The Walleld Flower (32 page)

“Thank you, Mrs. Bonner. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision. Besides me, I’m not sure any of Heather’s teachers still live in the area.”

“I’m sure Heather’s aunt will be very pleased to see you.” Katie nodded toward Rose. “Mrs. Nash is the lady in the pink dress.”

Hartsfield didn’t take his cue and head on over to Rose. Instead, he stared at his shoes, leaning heavily on his cane.

Katie leaned closer. “Is everything okay?”

With his free hand, Hartsfield rubbed his razor-burned chin. “Could we sit down for a minute?”

“Of course.” She led him over to twin upholstered chairs against the west wall, feeling the eyes of most of the room upon them. Hartsfield collapsed into his, rested his cane against the arm, and massaged his right knee. He said nothing for a long time. Katie wasn’t sure if he looked embarrassed or humbled.

“Is something wrong?” she tried again.

Hartsfield cleared his throat. “I keep thinking about something you said yesterday during our phone conversation.”

Again he fell into silence and Katie fought the urge to rip the words from his mouth. She’d tried to draw him out about Heather and then Barbie. He hadn’t been forthcoming on either subject. “I don’t understand.”

“You asked if I knew who fathered Barbie’s child, and I wasn’t entirely truthful.”

That sparked Katie’s interest, yet at the same time she hoped she wasn’t about to hear—

“It was me.”

—a confession.

Swell.

Katie studied Hartsfield’s careworn face, looking for any feature he might share with Donna. She didn’t find one. Donna was definitely her mother’s daughter.

“It was wrong. She was my student. I was her teacher and—”

And nowadays he’d be thrown in jail to rot.

“—and we were both in need of… affection, if nothing else. Her parents… my wife…”

Katie bit her tongue. In her view, there was no excuse for exploiting a child, no matter how much that child looked like an adult. And worse, Hartsfield had let Barbie fend for herself, never taking responsibility for the life he helped create.

“I’m not looking for pity,” he continued.

And you won’t get it from me,
she thought.

“Except for my sister, I’m all alone in this world. My wife and I couldn’t have children, and by the time we stopped trying, they said we were too old to adopt.”

“I didn’t think that was relevant anymore.”

“It isn’t—if you have enough money, and we didn’t, so that was the excuse we were given. And then Ellie got so sick…”

Despite his sob story, Katie found it hard to feel sorry for the man and had to force herself to stay quiet. After all, this was a funeral parlor, and she didn’t want to upset Rose.

“What is it you’re trying to tell me, Mr. Hartsfield?”

“Not tell—ask.” He looked into her eyes—his own watery. “Would you act as intermediary and ask my daughter if she’d be willing to meet me?”

Katie leaned back in her chair. “I’ll be honest with you. Donna is pretty bitter about her situation, and I think she has a right to be. She’s lived a life of relative poverty and now with her mother gone, her difficulties have increased exponentially.”

“I’m not a rich man. As you know, I’ve got my own financial problems. And I can’t change what happened in the past. But maybe the future could be brighter—for Donna
and
for me.”

“And Fawn?” she asked.

“Fawn?” he repeated, bewildered.

“Your granddaughter.”

Hartsfield’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know.” His shoulders slumped and he looked away, falling quiet again.

The sound of the outside door opening once again shattered
the funeral home’s terrible quiet. This time it was VJ Ingram who entered. Dressed, as ever, in baggy cutoffs and a T-shirt, he looked completely out of place. Had something happened at Artisans Alley? Had Vance sent him?

VJ made eye contact with Katie, his expression one of guarded sheepishness. He motioned for her to join him.

Katie rose from her chair. “I’ll speak to Donna, Mr. Hartsfield, but I can’t promise anything.”

“I understand that. Thank you, Mrs. Bonner.”

“If you’ll excuse me.” Katie crossed the room to meet VJ, who hovered just outside the viewing room. In his hand, the boy clutched a wrinkled paper sack.

“Is something wrong at Artisans Alley?” Katie asked.

VJ shook his head. “Uh, no, Miz Bonner. I—uh—need to talk to you. Kinda in private.”

Katie glanced in Rose’s direction and found her still engaged in conversation with Seth. Katie nodded and led VJ down the corridor, outside one of the empty rooms.

“What have you got to tell me?”

VJ’s usually pale complexion was tinged pink, and he stared at his worn Nikes. “My Dad made me come over here. Right after he grounded me.”

Grounded? Only yesterday Vance had bragged that VJ never got into trouble. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because… because…” Instead of explaining, he shoved the bag at her.

Katie took it and a wave of relief swept through her. She didn’t have to look inside to know she held the last copy of
Star Whores
in her hand. “You took it? Why?”

VJ squirmed inside his enormous clothes. “I wanted to show the video to my friends. Malcolm Gilman said his dad had an old beta machine in his basement and—” VJ’s head dropped lower. “How often do we get to see some girl get banged?”

Katie figured it was a regular rite of passage for all teenaged
boys, but refrained from commenting on the depth of her disgust.

“How did you get into Artisans Alley?” she demanded, her voice hushed.

VJ’s cheeks went a shade darker. “I kinda borrowed my dad’s keys. I’ve been with him lots of times when he closes and I’ve seen him punch in the security code. It isn’t that hard to remember.”

Katie frowned.
Note to self: Change Artisans Alley’s security code tonight!

“Anyway,” the boy continued. “I’m real sorry, Miz Bonner. And I’ll have lots of time to ponder my mistake.” That last sounded like a direct quote from Vance.

“How long will you be grounded?”

“Three months,” he nearly wailed.

Katie had never heard such a heartbroken voice. She winced at the length of the punishment, which seemed a bit excessive. She’d talk to Vance about it later. In the meantime, she stashed the bag in her oversized purse. Unbeknownst to him, VJ had just made Mark Bastian’s day, and Katie was also glad Davenport hadn’t seen the exchange take place.

“I appreciate your returning my property,” she said.

VJ began to back away. “Okay, well, I’ll see ya later, Miz B.”

VJ continued to shuffle backward until he ran into the opening door. “Whoa! Sorry,” he said, and ducked past the young woman who entered.

If VJ was the last person Katie expected to see at Heather’s service, Donna Gordon was the next to last. She’d donned a dark denim coat and, as a nod to decorum, had removed the studs in her nose.

“Donna, what brings you here?”

“I know Ma would’ve come. She still considered herself Heather Winston’s best friend. I thought I should come in
her place.” Donna looked inside the room toward the casket and leaned forward. “I’ve never been to a funeral home before. What am I supposed to do?”

Katie gave Donna a quick rundown on funeral etiquette. “Mrs. Nash is the one in the pink dress.”

“I thought people were supposed to wear dark clothes,” Donna said.

“Mrs. Nash wants to celebrate her niece’s life—not mourn her death.”

Donna took a step forward, but Katie’s outstretched hand stopped her. “Your mother’s high school math teacher is here. He’d like to meet you.”

Donna’s gaze swept the room, landing on Hartsfield. Her lip curled. “My sperm donor? I don’t think so.”

“You know?” Katie asked, shocked. “But you told me—”

“What was I supposed to say?” She exhaled a shaky breath. “My ma was my best friend. She never kept anything from me.”

“Then what was she really doing at the Webster mansion on Tuesday night? Have you told Detective Davenport?”

“That jerk? I wouldn’t give him the time of day. He thinks Ma’s death was an accident, but I know better.” Donna nodded, her gaze fixed with determination. “And—one way or another—the person who killed Ma is going to pay.”

Katie gaped at Donna. “Please don’t do anything foolish. Think of Fawn, if nothing else. If something happened to you, she’d be all alone.”

Katie absentmindedly looked in Hartsfield’s direction, but Donna still wouldn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she actually patted Katie’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not as trusting as my mother. And I can take care of myself.”

Famous last words.

Donna looked back at the crowd still surrounding Rose. “I guess I’ll wait a few minutes before I talk to Mrs. Nash.”

“Some of your pillows are already in her booth.”

“Oh, yeah? Then I guess I’ll have to thank her.” Donna’s eyes wandered over to the casket, and she pursed her lips as though in an effort to keep from crying. Was she thinking of her own loss, which was still so fresh—and the fact she had no money for a proper burial for her mother?

She cleared her throat. “I noticed you had a bunch of old dolls on top of your file cabinet. Do they sell well?”

“We don’t sell commercially made product. I bought
them at an auction the other night. I’m going to clean them up and try to find them all new homes. All except the wooden one. That one I’m keeping.”

She tilted her head in surprise. “Why that one?”

A blush warmed Katie’s cheeks. “I guess because it looks like it needs to be loved.”

Donna’s gaze flickered back to Katie, and her lips quirked into a smile. “What time do you want me to bring the rest of my stuff to Artisans Alley?”

“How about five thirty?”

“Can do.” Donna’s gaze wandered. “Think I’ll go look at the flowers. I saw an ad in the paper this morning for a job at a florist. Maybe I could learn flower arranging. See you later.” And with that, she crossed the room without looking at Hartsfield, who apparently had no clue he was in the same room as his daughter.

With Rose still occupied, Katie found herself at loose ends and wished Andy would show up. She let her mind wander. If Donna was arriving at Artisans Alley at five thirty, perhaps she could convince Bastian to meet her at six. They needed to talk.

She left the room and took out her cell phone, making sure Detective Davenport was well out of earshot before she punched in the number. Voice mail picked up and she left a message for Bastian to call her.

Katie returned to the parlor and glanced at her watch. Shouldn’t the service have started by now? Or had Rose asked Mr. Collier to wait awhile on the chance some of Heather’s peers might show? But when the door opened again, it was Burt Donahue and his wife Sylvia who’d arrived. The arrogant auction house owner paused at the entryway, assessing the crowd before him, while his meek wife stayed a step behind.

Katie stepped forward. “Mr. Donahue, I’m surprised to see you here. You said you’d never met Heather Winston.”

“Rose has been a good customer of mine for more than
a decade. Being here is just a business courtesy,” he said blandly.

That was a rather coldhearted explanation. Katie hoped he wouldn’t be as blunt when speaking to Rose. At the same time, she wondered if Donahue had already inspected the Webster mansion property.

“Will you stay for the service?” Katie asked.

“No. We’re meeting my son and daughter-in-law over at the mansion within the hour.”

Bingo! It was a good thing Fred had collected the key before she’d had to leave for the service.

Donahue turned his head toward his wife but didn’t bother to look at her. “Stay here.” He strode off, his gait almost a swagger. Sylvia took a step backward, as though trying to blend into the woodwork, but not before Katie saw anger flash across her features. Katie hadn’t thought Sylvia capable of that emotion—or any other, for that matter.

“Is something wrong, Sylvia?”

The toad of a woman clutched her handbag tighter. “We shouldn’t have come here. That young woman had no business being on our property, let alone dying there. Our mistake was renting to lowlifes. That won’t happen when we open Donahue’s Shamrock Inn. We’ll host a strictly high-end clientele.”

Her words had tumbled out—more than Katie had heard her utter before. But it seemed her font of conversation had run dry, and Sylvia seemed to withdraw into herself and reverted to her usual submissive demeanor.

Katie’s phone chimed. She retrieved it from her purse and retreated farther into the hallway, stabbing the green call button.

“Katie, it’s Mark Bastian.”

“Thanks for returning my call so quickly. I have your… property, and I’d like to return it.”

“Katie, you’re a lifesaver,” he said, and she heard the gratitude in his voice.

Katie turned her back on Sylvia and lowered her voice. “Can you come and get it tonight?”

“Name the time and place.”

“How about Artisans Alley at six? Do you know where it’s located?”

“The old applesauce factory that used to be part of the old mansion site?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I know the place. Fine. I’ll see you then.”