by Tim Myers
“Monique,” I said softly, and that brought her back around.
Through her tears, she said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“You must have known him pretty well,” I said, not budging. “I didn’t think it would hit you this hard.” Growing up in a large family had taught me to stand my ground when I needed anything, and at the moment, I needed an answer from Monique. I hated being a bully about it, but then I remembered where Louisa was, and my resolve firmed.
“He was one of my suppliers. We were friends, of a sort. That’s all. Ben, why are you being so cold about this? A man we both knew is dead.” She pushed me to the door, and as I stepped outside, I heard the dead bolt latch behind me. By the time I got back to my car, she had flipped the sign on the door from open to closed. It appeared that Jerry Sanger had been more than a supplier to Monique, no matter how much she’d protested. How much more than a friend, I still didn’t know.
There was one more soap shop within driving distance I could check out, but I nearly didn’t go. After all, the Kents were a kindly old couple married over forty years; I couldn’t picture Amy Elizabeth Kent dallying with Jerry Sanger under any circumstances. But I’d been wrong before.
The Kents’ shop in Hunter’s Hollow was more to my liking, filled with scents and sights that did my heart good. Their storefront could barely be called that, a small nook among several other businesses that had gone through many incarnations before A Long Lost Soap had come into being. While our shelves were laid out in precise order, the aisles of this soap shop looked as if they’d been stocked randomly and without any sense of unity. The place would have given my mother a stroke, but it suited the Kents’ personality.
There was someone new behind the counter when I walked in, an attractive blonde in her early twenties. “May I help you?”
“Are the Kents around?” I asked.
“They’re on an extended cruise, but I’d be happy to help you. I’m most knowledgeable.”
So that explained their absence. “I’m an old friend. My name’s Ben Perkins. I work at Where There’s Soap.”
“Mr. Perkins, it’s nice to meet you. I’m their granddaughter Heather. I’ve been running the shop for them for the past two weeks.”
“That was nice of you,” I said. “They must trust you a great deal.”
When she smiled, her nose crinkled. “I believe they would have let someone off the street watch the place, they were so eager to go. However, I’ve been working here part-time since I transferred to Hopkins-Upshire.” Hopkins-Upshire College—Hop Up U as the townsfolk called it—was the closest thing we had to a center for higher learning in our part of the state.
“You don’t by any chance know Jerry Sanger, do you?”
I couldn’t believe it when Heather blushed at the question. “Actually, we’ve been dating off and on for several weeks now. Why, has he been talking about me?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but he’s been murdered.”
Heather nearly collapsed in tears as she heard the news. I was certainly a popular fellow today. There had to be a better way to tell people what had happened to Jerry Sanger, but I didn’t have a clue how to do it. On the other hand, my method did get instant results.
As she cried, I asked her softly, “Heather, can I get you anything?”
She shook her head and looked up at me through red eyes. “No, I’ll be fine. I just need to catch my breath. What happened to him?”
“Somebody pushed him down a flight of stairs.” I didn’t have the heart to add that they’d doused him in lye as well.
“How horrid.” She slumped down into a chair. “I’ve never known anyone who’s been murdered. Have they caught the person who did it yet?”
“The police are just starting to look at suspects. They may come by and talk to you sometime in the next few days.”
It was amazing to watch her reaction to that statement. After a moment, Heather calmly said, “I don’t know what I would have to tell them. Jerry and I went out a few times. It wasn’t anything all that serious, just a casual relationship.” She was backpedaling away from the earlier dating scenario so fast that by the time Molly caught up with her, I was certain Heather would be describing their relationship as distant but cordial.
A customer came in before I could ask Heather anything else. “Should I wait on them for you?” I asked. “I know my way around soap, and you look like you could use a minute.”
She arched an eyebrow to the sky. “No, I’m fine. It was just a shock, hearing you blurt it out like that. Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Perkins. I’ll tell my aunt and uncle you visited the next time they call.”
There was no way I was letting myself be shuffled off that easily. “I’d like to discuss this a little further with you, if you don’t mind. I’m not in any hurry, I can wait until you finish here.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything else,” she said, dismissing me as she moved past and greeted her customer. “May I help you?”
Heather and the visitor were studying scents together as I left. So far my investigation had led to a big fat zero. I’d visited the two stores I was familiar with on the salesman’s route, and I couldn’t exactly barge into places where I wasn’t known and start blurting out the news that Sanger was dead. All I’d managed so far was killing some gasoline and my morning. It was time to head back to Where There’s Soap and see what had transpired in my absence. As I drove back to Harper’s Landing, I couldn’t help wondering if either woman had been totally forthright with me about her relationship with the route salesman. Both Monique and Heather had been more rattled by the news of Jerry Sanger’s death than I’d expected, but did that make either one of them the killer? I wouldn’t go that far without more evidence, but I did have to wonder if there had been more to both relationships than either woman had been willing to admit.
But were their overt reactions because of their dalliances, or were they inspired by guilty consciences?
When I got back to the shop, Mom cornered me at the door before I could take my jacket off. “So, what did you find out?”
“Give me some time. Mom. I can’t do this in a few hours—you should realize that.”
She clucked a couple of times. “Benjamin, if you aren’t finished, then why are you here?”
“I’ve got a class,” I said, and before she could say anything herself, I added. “I’m teaching it, so don’t try to convince me otherwise.” I looked around the shop and saw that Cindy and Kate were waiting on customers. “Any word from Kelly yet?” I wondered how long Molly would grill my sister.
Mom said, “No, she didn’t have much to say when she dropped Louisa off here half an hour ago.”
“Louisa’s here?” I asked, looking around.
Mom nodded. “She’s in the break room. You should go talk to her, Benjamin.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” I said as I brushed past my mother. I could have used the information of my sister’s return when it had happened instead of finding out so casually later. That was one of the reasons 1 had a cell phone—to keep in touch when I was away—but my mother hated to call me on it, afraid of running up my charges, no matter how much I tried to tell her otherwise.
I found Louisa sitting by herself in the break room, a forgotten cookie lying on a napkin in her lap.
“Wow, that was quick,” I said as I walked in.
She nodded. “Kelly came in with guns blazing. Molly barely had a chance to ask me anything.”
I noticed Louisa had on a different outfit. “Did Molly take your clothes?”
“I talked to Kelly about it, and since I’ve never worked with liquid lye, she told me it would be okay to surrender my outfit. Cindy brought me different clothes, even shoes. They didn’t find lye on anything I had on, so I guess that’s something.”
“Come on, Louisa, that’s great news.”
“I got the feeling Molly thought I might have already changed before you fou
nd Jerry. Kelly said she’d probably get a warrant to go through my laundry.”
“Well, you’re free now, that’s what counts.”
Louisa asked softly, “Ben, you didn’t have anything to do with this, did you? I know how protective you are of me. It’s okay if you did, I won’t judge you, I swear it.”
It had been quite a day so far. My mother and sister had both asked me if I’d committed murder before breakfast. “Come on, you’ve got to be kidding. I might have whipped his fanny if I’d found out what he’d been doing to you, but I wouldn’t have done this. Somebody wasn’t satisfied with just killing him; that lye was a mark of revenge.”
Louisa shivered, and I regretted my choice of words. I asked, “So where do things stand now with the police?”
“Molly said it was too soon to say when we’d talk again, especially with Kelly’s constant interruptions, but she told me she wasn’t done with me yet.”
I put a hand on my sister’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right. Listen, why don’t you stay with Cindy or Kate until this thing blows over? Heck, for that matter you could come bunk with me.”
She shook her head. “The last thing anybody in the family needs is me underfoot. Besides, I like living alone. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you can always have my couch.”
“I’d have to be pretty desperate to sleep there,” she said.
I tried to ease her rightfully heavy mood. “Okay, okay, you can have the bed and I’ll take the sofa. Just know that you’re welcome any time.”
She patted my cheek. “I know. Thanks, Ben. What would I do without my big brother?”
I smiled. “Let’s hope you never have to find out.” I glanced at the clock, then said, “I’ve lost all track of time. I have a melt-and-pour beginner’s class I’m teaching in twenty minutes and I haven’t even had lunch yet.”
Louisa gestured toward the goodies table piled high behind us. “Help yourself.”
Promising myself an extra two-mile walk that night, I grabbed a plate and chose the smallest piece of apple pie I could find. It was still enough to make a meal when I added a glass of milk from the refrigerator.
The classroom was nearly full as I entered our teaching area, a walled-off room that contained five long tables covered with the basic equipment we’d be using over the next four afternoons. There were nine people there out of the ten registered; it was proof that soapmaking was indeed becoming a quite popular hobby. An older woman sitting with her husband at one of the front tables told me, “We’re so excited to be here. Your class is a gift from our grandchildren.”
“Well, at least one of us is thrilled,” the man said quietly. “No offense, but I’d rather be fishing.”
She poked him in the ribs. “Herbert Wilson, you’re here, and what’s more, you’re going to have fun.”
“Well, I’m here, Constance. I’ll admit to that much.”
I could tell Herbert was going to be a handful, but 1 didn’t mind skeptics attending my classes. Sometimes they added a much needed leavening to the earnestness of my normal students.
I addressed the class. “Ladies,” and with a wink at Herbert, “and gentlemen, welcome to the world of soapmaking. I hope you all will enjoy this class, and that it won’t be a wash for any of you.” There were several chuckles, but none from Herbert. “Soap, in one form or another, has been with us since the dawn of man. There are records of soapmaking as far back as 2500 b.c., and legends and myths were created to explain its discovery. In short, making soap is a bit like re-creating history.
“Now, why don’t we get started? In front of you, you’ll find every tool you’ll need to produce the most elegant of soaps. Not very high-tech, is it? In fact, most of the equipment you’ll ever need is already in your kitchen.” As I mentioned the tools we’d be using, I held them up and named them. “We’ve got glass mixing bowls, thermometers, measuring bowls, cups, and spoons; there are hand graters, wooden spoons, drying racks, and sharp knives. Then there’s the safety equipment, like these plastic gloves, goggles, and smocks.”
Herbert mumbled, “It sounds more like a chemistry class than one on soapmaking.”
I applauded, then asked Herbert to say it again louder. He did so, albeit reluctantly, and I added, “Class, that is exactly what we’re doing. I’m sure you all know that cooking requires a great deal of chemistry: weighing, measuring, mixing, and heating to the correct temperature. Many of you are already pros at these things, so you’ve got a natural advantage in soapmaking.”
A hand went up at one of the tables, and an elderly woman with blue-tinted hair asked timidly, “Will we be working with lye? My grandmother was burned something awful when I was a little girl, and she had the scars until the day she died.”
I could see the fear in her eyes, and I did my best to ease her concern. “Let me assure you, you all will be perfectly safe. This course is going to cover the process of one of the two basic techniques for soapmaking that don’t require lye: the melt-and-pour method. The other type, hand-milling, is taught in a different class. The other two processes, aptly named cold and hot, require the active use of lye. For melt-and-pour—that’s what we’ll be tackling this week—we’ll be using a basic soap foundation, melting it and then enhancing it. For the hand-milling process, you begin with a basic bar of white soap with no color or fragrance added, and then amend it.”
The woman frowned at my reply. “I thought we’d be making our own soap from scratch.”
“We do that here in our production area in back, and there’s another class that covers those basics as well. For this class, we start with a transparent soap medium, and we employ it just like any other basic material like the oils and scents we use. Believe me, after you finish individualizing your soaps, they will genuinely be unique, handcrafted products.” It was a sticking point for some crafters who insisted on doing everything from scratch. I couldn’t see their point. After all, no one expected them to grow their own herbs, though we did just that in our production garden out front. The essential oils we used were already processed somewhat. The basic form of the soap itself was no different, in my opinion.
One of the women asked, “So how exactly do we make them so unique? Is there a formula or something we follow?”
“I like to think of it more as a recipe, myself. What you add to your soap depends on how you plan to use it. Let’s say you’re interested in creating a soap that helps the user relax. You might choose to add lavender, clary sage, chamomile, tangerine, rose, or lemon verbena. Or, if you wanted something more energizing, you might choose rosemary, peppermint, lemon, lime, or jasmine.”
“What if you wanted something for insomnia?” Herbert asked softly. A split second later, his wife poked him in the ribs, but I took it as a serious question. I told the class, “Herbert wants a cure for insomnia. Chamomile’s good for that, and so are orange and lavender.” I let my gaze sweep through the room as I continued, “But we don’t have to stop there. We can add abrasives like luffa sponge or ground almonds to the mix, antioxidants such as fruits and vegetables, emollients like glycerin and almond oil, refrigerants like mint, and let’s not forget colorants. Nearly whatever soap you can imagine, you can make. Now who’s ready to get started?”
Every hand went up, though Herbert’s required a solid poke from his wife first. I smiled broadly at them, then said, “Then let’s get down to business, shall we?”
As everyone surveyed the ingredients in front of them, there were laughs and the buzz of happy conversation. It was why I loved giving the classes, sharing a lifetime of knowledge and experience with folks so eager to learn.
I was about to start teaching the actual process when the back door of the classroom opened.
My brother Jeff rushed in, and from the expression on his face, I knew there was more trouble with the Perkins clan before he even had a chance to open his mouth.
Chapter 3
“Excuse me for one second,” I to
ld my students as I walked back to Jeff.
“What is it?” I asked quietly when I got to the door. We had a rule in our family that when someone was teaching a class, they weren’t to be interrupted unless the building was on fire.
I could tell from his expression that my brother could feel the sting in my words. “It’s Molly. She’s coming over in half an hour to talk to you.”
“Did she say what it was about?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s what’s got us all concerned. Ben, Mom wants you to cancel your class right now. Everybody else who could take over for you is busy right now.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had realized my mother was shook up by the murder, as she had every right to be, but I’d never known her to give a refund in her life, and someone would have every right to demand one if we just threw them out. “Jeff, there’s nothing I can do until Molly gets here. Class should be over by then. If she shows up early, come get me.”
“Mom’s not going to like it,” Jeff said.
“She’ll just have to get over it.”
I walked back to the front of the class, wondering what Molly had on her mind. Mom was rattled even more than she’d shown if she was willing to cancel one of our soapmaking classes, and it wasn’t just about the money. Offering lessons was her way of proselytizing to the world, and the sessions we held in our shop were almost sacrosanct.
“Sorry for the interruption,” I told the class. “Now let’s make some soap.”
I held up a chunk of the transparent base and said, “For this process, all you need is a glass microwavable dish, a mold, and some hot water.”
Herbert said, “That’s not soapmaking, that’s melting.” I knew he didn’t realize I could hear him, but the man’s hearing must have been going; all of his comments were audible enough to me in front of the class.