Snuffed Out - Tim Myers [6]
“That’s my favorite kind,” I said as I grabbed my last doughnut, along with the coffee, and headed over to At Wick’s End.
Tick Dearborn was opening her antique shop as I walked past, and I thought about moving on to the candleshop, but it appeared I was the designated deliverer of bad news. Tick was a middle-aged woman who’d never grown out of her big-hair phase, and I wondered how much ozone she’d personally destroyed with hairspray every morning in the course of her lifetime. What I liked best about her was that she had a ready smile and always seemed to think the best of people.
“Tick, have you heard the news?”
She turned to me and said, “Were you talking to me, Harrison?”
I saw her eyes were red and she had a handkerchief to her nose. “Never mind. Somebody already told you.”
“Told me what?” she said as she dabbed at her eyes. “These allergies are killing me. I’m dripping and stopped up and sneezing my head off. I swear I’m going to move to Arizona.”
“Aaron Gaston died last night.”
She took a deep breath, then said, “How sad. Was it a car accident? I’m always worried about traveling by automobile.”
“No, he died in his shop.”
“How tragic. Just like Belle.”
I certainly hoped not. I said, “I guess so. Well, I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Harrison, let me know if there’s a service. I think we should all be there.”
“I’ll do that.”
Tick went back to opening her store, Aunt Tick’s Antiques. Her real name was Patricia, but she’d told me the story that when her younger sister had been a toddler, she couldn’t say that, so she came up with Tick instead of Trish. Tick was in her early fifties and had been selling antiques for the twenty years since her husband had died, leaving her with his inheritance from his own family, an old Victorian mansion stuffed full of antiques.
I felt like a ghoul passing the word around to the folks at River’s Edge, but my tenants had a right to know.
After unlocking the door to At Wick’s End, I found Eve Pleasants already there, though she wasn’t due in for another hour.
“Going for some overtime?” I said with a smile as I locked the door back behind me.
“I wanted to be sure you were ready for this lesson. Harrison, I don’t mean to put any extra pressure on you, but we can’t afford to lose Mrs. Jorgenson. Not now.”
“Are you worried? She seems happy enough.”
Eve said, “Let’s just keep her that way, shall we?”
I finished up the last bite of my doughnut and said, “There’s something I need to tell you. I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
“Something besides Aaron’s death? Is this place cursed, Harrison?”
“How did you hear about it already?” I asked.
Eve looked sheepish for a second, then said, “We live in a small town.”
“News travels fast in Micah’s Ridge, doesn’t it? What did you know about the man? I wasn’t around him enough to get much of an impression one way or another.”
“He was nice, I suppose, but you should really ask Heather. They were quite close.”
“So I’ve heard.” I took a sip of coffee, then asked, “How close were they, would you say?”
Eve started to say something, then obviously changed her mind. “Why don’t you ask her? I’m not comfortable discussing this with you.” Eve frowned, then added, “Aaron’s death is going to leave you without a tenant. Have you thought about that at all?”
“It never occurred to me,” I said. “I suppose I’ll put an advertisement in the paper or something.”
Eve shook her head. “Belle never advertised, and she managed to keep full occupancy here. She even kept a list of tenants on a waiting list. Didn’t you find it in her apartment?”
“I never saw it,” I admitted, “But I haven’t gone through all her papers, either. It can keep.”
“You shouldn’t tarry on this, Harrison.”
I patted her hand gently. “You worry too much. Everything’s going to be fine.”
I hoped. I never considered the prospect of any of my tenants leaving, certainly not by dying on the premises. Would anyone even want a store where the owner had died on site? That was how I’d inherited my shop, but I wasn’t sure just anyone would be willing to do it. What would