At Wick's End - Tim Myers [22]
Enough was enough. “Pearly, the place has been cleaned up. You’re too late to see anything. I’ve got some boxes ready for the Salvation Army and I’ve already moved my things upstairs. As far as I’m concerned, the incident’s over.”
He nodded. “I suppose you’re correct. It can be difficult to let go though, can’t it?”
I patted his shoulder. “Sometimes that’s the only option we have.”
I thought the conversation was over, but Pearly hesitated, then added, “By the way, the new lock was an excellent idea.”
“Thanks. I get them every now and then,” I said, then added a smile so he could see I was joking. Before Pearly could leave, I asked, “Since I’ve got you here, I’d like to ask you something. What do you know about this Markum fellow upstairs?”
“The salvage and recovery gent? Truthfully, we haven’t had the opportunity to get to know one another yet. He keeps pretty well to himself, and from what I’ve seen, his office hours are only at night. Belle joked that he must be some kind of vampire to work when he does. Well, I’d better scat. Aaron Gaston has a leak in his sink, and potters are absolutely anal about their water supply. Have you met Aaron yet?”
“No, is he the one who runs The Pot Shot?”
“He’s the man. An unusual fellow, not somebody you’d pick out of the crowd as an artist, but the gentleman is a true talent. He’s been teaching me pottery, or at least attempting to. You should take lessons yourself, if you’re interested, they’re quite reasonable. Fascinating hobby, pottery. The clay has a mind of its own sometimes. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get to that sink.”
After Pearly was gone, I found myself wondering how he’d known I’d had the lock replaced upstairs. Was he being a good handyman, prepared to offer to replace it himself when he spotted the new work, or had he tried to gain reentry to continue his search and been foiled by the replacement? His offer to look around Belle’s place could have been a friendly gesture, or it could mean Pearly wasn’t ready to give up his search. I was learning one thing—investigating Belle’s death was making me suspicious of everyone in her life. It was amazing how many things could be twisted when I started with that frame of reference.
My stomach was just starting to growl from hunger when Heather from The New Age came in with a picnic basket. “Harrison, how would you like to join me for lunch?”
“That sounds great. Let me check with Eve first, though, and make sure she doesn’t need me here.”
After Eve assured me that I could take all the time I needed, a little too enthusiastically for my taste, I joined Heather at the door of At Wick’s End.
“Does this mean you’re free?” she asked.
“I got the distinct impression I’m not exactly crucial to At Wick’s End’s operation at the moment.”
Heather laughed. “Oh, pooh, you’re just learning, Harrison. These things take time.”
Outside, the autumn day was glorious, the sunshine warm enough to enjoy but without the brutal heat and intensity of summer. Though we were near the mountains, we still got blistering summer temperatures nearly as much as Charlotte and Hickory did. No doubt about it, autumn was my favorite time of year. I loved to see the changing leaves decorate the world with their pallets of color and taste the air scrubbed clean and fresh, with just a hint of the chill to come.
I took in a deep breath, then asked Heather, “So where should we eat?”
“If you don’t mind the concrete steps, I nearly always eat my lunch near the river. You can’t imagine the things you see float by.”
“That sounds good,” I said as I followed her down the steps that led to the water.
After we found a spot we liked, Heather opened her basket and pulled out sandwiches carefully wrapped in brown paper. I took one offered and said, “I’m starving. What are we eating?”
She held her wrapped sandwich up and said, “I made us bean sprouts. They’re really great.”
I tried to hide my disappointment. What else should I have expected from a hippie shop owner? I should have realized that a club sandwich would be out of the question before I