A Time To Kiln

by Gilian Baker

  Giving up trying to figure out if I was hoodwinking him, he went on. “I wish I knew. When did murder become so prevalent we can’t avoid it even in our small town where we’re all neighbors?”

  Before I could open my mouth to weigh in on his rhetorical question, one of his deputies called his name. He turned and walked off without even a goodbye.

  Deciding not to take it as a slight, I bent down to pick up my fallen box. As I stood, a pair of spit-polished, black books came into view.

  “Hey, Jade. Whatcha doing?”

  I stood and looked up into the blue eyes of the newest member of the Albany County Sheriff’s Department, Deputy Crystal Metcalf. Today she wore her long, blond hair pulled up into a complicated bun. In street clothes, she could have passed as closer to twelve than her actual twenty-eight years. Looks could be deceiving though—Crystal was smart and eager to move up in the ranks.

  Despite her spunky, cheerleader look, we’d become fast friends during my first case. Actually, Crystal had saved my life, arriving just in time to keep me from being run-through by a pitchfork-wielding killer. That type of situation tends to bond people together quickly.

  I went through my ruse again, and she bought my story without question, unlike other people I knew.

  “I didn’t know you were taking classes here. Good for you.”

  “Yep. Ellie encouraged me when she heard it was starting up. She dated Paula’s husband in high school.”

  Hatless, Crystal shielded her eyes from the bright, late morning sun. “Yeah, I met Dillon last night. He seemed like a nice guy. He was real broken up about his wife.”

  “That’s Dillon. He is a great guy, though I have to admit I was glad when they stopped going out. I thought he was kind of needy and too easily influenced. You know the type…needs a mother instead of a wife.”

  A giggle escaped her mouth. “Do I ever? That’s a type I seem to attract.”

  “They must be drawn to strong women, I suppose. Someone who’ll take charge so they don’t have to.”

  Enough small talk. I need to get some information out of her before she was missed.

  “So, what do you guys think happened here? I wonder why Paula was here alone so late last night?”

  “We haven’t pieced it all together yet, but when we informed Dillon last night at his workplace, he said their little girl…um…some strange name I can’t remember, must be with his parents, though he didn’t say why.”

  “Hmm. I know they watch her some. Who found the body?”

  Crystal turned her head back toward the barn and lowered her voice. “Old man Warner. He does janitorial work for some of the local businesses to add to his pension. He started working for Paula before she opened.”

  “But why would he be here that late?”

  She was starting to fidget. “Insomnia, according to him. When he couldn’t sleep, he decided to come and get ahead of his work.”

  “Oh.” Nothing sinister there. How disappointing.

  “He was sweeping the gallery when he heard movement in the studio. The killer ran out the studio door when they saw Mr. Warner, but Paula was already dead when Warner got to her.”

  “Hmm.”

  She took a deep breath, blew it out, and smiled at me. “Well, it’s been nice chatting, but I need to get back. We’ve got a lot to cover today.”

  As she turned to go, I pulled a Colombo, “Hey, one more thing, Crystal. Was anything taken? Some of those gorgeous pots would be worth some money.”

  “Not that we can see, nothing obvious. But we’ll get someone to look into it. Coulda been they were interrupted before they had a chance to steal anything.”

  ***

  I’d been back in the office for several hours when Ellie texted to say she was going to check on Dillon before coming home for supper. With a start, I realized I’d lost track of time and forgotten to check on the meal I’d had simmering in the slow cooker.

  Heading downstairs to the kitchen, I had to step over a cat who’d decided to take an afternoon nap at the bottom of the landing, and then found the other one up on the kitchen counter trying to stick its head into the jar of homemade venison broth I’d neglected to put away.

  “Tommy, get down from there.” I swatted the air near his head and with a startled meow, he jumped down and ran off.

  I sighed as I screwed the lid back on and stuck the jar in the refrigerator. Tommy and Tuppence were great company. Nevertheless, just like their namesakes, they were always causing mischief. Though Agatha Christie’s Partners in Crime series was one of her lesser known, I loved it. In honor of the grand dame of mystery, I’d named the kittens after her characters when they’d come into our lives several years ago.

  As I sliced thin wedges of cheddar to go with our dinner, it occurred to me that my cheese slicer worked on the same principle as the tool that had been used to kill Paula. I shuttered at the image that floated into my mind’s eye.

  Had the killer lashed out in a fit of rage, grabbing the first makeshift weapon they could reach? Or had they planned it and brought the tool with them? Could it have been one of the other students who’d held a grudge against Paula? That was something else I didn’t want to imagine.

  ***

  Our bowls heaped with venison stew from the slow cooker on the kitchen counter, we gathered around our split-log table for supper. As soon as our fannies hit the chairs, Ellie began filling her dad and I in on how Dillon was handling the loss of his wife.

  She leaned across the table to grab a hunk of Millie’s fresh-baked bread and then slathered butter on it as she spoke. “And guess who was there when I arrived? Shelly Blankenship. She’s like a vulture, I swear. She’d brought over food and was playing with Harper so Dillion could rest.” She rolled her eyes and took a bite of stew. “How transparent. I couldn’t believe it when she answered the door, though I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

  “Maybe she was just being nice, sweetheart,” I said, hoping to calm her down.

  An indelicate snort came out of my beautiful daughter. “Yeah, right. You saw her the other day. She’s never gotten over losing Dillon. But now he’s back in town, she’s all aglow.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Hey, maybe she killed Paula. You know, to get her out of the way so she can have Dillon back. What better way to infiltrate the situation than to cozy up to his motherless child? It’s sickening, really.”

  She wasn’t letting that sickening thought affect her appetite though. She scooped up another big bite of stew and sat chewing it as she looked into space. “Yep, I bet that’s it,” she said with a decisive nod of her head. “Poor Dillon. He needs to be rescued from Shelley’s clutches.”

  Though I wasn’t overly fond of Shelly, I was curious why Ellie was being so judgmental. “Maybe they would make a good pair, Ellie. After all, she must have deep feelings for him if they’ve lasted all these years.”

  “Well… I don’t like it. I’ve never trusted her. She’s always so sweet, but it’s fake.”

  Christian finally piped in on the conversation. “Ellie, your mom might be right. I know you’re a great judge of character, but maybe Shelly is just what Dillon needs, at least right now. Maybe we should cut them some slack and see what happens.”

  “Yeah, okay.” She put on a pouty face, but gave in. Not for the first time, I wondered why when Christian said something, our daughter took it as fact, but if I said the same thing, she came back with more opposition? Girls and their dads… it was a special relationship I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand.

  Changing the subject, I asked if she wanted to help me unload boxes at Phyllis’s new house tomorrow. Phyllis Buckley was another new friend I’d made during my first investigation. She’d lived next door to the murder victim, and we’d hit it off the first time I'd interviewed her.

  She was moving from a nearby town to the Tumbleweed Pass Retirement Center in Aspen Falls. At the facility, she’d have people her own age to do things with instead of spending her days watching TV an
d doing Sudoku. When she’d announced that she’d gotten her townhouse sold and was finally moving, I’d happily told her I’d lend a hand.

  “Sorry, Mom, but I’ve got work, and then I’ll probably go to Dillon’s again after that. He needs a real friend right now.”

  As she headed towards the stairs, I said, “Hey, it’s your turn to clean up, young lady.”

  “Can I trade my night? I promised Dillon I’d come back later to help him get Harper settled in. I promise I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  Although I’d been conned like this many times in the past, I still agreed. I’m too easy.

  ***

  Later that evening while Christian and I were snuggled up on the couch watching TV, I asked, “Did you notice Ellie’s doing the same thing Shelly is—helping out Dillon with his little girl?”

  He chuckled, “Yep.”

  I snuggled closer to him. “Do you think she still has a thing for him?”

  “Umm. I don’t know about that. There’s just something about the boy that makes girls want to help him.”

  “I know. What’s up with that? I like Dillon, but I’d rather he be Shelly’s problem. Ellie’s too young to be tied down to a grieving widower with a small child. Besides, the cops always look at the spouse first in a murder inquiry. The last thing we need is for our daughter to become involved with a murder suspect.”

  Chapter Three

  While I put the finishing touches on Phyllis’s housewarming basket the next morning, Christian sat down at the table and looked for a place to set his coffee cup. After moving some wire ribbon out of the way, he looked at me inquisitively.

  “It’s for Phyllis, remember? I told you last night I was going to help her unpack some things today. This is her housewarming gift from us.”

  He murmured something that sounded like, that’s nice, dear, and opened the paper. Before he could get deep into the sports scores, I asked him if there was anything more in there about Paula’s murder.

  He scanned the first few pages. “No, just rehashing the same stuff. Hold on.” He flipped back to the obituaries. “But the family has released details about her funeral. Says they’ll have a viewing here in Aspen Falls at Walchesky’s Funeral Home on Monday evening from 6-9 p.m. Then another one in Cheyenne on Tuesday afternoon and evening, with the funeral held on Wednesday late morning.”

  It was odd to have two viewings in two different towns, but I guess those who knew the Hexby family would want to pay their respects, even if they hadn’t known Paula well. I picked up the gift basket and gave my husband of twenty-four years a kiss on the top of his head.

  On the short drive into town, my mind wandered to Paula’s murder. You’d need good upper body strength to keep a tight hold on the clay tool, since the person would surely struggle to break free.

  So whoever it was, they were solid. Dillon had upper body strength, although it couldn’t be him since he’d been at work at the time Paula was being murdered. Practically every local resident would have the strength to strangle someone. Our area was chuck-full of farmers and ranchers who hauled and lifted heavy sacks of feed day in and day out. That fact didn’t narrow the field much at all.

  Caught up in thought, I nearly missed the entrance to Phyllis’s new digs. I made a sharp right turn and grabbed the basket on the passenger’s seat before it landed in a heap on the car floor. I may or may not have screeched my tires, which caused more than one startled old man to look up. Knowing I’d been seen, I did a little wave at them to let them know all was well.

  I admired the view as I searched for villa number thirty-one. Tumbleweed Pass Retirement Center was situated in a wooded glen on the far edge of town. While they’d torn out many trees to develop the site, they’d left the Quaking Aspens and Colorado Spruce grove behind the Center untouched to encourage daily outdoor constitutionals.

  Along the paths leading to the single-unit villas were Aspen and Paper Birch saplings that would someday offer shade to the residents. The owners had tried to reconcile the new construction with the surrounding land that Wyomingites loved, including patches of native wild flowers.

  I rounded a corner and found Phyllis’s villa on the end of a row. I knocked, jockeying around my parcel when with a whoosh, the door flew open and there stood my friend, all ninety-two pounds of her. As usual, her steel gray hair stood up every which way, as though she’d been caught in a wind tunnel immediately after her morning shower. She sported a threadbare flowered house dress along with her usual tube socks and shower shoes.

  “Is that basket for me, by any chance?” she asked.

  She oohed and aahed as she looked through the items in the basket and promised we’d try some of the tea later. After that, we set to work, unpacking and organizing her kitchen. We chatted as we worked, enjoying the amicable atmosphere among friends.

  Around noon we stopped for lunch and the conversation inevitably turned to murder.

  “I suppose you heard about that poor girl getting killed?”

  “Yeah, she was my pottery teacher.”

  “Oh, now why didn’t I put that together?”

  “I really only know what I read in the paper, though I did just happen to go to the crime scene under the ruse of attending class.” I smiled and laughed.

  Phyllis made an O with her mouth and sucked in air. “You sure do have guts.” Then she laughed until she snorted. “Well, I never met her, though I’d seen her around.”

  After meandering around the subject, Dillon’s name came up. I explained how I knew him and wondered aloud why he’d married Paula. “I know opposites attract, but—”

  “Oh, they had to get married, dear.” After making the casual announcement, she took a big bite of her sandwich, causing mayo to squish out one side.

  “Really?”

  She talked around the food in her mouth. “Oh yes. ‘Course there’s some who wonder if the little girl is really his after all. Guess Paula was always a pretty friendly gal, if you know what I mean.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Story goes she pronounced it was his, even though they’d been on again, off again, and demanded he see her right.”

  She stared straight ahead and then sucked her teeth. “So, Dillon married her. He was raised that way, and I suppose his folks encouraged him to take care of his responsibilities. He sure seems to love that little girl. Saw them here visiting his granny the other day. They gave the little girl some god-awful name…can’t remember what, but it’s unfortunate, just the same.”

  “Harper.”

  She slapped her knee. “That’s it. Glad you knew it. That woulda bugged me all afternoon. Anywho, I feel sorry for the poor thing being saddled with a name like Harper Hexby.” Then she laughed wickedly, revealing she didn’t feel too sorry for her.

  “How is it that you know all this, and I don’t?”

  She chomped on a carrot stick. “Don’t know. I’d have figured Ellie woulda told ya, seeing as she was a friend of his.”

  I was constantly amazed by Phyllis. She was all spit and vinegar, and was plugged in, as they say. She did email and Facebook and who knew what all. She’d asked me while we were working earlier what podcasts I listened to, for crying out loud. Sometimes when I was with her, I felt I was the eighty year old.

  I took a nibble of my sandwich. “No, she didn’t tell me, but surely she knew.” I scowled. “She said they’d stayed in touch after he left for the city.” I glanced over at my companion. She had a sly smile on her face. “What? You look like the Cheshire Cat. What else don’t I know?”

  “Oh, there’s no reason why you’d know, dear.” She waited a beat and changed her facial expression to one of pure innocence. “I’ve been stepping out with someone.” She smiled coyly.

  “Really? That’s great. Who is he? It is a he, isn’t it?”

  That gave her a good laugh. “Of course. I’m not that modern of a woman, even if that sort of thing is in vogue.”

  “Okay, out with it then.” She did have a flair for the dramatic.


  “It’s Homer Warner. That’s why I thought to mention it. He’s the one walked in on the murderer. Caught them red handed, dragging Paula’s dead body.” She gave her head a firm nod.

  “Oh, I’d heard he interrupted the killer. He’s lucky they didn’t go after him.”

  “That was my first thought too. He’s strong and healthy, but he is in his eighties, though that don’t mean much. Look at me. I’ve taken up Pilates. They have classes here every week.” She made a fist and pumped her arm up so I could witness her developing muscle.

  “Oh, that’s great.” Did everyone get more exercise than I did? Jeez. If Phyllis could do Pilates, so could I. Not for the first time, I made a mental note to add more exercise into my daily schedule. “So what did he tell you? What did he see?”

  “It liked to scare him to death. He was just heading in to do his cleaning since he couldn’t sleep. He has terrible insomnia, you know. He tosses and turns something awful.” She popped the last bite of sandwich into her mouth and chewed.

  I didn’t want to know how she knew about his sleeping habits, so I asked a more specific question. “What did the killer look like? Did he get a good look at them?”

  “Well,” she said, settling into storytelling mode. She readjusted herself on the box she was perched on and cupped her hands over her knees. “He was tall and broad—not fat, mind you, more muscular. He was wearing all black, right down to his sneakers and had on one of them hoody sweatshirts with the kangaroo pocket in the front. But Homer didn’t get a good look at him, ‘cause he had the hood up over his head.”

  “So he couldn’t tell for sure if it was a man or woman?” With such a clear description of the killer’s build, I'd think he would’ve noticed if the person had been flat-chested or not."

  “Nope. Probably ‘cause he assumed it was a man. You know, most people don’t have the observational skills you and I do.” She winked at me.

  “Well, I guess if I saw someone dragging another person, I’d assume it was a man.”