The Cracked Pot (21 page)

to eat at the coffee shop. Neither did I feel like going under Shelly's microscope, so instead, on a whim I got into the In trigue and drove home.

Bill's truck was parked in the driveway, and I was happy he was home. My husband wasn't the most romantic man in the world; in fact, much of the time he could be down right gruff. But something about his presence soothed me, made me feel safe, like I belonged. I'd never tried to convey that in words to him, and even if I did I doubted he'd understand. But that didn't matter. I knew, and that was enough.

"Bill? Are you in here?" No answer. He must still be in his shop, though with his injured hand, I wondered how much work he'd be able to accomplish.

I walked out through the back door and started for his woodworking shop. As I walked, I noticed something odd about the backyard. The lawn was filled with small holes and looked as though it'd been invaded by a horde of go phers. Bill wasn't all that keen on landscaping, and neither was I, but I was sure we couldn't allow this rampage to go unchecked.

I finally found him in his shop leafing through plan books. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Carolyn? What in the world are you doing here? Why aren't you at work?"

"I thought I'd come home to see my husband. That's al lowed, isn't it?" He didn't look all that pleased to see me.

"You know it is. I just thought you'd be too busy. You don't usually pop home for lunch."

"Listen, if I've interrupted some grand plans of yours, I can make a quick sandwich and take it back to the pottery shop with me." I'd had warmer welcomes at my dentist's of fice.

"I'm sorry," he said abruptly. "This blasted hand hurts too much when I try to do anything, and if I take a pill for the pain, I'm too loopy to work. I can't win."

"So why are you sitting out here feeling sorry for your self?"

"I don't have the slightest idea," he said, trying to scare up a smile but managing only a sickly grin.

"Come on in and I'll make something for both of us." I offered him my hand, and he took it.

"That's the best idea I've had all day."

"I believe it was mine."

"Don't quibble. What's for lunch?"

I thought about what I had in my refrigerator and freezer, and realized a real shopping trip to the grocery store was long past due. "Let's go see, shall we?"

As we walked back to the house, I said, "The gophers are getting pretty aggressive with our backyard. There are lumps everywhere."

"Fine," he said absentmindedly.

"I was thinking about getting some dynamite and taking care of it myself."

"That's good," he said, still lost in thoughts of his own. "Wait a second. Did you say dynamite?"

"I did indeed."

"There's no need for anything that drastic," he said.

"Don't scold me. I was just trying to see if you were pay ing any attention to me, which you weren't."

"I've got deadlines to meet, Carolyn. This is serious."

I stopped at the door and turned to Bill. "You are retired. Stop acting like you have to earn a living, because you don't. We're fine. If you have to, give back the money you took as a down payment."

He pulled away from me. "It's not the money, and you know it. I gave my word, and now I'm not going to be able to keep it. You know how I feel about that."

"You can't heal yourself," I said, suddenly angry. "The harder you push, the longer it's going to take you to get bet ter."

"I keep telling you, it's not that bad."

"It's serious enough to keep you from working. Do you really want to have this argument again?"

"No, not particularly," he said gruffly.

"Then let's find something to eat."

I poked around the kitchen, but the supplies were low in nearly every department. "How about an omelet?" I asked.

"For lunch?"

"No, I'm thinking about breakfast three weeks from Thursday. Do you think you'll be in the mood for one then? I can pencil it in, then you can change your mind if you'd like."

He looked surprised. "There's no need to snap."

"Then don't ask silly questions. I'm not in the mood for it. Is it going to be eggs, or would you prefer peanut butter sandwiches?"

He smiled, then said, "Eggs sound fine."

"Just fine?" I was in a snit, and I couldn't do anything about it. It would wear off eventually, but for the moment, I couldn't seem to stop myself from snapping at my husband.

"Grand, wondrous, joyful, delightful. That's what I meant to say."

I stared at him for ten seconds, then returned his smile. "Eggs it is."

"I'll do the toast," he volunteered, "and I'll grate the cheese, too. Let's make omelets."

"You're a model of helpfulness," I said.

"Are you kidding? I'm afraid if I don't, you won't feed me at all."

I put the pan down, but before I cracked the eggs, I said, "Bill, I am sorry. I know I'm being a little abrasive, but this murder is digging up things that might be better off left buried."

"You don't have to investigate it yourself, you know."

"I can't just let it go," I said as I rinsed the eggs and cracked them open. As I put them in a bowl and stirred in some milk, I added, "It's not in my nature."

"I know. It was just a suggestion. What are we going to do with ourselves? I'm a woodworker who can't use his shop, and you're a shop owner who doesn't have time for her business. We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

"I like us, despite our varied flaws," I said.

"So do I." He hugged me briefly, then said, "I'll have that cheese for you in a minute."

I made the omelet big enough for both of us, and it was delicious, especially with the sharp cheddar cheese we both preferred.

After we ate, Bill pushed his plate away. "What's for dessert?"

"Do you have to have something sweet after every meal?"

He shrugged. "I don't have to, but it sure tastes good."

"There's one slice left of the lemon meringue pie, but I thought you were saving it for tonight."

"Forget that. Grab two forks and I'll split it with you."

"I'd better not," I said. "I've got to get back to Fire at Will. I've left David there long enough."

"Suit yourself," he said, happily sliding out the pie tin from the refrigerator.

* * *

"I wasn't sure you were coming back," David said impa tiently as I walked back into the shop.

As I hung my coat up, I said, "I didn't realize there was any rush."

"There you were wrong."

I looked around the shop, and there wasn't a single cus tomer in sight. "I can see you're just overwhelmed with work."

"It's not that," David said. "Annie called a few minutes ago and said she wanted to talk. I hate to do this to you, but can I take the rest of the afternoon off?"

This could be trouble. "Did she say what she wanted to talk about?" I asked.

"No, why do you ask?"

"David, there's something you should know before you meet her."

He narrowed his gaze. "Carolyn, what have you been up to?"

"What makes you ask me that?"

"Come on, I've known you my entire life. Spill."

There was no use denying it. "I had a talk with her an hour ago."

"You had no right," he said fiercely. "I swear, you're worse than my mother."

"High praise indeed," I said. "Don't you want to know what we talked about?"

"Do I even need to ask?" He had his hand on the door, but I had to stop him. David deserved to hear my suspicions, whether he wanted to or not.

"Move your hand, Carolyn." The calm resonance in his voice was a sure sign that he was angry.

"Not until you listen to what I have to say. I can be just as stubborn as you can be, you know that, don't you?"

He took a step back. "Talk."

"Do you know what happened to Annie's father?" I had to tread lightly here.

"Sure. He died pretty soon after she was born. Neither one of us had a dad growing up. It's something that's brought us close. What does that have to do with anything?"

"You know about the jewelry store robbery, don't you? The one where he was injured?"

He scratched his chin. "She mentioned it."

"It happened about the time your father left town," I said, not able to look into his eyes.

"So what? Wait a second. You can't be serious." I could hear his breathing become raspy. "You think my dad had something to do with it, don't you? Is that why you think he left town, because he was afraid of getting caught? You didn't even know him."

"Surely you don't think you did, David. He left before you were born, and you didn't see him again until the day he was murdered."

"He wasn't a crook. I don't believe it."

"I'm not saying he was, but think about it. If Annie held your father responsible for what happened to her dad, she could come after you, too."

"Carolyn, you've breathed in too many fumes from the kilns. I can't believe you're even suggesting this."

"I'm not saying it's true, but it's a possibility, and isn't that reason enough to be careful?"

"I'm leaving," he said. By the tone of his voice, I knew better than to try to stop him again.

I probably shouldn't have said anything, not without more evidence than a gut feeling, but at least David would go to the rendezvous with his eyes open. At least I hoped he would. I felt guilty about accusing Annie, but if she had been involved with Richard Atkins's murder, David needed to be careful around her.

I knew I'd fret about David until I heard from him again, but after the way we'd left things, I didn't expect that would be anytime soon. In the meantime, I had more avenues to explore. Unlike our esteemed sheriff, I couldn't afford to focus on one suspect. Too many people had had reason to want Richard Atkins dead, and unfortunately, several of them were either friends or family of mine.

Chapter
12

I couldn't shut down Fire at Will again; I'd done that too many times in the past few months. The bottom line was starting to suffer, and I was never that far away from being in the red as it was. I didn't know many small stores that could afford to stay in business with the kind of hours I'd been keeping.

To my surprise, I had a few customers come in over the course of the rest of the afternoon, though none of them wanted to paint anything, or work with the raw clay in back, either. Still, by the time I closed out my register, I'd made enough to prove that staying open had been worthwhile, even if it did mean that I was no closer to solving Richard Atkins's murder.

I had locked up the shop and started for my car when I saw Kendra Williams and Rose Nygren huddled together in conversation in front of Hattie's Attic. I couldn't pass up a chance to listen in on two of my suspects colluding about something.

I tried to get close enough to hear what they were talking about, but their voices were too low for me to understand what they were saying.

"Hello, ladies," I said the second I realized that Kendra had spotted me approaching.

"Carolyn," Kendra said stiffly. Rose merely glared.

"What's going on?" I tried to keep a sunny and harmless expression on my face, though I doubted either one would buy it.

"None of your business," Rose said in an uncharacteris tically harsh tone.

"Is that any way to talk to me? I've never done anything to you."

"Other than accuse me of murder?" Rose asked.

"I never accused you of anything. I've just been trying to find out what happened to Richard Atkins. Is that such a ter rible thing to do?"

"That's why we have a police force," Kendra said.

"We both know that not much goes on in Maple Ridge that you don't know about," I said. "I'm sure the police could learn a thing or two about our fair town, if you chose to tell them."

Kendra shrugged, and I could tell she was weakening, but Rose said, "Don't let her flatter you. She just wants to know what we've been talking about."

Kendra nodded. "You're right. It's none of your concern, Carolyn."

"Fine, be that way," I said. "When Sheriff Hodges asks me about you two, I know just what I'll say."

Kendra snorted. "As if the sheriff would ever consult with you about anything."

"You see how often he comes by my shop," I said. "What do you think he's doing over there, asking for pottery tips?" Okay, that was a flat-out lie, but I didn't care. After all, the sheriff did spend an inordinate amount of time at Fire at Will, albeit only to scold me for my amateur sleuthing ef forts.

Before Rose could dissuade her, Kendra said, "If you must know, we were discussing our alibis."

"Do you mean making them up?" I asked.

Rose snapped, "No, we were talking about whether we should step forward and tell the sheriff where we were the night of the murder, so he won't suspect us."

"You two were together?" I couldn't believe they hadn't told me sooner. Could it be true, or were they each covering for the other? Wait a second, what about Rose's glasses be ing left at the hospital? "But Rose, you were in the hospital waiting room three nights ago. I've already looked into that, and I've got your glasses to prove it."