Death Waxed Over - Tim Myers [11]
By the time I got back to my apartment, the kayak safely locked up again, I’d managed to ease a lot of the tension I’d been feeling.
Then I saw the blinking light on my answering machine.
The message was from Sheriff Morton, short and simple.
“She’s dead, Harrison. We need to talk.”
I was waiting for Morton in my apartment when there was a heavy knock on the door.
Instead of the sheriff, I found Markum on my doorstep.
‘This isn’t the best time for me to have company,” I said.
The big man with unruly black hair ignored my comment and brushed past me. He’d shaved his wild beard, claiming it had gotten in his way on his last salvage and recovery mission. Though he was one of my tenants and fast becoming one of my best friends at River’s Edge, I still had no real handle on what Markum really did for a living.
“I’m not here to hold your hand. What’s this nonsense about you shooting some woman?”
“I didn’t shoot anybody,” I said wearily.
“I know that, you nitwit. What I want to know is why everybody thinks you did.”
“A woman claims she saw me do it,” I said, “And I’m having a tough time refuting it.”
Markum put a meaty hand on my shoulder, and I felt the weight of it all the way down to my knees. “Harrison, give me her name and I’ll have a talk with her before I go. I’m sure we can straighten this mess out.”
“I wish it were that easy, but she’s not budging. The bad thing is, she’s married to the publisher of The Gunpowder Gazette.”
“That just makes it a little more difficult, but still not impossible.”
I didn’t want to know what Markum had in mind. “Thanks, but let’s see what happens with Morton first. He’s due here any minute.”
Markum shrugged. “Just let me know.” He smiled softly, then added, “Good landlords are hard to come by, and I’d hate to have to look for another place. Listen, I’ve got something planned for this evening, something that’s going to take me out of town for a few days, but if it would help, I’ll postpone it, or cancel it altogether.”
“Don’t change your plans on my account. There’s nothing you can do here.”
Markum nodded. “If you’re sure then, I’ll go. I’ve got a honey of an opportunity, and I’m not sure it will wait.”
There was another knock on the door. That had to be the sheriff. I started to say as much to Markum when he said, “I’ll be on my way, but let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will,” I promised as I opened the door.
The sheriff was there, and the second he saw Markum, the frown on his face deepened, though I wouldn’t have thought it was possible. He said curtly, “Markum.”
“Sheriff,” the big man answered, then walked out, but not before hesitating long enough to say to me, “Remember what I said.”
I nodded, then shut the door behind him.
Morton said, “What was that all about?”
“He was offering to help me out with something,” I said.
“Like what?”
“We’ve been talking about painting the hallway,” I said, that being the first thing that popped into my head.
Morton snorted, but didn’t push it. “You’ve got some real problems, my friend.”
I felt my knees start to buckle. “You’re going to arrest me? What’s your evidence? I didn’t shoot her.”
“Take it easy. I’m not talking about me. I was just interviewed, if you want to call it that, by somebody from the newspaper. From the questions the reporter was asking, you’re going to be the focus of their article tomorrow. I’ve got a feeling my ‘no comments’ are going to make things look bad for you. I thought you should know.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. I’m glad you believe me.”
Morton shook his head. “I’m not saying I do, and I’m not saying I don’t, but I’ll be dipped in tar if I’m going to let them smear you without the facts. You might want to shut the candleshop for a few days.”
“What, and let them win? I’m not going anywhere. I’m innocent, whether anyone believes me or not.”
Morton said sadly, “And