Death Waxed Over - Tim Myers [10]
“So what happened?”
“Her husband convinced her to buy her coffee somewhere else and drop it. At least one member of that family has some sense.”
“So you don’t think I have anything to worry about from her?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say that, Harrison. Evidently that was the first time in twenty-four years of marriage that Hank Klein ever disagreed with her, and he’s been regretting it ever since. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re mentioned in the article about what happened in tomorrow’s paper. Prepare yourself for it.”
“Maybe I need a lawyer,” I said. The only one I really knew was Gary Cragg, one of my tenants and a man I thoroughly disliked. Did that matter, though? Lawyers and surgeons don’t have to be cordial. What they needed to be was competent, and I’d heard that Cragg was that.
Millie patted my arm. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
I got back to At Wick’s End a good six hours before I was due. Eve was dusting shelves as I walked in.
“Harrison Black, tell me you’re not here checking up on me.”
“I trust you, Eve. There was a bit of trouble at the Founder’s Day fair.”
“They forgot to assign you a space? That’s unforgivable.”
“I wish that’s all it was, but it’s a little more serious than that. Gretel Barnett was shot an hour ago.”
Eve dropped her dust rag without realizing it. “Shot? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m afraid I am. It gets worse. Morton is inclined to believe that I had something to do with it.”
“And why would he think that? That’s complete and utter nonsense.”
“Believe it or not,” I said, “there’s an eyewitness, so she claims, but I didn’t do it.”
Eve said, “Harrison, I told you that fair would bring trouble.”
She’d told me no such thing, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Listen, if you don’t need me here, I’m going out on the water for a little while.”
“I know we’re enjoying a warm spell, but isn’t it still a little brisk for kayaking?”
“I’ll let you know when I get back.”
I retrieved my kayak from the storage area for River’s Edge and carried it down to the water. A long set of concrete steps led down to the water, and it made a handy place to put my boat in. I’d grown to love tooling around the Gunpowder River in my bright yellow kayak, but I wasn’t looking for recreation today. What I needed was time away from the world, and a lot of it. I didn’t always wear my life jacket, though Erin Talbot had chided me about always putting it on before I hit the water. She ran a canoe and kayak rental business and was an enthusiast, tackling whitewater all over the South. I personally enjoyed the flat, calm water of the Gunpowder. I put the kayak in the water, then stepped carefully inside. The first time I’d tried doing it on my own after buying the kayak, I’d capsized and managed to get thoroughly soaked in two feet of water. I was still a little shaky getting in and out, but once I was seated inside and had the blades in my hands, I was in my element. I thought about going downriver toward Erin’s place. It was quite a paddle—I had plenty of time and a beautiful day—but what I really wanted was to be alone. I set off upstream, slicing through the mild current like I was on rails, and decided to work off some steam.
After paddling over an hour, I was nearly ready to turn around and go back to River’s Edge when I spotted a tributary feeding into the Gunpowder that looked interesting. Pointing the tip of my boat toward it, I entered the narrower waterway and started exploring. A road bridge covered the water a hundred feet in, and as I paddled under it, I could hear the tinny echo of my oars as they dipped into the water. On a whim, I slapped the surface with the flat part of my paddle and was rewarded with a muted echo, as if the concrete and steel cushioned the blow. The underside of the bridge looked like corrugated steel, and as cars