One Hot Murder (27 page)

By the time Katie had stopped at the grocery store to buy a jug of iced tea for Vance, and returned to Artisans Alley, Ida and her friends had given up their protest—at least for that day. Katie was sure Ida would return the next morning. She was also sure if she looked up the word “stubborn” in the dictionary that she’d find Ida’s picture there.

Upon entering the Alley, she spied Vance helping a customer, brandished the bottle, and mimed she’d put it in the vendors’ lounge fridge. He nodded, and went back to his work.

Once back in her office, Katie went straight to her computer and Googled “Meals on Wheels,” found a local number, and picked up the phone. In a matter of minutes, she knew everything she needed to know to give her pitch to Ida. Now to convince the woman that the work would be far more fulfilling and necessary than taping down sales tags—something Katie hadn’t been able to do in the past.

No sooner had she put the receiver back in its cradle
than the phone rang again. She picked it up. “Artisans Alley. This is Katie. How can I help you?”

“If you can don an apron and grab a paring knife, you can help me with dinner tomorrow night.”

“Seth, is that you?”

“Of course. We talked about cooking together this week and I was hoping you were free tomorrow night.”

“Let me check my calendar.” She gazed over the whiteboard calendar that hung on the back wall of her office. It was filled with Artisans Alley’s goings-on, but nothing of a personal nature. “It just so happens I do have a few hours free. Shall I pencil you in?”

“If you would,” he said with amusement in his voice.

“What are we having? Can I bring anything?”

“You don’t have to bring anything, and it’ll be a surprise. It’ll be a surprise because I haven’t figured out what I’m going to throw on the grill yet. But it will be meat.”

“Ooh, you sure know how to impress a girl. Meat. Hmm. Will you be inviting Nick and Don?”

“Maybe another time. This night is just for us.”

“And you make me feel special, too.”

“What are big brothers for?”

“Well, don’t plan any dessert. I’ll bring something.”

“Sounds good to me. Come on over around six.”

“See you then.” They hung up.

Katie sat back in her chair. Seth was a pie lover, and the local orchard had had a bumper crop of cherries this year. She’d buy some and make a cherry pie from scratch. It was a lot of work to stone the cherries, but what else did she have to do that evening? She’d bake the pie in the morning before it got too hot, and put it in her fridge after it cooled. She’d take it out just before she left and was sure it would be room temperature by the time she drove over to Seth’s place.

With that decision made, Katie decided it was time to do some real work. But as usual, before she could pull out the
stack of bills that needed to be paid, someone else knocked on her doorjamb. “Katie?”

It was silver-haired Joan McDonald, a woman of about sixty who made and sold primitive-looking figurines of clay. Her booth was up in the loft, the hottest place in all of Artisans Alley.

“I know what you’re going to say. That it’s very hot up in the loft.”

“Yes, it is. Rose told me there’s not much you can do about it without a big influx of money. But that’s not why I’m here. It’s…the smell.”

“Smell?” Katie asked. She didn’t like the sound of this. Joan nodded. “Any idea what’s causing this odor?”
Please, don’t let it be a rat that burrowed in and died in one of the walls
, Katie pleaded to herself. She couldn’t deal with that, although maybe Vance could. He was usually willing to take on whatever dirty work Katie couldn’t handle herself.

“Not what,” Joan said, “who.” She wrinkled her brow for a moment. “Or should that be whom?” She shrugged. “It’s Godfrey. The man positively reeks.”

Katie wasn’t sure how to answer. “I believe he has a medical condition that makes him sweat profusely,” she said as tactfully as possible.

“Sweat may be a part of it, but I don’t think he’s changed his clothes in several days.”

Katie glanced at the worker schedule she’d drawn up at the end of the previous month. “That’s funny, I don’t see him as listed to work this week, and yet I think I’ve seen him here every day of late.”

“It’s one thing if he’d take his stinkiness with him, but once he’s left the area, the odor lingers. Between that and the heat, I haven’t had a sale all week. Will you please speak to him?”

Doing so was not the top item on Katie’s list of things to do. But she guessed she’d have to make it so. She sighed. “Yes. Is he here now?”

“He was around a few minutes ago. If you go up to the loft, maybe you can catch him. In the meantime, you might want to dig around in your tool drawer to see if you have one of those disposable dust masks. You’ll need something to cover your nose and keep the worst of the smell out.”

“Duly noted. Will you be at the potluck on Saturday?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ve already made and decorated five-dozen cutout cookies. I just have to hope my husband doesn’t find them hidden in the freezer and eat them all before the party.”

Katie remembered that Joan had brought some in during the holidays. She’d used anise instead of vanilla extract. They were damn fine cookies. “I’m looking forward to them.”

“See you there,” Joan said with a wave, and turned to leave.

Katie stood. She’d better go upstairs and try to find Godfrey. But surely the smell couldn’t be as bad as Joan described.

She’d been wrong. To say the stench took her breath away was putting it mildly. Waving a hand in front of her nose did nothing to drive away the smell. Too bad the windows had been painted shut many years before. Gasping, Katie hurried for the next room, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe in untainted air.

Joan was right. This was a serious problem.

Katie wandered through the aisles to the balcony that overlooked Artisans Alley’s main sales floor. At the top of the stairs was a phone. She punched in the code for the intercom. “If Godfrey Foster is in the building, please come to the manager’s office. Godfrey Foster, please report to the manager’s office.” She replaced the receiver and headed toward the back of the building, hoping to run into him on the way, but had no such luck.

Katie impatiently waited in the vendors’ lounge for a good ten minutes, using the time to tidy up where vendors
had left crumbs on the table and well-read copies of not only the Rochester
Democrat and Chronicle
, but
USA Today
. The place was shipshape in no time, but Godfrey never showed up. He’d probably already left the building, which was fortunate for her vendors and their customers, but not for Godfrey’s future visits—that is, if he didn’t clean up his act, and specifically his body odor.

Katie returned to her office, checked her Rolodex of vendor numbers, and called Godfrey’s home. His phone rang and rang—eight, nine times. No answering machine kicked in, and neither did voice mail. She hung up her phone. Now she’d have to be on the lookout for him.

Swell. Just swell.

Katie glanced at the clock on her wall. They’d be closing in a little over an hour. How had the day gotten away from her? Before she had a chance to start anything, Joan reappeared in her office doorway. “He’s outside! He’s outside!” she called. “Go catch him.”

“Where?”

“In the parking lot. I was helping a customer carry something to her car and saw him sitting on the hood of his car. He’s got it parked in the shade over by The Angel Shop.”

Katie practically jumped out of her chair and headed for the back door. In moments, she’d jogged across the hot parking lot. Joan hadn’t been kidding. She could smell Godfrey from a good five yards away.

“Godfrey, I need to speak to you,” Katie said, and halted, staying downwind.

Godfrey looked more than a little rumpled, his hangdog expression reinforcing the air of depression that seemed to surround him. “I suppose you’re going to yell at me.”

“Not yell, but I must ask that you stay away from the Alley until you bathe and change your clothes. I’ve had complaints from other vendors.”

“I know, I know,” he said and seemed to slump even lower. “But I—I can’t,” he stammered.

“This isn’t like you, Godfrey. Something’s going on. Why don’t you tell me about it,” Katie said impatiently.

The man sighed, looking thoroughly miserable. “I don’t have a home. At least not right now. For the past couple of days I’ve been living in my car.”

“In your car?”

“And before that…I was staying over in the Alley,” he nodded toward the old building. “That is, until you and the cop chased me off.”

Godfrey was the owner of the suitcase with the ladies’ pink disposable razor?

“Godfrey, what on earth were you doing hiding here in Artisans Alley?” she demanded.

“It’s a long story,” Godfrey said, his face turning an unattractive shade of red. It seemed to cause his sweat glands to shift into overdrive. Rivulets of perspiration ran down his temples onto his cheeks and dripped from his chin. Was it the heat or his confession that made him look like he’d just stepped out of the shower—which was where he needed to go immediately.

“I’ve got plenty of time to listen, although I’m not sure I can stand the stench,” Katie admitted.

Godfrey sighed, seemed like he was going to say something, and then sighed again, maintaining his silence.

Katie had plenty to say. “You are guilty of trespassing. You’re guilty of stealing food from the vendors’ lounge’s refrigerator, and you’re guilty of scaring the heck out of me! If you don’t give me a reasonable explanation, I’m going to hand-feed you to the Sheriff’s Office.”

“No, no—please! I can explain everything.”

Katie crossed her arms and waited.

Godfrey looked away and bit his lip.

“I’m waiting,” Katie reminded him.

Godfrey let out an exasperated breath. “Last Saturday my wife went to Syracuse to visit her sick mother for the week.”

“What’s that got to do with you squatting here at Artisans Alley?”

“I kind of had the boys over for a poker party that night and things got a little out of hand.”

Katie frowned. “In what way?”

“One of the guys ate more than his fair share of the pizzas and washed it all down with a little too much beer. Then he had an intestinal problem and had to use the facilities, which are upstairs in my house.”

And where was this story leading?

“Suffice it to say, I had a little water problem.” He paused and thought that over. “Actually, I had a really big water problem. Ya see, we were all in the garage ’cause my wife would give me hell if they made a mess in the house and…well, we were out there for a long time before we heard this big crash. We went running inside and, well, the bathroom and bedroom floors were sitting in the living room and kitchen, and Niagara Falls was running down all the walls. All we can figure is the toilet overflowed for more than an hour.”

“And it caused all that damage?”

Godfrey rolled his eyes. “Mike thinks he mighta left the water running full force in the bathroom sink, too. He was kind of drunk.”

“Don’t tell me. You’re trying to get it all fixed so that when your wife comes home, she won’t even notice.”

“Oh, she’s going to notice all right, but…yeah, I want it fixed and I had to move out. This is gonna cost me a small fortune. I don’t have the money to stay at a hotel, too.”

“Why couldn’t you just stay with the buddy who caused all these problems?” Katie asked reasonably.

Godfrey shook his head. “His wife isn’t happy with me. My buddy fell asleep in the chaise lounge and got eaten
alive by mosquitoes. He didn’t go home until almost six the next morning. She already threatened to throw
him
out, so she wasn’t about to let
me
stay there.”

“What about the other guys that came to your party?”

“Their wives don’t want a houseguest either,” he said glumly.

“So you just decided to park your carcass in my building, breaking all kinds of occupancy laws that could shut down Artisans Alley, as well as inconvenience all my other tenants in the building.”

“I didn’t know that,” Godfrey said, sounding like a contrite little boy.

“Did you also break into the Webster mansion and squat there for a day?”

“What a nightmare,” Godfrey admitted. “No plumbing, no electricity. I couldn’t even run a fan.”

Katie shook her head, thoroughly sick of dealing with the little twerp. “Godfrey, you’re done. Not only staying here, but you’re done as a vendor. I want your booth vacated by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Please, Katie, don’t throw me out. No other gallery in the area will let me show my stuff. They said it’s not good enough.”

“So now you insult me by saying the arts and crafts displayed at Artisans Alley are pure junk?”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, waving his hands in the air as though to erase his previous words. “But those galleries are juried—you have to jump through loads of hoops just to get in—and Artisans Alley lets just about anybody in.”

Katie sighed. “No, I don’t suppose a
real
gallery, like the Dawson, would
let
you sell your dryer lint art,” she said with mild reproach.

“You know my stuff sells. I make more than double my rent every month.”

Katie had to admit he was right. As the one who cut the weekly checks, she knew who made their rent—and a
profit—and who didn’t. Godfrey had been doing better than the average vendor even if his lint art did look tacky. There was no accounting for his customers’ tastes.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I’m going to need every cent I make here at Artisans Alley to help me pay for the repairs on my house. Please—please don’t make me leave or report me to the cops,” Godfrey begged. Was it sweat or tears pooling in his eyes?

Katie felt her resolve melting. Again her aunt Lizzie, in her thickest Scottish accent, would’ve said she had “saft” written across her forehead for everyone to see.

“All right. I won’t turn you in. But I want you to apologize to everyone whose food or drink you took from the vendors’ refrigerator
and
make restitution.”