Thoroughly disgusted with the folks I thought were my friends, I made my way back to Fire at Will. As I strolled along the brook walk, I suddenly realized I’d been ignoring my best source for gossip in all of Maple Ridge. If there was something going on in the shadows of our quaint old town, there was one woman who would surely know about it. It was time to brace Kendra Williams in her own little lion’s den.
Hattie’s Attic contained the most eclectic collection of goods for sale I’d ever seen in my life. There were some truly wonderful pieces buried in the aisles of chairs, signs, baskets, woodworking tools, and a myriad of other old things, but there were also some items of doubtful heritage and shady authenticity. The place was a little too dark for my tastes, its dim lighting reminding me of my grand-mother’s parlor, and I couldn’t imagine how Kendra spent so much time there. Then again, she probably wondered the same thing about me and all my messy glazes and clay.
I didn’t see Kendra when I first walked into Hattie’s Attic. Then I spotted a movement in back by the vintage clothing. Was she actually hiding from me?
“Kendra, come out here right now.”
Her nose poked out of the racks. “What do you want, Carolyn? I’ve got a customer coming any second to pick up an armoire. He’s bringing three of his friends to help him.” The woman was absolutely cowering.
I started walking toward where she was hiding.
“I mean it,” she shouted. “They’ll be here any second.”
“Then we don’t have long, do we? Kendra, you know this town better than anyone alive. I need your help.”
There was a ruffling sound in the clothes as she started to inch slowly forward. “What do you want to know?”
“Was Betty Wickline seeing anyone? I’m interested in a married man in particular.”
I saw a brief flash of a smile from Kendra, and I knew I had her. Even if she believed in her heart that I’d killed Betty, her desire to spread gossip was greater than her need for personal safety. “Why do you want to know?” she asked as she stepped free of the racks.
“Because I have to find out who killed Betty before I go broke. Nobody’s coming to my shop, and half the town won’t even speak to me.”
“So you’re going to try to find the killer on your own?” She sounded incredulous.
“I am, with a little help from my friends.” I choked back a breath as I added, “Like you.”
She approached me and held my shoulders with both hands. “Carolyn, I never doubted you. You can count on me.”
I think I liked her better when she was cowering in the clothes. “So, have you heard anything?”
“There have been rumors for the last few weeks, but I haven’t been able to pin anything down.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. If Kendra didn’t know, I had no idea how I was going to find out.
“Don’t give up that easily. I never had a reason to push for the information until now. Give me until noon tomorrow and I’ll have an answer for you. I’m so glad you came to me, Carolyn.”
I had to get out of there, and the stale smell of the place wasn’t the only reason. “Let me know as soon as you can, okay?”
“I will. You can count on me,” she said again.
I left, fighting the urge to run back to my shop. There was someone else I could talk to, but it would take the guts of a con man to do it. If I could speak with Tamra Gentry, I might be able to discover if she had a reason to want Betty Wickline dead.
Tamra’s mansion sat on the ridge full of maples our town had been named for. It was almost as if she was looking down on the rest of us from her lofty aerie. Lovely maples dotted the hillside, and in the autumn, their blazing leaves made the mountain look as though it were on fire. Her house was grand, a three-story colonial with massive white columns in front. I rang the bell, suddenly a little nervous about the way I was dressed. While my slacks, blouse, and jacket were good enough for everyday life, I felt more than a little underdressed at the moment.
To my surprise, an actual butler answered the door, and he managed to register his disdain for my interruption with nothing more than the slightest movement of his upper lip. “Yes?” he said, making the word sound more like an invocation than a query.
“I’d like to see Mrs. Gentry, please.”
“Is she expecting you?”
“No,” I said. I had to have some reason for calling on her. I mean, other than the real one. I said the first thing that came into my mind. “I’m here fundraising for the elementary school.”
“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Gentry is indisposed. Perhaps if you’d call later for an appointment.”
He was just closing the door when I heard Tamra’s voice. “James, who is it?”
Before he could answer, she brushed past him. I’d met Tamra a few times in the past, but our social circles didn’t exactly coincide. She was a striking woman, even without the cosmetic surgery. Her hair was like spun platinum, and her carriage was haughtily erect. I only hoped I’d look half that good when I was her age.
“I know you,” she said lightly. “You run that quaint little shop in the village.”
“Fire at Will,” I admitted.
“What a delightful name. Well, don’t just stand there. Come in. James, we’ll have coffee in the parlor. Unless you’d prefer tea,” she said, looking at me. “I have some wonderful blends.”
“Coffee’s fine,” I said.
“Wonderful. Come now, don’t tarry.”
I followed her into the living room, trying to take in all of the real antiques along the way. Despite the evidence to the contrary about her choice in men, in other things, Tamra Gentry had excellent taste. The theme in the living room was Queen Anne–style furniture, and an original Monet hung on one wall. The Oriental rug covering the mahogany floors was so lush I wanted to kick off my shoes and walk barefoot on it, but I doubted my hostess would appreciate that.
Tamra sat down on a settee and patted the spot beside her. “I heard something about a fundraiser,” she said. “What is the village up to now?”
She was so light and breezy with her conversation style I hardly noticed her condescending tone. I said the first thing that popped into my head. “They’re updating their book collection in the school library at the elementary school. The old ones are dated and falling apart.”
I had no idea whether it was true, but it sounded like a believable reason for my visit.
“That’s just dreadful,” she said in that same birdsong cadence. I could imagine her declaring the end of the world with the same airy tone. “I’m a huge fan of the written word.”
“I hate to trouble you with it,” I said.
“It’s no bother at all. I’m rattling around this place with no one to talk to but James, and his interest in conversation is rather limited. To be honest with you, I’m happy for the diversion. So tell me, what’s going on down in the village?”
It was the perfect opportunity, and one I wasn’t about to waste. “Betty Wickline was murdered. Have you heard about that? You knew Betty, didn’t you?”
She frowned, though no lines formed on her tightened features. “No, I can’t say I recall the name.”
“I believe she sat on the jury during your murder trial.”
I’d been hoping for some kind of reaction, but all of the plastic surgery she’d had must have given Tamra an incredible poker face because her expression did not change in the slightest. “I don’t dwell on the unpleasantness of the past,” she said.
“Your attorney knew her,” I said abruptly. “Someone spotted them talking right after the case.”
“Then perhaps you should speak with him,” she said softly, then added, “Ah, here’s our coffee. You may pour, James.”
It was an excellent brew, and there were the most delightful cookies on the tray as well. I found myself swept up in idle conversation, and only too late, I realized I’d told the woman much more about myself than she had told me about her. She was as skillful an interrogator as I’d
ever seen. Sheriff Hodges could take lessons from her.
After our repast, she ushered me out the door without a single opportunity to follow up with more questions about Betty’s death. The woman was smooth, I had to give her that.
As I was about to leave, James suddenly appeared with something in his hands. Tamra glanced at it, signed it, then gave it to me. “That should do nicely, don’t you think?”
It was a check for five thousand dollars, made out to the Maple Ridge Library Book Fund. Blast it all, now I’d have to convince the principal that they needed new books, and somehow explain how I’d started this fundraiser in the first place without consulting her.
I wasn’t ready to go home yet, though if we were going to eat on time, I’d have to get started making dinner pretty soon. Bill, bless his heart, had tried to learn to cook when he’d officially retired, but the only thing the man could make with any consistency were pancakes and scrambled eggs. He’d made a standing offer to me that any time I didn’t want to cook or eat out, he’d provide the dinner, but it was a rare night I was willing to face either one of his specialties.
I wondered where I could find Betty’s ex-husband, Larry Wickline. Butch had tracked him down at a bar, but I wasn’t eager to brace the man in one myself. Not that I’m a teetotaler. I like the odd glass of wine on occasion, but I got mine from the grocery store, not from a pub. I scatted back to the shop to look up Larry’s number in the phone book. Miracle of miracles, David was actually helping a customer at the cash register when I walked in! When she turned around, I saw that it was Cindy Maitland, one of the waitresses from the coffee shop.
“Don’t mind me, I just need something in my office.”
David was oblivious, but Cindy actually blushed. “I was just leaving.”
“Don’t rush off on my account.” Gad, now I was driving customers away from my shop.
She said, “I was on my break, but I need to get back.” As she was leaving, she turned to David and said, “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay. Come back any time.”
After she was gone, I said offhandedly, “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
“If you like redheads,” he said absently.
“That’s right, you prefer brunettes. Or should I say, one brunette in particular?”
“Don’t start, Carolyn.”
I wasn’t going to let up, though. “David, sweet, dear David, I understand why you think Julia Roberts is beautiful. My lands, even People magazine thinks so. But she’s married. With kids. You need to find someone more, well, for lack of a better word, attainable.” David had one of the biggest crushes in the world on Julia Roberts. Hannah told me his room was wallpapered with posters from her movies and signed photographs he’d bought on eBay. Hannah had gotten so tired of watching her movies that she’d bought him a personal DVD player just so she wouldn’t have to watch Mystic Pizza yet again.
“I just like her movies,” he said stubbornly. “Now can we talk about something else? Anything else?”
“Fine, the lecture on your love life is officially over. How have our sales been?”
“Cindy was it. She bought one of your ornaments, so that’s $2.95 in the till we didn’t have before. What’s wrong with these people, Carolyn? How could they imagine you had anything to do with Betty’s murder?”
I patted his shoulder. “David, this will pass. We just need to ride it out. In the meantime, did you have any luck with that new signature color you’ve been looking for?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got one kiln going right now. We’ll see in the morning.”
I glanced at the clock and saw that it was ten minutes until closing time. “Tell you what, why don’t you go on home. I can close up tonight by myself.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just stay here until my class tonight.”
I took in his hangdog expression. “Things a little rough at home?”
“She’s being so unreasonable. I never wanted to go to Travers in the first place. I’m a potter, Carolyn, not a student.”
“Why can’t you be both?” I asked. “You’re getting a golden opportunity for a free education, and your mom’s been pretty easygoing about you working here, too.”
“Up until now. You’ve got to talk to her, explain to her that I’m doing something serious here.”
“David, I’m afraid your mother and I have our own set of problems. I’m not going to do either of us any good if I start in about you.”
The front door chimed, and I was honestly surprised to see Hannah walk in. “Were you two talking about me?”
David started to stammer out an answer when I cut him off. “Your ears must have been on fire. I’m guessing you’re not here to throw a pot.”
“Why, do you have an ugly one you want shattered? If you do, then I’m your gal.”
“She meant on the pottery wheel, Mom.”
Hannah turned to her son. “David, I know perfectly well what she meant.”
“I’ve got some work to do in back,” I said, “if you two will excuse me.” It looked as though Hannah and David were going to have a heart-to-heart talk, and I didn’t want to intrude.
“Stay, Carolyn. This involves you, too.”
I shrugged and waited for what she had to say. Hannah nodded her approval, then looked at her son and said, “David, I’ve been talking to your professors at school.”
“I can’t believe you,” David said loudly. “You can’t do that, Mom.”
“I can, and I did,” she said. “They all say you’re doing wonderfully, by the way. I’m sorry I came down so hard on you last night.”
The poor guy didn’t know what hit him. Before he could say another word, Hannah looked me squarely in the eye and said, “I owe you an apology, too. I shouldn’t have deserted you this morning, especially with what you’re going through at the moment.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” I said, then added with a grin, “but today was my turn to buy, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to pick up the check tomorrow.”
“Fair enough,” she said.
David, clearly puzzled by what was going on, said, “I’ve got to go. I’ve got a class.”
He tore out the door before we could get out our goodbyes. Hannah waited a second, then started laughing. “That child can surely make an exit, can’t he?”
“When he wants to. Are you sure we’re okay?”
“Absolutely. He really is doing well in school. His advanced ceramics instructor told me David has a gift for glazes.”
“I could have told you that myself. Listen, I don’t have anything special planned for tonight, but would you like to have dinner with Bill and me? We’d love to have you.”
“Thanks, but I’ve already got plans.”
“A date, by any chance?” Hannah rarely went out, nearly always with disastrous results. She claimed she had bad luck when it came to men, and from what I’d seen, it was a fact I couldn’t dispute. Even when I’d tried to fix her up, the evening had been a debacle.
“No, I really do have to wade through those Shakespeare essays. I’ve put them off as long as I dare. I’d love to take a rain check, though.”
“Done.”
After Hannah was gone, I ran the reports on our cash register and transferred our meager funds from the till to my “safe.” Actually, I didn’t have a real safe on the premises—I had a ceramic pig in the back room that I used for one. No one in their right mind would suspect I was actually hiding my cash in a piggy bank.
I was almost ready to go home when I remembered Larry Wickline. Some detective I was. I looked up his number, called it, but got a busy signal. At least he was home.
Just as I put the receiver back, the telephone rang in my hand. “Hello?”
“That was fast,” my husband said on the other end of the line. “What were you doing, standing there waiting for me to call?”
“What can I say, I’m psychic. You’re calling about dinner, aren’t you?” I swear
, that man lived by his stomach.
“Yep, that’s right. Sorry, but I’m running into some problems with one of those dressers, so I’m going to work here at Olive’s shop. Don’t worry about me tonight. I already ate.”
“What did you have?”
“A salad.”
I didn’t have to see his face to know that he was lying. “Okay, suddenly you’re a worse liar than I am. Now what did you really eat for dinner?”
He chuckled softly. “What’s a salad have in it? Lettuce, right? Well, I had lettuce.”
Then I got it. “Did you have pickles and onions, too? You ate a hamburger, didn’t you?”
“I had the lettuce with it,” he said stubbornly.
“Bill Emerson, you need to eat better than that, and you know it. At least tell me you skipped the French fries.”
He sounded almost smug as he said, “They went great with the chocolate milkshake. Carolyn, I watch what I eat most of the time, but sometimes I want a hamburger, some fries, and a shake, and I don’t see any reason not to have them.” He sounded so stubborn, I could almost see his pout.
“You know what? You’re right. You’re a grown man. Just don’t make a habit of it.”
There was a pause, then he said, “You gave in way too easy. What have you been up to?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hah. And you said I was a worse liar than you were. You’ve been snooping around town, haven’t you?”
“I’m not going to dignify that remark with an answer.”
His suddenly barked out a laugh. “That’s because you can’t.”
“If you’re finished braying, I have to figure out what I’m eating for dinner.”
My husband’s voice was contrite as he said, “I should have taken you out with me. You could have had a burger, too.”
Usually I was pretty careful about watching what I ate, but with the stress I’d been under recently, a milkshake and burger might have been worth the calories. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll manage.”
A Murderous Glaze Page 6