Snuffed Out - Tim Myers [2]
“I don’t know how to tell you this. He’s dead.”
“Dead?” I wasn’t sure what reaction I was expecting, but her trying to fight past me to get into The Pot Shot was not one I’d have considered.
“You can’t go in there,” I said, holding her arms gently in restraint. “There’s nothing we can do. I’ve already called the sheriff. He’s on his way.”
“He can’t be dead,” she started to sob. “He can’t be.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She let out a wail that startled Esmeralda, then before I could stop her, Heather shoved her cat into my arms and raced for her car. Oddly, her lime-green Volkswagen Beetle was out in front instead of in its usual spot in back of the building with the rest of the tenants.
I called out, “Hey, where are you going? What about your cat?”
Esme tried to twist out of my arms, but I held fast. If that cat managed to slip out of my grasp, I’d have a nightmare of a time trying to find her. Headier was taking the potter’s death much harder than I’d expected. Granted, Aaron’s death was a shock, but Heather had instantly fallen apart. I knew that everybody reacted to trauma differently, though. It was just starting to sink in with me that one of my tenants was dead. I was still numb, and that was the only thing that was keeping me going. When it hit me later, as I knew it would, I’d have my own shock to deal with.
Heather didn’t reply to my questions as she got into her car and drove off, but I could see the tears streaming down her cheeks as she turned toward me for an instant.
After the sheriff drove up and joined me in front of The Pot Shot, Morton gestured to the cat. “Got an eyewitness there, or is that the culprit?”
“She belongs to Heather.”
“So where is she?” the sheriff asked.
“She had to run an errand,” I said, not wanting to go into Heather’s reaction until I’d had a chance to talk to her about it some more.
“So you’re stuck cat-sitting.”
I stroked Esme’s head. “Let’s just say we’re hanging out together.”
Morton raised one eyebrow, then said, “Whatever. Okay, let’s see the body. Can you turn some lights on around here? I know times are tough, but you can afford a little electricity, can’t you?”
“The power shorted out and blew a fuse. That’s how I found him. Pearly and I were both looking for the cause. As far as I know, he’s still upstairs. Do you have a flashlight in your car?”
“Absolutely. Give me one second.” As I waited for Morton to grab his flashlight, I was glad to be able to put this in the sheriff’s hands, whether it was an accident, 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