The Walleld Flower (20 page)

“Whoa, whoa! How about making one batch before you build an empire?”

He looked up at her, as though disoriented. “Huh?”

“You don’t even have a bulk recipe,” she reminded him.

“So, I could find one—or adapt one.”

“It’ll take a lot of experimentation,” she pointed out.

“You could be my guinea pig.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“No, I’m serious.” He dropped the book on the work table and grabbed her in a joyful hug, kissing her hard.

“You’re welcome,” she breathed, coming up for air.

“What a team we’d make. If only—”

“Yeah, if only I liked to make pizza and you liked running an artisans arcade.”

“I can dream, can’t I?”

“So can I. And right now I’m dreaming about breakfast at Del’s Diner. Toast and home fries.”

“What about a cinnamon bun?”

“I’ll need my palate clear when I sample one of Angelo’s world-famous buns.” She pinched his left buttock.

Andy straightened proudly, jerking a thumb at his chest. “No way. I’m naming them after
me
, not the shop.” He grabbed her hand, leading her through said shop. “Come on, I’ll buy you that breakfast. And we can make plans for the future.”

She smiled. The day was indeed looking up.

Toast, eggs, and home fries never tasted so good, but best of all, Andy’s expansion plans meant one more thing. “I’m going to have to hire help,” he said, shaking his head and looking down at the scribbled notes on his napkin.

“Like an assistant manager who’ll free you up in the evenings,” Katie hinted, pushing away her empty plate.

“Definitely. I’ll need to devote all my time to developing and marketing my new product. I’m putting a help-wanted ad in the paper as soon as I get back to the shop.”

Katie sank into her booth seat. Maybe they
wouldn’t
get to spend more time with each other.

Ten minutes later, Andy dropped her off at Artisans Alley’s front entrance. The parking lot was beginning to fill—always a good sign.

Rose was at cash desk one, taking care of a customer, and Katie slipped behind the counter to help her wrap the order. “Can you go with me to the funeral parlor this evening?” Rose asked as she rang up a collection of ceramic butter stamps.

“Of course. What time?”

“About six?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, and some guy called. Mark somebody or other—started with a B.”

“When?” Katie asked, her eyes growing wide.

“About an hour ago. But he left a number.”

Katie wrapped the rest of the order with more speed than skill and hurried to her office to return the call. The video recorder was still spread across the vendors’ lounge table, but Vance had covered the deceased with a cloth, no doubt to keep out the dust. On it was a folded piece of paper with a drawing of a tombstone. Some smart aleck had written “RIP” on it.

Katie closed her door, found the message, and dialed. Bastian answered on the first ring.

“Mr. Jeremy will see you, but not here in Rochester,” he said, his voice cool.

“McKinlay Mill?” she suggested.

“Considering what happened there, that wouldn’t be a good idea either. How about somewhere in between. Someplace quiet, but public. A restaurant perhaps?”

They settled on The Golden Fleece in the town of Greece, at eight.

“Come alone,” Bastian said, and hung up.

Come alone? Fat chance. Not that Katie expected any trouble. All she wanted to do was talk. What were they expecting, blackmail?

She realized with a start that they probably were.

Katie picked up a pencil and doodled boxes on the message pad next to her phone. Andy would be working, and Jeremy didn’t want to see Rose. Besides, whatever Jeremy had to say might upset the old woman.

On impulse, Katie grabbed the receiver and dialed Seth Landers’s office number. The secretary put her right through. “Any chance you’ll be hungry around eight o’clock tonight?”

“No date on a Friday night, huh?” Seth asked and laughed.

“I won’t dignify that question with an answer.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Delicious Greek food. Roasted rack of lamb smothered in… something. Feta? Yogurt?”

“And what do you get out of this?” he asked suspiciously.

“A supper other than pizza.” It was the truth!

“And?” he prompted.

“Okay, I’m meeting Rick Jeremy. We’re going to talk about Heather Winston. His bodyguard slash secretary said to come alone. I don’t want to.”

“So, you want me to act as your bodyguard?”

“You did once offer to be my big brother when I needed one,” she reminded him.

“Yes, I did. Okay. Toss in a bottle of wine and you’ve got a deal.”

“Thanks, Seth. You’re a peach. And, uh, from your quick acceptance, it looks like you don’t have a date tonight either.”

The sun was still high in the sky, with another two hours until it set, when Katie followed Rose’s little red car into Collier’s Funeral Home’s parking lot. Katie got out, locked her car, and waited for Rose. There were no tears tonight. Rose was composed and resigned.

The panel of stained glass lilies on the ornate oak door
flashed as Luther Collier held it open for them. He’d apparently been waiting for them. The pudgy, elderly man was somber in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and muted tie. “I’m so sorry we have to meet again under these circumstances, Mrs. Nash. It must be six years now since your husband passed.”

“You have a phenomenal memory, Mr. Collier,” Rose said, sounding touched.

Collier shrugged, looking pleased. More likely he had a halfway decent database filled with the names of all his past customers. “Please step this way to my office.”

Katie glanced into the various rooms, breathing a sigh of relief that there wasn’t a coffin in sight.

They took seats before Collier’s polished cherry desk. “After we spoke this morning I called the medical examiner’s office. I’m afraid your niece’s remains have not yet been released. It’s possible that may not happen for several more days, perhaps even weeks.”

“Detective Davenport did mention that. And although Heather lived her whole life here in McKinlay Mill, I think her parents would want her to be buried where they were, in Florida. And as she died such a long time ago, I thought a memorial service would be more appropriate than a funeral.”

Collier’s gaze dipped to his folded hands on top of the desk blotter. No sale. “Very well.”

“But I would like to hold the memorial service here. It’s such a lovely place.”

That cheered the funeral director.

Katie found her thoughts wandering as Collier gave his pitch for the services he could provide. Foremost on her mind was her meeting with Rick Jeremy. What was she going to say to him anyway? “Did you kill Heather?” Like he would admit to it. Would he be angry to see her arrive with Seth in tow? Maybe she could convince Seth to sit in the bar while she had her meeting.

Today was Friday. That meant she had only three days to buy a gift for Gilda Ringwald’s bridal shower. Or could the trouble and expense she’d incur to pull off the affair be considered a gift in itself?

Had she been out of her mind when she suggested Andy bake cinnamon buns? Would the heady odors of cheese, sauce, anchovies, and garlic that permeated his ovens contaminate the sinfully delicious cinnamon buns he hoped to make a killing on?

She winced at that last thought—remembering why she was here at the funeral parlor—and surfaced from her reverie to hear Collier sum up the arrangements for Heather’s memorial service. “When I receive Ms. Winston’s remains, they’ll be placed in a plain but dignified wooden box. I’ll make arrangements for their shipment to the Florida cemetery. The death notice will appear in tomorrow’s paper, and the service will be Sunday afternoon.”

Rose nodded. “I’d like you to officiate, Mr. Collier. You did such a nice job at Ezra Hilton’s service last fall.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nash. Is there anything else I can do to ease your pain at this difficult time?”

Rose shook her head and stood. “No, thank you.”

Katie and Collier rose to their feet, and Collier walked them to the door. He offered Rose his hand. “I’ll see you on Sunday. Good evening.”

Rose nodded and turned to leave.

“I have a few more questions for Mr. Collier,” Katie said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at Artisans Alley, Rose.” She waited until Rose got safely in her car and waved as the car pulled out of the lot, then turned back to Collier, who waited patiently by the door.

“How can I help you, Mrs. Bonner?” Collier asked at last.

“I didn’t see any notice in the newspaper of the arrangements for Barbie Gordon. Do you know when the service will be?”

He shook his head, his gaze downcast. “I don’t expect there will be one.”

“No funeral? But what will happen to her—her…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“I got a call from Mrs. Gordon’s daughter inquiring about my… er, rates. I’m afraid we weren’t able to come to an agreement on price and the services she requested.”

“But that seems so… so callous to not even acknowledge that she once walked this earth.”

“Poverty often precludes observing all the amenities of life… and death.”

Katie sighed. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

“I did suggest a competitor from Rochester.” He pursed his lips. “Cheap and Cheerful Funerals, although I’m not even sure Miss Gordon can afford them either.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Will there be anything else, Mrs. Bonner?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Collier.”

Katie headed for her car. She’d expected to meet Barbie’s daughter at a wake of some sort. Katie had been one of the last people to see Barbie alive. She owed it to Barbie’s survivors to tell them what she knew. And the sooner the better.

Instead of heading straight home, Katie steered her car in the direction of Route 8. Some ten minutes later, she knocked on the single-wide trailer’s aluminum storm door and waited. Maybe no one was at home, yet if she concentrated, she was sure she could hear a television. She glanced at her watch: It was time for
Wheel of Fortune
.

She knocked again and the front door was wrenched open by a purple-haired, sullen-looking young woman in her early twenties. “Yeah, wha’ddya want?”

“My name is Katie Bonner. I knew your mother.”

The woman lowered her head. Her lower lip trembled and she swallowed. “Yeah, well… she’s dead.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I came to pay my respects.”

The woman sighed and held the door open, beckoning Katie to enter.

The dim interior smelled like stale grease. The heat was set to stifling. Katie navigated a narrow path through stacked boxes to what resembled a living room. The woman moved a sewing basket from a chair so she could sit, then
resumed her place on the couch and went back to folding a stack of laundry.

Katie tried not to stare, but her gaze was drawn to the gold studs on each side of the woman’s pierced nose. Whatever did she do when she caught a cold?

Oh, swell,
Katie thought.
I’m now officially an old fart.

She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know your mother well. She never told me your name.”

“Donna.” She blushed. “Madonna, actually. And yeah, I was named after the singer. I can’t stand it.”