Death Waxed Over (Book 3 in the Candlemaking Mysteries) (4 page)

“
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.