The Cracked Pot (3 page)

He grinned at her. "Then you don't have enough imagi nation, Judge."

"It's Jenna, and you know it. Now stop changing the sub ject. What possible reason could you have for a business appointment so late in the evening?"

"Who said it was business?" Butch asked, grinning.

Jenna looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, of course it's none of my business. Your affairs are your own."

Could the oaf not see that the judge was just as interested in him as he was in her? These two were going to need a nudge if they didn't figure it out soon. Foolishness in love wasn't strictly a problem just for young people.

It finally occurred to Butch what Jenna was saying. He frowned as he explained, "It's not a date, if that's what you're thinking."

Jenna said stiffly, "It's none of my concern, even if it is."

"But I just said it wasn't."

They weren't getting anywhere on their own. I was about to say something to help when Sandy came through. "Aren't you coming back? The clay's ready."

"So am I," Butch said as he brushed past us.

Jenna looked at me and said, "Men," putting enough into it to supply a thousand gradients of meaning.

"They're not perfect, but they usually do their best."

"How sad for them," Jenna said. She was in a bit of a sour mood, so I decided not to press her further.

When we were all gathered in back, I suggested, "Why don't we get started, and when we get hungry, we can all take a break."

No one dissented, and we all took up our places at the table. "We're going to weave some clay tonight. First we have to get our balls into flat sheets. Sandy and I have al ready kneaded these, so they're ready to go. Take your dow els and roll the clay out until it's about a quarter of an inch thick."

They did as I directed, and we soon had our balls con verted into sheets of equal thicknesses. "Now we square off the edges, and then we cut the sheet into uniform strips about an inch wide. If you want to be precise, use one of the plastic rulers to mark your clay before you cut it, but you can usually just eyeball it and get a pretty nice set of strips." At least that's what the book had said. Maybe Bill was right. I probably should have made one of these myself ahead of time, but really, how hard could it be? I hoped this experi ment didn't bite me, as some had in the past.

There was no turning back now. As confidently as I could, I said, "Lay half your strips out in one direction, keeping the edges pretty close together. Next, pick up an other strip and start weaving it in and out of the strips you've laid out." I demonstrated briefly, and then I stopped working on mine so I could help them when they needed it.

"Now what?" Butch asked as he looked down at the wo ven mat. "It doesn't look like much, does it?"

"Now we bend it up on all four sides. Use a rib to help the turn." A rib was a piece of wood or rubber—many times shaped like a large kidney bean—that helped the potter work clay. They came in various shapes and sizes, but I'd put out simple ones for our evening's work.

"I can't get it right," Sandy said as she stared at her lumpy basket.

"Let me see what I can do," I said. I worked the rib harder into the weave and managed to get a decent turn. "How's that?"

"Better, but the top's kind of ugly, isn't it?"

That's when I remembered I was supposed to have told them to save four strips to go along the perimeter to create a nice, finished edge. I started dismantling my bowl to supply them with the extra clay. "Use these to dress up the edges," I said as I handed out all but two of my own strips.

"But you don't get a basket this way," Jenna protested.

"I can make one whenever I want. So, what do you all think?"

They all agreed their baskets were nice, but they also wanted to try again.

"That's fine," I said, "but before we do, why don't we clean up so we can take your snack break?"

Butch nodded. "That's a great idea."

As we sat around the break table enjoying the meatballs and coffee from my new pot, Jenna asked, "Where's young David tonight? Does he have a class?"

"Yes, but I doubt he made it. He's still probably starry eyed about meeting Charles Potter."

"From what I've seen, he's good," Sandy said. "We or dered his book for the library, and I read it before we put it into circulation."

"Shame on you," Jenna scolded her lightly, obviously teasing her friend. "You should let your patrons have prior ity on the new books you get in."

"How can I honestly recommend a book if I haven't read it myself first?" Sandy asked, laughing. "Or movies, either, for that matter."

"I suppose you have a point," Jenna conceded. She turned to me and asked, "Have you read it, Carolyn?"

"I glanced through it earlier," I admitted as I pointed to ward David's copy. "If you want my opinion, it's long on photographs and pretty short on technique. Just don't tell David I said that."

"There's no way that's his real name," Butch said as he glanced at the book.

"Why do you say that?" Jenna asked.

"Come on, a potter named Potter? Isn't that a stretch?"

"Not necessarily. I know a banker named Cash," Sandy said.

"And I know a farmer named Fields," I admitted.

"This sounds like a delightful game. What else can we come up with? A plumber named Flush?" Sandy asked.

"How about a carpenter named Woods?" Jenna asked, getting into the spirit of it. "It's your turn, Butch."

He frowned. "I just meant it sounded like an alias. I didn't mean to start something."

"Come on, don't be a spoilsport," Jenna said.

"Okay, give me a second," Butch said. "How about a construction crew chief named Foreman?"

"That's wonderful," Jenna praised him, and Butch decid edly glowed.

"How about a short-order cook named Frye?" I sug gested.

"Or a golf pro named Link?" Sandy asked.

We were still coming up with names that matched their occupations when we heard the front door of the shop burst open. Goodness, had I forgotten to lock it after I'd let Jenna and Butch in?

It took only a second to realize that it was someone who had a key. David rushed back to us, but before any of us could say a word, he said, "It's Charles Potter."

"What about him?" I asked as David fought to catch his breath.

"He's missing. He never showed up at the lecture, but they found his car. The door on the driver's side was stand ing wide open, and the keys were still in it."

"Where did they find it?" Butch asked.

David looked at me for a long few seconds, then said, "It was parked right in front of your house, Carolyn."

Chapter
2

"What on earth was he doing there? How did he even know where I live?" Honestly, I never went looking for trouble, but somehow it always managed to find me.

"You talked to him last night on the phone," David said. "Maybe it had something to do with that."

"I didn't give the man my home address. I don't even think I gave him my telephone number."

"Then why would he go there before he disappeared?" David asked, still looking at me askance.

"Are you under the impression that I had something to do with this?" I asked with more than a little edge in my voice.

"Take it easy, Carolyn, David's not accusing you of any thing," Jenna said.

"Well, it surely sounded like it to me."

Sandy added, "He's just concerned. Carolyn, should you call Bill? Just to make sure he's all right?"

That hadn't even occurred to me. I dialed our home num ber, my fingers shaking as I punched the buttons. After seven rings, the machine kicked on. "Bill, it's me. Pick up. Bill. Bill? Call me as soon as you get this."

I hung up. "He's not answering. I'm going home."

"I'll go with you," Butch said.

"We'll all go," Jenna added.

The last thing I needed was a parade, especially if my dear husband was in the tub instead of lying dead or wounded on the kitchen floor. "I can manage."

Butch said, "Not without me."

"I'm coming, too," David said.

Sandy touched Jenna's arm. "Why don't we stay here and clean up? Would you like us to do that, Carolyn?"

"That would be great," I said as I grabbed my coat and my purse. If I were being honest with myself, I would have to admit I wasn't all that eager to go home alone.

Butch said, "Come on, we'll take my car."

I got into his Cadillac without a word of protest, and David climbed into the back seat. It wasn't much of a trip from Fire at Will to my house, but it seemed to take us a life time to get there. Parked in front of the house was Sheriff Hodges's patrol car, its lights flashing. The second we got there, I could see why Bill hadn't answered the telephone. He was standing right outside beside the sheriff, deep in conversation, and obviously surprised to see me tear up the road in someone else's car.

As I got out, Bill rushed over to me. "Are you all right? Is something wrong?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing. When you didn't answer the phone, I got worried."

"So you brought the cavalry? Hey, Butch. How are you doing, David?"

David nodded an abrupt greeting as he approached Hodges. "Is there any sign of him? What happened?"

The sheriff ignored the question and stared at me. "What do you know about this, Carolyn?"

"I just heard about it," I said. "Is there any sign of him yet?"

Hodges shook his head. "One of your neighbors was out walking his dog when he found this car sitting here with the door open and the keys still in it. I was kind of hoping you might be able to shed a little light on it."

"I was at Fire at Will all evening," I said stuffily. "That car was certainly not there when I left." It was a beat-up Ford Escort, and I wondered how little the potter must have made publishing his opus.

"We can vouch for that," Butch said. "Not the car being there, but her presence at the shop. She never left the place all night, and I'm willing to swear to that in court."

"Why am I not surprised you'd vouch for her?" he said.

Bill piped up. "Wait a second here. We've already had this conversation, Hodges."

"It's
Sheriff
Hodges," the man said curtly.

"I've known you forty-five years, and I'll call you what ever I want. Carolyn didn't have anything to do with this."

The sheriff shook his head slightly. "I can't exactly just take your word for that, either, now can I?"

Bill looked like he was about to blow, and I didn't want the sheriff to have any more reason to dislike me or my fam ily. "Why don't we go inside and let the police deal with it, Bill? I assume you're finished with us, Sheriff." The Firing Squad was just going to have to get along without me for the rest of the night.

"I'm done with you for now," he said. "I'll probably have more questions for you later. Right now, I've got my deputies coming. We're going to search the area for Mr. Potter."

"I'll help," David chimed in.

"Thanks, but we've got it covered," the sheriff said just as another squad car pulled up. He walked over to greet them.

I touched Butch's arm. "Thanks for bringing me home. Would you mind taking David back to the shop? I'd better hang around here for now."

"How are you going to get your car?" Butch asked.

"I'll take her later," Bill said. "Thanks for coming, both of you."

Butch nodded. "Call me if you need me. Don't worry about the time."

I smiled. "What about your appointment? I'd hate to in terrupt anything."

"Friends come first," he said. Then Butch turned to David. "Let's go."

"I want to help look for him," my assistant said.

Butch replied, "I know you do, but the sheriff's already turned you down. Come on, there are bound to still be a few meatballs left back at Fire at Will."

Bill blanched a little at that, probably rightly believing he wouldn't be getting any leftovers tonight.

Once they were gone, my husband and I walked up to the house. "It's getting chilly, isn't it?" I asked. I glanced back at the abandoned car and added, "I hope he's all right."

"I just wonder what he was doing here in the first place," Bill said.

"I'm sure the sheriff is wondering the same thing," I said.

Once we were inside, Bill looked hard at me. "Are you sure you don't know why he'd come here?"

"I don't have a clue," I said. "And I'm not all that crazy about everybody asking me that. Why won't anybody be lieve me?"

"I do," he said gruffly. "I was just asking. It's too bad about the meatballs. I'm feeling a little peckish."

"You didn't look in the refrigerator, did you?" I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a covered dish. "I left you some, you big goof. All you had to do was look."

"Well don't just stand there, let's eat."

As Bill waited for the microwave to do its job on reheat ing our late snack, I asked, "Aren't you the least bit con cerned about what happened to Charles Potter?"

"Why should I be? He's a grown man, isn't he? I'm sure he's fine."

"Then why would he just abandon his car like that, and what was he doing at our house in the first place?"