Death Waxed Over - Tim Myers [9]
“I know,” Wanda Klein said huffily as she stormed off into the crowd. As soon as she was gone, the rest of the group broke up until it was just the sheriff and me.
“Are you going to arrest me?” I asked.
“Motive and opportunity aren’t enough, Harrison.”
“Motive? You honestly think I’d shoot somebody because they were selling more candles than I was? That’s ridiculous.”
“Don’t forget, we have an eyewitness,” Morton said.
“She’s either lying or she’s wrong. So arrest me, if you’re so convinced I did it.”
“Harrison, losing your temper’s not going to do either one of us any good.”
“I don’t appreciate being accused like that,” I said.
“Then you’re probably going to love this.” He motioned to one of his deputies, who held a fishing tackle box in one hand. As he removed a swab and some liquid from the box, I asked, “What’s this all about?”
“Just hold still. It’ll only take a second.”
The deputy rubbed different parts of both of my hands, studied the swabs, then shook his head. “Nothing here.”
That’s when I got it. “So now you know I didn’t fire a gun today.”
“Not without gloves on, anyway.” Morton scratched his jaw. “It’s procedure. You’re not planning any big trips anytime soon, are you?”
I couldn’t believe he thought I could have killed her. “No, you know where I spend all my time. If you need me, I’ll be at River’s Edge.”
I walked off before he could say anything else and returned to my table. Most of the items for sale were gone. “What happened, did someone rob me while I was away?”
Heather said, “Are you kidding? As soon as that woman accused you of shooting Gretel, people started buying your stuff like crazy. I had half a dozen people make offers on the giveaway candle.”
‘That’s just great.” I started gathering up what was left of my display and shoved it all in a box I had stored under my table.
Heather said, “You’re not quitting, are you?”
“I don’t feel like staying here, not after what happened. Don’t worry, I’ll come back and help you break down this evening.”
“Harrison, if you run now, folks are going to think you really did shoot her.”
“And if I stay, I’ll do myself more harm than good. I’ll be back later to get our stuff, Heather. I promise.”
The last place on earth I wanted to be was at that table. I needed to get out of New Conover, and if I had my way, I’d never come back.
I thought about going by the hospital to check on Gretel’s condition, but I didn’t want anyone to think I was there to finish what I’d started. I’d have to rely on the grapevine at River’s Edge to tell me what was happening. No worries there, though. Millie Nelson, the woman who ran The Crocked Pot, had more information contacts than the police and the newspaper combined.
Millie handed me a cup of coffee, strong and black, the second I walked in the door of her cafe. An apron covered most of her ample form, and a frown creased on her lips as she saw me. “Harrison, are you all right?”
“I’m guessing you’ve already heard about the shooting.”
She nodded. “One of the sheriff’s men was here getting coffee. We heard the call go out on the radio. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t shoot her, Millie,” I said flatly.
“Now who in the world thinks you did?”
“Some woman claims to be an eyewitness. She seems pretty convinced she saw me do it. All because I was standing at the wrong place at the wrong time and happened to throw my orange juice container away, though I still can’t see how she thought it was a gun.”
“Okay, back up. You lost me there.”
“I grabbed a quick bite on the run, and as I was walking back to my sales table, I saw Gretel Barnett fall over. There was blood spreading out on the back of her dress, but before I could do anything, a woman named Wanda Klein started screaming that I was a killer.”
Millie shook her head. “Wanda is a lunatic, everybody knows that.”
“Try telling the sheriff. Maybe he’ll believe you. I surely didn’t make any headway with him. So you know this woman?”
“Oh yes,” Millie