The Walleld Flower (33 page)

The connection broke and Katie replaced the phone in her purse.

Sylvia was staring at the crown molding near the ceiling, trying to look as though she hadn’t been eavesdropping. But Katie hadn’t mentioned a name. There was no way Sylvia could tell who she was talking to or what it was about.

Stop being paranoid,
Katie chided herself.

“Excuse me,” Katie said as she sidled past Sylvia and reentered the parlor.

Donahue had already finished his brief conversation with Rose and charged toward the exit. “Sylvia!” His wife fell in step behind him.

Katie scowled. How had Donahue achieved so much business success with such poor people skills?

Mr. Collier approached Rose, and those assembled made for the dual row of chairs. Katie sat beside Seth and behind Edie, leaving an empty chair on the end in case Andy showed up. Hartsfield also sat up front, and Donna took a chair in the row behind, as far away from him as she could.

Collier cleared his throat. “We’ll begin today’s remembrance with a short prayer.” They all bowed their heads. Behind them, the door opened and closed quietly. Collier finished with, “Amen,” and Andy slipped into the empty chair beside Katie.

“What’ve I missed?” he whispered.

“Plenty.”

A dry-eyed Rose approached the podium, took in all their
faces, and smiled. “I suppose you’ve all been wondering why I chose to wear such a vibrant pink dress to Heather’s service. It’s because I wanted this to truly be a celebration of her life, not her death. Most of you didn’t know my niece. I’d like to tell you about her.”

Rose spoke for almost twenty minutes, recalling with love and humor a life that had ended more than two decades before. How sad that so few had gathered to remember Heather.

Katie looked over her shoulder at the closed door. Though she’d just spoken with him, she’d hoped Bastian might show up. He was probably busy coordinating Rick Jeremy’s funeral. Thanks to the director’s celebrity, there’d be far more than ten people in attendance.

At last Rose left the podium, and a bagpipes rendition of “Amazing Grace” filled the small room. Had Mr. Collier pressed some remote control to start the music? It was a tune sure to break the hearts of anyone who’d lost a loved one. Tears stung Katie’s eyes as she remembered the last time she’d heard a similar recording at her beloved aunt Lizzie’s memorial service. Andy reached for her hand and squeezed it.

When at last the music faded, Mr. Collier approached the podium and spoke. “Mrs. Nash would like to invite you all to a reception at her home.” He gave the address and directions, although Katie was sure everyone, with perhaps the exception of Donna and Hartsfield, knew where Rose lived.

Everyone stood, but only Davenport made a beeline for the exit. Katie hurried to catch up with him. “Detective, you haven’t mentioned how your investigation is progressing.”

“There doesn’t seem much point in pursuing it now that Rick Jeremy’s dead.”

“You think he killed Heather? Then why was he assassinated?”

“Hollywood types always make enemies. I’ll wait and see what the RPD comes up with, then decide how to proceed.”

“And what if they don’t come up with anything? Heather deserves justice!”

Davenport sighed, thrusting his beefy hands into the depths of his raincoat pockets. “Mrs. Bonner, Heather Winston’s been dead for twenty-two years. It’s a cold case and now the prime suspect is dead. No one can guarantee justice will be served, and I’m sorry to tell you, but sometimes people
do
get away with murder. That’s just the way it is.”

Katie clenched her fists to keep from hitting Davenport. With that attitude, she’d be surprised if he ever solved a case. She had to work to keep her voice level. “What about the note I received?”

“Jeremy probably sent it before he died.”

“And what if it wasn’t him?” she demanded.

Andy and Seth approached, each wearing an expression of concern. “Is there a problem here?” Andy asked, in full protective mode.

Davenport shook his head. “Not with me. Good-bye, Mrs. Bonner. Tell Mrs. Nash I’ll be in touch if I have some news.” He turned. The three of them watched the door close behind him.

Seth spoke first. “I hope high blood pressure doesn’t run in your family, Katie, because you look like you’re ready to have a stroke.”

Andy loosened his tie. “Ready to murder that cop, more like. What did he do this time?”

“That’s just it—he never does anything!” Katie exploded.

“It’s not your job to take up the crusade,” Seth warned her.

Andy nodded. “Agreed.”

Katie exhaled through her nose, hoping her snorts of frustration didn’t make her look like Polly. Donna Gordon stood nearby, nervously eyeing the door.

Seth pulled Katie down the hall to clear the exit and give
them more privacy, and Donna fled the building before she could bump into her biological father.

“Katie,” Seth said, his voice somber. “I know you’re upset with the detective, but let it go for now. You know Rose means a lot to me. I’ve got friends within the Sheriff’s Office. I’ll ask them to make sure Davenport follows up on any leads he’s got, but only if you promise you won’t keep digging into this.”

“Hear, hear,” Andy agreed.

“I’m not investigating Heather’s murder. I’m only trying to give Rose some peace of mind.”

“Which looks a lot like you’re poking your nose into things you shouldn’t.”

“Oh, Andy—go make a pizza!” Katie cried in exasperation.

He leaned forward to kiss her. “That’s exactly where I’m going. Keep talking sense into her, will you, Seth? And I’ll see you around seven for dinner, right?”

Katie exhaled another sharp breath, sorry for snapping at him. “Okay.”

Andy leaned forward again, planted a quick kiss on her lips, and then turned to follow the queue out of the funeral parlor. Seth and Katie brought up the rear. Rose had already put on her rain bonnet and coat and was in the parking lot, heading for her car as Katie and Seth left the building.

“Are you going to Rose’s?” Katie asked.

Seth nodded. “It’s the least I can do. I never knew Heather, but she was my cousin.”

They hadn’t spoken about Seth and Rose’s connection in quite some time.

“I didn’t think you and Rose had ever talked about the past.”

“We don’t need to. Concentrating on the present is much more important. And I want you to promise me that’s what you’ll do, too.”

“Okay,” Katie said, grudgingly.

Seth clasped her hand and walked her to her car. “I’ll see you at Rose’s house.”

Katie nodded and got into her Focus. But instead of starting the engine, she sat for a few minutes, thinking about everything that had transpired during the previous hour. Truth be told, she felt exhausted and couldn’t face dealing with anything else that evening. After she closed Artisans Alley and dealt with Donna, she would spend an hour or so with Andy at the pizzeria before heading back to her apartment to soak in the tub and then go to bed early.

With that decision made, she withdrew her cell phone from her purse and punched in Mark Bastian’s number. Voice mail picked up. “Mark, it’s Katie. I’ve had a change of plans. Don’t come to Artisans Alley tonight. I’ve got to be in the city tomorrow anyway. I’ll deliver your missing item then. Please call back and let me know you got this message.”

Next, Katie dialed Artisans Alley’s number. Vance answered on the second ring. “Hi, Vance, it’s Katie. Can you look out the window and see if there’s a crowd looking over the old Webster mansion?”

“Is there a reason you care?” he asked.

“Well, sort of. I haven’t mentioned my suspicions to anyone else, but…”

Only six mourners trooped out to Rose’s house for cookies and punch. Edie Silver had assembled quite a spread. She’d obviously visited the McKinlay Mill Bakery, but Katie didn’t doubt that she’d baked a few batches of cookies herself. Rose had assembled every picture she had of Heather—some framed, some in albums, but most of them lying flat on the coffee table or propped up against china cups on the shelves above her sideboard. Time crept on, and Katie kept looking at her watch, anxious to get back to Artisans Alley before it closed.

After everyone else had departed, Edie announced she’d be spending another night with Rose. Katie hugged them both good-bye and hopped into her car, her guilt about Rose assuaged as she drove the mile or so back to Artisans Alley. But it worried her that Bastian hadn’t yet returned her call.

Katie pulled into Artisans Alley’s back lot, parked her car near Polly’s, and walked around to the front of the building to enter through the double doors near the cash registers. Vance was giving the five-minute store-closing warning over the public address system. Was it that late already? Somehow she’d lost track of time.

When the last straggling customers had shuffled out, Vance secured the building while Katie cashed out. A couple of minutes later, he met her in her office. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since you called earlier. You really should talk to Detective Davenport,” he said, concerned.

Katie locked the day’s receipts in the safe and turned to face him. “He’s the last person I’d share my suspicions with.”

“Why not tell Andy or Seth Landers?”

“Because they’re both always nagging me to mind my own business.”

“And you ought to listen.” He shook his head ruefully. “Come on, let’s go change the security code. And this time I promise Vance Junior won’t learn it.”

It took only minutes for them to decide on and change the password. Katie liked having Vance as her backup—in business and in personal matters.

By the time they’d completed the end-of-day tasks, it was almost five thirty and Vance was putting on his jacket to leave when Katie heard a knock at the door outside the vendors’ lounge. As expected, Donna stood on the top step, surrounded by boxes and black plastic trash bags. Katie let her in as Vance left for home. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder, then paused. “Unless you want me to stay.”

“No, go home. I’ll be fine. Besides, Andy’s right next door if I need him.”

“Promise me you’ll call him when you’re ready to leave.”

“I will.”

“Katie!” He used his worried-parent voice.

“I will. I promise.”

Vance frowned but turned and headed down the steps.

“What was that about?” Donna asked.

“Nothing,” Katie said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Here, let me help you with that.” Katie and Donna dragged the stuff into the vendors’ lounge, piling it on the big Formica table. “If you’ve got an inventory list, I’d be glad to tag everything and put it out on display tomorrow.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got lots of time tonight.”

“Unfortunately, I need to leave before six.”

“Oh, well. Okay,” Donna said, sounding miffed.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“More pillows and some other things my ma made.” Donna opened the biggest carton, pulling aside a swath of cotton batting that had acted as a cushion.

Katie gasped. Nestled on a bed of old baby blankets were five of the wooden dolls Polly had been selling in her booth. “Your mother made these dolls?”

“Yeah, and the ones Polly Bremerton’s been selling as antiques, too. I was glad to hear you wanted to keep the one you bought at the auction.”

“You put those dolls up for sale?” Katie asked, aghast.

Donna shook her head. “Ma did, along with a bunch of other stuff. We needed the money and Polly told her to get rid of the prototype doll. She wanted Ma to throw it away, but we figured if we could get a couple of bucks for it—why not?”

Why not indeed.

And then something occurred to Katie. “You weren’t by any chance at the auction the other night, were you?”

“Me? Oh, no.”

“Because someone was bidding hard against me to get these dolls.”

Donna’s complexion became quite rosy and she wouldn’t meet Katie’s gaze.

If Donna hadn’t been there, then perhaps a friend of hers—or her mother’s—had been there. The person had dropped out of the bidding as soon as the dolls had hit the fifty-dollar mark. Had Barbie arranged for that in advance? What other box lots had belonged to the dead woman?

Katie sighed. It wasn’t worth pursuing. She turned her thoughts back to the conversation at hand.

“Did you take the clothes from the dolls in Polly’s booth?” Katie asked.

Donna bristled. “So what if I did. She still owed Ma a hundred bucks. Polly told me that since Ma was dead, the deal was negated. I figured if I had the clothes, I could sell
these
dolls.”

“Did you put nooses on Polly’s dolls and hang them in her booth?”

“Hang them?” she asked, confused. “Why would I want to do that? I just left them in her cabinet.”

“But you did break into the cabinet, right?”

Donna squirmed. “Well, yeah. But Polly didn’t pay for those clothes—they belonged to Ma, and now they’re
mine
.”

Donna was probably no taller than five foot five and Polly was at least six foot and could easily have hung the dolls in her booth—and without the use of a step stool or ladder. It would’ve suited her to bolster her cries of victimhood.

A board creaked somewhere in the main showroom, but Katie ignored it. Something more insidious lurked at the edges of her mind. Barbie said that some lunatic had threatened her granddaughter. Even Polly wasn’t that sick… was she?