The Walleld Flower (26 page)

“I told you that woman was stealing from me, but you wouldn’t listen. I want her arrested, and I expect you to call the police right now.”

“Now, Polly, be reasonable. I don’t know that Edie hid these items in her booth. They were behind a lot of other empty boxes. For all I know, you may have put them there to implicate her.”

Polly’s cheeks glowed pink. “How dare you accuse me!”

Katie stood her ground. “Since the day Edie arrived, you’ve done nothing but snipe at her.”

“You’re just sticking up for her because she’s your friend—and she does you lots of little favors. I saw her working on those wedding favors, and then pinning up that dress.”

Katie couldn’t argue with that.

“I’ve been taken advantage of one time too many,” Polly continued. “I’m not going to stand for this kind of treatment any longer. I just can’t take any more!”

Katie shied back from her. “If you feel strongly about it, feel free to call the Sheriff’s Office and make a complaint.”

“
Me
, call them?” Polly looked absolutely horror stricken.

“It’s doubtful they’d even write up a complaint, as you’ve already recovered your missing property, but you can give it a try.”

Polly’s breaths were coming in snorts once again. “Well, I-I… I’ll think it over,” she said at last. She hefted the carton into her arms and stormed from the office.

“Please put Joan’s items back in her booth,” Katie called after her, but Polly continued on without a backward glance.

Katie frowned after her. Polly’s overreaction to the whole situation was puzzling. There had to be more on her mind than just Edie and the trinkets missing from her booth. And why did she balk at the thought of calling the Sheriff’s Office?

What did she have to hide?

“I didn’t do it,” Edie said, her eyes bulging in indignation.

“I don’t think you did either, but Polly does, and we may have to deal with the repercussions,” Katie said reasonably.

Edie turned back to a table display of floral arrangements in her new booth, tweaking a bit of silk greenery. The muscles in her face did odd gyrations before she spoke again.

“I’m sorry I was so short with you earlier, Katie. It was unfair of me to expect you to drop everything to help me this morning.”

“Edie, I—”

“No, no,” she continued, her voice growing softer as she plumped up a basket of artificial peach-colored tulips. “I know you don’t like us setting up while Artisans Alley is open, but I just bulldozed through the rules to get down here today.” She turned back to Katie. “Dealing with Polly these past few weeks as been unbearable. No one’s ever pushed my buttons the way she has, and I’m ashamed of how I reacted.” Her gaze was hopeful. “No hard feelings?”

The corners of Katie’s mouth twitched. “Not from me.”

Edie picked up the basket of cheerful tulips. “Then I hope you’ll accept this arrangement as an apology.”

Katie held out a hand to rebuff the offer. “Oh, Edie, you don’t have to—”

“They’d sure cheer up your office.”

That was asking a lot, as despite all Katie’s efforts to redecorate the place, it still looked terribly shabby. Still, she accepted the offered gift. “Thank you.”

Pounding footsteps caused both women to turn as Vance charged up the aisle, pausing at the edge of Edie’s booth. “Burt Donahue’s out front. Now might be a good time to ask him about coming in to appraise customers’ treasures,” he puffed, slightly out of breath.

“Good idea,” Katie said. “Where is he?”

“The main showroom.” Vance beckoned her with his hand. “Come on.”

“Thanks again, Edie,” Katie said and, still clasping the basket of silk flowers, hurried off in Vance’s wake.

Burt Donahue stood near Rose’s downstairs booth, examining a glass display case filled with gleaming gemstone pins and necklaces. A number of people seemed to be clustered around him, reminding Katie of Rick Jeremy’s entourage. Unlike Jeremy’s minions, the two men and one woman brandished the same almost-sneer as their esteemed leader.

Katie marched up to the auction house owner, extending her hand. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Donahue.”

Donahue shook her hand, rather too firmly, and glanced around the cavernous showroom, his flinty gaze landing on a pyramid of handcrafted teddy bears dressed in Easter bunny outfits in the next booth.

“I haven’t been here in years. It was just after Ezra opened the place.” He glanced down at the basket of silk tulips in Katie’s hand, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “Looks a lot different. Your influence, no doubt.”

Katie flexed her fingers and figured the gibe referred to the crafters who now shared space in what had once been a
fine-arts-only arcade. “What brings you to Victoria Square, Mr. Donahue?” she asked in her most cheerful voice.

“The Webster mansion. I heard it was back up for sale. I may want to purchase it again.”

“Oh?” Only days before he’d declared the mansion to be a money pit.

“I’ve been following the progress the Square’s Merchants Association has made these last few months. The time may have come for an upscale B and B to join the mix. I’ve been looking for a good investment opportunity,” Donahue explained.

Katie’s stomach took a tumble. Not that she could ever hope to buy the place, but Donahue, with his brusque personality, was all wrong for the role of innkeeper. “Would you run it yourself?”

“My son has a degree in hotel management from Cornell. He and his wife would take charge.” That explained the framed photo of the graduate in his office.

“Which means our grandchildren would be much closer to us,” said the older woman at his side. Katie recognized the nondescript, wrinkled, and saggy-jowled woman as having taken her tax information at the auction house days before. She still looked more like Donahue’s mother than his wife.

“Will you put in an offer today?” Katie asked.

Donahue shook his head. “Sylvia and I just did a walk around the outside. We’ll wait until Paul gets here. Our decision will be based on the degree of renovation the place needs.”

Katie frowned. The mansion had stood empty for at least five years. Why would Donahue suddenly want to own a property he’d dumped nearly twenty years before?

“Have you spoken with Detective Davenport again concerning Heather Winston’s murder investigation?” Katie asked.

Donahue frowned. “No, and I don’t expect to. That’s ancient history. Besides, I never even met the young woman.”

“We’d better go, dear,” said Donahue’s wife, already pulling on his arm.

“Wait!” Katie pivoted to block the auctioneer. “I have a business proposition for you.”

Donahue raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“We’d like to schedule a time for you to come and appraise our customers’ treasures. I understand you do this as a sideline.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Give Sylvia a call at the auction house on Monday and we’ll set something up.” With that, he walked away, followed by his wife and entourage.

Vance cleared his throat and for some reason looked embarrassed. “Uh… he’s a busy man.”

Katie glared at him. “Nobody’s that busy.”

Vance shrugged and glanced at his watch. “We’re closing in another twenty minutes.”

“Yeah. Would you make the announcement? I need to get back to my office.”

“Sure.”

Katie headed toward the back of the building, but when a voice hailed her, she stopped.

“Katie!” Rose’s eyes were bright as she hurried through the mazelike aisles to join Katie. She clutched a business-sized envelope in one hand. “Fred Cunningham just dropped this off.”

Katie stuffed the basket of silk tulips under her left arm and tore open the envelope. “I’ve got a theory about the need for the renovations in Barbie’s apartment over at the old Webster mansion.” She brandished the three-inch skeleton key. “Want to help me check it out?”

The puddled parking lot and low-hanging clouds framing the decrepit old house did little to dispel the sinister aura that seemed to radiate from it, making it look like the set of
a bad horror movie. In all the years Katie had longed to buy it, the mansion had never before affected her that way. Knowing two women had died—no, been killed—there intensified the feeling.

Katie turned the old-fashioned key in the lock, opened the heavy oak door, and allowed Rose to precede her into the gloomy entryway, wondering if anyone on the Square had noticed them enter. She eased the door shut, but the sound seemed to bounce around the dank, empty structure.

She flipped the light switch, but the bare bulb hanging in the naked ceiling fixture shed scant light. Janice and Toby had removed the pressed-foam panels from the suspended ceiling, but the network of white support rods still crisscrossed over their heads.

Katie turned on her flashlight, waving its beam over the ceiling.

“What are you looking for?” Rose asked.

“Evidence.”

“Of what?”

“I’ll let you know when I find it.” Katie glanced around the room. She needed a ladder, but Janice had taken all the tools. She could go back to Artisans Alley and get one, but that would draw too much attention to the fact she was poking around the old place.

“Hang on to this, will you?” Katie handed Rose the flashlight and went off in search of a chair—a crate—anything to boost her higher.

A drawer in the old butler’s pantry provided a plastic knife, and one of the upstairs bedrooms provided a rather wobbly paint-specked chair, but together she was sure they’d serve her purpose.

Back in the front parlor, where Barbie’s studio apartment had been, Katie stepped onto the chair.

“Be careful,” Rose admonished.

Katie could almost reach the metal strips. Damn those nineteenth-century architects and their ten-foot ceilings.
She looked around. In the corner sat a large plastic bucket filled with plaster debris.

She jumped from the chair, jarring every inch of her body from her toes to her teeth.

Rose frowned. “We should leave—before you kill yourself.”

“Not yet.” Three strides later, Katie was at the bucket. She was tempted to just tip it out, but that would only advertise the fact someone had been in the house. The rented Dumpster was still out back, and she used the rear door to get to it, glad the Ryans hadn’t installed a security system.

The bucket was not a good fit on the old chair. “Hang on to and steady me, will you?” she asked Rose.

Worry darkened the old woman’s creased face, but Rose held Katie’s hand as she climbed the rickety stair. “Be careful. We’ll be in so much trouble if you get hurt,” Rose admonished.

“I’m not going to get hurt,” Katie grated. She took the flashlight back from Rose and panned the beam across the knobby original ceiling above the support rods. The plaster should have been smooth, but the paint had flaked away in a number of places. Clutching the plastic knife in her right hand, she reached up to scrape the ceiling. Old paint chips fluttered down on her face and she had to blink them away. When had the original ceiling last been painted? If her theory was correct, it was after Heather’s death, and therefore the chips would be lead free.

“Do you have an envelope or a piece of paper?” Katie asked Rose.

Rose rummaged in her handbag, coming up with an empty envelope, its backside sporting a grocery list.

Katie handed her the flashlight again, and scraped the knife against the plaster. Again and again Katie repeated the action before Rose helped her down from her perch.

“Why did you do that?” Rose asked.

Katie dumped a few of the white flakes onto her left
palm. Using the plastic knife, she turned a few over. “See this black stuff?”

“Mold?” Rose suggested.

“Soot. I think there was a fire in Barbie’s apartment, which is why they had to replace the walls.”

“What’s that got to do with Heather’s death?”

“It’s just a hunch—but I think Heather might have witnessed the fire.”

“I don’t understand.”

Katie studied Rose’s puzzled expression. What she had to say would forever change Rose’s perception of her long-dead niece.

“Katie, please tell me. I have a right to know,” Rose implored.

Katie sighed, and with Rose’s help, climbed down to the floor. “You know that beta videotape I got in the mail the other day?”