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

by Tim Myers

  “Harrison? Is that you?”

  From the shadows of one of the storefronts, Heather Bane appeared. In her mid-twenties, Heather ran The New Age, a shop full of crystals and tomes on spiritual healing, situated next door to At Wick’s End. Heather’s long blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she was wearing a tie-dyed smock over her blue jeans and T-shirt. Esmeralda, her store cat and my one-time roommate, flicked her tail at me as they approached.

  “Guilty as charged,” I said. “You’re working late tonight.”

  She grumbled, “My register totals don’t match again. I must be losing it, Harrison, this is the third time it’s happened this week. I was trying to figure out how I’d goofed up this time when the lights went off. What’s going on with the power?”

  I knew the grapevine at River’s Edge would spread the news of Aaron’s demise soon enough, but I didn’t want to be the one to start the story. Still, Heather had a right to know what was happening in one of the shops around us.

  “It’s Aaron,” I said.

  Heather’s gaze shot to the door behind me. “What about him?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this. He’s dead.”

  “Dead?” I wasn’t sure what reaction I was expecting, but her trying to fight past me to get into The Pot Shot was not one I’d have considered.

  “You can’t go in there,” I said, holding her arms gently in restraint. “There’s nothing we can do. I’ve already called the sheriff. He’s on his way.”

  “He can’t be dead,” she started to sob. “He can’t be.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  She let out a wail that startled Esmeralda, then before I could stop her, Heather shoved her cat into my arms and raced for her car. Oddly, her lime-green Volkswagen Beetle was out in front instead of in its usual spot in back of the building with the rest of the tenants.

  I called out, “Hey, where are you going? What about your cat?”

  Esme tried to twist out of my arms, but I held fast. If that cat managed to slip out of my grasp, I’d have a nightmare of a time trying to find her. Heather was taking the potter’s death much harder than I’d expected. Granted, Aaron’s death was a shock, but Heather had instantly fallen apart. I knew that everybody reacted to trauma differently, though. It was just starting to sink in with me that one of my tenants was dead. I was still numb, and that was the only thing that was keeping me going. When it hit me later, as I knew it would, I’d have my own shock to deal with.

  Heather didn’t reply to my questions as she got into her car and drove off, but I could see the tears streaming down her cheeks as she turned toward me for an instant.

  After the sheriff drove up and joined me in front of The Pot Shot, Morton gestured to the cat. “Got an eyewitness there, or is that the culprit?”

  “She belongs to Heather.”

  “So where is she?” the sheriff asked.

  “She had to run an errand,” I said, not wanting to go into Heather’s reaction until I’d had a chance to talk to her about it some more.

  “So you’re stuck cat-sitting.”

  I stroked Esme’s head. “Let’s just say we’re hanging out together.”

  Morton raised one eyebrow, then said, “Whatever. Okay, let’s see the body. Can you turn some lights on around here? I know times are tough, but you can afford a little electricity, can’t you?”

  “The power shorted out and blew a fuse. That’s how I found him. Pearly and I were both looking for the cause. As far as I know, he’s still upstairs. Do you have a flashlight in your car?”

  “Absolutely. Give me one second.” As I waited for Morton to grab his flashlight, I was glad to be able to put this in the sheriff’s hands, whether it was an accident, or more unlikely, a homicide. I’d been forced to look into my Great- Aunt Belle’s murder when Morton hadn’t believed that her death had been deliberate, but that had been personal, and I had no doubt the sheriff would be able to handle this particular situation. I didn’t have time to help even if he asked, which I was certain he wouldn’t be doing. I had my star student and number-one customer, Mrs. Henrietta Jorgenson, coming in tomorrow, and we were embarking on a new way to make candles. Earlier we’d learned, with me barely one step ahead of her, rolling candles out of sheets of wax and the basics of pouring hot, melted wax into molds. I was going to teach her the dipping method, and some of its variations, and I’d been practicing like a madman when she’d announced she was ready to tackle a new way to make candles during her last visit. Mrs. Jorgenson had very deep pockets and an honest love for my craft, two things that endeared her to me.

  When the sheriff returned with a heavy-duty flashlight that no doubt doubled as a nightstick, I unlocked the door to The Pot Shot and stepped aside so he could enter. It was only natural that Esmeralda and I follow him inside.

  “You’re not bringing that cat in here, are you?” the sheriff asked.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got her.”

  He shook his head, but he didn’t forbid it, so I figured it was okay. Despite my impromptu earlier pronouncement, the sheriff knelt down and tried to find a pulse. As he searched for the faintest sign of life, there was nothing I could do but watch and wait. I found myself holding my breath as Morton loomed over the dead man. Had I missed something? Was there a chance Aaron hadn’t been dead when I’d come in? If so, I’d wasted precious time by not calling an ambulance first.

  Morton’s attention left the body, then his beam of light trailed across the floor. It appeared to me that the potter had been sitting at his wheel and had crashed onto the floor beside it. Aaron had been about my age, somewhere in his thirties, but I’d already lost one childhood friend to a heart attack, so I knew that was a distinct possibility here. As the sheriff examined the cord that ran from the pottery wheel to the outlet, I said, “He is dead, isn’t he?”

  “Oh yes, I agree with your diagnosis, Doctor.”

  “For how long? Can you tell?”

  Morton brushed away my questions as if they were circling gnats. “What? I don’t know, but it’s been a while. Listen, why don’t you wait upstairs? I’ll find you when I’m finished here.”

  “Fine by me,” I said as I started out with Esme. The cat was quiet in my grasp, almost nestling inward toward me. Could she sense the presence of death in the room, or was it due more to Heather’s abrupt abandonment?

  “Wait a second,” Morton called out as I neared the door. “This is it. It has to be.”

  “What did you find?” I asked as I hurried back toward him.

  The sheriff shined his light on part of the electrical cord, and I could see that it was so frayed some of the wiring was showing through. Beside it was a puddle of water and a nearly empty bucket. “I’d have to say it was accidental,” the sheriff said. “Looks like he must have knocked the bucket over and the water hit the wire.”

  “Then let’s unplug it so I can get the power going,” I said. I didn’t mean to be callous about the whole thing, but I did have a building without electricity.

  “Not so fast,” the sheriff said. “I need to get photos of all this first.”

  “You said yourself it was an accident.”

  Morton said, “You can wait for me to take some pictures first. Hey, where are you going?”

  “Upstairs, like you suggested,” I replied. “I’ve got a half-gallon of cherry-chocolate ice cream in my freezer, and if you’re going to take as long as I think you are, it’s going to melt by the time I get the power back on. Can I bring you a bowl?”

  Morton shook his head, then as I walked off, he added, “Maybe just a little.”

  I carried Esmeralda upstairs, found some kitty litter from her last visit and used an old pan of Belle’s for a litter box. I’d picked up a few extra cans of food at the store for her, just in case she came visiting again. Esme seemed pleased by the prospect of eating, and I wondered if Heather had already fed her. Oh well, one extra meal wouldn’t do much harm. After she was settled in, I got the ice cream o
ut and scooped two bowls of it.

  By the time I got back downstairs, Morton was nearly finished with his flash photography. Pearly was standing by the doorway watching intently.

  The second he saw me, he reached for one of the bowls. “You’re a scholar and a gentleman, Harrison Black. Thanks, I can surely use this.” He took a bite, then said, “Ice cream is man’s finest hour, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’d have to go with penicillin, but I like the way you think.”

  Pearly gestured inside with his spoon. “Terrible business, that.”

  I nodded, then watched as Morton came out, put his camera down, and took the other bowl out of my hands. Oh well, there was enough for one more serving upstairs, if it didn’t melt by the time I got back to it.

  The sheriff took a bite, then said, “I pulled the plug from the outlet, so if you want to reset the breaker, you’ll most likely have power.”

  Pearly said, “I’ll do it instantly.” I was kind of hoping he’d forget about his ice cream, but he remembered and took it with him back to the boiler room where the fuse box stood.

  Less than a minute later, half the stores in River’s Edge lit up, including At Wick’s End, The New Age, and The Pot Shot in front of us. “That will make taking the rest of the photos easier,” Morton said. “I’ll be here a while, but I’d like to talk to you before I leave. Will you be upstairs?”

  “I wish, but no, I’ll be in the candleshop. I’ve got a big day tomorrow, and I’ve got to get ready for it.”

  “No rest for the landlord, is there? I’ll be by soon.”

  I made a detour back upstairs before going to the candleshop. I wanted to check on Esmeralda. I was concerned when I couldn’t find her anywhere in the apartment, but when I looked in my small bedroom again, I found her curled up on my pillow, sound asleep.

  It appeared that she had settled into my place quite nicely.

  I headed back downstairs, jiggling the door to The New Age as I walked past. At least Heather had locked up before coming to find me in front of the pottery shop. I had assumed she had been outside looking for me after the power outage, but after seeing her reaction when I’d told her of Aaron’s death, I suddenly wasn’t all that sure.

  As I reentered At Wick’s End, I tried to put Aaron, Heather, and the rest of it all from my mind. Making candles, especially when working with scalding hot wax, is serious business, and I needed every bit of concentration I could give it if I wanted to keep from getting burned.

  I was building up a nice blue taper when Morton walked into the store, the chime announcing his arrival. “You’re really burning it at both ends, aren’t you?”

  I tried to smile. “What better place for that than a candleshop? Are you finished?”

  “They just took the body away, and I’ve finished my preliminary work. I’ve got a forensic team coming in the morning, but with so many folks out sick, it might be a while. I taped the door, just in case, so don’t let anyone in there, okay?”

  “They won’t get in with our key,” I said, “But I can’t stand around and guard the place.”

  “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you,” he said as he gestured to the wax.

  “You want to know the truth? It’s great fun. I’d be happy to give you a lesson sometime, if you’re interested.”

  Morton shook his head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” I said.

  He looked around, then said, “I’ve got a pretty good idea. Oh, that’s right. You don’t know about my ex-wife. She was quite the candlemaker. The whole thing kind of left a bad taste in my mouth, you know?”

  “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m here,” I said.

  Morton tipped his hat, then left me to my dipping.

  I glanced at the clock and saw it was approaching ten. If I was going to be fresh in the morning for my one-on-one class, I needed to get some rest. Besides, there wasn’t all that much wax left floating on top of the water, and what was there was starting to congeal.

  I still probably had time for that last bowl of ice cream before I went to sleep.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, I bolted upright in bed in pitch darkness, having barely survived a dream where I was attacked by a giant feather duster that was trying to choke me.

  Esme barely stirred on the pillow beside me as her tail flopped lazily toward where my face had just been.

  It was going to take some time getting used to sleeping with a cat in my bed, and I wondered when Heather would come back for her charge.

  I worried about my new friend, but there was nothing I could do for her at the moment.

  And in a few hours, I was going to have to get up and prepare for another assault by Mrs. Jorgenson.