by Tim Myers
“Why don’t we go back to my office then.” I followed her through the candleshop, but instead of the usual browsing she did every time she’d visited At Wick’s End, her gaze was focused straight ahead of us.
I settled into my chair and said, “I wasn’t sure we’d see you again.”
She scoffed. “Harrison Black, I’m not about to be driven off because of rumors and whispered accusations.”
“Funny, but I was beginning to suspect that was exactly what happened.”
Her back stiffened. “Young man, are you intentionally baiting me?”
I knew it was time to back off. Not only did I need Mrs. Jorgenson’s income from her lessons and purchases, but I also wanted her close enough to question. Like it or not, she was one of my suspects, and alienating her wouldn’t do me a bit of good. I took a deep breath, then said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been under a great amount of strain lately. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
Her hard expression softened. “I know it’s been difficult for you. I’m willing to give you some latitude, but don’t push me too hard.”
“Understood. I heard you’re under some pressure of your own.”
That certainly got her attention. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Runion told me he was buying up Gretel Barnett’s block, and I happened to hear that you own property close to Flickering Lights.” I watched her expression, but if there was any change there, it was too subtle for me to see.
“Mr. Runion spoke out of place.”
“So it’s not true?”
Mrs. Jorgenson snapped, “It’s irrelevant. Harrison, I own a great many properties around Micah’s Ridge and beyond. That pipe dream of his wouldn’t have affected me much one way or the other.” She was a bright woman, and it didn’t take long for my question to click. “Are you accusing me of anything?” she asked with deadly calm.
“No, Ma’am. I was just hoping you might know something about what happened to Gretel.”
My backpedaling helped some, but not nearly enough. “I don’t make it a habit of getting involved in murder, no matter what your own predilection appears to be. Now if you’ll excuse me, I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
“Listen, I’m sorry if I was out of line. I just hate being a suspect in murder.”
“I can appreciate your point of view, but pardon me if I’m not all that eager to take your place. Good day.”
I couldn’t stop her from storming out, nor was I certain I wanted to try. Was her righteous indignation real, or was she upset that I was on her trail? Either way, I realized with a sinking feeling that I may have just driven off my one guaranteed source of income. But the alternative could be going to prison for a crime I didn’t commit. I had to explore every possible trail that could lead me to the truth, no matter what the consequences.
As I came out of the office, Eve said, “Harrison, do you have a death wish? I’ve never seen anyone as furious as she was when she stormed out of here.”
“I may have crossed the line,” I admitted.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Go apologize.”
“I didn’t say I was wrong. All I’m willing to admit is that I may have pushed her a little hard.”
Eve gestured around the shop. “So you pick this moment to alienate our best customer. Brilliant.”
I thought about it a moment or two, then realized Eve was right. I shouldn’t have pressed Mrs. Jorgenson, certainly not without more information than I had. I hurried to the parking lot to see if I could catch her, but by the time I got outside, she was already gone. It appeared that I’d blown my last chance with my star student and benefactor.
To my surprise, we had a relatively busy day at the candleshop, though I was too morose to enjoy it. I knew Markum was expecting me to get Gretel’s lawyer’s name from Jubal, but I didn’t have time to slip away. I was thankful for the shoppers and didn’t want to leave a buzzing store. Maybe things were finally easing up. I was happy The Gunpowder Gazette hadn’t printed any more photos or stories linking me to Gretel’s murder. At least on that front, things were improving.
By the end of the day, I actually had enough income to justify taking it to the bank for more of a reason than just routine. As I filled out the slip and prepared the deposit, Eve took one of our Shaker-style baskets we were starting to carry made by a local craftsman and began filling it with candles and accessories.
After she was finished, she plopped the basket down in front of me.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“It’s your apology to Mrs. Jorgenson.”
I pushed the basket away. “What makes you think she’d even see me?”
“What makes you think she won’t?”
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve got a feeling the way she stormed out of here was a pretty good indication that she might not be all that eager to greet me.”
“Thus the goodwill basket,” Eve said. “Harrison, the longer you let this go, the more permanent the rift might become. Make amends before she convinces herself she doesn’t need us anymore.”
I took the deposit and started for the door. “I think we’ve already crossed that particular line.”
“You owe it the candleshop to at least try,” Eve said firmly, collecting the basket, then pressing it into my hands. “Swallow your pride, Harrison.”
I took the offering from her, albeit reluctantly. “I don’t even know where she lives.”
Eve said, “She’s in Parsons Ferry. Here, I wrote her address down for you.”
I took it and stuffed the note into my pocket. “Okay, I’ll do it. You realize she’s probably going to slam the door in my face.”
“From the way she looked when she left, you’ve got it coming, wouldn’t you say?”
I drove to the bank and made the deposit, though it would have been much closer going to Mrs. Jorgenson’s first. Every plea I could think of was rejected as quickly as I thought of it. What could I say, that I was sorry? Was I, though? The more I thought about it, the more I had to acknowledge to myself that I was. I’d let my imagination get the best of me. I didn’t care what Markum thought. There was no way Mrs. Jorgenson would shoot Gretel. She might try to run her out of business and Micah’s Ridge, but murder? No, I just couldn’t see it. I’d let the fact that I was under police suspicion cloud my judgment about a friend, and I vowed to never let that happen again.
Parsons Ferry was the ritziest development in Micah’s Ridge. I hadn’t been there since I’d moved into town, but I’d heard enough around that should have prepared me for what I found. The houses—perched on the edge of the Gunpowder River—were extraordinary: mansions on the water. I hadn’t even slowed at the guarded gate, just tossing a wave to the man inside. The builder had tried to make the development an exclusive one, and the imposing guard’s station was just one of the many ways it tried to discourage casual visitors. But an article in The Gunpowder Gazette a few months earlier had disclosed that since the state of North Carolina maintained the roads, there was no way access could be limited legally. Cruising the neighborhood had become a new hobby for some of Micah’s Ridge’s less wealthy citizens, and I’d heard complaints from some of my customers that something was going to have to be done to curb it.
The Jorgenson property was surrounded by a high stucco wall, taking up three expensive lots facing the river side by side by side. The imposing structure greeted me as I drove up, and I felt more than a little conspicuous in my Ford truck. At least I’d had sense enough not to show up in my battered old Dodge. Still, I felt like I was wearing bibbed overalls to the prom as I parked in front of Mrs. Jorgenson’s house.
I couldn’t believe it when an actual butler answered the door just as I rang the bell. He studied me with a glance and blocked my way before I could step a foot inside.
“Yes?” he said in a voice that hinted of a British accent.
“I’m here to see Mrs. Jorgenson,” I said, holding the basket of goodies in front of me
like a shield.
“I’m sorry, sir, but she’s unavailable at the moment.” Not much of an apology, no offer to check with her first, just a flat and final refusal.
“Listen, tell her I need to speak with her. My name’s Harrison Black. I run At Wick’s End.”
“I’m afraid her instructions were most specific,” he said.
This was getting me nowhere. It was obvious I wasn’t going to be able to brush past her guardian.
“Fine. Give this to her and tell her I’m sorry,” I said as I thrust the basket into his hands. He accepted the offering with gentle distaste, then shut the door on me before I had a chance to say another word.
I got back into the truck and was just starting to drive away when he suddenly reappeared, waving me down. I rolled down the window, and he said, “Please take this back, sir. Mrs. Jorgenson isn’t interested in your gift.”
“Tough,” I said. “I won’t take it. Tell her I’m just as stubborn as she is. I can’t make her accept my apology, but I’ll be dipped in candle wax if she thinks I’m going to let her insult me by refusing my gift.”
I drove off, half-expecting the man to throw the basket into the back of my truck. When I glanced back in my rearview mirror, I saw him shaking his head and staring at the basket as if it were diseased.
I’d done all I could. If Mrs. Jorgenson declined my offering and my apology, there was nothing else I could do about it. I refused to beat myself up about it anymore. It was time to move on, forget about my star student and get back to running my candleshop.
At least I wouldn’t have to face Eve until morning. I had some free time on my hands, and I suddenly had no desire to go back to River’s Edge. I was finding that with the lessening of daylight hours in the winter, I was spending more and more time in the evening burrowing into my apartment, and though I enjoyed my time alone, it was getting to be a habit I was going to have to break.
Though my checking account was anemic, I decided to treat myself to a pizza and some of April May’s company at A Slice of Heaven.
The place was crowded, and I worried about finding a table, when Heather Bane from River’s Edge called out to me, “Harrison. Over here.”
She’d been the one to introduce me to April and her pizzeria, and I joined her gratefully. I noticed that Heather was dressed much nicer than was normal for her, and I said, “Are you here by yourself?”
Heather nodded. “I had a date, actually, but it appears that he stood me up.”
“What a jerk,” I said.
“I don’t really mind, to be honest with you. My girlfriend’s cousin set it up, and I was dreading the whole ordeal.”
“Then we’ll drink a toast to the dumb cluck and have fun in spite of him.”
April made her way through the crowd and studied me before speaking. “Please tell me you’re not him.”
“I’m not him,” I said simply.
April smiled. “That’s a relief. Heather, are you going to let this riffraff sit at your table, or should I put him back in the kitchen?”
She pretended to consider the offer, then said, “He might as well stay. That way I won’t look like a pig when I eat an entire pizza by myself. Bring us a medium special, unless you want to join us.”
April looked tempted, then studied the room. “I’d better not. Things are hopping tonight. One special, coming up.”
She started to leave, then said, “Harrison, have you picked your song yet?”
“I’m still thinking about it. How long do I have?” April had a policy that with every ten pizzas purchased, the customer could pick one song for her jukebox. The only restrictions were that it had to be from the fifties or sixties, and if the customer didn’t renew it with another ten pizzas in two months, it was pulled from the rotation.
April said, “I’ll give you a few more days. Do you want to look at the catalog again?”
“No, I’ve got it down to two choices.”
She said, “Care to enlighten me?”
“Now what fun would that be?” I said.
She swatted at me with a bar towel, then said, “I’ll send your beer over in a minute.”
After she was gone, Heather said, “So how are things, Harrison?”
“We’re actually starting to get some of our customers back, if you can believe it.”
‘That’s wonderful news,” Heather said. “Has Morton finally decided to believe you?” Heather wasn’t our sheriff’s biggest fan, and while I didn’t agree with her low opinion of him, I knew she had reasons of her own.
“He’s still not sure, but at least he’s looking at other folks, too.”
“Enough about that,” Heather said. “Let’s talk about something not related to murder. I’ve been meaning to ask you, where’s Pearly off to? Don’t tell me he actually broke down and took a vacation.”
“He had to get away. Pearly’s pretty torn up about what happened. Did you know he’d been dating Gretel on the sly?”
Heather shook her head. “I thought that was just a casual thing.”
“Apparently it was more than that. It gets worse. They broke it off the night before she died.”
Heather said, “Poor Pearly. I can’t imagine how bad he must be feeling.”
“I know. I told him to take some time off, but I was still surprised when he took me up on it.” I noticed a familiar face as Erin Talbot walked in, and I waved to her.
“Do you mind if she joins us,” I asked. I was eager to find out how her rafting trip had gone.
“Not at all,” Heather said, a touch of frost in her voice.
“That’s okay, we don’t have to invite her.”
Heather said curtly, “Don’t be silly. There’s plenty of room for her.”
I shrugged, beckoned her toward us, and Erin walked over. Her face was sunburned from the trip, and her hair looked a shade lighter than it had the last time I’d seen her.
“Hi, guys,” Erin said as she stood beside our table. She noticed Heather’s dress and added, “Sorry, I don’t want to interrupt anything.”
“Don’t worry, this isn’t a date,” Heather said. “At least not for Harrison.”
“Some joker stood her up,” I explained.
Heather said, “Gee, thanks for spreading the news, Harrison. I was afraid there might be somebody in Micah’s Ridge who didn’t know about my disastrous love life.”
Erin said, “I won’t say a word, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Heather said, “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just touchy, I guess.”
“You have every reason to be, if you ask me. Men can be so thoughtless sometimes.”
“Believe me, you’re preaching to the choir,” Heather said.
“Hey, I’m still here,” I said. “Remember?”
“So you’re taking up for this cretin?” Erin asked coolly.
“Me? You’ve got to be kidding. I’m one of the good guys, remember?”
Erin said, “That’s better.” She looked over at the bar as two men left their stools. “It was nice seeing you two. I need to go grab one of those spots.”
“Nonsense, you can join us,” Heather said.
“Are you sure? I don’t mean to butt in.”
“I’m positive. Harrison, are you going to scoot over and make room?”
“I’m scooting,” I said as Erin sat beside me.
April showed up with my beer, then did a double take when she saw Erin sitting with us. “Now I know you’re not him.”
‘Thank goodness for that,” Erin said. “And thank you for noticing.”
“Not much gets past me,” April said. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have one of those,” she said, pointing to my beer, “and bring me a meatball sub when their food gets here.”
“I’m on it,” she said.
“So how was the rafting trip?” I asked after April left.
“It was amazing. We saw some incredible wildlife, and the rapids were really wild after all th
e rain they’ve been having. To be honest with you, we thought about canceling the trip, but I’m glad we went ahead. One run usually takes seven hours. We did it in less than four. You really should go with us next time.” She turned to Heather and said, “You, too. It’s great fun.”
Heather shivered. “No thanks. The closest I ever want to get to a river again is having lunch on the steps in front of River’s Edge. I nearly drowned when I turned my canoe over last year, and the thought of going out on the water again terrifies me.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “I love my kayak.”
She smiled. “I know. You really fly up and down the river in front of the complex.” I looked over Heather’s shoulder and saw Sheriff Morton come in. Heather and Erin followed my gaze as he spotted us and headed our way.
“Now what does he want?” Heather asked.
“We’ll know in a second,” I said, hoping that the sheriff wasn’t bringing me any more bad news.
Morton nodded his head toward my dining companions, then said, “Harrison, I need a word with you.”
“Whatever you have to say, you can tell me in front of them,” I said.
“Okay, have it your way. When’s the last time you saw that handyman of yours?”
“He’s on vacation,” I said.
Morton frowned. “That’s too bad. I really need to talk to him.”
“What about?” I asked.
“I’m sure if you use your imagination, you can guess,” Morton said.
“Surely you don’t think he had anything to do with Gretel’s murder, do you?”
The sheriff shrugged. “That’s what I need to talk to him about. I thought you’d be happy I was looking at someone else.”
Before I could say anything, Heather interrupted. “You should be looking for the real killer.”
‘That’s what I’m trying to do.” It was obvious neither one of them was fond of the other. He turned back to me and said, “So where did he go, Harrison?”
“All I know is that he’s somewhere in the mountains.”
“Do you happen to know when he’s coming back? If he’s coming back?” Before Heather could say anything, he held up a hand. “Save it, Heather. Have Pearly call me when he gets in town, Harrison. If you hear from him, tell him to get back here as soon as humanly possible, you got that?”