A Flicker of Doubt (Book 4 in the Candlemaking Mysteries)

by Tim Myers

  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” I said. “If I had a pen and paper, I’d ask you for your autograph.”

  Grover snorted at that “Why would you want that for?”

  “What I just had wasn’t a sandwich, it was a work of art”

  I thought for a moment I’d blown it, and so did Markum, if the tenseness in his expression was any indication. Grover stewed it over it for a full minute, then his scowl turned into a grin.-”Nothing wrong with enjoying it, but I don’t put on airs around here, Harrison. That’s something you need to keep in mind next time.”

  “Yes, sir, I will”

  Grover said, “And another thing. There aren’t any sirs or ma’ams around here. I’m Grover, just that”

  “Grover,” I said, extending my hand, “it’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

  He took it, and I felt the coarseness of his hand, brought on by manual labor, and years of it “And you, Harrison.” We all saw a woman approach, and Grover said, “Scuse me a second, fellas.”

  A distinguished older woman I knew to be a judge over in Canawba County approached. “Oh, dear, I hope . I’m not too late.”

  “Sadie, you know I’ll always save one for you.”

  “Grover, you are a true Southern gentleman.”

  She put her money under a rock on the table in front of him, and Grover retrieved a Coke from the cooler beside him. After he handed the drink to her, he opened a homemade grill the size and shape of a fifty-five gallon ] drum. The full aroma of the cooked meat hit me. In a heartbeat, he slapped melted butter on a bun, toasted for a few seconds, then retrieved it and loaded it with barbeque.

  She took it reverently, and Grover turned back to us. “Sadie’s something. Now Harrison, I hope to see you next week.”

  “Do I have to wait a week?” I asked, unable ft hide my disappointment

  “A week’s not too awful long to wait,” Grover said, then he slapped my shoulder. “Thanks for bringing him by, Markum; he brings a smile to my face.”

  “Happy to do it Grover. See you next week.”

  After we were back in the truck, I said, “How long has this been going on?”

  “For twenty years, the way I understand it.”

  I drove toward Cyrus’s house and asked, “So how did you get invited for the first time?”

  Markum smiled. “The same way you did. Somebody brought me. It’s special invitation only, and you’d better be sure about who you’re bringing, because if Grover doesn’t like your guest you’re not welcome yourself anymore.”

  “Thanks for taking a chance on me. You said something that makes me curious. I know the man’s a magician with barbeque, but why did you call him the wisest man you’ve ever known?”

  Markum said, “Grover was one of the richest men in this part of North Carolina, but the stress of keeping his fortune growing was killing him. He had a scare from his doctor, a man Grover respected, who told him he’d be dead in six months if he kept at it Grover told me he stayed up around the clock worrying about what to do, then he decided if he was going to die anyway, he was going to do what he’d always longed to, so he sold off his businesses, gave his money to charity and opened his barbeque stand. The doctor died seven years ago, but Grover swears he’s never felt better in his life. Following your dreams is what it’s all about, Harrison.”

  It was the longest speech I’d ever heard Markum make since I’d known him.

  “I am,” I said.

  Markum smiled. “Why do you think I brought you with me? Now let’s go see if we can find out what Cyrus Walters is up to.”

  I pulled up in front of the huge house, but it had changed somehow since I’d been there last. The place was starting to look ratty around the edges, with weeds growing in the front yard and one section of the porch rail gone.

  “You’d better let me tackle him alone,” I said. “He’s a little uncomfortable around visitors.”

  Markum said, “I understand. Just yell if you need me.”

  “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks,” I said. Even though I’d been there before, I felt my pulse quicken as I approached the front door. What was I going to find inside?

  Chapter 3

  I knew enough not to bother with the doorbell. It had broken long ago, and Cyrus wasn’t a big fan of visitors anyway, so he had made a conscious decision not to have it repaired. I was expecting the door to be locked, but when I rapped loudly on it, it swung open, revealing a dark interior, though the day was quite sunny.

  “Hello? Cyrus? Is anyone there?”

  No reply. I glanced bade at Markum, who was lost in something he was reading. No help there.

  I stepped inside, a knot growing in the pit of my stomach with every step I took. I was in the grand foyer, a marble staircase in front of me and parlors to the left and right “Cyrus?”

  “Go away,” a voice called from the left

  “It’s me, Harrison Black.”

  Harrison? What are you doing here?” There was still no sign of the man. .

  “Can I come in?” I asked, a ridiculous question since I was already standing inside his home.

  “Stay right where you are. I can hear you from there,” he said.

  “Come on, Cyrus, this will just take a second. We need to talk.”

  There was a long pause, then Cyrus said, “If you - can’t abide by my wishes, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I mean it, Harrison.”

  I worried about the eccentric old man, but I couldn’t afford to be thrown out before I had the chance to ask him my questions. “This is fine,” I said. “Can I ask you something, Cyrus?”

  “You may, if you stay in the entry,” he said.

  “I had a strange visit from a developer named Runion. Have you been talking to him about selling your land near River’s Edge?”

  “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to go.” His voice was flat and tired, and the dismissal in his tone was readily apparent.

  I couldn’t just give up without a fight, though. “Cyrus, I need to talk to you.”

  “No,” he said, more emphatically this time.

  I hated being someplace where I wasn’t welcome, but I had no choice. “Can I at least come back later?”

  There was no answer, so I added, “I’m going to take that as a yes. Cyrus, can I bring you anything? I’m worried about you, my friend.”

  There was still no response, so I finally left. As I stood on the stoop outside, the door, I wondered if I should lock the place up behind me. But then I realized that Cyrus had most likely left it unlocked himself, no doubt hoping for someone more welcome than I was. I ended up settling for pulling the door shut again as I left

  Markum looked up as I walked to the truck. “Did you have any luck?” he asked.

  “No, he won’t talk to me.” I brought him up-to-date on what had happened inside. Markum thought about it a moment then said, “And you say he’s never acted this way toward you before?”

  “I don’t understand it It’s not like we were best friends, but this is ridiculous. We’ve had a hundred conversations, and it’s always been face-to-face.”

  Markum said, “I’m afraid it can’t mean anything good for you, then.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Markum scratched his broad chin. “Well, if he is thinking about selling out to Runion, he’s bound to realize how it will affect you. That’s probably why he doesn’t want to face you. Most likely he doesn’t have the nerve to tell you directly.”

  I started the truck, then said, “I hope you’re wrong.”

  “So do I,” Markum said. “Are you ready for our next move?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  He smiled and-said, “I’m in the mood for a little breaking and entering; how about you?”

  That depends. What did you have in mind?”

  He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “We need to get into Becka’s place and root around some if we’re going to dig into her life. I’m sorry, Harrison,
but there’s no other way to do it I’ve got to believe that if there’s something to discover that made this happen, we’ll find it in her apartment”

  I’d never really thought about our next step, but he had a point. If we were going to figure out what had led up to her death, we were going to have to be bold.

  I drove to Becka’s new place, the one she’d chosen after leaving her old apartment because of a stalker. I’d been there once, picking her up for pizza. It was the last time I’d seen her alive, and I had to stop myself from taking that path in my mind.

  On the way, Markum said, “I haven’t popped a lock in years. I hope I still remember how.”

  “You may not need to. I’ve got a better idea.”

  He shrugged. “Unless you know where she hid the key, I doubt they’re going to let us just waltz in there.”

  “We’ll see,” I said as I drove to her place. “If my idea doesn’t work, we’ll try yours.” I pulled up in one of Becka’s reserved slots and we walked over to her apartment.

  Markum said, “I was kidding about the key. Don’t tell me she left one under her mat”

  “No, but she used to leave one outside at her last place. Becka was always losing her key, and she had a pretty cool place to keep a spare.” There was an old fashioned knocker mounted on her door, one made of shiny brass, though the handle was slightly tarnished. “Great,” I said, the second I saw it “She had it installed here, too. It wasn’t up the last time I was here.”

  “You’re happy Becka put up a brass door-knocker?” he asked.

  I reached underneath its edge, pressed a small hidden slide and part of the knocker’s base popped open. Inside it was a key that I hoped was a match to her current lock and not the last

  Markum studied the mechanism, then said, “I’ve never seen one of these before.”

  “She used to date a locksmith, and he rigged it for her since she was always misplacing her keys. If you don’t know the slide is there, you’d never find it. I’m just glad she had time to stock it with a key. Let’s get inside before somebody comes out to check on us.”

  “If that’s the right key,” Markum said.

  “I’m not even going to acknowledge that that’s a possibility.” I held my breath as I slid the key into place and was relieved when the door swung open. Markum and I slipped inside, then I returned the key to its hiding place and locked the door behind us from the inside.

  Going through Becka’s place was tougher than I imagined it would be. While she had always been perfectly attired, Becka’s apartment was a continuing disaster area. Clothes were thrown all over the place, dirty dishes were still in the sink and there was a pile of mail spread across a tabletop near the door.

  “Somebody got here before us,” Markum said.

  “No, this is the way Becka kept house.”

  Markum didn’t say another word, but he did pull a pair of thin rubber gloves from his pocket. After he put his on, he tossed me another pair. “Don’t worry, these are latex-free.”

  “Do you really think this is necessary?”

  “Harrison, the last thing you want is for our friendly neighborhood sheriff to get interested in this case and start collecting fingerprints. You told him you hadn’t seen her in a month, remember? Do you want to explain why your fresh prints are all over her apartment? Remind me to wipe off that key and door-knocker before we go.”

  I put the gloves on, hating how my hands began to sweat almost immediately. “Don’t worry,” he said, “You get used to it after a while.”

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

  He said, “Let’s just say it’s come up in the past Now let’s see if we can find out what she’s been up to. Becka didn’t keep a diary, did she? It might save us some time.”

  “If she did, I never knew about it”

  Markum nodded as he moved to the mail and started riffling through it “Okay, we’ll do this the old-fashioned way. You take the bedroom and I’ll look around out here. When we’re finished, we’ll trade off in case one of us misses something.” It was a nice way for Markum to search the entire apartment without hurting my feelings, but I didn’t mind. No doubt he had a great deal more experience doing this than I did.

  As Markum started on the kitchen, pulling everything from the shelves and looking inside every box, can and container, I walked back to the bedroom. It was just as much a wreck as the rest of the place, but that didn’t mean anything. I fought the urge to start cleaning up, then realized that if something was on the floor under the piles of clothes, books and magazines, I’d never find it As I hung each dress and blouse back in the closet, I took the time to look through any pockets I could find. Going through her clothes, I remembered the large purse she always carried with her. Where was it, anyway? As I continued searching the bedroom, I kept looking for it, but I didn’t have any luck. Once the clothes were hung up and the books and magazines were stacked in one corner, I had a better idea of what I was dealing with. The drawers of her dresser were just as unorganized as the rest of her place. I had no way of knowing whether anyone else had been there before us. There wasn’t much of interest there, but I did find the torn corner of a photograph tucked inside the mirror frame, just enough left to hold it in place. It was of a clearing in some woods, filled with dead brown kudzu vines. There was a shape at one edge, maybe a barrel or a bucket covered in the dead vines, but I didn’t have any idea what that might mean. I turned the photo over to see if there was anything, written on back, but it was blank. Then I noticed a slight, hard to read imprint that had a date on it just four days old. I quickly glanced around the rest of the dresser space, but if the companion photographs from that roll were in the bedroom, they were hidden better than I could hope to find.

  All in all, it was a rather unsuccessful search, so I went looking for Markum to see if he’d had any more luck than I’d had.

  He saw me and said, “Good, I was just about to check on you.”

  “Did you find anything?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure yet Listen to this.” He hit the replay button on her answering machine and I heard a man’s angry voice. “Becka, I don’t care what you say, it’s not over. I can’t live without you.” There was a ragged pause, then he added, “You’re not getting away from me that easily, I promise you.”

  “Who was that?” I asked, my skin cold from the sound of the voice.

  “I’d say it was Becka’s ex-boyfriend. Do you know who she dated after you?”

  “Do you think I kept a log? Markum, I didn’t even know she was going out with anybody.”

  “Take it easy, I was just asking. This character doesn’t sound like he takes rejection well, does he?’

  “How in the world are we going to find out who he is?”

  Markum popped the tape out of the answering machine and said, “I know a guy who might be able to help us.”

  “Should we really be taking that?” I asked as I gestured to his pocket

  Markum sighed. “Harrison, the police don’t care; the sheriff himself told you that”

  “Yeah, you’re right I guess I just feel creepy being here digging through her things.”

  He said, “You can wait out in the truck if you want, I don’t mind. Really.”

  “No, I’ll stay.”

  He accepted that, then asked, “Did you find anything?”

  I held out the edge of the photograph and he studied it a few moments.

  I asked, “So what do you think it means?”

  “I don’t have a clue,” he said as he stuffed it in his pocket along with the cassette. “Listen, are you ready to trade? I was about to check the living room, but you can have that if you want”

  “Sure, that’s fine.” As Markum left me to retrace my steps, I looked through the small living room. There was a coffee table pulled next to one of the chairs. The table was covered with opened newspapers and a pair of scissors. I started looking through the papers until I found the only cut-out in the pile. An ar
ticle about the size of an index card was cut from last week’s paper. I folded the sheet and stuck it in my pocket, wondering what she’d thought was important enough to cut out. It meant a trip to the Gunpowder Gazette—a newspaper I detested—but I was willing to put my feelings aside if it meant finding out what had happened to Becka.

  I finished up with the living room, straightening the place up as I searched. Markum poked his head out of the bedroom, holding up a folded sheet of paper. “You missed something,” he said, smiling.

  “I probably missed more than that. What is it?”

  He handed me the note, and I saw someone had written in block letters: STOP

  NOSING AROUND OR ELSE. The words OR ELSE were underlined three times in a red marker, though the letters were all written in black. It made for a bold statement, no doubt about that.

  “Where did you find that?” I asked.

  “It was taped to the back of one of the drawers. I would have missed it myself if I hadn’t pulled it all the way out I found something else, too.” He held up a fan made of money, all hundreds.

  “How much is there?” I asked.

  “It’s an even grand. It was taped right beside the note.”

  “I don’t get it” I said.

  “Maybe she was blackmailing somebody and he got tired of paying her off. That might be all there is to this. What do you think? Was Becka capable of doing that?”

  “I can’t imagine it”

  “Harrison, I know you cared for her. But take a second and consider it. Don’t dismiss the possibility just because she was someone in your life.”

  I thought about how brash she always was, how single-minded Becka could be, and realized with some sadness that it could be true. “I guess it’s possible,” I admitted reluctantly. “So what do we do with the money?’

  Markum studied the bills, then handed them to me. “You keep them. They might come in handy.”

  I refused the money. “Shouldn’t it go to her heirs, whoever they are? The last thing in the world I came here to do was rob the dead.”

  Markum shook his head, and there was a sad smile on his face as he admitted, “Harrison, you’re soft in ways that keep surprising me. Don’t you think Becka would want to finance our investigation in searching for what really happened to her? If we use this right, it might buy us information when no other way can. I don’t know about you, but my business isn’t doing well enough at the moment to use my own money for bribes if we need them.”