by Tim Myers
Waxing Moon
By Tim Myers
A Candlemaking Mystery featuring Harrison Black and At Wick’s End
First appeared in the MURDER MOST CRAFTY anthology from Penguin/Berkley Prime Crime
Copyright Tim Myers, 2005
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Waxing Moon
"Harrison, I feel like I'm going to die."
I looked at Millie Nelson's face, and I could see that she meant every word of it. Millie runs The Crocked Pot; a cafe located in the River's Edge complex I hold title to, along with my candleshop, At Wick's End.
"What happened?" I asked as I steered her away from the crowd gathered in her cafe after-hours for a rehearsal reception. Millie catered outside events to supplement her restaurant business, and she was more than happy to host private parties and receptions in her cafe, if the price was right. She'd asked me to help serve that night, and I was perfectly willing to dress up and circulate through the room with a tray of appetizers in my hand. It was often an interesting way to kill an evening, and I took my pay in barter for baked goods, so everybody won.
"I've been such a fool," she said.
"What happened?"
When she wouldn't elaborate, I said, "Millie, I can't help if you won't tell me what this is about."
"I can't talk about it here. Let's go into the kitchen."
I followed her to the back, where Mrs. Quimby—another temporary hire for the evening who usually worked for Heather at The New Age—was taking a cookie sheet full of hors d'oeuvres out of the oven.
"Harrison, you know I haven't been all that conscientious about updating my security here. Now I wish I'd listened to you when you told me to get a real safe."
"You're not still keeping your deposits under your mattress, are you?"
"No, but I probably would have been better off if I had. My money had to have been safer there," Millie said as she pointed to a strongbox bolted to the shelf under one of the preparation stations. "Somebody robbed me tonight, and whoever did it is still in there at that party."
I saw Mrs. Quimby's eyebrows go up, so I knew she'd heard. It was too late to warn Millie not to say anything in front of her. Mrs. Quimby was a sweet, older lady, but I knew that sometimes sweet, older ladies could steal, too.
I looked down at the strongbox and saw that the keyed padlock on it was open. I pulled the lock off and flipped the lid up; the box was completely empty. Whoever had stolen from her had even taken the checks and credit card receipts stored inside. "Please tell me you went to the bank before the party."
The sick look on her face was enough to tell me she hadn't. "Harrison, what am I going to do? I can't call the sheriff. Even if he investigates and finds out who did this, it will ruin my business. Would you want a caterer who had her guests interrogated by the police?"
"It's better than losing the money, isn't it?"
"No," she said. "I'm just going to have to deal with this loss and update my system so it doesn't happen again."
I put my hand on her shoulder. "Don't give up yet. Let me think about this." I studied the lock closely and could see that it hadn't been tampered with. Whoever had opened it had used a key. "Do you still have your key?"
She nodded. "That's the first thing I checked. It's right in my apron pocket, just where it always is."
I lowered my voice and asked, "Are there any copies?"
"No," she said, "I lost the only duplicate I had years ago. I don't know how this happened."
"Are you sure you still have the right key?"
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her ring of keys. "It has to be the right one. How else could I have opened the padlock? The box was locked when I checked it earlier."
"Okay, let's think about this. Have your keys been out of your sight at any time in the last couple of days?"
"Harrison, you know I never take my apron off when I'm working, and the keys are always in my front pocket so I won't lose them." A cloud of concern covered her face for a moment. "Wait a second, that's not entirely true."
"What is it?"
"Yesterday when I was going over the last few details for this party, I took my apron off so I'd look more professional. When I did that, my keys fell out. I laid them right here." She gestured to the counter over the strongbox. "Bur nobody broke into my strongbox yesterday, Harrison. This just happened ten or fifteen minutes ago."
"Who came by?"
Millie thought about it for a second, then said, "There were four of them. Let's see, besides the bride and her father, her brother came, and her maid of honor was here, too."
"Were any of them alone in the kitchen?"
She frowned. "I can't be sure, but I'm willing to bet that any of them could have come in here at one time or another."
I was starting to worry that Millie might be right about the thief succeeding. If she wasn't willing to have her guests interrogated by the sheriff, she might have to lose more money than she could afford to.
"Was this room ever empty tonight?"
Mrs. Quimby spoke up. "I had to leave to feed Esmeralda fifteen minutes ago. Heather knew she was going to be late on a buying trip, so she asked me to take care of Her Highness."
"Where were you then?" I asked Millie.
"I was circulating with the platters. This all happened just before you came, so I had to serve the guests myself."
"So then everybody at the party had access to this room. I just wish I knew how they unlocked the strongbox."
Could someone have taken Millie's key, had a duplicate made, and then returned the original to her ring, all without her knowing it? At the moment, it was the only explanation that made any sense at all. I knew what I had to do next. As I headed for the door, Millie asked, "Where are you going?"
"I need to interview our four suspects and see if I can figure out which one has your money."
"Harrison, they mustn't know what you're doing or I'm ruined."
"I promise I'll be discreet, Millie, but I'm not about to let someone steal from you."
I grabbed another tray on my way out and started looking for my suspects.
As I moved in and out of the crowd, I thought about the possibility that Mrs. Quimby had chosen that moment to steal the money while there were other suspects around, but I couldn't bring myself to believe it, not even for a second. It wasn't that she couldn't be the thief, no matter how unlikely it seemed. But if she had been the one to take the money, I couldn't imagine Mrs. Quimby trying to shift the blame onto someone else. No, it had to be one of the four people in the wedding party who had visited Millie the day before.
But which one?
Millie had pointed each of our suspects out to me from the kitchen, so I knew who to look for. I didn't think I'd have much of a chance to get the bride alone, but she was actually the first one I spoke with. She wore a tight peach-colored dress that clung snugly to every curve, and the young woman carried a clutch purse so small I couldn't imagine what practical function it served. I offered her my tray, then said, "Nice party, isn't it?"
As she took an appetizer, I noticed a brand new Band-Aid on her finger. "What did you ask me? Oh, yes, the party's fine. Have you by any chance seen the groom?"
"No, I'm
afraid not. That's bad luck," I said as I gestured to her bandaged finger.
"This? I got a paper cut reading my vows during the rehearsal this evening, can you believe that?"
Staying near her, I said, "All of this must have cost you a fortune."
She waved a hand in the air and pointed in the direction of the bar. "Daddy doesn't mind paying for it. He's been saving up for my wedding for years." Suddenly she called out, "Jonathon, I'm over here." As soon as the young man approached, she shoved her clutch into his hands. "Hold onto this. I've got to visit the little girl's room."
"Come on, Debbie, don't make me hold your purse. We're not even married yet."
"You'd better get used to it, Jonathon." His frown must have registered with her on some level. She snapped, "Fine, give it to Shelly to hold, I don't care. I really have to go."
And that was the end of my interview with her. I found the bride's father firmly planted by the bar, and from the glazed look in the man's eyes, I figured he needed something to eat to soak up some of the alcohol in his system. His suit looked brand new, and his hair had recently been styled by someone who knew what they were doing.
As I offered him the tray, I said, "It's a beautiful spread, isn't it?"
"That's easy for you to say, you're not footing the bill," he said, slurring his words slightly.
"Your daughter just told me you've been saving up for years."
He leaned closer to me, and I could smell the wash of alcohol on him. "I put her wedding fund in tech stocks. They all went right in the tank. I know how I'm going to make some of it up, though, believe you me. Shh, don't tell anybody."
I lowered my voice. "How are you going to manage that? Or have you already done it?" I was hoping he was drunk enough to confess the theft.
The father of the bride leaned even closer inside my personal space and said, "I've got a horse tip that's going to pay off big time, my friend." He winked at me, then grabbed a handful of food from my tray. "Gotta load up on all these I can. After all, I'm buying, right?" For some reason that started him laughing so hard and loud that everyone in the room was suddenly staring at us. A nice-looking young man in a rented tux joined us from the table piled high with early wedding presents.
"Dad, I told you before, you've had enough to drink."
"Davey, my boy, it's my money, and it's my booze," the man said.
David said, "Come on, let's get you outside."
He put an arm around his father, but the two men still nearly stumbled as they moved toward the door. I put my tray down on the bar and took the other side. "Let me give you a hand."
David nodded, so we walked his dad out of the party and into the night air. There was a waxing moon above us, barely producing enough light to show the way. We couldn't make it to the steps that led to the parking lot, so David and I gently guided his father to one of the chairs in front of Millie's. Twenty seconds later, the father of the bride was soundly sleeping it off.
"I'm tempted to let him stay right here until the party breaks up. I hate it when he gets like this," David said as he slumped down in the chair beside his father. "I don't care what Debbie says, if this little get-together isn't over in half an hour, I'm going to pay a cabbie to take him home myself. It doesn't matter what my sweet sister says about any of us leaving the party early."
"Does your dad do this often?"
"No, it's just all the pressure he's under right now."
I leaned against a post. "I can understand that. It's not every day a man's daughter gets married."
"You're kidding, right? He's been looking forward to this for years. It's the money that's driving him to drink. I just wish there was some way I could help him."
"I guess you could always chip in yourself," I said, before I really looked at his threadbare suit and worn shoes. It looked as though he'd tried to polish his wingtips, but there was a spot the size of a quarter he'd missed on one, and I noticed a button was ripped off his jacket. The bride's brother was badly in need of a haircut, but at least his face was cleanly shaven.
He shrugged. "I would if I could, but I don't have that kind of money. Listen, thanks for helping with Dad, but you'd better get back to the party."
"It's time for my break anyway. I don't mind."
When he ignored my repeated attempts at more conversation, I finally gave up and went back inside. There was just one suspect left. I found the maid of honor, elegant in a strapless blue dress and designer shoes. I approached her with the tray after I collected it from the bar. "So, how does it feel to watch Debbie get married?"
She looked startled by my sudden appearance but managed to regain her poise. The maid of honor took an offering, tasted it, then spit it out into her napkin. "How do you know Debbie?"
"Funny, I was just going to ask you the same thing."
"We were roommates in college." She spread out her hands, gesturing to her dress. "How do I look?"
"Like a million dollars," I admitted.
She nodded her thanks. "I like to look nice, but you should see what she's got me wearing tomorrow for the ceremony. It's too hideous to even discuss. So tell me, is that any way to treat your best friend?"
"I know mine wouldn't stand for it," I said.
"So we agree about that." She gestured to the tray. "Honestly, isn't there anything better than this? I know what Debbie's dad is paying that woman. You'd think the caterer could at least come up with something edible."
I ignored the crack about Millie's offerings. "You were here yesterday, weren't you?"
"So what? I wasn't the only one here. There were four of us."
"Hey, I was just asking."
The maid of honor said, "Sorry, I'm a little on edge."
"It's not because you're hiding anything, is it?"
She looked worried as she admitted, "I was wondering when somebody was going to say something to me. I didn't mean to knock that plate off the counter. It shouldn't have been sitting on the edge like that, do you know what I mean?"
"So that's why you've been so touchy."
"I'm perfectly willing to pay for it," she said. "It couldn't have been all that expensive."
The bride called out, "Shelly, I need you over here."
Before I could ask her anything else, she deserted me.
I'd spoken to all four of my suspects, but I still didn't have a solid clue about who had stolen the money, or how they'd done it.
I looked toward the kitchen and saw Millie staring at me through the opening. She gestured for me to join her, so I slid the tray on a table and walked back into the kitchen.
"Harrison, did you have any luck at all?"
"I'm not sure yet," I said.
"If you're going to solve this, you'd better do it quickly. They're getting ready to leave."
I considered everything I'd learned, then asked Millie, "Did anything else unusual happen during their visit yesterday?"
"Not that I can think of." She hesitated, then added, "No, that can't mean anything."
"You're not talking about the broken plate, are you?"
She shook her head. "No, I saw that happen. It was comical watching the maid of honor trying to shove the remnants of that plate under the counter."
"Did anything else happen?"
"I'm sure it's nothing, but after they left yesterday, I was cleaning the bathroom, and I found the oddest thing. Actually it concerned one of your candles."
"Go on, you've got my attention."
"I keep that beautiful blue candle you made me in the powder room as a decoration, but someone actually lit it. It was burned enough to make a difference in its height. No, that can't be connected to this mess."
That gave me an idea. "Hang on, I'll be right back."
I made my way to the bathroom, hoping that the party-goers would stay long enough for me to figure out which one had stolen from Millie. Someone was ahead of me in line, but in four minutes I was inside. I checked the candle, and it had indeed been burned. There were traces of black soot alon
g its upper edges. The hazy ring on the lavatory's surface confirmed what I suspected. I walked back into the kitchen, and Millie looked as if she was ready to burst into tears.
"It's hopeless, isn't it?"
"That depends. Would you settle for full restitution, or do you want the thief to go to jail?"
"Honestly, Harrison, I just want my money back."
"Then I might be able to help."
I excused myself, had a brief conversation with one of my suspects, then returned to the kitchen.
I handed Millie the cash and receipts. "You can count it, but I'm pretty sure it's all there."
She looked at me with a stunned expression. "How did you do it? I don't believe this."
"Let's just say the theft dealt with my area of expertise."
As she clutched the money to her chest, she said, "You've got to tell me how you figured it all out."
"Let's get through the party, and I'll tell you afterwards."
After all of the guests were gone, including Mrs. Quimby and our four suspects, Millie deadbolted the front door. "Harrison Black, I'm going to scream if I have to wait one more second. What happened, and how did you figure it out?"
"Let me see your key first."
I took the offered key from her and examined it closely. "Do you see this?"
She studied the key, then said, "I don't see anything."
"Look closer. It's right there."
"You mean that fleck of blue paint wedged between those two teeth?"
"It's not paint, Millie. It's wax."
"Don't make me guess. What happened?"
"The person who stole your money tonight took your keys when you weren't looking yesterday. They opened the strongbox, but you'd already made your deposit yesterday. That's when it got tricky. The thief carried your keys into the bathroom. They lit my candle, puddled the wax on the vanity top, then made an impression of the key. The wax must have hardened pretty quickly, and after that, they peeled it off and filed a duplicate key."
"So who was the culprit?"
"Do you really want to know?"