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

by Tim Myers

  There was only one way to find out for sure who the murderer was. I had to set a trap and see who walked into it. After I had a better idea who had committed the robbery and two homicides, I’d call Coburn and turn the evidence all over to him, including the diamond. After all, I wasn’t trying to be a hero. I was just trying to find out who had murdered my great-aunt.

  I knew that the diamond in my hand had to be the reason for the recent break-ins at River’s Edge. Someone wanted it badly enough to trash my great-aunt’s apartment and then ransack the lockers searching for it. I had to give Belle credit; no one but a candlemaker would think to look inside a candle itself.

  The only problem was, now that I had it, what in the world was I going to do with it?

  I stared at the shattered remnants of Belle’s candle for nearly an hour as a plan formed in my mind. There had to be something, some way I could use my discovery to flush out Belle’s killer.

  Suddenly the apartment felt too crowded and confining. , I needed room to pace. I walked out into the hallway, strolled up and down the carpet as I thought about what I could do. Maybe it would help to talk to someone else, to gain a little perspective. I paused at Markum’s door, knocked twice, then put my ear to it.

  No response, nor was there a sound coming from inside. Either he was ducking someone, or the salvage man truly was not in.

  I went back to the apartment and studied the ruined shards of Belle’s candle. How could I make this work for me? Then it hit me. I knew exactly what I had to do.

  I looked carefully down the hallway before I headed down the stairs, just in case anyone was there. I wanted to keep a low profile going into At Wick’s End. It wouldn’t do to have my plans spoiled by someone watching me.

  Four hours later, I had the new candle poured. I was admiring my work when I sneezed again. It wasn’t caused by the scent I’d used in pouring the candle though. I was coming down with a cold. I had been forced to guess at the exact size of the candle, since many of the molds we had were similar, though not identical, but I figured the killer wouldn’t be able to tell the difference either. Matching the color was a little harder, adding a little bit of red dye at a time to the melted wax, then checking a drop on waxed paper to see the true final result. I had a chip of Belle’s candle as a test piece, so the match ended up being much closer than I had expected. Since my nose was clogged, I wasn’t sure how much scent to add, but I put in a modest amount of cinnamon and hoped it was enough.

  I now had a nearly perfect match to Belle’s candle, with one important exception. I’d found a plastic jewel used to embellish candles similar to the genuine one in Belle’s effort, and I made sure one edge of it was touching the mold when I poured the wax. Belle’s hiding place had been flawless, but I actually wanted everyone to see that something was in there.

  I was just checking the results of the second part of my plan when Eve walked up outside the candle shop the next morning.

  “Harrison, I just put that display up last week. Why did you replace it already?”

  I pointed to the window. “I wanted to show off what I’ve been learning. Do you like it?”

  “It’s a fitting tribute, putting Belle’s candle there.” I’d put my substitute at the end of the line, clearly marking the date Belle had made it for the killer’s benefit. The display showed the progression of the pouring of a candle, from a chunk of wax and some dye near a double-boiler, then on to the molds, wicks and sealers along with a careful scattering of rocks and shells, and finally to the finished product.

  It was as clear as I could make the progression Belle went through to hide that diamond, but the beauty of it was that only the killer would see the true meaning behind it.

  Eve walked inside and peered closely into the display. As she started to pick up the candle, she said, “What’s that on the edge of the candle? How unlike Belle to be so careless with her placement.”

  I stopped her and said, “I’ve got it just the way I want it. Belle was probably just in a hurry. Hey, it happens to the best of us. Are you ready to get started on our day?”

  “I’m ready,” she said as her gaze lingered on the candle itself. Was she studying the red candle out of curiosity, or did she suddenly realize what Belle had done? Eve would certainly bear watching over the next few hours, along with everyone else who stepped inside At Wick’s End.

  I’d been expecting something to happen early on, and I found myself on edge as I watched the access to the window display. Millie came by around ten-thirty. “Nice window, you’all.”

  ‘Thanks,” I said. “Who’s minding the store?”

  “We had a lull so I locked the cafe up. I wanted to try this new recipe for my pumpkin doughnuts on you. It’s getting to be that time of year again. Would you two mind taking a taste and telling me what you think?”

  Eve said, “I’d love to. Just a nibble, though.”

  Millie’s response was to hand her an entire doughnut, just after she handed one to me.

  I said, “Hey, how do you know I wanted one?”

  She just smiled. “We haven’t known each other all that long, but I think I know you better than that.”

  I said, “I wish I had the willpower to say no just to prove you wrong, but I can’t. They smell too good.”

  It was wonderful, nothing short of perfection as I bit into the doughnut. I pretended to take my time, carefully considering all aspects of the doughnut’s bouquet, texture and taste.

  Eve said, “It’s really rather good.”

  Millie turned to me. “Harrison, what do you think?”

  “Honestly? It’s too soon to tell. I don’t suppose you have another I might try, just to compare the uniformity of the product?”

  She handed me another doughnut with a smile on her face. “You scamp. Thanks for trying it.”

  “Millie, I’ll be your taste-tester any time.”

  Heather came by half an hour later. If she noticed the window, she didn’t mention it. “Harrison, I’ve got another picnic ready. Care to join me?”

  I almost turned her down, since I wanted to watch that window. But couldn’t I see the front of the store from the steps? And if someone reached in to grab my bait, I’d be there in time to catch the culprit red-handed.

  “Okay, but I can’t stay long,” I said.

  As we walked out of the candle shop, I asked, “What do you think of our new display window? I just finished it this morning.”

  She studied it a few moments, then said, “You know, Belle was always after me to learn how to make candles, but I kept putting her off. Do you think you might be able to find the time to teach me someday?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll even give you my River’s Edge discount.” It appeared that my candlemaking display was lost on her as a clue to Belle’s clever hiding place.

  As we walked down to the steps where we’d eaten before, Heather produced two homemade turkey clubs and offered me a Sprite.

  I said, “I’m going to have to take you somewhere fancy to make up for this.”

  She said, “Sometimes I get so tired of eating alone. Having your company is nice.”

  “So who’s watching The New Age? Is Mrs. Quimby working this afternoon?”

  “No, at the moment Esmeralda is my only employee. She should do just fine on her own though. She’s very competent, you know.”

  “So you’ve trained her to run the cash register and answer the telephone too?”

  Heather grinned. “That wasn’t the toughest part. It turns out that making change gives her a headache.”

  “She’s in good company.” The entire time we ate, I kept my vigil on the window, waiting for a hand to swoop in and take the candle. A very real part of me hoped it wasn’t Eve, but she probably had more reason to wish Belle harm than anyone else, especially if my great-aunt had confided her intent to give me the business instead of her.

  “Harrison, is something wrong?” Heather asked.

  “No, why?” I asked, keeping my gaze on the store.


  “You seem distracted.” She paused, then suddenly said, “I bet I know what it is. It’s about the Dodge, isn’t it?”

  “What about the Dodge?”

  She looked down at her sandwich. “Harrison, it’s not that I was ashamed of driving it or anything. That’s not why I changed my mind. I just couldn’t bear the thought of going there alone. Honest.”

  “It sounds like you’ve got every reason in the world to avoid that place when you’re by yourself,” I said. “I understand completely.”

  “I’m glad.”

  After we finished our meal, Heather asked, “Would you like to take a walk along the riverbank? It’s really beautiful this time of year.”

  “I’d like to, I honestly would, but I can’t leave At Wick’s End right now.”

  “I shouldn’t leave my store either,” she said with her head bowed slightly. “Another time, then.”

  “I promise.”

  I glanced over to check on the candle when I walked back into the shop, just in case I’d missed something. It was still there, crying out for attention. The display had to work. I didn’t know any other way to catch the killer. I just had to accept the fact that it might take longer than I’d hoped for the culprit to show up.

  We had a steady flow of customers coming in and out for the rest of the day, buying the gamut from basic kits to some of our most sophisticated and expensive molds. If I’d been focusing just on our income, it would have been a banner week even without Mrs. Jorgenson’s cash infusion a couple of days before. I found as time went by, I was referring fewer and fewer customers to Eve and was handling their requests myself. It felt good, growing in competence, but that blasted candle in the window took away every ounce of joy from the experience.

  Finally, Eve commented on my state of mind. “Well, all I can say is that I’d hate to see you when the receipts were low if this is how you act on a good day.”

  “What? Sorry, I was thinking about something else.”

  “Obviously. Care to share what’s on your mind with a harmless old woman?”

  I pretended to look wildly around the store. “Is there one still here? I thought everyone left but us.”

  She smiled briefly. “Millie was right, you are a rascal, Harrison.”

  “I believe she accused me of being a scamp,” I said, matching her smile.

  “They both fit you.” She glanced at the clock. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to make today’s deposit for you. I know it’s out of your way, given your commute upstairs. I don’t mind, really.”

  I suddenly remembered yesterday’s deposit, still on my couch. If I let Eve take it, I’d have to admit I’d neglected to do it yesterday. “I’ll take care of it myself. It gives me an excuse to get out for a little while.”

  “Are you certain? I’m happy enough to do it, just as long as you don’t make a habit of it.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got it covered. Go on home. It was a good day.”

  She paused at the door, looked back at me and said, “Harrison, I really do like the window. It’s the most fitting tribute to Belle I could imagine.”

  “Well, she never did like much of a fuss. Hopefully this would have made her smile.”

  “No doubt about it,” Eve said as she left.

  I locked up behind her, disappointed that my ploy hadn’t worked.

  I’d just have to come up with some other way to flush the killer out.

  There was no way I was going to let Belle’s murderer get away, now that I knew what had really happened.

  Chapter 17

  As I drove to the bank in Belle’s truck, I thought about my list of suspects, and the likelihood that any of them were involved in Belle’s death as well as the murder/theft at the jewelry store.

  Eve might have had a reason to kill Belle in a fit of anger. After all, she had fully expected to take over At Wick’s End, and Belle had robbed her of that. But the jeweler? Hardly. Heather had no reason to kill Belle or the jewelry store owner, but she had acted rather oddly about the Dodge truck. Somehow I thought Markum would have found a way to commit the robbery and cover it up without anyone being the wiser. He seemed too competent to leave a string of bodies behind him. Pearly Gray might have had his own reasons for the initial theft, but again, he had the same air of proficiency that made me doubt he’d do such a bad job of it. Gary Cragg, the attorney, had wanted to buy the property from me, just as he had tried with Belle. Was it grounds enough for murder, and where did the robbery come into the picture? Was he planning to use the proceeds from the theft to buy the property? Becka had a temper, one of the reasons we’d parted, and she certainly could have gotten angry enough to confront Belle. In that case, it would have been in the heat of passion, not giving Belle time to hide the diamond, now safely tucked away in my front pocket. That left Millie, a woman I couldn’t see harming anyone, and Lucas Young, Belle’s estate attorney. He knew, better than anyone else in the world, what Belle’s provisions were for tying up the property for five years. I couldn’t see him committing murder either.

  That left one possibility that was too outlandish for me to accept, that Belle had actually died of an accident, and that diamond had absolutely no significance whatsoever other than Belle’s retirement plan. That would likely be Sheriff Coburn’s take on things, but I wasn’t buying it.

  I’d never been a big fan of coincidences. Not when it came to murder.

  I half-expected the shop door to be burgled when I got back, but everything was still as I’d left it in At Wick’s End, with the candle still holding down its corner of the display.

  My plan to flush out the killer had been a wash. It was time to get back to the business of candlemaking. After all, that was where my living was coming from for at least the next five years. I’d have to come up with some other way to trap Belle’s killer.

  My water bath for Belle’s substitute candle had worked out fine, leaving me with a candle unmarred by the pinpricks, striations, cracks or bubbles the books all warned about. But I didn’t feel competent enough to teach the technique yet. I knew I still needed a great deal of practice before I was ready for my next session with Mrs. Jorgenson.

  I was just starting to pour another candle to be sure I knew what I was doing when there was an urgent pounding at the front door. Without even realizing I was still carrying the jug of hot wax in my hand, I walked up front to see who was trying to get my attention so late after closing.

  It was Lucas Young, no doubt checking up again to see how I was adapting to my new life. He’d be disappointed when he found that Eve was already gone for the day.

  I opened the door and said, “Come in, Lucas. What brings you to At Wick’s End?”

  “I’m glad you’re still here, Harrison. I was out this way this evening and saw your window display. It’s quite touching, actually, a fine tribute to your aunt. Great-aunt,” he corrected automatically.

  “Thanks. I wanted to do something to mark her passing, and I thought it would be appropriate.” The window was certainly getting a great deal of attention, there was no doubt about that.

  “In fact,” he continued. “I’d like to buy that particular candle from you. It would give me a keepsake to remember Belle by. She was one of the finest women I ever knew.”

  “Sorry, but it’s not for sale,” I said as a chill ran through me.

  He wasn’t about to give up that easily. “Come now, you’re just starting a business brand-new to you. I know what your financial situation looks like, Harrison. Surely you’ve got enough of your own memories to part with this one object. I’m willing to be quite generous with you.”

  “I’m sorry, but this one’s kind of special.”

  Then I knew. Lucas Young was behind it all. Things started to click in my mind, coincidences coming together that didn’t make sense any other way. His constant appearances around the shop, his familiarity with the building since he’d been the tenant in Markum’s old office at one time, and the fact that he’d
been the only one who’d had a key to Belle’s apartment legally as her executor; there were too many coincidences for my taste. I studied him, wondering what his motive could be, wishing I’d armed myself with a baseball bat or something to defend myself with. All I had was a pot of wax.

  Hot wax. Maybe, if it came to that, it could work.

  “I really must insist,” the attorney said, reaching into his jacket pocket. I could see the outline of something bulky there, and there was no doubt in my mind he was going for a gun.

  It was time to stop playing detective before he did anything I’d live to regret. I had no desire to face a man with a gun when all I had was a pitcher of hot wax. Before Young could finish that motion, I said, “I had no idea she meant that much to you. Of course you can have it.”

  He eased his hand back out of his pocket, and instead reached for his wallet. “Would a hundred dollars be sufficient?”

  “That would be fine,” I said.

  The attorney took the candle after handing me the money. As he walked toward the door, I eased my grip on the wax. Once Young was outside, I’d call Sheriff Coburn and tell him all I knew. Let him take the risks. After all, that’s why he was the sheriff and I was the candlemaker.

  The attorney held the candle tightly as he stopped near the door, then slid the dead bolt in place instead of walking out.

  “What’s wrong,” I asked. “Did you forget something?”

  “No, but you did. I happened to smell this candle in Belle’s apartment when I broke in, and it had the distinct aroma of cinnamon. This one smells like clove.”