The Walleld Flower (31 page)

“That woman,” Katie growled.

“Mrs. Bonner?”

Katie turned back to Donna. “I’m sorry. Polly grates me the wrong way. And the way she treats that poor little girl…”

“She always was a mean old witch.”

Katie scrutinized the young woman’s face. “It sounds like you know her well.”

“Years ago she and my ma were in the same sewing circle. She was always a bitch.” Donna brandished the bag by her side. “I heard you don’t just sell fancy schmancy crap anymore. I’d like to rent a booth. Do you have any openings?”

Katie blinked. “Well, yes, but what would you sell?”

Donna removed the bag’s twist tie and scooped out a rectangular red velvet pillow embellished with white cord, tassels, and black-and-white beads. She handed it to Katie.

“Oh, Donna—it’s gorgeous.”

Donna’s smile was hopeful. “Do you think they’d sell?”

Katie turned the pillow over to admire the workmanship. “Definitely.”

“So, when can I set up?” Donna asked.

Katie handed the pillow back. “Do you have a valid tax certificate?”

The young woman looked confused. “A what?”

“So you can collect state sales tax,” Katie explained.

“Collect it? I pay it every time I go to the store,” she said, and laughed nervously.

“That’s right. But as a vendor, it’s your responsibility to take the tax from each of your items sold and pay it to the state.”

Donna looked confused. “How am I supposed to do that?”

Katie explained what a tax certificate entailed and that it could take several weeks to a month to obtain one from the state. She also told Donna the monthly booth rental was expected in advance, and watched the young woman’s hopes dwindle further.

“I can’t afford that. I need to
make
money, not
spend
it. And I need cash
now
!”

“Unfortunately, I’m in the same boat. But I can ask around to see if any of the vendors would be willing to carry your pillows for a commission. They’re very pretty and I’m sure they’d sell well as Victoriana. While you’re waiting for your certificate, you could continue working on your product so you can eventually stock your own booth.”

Donna glanced down at the pillow in her hand and frowned. “I didn’t make these. My ma did before she died. She was a whiz with a needle and thread. She could make just about anything.” Her eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip trembled. “God, I miss her.”

Katie fought the urge to give Donna—a virtual stranger—a hug, and instead grabbed the tissue box from her desk, offering it to the young woman.

“I’m sorry.” Donna wiped her nose. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you use my booth number. I’ll take care of the taxes, too. Do you have any other things to sell?”

Donna sniffed and looked away. “Sort of. But—”

“Tomorrow’s setup day. Why don’t you bring them around then?”

“I can’t. I found a sitter for Fawn, and I and need to work all the extra hours I can get over at McDonald’s.”

“Could you bring them over later this afternoon or tonight?”

“Okay.” Donna’s lip trembled. “You’re being real nice to me, Mrs. Bonner. Thanks.”

“Call me Katie.” This time Katie did gather the tearful young woman into a gentle hug, then pulled away. “There’s a restroom right around the corner. Why don’t you splash some water on your face and then we’ll go talk to some of the vendors about using your pillows as accent pieces in their booths. I’m sure we can work something out and put your pillows out for sale today.”

“Thank you.” Donna sniffed and bent to pick up the bag of merchandise.

“You can leave them here.” She jerked her right thumb toward the door. “The bathroom is just over there.”

Donna nodded and left the room.

Alone once more, Katie flopped down in her office chair. Donna and her problems had distracted her from Polly’s threat. The second threat of the day—and it wasn’t even noon! Added to that, she hadn’t had the opportunity to tell Polly it was Hannah who’d done the pilfering in her own and others’ booths. That was sure to get that sweet little girl into even more trouble.

And she wasn’t content to hope that her threat to contact Hannah’s parents would inspire Polly to mend her bad caretaker ways. Maybe Rose or one of the other vendors knew how to contact them. She’d make a point to ask.

Katie opened the desk drawer to study the threatening note once again. She didn’t want to call Detective Davenport. He’d probably only yell at her for messing up potential fingerprints, and she could do without more stress. He said he’d be at Heather’s service that afternoon. She’d tell him there. That would also buy her time to figure out who it was who might wish her harm—before they could carry the threat one step further.

“You’re not wearing
that
to Heather’s service, are you?” Rose stood in Katie’s office doorway, pointing at Katie’s well-worn jeans and sweater, her expression stern.

Maybe I should just install a revolving door,
Katie thought.

Rose’s hair, neatly coiffed, was ensconced in its white plastic rain bonnet. Under her raincoat, which no longer bore the scuffs marks from the night before, she wore a vivid pink floral print dress, hose, and cream-colored pumps. Her scowling gaze was fixed on Katie’s sweater and jeans.

“No, my suit is out in the car. I didn’t want to take the chance of spilling anything on it,” she explained.

“Oh, then that’s good.”

“How are you feeling today, Rose?”

“Perfectly fine. It takes more than a bump on the head to put me out of commission.” Her gaze flitted to the bag Donna had left on the office floor. “Where did you get those gorgeous pillows?”

“Barbie Gordon’s daughter wants to sell them.” Katie handed one to Rose.

“They’d look perfect next to the beaded necklaces in my booth. Do you think she’d let me display them?”

Katie’s lips twitched into a smile. “I bet I could talk her into it. What kind of a commission do you want?”

Rose held out a blue velvet pillow. “Nothing. If those pillows help sell those necklaces, I’ll owe her.”

“Thanks, Rose. She can really use the money.”

Rose took out another pillow, scrutinizing the needlework.

“I had another unpleasant encounter with Polly this morning.” While Rose rummaged through the bag, inspecting each of the pillows, Katie told her how she’d found Hannah alone and that the child had admitted taking the items that disappeared from Polly’s booth.

“I hope Polly intends to apologize to poor Edie after the awful things she said.”

“With everything else that’s going on, I never had an opportunity to tell her.”

Rose straightened. “Well, let’s hope Polly steps out of line and you get to toss her out on her butt soon.”

“In the meantime, I feel a responsibility to tell Hannah’s parents about what happened here today. Do you know how I can contact them?”

“No, but I’ll find out and let you know by the end of the day.” Rose glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a few errands to run before Heather’s service. I’ll see you at the funeral home at one.”

“One?” Katie sat up straighter in her chair. “I thought it was at two.”

“The newspaper clearly stated one o’clock. Don’t be late.” And off she went.

Katie grabbed her phone and punched in Andy’s number, hoping he’d answer despite the fact the shop wouldn’t officially open for hours. Finally, he did.

“Angelo’s Pizzeria.”

“Thank goodness you picked up.”

“What’s up, my love?”

“Remember when you penciled me in for lunch? Well, pencil me out. Heather’s memorial service is an hour earlier than I thought.”

“It’s just as well. I’m still stuffed from breakfast. Not that I don’t want to be with you,” he hurriedly explained. “How about sharing a pizza with me later in the shop?”

Pizza, again? “I’d love to.” Had he noted the insincerity in her voice?

“I’ll try to make it to Heather’s service,” Andy promised.

“Okay, see you there.”

Katie hung up. She had just enough time to get Donna’s merchandise marked and on the floor and change her clothes for the service. She stuffed the note back in its original envelope and thrust it into her purse just as Donna returned.

Grabbing a handful of tags and a pen, Katie moved aside to let Donna sit at the desk. “Let’s get those pillows priced and ready for sale. And welcome to the wonderful world of retail.”

Katie’s black skirt was a teensy bit tight. All those pizzas and cinnamon buns, no doubt. She yanked on her jacket to straighten it and pulled in her stomach as she flashed a smile to Mr. Collier across the way. The funeral director glanced at the cherry grandfather clock that stood in the entryway. It was five minutes until showtime. So far Katie, Rose, and Edie were the only mourners in attendance.

Four floral arrangements—two on each side—flanked the empty casket at the front of the room. Katie wandered over to read the cards. The first, a lovely display of white gladioli, was from Rose. The next, pink carnations, from Edie. The third, roses and baby’s breath, was from Seth.
And the fourth looked like… real Scottish heather? But that couldn’t be—it was the wrong time of the year. Katie glanced at the card. “We never had Paris.”

Her stomach did a flip-flop and her throat constricted as she read the scrawled signature. “Jeremy.” He must have arranged for them to be sent before he’d been killed.

“Yes, I saw it.”

Katie whirled to find a dry-eyed Rose standing behind her. “Sad, isn’t it? Maybe he really did care about Heather. I wonder if he would have come today.”

“We’ll never know.”

The sound of voices from the doorway drew their attention. Seth had entered, along with several Artisans Alley vendors. Rose hadn’t been expecting a crowd, as evidenced by the small room and the double row of six chairs that sat in front of the coffin, but she seemed heartened by the appearance of friends. Would any of Heather’s schoolmates bother to attend?

Detective Davenport was next through the door, and Katie clasped the strap of her leather shoulder bag, which held the threatening note. She was not looking forward to their conversation. Maybe she could snag Seth and let him act as a kind of intermediary. But then she wasn’t eager for Seth to know the contents of the note either. Nope, this was one time to go it alone. And it would be better to get it over with quick, too.

Davenport did an all-points visual around the room. Katie caught his attention and waved him to join her. The detective made a beeline for her, as always clad in his rumpled suit and ever-present raincoat. Did he wear it year-round?

Katie already had the envelope out of her purse and thrust it at him. “I don’t know who sent this and I only opened it this morning, so don’t yell at me for not telling you about it sooner.”

Davenport withdrew the paper, read it, and frowned. “What have you been up to now, Mrs. Bonner?”

“Nothing.”

He studied the envelope’s postmark. “Well, you must have annoyed someone on Friday. Who do you think could have sent it?”

“I told you I don’t know. And I never want to see it again, so please take it away.”

Davenport stuffed the envelope into his raincoat’s inner pocket. “You probably obliterated any fingerprints,” he grumbled.

“I’m sure whoever sent it handled it with latex gloves and didn’t lick the seal, so there’s probably no DNA signature either.”

Davenport scowled. “You watch too much TV. Have you got anything else to tell me?”

Katie glanced down at a small stain on his tie. “You spilled your soup.” She turned and walked back toward Rose and Edie. The two older ladies made up a makeshift reception line, which she joined.

“As least I have closure now,” Rose was telling Seth.

“Is the Sheriff’s Office any closer to finding out who was responsible for Heather’s death?” he asked.

Rose leveled a withering glare at Davenport. “They don’t share that kind of information with me.”

The front door opened once more and Kevin Hartsfield entered. He flinched as he walked, and Katie wasn’t certain if it was because of his bad leg or that he was simply uncomfortable at being there.

“I’ll be right back,” Katie told Rose, and hurried to meet the newcomer. “Mr. Hartsfield, I’m so glad you could make it.”