by Tim Myers
A POUR WAY TO DYE
By Tim Myers
Book 2 in the Soapmaking mysteries
Praise for the Lighthouse Mystery series by Tim Myers
“A thoroughly delightful and original series. Book me at Hatteras West any day”
—Tamar Myers, author of Thou Shalt Not Grill
“Entertaining ... authentic ... fun ... a wonderful regional mystery that will have readers rebooking for future stays at the Hatteras West Inn and Lighthouse.”
—BookBrowser
“Myers cultivates the North Carolina scenery with aplomb and shows a flair for character.”
—Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel
“Tim Myers proves that he is no one-book wonder... A shrewdly crafted puzzle.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Colorful... picturesque ... light and entertaining.”
—The Best Reviews
Praise for the Candlemaking Mystery series by Tim Myers
“Excellent storytelling that makes for a good reading experience…Myers is a talented writer who deserves to hit the bestseller lists.”
---The Best Reviews
“A sure winner.”
---Carolyn Hart, author of the Death on Demand series
“An interesting mystery, a large cast of characters, and an engaging amateur sleuth make this series a winner.”
---The Romance Reader’s Connection four daggers
“A smashing, successful debut.”
---Midwest Book Review
“I greatly enjoyed this terrific mystery. The main character…will make you laugh. Don’t miss this thrilling read.”
---Rendezvous
Praise for the Cardmaking Mysteries written by Tim Myers as Elizabeth Bright
“Independent-minded sleuth Jennifer Shane tracks a murderer, crafts cards, and resists her overprotective family with panache and good humor.”
--Carolyn Hart, Award winning author of Death of the Party
“Elizabeth Bright shines in this crafty new series.”
Nancy Martin, author of the Blackbird Sisters Mysteries
“Elizabeth Bright writes an engaging and fast read and incorporates interesting information about card making while solving the murders.”
Armchair Interviews
The Lighthouse Inn Mysteries by Tim Myers
Innkeeping With Murder
Reservations For Murder
Murder Checks Inn
Room For Murder
Booked For Murder
The Candlemaking Mysteries by Tim Myers
At Wick’s End
Snuffed Out
Death Waxed Over
A Flicker Of Doubt
The Soapmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers
Dead Men Don’t Lye
A Pour Way To Dye
A Mold For Murder
The Cardmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers written as Elizabeth Bright
Invitation To Murder
Deadly Greetings
Murder And Salutations
A Pour Way to Dye
Copyright © 2006 Tim Myers
All rights reserved.
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Dedication
As always, to Patty and Emily. My reasons why.
A POUR WAY TO DYE
By Tim Myers
Prologue
For a man named Joy, there was clearly none left in his lifeless body. Lying on the floor near the tub—one arm outstretched before him—he clutched a scented bar of soap in his left hand. It wasn’t Dove or Lifebuoy or Dial, but a handcrafted cleanser, wrapped with the label, Where There’s Soap, which was made in the shop that abutted his jewelry store’s property. Though it is true that more accidents happen in the bathroom than any other room in the house, this was no accident. Someone had clubbed him from behind with the iron bar from a towel rack and then left him for dead.
After the attack, Joy had only a little life remaining—not enough to call for help or even to linger more than a few moments—so he had to act quickly while he still could. He grabbed the only thing within reach that might help name his killer, if only the police were smart enough to discover the clue he was leaving behind.
Chapter 1
The Day Before
I had to slam on my Miata’s brakes to keep from plowing through a chain-link fence as I started to pull into the back parking lot of my family’s soap factory and boutique, Where There’s Soap. I wasn’t being reckless or driving impaired; that fence hadn’t been there when I’d left the night before. I somehow managed to stop before I rammed into the thing, but just barely. As I shut off the engine, I tried to slow my pounding heart. What kind of foolishness was this? Then I saw the sign wired to the eight-foot-high fence. It told me everything I needed to know. Earnest Joy was at it again, only this time he’d gone too far.
My name is Benjamin Perkins, and my family and I run the largest custom soapmaking production line and boutique in our part of North Carolina. My three sisters teach most of the classes and handle the customers in front, while my three brothers run the production line in back. Our mother oversees us all, with our grandfather popping in every now and then to add his opinions to the mix. That leaves me the hardest job of all, in my opinion. At thirty-three, I’m the family and business troubleshooter. Whenever there’s a problem, it’s up to me to fix it. And believe me, there’s always a problem. Most folks are surprised when they find out a guy like me—six feet tall and 180 pounds—is a soapmaker by trade, but it’s the family business, and like it or not, I’m usually right in the middle of everything going on at Where There’s Soap. When I’m not trying to keep our little world safe and sane, I teach a few soapmaking classes in the classroom up front and even help my brothers on the production line now and then. As the eldest of seven children, I stepped into my father’s role the day he died, and I haven’t had a quiet moment to myself since.
It appeared that today wasn’t going to offer any tranquility either.
I tested the fence and found that it was solid, its posts buried in the ancient blacktop surface of our lot. I left the Miata where it was and started off on foot toward the source of our trouble. In all honesty, I was too angry to drive, and Earnest Joy’s jewelry store was close by, situated on land that abutted ours. I took the sidewalk, never even thinking of cutting across the grassy lawn between us. Earnest wouldn’t have allowed it before, but now there was an even bigger reason besides him and his fence. His son Andrew—a young man who had never shown a real interest in anything in his life—had suddenly decided he wanted, more than anything else in the world, to become a master gardener, converting every square inch of green into growing something. As I looked over his straggly crops, I realized that passion and excellence don’t
always go hand in hand. It appeared that as soon as Andrew dug up a bit of dirt, he haphazardly threw a handful of seeds into the ground and then started on a new section. I had to give him credit for one thing. He’d plowed into the hobby with a zeal that amazed me.
I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Earnest Joy waiting for me near the door inside his handcrafted jewelry store when I walked up, though I could see from the sign that he wasn’t due to open for another hour and a half. No doubt he’d been there since dawn, eagerly anticipating another clash with me and my family. I liked to think the Perkins clan had a “live and let live” approach to life, but when it came to our back door neighbor, I’m afraid our best intentions faltered now and then. Earnest certainly didn’t make it any easier on us, constantly goading and prodding us with backhanded compliments and disdainful looks. Most of the time it felt like his motivation for aggravation was pure sport alone, but this time he’d crossed the line. He’d elevated our conflict from a brush war to an all-out attack.
Before I could say a word, I noticed that another man was in the shop with him, lurking near the back with his chair balanced on its back two legs, though with his bulk, I thought it was a precarious way to sit. I’d seen him around town—Harper’s Landing wasn’t all that big a place—but as far as I knew, our paths had never crossed before. He sat there staring at me, his pale moon face smiling with a picket fence grin. I shook my head—dismissing his presence—and turned to Earnest Joy. If he wanted an audience, that was fine with me.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice below a bellowing rage.
Joy said snidely, “Perkins, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” His gaze stayed on the ledger he was pretending to study as he spoke, but I could see a smile start to blossom on his face. “I’m not open to the public right now,” he added, then he gestured to his friend. “This is a private meeting we’re having right now, isn’t it, Ralph?”
The other man, testing the seams of his flannel shirt and canvas pants with his immensity, said smugly, “That’s right, no visitors allowed.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said as I stared at Joy, fighting to keep my temper in check. Earnest was a heavyset man, though he looked absolutely lithe compared to his friend Ralph. Joy sported a hairline that retreated farther than the French Army and a scowl that appeared to be permanently attached to his less-than-handsome mug.
“If you can’t be civil, I’ll call the law on you. Try me and see.”
He meant it, too. We’d been adversaries since I was a kid, when one of my errant pitches to a brother had the misfortune of crossing his property line while he was out patrolling the grounds. He’d gleefully confiscated our ball, refusing to give it back no matter how much we’d pled, and I’d had an intense dislike for the man ever since.
My first reaction at the moment was to scream at him about the fence he’d put up and marked as Joy Property, but I knew that was his wildest desire. So, instead of shouting, I took a few dozen deep breaths and looked around his shop until I could say something below the decibel level of an angry chainsaw. Earnest, along with his son and daughter’s help on occasion, ran a shop stocked with jewelry they made themselves. While I’d never cared for Earnest Joy, even I had to admit that he had a delicate touch with silver and gold, marrying them to precious and semiprecious stones with an artisan’s skill and a master’s touch. There were pieces that incorporated gold and silver coins in their design, and some that sparkled with small diamonds and emeralds. No doubt his shop would have been better suited in a city bigger than our small town, but from the look of prosperity around the place, it appeared that he managed to do just fine in Harper’s Landing.
I was still trying to keep my temper when Earnest looked up from his ledger and stared directly at me, no doubt wondering if I’d suddenly been struck mute. “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out, boy. I don’t have all morning. I know there’s got to be some reason you’re here so early.”
I suddenly realized that if I waited until my blood pressure retreated to a normal level, I’d be standing there for the rest of my life. Keeping my voice as calm as I could, I said, “You know why I’m here. We need to talk about that fence. What were you thinking when you had it put up? Were you drunk?”
That brought a wicked little smile to his face. “I decided to finally lay claim to what’s rightfully mine. Your family has been squatting on my property long enough. I own every inch of the land that runs right to the back edge of your building. Just be glad it didn’t touch the place itself, or I’d have that old rattrap torn down to the ground, at least as much of it that stood on my land.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said fiercely.
He snarled, “Don’t doubt it for one second. The bulldozers would be out there so fast you wouldn’t even have time to grab a bar of soap before I knocked the place down.”
Ralph thought that quip was hilarious, but I was focused on Earnest. It was all I could do not to shake him silly.
“I know you’d tear our place down if you could, but that land belongs to us.”
“Are you calling me a liar, Ben?” Earnest asked in a serpentine voice. “I’ve got the papers right here if you don’t believe me. I just had it surveyed, and it’s all legal as can be.”
He handed me a stapled document, and I studied it. There was a drawing taking up most of the top sheet, along with a set of coordinates that didn’t make the slightest bit of sense to me. In addition, there were several pages of legalize attached that read like bad Lewis Carroll. The map was clear enough, though. I saw the line drawn just at the edge of our building. If it was true, it would kill us. Not only did all of the Perkins clan park in back—a substantial number of vehicles given nine family members who didn’t believe in carpooling—but it was where we received our deliveries and shipped our soaps out into the world. Without access to the back of our building, I didn’t see how we could operate for very long. I started to tear the document up, as if that would make the problem go away. Earnest must have guessed my intentions.
“That’s a copy I had made especially for your grandfather. Ask him if it’s not true.” His smug confidence made my belief in his insanity falter for a second. Could it be that for once in his life, Earnest Joy wasn’t lying to me? Was there something I didn’t know about all of this?
I’m not a violent man by nature, but at that moment, I wanted to take a swing at him. Somehow I managed to fight the impulse. It was time to get more information before I gave Earnest Joy yet another reason to dislike us. It was pretty obvious by the expression on his face that he’d expected a shouting match or even an errant punch, and I took a little comfort in at least denying him that.
I tapped the sheaf of papers with the back of my hand, then said as I left, “This isn’t over. I’ll be in touch.”
If I didn’t dislike Earnest so much at that moment, I actually might have felt sorry for him. It appeared that I’d robbed him of his eagerly anticipated glee by not reacting to his overt aggression. Well, that was something, anyway.
I ran into his daughter, Terri Joy, on the porch as I was leaving. Terri was my age, rail thin, and had frizzy red hair. She was dressed rather stylishly in a dark tailored outfit that looked expensive; I knew dressing well had always been important to her. While many of the kids had teased her growing up about her hair and lack of a real figure, I’d always been fond of her. She was smart, and had a wit as sharp as honed steel that she used to defend herself from our peers.
Terri frowned the second she saw me, honest regret in her gaze. “Ben, I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was going to put that fence up. I just found out about it myself.”
Terri and I had always gotten along reasonably well— an aberration in the long-standing family feud—though unlike Romeo and Juliet, we’d never been anything but friends. “Can’t you at least talk some sense into him?”
Terri shook her head. “I wish I could, but the two of them are
being even more stubborn than usual. Lately, Andrew’s been behaving as badly as Dad. I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it. You know how they both are.”
I nodded. “I understand, Terri. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you.”
“I truly am sorry,” she said. “I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship.”
“Me, too,” I said as I walked away.
I left her on the jewelry store’s steps and started back toward the soap shop. It was time to find my grandfather and see if Earnest Joy was telling the truth. Like everyone else in the family, I’d assumed all my life that the land in question belonged to us, but now Joy was saying otherwise, and he’d implied that the reason was because of my grandfather. I loved Paulus, but he wasn’t an easy man to get along with. My grandfather hated to be questioned by anyone, particularly someone from the family. Interrogating him was a prospect I didn’t relish, but it had to be done, and the sooner the better.
By the time I got back to the soap shop, Mom was just pulling in beside my car on the tiny island of pavement in front of the fence. There had barely been enough room for me to get the Miata off the road, so my mother’s minivan was halfway out in the turn lane when she stopped. At least she’d managed to keep from hitting the fence, or me, for that matter.
Ignoring a bleating horn behind her, my mother got out and looked at me severely. “Benjamin, what’s the meaning of this?”
“Hey, don’t blame me, I didn’t put it up.”