hasn’t been rented out in quite some time. Do you need some cleaning products?”

“We brought everything we thought we’d need, but we can probably use a bucket or two of water, and a place to dump it.”

“Sure.” Katie grabbed her keys from the cup hook that hung on the wall near her desk. “I’ll open it up for you.”

The girls backed up, giving Katie room to sidle past
them. Katie led them through Artisans Alley and into the lobby. As Sophie had said, outside the locked storefront were several cartons filled with paper towels, buckets, soap, and other cleaning materials, along with a couple of brooms, mops, and dustpans.

Katie inserted the key in the lock and opened the door to the shop. The air smelled stale. She didn’t envy the girls’ task, but they didn’t seem deterred.

“Wow, what a great space,” Sophie said, admiring the size of the shop, which despite all Fred’s efforts these past few months, had not been rented. “We’d like to put up some decorations. Would it be okay if we put up streamers and a banner?” Sophie asked.

“Sure,” Katie said. “Don’t worry about using tape or tacks. These walls will need to be patched before the next tenant takes over.”

“Thanks.” Sophie leveled a serious stare at her sisters. “Ladies, hop to it. Sasha, you start sweeping. Sadie, follow Ms. Bonner to fill the bucket with hot water.”

Both girls giggled, and saluted their older sister. “Aye-aye, Captain,” they said in unison.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Katie told Sophie as Sadie gathered up the bucket. She led her back to the washroom, where Sadie filled the bucket partway, gave her thanks, and headed back to join her sisters.

What nice girls. Davenport and his wife had obviously been stellar parents to have raised such lovely daughters, who not only seemed to get along, but loved their dad unconditionally.

Katie sighed, wishing she could remember her father. If it weren’t for old pictures, she’d have no recollection of his face at all.