A Murderous Glaze

by Melissa Glazer

  “Shards?” he screamed. “You broke some of my pottery?”

  “I didn’t; the brick coming through the plate-glass window this morning did.”

  That certainly got his attention. “Why would somebody throw a brick through your window? Do you think they were targeting my pottery?”

  This guy’s ego was unbelievable. “I’m sure that’s it. It probably doesn’t have anything at all to do with the murder the other night.”

  He looked as though his eyes were going to pop right out of his skull. “Murder? Who was murdered?”

  “Betty Wickline,” I said. “You got to know her pretty well in the few weeks you’ve been in town, didn’t you?” Okay, it was a total stab in the dark, and a mean thing to say at that, but I didn’t appreciate him jumping down my throat.

  For a split second, I thought he was going to cry. Then he reined in his expression before I could even be sure I’d seen it. “I knew her but not all that well. Who do the police suspect?”

  “I’m pretty high on their list,” I admitted, “but then again, so is anybody who has a key to the place, including you.”

  “I was in North Carolina,” he said hastily. “Surely the police can’t suspect me.”

  “Robert, you don’t know our sheriff. If I were you, I’d line up an alibi, and I’d do it pretty darn fast.”

  He scowled. “I don’t owe you an explanation or an alibi, either.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one asking. I just thought I’d give you a heads-up. You do still have the key I gave you, don’t you?”

  He looked down at his hands. “Actually, I lost it just before I left town. It was on my key ring, I would swear to that, but when I checked before going back to Carolina, I noticed that it was gone.”

  How convenient for him. “And you didn’t think to call me so I could change the lock?”

  “There was no time,” he said. “I had to leave in a hurry.”

  I don’t know what he was expecting, but I doubt it was the broad smile I gave him.

  He asked, “Why the smile?”

  “I can’t wait to hear you tell Sheriff Hodges that you lost your key. Do me a favor, call him now, would you? I’m willing to bet he’ll trot right over here to meet you.”

  Robert shook his head. “If he wants to talk to me, he can track me down himself. I didn’t have anything to do with the murder.”

  “I hope for your sake that’s true.” He started for the door, and I called out, “Hey, where are you going?”

  “I’ve got a class to teach at Travers. Could I have another key, please?”

  I had to hand it to him, the man had nerve. “I could give you one, but it wouldn’t do you any good. I’m having the locks changed today.” I’d wanted it done yesterday, but Clara Harper had been on vacation, and she was the only locksmith I trusted with my place.

  “Fine, but I expect to have another key if I’m going to be teaching here.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I said. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted Robert Owens on my staff anymore, but I didn’t need to decide his fate at that moment.

  After he’d gone, I pulled the rest of his pieces from the display per his request, though it was really out of spite more than anything else. I didn’t know who he thought he was, but I wasn’t about to let him use that tone of voice with me, certainly not in my own shop. I sighed wistfully as I moved the last intact dishes to a back rack. Why couldn’t David come up with a glaze that danced like Robert Owens’s work did? I didn’t doubt in time he’d do just that, but for now, my display case had a hole that needed to be filled. I searched through the inventory in our little gallery for something worthy of the window, but nothing grabbed my eye. I couldn’t leave it like that, though. Then I had an idea. Why replace it at all? I took some white cardboard from the back, scrawled out a note in my most stylish handwriting style, then propped the sign up in place of Robert’s dishes.

  David was standing outside as I put it in place, and he was smiling as he came in. “That’s a cool idea. I love it.”

  “Thanks.” In black Sharpie, I’d written, “Imagine Your Work Here” on the placard. I walked outside to study it and was quite happy with the results. It might even bring some customers back into my shop, something I hadn’t been able to accomplish with much success since the murder.

  “So what’s the verdict? Are you going to keep digging into Betty Wickline’s murder?”

  “No, for a change of pace, let’s try to get some folks in here and paint some pottery.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said.

  Now, if I could just figure out how to do that. It was too soon to offer the local schools another deal. It would be hard to get most adults here in the middle of the day, but there was a group I hadn’t tapped yet, one I’d been aching to try to get into my place. I picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Maple Ridge Center,” a cultured woman’s voice said after only one ring.

  “Maggie Hicks,” I replied. Maggie was the director at the senior center, and a friend since she’d first moved to town when we’d been in the second grade.

  “One moment, please,” the woman said, and I was put on hold, listening to Muzak that put my teeth on edge. Thankfully Maggie didn’t keep me waiting long.

  “Hello, Maggie Hicks.”

  Disguising my voice, I said, “Dearie, would you put me back on hold? They were playing the most delightful tune.”

  Maggie paused, then said, “Certainly.”

  Before I could tell her I was joking, she put me on hold again. I couldn’t take another second of the watered-down pap, so I hung up and hit the redial button on my phone.

  After the elegant voice identified the center again, I lied. “I got cut off. Could you give me Maggie’s office again?”

  “Certainly,” she said. Now how on earth had she managed to sound skeptical of my explanation with just one word?

  “Maggie Hicks.”

  “Don’t hang up, and for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t put me on hold again.”

  My friend whooped with delight. “That was you? How funny. The music’s dreadful, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to get the owners to change it to something more contemporary, but they actually claim to like it. Can you imagine?”

  That was Maggie, or Mile-a-Minute Maggie, as we’d called her in school. “Honestly? No. Listen, I need a favor.”

  “Spill. I heard about your front window at the shop. What’s the world coming to?”

  I didn’t need to ask her how she’d heard. Maple Ridge had a backdoor communications community that would put the CIA to shame. I’d been counting on the gossip hot-line to give me more than it had about Betty Wickline. The woman must have been an operative herself; she was that good at hiding her tracks.

  “I couldn’t honestly say, but at least I got a new window, so I don’t have to knock the icicles off the pottery anymore. How squeamish would some of your folks be to come down here to the scene of a murder? I’ll give them half off my regular group rates just to fill the place up again. If you’d rather not bring it up, that’s fine with me, too. I understand completely.”

  “Come on, Carolyn, I’d be delighted to ask around. Could it be today? We were supposed to have a sing-along with Penny Pladgett, but the poor thing broke a hip and she’s back in the hospital.”

  “Today sounds great,” I said. “And you don’t think they’ll mind about the murder?”

  “Are you kidding me? Some of them will probably come because of it. How soon should we be there, and how many can you take?”

  We could handle twenty-four adults, but I wanted to keep it below our maximum. “How about twenty? You can make it any time, just give me half an hour’s notice.”

  “You’ve got it. I’ll call you back in a minute.”

  David had been eavesdropping on the tail end of my phone call, and as I hung up, he was smiling. “That’s one way to get a full house.”

  “I know you don’t approve of discounts, but I need to see some fac
es here, you know? It’s been entirely too long since we’ve heard the sound of laughter.”

  “Hey, I’m all for it,” he said. “I couldn’t agree with you more. What shall we pull out, the saucer collection?” We normally reserved the mass-produced saucers for our group discounts.

  “What the heck, let’s splurge and bring out the mugs.” We bought them wholesale from a supplier in New Hampshire, but even with our deep discount, we’d still have trouble breaking even on what I was charging Maggie.

  “Let’s not go overboard,” David said. I swear, sometimes he watched the bottom line closer than I did.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “We’ve got that order of salad plates we haven’t used. Why not pull them out?”

  “Fine, that’s probably a better idea. Let’s set things up, shall we?”

  We’d just laid out the glazes and brushes at each station when the telephone rang. “Carolyn? Hey, it’s Maggie. I’ve got twenty-two. Is that okay? I didn’t have the heart to tell anyone they couldn’t come.”

  “That’s fine. When are you coming?”

  “As soon as we can load the bus, if you don’t mind.”

  “Bring them on,” I said.

  It would be great having some activity in Fire at Will again, something that had nothing to do with Betty Wickline’s murder.

  The place was a wreck after the seniors left, but David and I were both smiling. They’d been full of energy and had a thousand questions for us. Most of the women had responded to David with broad smiles, something that had obviously embarrassed him a little. I felt a bit like a girl myself as four of the men took turns flirting with me.

  “That was fun,” I said as David and I wiped the tables.

  “Where do they get the energy? I’m worn out.”

  “They’re full of life, aren’t they?”

  David nodded. “If it’s okay with you, after we clean up, I’m going to lunch.”

  “Are you that hungry?” I glanced at the clock and saw that David was an hour early for his break.

  “No, I’m going to go out to my car and take a nap! If I don’t show up in an hour, come wake me up.”

  My stomach rumbled a little after David left, and I wished I’d asked him to hang around until I could grab something and bring it back to eat. I thought about calling somebody from the Firing Squad to pick up something for me, but I didn’t want to talk about the murder, and I was sure whoever I called would want to discuss it. I still had a rosy glow from the seniors’ visit, and I didn’t want to tarnish it with a discussion about the homicide.

  I’d just about come to terms with my growling stomach when I saw a friendly face peering in through the front window, with a take-out bag from Shelly’s Café in her hand.

  “Have you eaten yet? I took a chance and ordered for two.”

  I didn’t know which I was happier to see: that bag of food or my best friend Hannah’s smiling face.

  “We really are okay, aren’t we?” I asked Hannah as I finished off my club sandwich. She knew how to make things right between us. I was a sucker for a club, as long as there wasn’t any tomato on it. Okay, I know, I’m not a purist, but that’s how I’ve always liked mine.

  “It’s the best way I know to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations with David out on you.”

  I took a sip from one of the Cokes I’d provided from my small fridge in back. “Maybe it would be better if we didn’t talk about him.”

  Hannah frowned. “No, I don’t see how we’d be able to do that. He’s too big a part of both our lives to just ignore. Think what an awkward gap his absence would leave in our conversations.”

  “More like a canyon,” I agreed. “So, what would you like to talk about? I’m open to just about any topic except Betty Wickline.”

  Hannah bit her lip, then said, “That leaves another pretty large hole for us, doesn’t it?”

  She had a point. “I was hoping to avoid it, but you’re right. Do you think the shattered window was tied into my snooping, too?”

  Hannah nearly choked on her soft drink. “What happened? Did someone vandalize your home?”

  “It happened here at the shop this morning,” I explained. “Do you mean to tell me that David didn’t call and tell you?”

  “Fire at Will is kind of a sore subject between us at the moment,” she admitted. “He should have called me anyway, though. Which window did they break?”

  “The most expensive one, of course. Luckily, one of my Firing Squad members has a friend in the glass business, so he was able to get right to it.”

  Hannah shook her head. “I don’t even have to guess which one, do I? It’s the crook.”

  “Reformed crook,” I said. After all Butch had done for me, including the window and the breakfast that morning, I wasn’t going to let someone trash him, not even Hannah.

  “Sorry, I know he’s your friend. If it matters, David likes him, too.”

  I took Hannah’s hand in mine. “With character references like that, you should at least keep an open mind about him. His best friend is Judge Blake. If she’s not good enough for you, I don’t know what I can say to change your mind.”

  “Let’s just say I’ll try not to judge him based on what I’ve heard, or what he used to do for a living. How’s that?”

  “I can live with that, and I’m sure Butch would accept those terms, too.” The conversation had gotten much more serious than I liked, especially after we’d so recently patched up our friendship.

  Hannah finished her sandwich, then said, “Carolyn, if you’d like to talk about your suspect list, I’d be glad to listen. It might help you figure out who you’ve irritated enough to move to violence.”

  “I couldn’t even start to list the people I’ve annoyed. I’m not sure I have enough paper.”

  She smiled. “I mean lately.”

  “So do I.”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  She wasn’t going to give up, I could see that. Well, it just might help to tell her what I’d been up to. After all, Hannah had a more orderly mind than I did, and maybe she’d be able to offer me an objective opinion. “Okay, let’s see. So far, my suspect list includes Robert Owens, Tamra Gentry, Larry Wickline, and Sheriff Hodges.”

  She looked at me intently to see if I was kidding, and when she saw that I was deadly serious, she asked, “Is there any reason you think the sheriff really might have killed her?”

  “The two of them may have been having an affair.”

  Hannah whistled softly. “If that’s true, then you’ve got to include Evelyn in your list, too.”

  “I hadn’t even thought about that, but you’re right.” I was trying to narrow my list of suspects, not broaden it.

  Hannah frowned. “I can see why Larry Wickline made your list, but why Tamra Gentry and Robert Owens?”

  “Betty might have been blackmailing Tamra, and as for Robert, he had a key to the shop. That alone makes him a suspect. When I pressed him on knowing Betty, he got a little flustered. I keep thinking there had to be some reason why she was here in the first place. She could have been meeting Robert for a tryst, and something went wrong.”

  “It’s possible,” Hannah said. “But I thought his tastes ran to coeds, not their mothers.”

  “Maybe he’s an equal-opportunity letch. It’s worth looking into.”

  Hannah walked to the window that had just been replaced and looked out. “Is there anybody else?”

  I wasn’t sure whether she was joking, but I started thinking about other possibilities. “I guess you could include just about anybody here on the brook walk.”

  “That certainly pads your list, doesn’t it?”

  Something suddenly struck me. “Oh, blast it all.”

  “What’s wrong? What did I say?”

  “I just remembered. There are more keys floating around out there than I told the sheriff. Kendra Williams and I swapped keys last year when Bill and I went to North Carolina on a pottery tour
of Seagrove. She came over and checked on the place when you and David were in England.”

  “Surely you don’t think Kendra would kill Betty.”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “That’s the problem. I don’t know who’s capable of murder.”

  “Given the right circumstances, I honestly believe that just about anybody is.”

  Her answer shocked me. “Even you?”

  “To protect my son, I might. How about you?”

  I thought about either one of my sons in jeopardy, and realized that she was probably right. “It’s hopeless, isn’t it? If Hodges can’t figure it out, what chance do I have?”

  “Don’t forget, the sheriff doesn’t have your resources. And if it’s true that he was having an affair with Betty, he might not be the most objective investigator. I don’t see how you have much choice, Carolyn. I was against it at first, but I see now that you need to keep digging.”

  She was right, but I was sick of trying to figure out who wanted Betty Wickline dead. It was time for a little diversion. “Enough of this murder talk. If you’ve got some time, David just finished firing some new bowls for our paint-your-own section. Would you like do one yourself?”

  She laughed at that. “You know the artistic gene skipped me. My mother’s a fabulous watercolorist, and David’s got a real knack for ceramics, but I can’t draw a stick figure.”

  “So create some modern art. You don’t have to have a theme to paint a bowl. It’s fun.”

  She glanced at her watch, then said, “I’m tempted, but I’ve got to get back to Travers. I’m glad we did this.”

  “Me, too,” I said. I hugged her. “Thanks for coming by with lunch.”

  “Thanks for not throwing me out.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “I’d never do that to my best friend in the world. Besides, you had food.”

  “Ah, the magic ticket,” she said with a smile.

  “It can be.”

  Ten minutes after Hannah left, David stormed into the shop. I frowned at him. “What’s wrong with you?”