Death Waxed Over - Tim Myers [21]
“He said that he could just as easily tell the police that he’d seen me shoot her instead of backing me up.”
Morton shook his head. “Harrison, I hate to break it to you, but we’ve gotten several tips from people claiming that you’re the one who shot Gretel.”
“Did anybody leave their name and number?” I asked.
That actually got a smile from the sheriff. “No, it’s funny how brave folks are when it’s all anonymous, isn’t it? You’re taking the newspaper write-up pretty well.”
“That’s because I didn’t read it,” I said.
“You probably should, just to know what they’re saying about you.”
“I don’t need to. I’m already expecting the worst.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “The real reason I came by was to tell you to watch your back. There’s a witch hunt brewing, and I won’t have it in my jurisdiction.”
“So you believe me?” I asked.
“Let’s just say I’m not rushing to judgment,” he said. “On the face of it, I’d say it wasn’t your style to shoot a woman in the back like that.”
“Thanks for that, anyway,” I said.
Morton headed for the door, then waited for me to let him out. As I shut off the lights, I said, “Sheriff, thanks for the warning. I appreciate it.”
“Just thought you ought to know.”
I went back upstairs, picked up the biography and started to read, but I just couldn’t get into it. I drifted off wondering how many accusations tomorrow would bring.
Chapter 6
I discovered that some kind citizen had left me two newspapers in front of the candleshop when I went downstairs the next morning. They’d thoughtfully provided yesterday’s edition of The Gunpowder Gazette, along with Monday’s paper as well. I considered tossing them in the recycling without reading them, but my curiosity got the better of me, and after going inside, I unfolded the papers with dread.
It was even worse than I’d expected. candlemaker slain at fair, the headline screamed across the top of page one of Sunday’s paper. The top of the fold carried the story, along with a glamour shot Gretel had used for publicity announcing the opening of Flickering Lights. When I flipped the paper over, I was shocked to find my own face staring back. The tag line under it said, “Harrison Black, rival candlemaker, questioned at the scene.” It wasn’t the most flattering photo I’d ever seen of myself, and somehow they’d managed to shade it two tones darker than normal, giving me a dark and sinister look. If that was how they’d handled the photograph, I couldn’t imagine what the article itself said. I scanned it for my name and found it uncomfortably close to the top. Harrison Black, embroiled in a heated rivalry with the victim, was present at the scene of the crime. Though Mr. Black was questioned extensively by the police, he was released due to insufficient evidence. An anonymous source with the police department said that though there was an eyewitness to the slaying, there was no other specific direct evidence against Mr. Black at the time of his questioning. That was just wonderful. Reading the article, I was starting to get the suspicion that I’d done it myself.
The follow-up paper wasn’t much better, but at least there were no photographs of me in it. Instead, there was a small headline below the fold that said the police were close to an arrest. I was startled to see that it also mentioned several anonymous tips the police had received, and that they’d even noted Sheriff Morton’s visit to River’s Edge the night before! It was obvious someone had been watching the candleshop last night.
Eve came in and found me reading the paper. “Honestly, Harrison, don’t you have anything better to do with your time than read that rag?”
“I didn’t buy it. Someone left it on our doorstep. Did you see this?” I asked, waving the paper around in the air.
“I don’t read rubbish,” she said, “And you shouldn’t, either. Don’t you have a class to prepare for?”
“Do you honestly think she’s coming?” Mrs. Jorgenson was strong willed and tough minded, but I couldn’t believe she’d show up after all the bad publicity I was getting lately.
“Come, Harrison, she’s too devoted