by Tim Myers
Morton rejoined me, and Heather took a step back. Evidently not far enough, though.
The sheriff said, “Hadn’t you better get back to your table?”
“I think I’m needed here,” Heather said stubbornly.
“Don’t worry. If we need you, we’ll let you know,” Morton said.
After Heather reluctantly left, Morton asked, “Now what’s this nonsense about you shooting Gretel Barnett?”
“I don’t have a clue. That woman over there is either blind or she’s insane, if you ask me.”
Morton shook his head. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”
He had a whispered conversation with my accuser, and I saw her pointing at me again and again. Finally Morton started back in my direction. He brushed past me though and upended the trash can behind where I stood.
“What are you looking for?” I asked him.
“She claims she saw you shoot the victim, then throw the gun in here.” As he rooted through the trash with a gloved hand, I said, “I threw away my orange juice container, not a gun. She’s delusional.”
Morton, in a softer voice, said, “Well, she also happens to be Wanda Klein. She’s married to Hank Klein.”
“The newspaper editor?” I asked.
“He’s more than that; he’s the publisher and owner of The Gunpowder Gazette, Harrison.”
“Let me guess. You’re taking her word over mine,” I said.
“I have to investigate any lead I get. It’s my job.”
He stood, then said in a loud voice, “There’s nothing’s here.”
“I saw what I saw,” the woman said loudly. “He shot that poor woman in the back.”
“For the last time, I didn’t do a thing to her,” I snapped.
One of the vendors who’d gathered in the crowd said, “You argued with her not an hour ago. There’s no use denying it, a lot of us heard you.”
This was getting out of hand. I said, “We had a disagreement, that’s all. I didn’t shoot her.”
There were more murmurs from the crowd, then Morton said, “Folks, let’s break this up. If you’ve got anything solid to report, come on up. Otherwise, I suggest you go about your business. We still don’t know what happened here.”
“I know,” Wanda Klein said huffily as she stormed off into the crowd. As soon as she was gone, the rest of the group broke up until it was just the sheriff and me.
“Are you going to arrest me?” I asked.
“Motive and opportunity aren’t enough, Harrison.”
“Motive? You honestly think I’d shoot somebody because they were selling more candles than I was? That’s ridiculous.”
“Don’t forget, we have an eyewitness,” Morton said.
“She’s either lying or she’s wrong. So arrest me, if you’re so convinced I did it.”
“Harrison, losing your temper’s not going to do either one of us any good.”
“I don’t appreciate being accused like that,” I said.
“Then you’re probably going to love this.” He motioned to one of his deputies, who held a fishing tackle box in one hand. As he removed a swab and some liquid from the box, I asked, “What’s this all about?”
“Just hold still. It’ll only take a second.”
The deputy rubbed different parts of both of my hands, studied the swabs, then shook his head. “Nothing here.”
That’s when I got it. “So now you know I didn’t fire a gun today.”
“Not without gloves on, anyway.” Morton scratched his jaw. “It’s procedure. You’re not planning any big trips anytime soon, are you?”
I couldn’t believe he thought I could have killed her. “No, you know where I spend all my time. If you need me, I’ll be at River’s Edge.”
I walked off before he could say anything else and returned to my table. Most of the items for sale were gone. “What happened, did someone rob me while I was away?”
Heather said, “Are you kidding? As soon as that woman accused you of shooting Gretel, people started buying your stuff like crazy. I had half a dozen people make offers on the giveaway candle.”
‘That’s just great.” I started gathering up what was left of my display and shoved it all in a box I had stored under my table.
Heather said, “You’re not quitting, are you?”
“I don’t feel like staying here, not after what happened. Don’t worry, I’ll come back and help you break down this evening.”
“Harrison, if you run now, folks are going to think you really did shoot her.”
“And if I stay, I’ll do myself more harm than good. I’ll be back later to get our stuff, Heather. I promise.”
The last place on earth I wanted to be was at that table. I needed to get out of New Conover, and if I had my way, I’d never come back.
I thought about going by the hospital to check on Gretel’s condition, but I didn’t want anyone to think I was there to finish what I’d started. I’d have to rely on the grapevine at River’s Edge to tell me what was happening. No worries there, though. Millie Nelson, the woman who ran The Crocked Pot, had more information contacts than the police and the newspaper combined.
Millie handed me a cup of coffee, strong and black, the second I walked in the door of her cafe. An apron covered most of her ample form, and a frown creased on her lips as she saw me. “Harrison, are you all right?”
“I’m guessing you’ve already heard about the shooting.”
She nodded. “One of the sheriff’s men was here getting coffee. We heard the call go out on the radio. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t shoot her, Millie,” I said flatly.
“Now who in the world thinks you did?”
“Some woman claims to be an eyewitness. She seems pretty convinced she saw me do it. All because I was standing at the wrong place at the wrong time and happened to throw my orange juice container away, though I still can’t see how she thought it was a gun.”
“Okay, back up. You lost me there.”
“I grabbed a quick bite on the run, and as I was walking back to my sales table, I saw Gretel Barnett fall over. There was blood spreading out on the back of her dress, but before I could do anything, a woman named Wanda Klein started screaming that I was a killer.”
Millie shook her head. “Wanda is a lunatic, everybody knows that.”
“Try telling the sheriff. Maybe he’ll believe you. I surely didn’t make any headway with him. So you know this woman?”
“Oh yes,” Millie said. “We’ve butted heads more times than I can count over the years. She once threatened to sue me because my coffee was too hot. I warned her, but she gulped it anyway. Honestly, nobody takes responsibility for their actions anymore.”
“So what happened?”
“Her husband convinced her to buy her coffee somewhere else and drop it. At least one member of that family has some sense.”
“So you don’t think I have anything to worry about from her?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say that, Harrison. Evidently that was the first time in twenty-four years of marriage that Hank Klein ever disagreed with her, and he’s been regretting it ever since. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re mentioned in the article about what happened in tomorrow’s paper. Prepare yourself for it.”
“Maybe I need a lawyer,” I said. The only one I really knew was Gary Cragg, one of my tenants and a man I thoroughly disliked. Did that matter, though? Lawyers and surgeons don’t have to be cordial. What they needed to be was competent, and I’d heard that Cragg was that.
Millie patted my arm. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
I got back to At Wick’s End a good six hours before I was due. Eve was dusting shelves as I walked in.
“Harrison Black, tell me you’re not here checking up on me.”
“I trust you, Eve. There was a bit of trouble at the Founder’s Day fair.”
“They forgot to assign you a space? That’s
unforgivable.”
“I wish that’s all it was, but it’s a little more serious than that. Gretel Barnett was shot an hour ago.”
Eve dropped her dust rag without realizing it. “Shot? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m afraid I am. It gets worse. Morton is inclined to believe that I had something to do with it.”
“And why would he think that? That’s complete and utter nonsense.”
“Believe it or not,” I said, “there’s an eyewitness, so she claims, but I didn’t do it.”
Eve said, “Harrison, I told you that fair would bring trouble.”
She’d told me no such thing, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Listen, if you don’t need me here, I’m going out on the water for a little while.”
“I know we’re enjoying a warm spell, but isn’t it still a little brisk for kayaking?”
“I’ll let you know when I get back.”
I retrieved my kayak from the storage area for River’s Edge and carried it down to the water. A long set of concrete steps led down to the water, and it made a handy place to put my boat in. I’d grown to love tooling around the Gunpowder River in my bright yellow kayak, but I wasn’t looking for recreation today. What I needed was time away from the world, and a lot of it. I didn’t always wear my life jacket, though Erin Talbot had chided me about always putting it on before I hit the water. She ran a canoe and kayak rental business and was an enthusiast, tackling whitewater all over the South. I personally enjoyed the flat, calm water of the Gunpowder. I put the kayak in the water, then stepped carefully inside. The first time I’d tried doing it on my own after buying the kayak, I’d capsized and managed to get thoroughly soaked in two feet of water. I was still a little shaky getting in and out, but once I was seated inside and had the blades in my hands, I was in my element. I thought about going downriver toward Erin’s place. It was quite a paddle—I had plenty of time and a beautiful day—but what I really wanted was to be alone. I set off upstream, slicing through the mild current like I was on rails, and decided to work off some steam.
After paddling over an hour, I was nearly ready to turn around and go back to River’s Edge when I spotted a tributary feeding into the Gunpowder that looked interesting. Pointing the tip of my boat toward it, I entered the narrower waterway and started exploring. A road bridge covered the water a hundred feet in, and as I paddled under it, I could hear the tinny echo of my oars as they dipped into the water. On a whim, I slapped the surface with the flat part of my paddle and was rewarded with a muted echo, as if the concrete and steel cushioned the blow. The underside of the bridge looked like corrugated steel, and as cars passed by above me, I heard an odd thrubbing noise. A part of me wanted to stay, but I knew it was time to turn around. My shoulders were beginning to ache, but I promised myself that I’d come exploring again sometime soon.
By the time I got back to my apartment, the kayak safely locked up again, I’d managed to ease a lot of the tension I’d been feeling.
Then I saw the blinking light on my answering machine.
The message was from Sheriff Morton, short and simple.
“She’s dead, Harrison. We need to talk.”
I was waiting for Morton in my apartment when there was a heavy knock on the door.
Instead of the sheriff, I found Markum on my doorstep.
‘This isn’t the best time for me to have company,” I said.
The big man with unruly black hair ignored my comment and brushed past me. He’d shaved his wild beard, claiming it had gotten in his way on his last salvage and recovery mission. Though he was one of my tenants and fast becoming one of my best friends at River’s Edge, I still had no real handle on what Markum really did for a living.
“I’m not here to hold your hand. What’s this nonsense about you shooting some woman?”
“I didn’t shoot anybody,” I said wearily.
“I know that, you nitwit. What I want to know is why everybody thinks you did.”
“A woman claims she saw me do it,” I said, “And I’m having a tough time refuting it.”
Markum put a meaty hand on my shoulder, and I felt the weight of it all the way down to my knees. “Harrison, give me her name and I’ll have a talk with her before I go. I’m sure we can straighten this mess out.”
“I wish it were that easy, but she’s not budging. The bad thing is, she’s married to the publisher of The Gunpowder Gazette.”
“That just makes it a little more difficult, but still not impossible.”
I didn’t want to know what Markum had in mind. “Thanks, but let’s see what happens with Morton first. He’s due here any minute.”
Markum shrugged. “Just let me know.” He smiled softly, then added, “Good landlords are hard to come by, and I’d hate to have to look for another place. Listen, I’ve got something planned for this evening, something that’s going to take me out of town for a few days, but if it would help, I’ll postpone it, or cancel it altogether.”
“Don’t change your plans on my account. There’s nothing you can do here.”
Markum nodded. “If you’re sure then, I’ll go. I’ve got a honey of an opportunity, and I’m not sure it will wait.”
There was another knock on the door. That had to be the sheriff. I started to say as much to Markum when he said, “I’ll be on my way, but let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will,” I promised as I opened the door.
The sheriff was there, and the second he saw Markum, the frown on his face deepened, though I wouldn’t have thought it was possible. He said curtly, “Markum.”
“Sheriff,” the big man answered, then walked out, but not before hesitating long enough to say to me, “Remember what I said.”
I nodded, then shut the door behind him.
Morton said, “What was that all about?”
“He was offering to help me out with something,” I said.
“Like what?”
“We’ve been talking about painting the hallway,” I said, that being the first thing that popped into my head.
Morton snorted, but didn’t push it. “You’ve got some real problems, my friend.”
I felt my knees start to buckle. “You’re going to arrest me? What’s your evidence? I didn’t shoot her.”
“Take it easy. I’m not talking about me. I was just interviewed, if you want to call it that, by somebody from the newspaper. From the questions the reporter was asking, you’re going to be the focus of their article tomorrow. I’ve got a feeling my ‘no comments’ are going to make things look bad for you. I thought you should know.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. I’m glad you believe me.”
Morton shook his head. “I’m not saying I do, and I’m not saying I don’t, but I’ll be dipped in tar if I’m going to let them smear you without the facts. You might want to shut the candleshop for a few days.”
“What, and let them win? I’m not going anywhere. I’m innocent, whether anyone believes me or not.”
Morton said sadly, “And you’re naive enough to think that matters? Harrison, I’ve got a feeling you’re about to get hammered.”
“I can take it. I’m not going to hide,” I said.
He looked around. “Isn’t that what you’re doing up here? Eve’s getting overrun with customers downstairs. If you don’t care about yourself, at least shut the place down for her sake.”
“I didn’t realize she needed help,” I said, mustering as much dignity as I could. “I’ll go help her.”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
“Well, you’re not me, are you?”
“It’s your funeral,” the sheriff said as he followed me out of my apartment.
“You might want to work on your choice of expressions, Sheriff,” I said as we walked down the steps together.
He shook his head, then held the door at the bottom of the landing for me. “You want some crowd control? I’m on my way over to Flickering Lights, but I can send one of my
people over to help you out here.”
“I’m sure we can handle it.” I started to change my mind when I followed his gaze and saw that most of the parking lot was full. At Wick’s End was being overrun with customers, something I’d been dreaming about since I’d taken over.
It was a wonderful lesson in being careful what you wish for.
Chapter 4
I’d never seen the candleshop so crowded, even though few of our visitors had any of our products or supplies in their hands. It appeared they’d all shown up to get a look at the accused killer. Well, if I was going to be on display, I was going to at least make some money from it.
I said loudly, “My name’s Harrison Black. If you’re here to buy candlemaking supplies, welcome. But if you’re in At Wick’s End for any other reason, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Why aren’t you under arrest?” a woman asked from the back of the store.
“Because I didn’t kill Gretel Barnett.” I suddenly had a thought. “If you have a question for me, I’ll consider answering it as I’m ringing up your sale.”
That caused a run on the shelves, and I saw Eve shaking her head in obvious disapproval. So be it. It was my candleshop, and my choice.
I walked to the register as the line started to form. A woman handed me an expensive candlemaking kit, and as Eve rang it up, I said, “So what’s your question?”
She said meekly, “I don’t have one. I just wandered in to buy a kit. I hope that’s all right.”
“Of course it is,” I said, feeling my face flush. “That’s why we’re here.”
As she signed her credit card slip, the woman asked timidly, “So who was it you were supposed to have killed?”
“A fellow candlemaker, but it’s not true.”
She grabbed the bag from Eve and scurried out, hesitating to look back at me before she bolted through the door.
“Nicely done, Harrison,” Eve said.
“So I wasn’t right about everyone here. How much do you want to bet I’m right about most of the rest of them?”