Murder's No Votive Confidence

by Christin Brecher

  Chapter 16

  “Get out of town,” I said as a small dinghy made its way to the water’s edge.

  “Surprise,” said Peter. He was wearing a tuxedo, of all things, in a dinghy. “You’re a vision. Last time I saw you, I remember leaves in your hair and a little dirt on your cheek.”

  “You don’t look too bad yourself,” I said. I was happy to see that Peter had not compromised his afternoon’s fly-by-the-seat-of-his pants look. His tuxedo pants were shoved into rubber boots, and his bow tie was a red bandana.

  “I heard you were working the Melville tonight,” he said, shutting off his motor. “I called your cousin Liz. My luck I should find you standing here when I pulled up.”

  He smiled like he had been very, very clever and I smiled back. It was so awesome that this outfit would not go to waste after all. I’d have to thank Liz for giving Peter her card.

  “Champagne?” he said, raising a bottle and jumping out of his boat. He tied the dinghy to a rock, flipped off his jacket, and laid it on my shoulders without my having to ask.

  “Ha,” I said about the champagne. “I haven’t eaten since Andy and I were at The Bean at about ten this morning. One glass of champagne and I’ll faint.”

  “No worries,” said Peter. He jumped back into his boat and pulled out a picnic basket.

  “My hero,” I said.

  “Really? Even after this afternoon’s kerfuffle?”

  “Did you just say kerfuffle?”

  “I did,” he said and laid a blanket on the ground.

  I pulled his jacket around me as Peter laid out a platter of cheese and bread and meats that made my stomach leap for joy. I tried to join him on the ground as elegantly as possible. In the end, I did no justice to my couture. I had to hike my skirt to my thighs before I could bend my knees.

  “So much for being a movie star,” I said, settling down next him. “My outfit, by the way, is compliments of Gina Ginelli.”

  “Come on,” said Peter, handing me a cracker with a glob of brie on it that was to die for. I swallowed it whole.

  “She’s pretty nice, actually,” I said. “My dress didn’t show up tonight. She’d stopped by the inn and heard me complaining. Then she offered me something to wear.”

  “Pretty fancy dress for someone holed up here to work,” said Peter. “I wonder if there’s a big party going down this weekend that she’s planning to attend.”

  “Better than the Sterling wedding or a FIGAWI bash? I doubt it,” I said. “She blamed her fancy packing job on the fact that she’s a diva.”

  “She doesn’t sound like one,” he said. “That’s a nice outfit to loan out.”

  “True,” I said, admiring the appliqued flowers across the bodice of my top as I shoved a piece of prosciutto into my mouth. I reached for a piece of Morbier cheese, starting to feel like myself again. Peter noticed I was going for it with his basket of goodies. He handed me his cracker and cheese. “Thanks.” I popped it in my mouth and then lay back on the ground.

  Peter leaned back beside me, his hands behind his head as he looked at the starry sky.

  “What do you think about this murder?” he said. “I’m a good investigator, you know. Not, maybe, like your friend Andy. But I get on to something and follow it. Give me a lead that seems like nothing. You’ll be amazed with what I can do with it.”

  “A lead, huh?” I said.

  I thought of Gina crying on the roof. Of Joe disappearing during the day. Of Mrs. Sterling’s interest in Maria Blane. I even thought about the fact that someone like Simon Sterling had a cat. I toyed with telling Peter about the note I’d found in Gina’s purse, but then decided not to. I didn’t want him to write about her, especially since it would connect her to the murdered man.

  “Yup. Something totally random. I’ll follow it and see where it takes us.”

  I tried to think of the most arbitrary angle of all that I’d seen today.

  “OK,” I finally said. “There was an elderly couple and a young family staying at the inn when we found the body this morning. Maybe they saw something. Maybe with Bill’s quick arrest, they weren’t questioned as well as they could have been.”

  “Sounds like a wild goose chase,” he said, “but I’ll take the challenge.”

  “And who benefits from Simon’s will?”

  “Now you’re thinking,” he said.

  “Thank you, Watson,” I said.

  “Wait, you get to be Sherlock?” he said. He leaned his head on his elbow and looked at me. “How does a pipe and a deerstalker hat go with your look?”

  “Perfectly,” I said.

  My phone pinged. It was Emily.

  How are the new unity candles going?

  I looked at the time. Ten o’clock.

  “Being a power babe is not easy,” I said. “I have to make four new unity candles tonight.”

  “Foiled again,” said Peter. “I was planning to lure you out on my yacht.”

  I looked at his dinghy, which was bobbing with gusto in the night’s waters, and I was tempted to join him on a trip across the harbor, back to town. Then, I rubbed my cheese-filled stomach and wondered how I’d feel after the ten-minute voyage. As lovely as the invitation was, I realized I had another option.

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I have enough supplies up at the inn to get my job done. I’ll get more sleep if I knock things out here, then take the launch back in the morning.”

  I reached my hand up to straighten Peter’s bow tie. He took my hand and kissed it. If I wasn’t so worried about the candles, I suspected we could have had a lot of fun under the moonlight in our fancy attire.

  “You do what you have to do,” said Peter. “We have all summer to enjoy my yacht.”

  “I like the way you think,” I said as he helped me to my feet.

  I handed his jacket back to him.

  “Thanks for this,” I said. “Nantucket is lucky to have you here.”

  “I’m feeling pretty lucky to have found this little island.”

  Before I could say another word, he jumped in his dinghy, gave me a salute, and pulled back out into the darkness. I wondered if he’d head home or into town. He didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who went to bed by ten on a Friday night.

  I watched him travel across the harbor. I was beginning to notice I was cold when the quiet was broken by the sound of a speeding motorboat that suddenly flew by Peter without any lights on. In the moonlight, I tried to make out the driver, but all I caught was the silhouette of a woman’s ponytail. Peter’s boat began to rock in the wake. He made a few salty comments into the dark, but kept his course.

  I, on the other hand, headed back to the inn, already beginning to imagine my new creations. Just the thought of sitting down with my candles gave me a sense of comfort I had missed all day. Entering the back of Ahab’s as the restaurant staff was putting the last of the party’s mess away, I entered the staging room, which would now be my workshop. The crew had returned some of the candles we used tonight. Most were still tall with a lot of wick left in them. I made a note to drop them at the food pantry. I was no chef, but I liked to make their Friday night dinners more festive when I could.

  Before the last of the kitchen staff left, I borrowed a lazy Susan so that I could turn the candles as I decorated them without handling them. Then, I searched through my supplies for the four unity candles I would need. I was relieved I had brought extras. I had also brought extra gold and silver decorative wax that was the equivalent of piping icing on a cake. It was soft and malleable when warmed so that I could apply designs to the candles.

  I hadn’t bargained on one thing, however. Looking over my supplies again, I realized I only had three extra candles, not the four I needed for the new unity candle. I looked again, sure I’d brought enough extras, but no. There were only three. It occurred to me that someone from the kitchen could have easily taken an extra, having no idea I’d need it. Or perhaps Jessica gave a friend another one. Normally, I’d be flattered, but right n
ow, I felt downright horrified. It was getting to be close to eleven at night and I was stuck on the other end of the island, minus a candle.

  Desperately, I called a couple of taxi companies to see if I could get a lift home. All gave me a pickup time of at least forty minutes. With this time frame, I’d be working until dawn. I was about to agree to a ride when I had a thought. I had put a candle in Uncle Simon’s room. Technically, the room was cordoned off, still a crime scene, but Simon wouldn’t be needing that candle.

  I couldn’t. Could I?

  Chapter 17

  I decided I could.

  I told myself that staying at the inn to work would be the best use of my time. I truly appreciated that Emily Gardner Events would be setting up my candles for the reception and ceremony tomorrow morning, but I knew I’d want to check in on both, which would be easier to do if I was already here. Plus, I argued, I wouldn’t be rushing into the rest of my day. I also had my last Candleer class in the morning, and I was going to Chris and Suzie’s Memorial Day cookout. They’d been planning it for weeks and both Emily and I promised them we’d attend for a short while, before heading out to the chapel for the Sterlings’ wedding ceremony. Let’s be honest, though. I also wanted to take another look at Simon’s room.

  In spite of my decision, however, I wasn’t ready to dash upstairs to steal something from a dead man’s room.

  Instead, I brought the three candles I had to the worktable, and placed one on the lazy Susan. I was still wearing my skirt, however, and I needed much better mobility. Luckily, I found a pair of chef’s pants in a closet and swapped them for Gina’s skirt, which I folded carefully and put into an empty bag Emily had left behind. Feeling better already, I also threw on an apron over my beautiful chiffon blouse. The light in the room came from one overhead bulb, so I lit a couple of candles to add some light.

  Finally, ready to begin my work, I took out my phone and looked at the photos I had of Jessica’s wedding dress. Between the photos and the visit I’d made to her room earlier, I could not find anything new to add, so I turned my thoughts to the reading. After a few minutes, I decided to incorporate illustrations of the four seasons onto each candle. I love the fall, so I started there. An acorn came to mind. I drew a circle in which I sketched the acorn with my decorative wax. Once finished, I began to cover the rest of the candle with the delicate designs from Jessica’s dress. Before I knew it, I was in the zone and every ounce of tension I had accumulated during the day began to melt away as the soft wax in my decorating pen oozed onto the candle. Fortunately, I had enough experience from the original unity candle that I was able to fall right into my routine. I lost track of time as I enjoyed the creation that was slowly forming in my hands. At some point, I heard the guests return from town. I heard the engines of their cabs, but at this point there was no way I could stop working to grab one back to town. I’m like that. Once I get into a project, I just can’t stop.

  When I finished the third candle, I stretched for a moment to admire my work. I had to admit, I liked what I saw even better than the original candle. The new design lacked the large, vertical statement of the original, but the four candles suggested a circle of love that would continue.

  It was three in the morning, however, which was a problem. I don’t scare easily, but I have a three-in-the-morning phobia, which had not been helped by Sterling’s murder at the same hour last night. Every thought that I ever have at this hour takes on a frightening overtone. I could be thinking about kittens and somehow I’d shiver. Usually, I can pull the covers over my head and will myself back to sleep. If that fails, my phone keeps me company while I play a few games to get sleepy. I considered that Tinker would be the kind of roommate who’d be a good ally on those nights. He’d offer a reassuring purr and a snuggle, but right now I felt a pit in my stomach as I remembered that a murderer might be under the same roof I was. Added to that thought was that I still had to steal a candle from a crime scene.

  I took off my apron and went to the door of my staging room.

  “No,” I said.

  The door was once again locked.

  Fool me once.

  I was scared enough when the door had locked yesterday, but now I was alone, and fighting my wildest fears. I sank to my knees and crouched at the bottom of the door. As if on cue, the single bulb that lit the room flickered. I wondered if I should turn it off, in case someone could see me through the small window. I knew Frank had said that the room’s door locked on its own, but right now, I wasn’t buying it. I knew I had closed it carefully behind me, and I could swear I had not heard it lock.

  I can’t say how long I stayed crouched by that door. Actually, I can. It was five minutes, but in that short time, I imagined every way I might die before sunrise. When I found myself dwelling on an image of myself attacked by my new unity candles, I knew I had to get a grip. I glanced around the room in hopes of seeing a key, which I already knew would not be here. Once confirmed, I debated what I should do next.

  The purse I had borrowed from Gina was on my worktable. I crawled across the floor, reached a hand to it, and slid it down. From inside, I took out my phone, but as luck would have it, the battery had died.

  “One, two, three, four.” I began to breathe.

  I poured the contents of my purse on the floor. A lipstick, a bobby pin, a nail file, my license, and my mace. After staring at my only belongings for a minute or two, I picked up the bobby pin and crawled back to the lock. I’d seen a million movies and TV shows where someone escapes a locked room by using a bobby pin, so I decided there must be some truth to it. I inspected the lock. It was one of the old ones, and required a latchkey to secure it, but the large opening gave me an opportunity to glimpse the bolt’s inner workings. I wondered if a bobby pin was strong enough to do the job as I stuck it inside and jiggled it about. After a few seconds of fiddling with no real strategy, I realized my plan was not working. I peered inside again. I thought I saw a sliver of space under which the pin might fit, thereby allowing me to lift the bolt high enough that the lock would give. I opened the bobby pin into a straight line to make it as thin as possible, and tried again. While I maneuvered the pin, I held the door handle and turned it every now and then in hopes of succeeding.

  I really had no expectations of success, so I was completely shocked when, to my surprise, the lock gave way. My victory was short-lived, however, when I imagined what might be waiting for me beyond. Time was ticking. As frightened as I was, I could not leave those three candles sitting on my worktable without adding the fourth.

  I pulled myself up, reclaimed my self-respect, and looked at the mess I’d left on the floor from Gina’s purse. My can of mace had never looked so good. I picked it up, and wondered as I did how strong bra tape was. Returning to the door, I opened the package of tape and rubbed it against the side of the lock. I chalked it up to diva know-how that this was probably the strongest bra tape on the market. The lock stayed tucked in its bolt. With two successes under my belt, I decided I could get that candle. All I needed was the inn’s passkey from behind Frank’s desk.

  I tiptoed to the lobby. The Melville was dead quiet. A couple of lights were on in case someone was awake and wanted to be somewhere other than their room. I looked about me and considered that it was about this time last night that someone had attacked Simon in the Game Room. The lights would have been dimmed, like now. There would have been no one else awake.

  I wondered if Gina, whose perfume had infiltrated the Game Room, was the killer, or if someone else had crept about, too. I wondered, too, why Simon had stayed up so late after cards. I noticed that the doors to a library off of the lobby were closed. Someone could have easily hidden in the room before or after the murder.

  Taking a deep breath, I headed to the reception desk where Frank stored the passkey in a small cubby. Suddenly, I heard a noise from Frank’s room. For fear that he might have heard me and decide to investigate, I scurried across the floor and opened the door to the library. Wit
hout much thought, I entered the room and closed the door behind me. I say without much thought, because once the door was closed, I realized the room was pitch black. My three o’clock fears returned, and I stood with my head down for a moment, breathing carefully. It didn’t take too long to recover myself, but in that time, my eyes had adjusted to the dark. When I looked up, I almost fainted.

  A man was looking at me. I opened my mouth to scream but only the smallest noise left my body. Then I lifted my hand and sprayed the bottle of mace ahead of me.

  I’m not proud of that moment. First, I learned that it doesn’t take long to get through a bottle of mace. Second, when I finished, I realized I was looking at the painting of Captain Elijah Crawford, who was now dripping in liquid. Fortunately, the chemical had not damaged the paint, but I could not leave the fellow dripping in the smelly goo. I took off my apron and dabbed the canvas to keep the painting from getting damaged.

  When I was close to finished, I heard a noise in the lobby. Frank. I stood still, afraid to make a single sound. I might be able to explain away my presence in the library, but I still wanted to steal his keys, so if I could avoid talking to him, all the better. Also, he might not be pleased with the smell in the library. It wasn’t terrible, but there was a peppery scent in the room that probably would linger for an hour or so.

  “Is anyone out here?” Frank said in a voice that was wavering between annoyed and terrified.

  I did not answer.

  After a moment, Frank went back to his room and closed the door.

  I had barely made a peep when I’d been frightened by what I’d thought was Captain Elijah Crawford, in the flesh, standing before me. I wondered, now, how Frank could have heard my whimper, but not the sound of Simon Sterling being killed.