One Hot Murder (9 page)

“That would be lovely.”

Lovely?
Katie hadn’t known the detective even knew—let alone used—the word.

“Is there anyplace else we can go?”

“There’s a ratty old swing on the old Webster mansion’s front porch, but I’m not sure if it could hold both our weights. The rope looks pretty worn.”

“And it would be trespassing for us to use it. Oh well…another time then.”

Another time?
Katie met Andy’s puzzled gaze. At least he was a witness to Davenport’s apparent change in demeanor. She
wasn’t
simply going crazy after all.

“You’re welcome to eat your dinner here in my shop and wait for Blake,” Andy offered the detective, waving a hand in the direction of the chairs where Katie was already sitting.

Davenport shook his head. “That’s okay.”

“And it’s ready,” Keith said, sliding Davenport’s pizza into a box. He handed it to Andy, who gave it to the detective.

“Thanks. I think I’ll wander on back to Wood U and
take another look around while I wait for the Taylor kid to show up.”

“Suit yourself,” Andy said, and he and Katie watched the detective leave.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” Keith said from his position in front of the ovens.

“You and me both,” Andy said, “but he’ll be back.”

“Keith, what happened between Blake and Dennis Wheeler at the school?” Katie asked.

“Old Man Wheeler ragged on Blake on a regular basis,” Keith admitted. “Criticized everything he did—made him look stupid in front of the whole class. Blake’s folks kicked up a fuss, had a meeting with the principal and got old Woody Wheeler—that’s what everyone called him behind his back—in trouble. Wheeler held a grudge and made life even worse for Blake. He baited him until Blake hauled off and punched him. Everybody was talking lawsuits for a while there.”

“What happened?” Katie asked.

“Blake said he can’t talk about it. I hope that means they were suing the bastard.”

“School was over. If Blake withstood a whole year of harassment, why would he kill Wheeler a month after school ended? Chances are he’d never have to put up with him after that,” Katie suggested.

“Didn’t Wheeler retire at the end of the school year?” Andy asked.

Keith nodded. “I don’t think anybody—even the teachers—was sorry to see him go.”

Katie frowned. Her late husband had been a teacher at the high school. Had any of the students felt the same way about him? She couldn’t imagine him picking on a child in his class. Except for his killer, everybody had loved Chad.

“What are you thinking, Katie?” Andy asked. “That the kids are wrong and Wheeler was a saint? Believe me, he
wasn’t. Wheeler’s been picking on students for years—me included—so I tend to believe what Keith says.”

Katie nodded. Did Andy realize he might now look like a suspect—especially as he’d just lied to Detective Davenport? Then again, if the body wasn’t Dennis Wheeler…

She looked down at her calzone and realized it had grown cold.

“Any chance you can toss this in the oven to warm it up?”

“Sure thing,” Andy said, taking the box from her. He slid the pie onto a paddle and popped it back in the oven.

If Andy had looked preoccupied before, now he looked downright worried.

He shouldn’t have admitted he’d had trouble with Dennis. Davenport was sure to think he held a grudge and maybe
he’d
lie for Blake. Or worse, if he held a grudge against his former teacher, he might be willing to protect his protégé—by any means.

Was Davenport feeling so chipper because he was about to make an arrest?

Katie swallowed, realizing she’d lost her appetite.

Blake never came back to the pizzeria that night. Katie had sat in her hot apartment, watching the parking lot and waiting. Davenport came into the pizzeria a few times, but eventually he left Victoria Square.

Katie didn’t sleep much that night—and it wasn’t just the heat that kept her awake.

As always, the first thing Katie did when she woke up in the morning was to gaze out her apartment’s front window to take in the Webster mansion. She never got tired of the view. That wreck of a house would one day be a painted lady once again, but sadly, it wasn’t she who’d pick out the paint palette.

With a sigh of resignation, she went downstairs, retrieved her newspaper, and then breakfasted on a banana and coffee as she perused the local section. A two-paragraph story on the lower side column confirmed what Detective Davenport had said the night before: The body found in the fire had not been identified.

It turned out to be a good thing that she’d held off sending flowers to Abby Wheeler.

She refused to believe that either Blake or Andy had anything to do with the death at Wood U. There had to be another explanation.

Suppose…just suppose the body in the county morgue wasn’t Dennis Wheeler. Just because facial recognition wasn’t available to them didn’t mean a body had no other recognizable features. Surgery scars, tattoos, bones with old breaks, jewelry, or even clothing could be identifiable. And yet Davenport seemed to be pursuing the idea that Blake Taylor had killed his former teacher.

So what if the victim at Wood U wasn’t Dennis Wheeler? What if he’d had a motive to disappear? He’d certainly been secretive about selling his business.

The idea intrigued her. Katie picked up a pen and began jotting down ideas on the newspaper’s margins.

If Dennis was missing, he had to be the one responsible for firing the bullet that had killed the man found in the shop, and he’d set fire to the place to cover the crime? But why would Dennis need to hide? He hadn’t taken his car. What if he’d taken the dead man’s car in an effort to keep the authorities from identifying the body before he could get away? And where would he go? He did have the money from the sale of his shop. If the murder had been premeditated, could he have escaped to Canada? He’d need a passport to cross the border. Could he have gotten on a plane later that night and escaped to some country that didn’t have a treaty of extradition?

That was a lot of supposing.

Feeling mildly depressed, Katie wondered if she should attempt to alleviate it via her favorite pastime—baking—but already the kitchen felt like an oven on low. Still, she hadn’t brought a snack into the Alley in several days and her sweet tooth was hankering for something with chocolate.

Funny how bringing in a sweet treat could soothe frayed nerves and promote general happiness among the vendors. It worked and she was sticking with that successful formula. And if she had to deal with Ida once again, she was going to need something to settle her own nerves. But instead of making liquor-infused chocolates, she settled on peanut butter buckeyes, which required no baking. She could melt the chocolate and shortening in the microwave. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with cleaning the top half of the double boiler—at least not that morning.

Half an hour later, the buckeyes were in the fridge firming up nicely.

As Katie got ready for work, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she now knew about Dennis Wheeler. Was a man who picked on his students—children who wouldn’t ordinarily fight back as Blake had done—as easily capable of murder?

Katie opened Artisans Alley’s vendor entrance at precisely eight o’clock. Sometimes she found vendors waiting to get in to straighten their booths or add new merchandise, but that morning she was alone. She took her plate of buckeyes to the vendors’ lounge and popped them in the fridge. She’d wait until there was a pot of coffee brewing before she brought them out for everyone to sample.

In the meantime, she donned her rubber gloves and, armed with disinfectant and paper towels, cleaned the washroom behind her office. Sure enough, the little suitcase was still there.

Afterward, Katie heard people coming and going in the vendors’ lounge while she got lost in the weekly ritual of printing out the inventories and checks for each of the vendors, adding a note to remind everyone to attend the Christmas potluck on Saturday—and that she’d found the suitcase under the sink. She married the copies of the note with
the checks and inventories, and put them in the proper envelopes—all of which took up far too much of her time. She’d have to start delegating some of the menial work. Putting labels on each of the envelopes was time-consuming. It might be just the kind of job for Ida—that is, if she could tear herself away from her precious sales tags for an hour or so a week. If not, maybe it was something the girls on the register could do between waiting on customers. She should also look into offering reduced rent in exchange for a little clerical work. She’d put that on the list of things to do, too.

The phone rang at just past ten. Katie picked it up. “Artisans Alley. Katie Bonner speaking. How may I help you?”

“Katie, it’s Fred.”

“Hi, Fred. What’s up?” she asked, pleased to hear his voice.

“The closing on the Webster mansion was this morning. I know I said I’d bring the new owners over to meet you, but something’s come up. They’re already on their way to the house if you want to meet them. They should be there any minute.”

“Thanks. I’ll go over and introduce myself.”

“They’re eager to join the Merchants Association, so why don’t you take over one of your welcome packets.”

“Great idea. I’ll do just that. Thanks.”

“I’ll be dropping off the check for the one-night rental on that empty storefront later today or maybe tomorrow.”

“Whenever,” Katie said. “See you then.” She hung up the phone and stood, turning to her file cabinet and the drawer she kept that contained her files and other information on the Victoria Square Merchants Association. She grabbed a packet for the newcomers. New blood. Just what the Square needed.

Since she hadn’t offered the buckeyes to the vendors yet, maybe she should take them over and give them to the mansion’s new owners. Chocolate and peanut butter—nothing said “welcome to the neighborhood” any better.

But when Katie went to the refrigerator, the cookies (or were they technically candy?) were gone—and so was the charming rose-patterned plate she’d put them on.

“That does it!” she said to no one in particular. “Something’s got to be done to stop whoever’s filching food from the fridge!”

But what that something was, she wasn’t sure.

She stormed off to lock the vendors’ entrance before opening for the day and heading over to the Webster mansion, or rather Sassy Sally’s. Ugh. The name made her shudder.

As she began her trek across the Square’s lengthy parking lot, a Big Brown truck pulled in. Katie waved at the man behind the wheel, expecting it to be the regular deliveryman, but that day it was someone else. The lucky bum was probably on vacation—something that wasn’t likely to happen to her anytime soon. She watched as he hopped from the truck, package in hand, and hoofed it into Gilda’s Gourmet Baskets.

As Katie passed The Quiet Quilter, she noted that the note she’d attached to the front door the day before had already been removed. Sure enough, Nona’s car was parked at the side of the building. So far there was no sign of the contraband signage either.

Good.

An unfamiliar car was parked outside of the Webster mansion, and two men stood with their backs to the Square, admiring the building.

“Anybody home?” Katie called cheerfully as she approached. The walk across the lot had cooled her anger over the missing buckeyes.

The men turned. “Sure are,” the fairer of the two said.

Katie extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Katie Bonner. I manage Artisans Alley on the other end of the Square. I’m also the president of the Merchants Association. I’ve come to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“Oh, you’re the one who hates us,” the sandy-haired man said and grinned as he shook her hand.

Katie’s mouth dropped open in shock, the fingers of her left hand clenching the welcome packet, wrinkling the envelope. “I beg your pardon.”

“For buying the property you’ve had your heart set on for so long,” said the dark-haired man. He had a touch of gray at his temples, making him look distinguished. He offered her his hand, and she took it.

“I—I…” Katie couldn’t seem to say another word.