by Tim Myers
“Hey, she knows where I am. It’s completely up to her.”
He shook his head. “You two are more alike than either one of you will ever admit.”
I smiled at him. “That was smart of you.”
“What, my powers of observation?”
“No, saving that crack until after I rang up your sale.”
He tapped his temple. “Hey, nine years of police work pays off from time to time. Be good, Jen.”
“You, too. Watch your back.”
“Always.”
After Bradford was gone, I realized I hadn’t told him about the Albright wedding. But then again, he’d probably known about it before the bride. Our dear
sheriff prided himself on being up-to-the-minute on the happenings and events in our town before they occurred.
I was feeling pretty good about my day, happy about the invitation order and my first actual sale, | despite my general lack of customers. Then the telephone rang and I heard that desperate cry for help. I
I stood there staring at the telephone in my hand long after the woman on the other end had been cut : off. I was pretty convinced that the call was no prank. Nobody could scream like that unless her life was in ‘ serious jeopardy. ]
Okay, I could stand there all evening in shock, or I could do something to help that poor woman on the „ other end of the line.
I dialed Bradford’s private cell phone number, one of the perks of having the sheriff for a brother. ‘
“Bradford, you’ve got to come to the shop.” ;
“Jen, I can’t. I’m going to be late as it is. Besides, I’m not buying anything else, no matter how nice your | cards and stuff are.”
“This isn’t some errant whim, you nitwit,” I said, much shriller than I’d meant to. At least it got his attention.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I just heard someone get murdered.”
“Are you in trouble? Jen, bolt your doors and hide in back. I’ll be right there.”
Before I could explain what had happened, my brother hung up on me. These abrupt disconnections were getting to be too much.
Four minutes later I saw his patrol car rip up Oakmont, lights flashing and siren blaring. He slammed the cruiser into a parking spot in front of my shop, his gun drawn and a look of intensity on his face that I hadn’t seen since we were kids.
When I opened the door, I swear, he almost shot me.
“Get back inside,” he commanded in a gruff voice.
“The murder wasn’t here, Bradford. It happened over the telephone.”
He stared at me a second, then frowned as he holstered his gun. “If this is some kind of gag, I’m going to lock you up.”
“If you had given me the chance to explain before you came rushing over here, you wouldn’t have made such a fool of yourself.” Sure, it was a little harsh, but I couldn’t help it. Hearing someone murdered kind of put a damper on my social skills.
“Okay, let’s just both settle down,” he said as he reached into his patrol car and shut his lights off. At least the siren had died when he’d stopped the cruiser, though we were getting enough attention along Oakmont as it was, thank you very much. An older couple had been walking toward my store’s front door, but the second they spotted Bradford’s car, they quickly veered off and went into Greg Langston’s pottery shop. Greg and I had a history together longer than the Holy Roman Empire’s, but I didn’t care one whit about it at the moment. I had to get my brother off the street, and fast.
“Would you at least come inside so the tourists won’t think I’m about to be arrested?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
Once we were in the store, he asked, “So what’s this all about?”
I explained to him about the telephone call, the errant search for a Donna who wasn’t there, and the bone-chilling scream I’d heard as the line had been cut off.
He took it all in, then asked, “And you’re sure it wasn’t some kind of gag? No, forget I said that. I believe you think it was real, Jen. I’m just not sure what I can do about it.”
“Somebody’s in trouble, Bradford. You’ve got to help them, It’s what you do.”
He held out his hands. “I’d love to, Sis, but how?
That call could have come from anywhere in the country, or the world, for that matter, even if it was on I the level. It’s not much to go on.”
“That woman had a Southern accent, and unless ! I’m way off, she grew up somewhere around here.” I ‘ A lot of folks think one accent from the South is ! pretty much like another, but I’d spent part of my life • traveling in my region, and I’d gotten pretty good at telling Tennessee from North Carolina from Mississippi. I’d worked in corporate sales for several years 0 for a pet food manufacturer, and while there were ! parts of the ob I loved, the absolute worst was constantly being on the road away from home. It had ! seemed like a good idea to take the ob right after , college, especially since it was the only offer I’d received. I found it ironic that I couldn’t have cats of ! my own until I quit my ob selling pet food.
Bradford said, “I’m sorry, Jennifer, but it’s too much to ask for what was most likely a prank.”
“So you’re not even going to try?” A part of me I knew I was being unreasonable, but I couldn’t help ; myself. Bradford was my big brother. It was his ob to take care of things like this.
“Here’s what I can do. I’ll go back to the office and let Jody and Jim and Wayne know what’s going on. They can keep their eyes open tonight, and if anything remotely comes in about this, I’ll let you know. I’m sorry, Jennifer, but it’s the best I can do.” I
I reached up and patted my brother’s cheek. “I guess I’m the one who should be apologizing. I know I’m acting kind of flaky, but it really shook me up.” “I understand completely,” he said. “There’s really nothing we can do, is there? I just feel so helpless.”
“That’s the story of my life, kiddo. I help when I can, and hope it’s enough to make a difference.”
After he was gone, I toyed with the idea of keeping the shop open past my posted business hours, but I’d learned from Sara Lynn that it would be a mistake. I
was going to be at the Three Cs enough as it was without adding more time to my work schedule. I decided to straighten up and then leave for home. When the telephone rang again, I nearly dropped an expensive pair of specialty scissors I’d just gotten in. My hand hesitated before I picked it up, but I couldn’t allow myself to cringe every time the telephone rang. Taking a deep breath, I answered, hoping it was someone ready to place a huge order for specialty card stock.
“Custom Card Creations, this is Jennifer speaking. How may I help you?”
The caller hung up before I could get the word “you” out of my mouth. I swear, people have gotten so rude lately. No one ever says “excuse me” after a wrong number anymore, clerks and cashiers say “no problem” instead of “thank you,” and driving is getting riskier every day. I realized I was tired, and when I’m tired, I’m cranky. Throw in the fact that I was hungry, too, and I decided the only place I needed to be was home in my apartment. I had my key in the dead bolt outside when a familiar husky voice spoke my name behind me.
I’d been hoping to avoid dealing with Greg Langston, but that was one wish that wasn’t going to come true.
Table of Contents
A Flicker of Doubt (Book 4 in the Candlemaking Mysteries)