A Murderous Glaze

by Melissa Glazer

  “You always do. If you need me, call me. And if you’re at that shop of yours after dark, give me a buzz, and don’t leave until I get there. You understand? Don’t get all huffy, Carolyn. I’m just worried about you.”

  It was one of my husband’s longer speeches, and I knew he meant well. “I’m locking up and heading out as soon as we get off the phone. I’ll see you later.”

  “You can count on it,” he said.

  Since my husband had given in to one of his whims, I thought about what I’d like to eat if I were to ignore my worries about extra calories. A dessert dinner sounded great, filled with banana splits, hot fudge sundaes, and parfaits, but I knew I could never eat that kind of junk without feeling guilty about it. I decided to see what was in my refrigerator at home. As I grabbed my keys, I remembered Larry Wickline. Should I call him again, or leave it until morning? Chances were his line would still be busy, and then I could forget about him for the night with a clear conscience.

  Blast it all, the man had the gall to pick up on the first ring. After his abrupt hello, I said, “Mr. Wickline, my name is Carolyn Emerson, and I just called to extend my sympathy on the loss of your wife.” I figured if I made myself a sympathetic ear, he might be willing to talk about his ex.

  “She was my ex-wife, and I’ve been celebrating since I heard the news.”

  I could hear the drunken tone in his voice. Maybe I could get him with his guard down, if I played it right. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you so happy about it?”

  “Why? You’re kidding, right? Are you sure you knew her? The woman was a hag, through and through.”

  I couldn’t necessarily disagree with his assessment, but that hadn’t been the role I’d chosen to play. “Surely there must have been something good about her. You married her, didn’t you?”

  “And I didn’t live a single day after that I didn’t regret it. But now she’s gone.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?” I may have been pushing him a little too hard, but I was afraid he was going to get bored with me and hang up. One thing I knew. I was not going to that man’s house while he was in a drunken state and brace him about his ex-wife. That would be a whole new level of foolishness, one I didn’t want to reach.

  “Gave her a check the day she died. She cashed it, can you believe it? I guess I shouldn’t mind. It was a going-away present, wasn’t it?” Then he laughed so hard I thought he was going to drop the telephone. The laugh turned into a hacking cough, and I heard the phone hit the floor.

  “Mr. Wickline? Are you all right?”

  “Think I’m going to be sick,” he said, and then he hung up on me. So Larry Wickline admitted seeing his ex-wife the day she died. That meant he had motive and opportunity, and anybody could have taken an awl from my shop and stabbed her as a means of murder.

  But something was troubling me, something that had been nagging at the back of my mind all day. I still couldn’t figure out why Betty had ended up in my shop in the first place. I was going about this all wrong. Instead of looking at who might want Betty dead, I should be trying to figure out why she was in my pottery shop when she had no right on earth to be there. If I knew that, it might just lead me to the murderer. Suddenly I wasn’t in the mood to face the sparse offerings in my refrigerator.

  It was time to visit Shelly.

  “Well, look who slipped her leash. Out on the town by yourself?” Shelly Ensign smiled when I walked in the door of her café. She was a petite woman who ran her grill the way Patton disciplined his troops. The café had been decorated last in the fifties, with black and white tiles on the floor, red vinyl tabletops, and mismatched chairs throughout the place. It was just about the homiest place I’d ever eaten.

  “Why don’t you hand that spatula off to somebody else and join me?”

  She smiled. “You’re kidding, right? Nobody uses this but me.” Shelly touched the spatula lovingly for a second, then asked, “What would you like?”

  I thought about getting a salad, honestly I did, but I found myself ordering a duplicate of my husband’s dinner. Shelly laughed. “You two should have eaten together, since you’re both having the same thing.”

  As I ate, Shelly took a second and came close to my seat at the bar. “How are you, Carolyn?”

  “I’ve been better,” I said. “How about you?”

  She looked around. “Nobody’s dumped any bodies here, so I’m doing better than you are. Anything I can do?”

  “No, not unless you know who did it.”

  Shelly shook her head. “I have a suspect list that covers half of Maple Ridge, but I’m guessing you’ve got one like that yourself. Tell you what, I’ll keep my ears open.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  I would have loved to chat more with her, but the dinner rush began and Shelly was soon lost in a blur of food prep.

  I didn’t have any insights by the time I left, but I did have a full belly.

  At least that was something.

  Chapter 5

  “So what did you end up eating tonight?” Bill asked me as he walked in the house later that night.

  “This and that. I didn’t have a real meal,” I said. Well, I didn’t. I didn’t consider a hamburger, fries, and a milkshake a real dinner. I wasn’t about to admit that I’d matched his choices, though.

  He misread the look of indigestion on my face for one of disapproval. “I let you down tonight, didn’t I?”

  “I’m a big girl,” I said. And getting bigger by the meal. “I can fend for myself.”

  “Tell you what, tomorrow night, I’ll take you out for a real meal. How does that sound?”

  I was stuffed at the moment, and the thought of anything else to eat made me queasy. “We’ll see.”

  Bill misread me again. Looking a little hurt, he said, “I said I’m sorry. Don’t be that way.”

  “Fine. Dinner tomorrow night sounds fine.” I didn’t mean to sound petulant, but what I needed was an antacid, not a dinner invitation.

  “I’m not sure I want to go now,” he said.

  “Whatever,” I said. I hurried to the bathroom medicine cabinet where we kept the Alka-Seltzer. I didn’t want Bill to see me downing the stuff, especially after I’d scolded him for his eating habits.

  As I finished drinking the antacid, I heard a tap on the door. “Carolyn, I’m sorry.”

  I rinsed the cup and put it back on the stand, then opened the door. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

  “You forgive me, then?” He had a hurt look in his eyes that I couldn’t stand.

  I hugged him and said, “Always. Now let’s change the subject, okay?”

  “That’s fine by me,” he said, the hurt gone. “What did you do today?”

  “Can we talk about something else?” I asked as I walked into the living room.

  “Bad day at the shop?”

  “You could say that,” I said, not wanting to have this conversation either.

  “But you weren’t at the shop all day, were you?”

  I bolted up off the couch. “Bill Emerson, have you been spying on me?”

  “I popped in to say hi, but David told me you were gone. Nosing around, were you?”

  “For your information, I was doing some charity work.” I reached for my purse and plucked out Tamra’s check. Waving it under his nose, I said, “If you must know, I’ve been raising money for new books for the elementary school library. You don’t know as much as you think you do, buster.”

  He raised both palms toward me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Hang on a second.” He left the room for a minute, and when he came back, he had a fifty in his hands. “Here.”

  “What’s that for?”

  “More books. Don’t worry, it’s out of my chair money.”

  We lived off his retirement and my shop income, but Bill had allotted some of the money he made creating furniture as allowances for each of us. I’d resisted the idea at first, but it was nice for each of us
to have some “mad” money to spend however we wanted.

  “You don’t need to do that,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty about my deception.

  “Don’t have to. Want to.” He said.

  I had no choice but take the money, but I promised myself I’d match his donation. This investigation was costing me more than I thought.

  The telephone rang just before bed, and I thought about ignoring it, but it could have been one of the boys, and I hated when I missed their calls.

  “Carolyn, it’s Kendra.”

  Great. Probably the last person in the world I wanted to talk to just before bed.

  “It’s pretty late, Kendra. Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “I thought you’d want to know what I found out,” she said, managing to sound hurt.

  “Sorry. I do appreciate you helping out.”

  “I won’t keep you, but I’ve been asking around, on the sly of course, and I’ve come up with two possibilities.”

  After a long pause, I said, “I’m waiting.”

  “One is Malcolm Pickens at the bank.”

  “Malcolm? You’re kidding me. I can’t see him having an affair with anybody, let alone Betty.” Malcolm was a bald, portly man with a gap-toothed smile, not that he ever brought it out much.

  “That’s not the half of it. You’ll never believe who the other one is.”

  “Do I have to guess?” I asked. I swear, that woman could drive me crazy.

  “It’s none other than our dear sheriff, John Hodges.”

  “What? Are you sure?” I’d spoken to the sheriff twice since the murder, and he hadn’t given the slightest indication that he’d been seeing Betty. Or had he? I had been in shock finding the body that night. I was so focused on myself that I hadn’t really noticed what was going around me. And then I realized that Kendra might just have something. Hodges had lingered over Betty’s body when he’d arrived, and he’d knelt beside her longer than it would take to check for a pulse. He’d even rubbed his eyes a little during our first talk, but he’d claimed it had been allergies, and I’d believed him. That put a whole new light on things. Maybe I wouldn’t have to investigate after all. If Betty was his girlfriend, surely he’d want to find her killer. Then again, maybe he was convinced I’d done it. If that was the case, nothing would stop him from putting me away. It certainly cast a new set of shadows over the mess I was in.

  “Carolyn, are you still there?”

  “Sorry, I got lost in a thought for a second. Kendra, thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

  “Any time,” she said smugly.

  Bill put his book aside and asked, “What was that all about?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  He shook his head. “Nope, I really don’t.”

  “Good, then I won’t have to tell you.”

  When he saw I wasn’t going to say anything, he finally said gruffly, “You can cross Malcolm off your list.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it.”

  “I don’t.” He sighed with obvious exasperation. “But I don’t have much choice, do I?”

  “Why couldn’t Malcolm have done it?”

  “He’s been in Boston all week on vacation. I doubt he’d trot back up here just to knock Betty off.”

  I studied my husband a second, then asked, “And how did you happen to come across that information? You haven’t been snooping, too, have you?”

  “We both get our hair cut at People’s Barbershop. He mentioned it last week when I went in for a trim.” Bill reached over and turned off the light by his side of the bed. “Good night.”

  “Night,” I said. So I could take Malcolm off my list. But that still left me Sheriff Hodges.

  Whether it was because of my meal, some lingering memories of finding Betty’s body in my shop, or the discovery that our sheriff may have been dating the murder victim, I had the oddest set of dreams and nightmares I’d ever had in my life that night. As a result, I didn’t actually get much rest. I finally gave up trying to sleep at all a little after 4 A.M. I had another day of investigating ahead of me, and I was also going to have to go by the school and make my growing book-fund donation before the principal got wind of what I was up to.

  Bill didn’t even wake up as I dressed, and I thought about telling him I was going to Fire at Will early, but I knew he’d never get back to sleep if I did, and there was no sense in both of us being grumpy. Instead, I left him a note on my pillow, telling him where I’d gone.

  I drove to the shop through the dark and quiet streets of town. It was almost surreal seeing the places I knew so well in the light of day, now dark and deserted.

  I wasn’t about to park in the upper lot so far away from the store—not that early in the morning—but I couldn’t bring myself to park right in front of the shop, either. Compromising, I tucked the Intrigue into an area a block away, in front of the now empty Emily’s Donut World. The place had kept the same name under several different owners, but it never managed to stay open more than three months at a time. I was starting to think that businesses could be cursed, or at least locations.

  Wrapping my coat around me, I walked briskly to Fire at Will. True to the weatherman’s word, it was actually spitting snow, though from the look of it, there wouldn’t be any accumulation. That was fine by me. I’d had more than my fill for the year and was ready for some warm weather.

  In record time, I was safely behind locked doors again, but I resisted the urge to turn on the shop’s lights. I didn’t exactly want to advertise my presence to the world. Instead, I made my way to the back, and once the dividing door was shut between the paint-your-own area and the pottery wheels, I allowed myself a single light in my office. If I paid some bills and took care of a dozen other chores like reordering supplies and checking out the new catalogs, I might not feel quite so guilty deserting David later in the day to continue my investigation into Betty’s murder.

  Wanting to spend my time wisely, I struggled to balance the company checkbook, but it was no use. I was too tired. Why hadn’t I been able to sleep at home? I knew that if I didn’t get some rest, I was going to be crabby the entire day. So I grabbed a comforter from the closet and stretched out on the couch near my office. Just as I settled down to sleep, I heard what sounded like an explosion in front of the shop.

  Without thinking, I threw the dividing door open and raced toward the front of the store. In hindsight, I realized I should have used the back exit and called the police from my cell phone, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. Flipping on the light, I saw a figure through the broken front window retreating into the darkness. What had he been trying to do, get in my shop in search of something? Or was he just trying to scare me off? If it was the latter, he was doing a darn fine job of it. The front window display was a ruined mess, and shards of glass lay everywhere. A tumbled old brick lay in the middle of the debris. Whoever had done this hadn’t been a big fan of subtlety. I reached for a broom, my natural reaction to any untidiness, then decided I’d better call the police before I touched anything.

  I had to give Sheriff Hodges’s staff some credit; someone arrived minutes after I hung up. Instead of the sheriff, though, a young patrolwoman pulled up in front of the shop.

  I saw that her name badge said “Sally Jones” as I watched her take in the shattered window. She turned to me and asked, “Are you all right?”

  “To be honest with you, I’m angry more than anything else. Can I clean this mess up now?”

  “Let me get a few pictures first. Do you mind turning on more lights?”

  “No, that’s no problem at all.”

  After she’d taken photos of the scene, she said, “You can clean it up, but you might want to wait until your insurance agent gets here. He’ll want to see it for himself.”

  At least the snow had stopped, though the predawn wind was icy. “I never thought about that. I suppose I’ll have to file a claim, won’t I?”

  “It’s up to you.
You might want to see how much it would be to replace the window yourself before you call anybody, though. That way your premiums won’t go through the roof. I need to ask you a few questions. Were you here when this happened?”

  I nodded. “I was in back. I decided to come in early and pay some bills. You know, get an early jump on things. Nobody knew I was here.”

  “At least not that you’re aware of.” She looked at me for a second before she jotted my response down in her notebook. “Is there any reason you can think of why someone would do this?”

  “No, nothing I can put my finger on.”

  She nodded. “It’s probably just a random act of vandalism. We get them occasionally, even in Maple Ridge.” The officer almost looked guilty as she added, “I’ve got to call the sheriff. Since the murder happened here earlier, we’ve got a red flag on your business. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any choice.”

  “I understand. You’re just doing your job.”

  She nodded her thanks, then spoke into her radio. “Audrey, you need to wake the sheriff up.”

  “I already did when the call came in,” the dispatcher replied. “He’s on his way.”

  Less than a minute later I saw flashing lights approaching. At least he hadn’t used his siren.

  Hodges took in the shattered glass and the broken pottery, then nudged the brick that had been used with his foot. “Must have made a whale of a noise.”

  “I thought the roof was caving in,” I admitted.

  “You were here when it happened?” He looked surprised.

  “I was catching up on some paperwork,” I replied. Now the whole world would know I had insomnia.

  “You were lucky,” he said.

  I looked at the mess in the floor. “Oh yes, I feel like I just won the lottery.”

  “You’re alive, aren’t you?” He looked over at Sally and said, “You can go back on patrol. I’ve got it from here. Did you get some shots of this?”

  “Yes, sir. I’d be glad to finish up and write the report.”