for free.”
“Then call in an appraiser who’ll tell customers what their works of fine art are worth.”
Katie thought about it. “That might be workable.”
“We could also do special displays out in the lobby, showing customers how to decorate their homes with our products.”
“Another good suggestion. Thank you, Polly.”
Polly scowled. “I see no reason for you to patronize me, Mrs. Bonner.”
Katie’s jaw clenched. “I’m serious, Polly. And I’ll do what I can to make your suggestions happen.”
Polly’s mouth tightened, but before she could speak, a sharp, insistent knock sounded—just the disruption Katie could’ve hoped for. She abandoned her toffee, and rose, sidling past Polly to open the door. Standing with a hand poised to knock again was Edie Silver. A marked contrast to prim and proper Polly, Edie looked like somebody’s grandma, from her pink polyester pantsuit to her Velcro-clasped sneakers. Only now her face was twisted with agitation.
“Oh, Katie—it’s Rose. You’ve got to do something!”
“What’s wrong?”
“She found this morning’s newspaper and…”
Katie had forgotten all about the headline story indicating Heather had been alive when she’d been entombed in the old Webster mansion’s walls. “Where is she?”
“In the cloakroom crying her eyes out.” Edie caught sight of Polly standing behind Katie, and her cheeks reddened.
Before Polly could explode, Katie placed a hand on Edie’s shoulder, turning her around. “Come with me,” she said, and hurried the older woman along.
“We haven’t finished our conversation,” Polly called after them.
As ever, the cloakroom’s brown-painted walls exuded a depressing aura. The sounds of racking sobs did nothing to lighten the gloom. Rose sat hunched over, elbows on the card table, her head resting on her hands, the morning newspaper spread out before her.
Katie paused in the doorway, unsure if she should venture farther. “Oh, Rose, I’m so sorry. I was hoping you wouldn’t see the newspaper article.”
The older woman raised red-rimmed eyes toward Katie.“You knew? All day long you knew about this and said nothing?”
“How could anyone tell her friend news like that?” Katie said, braving a step forward. But she knew, hard as it would have been, that she should have somehow found the courage to do so.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again, stepping forward to rest a hand on Rose’s shoulder, knowing her excuse was as inadequate a defense as she’d ever heard. “But I promise we’ll find out why Detective Davenport misled you.”
Anger tightened Rose’s face. “Do you think he’s still over at the mansion?” she asked, pushing her chair from the table and rising. “Let’s go confront him now.”
“That mean old cop is gone,” Edie said. “I saw him dump some boxes in his car and take off a few minutes ago. Must’ve left half an inch of rubber on the tarmac.”
“Perhaps tomorrow,” Katie suggested.
Rose wiped her eyes, then gathered up the newspaper, folding it. Mouth slackening, she stared at the teaser photo in the upper-right-hand corner. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered.
“What is it?” Katie asked.
Rose pointed to the picture. “That man, he’s—he’s—”
“He’s that famous movie director, Rick Jeremy, who’s giving money to the university,” Edie said.
“Oh, no, his name’s Jeremy Richards—he was Heather’s boyfriend!”
Six
Katie bent down to take a closer look at the muddied color photograph. “Are you sure?”
“See for yourself,” Rose said, and rummaged through the box of mementos she’d shared with Katie that morning.
Katie thumbed through the newspaper until she found the feature story with a larger version of the director’s portrait. She placed it on the card table. Rose selected a photograph from the box—Heather and Jeremy smiling—and set it next to the newsprint picture.
Edie crowded in. “Looks like the same guy
“Then call in an appraiser who’ll tell customers what their works of fine art are worth.”
Katie thought about it. “That might be workable.”
“We could also do special displays out in the lobby, showing customers how to decorate their homes with our products.”
“Another good suggestion. Thank you, Polly.”
Polly scowled. “I see no reason for you to patronize me, Mrs. Bonner.”
Katie’s jaw clenched. “I’m serious, Polly. And I’ll do what I can to make your suggestions happen.”
Polly’s mouth tightened, but before she could speak, a sharp, insistent knock sounded—just the disruption Katie could’ve hoped for. She abandoned her toffee, and rose, sidling past Polly to open the door. Standing with a hand poised to knock again was Edie Silver. A marked contrast to prim and proper Polly, Edie looked like somebody’s grandma, from her pink polyester pantsuit to her Velcro-clasped sneakers. Only now her face was twisted with agitation.
“Oh, Katie—it’s Rose. You’ve got to do something!”
“What’s wrong?”
“She found this morning’s newspaper and…”
Katie had forgotten all about the headline story indicating Heather had been alive when she’d been entombed in the old Webster mansion’s walls. “Where is she?”
“In the cloakroom crying her eyes out.” Edie caught sight of Polly standing behind Katie, and her cheeks reddened.
Before Polly could explode, Katie placed a hand on Edie’s shoulder, turning her around. “Come with me,” she said, and hurried the older woman along.
“We haven’t finished our conversation,” Polly called after them.
As ever, the cloakroom’s brown-painted walls exuded a depressing aura. The sounds of racking sobs did nothing to lighten the gloom. Rose sat hunched over, elbows on the card table, her head resting on her hands, the morning newspaper spread out before her.
Katie paused in the doorway, unsure if she should venture farther. “Oh, Rose, I’m so sorry. I was hoping you wouldn’t see the newspaper article.”
The older woman raised red-rimmed eyes toward Katie.“You knew? All day long you knew about this and said nothing?”
“How could anyone tell her friend news like that?” Katie said, braving a step forward. But she knew, hard as it would have been, that she should have somehow found the courage to do so.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again, stepping forward to rest a hand on Rose’s shoulder, knowing her excuse was as inadequate a defense as she’d ever heard. “But I promise we’ll find out why Detective Davenport misled you.”
Anger tightened Rose’s face. “Do you think he’s still over at the mansion?” she asked, pushing her chair from the table and rising. “Let’s go confront him now.”
“That mean old cop is gone,” Edie said. “I saw him dump some boxes in his car and take off a few minutes ago. Must’ve left half an inch of rubber on the tarmac.”
“Perhaps tomorrow,” Katie suggested.
Rose wiped her eyes, then gathered up the newspaper, folding it. Mouth slackening, she stared at the teaser photo in the upper-right-hand corner. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered.
“What is it?” Katie asked.
Rose pointed to the picture. “That man, he’s—he’s—”
“He’s that famous movie director, Rick Jeremy, who’s giving money to the university,” Edie said.
“Oh, no, his name’s Jeremy Richards—he was Heather’s boyfriend!”
Six
Katie bent down to take a closer look at the muddied color photograph. “Are you sure?”
“See for yourself,” Rose said, and rummaged through the box of mementos she’d shared with Katie that morning.
Katie thumbed through the newspaper until she found the feature story with a larger version of the director’s portrait. She placed it on the card table. Rose selected a photograph from the box—Heather and Jeremy smiling—and set it next to the newsprint picture.
Edie crowded in. “Looks like the same guy
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