The Cracked Pot

by Melissa Glazer

  I found myself drawn to my raku pit for the first time since I'd stumbled across the body. The police tape was gone, and there was honestly no indication that something dire had ever happened there. As I stared at the pit where I buried the pots freshly removed from the gas kiln beside it, I began to wonder something that should have piqued my in terest from the start. What on earth had Richard been doing in my backyard in the first place? Did it have anything to do with him abandoning his car practically in my driveway the night before he was murdered? It was an odd place for a rendezvous, that was for sure.

  I'd asked Bill about putting a security light in back so we could see if someone was out there, but my husband had protested that a light would just make it easier for a burglar to see what he was doing. Why help him break into our house?

  I heard a noise in the woods in front of me, but the flash light beam was too weak to penetrate very far into the dark ness. I knew raccoons frequently ran through the woods, and neighborhood cats came and went as well. I'd just about decided that whatever it was had left when I heard a branch crack. From the sound of it, this was no raccoon. For once, my survival instinct was solid, and I raced back to the house, dropping the flashlight as I ran. There was enough moonlight to show the way, and the light I'd left on in the kitchen was like a beacon drawing me home. My heart was racing when I got back inside, but I didn't slow down until the door was safely dead-bolted behind me.

  "What happened? Did you see a ghost?"

  My husband was sitting at the kitchen table, polishing off the bowl of the chili I'd left him.

  "No, it was nothing. I just decided to go for a walk out back. How's your hand?"

  He flexed it slightly. "It's better. That medication knocked me out. Sorry about that."

  "Sleep has to be good for you," I said. "Did you enjoy your chili?"

  "I still am." He smiled as he took another bite. I sat across from him, happy that he was awake. "Thanks for this."

  "You're most welcome. I thought you might like some comfort food tonight."

  He stared at his hand. "It's not that bad, really."

  "I know. Accidents happen."

  He searched my eyes and saw no sarcasm in them. I heard his sigh of relief as he realized I wasn't going to say anything about what had happened.

  "Maybe I'm getting too old for this foolishness," Bill said.

  "You don't have to keep making furniture," I said, "but I know how much you love it. You shouldn't let this stop you. In fact, I think you should get back to it as soon as you're able."

  He shook his head. "The doctor told me to lay off until I've finished my prescription. It makes me kind of loopy."

  "I didn't mean tonight," I said. "But don't let this stop you for good."

  He nodded. "I have to admit, it was scary looking down and seeing that blood."

  "Did it hurt when the blade hit your hand?"

  He rubbed his chin with his good hand. "No, as a matter of fact, it didn't. It took me a few seconds to even realize that I'd been cut. Seeing the blood was what triggered the pain." He shook his head briefly. "The medication's taking care of it right now." He pushed his bowl away. "That was perfect. Carolyn, I hate to be this way, but I think I'm going back to bed."

  "That's a splendid idea," I said. "When are you due to take more medication?"

  "I've got another half an hour." He winced slightly. "Do you think it would hurt to speed it up a little bit?"

  "As long as you don't make a habit of it," I said. "Let me get it for you."

  "That's all right. I've got it on the nightstand. I'll see you in the morning."

  I kissed him quickly, then said, "Sleep tight."

  "With this stuff? That's not going to be a problem, be lieve me."

  It wasn't even nine yet, too early for me to go to bed. As Bill's snoring reached a particularly loud level of buzzsawing, I thought about making up the spare bedroom and bunking in there for the night. No, then I wouldn't be nearby if my husband needed me, and that was more impor tant than a sound night's sleep. I sat in the living room for an hour or so, doing not much of anything and had just about decided to turn in myself when I heard a tapping at the front door. Who on earth would come visiting this late? I flicked on the porch light and looked out the peephole, prepared to ignore whoever had come by.

  I changed my mind and opened the door the second I saw who it was.

  "Come in," I told Hannah. "What's going on?"

  "I didn't wake you, did I?"

  "No, but Bill's already asleep."

  She looked uncomfortable. "This can wait."

  "Hannah, he's on medication for his hand. I doubt he'd hear us if we started a drum and bugle corps."

  She didn't come in. "I hadn't heard. What happened to him?"

  "There was a little accident in his shop," I said lightly, trying to disguise how I really felt about it. "He needed a few stitches, and he's on something for the pain. You've saved me from endless boredom. Now are you coming in, or should I join you outside?"

  "I'll come in, but I'm just going to stay a minute."

  "How's tea sound?" I said as I closed the door behind her and bolted it. "I'm in the mood for some Darjeeling."

  "I'll take anything but iced," she said. "It's really getting chilly out there."

  "Why don't you come back into the kitchen with me and we can chat while I put the kettle on."

  She joined me in the kitchen, and as I filled up my bur nished copper teakettle, Hannah said, "I didn't think any one made tea on a stove top anymore."

  "There are a few of us relics still out there," I said.

  "Carolyn, I didn't mean anything by it."

  I laughed as I said, "I know you didn't. I was joking my self. I know I can just as easily microwave the water, but there's something safe and reassuring about a teakettle, don't you think?"

  "I never thought about it before," she said, "but I suppose you're right."

  "If nothing else, it's a great deal more fun than a mi crowave." I rummaged through my cabinets until I found the tin with Darjeeling in it. It was awfully light, even for a container with tea leaves. My fears were realized when I saw that I was nearly out. "Okay, no Darjeeling. I've got a jasmine blend, and some sassafras tea as well. I know I have both of those."

  "I haven't had sassafras since I was a little girl," Hannah said. "Isn't it bad for you?"

  "This has been processed, so it's high time you revisit it. You still like licorice, don't you?"

  "Occasionally," she admitted, "though I'm afraid I haven't had that in ages, either."

  "Then you're in for a real treat." I pulled the sassafras chunks from the freezer where I kept them and dropped some in the kettle. "Now, let's see, I've got some cookies around here somewhere."

  "Carolyn, I don't need a snack. Would you sit down here with me? There's something we need to talk about."

  "That sounds serious," I said. "Perhaps it should wait un til after our tea is ready."

  "I suppose," she agreed. I was in no hurry for the kettle to whistle. Hannah was visibly upset, and I was almost certain it had something to do with Richard Atkins.

  Impatiently, she said, "You know what? I can't wait for the kettle to boil. I'm here to talk about David."

  "What about him?" I asked as the kettle began to whistle. "The sheriff didn't arrest him after all, did he?"

  "No, at least he hadn't half an hour ago when I left him. This is about Annie."

  I reached for the kettle and strained two mugs of tea. The sassafras had a strong licorice smell to it, and to be honest, I kept it just as much for the mildly sweet aroma it gave off as I did to drink the brew.

  "I've made it a point to stay out of David's love life," I said as I handed Hannah a mug.

  "Well, you're not his mother," she replied.

  "No, but I care about him, and I hate to see him get hurt as much as anybody does, with the possible exception of you."

  "I know, excuse me for being so snippy. He's just devas tated this girl has
broken his heart."

  I looked at her closely. "Have you talked to him today?"

  "No, that's the problem. He was mooning all over the house last night, and now he hasn't even come home. I'm worried sick about him."

  "He's a grown man, Hannah. The last time I saw him, he was going to try to win her back. Have you considered the possibility that he was successful, and that they're together right now?"

  "Which is worse?" she asked softly, most likely thinking I hadn't heard.

  "If you have to ask that, you're not the mother you think you are. Hannah, you can't keep him your baby boy forever. He has the right to a life of his own. Look, don't borrow trouble. Wait to hear what he has to say before you con demn him for something he may not have even done."

  I don't think she could have looked any more shocked if I'd slapped her. With an expression devoid of all emotion, she put the mug down and left, without a peep, a whimper, or a single word. Perhaps I'd gone too far at last. This might be the breach that couldn't be fixed with club sandwiches or tea. But the words needed to be said, and Hannah needed to hear them. Suddenly I was very tired, of everything. What I needed now was rest, and time to lock the world away.

  With the collection of nightmares I had, I might as well have stayed awake. Bill's snoring beside me didn't help matters, though I couldn't say it hurt all that much, either.

  After my restless night, I wasn't ready to face a new day when my alarm went off, but I didn't have much choice.

  Bill was annoyingly refreshed as he popped up beside me. "That was some night. How'd you sleep?" he asked as he practically leapt out of bed.

  "Barely," I said.

  "Really? I had a great rest. My hand's not even that sore. I think I'll go back to the shop today."

  "Don't you think you should take a little more time off? You don't want to rush it, and if you even get near those pills, I won't allow any woodworking. Do you under stand?"

  Normally my scolding would set him off, but not today. "I don't need them, I tell you. Maybe tonight, though." The grin on his lips made me uneasy.

  "Pain pills are the easiest thing in the world to get ad dicted to," I said. "Easier than heroin, alcohol, or cocaine." I wasn't entirely sure that was true, but I didn't want my hus band hooked on the medication. That wasn't the whole story, though. For some reason, my dear spouse was aggra vating the fool out of me, and I felt the need to come down hard on him.

  "Hey, I'm the one who said I was done with them, re member? If I don't hurt, I don't need them, and I won't take any more."

  "That's a slippery slope, and you know it. Tell you what. Why don't I hang on to them for you."

  "I'm not a child, Carolyn. I'm perfectly capable of dis pensing my own medication. I'm going to go take a shower," he said grumpily.

  I felt a twinge of guilt about crushing his good mood. But I was still upset with his jaunty attitude. Out of aggrava tion more than anything else, I stole into the bedroom and put his bottle of pills by the cleaning supplies in the kitchen. He'd never look there; I had full confidence in that. If he asked, I'd turn them back over to him, but he was going to have to make the request.

  After he got out of the shower, he didn't mention the pills again, and I certainly wasn't going to bring it up. I made us eggs for breakfast, and he headed back to his workshop.

  Or so I thought.

  "Carolyn, you might want to come out here," he said as he called to me from the back porch.

  "What happened, did another dog make a deposit on our deck?" Some of the neighborhood dogs loved leaving us lit tle presents, and Bill had threatened to electrify the entire place on more than one occasion.

  "No, it's nothing like that. Come out here. Now."

  "All right, I'm coming. There's no need to be so gruff about it," I said as I joined him outside.

  The second I got outside, I saw what had disturbed him so. Someone had scrawled the words "BUTT OUT" on my car windshield in big block letters with a black Sharpie pen.

  "That's rather clear, isn't it?" I said.

  "Who did this?" Bill asked. "Do you have any idea?"

  "It could have been a dozen different people," I said, more honestly than I wanted to admit.

  "I'm going to call the sheriff," Bill said as he started back inside.

  I grabbed his sleeve, being careful not to touch his hand. "Don't, Bill. It's not going to do any good."

  "He needs to be told someone's threatening you," Bill said, shaking off my grip.

  "Let me deal with it in my own way," I said. I couldn't imagine Hannah writing such a terse message, but she'd been angrier than I'd ever seen her in my life. I couldn't rule it out, not completely.

  "Are you at least going to take the advice?" he asked.

  "What do you think?"

  "I think I wasted my breath even asking you the ques tion," he said as he started to walk away.

  "Where are you going?" I asked.

  "If you're not going to let me call the sheriff, I'm going to my workshop."

  He stormed off to his shop and went inside. It was a hun dred feet from my raku pit, on the other edge of our property line, and I wondered if my woodlands visitor might have done something to my husband's shop. He didn't come back out, so I had to assume it was undisturbed.

  I went back into the house, grabbed the phone, then stared at it a full minute before I had the nerve to dial the number I had to call.

  "Yes?" Hannah said, her voice full of frost.

  "It's me," I said. "I want to talk to you about what hap pened last night."

  "There's nothing to talk about," she said.

  "You didn't leave me any messages, did you?" There, I'd said it.

  "I haven't called you. Why would you think I had?"

  "I'm not talking about on the telephone. I mean on my windshield."

  "Carolyn, what on earth are you talking about?"

  "I didn't think you'd do it," I said.

  "What was the message?"

  I had to tell her. "It said 'butt out.' "

  "I can understand the sentiment, but I didn't leave the message," she said, and then she hung up.

  That answered that. I knew Hannah well enough to know that if she'd done it, she would have at least admitted it to me. So, who else wanted me to mind my own business? It could have been a message from Rose Nygren, Kendra Williams, Mayor Harvey Jenkins, or my uncle Don Rut ledge. Then again, it could have been half a dozen other people I didn't even realize I'd offended with my im promptu investigation. Whoever it was, they were going to have to do better than that to get me to stop.

  If anything, I was more determined than ever to find out what had happened to Richard Atkins in my raku pit, and just as important, why.

  Butch Hardcastle was waiting for me in front of the shop when I got there thirty minutes later. He handed me a cup of coffee. "I thought you could use this."

  "How did you know I didn't meet Hannah this morn ing?" Was the man watching me?

  "I didn't. Here, give it back and I'll drink it."

  "Not on your life," I said. "I need this."

  "Two cups already? I don't want to be the one responsi ble for you getting the jitters."

  I opened the door and let him in. "As a matter of fact, Hannah and I skipped our morning ritual," I said as I deadbolted the door behind us.

  "Are you two squabbling again?" he asked.

  "I'm afraid I might have pushed things a little too far this time." I told him what I'd said to Hannah about David and waited for his reaction. All he did was listen. "No com ment?"

  "Are you kidding? I've got enough problems without getting involved in a fight between two strong-willed women. No, I'll stay on the sidelines for this one."

  I snorted. "A fat lot of help you are, then. So, what brings

  you here so early? I wouldn't think you'd be up at this hour."

  He grinned. "I've found it's a whole lot easier if you don't go to bed first."

  "You've been up all night? My mother always told me n
othing good happens after midnight."

  Butch pulled up a chair and sat down. "Then we wouldn't have had much in common. Sometimes I think just the opposite is true."