Carving Out a Path Read online

  Carving Out A Path

  A Companion Story for the Victoria Square Mysteries

  Lorraine Bartlett

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  1. Story Description

  2. Carving Out A Path

  3. The Story Behind The Story

  About the Author

  Also by Lorraine Bartlett

  Copyright © 2017 by Lorraine Bartlett

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For more information on Lorraine’s books, check out her website: http://www.LorraineBartlett.com

  Other Books By Lorraine Bartlett

  The Lotus Bay Mysteries

  Panty Raid (A Tori Cannon-Kathy Grant mini mystery)

  With Baited Breath

  Christmas At Swans Nest

  * * *

  The Victoria Square Mysteries

  A Crafty Killing

  The Walled Flower

  One Hot Murder

  Dead, Bath and Beyond (with Laurie Cass)

  Recipes To Die For: A Victoria Square Cookbooks

  * * *

  Life On Victoria Square

  Carving Out A Path

  * * *

  Blythe Cove Manor

  A Dream Weekend

  A Final Gift

  An Unexpected Visitor

  * * *

  Tales of Telenia (adventure-fantasy)

  THRESHOLD

  JOURNEY

  TREACHERY

  * * *

  Short Stories

  Love & Murder: A Bargain-Priced Collection of Short Stories

  Happy Holidays? (A Collection of Christmas Stories)

  An Unconditional Love

  Love Heals

  Blue Christmas

  Prisoner of Love

  We’re So Sorry, Uncle Albert

  * * *

  A Cozy Mystery Sampler

  Sample all Lorraine’s Stories for Free

  ISBN: 978-1-940801-43-8

  Created with Vellum

  For my Dad

  Leonard Bartlett

  A jack of all trades and a master of all he attempted.

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks go to my proofreaders: Linda Kuzminczuk, Debbie Lyon, and Donna Russell.

  * * *

  Cover by Wicked Smart Designs

  1

  Story Description

  Carving Out A Path

  By Lorraine Bartlett

  * * *

  A young shoplifter not only swipes a couple of hand-carved figurines from Ray Davenport, owner of Victoria Square’s Wood U gift shop, but barrels into and injures Katie Bonner, manager of Artisans Alley. Upon his escape, the police are called, but before the ink is dry on the report, the boy’s grandmother drags the would-be thief back to return the purloined items. She’s got an agenda and great expectations. Can Ray come through in a pinch?

  2

  Carving Out A Path

  Ray Davenport gazed out the front display window of Wood U, the Victoria Square gift shop that featured wood-based gifts and small furniture. Right on time, Katie Bonner, manager of the Square’s anchor, Artisans Alley, power-walked by, her head held high, her ponytail bouncing. She did it several times a day, and not only did he find he could set his watch to her circuits, but he found he looked forward to seeing her pass by.

  The truth was, when he first met the new owner of the local arts and crafts arcade, he thought the pushy young woman was nothing but a pain in the ass. But that was before he got to know her.

  Yes, she pushed her own ideas about what had happened and who might be behind the death of the Alley’s original manager, but Katie was smart, as well as attractive.

  When he’d first met her, Ray did not have a good opinion of what his colleagues at the Sheriff’s Office might have called a Feminazi; but her goodwill and intellect had made him reconsider. They’d clashed heads again some seven months later when she’d uncovered a skeleton in the decrepit mansion on the edge of Victoria Square. Then, three months after that, they’d been forced to collaborate on yet another murder case—officially his last. And Ray was sure he would have been murdered by a vicious killer if Katie hadn’t been motivated to find the truth about what had happened to the owner of the shop he now owned.

  But there was more.

  His teenaged daughters had taken a shine to Katie and had tried to “fix them up.” It had been a particularly embarrassing interlude because there was no way a young, good-looking woman would ever be interested in an old coot like him.

  Katie disappeared from his view. She usually did four circuits around the parking lot, so he would have the opportunity to see her three more times before she disappeared for another day.

  Ray turned away, feeling ashamed. Was it so terrible that the sight of the young widow passing outside his window was the highlight of his day? It wasn’t as though he ogled her. He was at least twenty years her senior. And then there was Andy Rust, Katie’s boyfriend who owned the pizza parlor next to Artisans Alley. She was already spoken for. That’s why the thought that he looked forward to seeing her every day bothered him.

  His wife, Rachel, had died a little over a year before. He’d loved her with all his heart. She was ten years younger than him, and he was sure she would easily outlive him; but then he hadn’t reckoned with a drunk driver who had veered into the opposing lane of traffic and hit his wife’s minivan head-on at ten o’clock in the morning. She’d been transported by Mercy flight to the best hospital in the area, but insurance hadn’t covered that cost, as he’d found out several months later—after her death—when he’d been presented with the bill.

  That had eaten into their savings, money they’d put aside for their daughters’ college funds. Rachel would not have been happy about that. And even though they’d both agreed that if one survived the other they were free to find someone else, the thought of moving on bothered him. And yet…what if he could find another partner? The truth was, he didn’t want to be alone for twenty or more years until the good Lord called him home.

  And then, less than a year after Rachel’s death, he’d retired.

  Retired?

  Not exactly. The county had had a purge. Those with a certain amount of years of service had been pushed out of the Sheriff’s Office. If Ray could have worked another couple of years, it would have been much better since he could have saved more money for his daughters’ college funds. Now … what was he going to tell his two youngest daughters, Sadie and Sasha, when they graduated and there was little, if any, money available to send them to college? Operating Wood U was a calculated risk. If it was successful, he could help his girls. If it crashed and (figuratively) burned, they were all skunked.

  Ray felt grateful that his oldest, Sophie, had managed to get a scholarship to the Culinary Institute of America. She wanted to be a world-class chef, and he had no doubt she’d achieve her goal. But what about her two sisters? Would he be able to help them reach their collegiate goals? That was a real leap of faith. And how was he going to tell them that they’d have to mortgage their futures to pay for their schooling? Encouraging them to seek scholarships, instead of student loans, was the only way they’d be able to afford higher education. The thought made him feel ashamed and inadequate. This wasn’t the life he thought he’d have or be able to offer his children.

  Glancing at the clock, Ray saw the big hand was on twelve—time to open the shop for the day. He unlocked the door and turned the CLOSED s
ign to OPEN, then retreated to the stool behind the display case that doubled as a cash desk. Open on the top was a book on carving, dedicated to Christmas designs of twenty or more Santas. His current project was a squat little guy with wooden shoes who, when finished, would hold a birthday candle in his tiny hands. The book of carving designs had been a birthday gift from Sadie and Sasha. Carving helped him pass the time between customers, and it also helped replenish his store’s stock.

  Ray’s original goal had been to use up the inventory that came with the purchase price of the shop, and supplement it with his own creations; but that was before the fire, which cost him fifty percent of his stock. He’d discovered he could—and did—buy handmade and sustainably produced items from third-world artisans, paying fair trade prices. It would have been cheaper just to buy product from China, but his girls wouldn’t hear of that. Altruism was all fine and good, and yet he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep the shop open and make enough to live on with good deeds alone. He needed to find additional sources of income.

  The door opened and an Asian boy of maybe ten or eleven entered the shop. Dressed conservatively in a buff-colored jacket, crisp white shirt, and blue tie, Ray wondered if the outfit was part of a school uniform. Shouldn’t he have been at school at ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning?

  “Welcome to Wood U. I’m Ray. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

  The kid nodded and began moseying along the shelves that lined the shop’s east wall, inspecting the items for sale.

  The store displayed an eclectic product line: carved wooden cutlery, whimsical dragons, cats, birds, other animals, Santas, cutting boards, inlaid jewelry boxes, tables, benches, and much, much more. Ray never grew tired of the smell of wood. Just about every variety known to man was represented in some way, shape or form, including ebony, teak, bamboo, maple, oak, poplar, cherry—a huge assortment.

  Ray angled the blade of his carving knife to give greater definition to the figure’s small hands, never growing tired of seeing his creations evolve from a chunky block of basswood to a finished, sanded, painted, and polished figurine.

  He glanced up at the big round convex mirror attached near the ceiling in the shop’s northeast corner. It took a moment for it to register as he watched the reflection of the boy look around, then slip an object into one of his jacket pockets before reaching for another.

  Ray practically jumped to his feet. “Hey!”

  The kid grabbed the larger carving and didn’t look back as he bolted for the door.

  Ray nearly fell over his stool as he skirted the cash desk and raced after the kid, who’d opened the door and had already dashed through it. Ray wasn’t as fast as he’d been in years past—or even before his retirement, as he’d broken his leg during his last investigation—but he watched in shock as the kid barreled right into Katie, knocking her ass over tea kettle in his haste to escape.

  “Katie!” Ray called, instantly forgetting the kid, who sprinted across the parking lot like an Olympian heading for the finish line. Katie lay on the tarmac, huddled on her side. Ray hurried to her side.

  “Katie? Are you all right?”

  Katie pushed herself into a sitting position. “What on earth hit me?”

  Ray scowled. “A shoplifter. He just swiped stuff from one of my shelves and took off.”

  Katie took in her scraped and bleeding palms, studded with bits of gravel. “Wow—this hurts!” She wiped the back of her right hand across her cheek, which had also suffered a scrape and was oozing blood.

  “Let’s get you inside,” Ray said, offering his hand. Katie lifted her elbow and he grabbed her by the forearm and bicep, pulling her to her feet.

  “I’m okay,” Katie said, but he could feel a tremor go through her.

  “You will be,” Ray assured her, and led her back to his store where the door was wide open. He dragged her through the shop to the cash desk and sat her on the stool he’d so recently abandoned. “I’ll be right back,” he said and ducked through the curtains that hung from the top of the doorway. He turned on the hot water tap and let it run, then rummaged for a clean cloth. He searched for the bowl he used to serve his ramen-noodle lunches, filled it with hot water, grabbed the bottle of antiseptic spray he kept for when he cut himself with his carving knives, and a box of Band-Aids, and headed back into the shop. He found Katie using the longest fingernail on her right hand to pick out small stones from the palm of her left hand.

  “Ouch,” she said and winced.

  “I’ve got tweezers somewhere in back, if you’ll trust me to take those stones out.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “And then I’ll call the Sheriff’s Office.”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “Someone stole from me; someone assaulted you. I’d say that was more than ample cause.”

  Katie shrugged. “I guess.”

  Ray angled the flex lamp that had previously shed light on his carving so that he could better see her abrasions, then he, too, winced. “I’ll bet that hurts.”

  “No kidding,” she muttered, and grimaced again as he manipulated her hand to better see the extent of the injury.

  “Let me get those tweezers,” he said, and headed into the back room once more. It took at least a minute for him to locate them, then squirt them with hand sanitizer to sterilize them before he rejoined Katie in the shop. She’d gone back to picking out the gravel with her fingernail.

  “I’ve almost got them all on this hand,” she told him.

  He donned his magnifying loupe and inspected her work. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” Using the tweezers, he attacked a tiny stone shard, causing her to flinch. “And now for the antiseptic spray.”

  “Is it going to hurt?” she asked.

  “I think you can take it,” he said, and squirted some of the liquid on her hand. Again she flinched.

  “Aw, it wasn’t that bad,” Ray scolded.

  “You’re right,” she admitted, watching as he opened the lid on the box of bandages and removed a variety of sizes.

  “When I was a kid, my mother would smother my cuts with mercurochrome. Now that stung—and it stained the skin for more than a week.”

  “Stained?” Katie asked.

  “A brilliant red-orange. Made a kid’s wounds look like badges of honor.”

  He applied the first bandage and turned to grab another.

  “You’re pretty good at this,” she said.

  “I have three kids, remember?”

  “I would have thought working as a homicide detective that you’d have little time to spend with them.”

  “I spent enough,” he muttered.

  “I didn’t mean that as a criticism—just that I know you were dedicated to your job.”

  “You didn’t think so when we first met.”

  “I didn’t know about your situation.”

  “What situation?” he asked, standing straight, immediately on alert.

  She looked up at him with guileless blue eyes. “Losing your wife.”

  He didn’t like to talk about those days. Days when he felt lost and broken, and his children had been far more resilient, taking care of him as much as he’d taken care of them. But it was his work that had helped him navigate those terrible dark days.

  Ray finished bandaging her left hand and started working on the right.

  “Do I really have to talk to a deputy about the assault?” Katie asked.

  “Yes, you do. It’s your civic duty.”

  Katie looked like she wanted to roll her eyes. “Well, if you put it that way.”

  Ray scowled, but continued applying the bandages until every scrape on Katie’s right hand had been tended to. “There. All done.”

  Katie examined her hands. “How am I supposed to type, or even eat with my hands like this?”

  “That’s for you to figure out,” Ray said, straightening. “Now, I don’t want to talk about this situation further and contaminate your story. But I want you to t
hink hard about what you saw just before the assault so that it’s clear in your mind when the deputy questions you.”

  “Do I have to wait here?”

  Ray shook his head. “This isn’t going to be a priority for the Sheriff’s Office. Go on back to Artisans Alley and I’ll send the deputy over there after I’ve spoken to him.”

  “Him?” Katie pressed.

  “Or her,” Ray acquiesced.

  Katie nodded and stood. “Okay.” She looked at the door and then back to her hands. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to open the door.”

  “I can do that for you.” Ray preceded her to the front of the shop. “Now, I want you to make sure you keep those wounds clean. If any of them get infected, I want you to go see your doctor, or at least head for the nearest urgent care facility.”

  “Yes, Dad,” she said.

  “I’m not that much older than you,” he lied.

  Katie’s mouth quirked, as though she was trying to suppress a smile. “Yes, Uncle Ray.” She paused at the door, sobering. “Thanks for taking care of my cuts. And don’t worry, they’re going to heal just fine. And I promise, I will tell the deputy everything I know—which is just about nothing.”

  “Nevertheless—” Ray began, prepared to give her a lecture, but she was out the door with a cheerful—

  “See ya later.”

  Ray closed the door and watched her head west again, and soon she powerwalked right out of his range of vision. With a frown, he turned back to his cash desk, and the phone that hung on the wall behind it. He picked up the receiver, punched in the number, and waited only seconds before saying, “I’d like to report a shoplifting and an assault.”