The Walleld Flower (21 page)

“And your daughter?” Katie asked.

“Fawn.”

As if on cue, the little girl came racing in from another room, her little bottom hanging out of a pull-up diaper. “I go potty by myself, I go potty!”

“Good girl,” Donna said, and pulled up her daughter’s drawers. She reached behind her on the couch, grabbed a box of cheap cookies, and handed one to the child. “Go play.”

Fawn snatched the treat and stuffed it into her mouth, then raced for the TV stand and the box of toys underneath. She dumped it, tossing dolls and stuffed animals over her shoulder until she’d found the one she wanted—an obviously much-loved homemade sock monkey. She clutched the toy under her chin and plunked herself into a little wooden rocker. “Big money, big money,” she cheered.

Katie turned her attention back to Donna. “I wanted to offer my condolences and ask if there was anything you needed.”

Donna looked around the trailer and pushed up the sleeves on an oversized brown sweater, revealing a rainbow tattoo on her left upper arm. “How about a million dollars? Fawn’s father’s in jail, so I get nothing from him. I work at McDonald’s in the village. That’s not enough to pay the monthly electric bill in this dump. I can’t move. I’d never pull together first and last month’s rents. I already had two
years on welfare, so I can’t go back on it. My ma didn’t own this dump. I figure Fawn and I have got a couple of months before we’re evicted. Then I don’t know what we’ll do.”

The bitterness in Donna’s voice made Katie wince. And she thought she had housing problems. “You really depended on your mother.”

“Yeah, for everything. I don’t even have the money to give her a decent burial. I can’t go back to work unless I can find someone to watch Fawn. And yet, if I don’t work, I can’t support us.” She sighed. “Everything’s turned to shit.”

Fawn’s small head snapped around. “Mommy, don’t swear. Gramma will be mad,” she scolded.

“I know, sweetie. I’m sorry. You watch TV,” she encouraged, and the girl happily turned back to the set. Donna studied her child and lowered her voice to speak to Katie. “I didn’t tell her Ma’s dead. She’s too little to understand. She thinks her grandma’s at all-day bingo.” Donna sniffed, rubbed the back of her hand under her nose, and resumed folding tiny T-shirts.

“What about your father? Is there a chance he could help you?” Katie asked.

“Joe Gordon wasn’t my father. When he and Ma broke up five years ago, he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with either of us. Ma wouldn’t ask my sperm donor for help. She said she didn’t want to ruin his reputation.” Donna’s snort of laughter held no mirth. “He ruined
her
reputation when he got her knocked up and walked away from his responsibilities. He never lifted a finger to help her when her parents disowned her.”

Donna sniffed again. “Ma would still be alive if she hadn’t gone to the damned Webster mansion the other night.”

“What was she doing there anyway?”

“Probably visiting the scene of the crime.”

“Because of Heather Winston?” Katie surmised.

Donna nodded. “Ma figured it was only a matter of time before the cops figured out the whole mess, but she didn’t want to volunteer any information and implicate herself. Now it’s too late.”

A rivulet of sweat dripped down Katie’s neck. “What did she know?”

“Nothin’ about who killed Heather. Least, that’s what Ma said. It was
where
they found her.”

“In the wall?” Katie asked.

“Yeah. In what used to be Ma’s studio apartment.”

“Barbie Gordon lived at the Webster mansion?” Seth repeated. He looked devastatingly handsome behind the wheel of his sleek Mercedes.

Katie nodded. “At the time when Heather disappeared. Barbie told her daughter she had to move—right after some workmen had done some renovations in her apartment. There was a terrible smell that wouldn’t go away.”

“Well, we know what—or who—caused that.”

Katie leaned back against the cool leather seat. She’d just had time to change into her one cocktail dress—basic black, with matching leather pumps and a string of pearls around her neck—and rake a comb through her hair before Seth arrived to pick her up. The shadows were lengthening as they crossed the town line into Greece. The dash clock said seven fifty-two. Knowing German engineering, it was probably correct. They might still make it on time.

“And Donna isn’t about to volunteer the information to Detective Davenport, so that leaves—”

“You to do the dirty work,” Seth finished. “And right about now, you’re at the top of his shit list.”

“You got it.”

Seth flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “When are you going to tell him?”

“Tomorrow, although he may already know. He doesn’t share that kind of information with me. And maybe after speaking to Rick Jeremy, I’ll have even more to tell him.”

“I thought you promised me you weren’t going to poke around in this murder investigation.”

“As I recall, I didn’t exactly promise anything. And I’m not really poking into anything. I visited Donna to pay my respects.”

“And this conversation with Jeremy?” he prompted.

Katie squirmed. “Okay, but I’m not going to poke too hard. This conversation is more for Rose’s peace of mind.”

“Does she know about it?”

“I may have forgotten to tell her,” Katie admitted. “But only because I didn’t want to upset her. And Jeremy isn’t likely to tell me much more than Heather was a sweet young thing, they held hands, and that he kissed her maybe once or twice. Yada, yada, yada.”

“With no mention made of raging hormones and how a young man’s fancy turns to… What does it turn to? Spring or love or something, right?”

“I wouldn’t know. I was never a young man.”

Seth tried not to smile but didn’t succeed. He pulled the Mercedes into the last available parking space outside The Golden Fleece at precisely seven fifty-nine. He killed the engine and removed the keys. Katie waited for him to open her door and help her out. If only Andy were as gallant. But then Andy appreciated her in ways that Seth never could.

Seth held the restaurant door, letting Katie enter first. Standing in the entryway, dressed in what could only be an Armani suit, was the ponytailed man from the press conference.

“You’re not Rick Jeremy,” Katie said.

The stranger eyed Seth. “And you didn’t come alone.”

“Looks like we’re both disappointed.”

“Does this mean I don’t get dinner?” Seth asked.

“I sure hope not. I’m starved.” The stranger thrust his hand at Seth. “Mark Bastian.”

“Seth Landers. And this is Katie Bonner.”

“We’ve spoken.” Bastian eyed Katie’s neckline. “And I recognize you from your picture in the paper.”

His words caused her memory to flash. Now she realized where she’d seen this man before—in Heather’s snapshots. His hair had been lighter, bushy and unkempt in those days, and the ever-present sunglasses hadn’t yet become a fashion statement.

“You knew Heather, too,” Katie said. It wasn’t a question.

Bastian nodded toward the hostess standing before them. “Let’s go sit down.”

A waiflike being—with no womanly attributes like breasts or a derriere—led them to a linen-clad table set with sparkling crystal, silver, and candlelight. Upon opening the menu, Katie realized the hostess probably couldn’t afford to eat here. Maybe that’s what accounted for her lack of body weight. Katie put the thought out of her mind as the older, more ample waitress appeared to recite the restaurant’s specials and take their drink order.

Seth was the first to initiate conversation. “Are you originally from the Rochester area, Mark?”

Bastian sipped his water. “Yes. Grew up in Pittsford. Led the Pittsford-Sutherland baseball team to victory in my senior year.”

“And college?”

“The university.”

“No ivy league school for you?” Katie prodded.

At last, Bastian removed his sunglasses, pocketed them, and met Katie’s gaze. “My mother had stomach cancer. Dad didn’t want me to leave the area. She died during my junior year.”

Katie swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”

“What was your major?” Seth asked.

“Theater, of course. That’s how I met Rick. We were both in the Film Studies program, although with different focuses. Rick always knew he wanted to be a director.”

“Why isn’t he here instead of you?” Katie asked.

Bastian leveled his stony gaze at her. “You really didn’t think he’d show, did you?”

“Yes, I did. Why are
you
here?”

He shrugged. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

“You mean whether I intend to try and blackmail Jeremy?”

Bastian’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

Katie shook her head. “I only want information on Heather’s last days.”

“Unfortunately, very few of Heather’s friends remain in the area,” Seth said. “In fact, her best friend was found dead only two days ago.”

Bastian’s eyes flashed. “Barbie’s dead?”

Katie shot Seth a quick look. “Yes. Did you know her well?”

Bastian shook his head, but the news had obviously unsettled him. “We were… acquainted… for a very short period of time. She had a baby. That complicated things.”

Could Bastian and Barbie have been lovers? How crass was it to just ask?

“What was Heather’s relationship like with Mr. Jeremy?” Seth asked. Katie was grateful for his nonthreatening demeanor and his reassuring tone. He would’ve made a great doctor with a comforting bedside manner.

“Heather wasn’t anything special,” Bastian said. “Barbie introduced them. Heather helped Rick with a school project, and when it was over, she dumped him.”

“What kind of school project?”

Bastian exhaled loudly and fidgeted in his chair as though trying to decide how to answer. “She acted in a short he did. She was pretty. Didn’t she want to be a model or something?”

Katie absently nodded, thinking about the Betamax tape back at Artisans Alley. “Where did you meet Barbie?”

Bastian shrugged. “Around.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks, setting them down on cocktail napkins embossed with the restaurant’s golden sheep logo. “Are you ready to order?”

“We need a few more minutes,” Seth said, and gave her one of his dazzling smiles. The young woman winked and turned away. She couldn’t know Seth would rather date the mustachioed bartender than her.

“Did you ever visit Barbie at her apartment in McKinlay Mill?” Katie asked. “More to the point, did Jeremy?”

“What are you getting at?” Bastian asked.

“Barbie Gordon lived in the building where Heather’s remains were found. As a matter of fact, they were found in what had
been
Barbie’s apartment.”

Though the lights were low, it was evident that Bastian had paled. “No, I—” But he didn’t finish whatever it was he had to say—instead, he gulped his martini.

“What is it that you do for Mr. Jeremy?” Seth asked, diverting the conversational flow.

“I’m his personal assistant. I handle all his arrangements.”

“Will you be in town long?”

“Until Sunday.” Bastian took another sip of his drink. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was turning into an interrogation. Is that your specialty, Seth?”

Seth shrugged. “I am a lawyer.”

Bastian’s eyes widened in what might have been panic.

“As a matter of fact, I not only represent Katie, but Heather’s aunt, Mrs. Nash, as well.”

Bastian reached for the napkin on his lap, carefully folded it, and set it on his place mat. “I think I’ve been set up.”

“I’m not here in an official capacity,” Seth said. “I just happen to be friends with both Katie and Rose.”

“I asked him to come, because I didn’t want to be here
alone. You’re suspicious of me—I’m suspicious of you. Why did you tell me to come alone?”

“I meant no press.”

“I thought that was understood,” Katie said.

The waitress hovered uncertainly behind Bastian. “Are we ready to order?” she asked hopefully.

For a moment, Katie thought Bastian might bolt, but Seth quickly answered that he’d have the rack of lamb. Bastian ordered a Greek salad, and Katie did likewise.

“How does one get to be a personal assistant to a world-famous movie director?” Seth asked, once they’d handed off their menus.

Bastian captured the toothpick-skewered queen olive from his drink and ate it. “Years of fetch and carry. Rick and I drove out to California together after graduation. We were roommates for a while. Movie and TV jobs were few and far between, and we were competing with UCLA grads.”

“Did you ever accept any acting jobs?” Katie asked.

Bastian hesitated. “I’ve always been behind the camera in some capacity.” Not exactly a lie, but he hadn’t answered her question either.

“But didn’t you ever work as an extra? I hear they’re well fed at least.”

“Usually,” he said. He signaled the waitress and pointed to his empty glass. “Another round?”

Katie had barely touched her glass of chardonnay but Seth accepted the invitation.

“Did the four of you hang out together?” Katie pressed, eager to get the conversation back on track.

“For a couple of months.”

“What did you do?”

“Got drunk, mostly. In Barbie’s tiny apartment.”