Read Online A Murderous Glaze by Melissa Glazer - Free Book Online
Authors: Melissa Glazer
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expensive.”
“I will. I promise.” David had been trying for months to come up with a signature color for his work, a new shade or hue he could call his own. I understood Hannah’s desire to see her only child get a degree in something he could use, but David was a born potter and glazer, and it would be a shame if those talents had to take a backseat to a career he didn’t want. But, as I told myself a thousand times, I’d raised my boys, and I wasn’t about to take on David as well. He and his mother were going to have to work it out between them without any interference from me. At least not much. Honestly, I was trying to stay out of it, but really, who can stand idly by when they see someone they care about making a mistake? No, I knew I could really muck things up, despite my good intentions, and if it had been January, I would have made it a New Year’s resolution to butt out of their affairs. At least I was going to try.
Now I had a free afternoon to investigate. It was time to determine which of the leads the Firing Squad had given me might point me toward Betty Wickline’s murderer.
As I walked around town, I ran into Herman Meadows coming out of Rose Colored Glasses. “Shouldn’t you be working?” he said. “You didn’t shut down the pottery shop, did you?”
“David’s watching the store. Is this one of yours, too?” I asked as I gestured to the stained-glass shop.
“Sure is. I’ve got Hattie’s Attic, this place, yours, and In the Grounds. That’s just in this part of Vermont. I’ve also got some property in North Carolina.”
“Did you inherit that as well?”
He drew himself up to his full five-and-a-half-foot height. “I’ll have you know that I’ve done more with my life than just sit around collecting rent. I’ve got dreams, Carolyn, and I’m making them happen.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
He frowned, then it abruptly turned into a grin. “That’s okay. I guess I’m still a little touchy. My aunt called me up this morning and chewed me out. She said I wasn’t ambitious enough, and I guess she kind of pushed my buttons. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“I don’t mind,” I said.
“Well, I gotta go. I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today.”
I wished I could say the same thing, but if I did, I’d be lying.
As far as the murder investigation was concerned, the afternoon was a total failure. I’d tried to strike up conversations with a dozen different folks I knew, but all I got for my trouble was a handful of rushed good-byes and a few outright snubs. Did these people actually think I could have killed Betty Wickline? Their reactions frustrated me on so many levels. I’d been born and raised in Maple Ridge, I’d raised two sons and owned my own business for years, yet I was being treated like an outcast. I wasn’t used to being a pariah in my own hometown. Still, if anything, my new status only fueled my drive to find out who really had killed Betty.
Thoroughly disgusted with the folks I thought were my friends, I made my way back to Fire at Will. As I strolled along the brook walk, I suddenly realized I’d been ignoring my best source for gossip in all of Maple Ridge. If there was something going on in the shadows of our quaint old town, there was one woman who would surely know about it. It was time to brace Kendra Williams in her own little lion’s den.
Hattie’s Attic contained the most eclectic collection of goods for sale I’d ever seen in my life. There were some truly wonderful pieces buried in the aisles of chairs, signs, baskets, woodworking tools, and a myriad of other old things, but there were also some items of doubtful heritage and shady authenticity. The place was a little too dark for my tastes, its dim lighting reminding me of my grand-mother’s parlor, and I couldn’t imagine how Kendra spent so much time there. Then again, she probably wondered the same thing about me and all my messy glazes and
“I will. I promise.” David had been trying for months to come up with a signature color for his work, a new shade or hue he could call his own. I understood Hannah’s desire to see her only child get a degree in something he could use, but David was a born potter and glazer, and it would be a shame if those talents had to take a backseat to a career he didn’t want. But, as I told myself a thousand times, I’d raised my boys, and I wasn’t about to take on David as well. He and his mother were going to have to work it out between them without any interference from me. At least not much. Honestly, I was trying to stay out of it, but really, who can stand idly by when they see someone they care about making a mistake? No, I knew I could really muck things up, despite my good intentions, and if it had been January, I would have made it a New Year’s resolution to butt out of their affairs. At least I was going to try.
Now I had a free afternoon to investigate. It was time to determine which of the leads the Firing Squad had given me might point me toward Betty Wickline’s murderer.
As I walked around town, I ran into Herman Meadows coming out of Rose Colored Glasses. “Shouldn’t you be working?” he said. “You didn’t shut down the pottery shop, did you?”
“David’s watching the store. Is this one of yours, too?” I asked as I gestured to the stained-glass shop.
“Sure is. I’ve got Hattie’s Attic, this place, yours, and In the Grounds. That’s just in this part of Vermont. I’ve also got some property in North Carolina.”
“Did you inherit that as well?”
He drew himself up to his full five-and-a-half-foot height. “I’ll have you know that I’ve done more with my life than just sit around collecting rent. I’ve got dreams, Carolyn, and I’m making them happen.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
He frowned, then it abruptly turned into a grin. “That’s okay. I guess I’m still a little touchy. My aunt called me up this morning and chewed me out. She said I wasn’t ambitious enough, and I guess she kind of pushed my buttons. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“I don’t mind,” I said.
“Well, I gotta go. I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today.”
I wished I could say the same thing, but if I did, I’d be lying.
As far as the murder investigation was concerned, the afternoon was a total failure. I’d tried to strike up conversations with a dozen different folks I knew, but all I got for my trouble was a handful of rushed good-byes and a few outright snubs. Did these people actually think I could have killed Betty Wickline? Their reactions frustrated me on so many levels. I’d been born and raised in Maple Ridge, I’d raised two sons and owned my own business for years, yet I was being treated like an outcast. I wasn’t used to being a pariah in my own hometown. Still, if anything, my new status only fueled my drive to find out who really had killed Betty.
Thoroughly disgusted with the folks I thought were my friends, I made my way back to Fire at Will. As I strolled along the brook walk, I suddenly realized I’d been ignoring my best source for gossip in all of Maple Ridge. If there was something going on in the shadows of our quaint old town, there was one woman who would surely know about it. It was time to brace Kendra Williams in her own little lion’s den.
Hattie’s Attic contained the most eclectic collection of goods for sale I’d ever seen in my life. There were some truly wonderful pieces buried in the aisles of chairs, signs, baskets, woodworking tools, and a myriad of other old things, but there were also some items of doubtful heritage and shady authenticity. The place was a little too dark for my tastes, its dim lighting reminding me of my grand-mother’s parlor, and I couldn’t imagine how Kendra spent so much time there. Then again, she probably wondered the same thing about me and all my messy glazes and
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