by Tim Myers
He started to pick up another letter and I stood up. “Listen, I don’t have all night. We can talk some other time.”
Cragg reluctantly put the letter down and said, “Stay. This can wait.” He leaned back in his leather chair and said, “Harrison, I know inheriting this white elephant from your aunt was more than you bargained for.”
“She was my great-aunt, and yes, I was surprised when I found out she’d left all of River’s Edge to me.”
Cragg nodded. “Exactly. Now this establishment was a fine match for Mrs. Black, but you’re a relatively young man with his life still ahead of him. You surely don’t want to be burdened by the arduous task of running this building. The tenants are, as kindly as I can put it, all rather eccentric. Therefore,” he said as he leaned forward and held up a document from his desktop, “I’m willing to offer you a considerable sum to alleviate all of your problems immediately. Sign this, and you’ll have more money than you would have cleared in five years selling those second-rate computers you’ve been peddling.”
“But this place is mortgaged to the hilt,” I blurted out.
“Once the property is in my possession, I have no doubts that I will be able to turn a reasonable profit above what I’m willing to pay you. Given your recent salary history, it’s a quite generous offer.”
So the attorney had done his homework about my past work. Not only did he know where I’d worked, but most likely he’d discovered the dismal amount of pay I was used to. I took the document from him, studied the figure on the paper, then frowned at it in surprise. I had no idea how much River’s Edge was truly worth above and beyond what I owed the bank, but I doubted it was possible it was worth that much. It didn’t really matter. Mr. Young had made it quite clear why I couldn’t sell the place before I’d been there five years, but I wasn’t ready to admit that, at least not until I had a chance to see just how badly Cragg wanted it, and why.
“You know, now that I think about it, this figure seems a little low,” I said as I floated the paper back across the desk to him. It was all I could do to keep from grinning as I said it. I would have said the same thing no matter how much he’d offered. I was looking for a great deal more than a higher price on a parcel I was in no position to sell.
Cragg looked at me a moment, tore up the document, and to my surprise, the man actually smiled as he handed me another piece of paper. “It appears you are more savvy than I credited you for. This figure should be more to your liking.”
I studied the substantially higher number for a few moments. Cragg was serious about acquiring River’s Edge, if that second offer meant anything. I still didn’t know why though.
I said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let this go on as long as I have. River’s Edge is not for sale.”
“Mr. Black, let me assure you, the offer in your hands is well above the current market value of the property. No one is going to be willing to match it, let alone top it.”
“I’m not disputing that,” I said. “Just out of curiosity, why are you willing to pay more than you admit it’s worth? I’m not about to believe it’s for the place’s sentimental value.”
Cragg stroked his desk lightly. “You’re wrong, there; I have grown quite fond of River’s Edge.” He shook his head, then added, “However, you are correct in the assumption that there is more driving me than emotion. I plan to evict the other tenants and turn this entire building into a legal complex. We’re close enough to the courthouse to walk, and once the papers are signed, I’m certain I can persuade several of my colleagues to join me.”
I slid the second paper back to him as well. “It’s a moot point, actually. I couldn’t sell you River’s Edge even if I wanted to. Belle added a clause to her will that forbids me from selling the complex, at least any time soon.”
Cragg smiled without warmth. “Believe me, we can break that proviso without any problem. All I need is your approval, and I can move immediately.”
I stood. “Even if you’re right, I’m not willing to part with River’s Edge. I’m more interested in Belle’s intent than I am in breaking her last request.”
“Your decision is final then?” he asked, the hard edge coming out in his voice.
“My hands are tied,” I said. “If not entirely by the law, then by my great-aunt’s desires, and those are more important to me than any document.”
Without another word, Cragg destroyed the paper I’d returned to him, then he turned his attention back to the stack of papers on his desk. I was as effectively dismissed as I had ever been in my entire life.
It appeared that one of my tenants was already unhappy with his new landlord.
That was just too bad for him. I never was one to respond well to pressure.
When somebody pushes me, I have a tendency to push back.
I had to walk past Markum’s mysteriously vague salvage-and-recovery operation to get back to my apartment. I was dog-tired, but my curiosity outweighed my desire for that hot shower.
I knocked on the door, waited thirty seconds, then knocked again, this time quite a bit harder than before.
No reply. Jiggling the handle, I discovered that the door was locked. It appeared that Markum was not in.
So what was the sound of voices I heard coming from the other side of the door? I patted my pockets and came up with an old grocery list and scratched out a quick note on the back of it. Would like to meet you. Harrison Black, Belle’s place.
After sliding it under the door, I headed back to my new apartment. It was time for that shower after all.
Glory be, hot water was not a problem in my new accommodations. I don’t know how long I stood under the pounding heat of the shower, but by the time I shut the water off, my fingers were starting to prune up. As I walked into the kitchen, toweling my hair dry, I lit Belle’s candle, most likely the last one she’d ever made, and watched as the wick jumped to life. The flame, strong and steady, reminded me of Belle, a solid part of my early life. There was a hint of cinnamon in the air that I loved. It reminded me again of sweet rolls, apple pie and Snickerdoodle cookies. I let the candle burn as I cooked my self a pasta dinner and kept it glowing while I ate. At the rate it was burning. I’d have that candle memorial for a month, a fitting period of mourning for my great-aunt.
Later, after the dishes were done, I went prowling around the apartment for something to read. Belle was an avid reader. She’d been the one who’d gotten me hooked on the printed word, mysteries in particular, giving me a complete set of Agatha Christies on my ninth birthday. Okay, I’d asked for a new baseball glove, but by the time I’d read The Mysterious Affair at Styles. I was lost forever. I’ve never been without a book to read since, though my past living conditions made it tough to keep them after I’d read them.
Belle had an extensive collection of books on hand, and I’d had to force myself not to start browsing as I’d resolved them from their tumbles to the floor. Amazingly enough, none of them had been damaged in their short falls. There was her own complete set of Agatha Christie books present, though hers were hardcovers instead of the paperbacks she’d given me. Judging from the number and variety of titles on the shelves, she’d kept her interest in mysteries through the years, with books from the latest bestseller lists mingling with classics from the Golden Age of mystery. I chose one of the Agatha Christies at random, curled up on the couch, and quickly found myself revisiting a world full of English villages, vicars and tea.
It nearly jarred me off the couch when the telephone rang.
“Hello,” I said, marking my place with one finger, unwilling to put the book down.
“So it’s true,” I heard a familiar feminine voice say on the other end of the line. “You’ve moved out of your apartment after all.”
“Hi, Becka. I’m surprised to hear from you. How’d you find me?” Becka Lane and I had dated off and on for the past few years, but three months ago she’d decided we were finished for good. She had declared with more frustration than regret that
I’d never amount to anything, and she was tired of waiting for me to make something of my life. I’d been more relieved than heartbroken with her declaration, a sign that told me we were probably both just waiting for the other one to give up first.
She said, “It was the oddest thing, Harrison. I was out running around today and I went by your place. I don’t know what hit me, but I suddenly wanted to see you again. I can’t tell you how stunned I was to find you’d moved.”
I knew without a doubt how she’d gotten my new number. I was sure Mrs. Harper had been delighted to share the information. She’d always wanted the two of us to get together. “There was nothing there for me anymore,” I said.
There was a pause, then Becka said, “Aren’t you going to invite me over to your new place? I’m dying to see it, and my schedule’s completely open.”
“Sorry, but I’m not in any shape for company tonight,” I said.
Most likely it was a first for Becka, being turned down like that. “Come on, Harrison, I won’t stay long. I’d just really like to see you tonight.”
“You’re welcome to come by the shop sometime,” I said, knowing that Mrs. Harper had no doubt shared that particular news with her as well.
“Absolutely, I have every intention of coming by, but I thought we could get together tonight. I’ve got some of your favorite wine,” she added, ignoring my refusal completely.
It was time to be blunt. “Listen, I’m beat. I’m going to bed.” I didn’t even give her a chance to protest as I hung up the telephone. It appeared that Becka had forgotten how nasty she’d been while breaking up with me, but the “I never want to see you again” still rang in my ears.
In another minute, I was back in Dame Agatha’s world, happy to leave mine far behind.
A pounding on the apartment door brought me fully awake. I’d dozed off on the couch reading, and looked at the nearest clock through blurred vision.
It was 2:00 am.
Whoever wanted to get in was quite adamant about it.
I picked up an old baseball bat I’d found cleaning out Belle’s closet, something she’d probably kept for self-defense herself.
“Who is it,” I called out through the door, studying the man on the other side through the peephole. He was huge, with shoulders that would barely fit through the doorway. His hair was the color of midnight, untamed and wild.
“It’s Markum. I got your note.”
I opened the door, the bat still firmly clutched in one hand. “It’s two o’clock in the morning,” I protested. Close up, the man had the greenest eyes I’d ever seen, as if they had been cut from the coldest emeralds on earth.
Markum shrugged. “Sorry, I was on the telephone when you came by earlier. Long distance, different time zones, that sort of thing. What can I do for you?”
I dropped the bat on the couch as I walked deeper into the apartment, Markum close behind me. “I just thought it would be nice to meet you, since I’ve just inherited the building.”
“Sorry about your great-aunt,” he said easily. “You don’t happen to have any coffee around, do you?”
“I’ve got instant,” I said, going for my transported stash in the freezer.
“No, I’d rather go without than drink that slag,” he said with a grimace. “If that’s it, I’ll be going then.”
“Excuse my asking, but I was wondering what exactly it is you salvage and recover” I asked, the lateness of the hour accounting for my direct approach.
He grinned slightly. “Oh, this and that. If it’s gone, I’ve got a knack for finding it.”
“And I bet you go here and there to do it, don’t you?” I replied.
“Now you’ve got it. If that’s it, I’m going to go scrounge up some real java.”
“Thanks for stopping by,” I said.
He nodded and headed out the door. What an odd bird he was. I’d learned absolutely nothing about him, except for the fact that if he’d wanted Belle dead, shoving her off that ladder wouldn’t have been a problem for him at all.
Now that I was wide awake, what in the world was I going to do with myself for the next six hours? Going back to sleep was out of the question; once I’m up, I’m up. It was a curse I’d had since childhood.
There was really only one thing I could do that made any sense at all. I got dressed quickly and headed down to At Wick’s End.
“You’re here early,” Eve said as she came in, removing her jacket and hanging it carefully up on a peg in the office.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, “So I thought I’d get some work done.”
Eve looked worriedly around. “I hope you haven’t switched anything around. Belle and I worked out the perfect system for our inventory, and I’d hate to see it...modified.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t change a thing. Actually, I’ve been studying.” I gestured to the eclectic collection of candlemaking books lying open in front of me.
She caught me yawning and said, “Harrison, your work here is important, but you certainly didn’t need to lose any sleep over it.”
I considered telling her about my late-night caller and my inability to get back to sleep, but decided to let her think I’d been up cramming for my new career. I gestured to one of the open books in front of me. “It’s all quite fascinating, isn’t it?”
“It certainly can be,” Eve said. “So, should we get started on that pouring lesson before the brunt of our Saturday crafters come in?”
“Is Saturday a big day for the store?” I asked.
“Normally it’s our biggest,” she admitted. “Shall we stick to our system yesterday? You did quite well on the register.”
“I should be fine as long as the prices are marked.”
“They should be, but don’t hesitate to ask. Now let’s go get some supplies so we can get a quick lesson in before the rush begins.”
Unfortunately, that lesson was going to have to wait. Before we could even collect our supplies, customers started flowing in at an amazing rate.
There was barely time to eat our lunches in hurried ten-minute shifts, and by the time we were five minutes from locking the door that evening, I was exhausted.
“Why don’t we go ahead and lock up early?” I suggested.
Eve said, “Harrison, it’s your store to do with as you wish, but Belle always believed that if the hours were posted, they should be honored.”
“Okay, I understand that.” I started straightening up the sales counter and added, “Thanks, Eve.”
“Selling candles is what I do, Harrison.”
I said, “No, I didn’t mean that. Well, I do, but what I’m really thanking you for is staying on and helping me run this place.”
“I didn’t have much choice, Belle would haunt me for the rest of my life if I deserted you in your time of need.” She patted my hand gently. “I believe we’ll make a candle-maker out of you yet.” She checked her watch and said, “Two minutes till closing. It’s been a good day.”
The warmth of her words didn’t last nearly long enough when I heard a familiar voice coming from the front.
“Is anybody here?”
It looked like Becka was following through with her threat to visit me at Wick’s End. I’d forgotten all about her promised visit, but apparently she’d meant it when she’d threatened to drop by.
Chapter 7
“I’ll take care of her,” Eve said as I finished neatening the display of tea lights on the counter.
“I wish you could,” I said.
“Pardon me?”
“It’s an old acquaintance of mine,” I admitted. “And she’s not here to shop for candles.”
“I understand,” Eve said, though clearly she didn’t. Heck, I didn’t get it myself. Why was Becka suddenly trying to get back into my life? The breakup had been final, at least from her end of things. I’d managed to get over her without too much of a problem, though I’d only dated a few times since we’d split. One thing was certain—I knew better than anyone else
that it was time to move forward and not back. The last thing I needed in my life at that moment was a walk down that particular memory lane.
Becka rushed to embrace me when I walked toward her, but she must have gotten the hint when I didn’t return her enthusiasm.
“Going somewhere special this evening,” I asked as I took in her carefully coiffed blond hair, her stylish outfit with a short skirt sure to raise more than a few eyebrows of our conservative clientele, and enough Obsession to drown out the strongest scented candle we had in stock.
“I came to see you, Harrison. Surely that’s enough of a reason to get dressed up, isn’t it?”
“I’ll have to take your word for it. I guess you’re here for your tour of the shop, but we’re just about ready to close up for the day. In all honesty, I didn’t know you were that interested in candles.”
Becka frowned. “Harrison, if you had inherited an art gallery or a restaurant, I’d be just as interested in that.”
I nodded, suspecting as much. “So whatever windfall I managed to come into, you’d be more than willing to jump back into my life. I understand, it all makes perfect sense now.”
Becka frowned gently at me. “Harrison, are you trying to be difficult?”
I grinned. “No, but sometimes it just comes naturally. I’d love to stay and chat, Becka, but I’m kind of busy at the moment. Thanks for stopping by, though.”
I saw Eve frowning from the back of the candle shop, and knew I was setting myself up for another lecture on customer service, but this was one customer I was just as glad not to have shopping at Wick’s End.
Becka looked around the empty store and said, “Yes, I can see you’re up to your eyebrows in customers at the moment.”
“As I said, we’re closing.”
She moved closer to me, nearly knocking me over with her perfume. I never should have told her I liked that particular scent, not if there was a chance she was going to suffocate me with it.
In a voice nearly a whisper, she said, “I admit it, I was too hard on you when we broke it off. I’m sorry, Harrison.” When she saw her apology wasn’t having the desired effect, she added, “What do I have to do here, get down on my knees and beg?”