The Walleld Flower (35 page)

Nothing.

So far so good.

She took another few steps forward and smacked her toe into something hard and wobbly at the entrance to another booth. Nerves ajangle, she reached down to steady what
turned out to be a bowling pin painted to look like a demented circus clown.

Aha! The perfect weapon.

Well, sort of. It wasn’t as good as Superman’s outfit for deflecting bullets, but it would make a nice club.

Katie hefted the ninepin and took another step forward. She was now behind Sylvia but couldn’t count on the element of surprise.

Avoiding the center of the aisle—and the most creaky boards—Katie tiptoed back toward the main showroom. She’d take a circuitous route to where the floor changed from wood to concrete, one Sylvia wasn’t likely to know, and head back to the vendors’ lounge. If her luck held, she might be able to haul Polly outside, and if she were dead, Katie could escape without harm.

Katie crept past the cash desks. Just inches to go and no more noisy—

Another floorboard groaned under her foot.

The sound echoed through the cavernous showroom. She hopped across the last board and quickened her pace.

Six booths to go and she’d make it to the vendors’ lounge.

Could Polly still be alive?

Five booths to go.

How long would it take for the deputies to arrive?

Four.

The parking lot was empty. Running in her bare feet across it would make her an easy target.

Three.

Sylvia stepped into the glow from one of the overhead security lamps. She shook her head, clucking her tongue. “I’ll bet you didn’t know I once had a booth in this place, did you, Mrs. Bonner?”

Blood—Polly’s blood—stained Sylvia’s light-colored jacket.

Keep her talking—keep her talking
.

“What did you sell?” Katie asked.

“Anything that looked handmade that we couldn’t dump at the auction house.”

Ezra must have needed the booth rental money if he’d rented space for that kind of flotsam and jetsam.

“It must’ve been hard on you, every time you arrived and left here, always seeing the Webster mansion across the Square, knowing you’d left Heather there to die—and that she was still there.”

Sylvia laughed. “It never entered my mind.” Her eyes narrowed. “What happened to the others?”

“They got away. They’re probably calling the Sheriff’s Office right now. That’s what I told them to do.”

“And you stayed behind all alone to play hero?” she asked and laughed.

Heroine,
Katie absently thought. She swallowed. “There’s no point in shooting me now, Sylvia. If Polly doesn’t make it—”

“I’ve had a lot of experience with dead patients, and I can tell you, she’s definitely no longer alive.”

“Then you know that Mark Bastian will tell the cops everything. That you killed Heather, Jeremy, and Polly. You’re already looking at a long stretch of time in a jail cell, Sylvia.”

“Then I’ve nothing to lose by shooting you, too.” Sylvia raised the gun and aimed. “Good-bye, Mrs. Bonner.”

Katie swung the ninepin just as the gun exploded. The bullet hit the pin and knocked it out of her hands. The force sent Katie spinning, and she smacked into the booth wall. A purple- and teal-colored ceramic clock in the shape of a fish fell to the floor and shattered. A shelf kept her from falling. Katie squeezed her eyes shut, expecting another blast from the revolver.

None came.

Seconds ticked by.

Katie dared to look back to where Sylvia had stood, only to find the woman lying on the carpet in a crumpled heap.

“Sylvia?”

No answer.

Katie took a step forward. “Sylvia?” she tried again.

The woman didn’t appear to be moving.

What if she was faking? What if—

The overhead lights flashed on. Only Vance had the keys to get in, and the main switch was just inside the front entrance.

“Vance?” she called, but her voice sounded funny—shaky.

“Katie? Where are you?”

“Booth fourteen.”

A horde of heavy footsteps tramped into the showroom. Guns drawn, five sheriff’s deputies launched themselves at Katie.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” she cried, raising her hands in surrender.

They took in the scene of destruction but didn’t lower their guns. Vance elbowed his way through the group. “She’s the bad guy.” He pointed to Sylvia’s supine figure.

A deputy brushed past Katie, kicked the fallen gun away, and then crouched beside Sylvia, placing a hand on the side of her neck. “I got no pulse, and a lot of blood here.”

Katie turned to face Vance, her hands still in the air. “What’re you doing here?”

“Well, you didn’t think I was going to just go home after you’d set yourself up as a target. I kept watch from my car in the parking lot and called nine-one-one as soon as Sylvia showed up.”

It was the first part of his explanation that Katie reacted to. “I was
not
a target. Or I wouldn’t have been if Bastian had left when I asked him to.”

“Save it for Detective Davenport.” It was Deputy Schuler, whom Katie recognized as the first officer on the scene after Ezra Hilton’s murder the year before. He turned away and spoke into the microphone on his lapel. “Situation under control. Better call for the meat wagon.”

Katie winced at his word choice. “You might have to send for two. Sylvia shot Polly Bremerton before she came after us.”

Vance’s face paled to match the white of his neatly trimmed beard. “Polly’s dead?”

“Sylvia said she was, but I was hoping she lied. She’s in
the vendors’ lounge.” Katie pointed. “Through there, by the back door.”

Schuler and another deputy took off.

Katie met Vance’s gaze. “Polly saved our lives.”

To say Vance looked skeptical was putting it mildly. Despite the fact it was the control freak in Polly that had gotten her killed, that was the way Katie would tell the story. She’d let Polly, in death, have the last word.

The medical examiner knelt beside Sylvia’s body, yet it was the ninepin in his hands that held his attention. “I’d say it was a ricochet. The bullet hit the bowling pin and was deflected. Just her bad luck”—he glanced at Katie—“and your good fortune that it happened like that.”

Katie almost smiled. “Kind of like a bullet bouncing off Superman, huh?”

Davenport gave Katie a sideways glance and scowled. “It could only happen to you, Mrs. Bonner.”

“Why, Detective, it almost sounds as though you wished I’d died,” she chided.

The paunchy cop bristled. “Not at all. But you wouldn’t have been in danger if you hadn’t meddled in things that don’t concern you.”

They’d had this argument before, and his views made no more of an impression on Katie now than they had in the past. “What happens next?”

Davenport stared down at the dead woman. “We bring her husband in for questioning. See if we can get him to confess his part in Heather Winston’s murder.”

Katie frowned. “I don’t understand why Sylvia didn’t just leave well enough alone. I mean, there was no tangible evidence that Burt Donahue was even connected to Heather. There was no reason for Sylvia to kill Jeremy.”

“It was probably Barbie Gordon’s death that spurred her
on. She might’ve thought Jeremy or Bastian was out for revenge, and maybe her husband would be the next target.”

“Maybe,” Katie conceded, still unconvinced.

Davenport bounced on the balls of his feet, looking almost jovial. “Four murders solved. Not bad for a night’s work.”

Yeah, and Katie had no doubt the detective would take all the credit for it, too. Then again, what difference did it make? Her bigger concern was that the media would make a big deal out of two more deaths at Artisans Alley. She could see her day off tomorrow spiraling out of control as she played spin doctor.

Polly’s body had already been removed. Sylvia seemed to be of greater interest, and the lab team had been taking their sweet old time taking photos and measurements. It was after ten and Katie felt like she’d been awake for a week.

“Almost done,” said the ME, straightening.

“Can I let my vendors in tomorrow? It’s our regular setup day,” she told the detective.

“I don’t see why not,” Davenport said.

“Thanks.”

The ME signaled to his subordinates to remove Sylvia’s body, and Katie and Davenport stepped aside. Davenport actually smiled—an unnerving sight. “That’s it, then. All your troubles are over now, Mrs. Bonner. It’s time for you to get back to real life.”

Real life. The question was, did Katie have one?

Twenty-four hours later, the bell on the door tinkled, heralding Katie’s arrival at Angelo’s Pizzeria. Andy tossed dough in the air in time to a reggae beat while Richie, his teenaged helper who manned the ovens, did a hip-hop shuffle. Neither seemed to care they’d gained an audience, and Katie was content to watch the show until the phone rang, interrupting their unchoreographed routine.

“Aw, damn,” Andy said.

“I’ll get it,” Richie said and grabbed the receiver.

“You’re late tonight,” Andy said, stretching the oval of dough into a more rounded shape.

“I’ve been hosting Gilda’s bridal shower, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. How’d it go?”

Katie hoisted herself onto the counter, swung her legs over it, and faced Andy. She withdrew a peppermint from her jacket pocket and unwrapped it. “Bridal Bingo was a
huge
success.”

She popped the peppermint into her mouth and immediately scrunched it between her molars.

Andy winced. “You know I hate when you do that.”

Katie swallowed the shards of candy. “So shoot me.”

“After what happened last night, I don’t see how you can joke,” he muttered with a scowl.

Katie didn’t want to discuss that.

“And weren’t all your lady friends creeped out to be partying in a building where two people died the night before?”

“If they were, a couple of glasses of champagne punch took care of that.” She changed the subject. “Rose and Edie did a fabulous job decorating Artisans Alley’s lobby. Gilda got all kinds of funny gag gifts and we toasted her with champagne. It was fun!”

“I wasn’t talking about the party. I was talking about everything
else
.” As predicted, he hadn’t been pleased to learn of her showdown the evening before with Sylvia. “So, are you going to tell me all the juicy details of your day?”

“You’d keel over from boredom.”

“I’ll risk it,” he said, and tossed the dough high with a flourish, deftly catching it once again.

“While Rose and Edie worked on the lobby, I spent three hours with the never-charming Detective Davenport giving my official statement on what happened at Artisans Alley last night.”

“Have they nabbed Donahue yet?”

Katie poked her tongue at a wad of gummy candy stuck on one of her back molars. “In a cheap motel near Cincinnati. He said he was on his way to visit relatives. Yeah, right.”

Andy laughed, ladled sauce on the dough, and sprinkled cheese on top. Next he arranged pepperoni, broccoli, and mushrooms on it before he picked up a paddle and scooped up the pie. Richie traded a slip of paper for it, and Andy started on the next order.

“What about your new friend,
Mark
?” He couldn’t have said the name with more disdain.