The Cracked Pot (17 page)

"They can be nasty things," he replied.

"What brings you here, Sheriff?"

I never thought he'd answer me, but to my surprise, he did. "I'm here checking out an alibi."

"Does it involve someone you suspect in Richard Atkins's murder?" This could be something I could use in my own investigation.

"I'm not at liberty to say," he said, almost by rote.

"Come on, what possible harm could it do?"

"It could give you the false impression that you actually have a right to keep snooping into this when it's none of your business," he said sternly. That was more like the sher iff I knew. His earlier amiable mood had indeed been a fluke.

"The man was killed in my backyard, and I'm the one who tripped over the body. Doesn't that mean any thing?"

"I'm sorry you had to find him like that, but that doesn't give you the right to dig into his murder, Carolyn." He tipped his head to me, then left.

I approached the nurse's station and waited patiently un til the nurse who had scolded me earlier looked up.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry about the way I acted be fore. I was worried about my husband. I didn't mean to snap at you." I saw one of the other nurses behind the desk smile, but not the woman I was addressing. I was beginning to wonder if her frown was permanently attached.

"Fine. Now take a seat, you're blocking my station."

I looked behind me, but no one was there. "I didn't mean to, but if you've got a second, would you mind telling me what the sheriff wanted? We were talking about checking alibis for one his suspects, but he was called away. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you told me." That was a whopping big lie, but I was past caring. I needed to know who else was on the sheriff's list of suspects.

"If you want to know, ask him, not me." There was an overhead page, and the nurse I'd been speaking with abruptly turned to the one who had smiled at me and said, "Betty, that's for me. Take over."

After she was gone, I looked at her replacement. "I don't suppose you could help me."

"We're not allowed to give out any information that in volves the police. I'm sorry."

"That's all right," I said. I hadn't expected to learn any thing, but it hadn't hurt to ask.

I was ready to find a seat again when she said, "You're Carolyn Emerson, aren't you? Don't you run Fire at Will?"

I admitted as much. "Have you ever been in? I don't rec ognize you."

"No, but I've been meaning to come by. Isn't Rose Col ored Glasses near your place?"

"It's just down the River Walk," I said. "Do you shop there?"

"No, I'm new in town. Would you do me a favor? The owner, Rose Nygren, was here a few nights ago, and she left her reading glasses in the waiting area," Betty said. "I've been meaning to return them, but I haven't had the chance. She seems like a nice lady."

"She can be," I said. "I'd be happy to return them for you." As I took the glasses, the magnitude of her words hit home. "Did you say two nights ago?"

"Yes, she brought a friend of hers in to be seen. She must have sat in that waiting room three hours waiting for Mrs. Sampson. Who knows? It could have been longer than that. She was here when my shift started at seven, I know that much."

"Are you saying she was here the entire time?" I asked.

The nurse frowned, then said, "I really couldn't swear to it. Things were kind of crazy that night, so I wasn't keeping tabs on her. But yeah, I think so."

"Thanks," I said as I returned to my seat. Did that mean that Rose had an alibi on the night of the murder? My house was less than five minutes away from the hospital. Did she have time to sneak out, club Richard in my backyard, then make it back here without anyone noticing she was gone? I looked around the room, trying to see if the nurse's station offered a view of the entire waiting area; a few large plants and a television definitely blocked the view. It certainly gave me something to consider. I'd learned earlier that someone had beaten Richard to death, a particularly hide ous way to die. How much did you have to hate someone to bludgeon him to death?

I was still pondering the possibilities when I heard Bill's voice. "Are you going with me, or would you like to hang around here all afternoon?"

"What did the doctor say?" I asked as I looked at his hand. It was wrapped in a white bandage held on by a gauze strip two inches wide. A yellow liquid—no doubt, some kind of salve—had discolored part of the bandage.

"I'll be able to play the piano in no time."

"So there's a downside to this," I said. "Would you be se rious for one moment and tell me what happened?"

"Carolyn, when you work with power tools all day, something's bound to happen now and then. It's nothing, not much more than a scratch."

"So he just put some salve on it and wrapped it up?"

"No, the doctor put in a few stitches. Anyway, what makes you think it was a man? My doctor happened to be a very attractive young woman."

"She sounds too good for you," I said curtly.

Bill looked surprised. "Are you honestly mad at me about this?"

"I was sitting out here worried about you, and now I find out you were in there flirting with your physician. Some body should report her."

"She didn't do anything wrong," Bill said.

"Then they should report you."

"What for, talking to my doctor? Hey, I'm all right," he added softly. "I'm glad you came, but it's going to be fine."

"Let's go home, shall we?" He was right. I wasn't sure why I was snapping at my husband, but I clearly was. "Give me your keys. I'll drive."

"How'd you get here? You didn't walk, did you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. David brought me, then he took the Intrigue back to the shop."

My husband still hesitated.

"Hand them over," I said.

"Thanks, but I'll drive."

"Bill Emerson, I'm perfectly capable of driving that pre cious truck of yours." Honestly, sometimes I thought he cared more about that vehicle than he did about me.

"It's not that," Bill said. "I want to drop you off at Fire at Will."

"I have no intention of going back to work as if nothing happened," I said.

"That's just it. Nothing did happen, at least nothing de serving this much fuss. Carolyn, I'll call you if I need you, but right now, what I need is some rest. I've got a prescrip tion for the pain, and I think I'll fill it on the way home. The doctor told me they might make me sleepy, which is fine by me. Just because I'm going to take the rest of the day off doesn't mean that you should."

I knew that tone of voice. He didn't want to be pam pered, and I'd just end up getting frustrated if I went home with him. I let him drive me to the shop, then hesitated be fore I got out of the truck. "You'll get your medication, then you're going straight home, right?"

"I promise," he said. "I'm not exactly feeling up to going bowling."

"Call me if you need me," I said.

"You can count on it."

"Bill?"

He had put the truck in gear, but stopped. "Yes?"

"I'm glad it's not worse than it was," I said.

"Me, too," he said with a grin.

I walked inside and found David working on his clay cottage. "How is he?"

"He needed a few stitches, but he's going to be all right."

"You didn't have to come back," David said. "I can han dle things here."

"I know you can, but Bill asked me to give him some peace and quiet, so I'm here. Did anything happen while I was gone?"

"Nothing too exciting," he admitted. "A man called here looking for you, but when I told him you were gone, he said he'd check back later."

"How odd. Did he say what he wanted?"

"No, not a word."

"I think I'll make another cottage myself. It's quite fun, isn't it?"

"It's got potential," David admitted.

We were still working side by side when the door chimed. It was my cottage customer from before, and he had a bittersweet look on his face.

"Did you come back to give me a brochure on skiing this time?" I asked him.

"No, I'm sorry about that. I grabbed the wrong envelope from my jacket pocket."

"I wasn't sure it was an accident," I said. He looked suffi ciently contrite, so I decided not to give him a hard time about stiffing me. "What did your mother say?"

"She adored it," he said. "You should have seen her eyes."

"I'm glad she liked it."

He coughed once, then said, "I'd like another, if you don't mind."

"Did something happen to that one?"

"No, but my sister wants one as well."

"How about you?" I asked. "Wouldn't you like one?"

He shook his head sadly. "I'm taking Mother's. We lost her an hour ago."

"I'm so sorry," I said. I hugged him, and he let me.

"Thank you. You've been so kind about the entire thing, I just wanted to come back and tell you how much it meant to her."

"It was my pleasure," I said. How often did I get to give someone their dying wish? "I'm just glad she liked it so much."

"She did." He reached into his jacket and pulled out an other envelope. "Sorry about the earlier confusion."

"You don't have to do that," I said, refusing the envelope. "I was happy to help."

"Nonsense. You provided me a wonderful service, and I won't hear of you not taking payment. There's one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"Would you mind terribly if I had that auction leaflet back?"

I'd forgotten all about tacking it to the board behind my register. "Of course not," I said as I retrieved it.

"I'll be back for the cottage in a day or two," he said.

When I looked inside the envelope, four crisp onehundred-dollar bills looked back.

I started for the door, and David asked, "Is it another brochure?"

"No, but it's too much."

I caught him on the sidewalk, just getting into a Jaguar. "You overpaid me," I said.

"Nonsense. If anything, I didn't give you enough. Please, keep it with my sincere thanks. I'll be offended if you try to return any portion of it."

I grinned. "Well, I wouldn't want that. Thank you."

"I should be the one thanking you," he said.

I walked back inside, and David asked, "What did he say?"

"He told me to keep it."

"Well, the customer's always right," David said with a grin.

"I suppose I'll have to live with it, then." I put the money in the till, then rejoined David at the bench. "Now I need to make another one."

"I thought you already were," he said, pointing down at my clay.

"I've got one already bisque-fired," I admitted, "but I wanted one for the window, too. We should make these to sell."

"Carolyn, not everyone's going to be willing to pay what your last customer did for these things."

"I know that," I said. "But it might make a nice addition to our display."

"Just as long as we don't mass-produce them," David said. "You know how I feel about production work."

I knew all too well. There were two types of potters in the world. One kind, those who had been raised to throw for production, worked incredibly fast and could generate a great deal of stoneware in a short amount of time. The other type, the category that David fell into, felt that pot tery was an art form that should be developed, with care ful consideration given to the options each step along the way. I liked both types, for different reasons. Without the production potters, I wouldn't have all of my bisqueware for my paint-your-own customers to enjoy, and without the artistic potters, I wouldn't have some of the breathtakingly beautiful pieces I owned, including some of David's work.

The phone rang, and I answered, "Fire at Will."

"Carolyn, it's Sandy. I was wondering if you'd had a chance to talk to Harvey Jenkins yet."

"As a matter of fact, I did. He claims the ClayDate infor mation dates from when Richard Atkins was in town twenty years ago."

"What? How can that be? I was sure it was more recent than that."

"It's an easy mistake to make," I said. "I shouldn't have rushed you like I did."

"I could have sworn I tapped into the current database," Sandy said. "I feel just awful. I must have made you look like a fool."

"It wasn't that bad," I assured her. "I appreciate your help."

"For all the good it did you. I'm not giving up. I'll keep digging. You can count on me."

"Sandy, it's fine; believe me."

She hung up, and I felt bad about telling her what the mayor had told me. I'd learned that it was easy to run into dead ends investigating without the benefit of the police de partment's resources. I never would have had the brashness to do it in the first place if I didn't believe that Sheriff Hodges was going to fail to follow all leads in his investiga tion. I wished the man would just go ahead and retire. Then perhaps we'd get a real sheriff, and I could go back to what I loved to do best, running Fire at Will.

David and I spent the rest of day making cottages out of clay; a lull in our foot traffic, as happened quite frequently, left us virtually undisturbed. As we loaded the last kiln and turned it on, I asked, "Shall we call it a day? I don't think anybody else is coming in."

"It's fine with me. I've got something I have to do."

"It's not about your father, is it?" I didn't want David go ing off on his own to investigate.

"I wish everyone would stop calling him that," David said, the irritation thick in his voice. "He walked out on us before I was born, and the first time I laid eyes on him was this week. As far as I'm concerned, he was a stranger, no more, and no less."

"That's kind of callous, isn't it?"

He slammed his hand down, smashing a cottage he'd been working on. "After what he did? You can't be serious."

I couldn't let him go out so angry. It wouldn't do to have the sheriff run into David and get a whiff of the young man's temper. "If you're not doing that, what's this urgent mission?"

He shrugged. "I'm going to talk to Annie. She's got to see that we belong together."

"David, it's her decision as much as it is yours."

He scowled, and whether I liked it or not, I could see some of his father in him. "Carolyn, don't you think I know that? I can't make her want to be with me, but I can at least try to get her back." He looked at me a second, then added, "I'm open to any suggestions you might have."