her nonsense. Detective Davenport waspoking around Wood U for a while and then came in to talk to some of the vendors.”
Katie shook her head. When Ezra Hilton died, she couldn’t get Davenport to even think about the murder…but then, he’d had enough on his plate. It was just days after his own wife had died. He really should have taken his retirement then. But maybe he figured he could work through his grief better if he kept involved. That was how Katie had survived her husband’s early demise.
“Have you spoken with him?”
Vance nodded. “But I didn’t know Wheeler well—despite the fact we both worked in wood. I admit, I went in his shop a few times to check out his merchandise, but it was usually a woman working behind the till. We just never crossed paths.” He brandished the piece of paper and swiped a piece of tape from her desk dispenser. “I’ll hang this up—then I guess I’ll hightail it over to McDonald’s and get me a Big Mac and some fries. I’m starved.”
“I’m not confident the sign is going to stop the pilfering,” she called at his retreating back. No more than it would deter Nona Fiske from hauling out her parking signs again. Katie turned back to her computer. Maybe she should enlist Detective Davenport’s help in capturing the fridge food felon—that was one case he might surely solve before he was to retire at the end of the week.
She sat down at her desk and glanced at her list of things to do and decided to ignore it for just a while longer. Instead, she logged on to the Internet and clicked the bookmark for her favorite local TV station. She clicked on the update for the Wood U murder but found nothing new reported. A murder out in the sticks didn’t draw as much attention as one in a more affluent suburb.
She sat back in her chair and stared at the computer screen. It was still there on the corner of her screen—the Excel document that was simply labeled inventory. Itcalled to her on a regular basis. It and the file of pictures that was located elsewhere on her hard drive. She straightened, grabbed her mouse, and clicked on the icon. Seconds later, the inventory popped open. There, in loving detail, was every item she’d purchased for The English Ivy Inn. The bed frames. Claw-foot soaker tubs that needed to be painted on the outside with a new finish on the inside. Sconces. Dishes. Glassware. Cutlery. Two China cabinets. Dressers. Hand-painted Limoges dresser sets. A trunk full of doilies and other vintage linens. She’d even gotten a deal on a gross of padded hangers, figuring she could hang them in the closets and the armoires she’d purchased at auctions.
Her gaze fixed on the bottom of the spreadsheet, where all the figures were totaled. She’d spent nearly twelve thousand dollars on her treasures. She’s spent thousands more on the rent for the storage unit.
A rivulet of sweat trickled down her temple.
If she could sell the items in the storage unit, she could not only fix Artisans Alley’s HVAC problems, but eliminate the monthly storage fees.
They’re only things
, she told herself.
Things that were doing her no good.
Things that would deteriorate in long-term storage.
Things that she loved but had no personal use for.
I’m not ready to part with them
, she thought and closed the file.
She could afford to carry the rent on the unit for a few more months. Maybe in the fall she’d be ready to make a decision on selling them. Or maybe she’d cave in and move in with Andy if he would let her store her treasures in the apartment over the pizza parlor for the same discounted amount she was paying him for rent.
But she didn’t want to do that either.
She surely was channeling Scarlett O’Hara, because sheturned away from the computer and refused to contemplate the situation anymore. She’d think about it tomorrow. Or next Wednesday. Or in October.
More sweat trickled down her face.
She bent down and turned the fan on higher.
Five
Katie
Katie shook her head. When Ezra Hilton died, she couldn’t get Davenport to even think about the murder…but then, he’d had enough on his plate. It was just days after his own wife had died. He really should have taken his retirement then. But maybe he figured he could work through his grief better if he kept involved. That was how Katie had survived her husband’s early demise.
“Have you spoken with him?”
Vance nodded. “But I didn’t know Wheeler well—despite the fact we both worked in wood. I admit, I went in his shop a few times to check out his merchandise, but it was usually a woman working behind the till. We just never crossed paths.” He brandished the piece of paper and swiped a piece of tape from her desk dispenser. “I’ll hang this up—then I guess I’ll hightail it over to McDonald’s and get me a Big Mac and some fries. I’m starved.”
“I’m not confident the sign is going to stop the pilfering,” she called at his retreating back. No more than it would deter Nona Fiske from hauling out her parking signs again. Katie turned back to her computer. Maybe she should enlist Detective Davenport’s help in capturing the fridge food felon—that was one case he might surely solve before he was to retire at the end of the week.
She sat down at her desk and glanced at her list of things to do and decided to ignore it for just a while longer. Instead, she logged on to the Internet and clicked the bookmark for her favorite local TV station. She clicked on the update for the Wood U murder but found nothing new reported. A murder out in the sticks didn’t draw as much attention as one in a more affluent suburb.
She sat back in her chair and stared at the computer screen. It was still there on the corner of her screen—the Excel document that was simply labeled inventory. Itcalled to her on a regular basis. It and the file of pictures that was located elsewhere on her hard drive. She straightened, grabbed her mouse, and clicked on the icon. Seconds later, the inventory popped open. There, in loving detail, was every item she’d purchased for The English Ivy Inn. The bed frames. Claw-foot soaker tubs that needed to be painted on the outside with a new finish on the inside. Sconces. Dishes. Glassware. Cutlery. Two China cabinets. Dressers. Hand-painted Limoges dresser sets. A trunk full of doilies and other vintage linens. She’d even gotten a deal on a gross of padded hangers, figuring she could hang them in the closets and the armoires she’d purchased at auctions.
Her gaze fixed on the bottom of the spreadsheet, where all the figures were totaled. She’d spent nearly twelve thousand dollars on her treasures. She’s spent thousands more on the rent for the storage unit.
A rivulet of sweat trickled down her temple.
If she could sell the items in the storage unit, she could not only fix Artisans Alley’s HVAC problems, but eliminate the monthly storage fees.
They’re only things
, she told herself.
Things that were doing her no good.
Things that would deteriorate in long-term storage.
Things that she loved but had no personal use for.
I’m not ready to part with them
, she thought and closed the file.
She could afford to carry the rent on the unit for a few more months. Maybe in the fall she’d be ready to make a decision on selling them. Or maybe she’d cave in and move in with Andy if he would let her store her treasures in the apartment over the pizza parlor for the same discounted amount she was paying him for rent.
But she didn’t want to do that either.
She surely was channeling Scarlett O’Hara, because sheturned away from the computer and refused to contemplate the situation anymore. She’d think about it tomorrow. Or next Wednesday. Or in October.
More sweat trickled down her face.
She bent down and turned the fan on higher.
Five
Katie
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