Yule Be Dead Read online

  “Let’s go to Artisans Alley. Your coffee is better than mine.”

  Katie was relieved that Rose wasn’t at her post when she and Ray strode into the Alley’s main showroom and down the aisle to the vendors’ lounge. Rose must have taken a break to check her booth. Katie got the coffee quickly, so she’d be safely back in her office before Rose noticed her return. She didn’t feel like explaining to Rose—or any of the other Artisans Alley vendors or patrons—why there had been a sheriff’s cruiser at Afternoon Tea.

  Katie doctored the cups of coffee: milk for both and two sugars for Ray. He liked his coffee sweet. She slipped into the cramped office where Ray sat on the chair near her desk. He’d spread paper towels out for their cinnamon buns.

  “What did you want to talk about? Is it Vonne?”

  Katie shook her head. “No. I don’t want any news of Vonne’s accident coming from me. Francine made it clear that she doesn’t like the fact that news spreads so quickly in the Square.”

  He shrugged. “That’s small-town life.”

  “I wanted to talk with you about your in-laws.”

  His bushy brows shot up. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting that. What do you want to know?”

  “Did your relationship with them change after Rachel died?”

  “No. Her parents have always been supportive and involved in the girls’ lives, and Rachel’s death did nothing to diminish that. If anything, it made their bond with them stronger.”

  Of course. Ray had three teenage daughters. His situation was much different than hers.

  After a pause, he said, “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me, Katie.”

  She smiled slightly. “It’s Chad’s mom . . . Margo. She and I never got along, but she called me this morning, said she was going to be in the area and wants to spend a couple of days with me.”

  Ray’s lips twitched. “You and a woman you don’t like in a teensy apartment. I’m trying to decide whether or not I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that.”

  Katie scoffed. “Trust me, you would not. Why? Why, after all this time, would she want to visit me?”

  “You’re her last tie to her son.”

  Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and Katie quickly blinked them away. But, then, not much got past Ray.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel worse.”

  “You didn’t. I simply hadn’t looked at it from her point of view.”

  He patted her hand. “Give the woman a chance. She’s reaching out to you for a reason. You owe it to yourself—and to her and even Chad—to spend some time with her.”

  Oh yeah? Then why did it feel so wrong?

  Two

  The sun set way too early in December, and it had been dark for more than an hour before Katie made it back to her apartment. Soon after, Andy took a break from the pizzeria and joined her for what she knew would be far too short a time.

  Katie snuggled against Andy’s chest as they sat on her sofa staring at the blinking lights of the tabletop Christmas tree that sat by the window. Katie rented the place above Angelo’s Pizzeria from Andy, and at a very reasonable price. It could accommodate the occasional overnight visit of a lover, but was not fit to billet a guest. And Katie knew it would be she—and her cats, Mason and Della—who’d be sleeping on the couch. And then there was the whole bathroom problem. To reach it, one had to traverse the bedroom. Could Katie hold her water all night long? The thought was disquieting.

  “I heard about Vonne . . . and that you were there when Francine got the news,” Andy said, his tone sympathetic.

  “Yeah. It was a horrible situation.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  Katie sighed. “Francine was already bemoaning the fact that everyone in Victoria Square would know her business before sunset. I didn’t want to be the talebearer.”

  His full lips tightened. “Did you tell Ray Davenport?”

  “Yes, but that’s because he was there when I came out of the tea shop.”

  “You trusted him with the news but not me?”

  “Andy, it wasn’t like that. It’s tragic that Vonne died in an accident, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to Ray about.” She blew out a breath.

  He pulled back and spread an arm across the back of the couch. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Chad’s mother is coming to stay with me for a day or two.”

  “And you felt the need to divulge this information to Davenport because . . . ?”

  “Because he, too, is a widower with in-laws. Of course, he has daughters, so his relationship with his in-laws is very different from mine with Margo Bonner.”

  “What advice did the wise old widower have to offer?” Andy asked, his tone tinged with sarcasm.

  “He reminded me that I’m Margo’s only tie to Chad and said I should give the woman a chance.”

  Andy frowned. “I suppose that’s good advice. The holidays are coming up. Maybe your former mother-in-law is feeling especially nostalgic and wants to see you in order to feel closer to her son.” He pulled her close to him once more. “I want to feel closer to you. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. You’re so busy lately.”

  “It’s the holiday season and we’re both swamped. I feel like I see more of Erikka than I do you.”

  He was talking about Erikka Wiley, his assistant manager. Stunning Erikka with her jet-black hair, big brown eyes, and voluptuous figure. Erikka, who spent part of every single day elbow to elbow with Andy. She was a sweet girl. Katie knew she shouldn’t feel jealous of her. But for some reason she did.

  Katie buried her hands in Andy’s dark, wavy hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. She needed to put Erikka out of both their minds. She was succeeding until Andy’s phone buzzed.

  He reluctantly extracted himself from their embrace and looked at the screen. “Sorry, Sunshine. I have to take care of something downstairs. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Katie had heard that before too many times. Andy would go downstairs and one emergency would turn into two and she probably wouldn’t see him the rest of the night.

  One of her cats—Mason—eagerly jumped onto the spot Andy vacated. She picked up the cat and placed him on her lap, absently petting him.

  “We’ve got problems, buddy.”

  Mason closed his eyes and opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

  “Do you remember your grandma? She called you that animal.” The memory of the older woman’s dismissive tone made Katie shudder. “The three of us will have to be on our best behavior.”

  Oh yeah?

  “Then again, maybe if you heave a hair ball in one or both of her shoes, she’ll go away and leave us alone.”

  Mason made no comment and purred quietly, as though sensing her restlessness.

  Katie recognized the need to do something. She needed to bake. She’d make a double batch of sugar cookies. She could take some to Francine as a gesture of sympathy, save a plateful for Andy as a gesture of love, and a take a tin to Ray and his girls as a gesture of friendship and to thank him for lending an ear.

  She kissed the cat’s head, gently placed him on the floor, and went to wash her hands. “Time to get baking, Mason!”

  * * *

  • • •

  Before heading to Artisans Alley the next morning, Katie stopped off at Wood U to give Ray the tin of cookies. When she walked in, he was bent over his check-out counter—balding pate glimmering in the overhead light—working on something that he quickly threw a cloth over when he spotted her.

  “What is it?” Katie asked.

  “It . . . it’s, uh . . . not ready for anybody to see yet.”

  “Oh. All right.” She placed the cookies on the top of the wooden surface. “This is just a little something for you and the girls
. . . a thank-you for listening to me about my former mother-in-law yesterday.”

  “That wasn’t necessary, but I thank you.” Ray slid the tin over and opened the lid. He sniffed deeply. “These cookies smell delicious. Mind if I have one now?”

  “Please go ahead.”

  “Coffee?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t stay long.”

  “Could you stay for just a minute?” He took a star-shaped cookie from the tin and replaced the lid. “It’s my turn to ask for advice.”

  “Of course.”

  “Something’s going on with Sasha,” Ray said.

  As Katie suspected, Ray’s need for advice concerned his girls. Now that Rachel was gone, he often found himself at a loss to understand his daughters. And, while Katie had no children of her own, because she was a woman, Ray seemed to trust her to help him figure out what was going on with the alien beings who lived with him.

  “She thinks she’s getting fat or something. I’ve tried to tell her that she’s as skinny as a two-by-four turned sideways, but she doesn’t believe me. She’ll hardly eat anything at all anymore. I’m . . .” He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “I’m afraid she might be developing an eating disorder.”

  “I’m not all that familiar with eating disorders. One of my friends in college had a . . . well, I think she might’ve been bulimic. She’d go on eating binges and then . . . well, you know.”

  He nodded. “Sasha doesn’t do that, as far as I know. She just refuses to eat. She eats as little as she possibly can. Do you think I should have her talk with her school counselor?”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “About a week, but I want to nip it in the bud.”

  “Why don’t you let me talk with her and see if I can get a feel for what’s going on with her?”

  Ray frowned. “If she knew I’d told you, she’d kill me.”

  “Then how about I invite the girls to go Christmas shopping with me? Although it would need to be tonight, since Margo will be here tomorrow morning. I could buy them dinner and it would give me a chance to see what I can find out.”

  “That sounds fantastic. You’re a genius, Katie Bonner. I could kiss you!” His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “Figuratively speaking, of course. I mean . . . you know what I mean.”

  Katie laughed. “I know what you mean, Ray. But don’t get your hopes up. Sasha might not level with me.”

  “I believe she’ll come closer to talking with you than to anyone else.”

  Knowing the girls always stopped by Ray’s shop on their way home from school, she told him to have them drop by Artisans Alley. “Hopefully, they don’t already have plans. If they do, we can always—”

  “They won’t. I generally don’t allow them to go out on school nights. But I can make an exception this time.”

  “Good. I’ll let you know what I find out.” She turned to go.

  “Wait,” Ray said.

  Katie turned back to him.

  “I thought you should know—I talked to Schuler.” Was it pertinent that he couldn’t voice the former deputy’s new rank? “It seems Vonne Barnett’s death was no accident.”

  Katie’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “Word is that the accident was staged. The ME says she was killed by a blow to the back of the head and then placed in the car.”

  Katie felt her legs wobble and she gripped the worktable for support. Ray put down his cookie and came around the side of the table to place a stool under her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have blindsided you like that.”

  “N-no. It’s all right.” She lowered herself onto the stool. “I’m just stunned. Poor Francine. To lose a child in an accident is one thing, but to find out your child was murdered . . .” She shuddered.

  Ray rested a hand on her shoulder. “I really wish I hadn’t told you. But I knew you’d find out sooner or later.”

  “No. I’m glad you told me. I made some cookies for Francine, too—not festive, no sprinkles, just round sugar cookies. But now the thought of taking them to her seems frivolous.”

  “It’s still a nice gesture, Katie.”

  “I don’t know. When someone dies, people take casseroles or pies to the family—not sugar cookies.”

  “When Rachel died, we had casseroles coming out our ears. The girls and I would have been very happy with sugar cookies.”

  She smiled. “You’re just saying that.”

  “I’m not. We had to donate the majority of those casseroles to a homeless shelter.”

  Katie stared into Ray’s watery blue eyes for a long moment. As a widow, she understood his grief at the loss of his wife—the mother of his children. She stood. “I’d better go. Don’t forget to send the girls over.”

  “I won’t. And thanks again. This means more than you know.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Katie had just finished updating the profit-ratio spreadsheet—and things were looking mighty fine indeed—and was sitting in her office munching on a peppermint as a reward when Rose knocked on the office doorjamb. She scrunched up her face and shook her head, setting her blonde curls to bouncing.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Rose said. “It’s bound to be murder on your teeth.”

  Katie motioned the older woman inside and asked her to shut the door. “That’s a funny choice of words. As it happens, Ray Davenport told me earlier that Vonne Barnett over at Afternoon Tea didn’t die in the accident. She was murdered, and the car wreck was staged.”

  Rose gasped as she lowered herself onto the chair by Katie’s desk. “Is he sure?”

  “He said someone from the Sheriff’s Office told him.”

  “They wouldn’t make something like that up,” Rose said, and worried the bow attached to the collar of her red silk blouse.

  “I never heard of Vonne having any enemies. Did you?”

  “The only people I can think of who didn’t care too much for Vonne would be . . . you know . . . romantic rivals. She could be quite the flirt, and she’d made it clear lately that she was in the market for a husband in a big way.”

  Katie frowned. “Really? I hadn’t heard that.”

  Rose inclined her head. “I don’t know if there’s any truth to it or not, but I understand Vonne even got too friendly with Liz Meier’s husband, and Liz let her know she didn’t appreciate it.”

  “Was Vonne drunk at the time?”

  “I don’t know. But the word is Vonne did like her alcohol.”

  Francine had asked the detective if Vonne had been stopped for DUI again.

  “I wonder if Francine knows Vonne was murdered,” Rose murmured.

  “I’m guessing yes. I mean, surely they’d have told her before they’d tell an ex-member of the Sheriff’s Office like Ray Davenport. Wouldn’t they?”

  Rose raised her bony shoulders. “The open sign is on over at the shop. How could Francine be working if she knew someone had murdered her daughter?”

  Katie frowned. “How could she be working when her daughter has just died, period? Since business hasn’t been good lately, maybe she feels like she has to. I think I’ll go check on her. Do you want to come?”

  “Yeah. I’ll see if Vance can man the cash register. But before I do, there’s something you need to know.”

  “How well should I brace myself?”

  “Not much, I wouldn’t think,” Rose said. “It’s Godfrey Foster. He’s complaining about the ballerinas.”

  The ballerinas Rose spoke of were from It’s Tutu Much, the dance studio on the north side of the building. Quite a few of the pupils were practicing for a performance of The Nutcracker. How a group of charming little girls could be bothering Godfrey was beyond her. But, then, if cute kids were going to be an aggravation to anyone, it would
be Godfrey. Back in September, he’d made such a stink about the odor emanating from the nail salon that Katie had been determined to kick the guy out. But Godfrey begged to stay, offering to pay not only a year’s rent in advance, but ten percent more to keep his booth of dryer lint art going. Several vendors had come to her to plead his case, which made Katie suspect he might have paid them to do so, since it seemed his friendships with other vendors were few and far between. She’d let him stay, and so far, he hadn’t caused any more trouble—but his mere presence still irked her.

  “And what are the tiny dancers doing to perturb dear Mr. Foster?” Katie asked.

  Rose’s lips twitched in an obvious effort not to laugh. “They took a coloring book page and stuck different colors of chewed gum onto it, signed it Goofrey, and left it in his booth.”

  Katie burst out laughing. “I’d love to see that. Do you have it?”

  Rose joined in the laughter. “No. Godfrey threw it away. It was all I could do not to laugh while he was telling me about it.”

  “We’ll tell him that if it happens again, he needs to hold on to such an item as evidence.”

  “He might even be able to dig that one out of the trash,” Rose said.

  “Uh . . . no, thanks. I don’t want to come within fifty feet of anything that has been in Godfrey’s trash. Are you ready to go to the tea shop now?”

  “Sure. Let me go get Vance.”

  Vance Ingram’s booth featured small wooden furniture and he was Katie’s unofficial second-in-command. He’d helped the former owner run the place and knew just about everything there was to know about Artisans Alley. Once Rose had enlisted the skinny Santa Claus look-alike, and Katie retrieved the cookies she’d made for Francine, she and Rose donned their coats and battled the bracing wind as they crossed the parking lot to Afternoon Tea.

  A woman sat at a table in the far corner of the room reading a paperback and sipping a cup of tea, but she appeared to be the tea shop’s sole customer.

  Francine sprayed a cleaning solution onto the counter and wiped it up with a paper towel. “Hello, ladies, and welcome to Afternoon Tea. Would you like to try our blackberry ginger tea?”