At Wick's End (Book 1 in the Candlemaking Mysteries)

by Tim Myers

  Eve motioned me to one of the workbenches, a long countertop with overhead lights that illuminated the entire tabletop. After she removed the wax and wicks from the pack, I grabbed the sheet and flexed it in my hands. “It’s kind of thick, isn’t it?”

  Eve shook her head and easily located a seam I’d missed. She peeled one sheet from the other and handed it to me. I was expecting it to be sticky for some odd reason, but it wasn’t at all. The single sheet was really pliable as I made waves with it, shifting it in my hands. I held it to my nose and caught a pleasant, faint scent that did indeed remind me of honey.

  I caught Eve smiling at me, something she quickly stifled the second she saw me notice. “Here’s the wick we’ll be using,” she said as she handed me a piece of string that was thicker than kite string but thinner than a shoelace.

  “It’s pretty long, isn’t it?” I asked.

  She said, “We can cut it to any length we need. Now today is rather warm, so we can skip the preheating process. Sometimes in winter I like to use a blow-dryer to make the wax more malleable.”

  “Blow-dryer. Got it,” I said as I fiddled with the wax. “What do I do now?”

  “Lay the sheet out flat,” she said. “Then trim the wick within three-fourths of an inch beyond the edge of the wax. No, not that way, go along the width, not the length.”

  I did as I was told, and she continued. “Now fold the wax over the wick tightly. Don’t be afraid to use your thumbnail to clinch it into place along the entire length. Remember, the tighter the candle is rolled, the better and longer it will burn.”

  I finished that step, and she reluctantly nodded after inspecting my work and adding an extra pinch or two. “Now it’s simply a matter of rolling the candle up tightly till you get to the end.”

  I did as I was instructed, amazed at how simple the process was. Until I found that somehow I’d gotten off course and my candle now had a definite diagonal slant to it. “Okay, how do I fix this?”

  “You rolled your candle too quickly. Unroll it, the wax is very forgiving, and try it again. Take your time and watch the edges.”

  It was just like unraveling paper towels from the roll as I started over at the cinched wick. This time I was more careful with the edges and produced what I thought was a decent candle.

  “What do you think?” I asked as I gave it to Eve.

  “It’s adequate for a first try. You’ll get better as you practice. If this were a regular class, we’d dip the tip and butt of the candle in melted beeswax, but it’s not necessary right now.” She unrolled the candle, handed the sheet and wick back to me, and said, “Now let’s try that again.”

  By the time I’d finished my fourth try, I was really starting to enjoy the process. “Hey, this is fun,” I said as I laid the finished candle down.

  Eve said, “I believe you’ve got the hang of it now. This is the simplest form of candlemaking we teach. Now we can move on to shaping unique candles with the sheets of wax. Mrs. Jorgenson will want to be able to do that, I’m sure.”

  Eve was just starting the next lesson when the door chime announced another customer. “That will have to do for now,” she said. “We’ve still got a shop to run, you know.”

  I wanted to follow her out and observe, but Eve said, “Practice makes perfect, Harrison.”

  So I went back to my wax and started a brand-new candle. I was beginning to see why Belle had gotten hooked. Candlemaking could be a lot of fun.

  After I’d rolled and rerolled candles more times than I could count, I was ready for a break. Eve was involved in a deep discussion with one of our customers about the advantages of pellets versus blocks, a conversation that went entirely over my head. I waved to her, said I’d be back soon, and decided it was time for another cup of Millie’s coffee. If I was lucky, maybe I’d get a dollop of insight about what really went on around River’s Edge too. I had a feeling that if anyone had her finger on the pulse of the place, it would be the owner of The Crocked Pot.

  I was just leaving the shop when a uniformed police officer walked up. “Are you Harrison Black?” he asked in a deep baritone.

  “I am,” I admitted. “I assume you’re here about the robbery. Where did Mr. Young go?”

  “He had to get back to his office, but not before he assured me that nothing had been taken. Pardon my saying so, but there’s not much there worth stealing. It could just be that the thief tore up the place out of frustration. That would explain the mess.”

  “I don’t buy that for a second,” I said. “Nobody’s going to walk up to the only apartment on the second floor of this building and break in on a whim. Whoever did this was after something.”

  The officer shrugged. “I can pass your concerns on to the sheriff, but there’s really nothing else I can do here.”

  “Thanks for coming by,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  The officer must have caught it, though. “I’d honestly spend more time on this if anything of value was missing, but we’ve just had a homicide committed during a jewelry store robbery and we’re working on it with every free man-hour.”

  “I heard about it on the news. The store owner was the one killed in the robbery, wasn’t he?”

  “That’s why we’re giving it so much attention. There was half a million dollars in diamonds taken. Don’t worry, we’ll catch them soon enough.”

  “And I’m left to my own devices. I understand perfectly.”

  The cop looked at me a second more, tipped his hat and walked to his squad car.

  It appeared that Belle’s break-in wasn’t going to be a high priority for the local police.

  I’d just have to solve that particular mystery myself.

  Chapter 3

  “This one’s on the house too,” Millie said as she slid a cup of coffee across the counter to me. “Having to deal with Belle’s death, your inheritance, and a break-in all in the same day is too much to expect of anybody.”

  “How did you know about the break-in?” I asked as I sipped the coffee. It had a nutty taste that startled me at first, but it quickly grew on me.

  Millie laughed as she took a swipe at the counter. “Oh please, Harrison, I knew what happened long before the squad car showed up. There’s something you should know—River’s Edge is a great deal like its own small town. It’s hard not to know what’s going on in other people’s lives around here. With one obvious exception.” She hesitated, towel in hand.

  “I’m waiting,” I said after taking another sip. “You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

  Millie said, “I really shouldn’t be starting rumors. You’ll find out soon enough yourself.”

  I said, “Millie, I’m counting on you to keep me informed around here.”

  She snapped, “And what exactly gave you the impression that I’m such a busybody?”

  Oh, no, I’d put my foot in it again. “I don’t think that at all. It just seems to me that The Crocked Pot is a gathering place for everybody around here. Sorry if I offended you.”

  She shook her head and laughed softly. “George, that’s my husband, says the same thing. I guess I’m a little touchy about it is all.”

  “What does George do?” I asked, hoping to make her forget what I’d said.

  “What doesn’t he do, I like to say. He’s a volunteer fireman, he’s a lay reader at St. Albans and he helps out at the animal shelter. Whenever he’s not volunteering, he manages to make custom furniture for the high-end marketplace.”

  “Wow, when does he have time for you?”

  Millie smiled. “I may have just one job, but it manages to fill my time. Don’t you worry about George and me, we do just fine.”

  Millie’s gaze drifted upstairs, then returned to me. She said softly, “Harrison, I shouldn’t have said anything, but since I started it, I feel obliged to finish. If I were you I’d keep my eye on Gary Cragg. He’s up to something, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is. There’s one thing I can tell yo
u, though. He and Belle had a major problem with each other lately.”

  “Do you have any idea what it was about?” I asked.

  She said, “I asked Belle about it last week, but she just mumbled something about sharks and wouldn’t say another word. There aren’t any in the river out there, but I’m not so sure we don’t have a couple at River’s Edge.”

  “Who else should I watch out for?” I asked.

  “There’s a fellow Belle just rented space to upstairs named Markum. I don’t know if that’s his first name or last, since he’s the only tenant who’s never set foot in my place.”

  “What does he do?” I asked after finishing off the coffee.

  “The sign on his door says, ‘Salvage and Recovery’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. If he runs a junkyard, it’s not around here. I understand he and Belle had words the other day.” She took my cup and refilled it. “Never mind, he’s probably fine. George says I have too much time on my hands between my breakfast and lunch rush hours, and I’ll never admit it to his face, but most likely he’s right.” She studied me a second, then asked, “So how are you and Eve getting along?”

  “Well, she’s teaching me candlemaking basics, if that means anything.”

  Millie smiled. “You can bet your life it does. Eve’s a candle fanatic. She wouldn’t teach you if she didn’t like you, Harrison. You two should be just fine.”

  I could still remember the tone of her critiques of my early efforts. “If you say so.”

  She flipped the towel gently at me. “Trust me on that, Harrison. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a batch of blueberry doughnuts to mix up for tomorrow morning. Want me to save you a couple?”

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  “It’s all part of The Crocked Pot’s service, sir.”

  I decided it would be a good time to tackle Belle’s apartment. Eve could handle At Wick’s End by herself. Truth be told, she’d most likely do better solo until I learned enough to help out in the shop. Cleaning up the mess at Belle’s place wouldn’t get any easier, and the longer I put it off, the harder it would be.

  I was just about to reach the door upstairs when I heard someone moving around inside.

  I didn’t even have the heavy candle to defend myself, but I charged in anyway.

  It was time to find out who was breaking in, and what they wanted from Belle, once and for all.

  I was startled to find Heather Bane from The New Age shop putting Belle’s clothes in a box that had once held a case of Maker’s Mark whiskey.

  I said, “What are you doing in here?”

  She looked startled by my sudden appearance. Perhaps even a little guilty.

  “I heard about the break-in, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you tackling this mess by yourself, not with what you’ve been through.”

  “That was thoughtful of you,” I said, trying to keep the accusation out of my voice. “How did you happen to get in? I was under the impression this door locked automatically.” That was something Mr. Young had shown me himself soon after we’d discovered the break-in.

  “Well, it wasn’t locked when I got here. In fact, I was kind of surprised to find the door wide open. Harrison, I should have asked you for your permission to do this first, shouldn’t I? I can’t help myself, I just get an impulse and go with it. That’s how I got my shop, you know.”

  She continued working, stowing things from the floor in boxes as she talked, and I found myself joining her. At least I could keep an eye on her that way, and the work had to be done before I could move in. “I’d like to hear the story,” I said as I folded some of Belle’s sweaters and put them in a nearby box.

  Heather said, “One day I was canoeing on the Gunpowder and saw River’s Edge for the first time. The building was so cool, and I’d been looking for something to do with my inheritance.” She paused, then said, “I’m not rich or anything, but my grandmother died and left me some money. Only thing was, there was a catch. I had to start a business and run it, or the money would go to my sister. She’s the sensible one, or so everybody thinks. Grams was always concerned that my life was without direction, so I took a deep breath and rented my space. I’ve always been fascinated with crystals and the power stones have to heal, so naturally that’s the kind of store I wanted. When you get the chance, I’d love to give you the grand tour.”

  “I’d like that,” I said as the last of Belle’s clothes went into the boxes. Most likely this young woman was harmless and my suspicious mind was just working overtime.

  Heather said, “Okay, you’ve got clothes in these four boxes, and miscellaneous stuff in these two. Would you like me to take the ones with Belle’s clothes to the Salvation Army? A lot of her things are too nice to just throw out.”

  Something gnawed at the edge of my mind. Had Heather actually been trying to help, or had she come back for what she’d missed earlier? What better excuse to show up again than to say she was cleaning up the earlier mess made in her search? And what was really in those boxes? I just couldn’t take the chance, no matter how benign it all seemed.

  ‘Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll take them later myself.”

  “I don’t mind,” she insisted. “The drop-off is right on my way home.”

  I took the box that was in her hands and said firmly, “I appreciate the offer, I truly do, but there are a few things that have great sentimental value I may want to keep as a remembrance. Thanks again, though.”

  Heather tried to hide her disappointment. “Okay. If that’s all then, I’d better get back downstairs and close up my shop.”

  “You didn’t leave it open the entire time you were up here, did you?”

  “Yes, but I’ve got a woman helping me who comes in three afternoons a week and works the occasional full day to give me a break. Mrs. Quimby is a godsend. Don’t forget, you’ve got one deluxe tour coming any time you want it.”

  “I won’t forget,” I said as I tried to see if Heather was leaving with more than she had had when she arrived. It was impossible to tell under her baggy outfit, but I doubted she’d had the chance to take anything yet. After all, it was obvious she had expected to leave with those boxes long before I ever showed up at Belle’s apartment.

  I don’t know what I was expecting to find in the boxes: jewelry, cash or something. All I could come up with was a quarter that must have slipped out of one of Belle’s pockets, and a broach that was obviously costume jewelry. It was looking more and more like Heather had been the Good Samaritan she claimed to be after all.

  Unless she had indeed managed to walk off with something I hadn’t seen.

  There was yet a third possibility. I might have interrupted her second search before she’d had the chance to find her bounty.

  I wasn’t about to give her or anyone else another chance. I picked up the telephone book and called a locksmith.

  There was no way I was going to sleep in that apartment until I had a brand-new lock in place, and the only key to it.

  Going through some of the other boxes as I waited for the locksmith, I found the two-foot candle I’d picked up earlier to defend myself and decided it was one worth keeping. I don’t know what made me do it, but I put it on the countertop at the bar and lit it with an igniter I found in one of the drawers. Ordinarily I wasn’t a big fan of scents in candles, but this one had an aroma of cinnamon that made me think of Snickerdoodle cookies, a treat Belle had baked for me as a kid. I decided to burn it an hour a night in honor of Belle, my own tribute to her. As the wick took life, I found myself finally beginning to experience the grief of losing her. Delayed reaction, I guess. A tear ran down my cheek and struck the flame. It wasn’t enough to put the fire out, but it did cause it to sputter for a moment before jumping back to life.

  It was as if Belle herself was telling me not to waste any tears on her. The words of her letter echoed in my mind again, and I decided this simple tribute was more in order for a life well led than any service or eulogy.

 
It was the best way to say good-bye I could imagine.

  It’s always hard for me to sleep in strange places, and I there were few stranger than the second floor of River’s Edge when the complex was deserted. I tossed and turned until I finally tired of fighting it. Instead of lying there with my eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, I decided it might be a good time to do a little more exploring in the candle shop downstairs. There was one thing to be said for Belle’s arrangement: it certainly made commuting between work and home easier. As I walked outside to get into the shop, I saw a brief flash of light in the distance, accompanied by a muted rumbling, but it was too far away to matter to me. I had work to do. I had my key in the store’s front door lock when movement caught my attention out of the comer of my eye. The bushes near the building shook slightly, and I wondered if it was just the wind, or perhaps something more ominous.

  “Who’s there?” I called out into the night.

  There was no answer, and I thought about checking it out more thoroughly, but the darkness was getting to me. I decided the best place for me to be was on the other side of that locked door. I didn’t really breathe again until I was safely inside. No doubt it had just been my imagination, but I still felt better with all the lights of the shop blazing.

  I was so lost in the world of candles in At Wick’s End that the storm was on me before I realized what was happening. There was a flash of light, followed almost immediately by the crack of thunder, and instantly I was plunged into darkness.

  River’s Edge was without power, and I was alone in a strange place in complete and utter blackness.

  Right on its heels, another explosion of lightning ripped through the night, blinding me for an instant as the candle-making shop was bathed in sudden white light. I remembered seeing boxes of decorative matches near the cash register, so I felt my way toward it between flashes of lightning. Outside, the rain was drumming against the windows like fists hammering urgently to get in. I struck a match and followed its brief light to the display candles up front. Grabbing the nearest twisted taper, I lit it, feeling instantly better now that I had my own source of light. It was amazing how much illumination it offered. The flickering flame from the candle in my hand was no match for the next burst of lightning though. As the brutal force of the flash vanished, it was followed almost instantly by a thundering roar that shook me so violently I nearly dropped the candle. I could smell the burning ozone in the air as I fought to get my sight back.