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By Root 205 0

or more unlikely, a homicide. I’d been forced to look into my Great- Aunt Belle’s murder when Morton hadn’t believed that her death had been deliberate, but that had been personal, and I had no doubt the sheriff would be able to handle this particular situation. I didn’t have time to help even if he asked, which I was certain he wouldn’t be doing. I had my star student and number-one customer, Mrs. Henrietta Jorgenson, coming in tomorrow, and we were embarking on a new way to make candles. Earlier we’d learned, with me barely one step ahead of her, rolling candles out of sheets of wax and the basics of pouring hot, melted wax into molds. I was going to teach her the dipping method, and some of its variations, and I’d been practicing like a madman when she’d announced she was ready to tackle a new way to make candles during her last visit. Mrs. Jorgenson had very deep pockets and an honest love for my craft, two things that endeared her to me.

When the sheriff returned with a heavy-duty flashlight that no doubt doubled as a nightstick, I unlocked the door to The Pot Shot and stepped aside so he could enter. It was only natural that Esmeralda and I follow him inside.

“You’re not bringing that cat in here, are you?” the sheriff asked.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her.”

He shook his head, but he didn’t forbid it, so I figured it was okay. Despite my impromptu earlier pronouncement, the sheriff knelt down and tried to find a pulse. As he searched for the faintest sign of life, there was nothing I could do but watch and wait. I found myself holding my breath as Morton loomed over the dead man. Had I missed something? Was there a chance Aaron hadn’t been dead when I’d come in? If so, I’d wasted precious time by not calling an ambulance first.

Morton’s attention left the body, then his beam of light trailed across the floor. It appeared to me that the potter had been sitting at his wheel and had crashed onto the floor beside it. Aaron had been about my age, somewhere in his thirties, but I’d already lost one childhood friend to a heart attack, so I knew that was a distinct possibility here. As the sheriff examined the cord that ran from the pottery wheel to the outlet, I said, “He is dead, isn’t he?”

“Oh yes, I agree with your diagnosis, Doctor.”

“For how long? Can you tell?”

Morton brushed away my questions as if they were circling gnats. “What? I don’t know, but it’s been a while. Listen, why don’t you wait upstairs? I’ll find you when I’m finished here.”

“Fine by me,” I said as I started out with Esme. The cat was quiet in my grasp, almost nestling inward toward me. Could she sense the presence of death in the room, or was it due more to Heather’s abrupt abandonment?

“Wait a second,” Morton called out as I neared the door. “This is it. It has to be.”

“What did you find?” I asked as I hurried back toward him.

The sheriff shined his light on part of the electrical cord, and I could see that it was so frayed some of the wiring was showing through. Beside it was a puddle of water and a nearly empty bucket. “I’d have to say it was accidental,” the sheriff said. “Looks like he must have knocked the bucket over and the water hit the wire.”

“Then let’s unplug it so I can get the power going,” I said. I didn’t mean to be callous about the whole thing, but I did have a building without electricity.

“Not so fast,” the sheriff said. “I need to get photos of all this first.”

“You said yourself it was an accident.”

Morton said, “You can wait for me to take some pictures first. Hey, where are you going?”

“Upstairs, like you suggested,” I replied. “I’ve got a half-gallon of cherry-chocolate ice cream in my freezer, and if you’re going to take as long as I think you are, it’s going to melt by the time I get the power back on. Can I bring you a bowl?”

Morton shook his head, then as I walked off, he added, “Maybe just a little.”

I carried Esmeralda upstairs, found some kitty litter from her last visit and used an old pan of Belle’s for a litter box. I’d picked up a few extra cans of food at the store for her, just in case she came