A Crafty Killing (6 page)

“Yes. I want to make sure gawking customers don’t congregate around this staircase. Could you keep an eye out for that and break up any bottlenecks?”

“Sure thing.” He smiled, his white teeth resembling pristine white marble tombstones. “Well, I’d better get up to my booth to restock. Glad you’re here, Katie. Maybe now we can upgrade the place—attract a more discerning clientele.”

It was Katie’s turn to raise an eyebrow as Ashby bent to pick up the large cardboard carton. She studied the rest of his body as he carried the heavy box up the stairs. He wasn’t even breathing hard as he turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. He might be a snob but, yup, he was a hunk all right.

Before the end of the hour, another five artists had arrived to spruce up their booths before reporting for their work assignments. Rose Nash was among them. Upon arriving, the older woman, bedecked in matching beaded earrings, necklace, and bracelets, must have thanked Katie at least ten times for allowing Artisans Alley to reopen.

As Ashby had mentioned, Ezra had written up a detailed work schedule, which Katie found pinned to the bulletin board in his office. He had placed Rose and another woman at the cash desks, along with two more women to wrap the smaller, breakable items. Ashby and another man were assigned to walk security, and Vance had said he’d arrive before opening. Even so, Katie worried they might be shorthanded if hordes of the curious showed up.

Sure enough, the news of Ezra’s death had been well reported in the local media. Ghouls and curiosity seekers arrived in droves. At precisely ten o’clock, Katie opened Artisans Alley’s main, plate glass double doors to a crowd of twenty or more people, who rushed into the store as though they were competing in a marathon, their presence lending a macabre, carnival atmosphere.

And just as inevitably, the vendors who’d shown up to work demanded to know why a nonartisan was stationed at the front of Artisans Alley, selling what more than one deemed “crap,” not “crafts.”

“Halloween is only a week away. Why not capitalize on it?” Katie had said with a forced smile. Edie Silver had outdone herself. The spicy scent of pumpkin pie potpourri permeated the entryway, which looked like a Halloween fun house with fake tombstones, hay bales, cornstalks, and the inevitable paper skeletons. Maybe it was in poor taste, considering Ezra had just been murdered, but they were symbols of the season and lent a festive, not morbid, aura to the lobby. Edie’s tabletop displays of cornucopias overflowing with gourds, resin scarecrows, pumpkin candles, and her amber-and-orange dried flower arrangements were splashes of color against the rest of Artisans Alley’s dull background.

Most important, people were spending money—and not just for her items.

Many of the artisan vendors had also shown up, and one by one they drew Katie aside, demanding to know what was going on. Vance always seemed to be hovering in the background, eavesdropping. The gossip ran rampant. Everything from the place would be closing tomorrow, to the rent would be doubled the next week. Everyone asked Katie when she would call a meeting to discuss Artisans Alley’s future.

“How about tonight?” she suggested, and decided to hold it after closing. Since Artisans Alley was the most important part of Victoria Square, it made sense to invite the rest of the merchants, too.

Leaving Vance in charge, Katie headed across the Square. Her first stop: Gilda’s Gourmet Baskets.

A brass bell over the door tinkled as Katie entered the boutique filled with browsing customers. She breathed in the scents of chocolate, wood, dried basketry, fresh-brewed coffee, and vanilla. Gilda Ringwald was waiting on a customer and flashed a be-with-you-when-I-can smile. That was okay; it gave Katie a chance to give the place a quick once-over.

Baskets of all shapes and sizes filled the shop—some filled beyond capacity, only the colorful cellophane wraps holding in all the goodies. Shelves lined the walls with a variety of delights: jellies, jams, teas, soaps, loofahs, cookie cutters, and gardening gloves. Any kind of hobby or interest was represented in some way, shape, or form. A basket filled with fresh breads sat on the old-fashioned wooden counter. Katie had no doubt the just-baked delights had been carried across the Square that very morning from Tanner’s, McKinlay Mill’s only bakery.

A doorway connected this shop with the one next door—The Perfect Grape wine store. Katie peeked through and saw more baskets containing wine, cheese, and an assortment of cookies and crackers—an eminently satisfying combination. Were the two shops linked financially as well?

Katie couldn’t help smiling at the perfect blend of synchronicity the shops evoked. Why had she avoided the Square for so long? It was everything she and Chad had hoped for—everything they’d planned to be a part of.

“Mrs. Bonner,” Gilda called, delighted.

“Call me Katie, please.”

“Business is booming,” Gilda whispered, then cleared her throat, as though realizing that observation may not have been in good taste. “I spoke with most of the merchants about an emergency meeting, but we haven’t yet decided on a time to gather. Perhaps Monday.”

“I came to invite you to a meeting I’m having with the Alley’s artisans early this evening. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Gilda nodded. “I’d be interested in attending.” She lowered her voice. “Have you heard anything from the police about Ezra’s murder?”

“Nothing so far. I’m not sure if I should call them either. They were going to do an autopsy today. I don’t know when they’ll release the body for burial. I guess I should talk to Mr. Collier at the funeral home.”

Katie realized she sounded wishy-washy, but at that moment she felt she’d lost touch with the take-charge woman who’d been in control at Artisans Alley only minutes before. She changed the subject. “The meeting’s at seven. Can you make it?”

“I’ll make it a point to be there. I’m sure the other merchants will, too. Have you met them?” Katie shook her head. “Why don’t you go introduce yourself,” Gilda suggested. “They’re all dying to meet you.”

Dying? After what happened to Ezra, it was a poor choice of words.

“I’m on my way,” Katie said, and started for the door. She paused, turning back to face Gilda. “You have a wonderful shop. I’m sorry it took Ezra’s death to get me in here.”

Gilda’s smile was gentle. “Then don’t be a stranger.”

Outside, Katie stood for a moment under the door’s colorful striped awning, looking out over Victoria Square. Her gaze fell on the decrepit mansion to the east. Paint flakes the size of silver dollars hung from its weathered clap-boards. The English Ivy Inn—what she and Chad had planned on calling it, should they ever have saved enough to buy it—was never to be. Still, in her mind’s eye she saw it restored to its former glory, with new landscaping in place, and cascades of ivy and yellow rambling roses climbing on more than one trellis.

Katie looked back at the ugly brown monstrosity that was the Artisans Alley and sighed.

Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the tea shop.

Like the morning, the afternoon was a blur of new faces and names, all strangers, all anxious, and all putting their faith in Katie to make things turn out right.

Katie sat at Ezra’s—now her own—desk and marveled at the newly created order. What had seemed like an insurmountable mess turned out to be relatively organized once she figured out Ezra’s haphazard filing system. Still, it would take weeks to go through all the accumulated paper in the file cabinets.

Vance had handled just about every crisis that arose during the day—from disgruntled customers to a tape jam in Register 1. Katie had all but decided to ask him to manage the place. She just had to figure out how to pay him.

Edie Silver told Katie that she’d already spread the word that crafters could now rent space. Already Katie had heard from five interested artists. If she could rent all the empty booths, it would mean an extra three thousand dollars a month in revenue. She’d probably have to raise the rent anyway, but she’d give it a month to see how things worked out.

It was after four, though, and she still hadn’t made the call she’d been dreading. To avoid it just a little longer, she picked up Chad’s journal and flipped through a few of the pages.

Katie frowned, closing the book and setting it aside. She’d hoped for words of encouragement from Chad, not a blunt assessment of the troubles she was likely to face. Still, she might have to bring up the subject of additional fees at the meeting that night.

Her gaze returned to the silent phone. Putting off the call wasn’t going to make the news any better. She punched in the numbers on the black touch-tone phone, and listened as the phone rang.

“Collier’s Funeral Home. How may we be of service in your time of need?”

“Mr. Collier, it’s Katie Bonner.”

“Oh, Mrs. Bonner. You’re no doubt calling about Ezra. No need to worry. Mr. Landers has already made all the arrangements, per Ezra’s instructions. Has he spoken with you about it?”

“Not yet. I probably should have called him.”

“The coroner released the body earlier this afternoon. I have a preliminary copy of the death certificate if you’d like to see it—the official documentation will be recorded with the county on Monday morning.”

“Yes, I’d like to see it, thank you. Was it blunt trauma as the deputy said?”

“Yes. But I don’t think Ezra suffered,” Collier said, his voice gentle.

Thank God for that
, Katie thought.

“I thought Monday night for the viewing, and Tuesday morning for the burial. Would that be convenient for you?”

“I haven’t spoken with Ezra’s nephew, but it should be all right.” Katie paused, wondering how to tactfully bring up the subject of cost. “Did Ezra make any financial arrangements?”

“Yes, it’s all taken care of. Ezra was a practical man and made the arrangements more than a year ago.”

Katie frowned at the dichotomy of Ezra with his natty suits and polished Florsheims taking care of his funeral expenses yet leaving his supposedly cherished Artisans Alley languishing. At least it was one less financial worry for her.

“Thank you, Mr. Collier.”

The undertaker promised to call her with the final details and said good-bye. He hadn’t mentioned speaking with the Sheriff’s Office. But maybe that was standard procedure. Still, it didn’t seem like Detective Davenport had done much investigating. As far as Katie knew, he’d only spoken with a couple of the merchants on the Square. She’d thought he might show up during the day to speak with the artists, but he hadn’t done that either. Maybe it was his day off . . .

Don’t get involved
, Katie told herself. It wasn’t her job to find out who’d killed Ezra. And yet what if Davenport didn’t even try to find the murderer? It could be someone involved with Artisans Alley—or on the Square—right now. That thought brought her no comfort.

“I’m not going to think about it,” she said aloud.

“Think about what?”

Startled, Katie nearly jumped. “Seth. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Never,” Artisans Alley’s lawyer said, and entered the office. Dressed in an oatmeal-colored sweater, matching slacks, and a droplet-speckled raincoat, the small-town attorney gave off an instant aura of trust. At forty, he was ten years older than Katie, but unlike many of his peers, he still sported a full head of sandy-colored hair, and a frame that suggested he worked out on a regular basis. How such a handsome, decent guy had evaded matrimony for so long was a mystery to her.

“I just spoke to Luther Collier at the funeral home. He said you’d made all the arrangements. Thanks.”

Seth waved a hand to brush it off. “I’m happy to help. I dropped by to see how you were doing.”

“So far, so good.” She glanced at the dusty-faced clock on the wall. “And we’ve only got another forty-five minutes until closing. It’s been a good day for sales.”

He nodded and leaned against one of the khaki-colored file cabinets. “I spoke with Ezra’s nephew, Gerald.”