The Walleld Flower (34 page)

“Did Polly threaten Fawn?” Katie asked.

“I don’t know. But she was really mad at Ma. Ma wanted
her hundred bucks, and Polly said she wouldn’t pay until more of the dolls sold. And she wanted Ma to
give
her these dolls, too. Ma said no. She came in here one day and saw the dolls selling for two hundred bucks. Polly only paid her twenty-five each. Ma heard there’s a doll show next month in Buffalo and she decided she was gonna take them there. I think Polly found out.”

Katie’s stomach tightened. Had Barbie met Polly at the Webster mansion to talk about it? Had Polly pushed Barbie over the railing, killing her? Surely she wasn’t that malicious… And yet Polly was a bitter, angry woman who looked for slights and mistreatment—real or imagined. She’d threatened Fawn and mistreated her own grandchild.

The board creaked again. Polly’s car had been parked out in the lot when Katie arrived, and yet she hadn’t seen her inside Artisans Alley.

“You can come out now, Polly. We know you’re there,” Katie called.

Sure enough, Polly stepped into the doorway, her face pinched with anger. But it was obvious from Donna’s frightened expression that she hadn’t known Polly was there. She backed away, putting the table between her and the furious woman.

“I was here first.” Polly swung her glare from Donna to Katie. “You can’t let her sell those dolls to compete with me.”

“There are much larger issues to discuss, Polly. Like what are you doing here after hours?”

“I was working in my booth—tidying up,” she said defensively.

“The lights have been off for over half an hour.”

“Those doll clothes belong to me,” Polly said, ignoring Katie, and rushed to grab one of the dolls from the box.

Donna leapt forward, wrenched it from her, and hurried around the table. “They’re mine!”

“Ladies, ladies!” Katie pleaded.

A rapping on the outside door drew all their attention. Mark Bastian peered through the glass.

Oh no!

“Go away!” Katie hollered.

Bastian opened the door and stepped inside anyway. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Donna said.

“Yes,” Polly hollered.

“You didn’t get my message, did you?” Katie asked.

A disconcerted Bastian didn’t close the door. “Uh, no. But if I could just have my property, I’ll leave you ladies to your discussion.”

“It’s in my purse. I’ll get it,” Katie said and took a step toward her office.

“No!” Donna wailed. “Don’t leave me alone with this psychopath. She killed my mother.”

“Liar!” Polly hollered.

Bastian’s gaze darted from Polly to Donna and finally back to Katie. “Do you need help?” he muttered to Katie under his breath.

“I can handle them, but
you’ve
got to get out of here.
Now!
”

The door opened wider behind him. Sylvia Donahue poked her head inside. “I was hoping there’d still be someone here. Can I use your phone?”

“Come on in—join the party,” Donna said, chagrined.

“Mrs. Donahue?” Bastian asked, inching backward toward Donna and Katie.

“What a coincidence to see you after so many years,” the older woman said.

“Do you two know each other?” Katie asked.

“We met only once—years ago,” Sylvia said. “This young man did some repairs for us over at the mansion.”

Bastian’s rigid stance said he wanted to be anywhere other than with this woman. “What are you doing here, now?”

“We’ve been looking over the mansion. We’re going to buy it back,” she said.

“Where’s your husband?” Katie asked, craning her neck to look beyond Sylvia to see if Burt was waiting on the step outside.

“He’s home.
Safe
at home.”

That was an odd choice of words. But with Burt in the next town, Katie felt she could relax a bit.

“Why would anybody want to buy that horrible old place?” Donna asked. “At least two people have died there.”

“There’s a lot of history in that old house,” Sylvia said. “Not all of it savory, as you well know. I’m hoping we can finally lay all the ghosts to rest.”

“Ghosts?” Katie repeated, fear creeping back into her gut. A whirlwind of isolated facts began to coalesce in her mind as panic churned through her. She grabbed Bastian’s arm, shoving him toward the door, but he dug in his heels.

“I have another appointment and I really need you all to leave
right now
,” Katie said. “Perhaps I could meet with you all some other time.”

Sylvia’s wide mouth flattened into an imitation of a smile. She shut the door, turning the dead bolt. “Another time won’t do.” She stared at Bastian. “You see, I need to know exactly what you’ve told the police about the dead girl.”

He met the older woman’s gaze. “I didn’t tell them anything because I don’t know anything for sure. But I can guess.”

“Burt killed Heather, didn’t he?” Katie blurted, instantly regretting it.

“Don’t be stupid,” Sylvia said. “He doesn’t have the guts for anything other than bullying people. She died having a seizure.”

“How do you know?”

Sylvia’s smile sent chills up Katie’s spine. “I was there.”

“What were you doing at Barbie’s apartment?” Katie asked.

“My louse of a husband called me there. The girl was foaming at the mouth, turning blue. He was afraid she’d die on him—or should I say
under
him.”

“Heather was having an affair with Burt?” Bastian asked, shocked.

Katie shook her head. “From what I understand, Donahue’s always thought of himself as an entrepreneur. I’m betting he was Jeremy’s secret backer. He loaned you guys the money to make
Star Whores
. After the fire, he demanded immediate repayment—plus repairs to Barbie’s apartment.”

Bastian nodded. “We were broke and scared.”

“Barbie had the reputation,” Katie continued, “but it was Heather who used sex to bribe Donahue to keep him from cutting off your financing.”

“The stinking little tramp,” Sylvia muttered, an ugly scowl crossing her wrinkled features.

Bastian ignored her. “Heather wanted to be the next Marilyn Chambers. She had plans to leave McKinlay Mill forever and go to New York or LA. Honest, Katie, when she turned up missing, Rick and I believed that’s exactly what she did.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police this years ago?” Katie asked.

“We were two stupid college kids.”

“I don’t get it,” Donna said, turning her puzzled gaze on Sylvia. “Why did your husband call you when Heather had one of her fits?”

“Because she’s a nurse,” Katie answered.

“Was a nurse,” Sylvia corrected.

“But Heather didn’t die of a seizure,” Katie continued. “She was wrapped in plastic and sandwiched between the walls in Barbie’s apartment. She clawed at the plasterboard, trying to escape, before she died of suffocation.”

“Too bad.” Sylvia’s cold glance rested on Bastian. “I gambled that Mrs. Bonner was calling you from the funeral parlor. I wanted to be here to thank you for killing Barbie.”

“I didn’t kill her,” Bastian protested.

Donna pointed at Polly. “She did.”

“I did not!” All eyes turned toward her, and Polly shrugged and lowered her voice. “It was an accident.”

“Shut up!” Sylvia shouted.

Katie whirled on Sylvia. “Why do you care how Barbie died?”

“Because it saved me the trouble of killing her myself. I’ve already taken care of Jeremy Richards. And now there’s only one person left who knew the truth.” Sylvia withdrew a snub-nosed revolver from her jacket pocket and aimed it at Bastian.

Polly’s eyes widened in indignation, her cheeks flushing to an ugly red. She leaned forward. “What kind of a stupid statement is that, Sylvia? You can’t kill all four of us and hope to get away with it.”

Shut up!
Katie wanted to scream.

Sylvia blinked, taken aback. Had she been so intent on getting rid of Bastian that she hadn’t considered the other witnesses?

“Well, well—” she sputtered. “Now that you all know, you’ll have to die, too.”

Polly threw back her head and laughed.

“I’ve got more than enough bullets, and I’m a crack shot,” Sylvia continued. “I earned marksman status in the army.” She straightened, her sagging bosom thrust forward with pride.

Katie remembered Donahue’s NRA belt buckle and assumed he was the marksman. Yet for all Sylvia’s bravado, the gun wobbled.

“Put that thing down, you old fool,” Polly ordered.

The gun ceased moving. “I’ll shoot!” Sylvia warned.

“Nobody threatens me!” Polly stepped forward and reached for the gun.

A shot rang out.

Everyone froze. Time appeared to stand still as well, as the next few seconds seemed to take eons to unfold.

Polly’s mouth dropped open, her eyes going wide as a scarlet stain blossomed across the front of her crisp white blouse. She staggered forward a step, grabbed Sylvia by the jacket, and fell forward onto her.

Sylvia screamed and the spell was broken.

“Run!” Katie shouted, and dashed into the darkened showroom, leaving her pumps behind. Donna and Bastian followed her, heading for the main doors. The emergency lights were scant, but Katie knew the way. Bastian and Donna struggled to keep up. But when she reached the doors to the lobby, Katie realized they were locked. Frustrated, she yanked at the handles.

“We’ve got to get out!” Donna cried.

“Is there something we can use to break them?” Bastian said, looking around.

“They’re plate glass.”

“Any other exits?” he hollered.

“On the east side, but we’d have to double back and it’s locked, too.”

Donna began to whimper.

“Got any other ideas?” Bastian demanded.

“There’s an emergency exit upstairs. There’re windows and—”

Something heavy crashed across the showroom. Sylvia must have extricated herself from under Polly’s bulk.

“Come on,” Katie hissed, and pulled Donna through the first booth and threaded her way through the darkened recesses toward the back staircase.

“You can’t get away,” Sylvia shrieked. “I won’t let you!”

Katie paused at the bottom of the stairs. She grabbed Donna by the shoulders. “There’s an emergency exit three booths north of Polly’s. Get out and call the Sheriff’s Office from the pizza parlor next door. Go!”

“What about you?” Bastian asked.

“I can’t leave Polly.”

“She’d leave
you
!” Donna cried.

Katie gave the girl a shove. “Go!”

“But—”

“I know my way around here in the dark and Sylvia doesn’t. Go!” Katie insisted.

Bastian didn’t need any prodding. He grabbed Donna’s arm and hauled her up the stairs.

Katie took off down the aisle, intending to circle back to her office. Pounding footsteps overhead made her pause halfway down the aisle. She needed a diversion to give Bastian and Donna time to find the exit. Casting around, she grabbed the first breakable item she could find—a glass vase—and crashed it against a booth wall. The noise reverberated through the eerie darkness.

The gun roared from somewhere behind her and Katie darted into the closest booth, banging her shins against an unbudgeable crate, snagging her panty hose. She bit down on her hand to keep from crying out, but what if Sylvia had heard the clanging metal?

What on earth had caused her to separate from Bastian and Donna? Donna was right. Polly would never have gone back to save anyone else. It was her own stupid arrogance that had gotten her shot in the first place. There’s no way she could still be alive, and yet Katie couldn’t abandon the woman on the slight chance that she wasn’t dead.

A creaky floorboard gave Sylvia away. She had to be within ten feet of the booth where Katie hid. The security light was three booths over, and it was too dark to see exactly what was stacked on the nearby shelves, which formed
a barrier between her and the aisle. But what if Sylvia was poking her head into every booth as she passed? Had she just fired at a shadow?

Katie fumbled in the darkness to identify the objects around her. Nothing seemed heavy enough or blunt enough to use as a weapon. Ceramic bowls, plates, trinket boxes. Damn! Right about now a big solid bird bath would fit the bill. Why couldn’t she have ducked into a booth that held iron sculptures? Instead, she clasped a large, heavy bowl and raised it, ready to crash it down on Sylvia’s graying head.

Katie held her breath as tentative footsteps neared.

Creak, creak.

Katie’s hands trembled. The blood seemed to have left her arms, making her fingers tingle.

Creak, creak.

The footfalls passed her by.

Katie exhaled and lowered the bowl.

No more footsteps sounded above. Had Bastian and Donna gotten out? Andy would be furious to find she’d stayed behind. If Sylvia didn’t kill her, Katie was sure Andy would.

A loud crash and the sound of muffled cursing from somewhere down the aisle told Katie that Sylvia had tripped over something in the dim light.

Katie bit her lip. Should she venture out, head back the way she’d come, or go for the stairs and freedom? But that still left Polly possibly bleeding to death.

With exaggerated care, Katie replaced the bowl on the shelf and tiptoed to the booth entrance. She stuck her head out and peered down the aisle.