The Walleld Flower (27 page)

Rose nodded.

Katie chose her words carefully. “Heather was the lead in an early Rick Jeremy movie.”

Roses eyes widened, looking pleased—as if being captured on film meant some kind of immortality for the dead girl. “She never mentioned it to her parents or me.”

“I’m not surprised. It was a real low-budget film. They filmed outdoor scenes here in McKinlay Mill. And I’ll bet they used Barbie’s apartment as one of their sets.”

Rose glanced at the floor where the walls had recently come down. “But the space was too small for that. Surely there wasn’t room for more than just a bed.”

“I’m afraid that’s about the only prop they needed.”

Rose’s eyes went wider still as her cheeks flushed. “Are you saying Heather starred in a-a pornographic movie?”

Katie was no critic, but there was nothing stellar about Heather’s performance.

“I’m so sorry, Rose.”

Shaking her head in denial, Rose turned away. “No. You
must be mistaken.” Then she whirled on Katie. “I want to see that tape.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I won’t believe it until I see it for myself.”

Katie rested a hand on Rose’s arm. “You haven’t seen your niece—or even videos of her—in over twenty years. Do you really want to remember her like that?”

Tears filled Rose’s blue eyes and she swallowed back a sob. “I-I don’t know. But if her killer forced her into that terrible lifestyle, it’ll only make me more determined to see him brought to justice.”

Katie placed what she hoped was a comforting hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Okay, but I must warn you, you won’t like what you see.”

“Heather is dead. I’ve already faced the worst. How can this be more upsetting that that?”

Katie wasn’t sure how to reply.

Heather had been dead for more than two decades. But could Rose face the death of her sweet memories of her only niece?

“Turn it off,” Rose moaned, her voice shaking, and buried her face in her hands.

Katie hit the old VCR’s stop button and squeezed her friend’s thin shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rose. It was stupid of me to mention it to you. I shouldn’t have put you through this.”

Rose let out a long, shuddering breath. “No, I needed to see this. I needed to know—” But she didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she rubbed at her eyes, still refusing to meet Katie’s gaze. “You said you had a theory about Barbie’s apartment.”

“Half-baked, but—”

“Please tell me,” Rose implored.

Katie felt as though she’d already hurt the old woman enough for one day, yet she took a breath to steel herself
before answering. “The backdrop behind the bed appeared to be some kind of metallic paper. It wavered during some of the more”—she choose her words carefully—“energetic scenes. The lights they used to film are very hot. I wouldn’t be surprised if it caught fire and—”

Rose nodded. “The soot you showed me on the back of the paint chips pretty much explains what happened.”

Katie nodded. “The walls had to be replaced. Mark Bastian told me he and Jeremy started the work but didn’t finish it. I believe him. Whoever did complete the job must’ve walled up Heather.”

Rose’s expression hardened. “Burt Donahue said he couldn’t remember who actually did the work. Do you think he’s lying?”

“Not necessarily. He could’ve hired anyone out of the Penny Saver to do the work. It’s been so long, I’m not sure we can track down the people or company who actually did the work.”

“It’s a job for the Sheriff’s Office. If we could ever get that tactless Detective Davenport to show a little interest in the case.”

“I’ve got a call in to him, but it’s a Saturday night and Heather’s case is about as cold as you can get.”

“But Heather’s best friend died in the same building only days ago. She
knew
something about Heather’s death. She had to. You said she was about to tell you something important back at Del’s Diner, but that was before someone scared her off.”

“Yes. If only she’d trusted me,” Katie said and sighed.

“Then again, why should she? Barbie didn’t know you any more than she knew me.”

“Exactly. Until that last day, I don’t think Barbie really believed Heather’s killer would come after her. She’d kept silent for twenty-two years.”

“But isn’t it odd that Jeremy Richards comes back to town and then Barbie’s murdered? Someone sent you that
tape. Someone wanted you to make the connection between Heather and Jeremy and Barbie. Who could it be?”

Katie was determined not to air her suspicions. Not without more proof. Instead, she shrugged.

Rose pushed back her chair from the table, struggling to get to her feet. Katie lunged forward to help, but the old woman waved her off. “I’m going home. Heather’s memorial service tomorrow will make it a difficult day. I need to get some sleep.”

Katie watched as Rose gathered her beige raincoat from a peg on the wall, then carefully tied the white plastic rain bonnet under her chin.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” she asked.

Rose’s smile was devoid of wattage. “No, dear. But thank you for asking.”

Katie walked Rose to the side exit. “You don’t have to come in to work tomorrow.”

“But I want to. At least for a few hours. It’ll help me bide time before Heather’s service.” Her voice broke on the last word. Rose pursed her lips, struggling to control her ragged emotions. “I’m so glad Iris and Stan never knew about
that
.” Her acid glare raked across the ancient Betamax. “It would have killed them.” She turned away and shuffled toward the back door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Katie.”

Katie made sure Rose got safely into her car and drove away before she went back into her office to retrieve her purse and keys. Showing Rose that videotape had been one of the hardest things Katie had ever done. Despite her claims to the contrary, would Rose ever be able to forgive her for spoiling her image of Heather as a sweet young girl?

Yet, as Katie thought about it, she’d seen no hint of humiliation in Heather’s face. Instead, she thought she’d seen… triumph. Could Heather have deluded herself into thinking she could be some kind of porn queen? Or perhaps she believed that it might launch a career that would lead to bigger and better things… and make her rich.

Twenty-two years after the fact, they’d never know.

Katie donned her jacket and retrieved her purse from her desk drawer. Patting the pockets, she located her key ring. She glanced down at the desk, looking for the envelope and the key to the Webster mansion. Pawing through the papers didn’t reveal the envelope either.

Katie turned off the office light and stepped into the vendors’ lounge. No key on the old Formica table either.

She’d lost it. Good grief. How was she going to explain that to Fred Cunningham?

“Oh, swell.”

With his arms crossed, and his face twisted in a scowl, Andy looked more than a little annoyed. “Vance’s kid ordered a
sheet
pizza with
double
cheese,
double
pepperoni,
double
sausage,
double
bacon,
double
—”

“Why don’t you just say he ordered double everything?” Katie sat atop the wooden counter that separated the customers from the workers at Angelo’s Pizzeria. She stared out the window at the darkened Webster mansion across Victoria Square, swinging her feet and smacking them into the wainscoting.

“Because he didn’t want pineapple and anchovies. And will you stop banging the counter?” Andy ordered from his pizza-making station.

Duly chastised, Katie stilled her feet. “How much do I owe you?”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “Nothing. I’ll charge it to overhead. Do you want a calzone or a slice of pizza?”

It was all Katie could do not to flinch. “Have you got any of those cinnamon buns left?”

“Nope. I’ll bring you one for breakfast. I’ll make you a small veggie pizza.” Andy grabbed a mound of dough from the rack to his right. “How goes the apartment hunt?”

Oh, dear. Another sore subject.

“Lousy. I meant to call every complex in a ten-mile radius, but instead I frittered the whole day away.” Andy didn’t roll his eyes, but he looked like he wanted to. “And no,” she said before he could speak, “I’m not going to beg to rent your apartment upstairs. I’ve decided it’s much too small for my needs.”

“Lucky for you it’s not available, then.”

Did that mean that despite his complaints about tenants he’d already rented it?

Katie sighed, deciding not to give him the satisfaction of asking. She turned to face him. “What’s your big news of the day?”

Andy tossed the dough in the air with the skill of a vaudevillian juggler, his grin as wide as Katie had ever seen. “The salesman assured me I really don’t need much new equipment to start making cinnamon buns on a large-scale basis. It’s more a matter of timing and logistics.”

“And?” she prodded.

“I made an appointment for Monday morning to talk to the manager of the McKinlay Mill Big M. I’m going to take samples, too. If he likes them, he promised me a minimum daily order of two dozen a day to start. He’ll give me a one-month trial.”

“And after that?” Katie asked.

“We’ll see. If I could get into the larger chains in Rochester… well, then I could buy your English Ivy Inn for you.”

Katie’s breath caught in her throat. It would never happen. Oh, but what fun it was to dream… Could Andy step into the role Chad was supposed to have played? What would that do to their budding relationship?

And why was she even pinning her hopes on a flip remark made in jest.

Still…

“Do you think you can cook as well as you bake?” she asked.

“I can follow a recipe. Why?”

“Because you could be the English Ivy Inn’s chef.”

Andy threw out his plastic-gloved hand, striking a theatrical pose. “Why zen you’d haf to call me Chef Andeeeee,” he said with a bad French accent.

Katie giggled. “Ooh la la!”

Andy squinted and looked beyond her. “Hey, what’s that?”

“What’s what?” Katie asked.

“Either my eyes are going bad, or there’s a light on over at the old Webster mansion. I thought you said the Ryans had abandoned it.”

Katie’s head spun around so fast she was in danger of whiplash. “Ohmigod, you’re right.” The place had been dark only minutes before. Had Toby and Janice returned? No, Janice had been adamant: She no longer wished to even be inside the old building.

Katie jumped down from the counter, panic churning her insides. “Andy, the real estate agent let me borrow the key today and I lost it. If someone found it and vandalizes the place—”

“Slow down—slow down!” Andy cautioned.

“Oh, please, you have to come with me in case—”

“Okay, okay,” Andy said. “Keith—” He turned to the boy manning the pizza oven. “Cover for me, will ya?”

“Sure thing,” the kid said, straightening with a sudden air of authority.

Andy pulled the plastic gloves from his hands and hopped over the counter with the grace of a gymnast. He grabbed Katie’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s go!”

The brisk April night air stung Katie’s cheeks as she and Andy jogged the length of the Victoria Square parking lot to the old Webster mansion. Katie had a stitch in her side by the time they made it up the creaky steps. The old oak door was ajar and Andy plunged ahead, throwing it open and bounding inside. They bolted into the front parlor and Andy stopped dead, throwing out an arm to stop Katie from venturing farther.

“Holy crap,” he murmured.

“What, what?” Katie asked, then saw the prone figure stretched out on the Masonite subflooring. No mistaking the beige coat and the white rain bonnet. “Ohmigod! Rose!”