At Wick's End - Tim Myers [13]
But it wasn’t just the harshness of the explosion that made me stumble backward. There, by the window, was a bloodless white face peering in at me.
I dropped the candle as my back hit a display shelf, my sight lost again from the flash of lightning. The man outside beat on the window and yelled, “Open up,” as I scrambled blindly for the beeswax candle. I finally chased it down under one of the shelves. That’s the problem with cylindrical objects; they have a tendency to roll. Just as I started to light the wick again, the power came back on.
The ghostly face I’d seen was clear now with illumination. Standing outside the shop was a man in uniform, soaked to the bone, with one of the palest complexions I’d ever seen in my life. He flashed a badge and repeated his command to open up.
I did so, but not before grabbing a hand-forged iron candlestand that would do in a pinch as a weapon.
“I’m one soaked rat,” the cop said as he walked in, shaking the water from his jacket and running his fingers through his hair. “The rain’s coming down so hard and blowing in under the awning I didn’t have a chance.” He noticed the stand in my hand and added, “Plan on clubbing a cop, are you?”
“Do you mind if I have another look at that badge?”
He grinned, a reaction that surprised me. “Don’t mind a bit. Listen, I hate to leave puddles all over your store, Belle would have shot me. How about getting me a towel from the bathroom? She keeps extras on the shelf above the mirror.”
I glanced at his badge, then retrieved a towel. Man, I was getting too paranoid for my own good. First, the wind had rustled through the bushes, then that storm really had given me the creeps. Seeing the sheriff’s pale face lurking in the window hadn’t helped matters.
As he dried off, the sheriff said, “My name’s Coburn. You must be Harrison. Belle told me a lot about you. She was a truly fine lady.”
I nodded. “I think so too. Did you come to investigate the break-in upstairs?”
Coburn shook his head, drying some of the moisture from his hair. “I thought Stevens took care of that.”
“He seemed to think it was some random act of violence,” I said.
“And you believe differently,” he said flatly.
“Think about it. Whoever broke in had to have had a key. There was no sign that the lock had been forced, and Lucas Young swears he locked the door behind him when he came by to do his inventory this morning. The lock worked fine too, I tested it myself after everyone else was gone. And another thing, what thief in his right mind would randomly break into an apartment on the second floor of a building like this? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“So your instincts are better than my man’s,” he said evenly. “Mind if I ask what qualifications you’ve got?”
I debated telling him I’d cut my teeth on Agatha Christie, and had continued my love affair with mysteries ever since. I figured out the killer more times than not in just about every book I read, but I doubted it would carry much weight with him. “Common sense. I tried to tell your man that, but he seemed more concerned with your jewelry store robbery.”
The sheriff stopped toweling his hair for a moment as he gave me a solid stare. “The robbery’s nothing, as far as I’m concerned. It’s the murder that’s got my blood boiling. I take it personally when somebody dies in my jurisdiction.”
Okay, I had to admit he had a point. “I understand that, but I still don’t like the idea of somebody breaking in Belle’s place, no matter what your deputy thinks happened.”
Coburn said, “I read the report. Like you said, there was no sign of forced entry, so the door was either unlocked when the thief got there, or whoever was up there had a key. Either way, that problem should be over now that you have a new lock on the apartment door.”
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“I was playing chess with Christine Lanina when you called her. Christine’s not just a good locksmith, she’s a fine chess player. Blast it all, I thought I had her last move figured out, but she managed to come up with something