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

by Tim Myers

  The thermometer read one hundred ninety degrees. “That’s good enough.”

  “You said two hundred earlier,” she protested.

  “It’s not an exact science, there has to be some feel involved.”

  She reached for the pot, but I stopped her and said, “First let’s run some warm water over this jug before we add the wax to it”

  “We don’t pour directly into the mold?”

  “I suppose you could, but it makes more sense to transfer the wax into something that’s designed for pouring. The water warms the sides so the wax doesn’t cool too quickly. Dry it off, that’s good. Now be careful, that wax will bum you. Okay, that’s enough.”

  She took the small jug now holding the wax and said, “Any other advice before I begin?”

  “Pour it in slowly and try not to spill any. Fill it about ninety percent full.” I watched over her shoulder, and when she’d poured enough in, I said, ‘That’s good. Okay, stop.”

  “That’s it?” she asked as she studied the results. “Why didn’t we fill it completely to the top?”

  “That will come later. Now we have two options. We can let it cool overnight or we can rush the next step by giving it a water bath.”

  She frowned at the candle mold, then said, “You know I like to take things in their own time.”

  I didn’t say a word, and in a few seconds she continued, “Oh, let’s skip ahead, I must confess I’m eager to see how I’ve done.”

  I knew from some of our past conversations that Eve didn’t believe in water baths. She was very conservative when it came to her candlemaking, but I’d been doing some reading and a little experimenting on thy own, and I was ready to try it with Mrs. Jorgenson.

  “Okay, get ready to put your mold in the sink. Don’t forget to use the oven mitts, it’s hot. Let me add some water to the sink first” The water came just about to the level of the wax inside, with the rim of the mold keeping the candle itself dry. I added a weight on top to hold the mold down, then Mrs. Jorgenson said, “What do we do in the meantime?”

  “Why don’t we pour another candle? Would you like to make one with a few additions this time?’

  She frowned, then nodded slightly. “I suppose some color would be nice. Let me see, a pleasant lavender scent would add quite a bit to it, too. Perhaps a shell or two as well?”

  “That’s the spirit. We’ve got baskets of things you can put in your candle. Choose whatever you like and I’ll get started on another batch of wax.”

  By the time she finished pouring her second candle, her first attempt had probably cooled enough for the next step. I anchored her scented, colored, shelled candle in one of the other sinks after filling it to the needed depth, then looked at her first effort

  She asked, “Is it ready?’

  “Not quite. Take this wicking needle and poke some holes all around the wick.”

  “Won’t that make it ugly?” she asked.

  “Remember, this is going to be the bottom of the candle. This lets the air pockets out If we don’t do this to your candle, it might not burn properly. Don’t worry, we’ll cover the holes completely in a second. I promise.”

  After she was finished with that task, I handed her the jug of original pristine wax I’d reheated and said, “Fill it all the way up now, but be sure to stop before you get to the top”

  She did as she was told, and I explained, “Now we put the weight back on and give it more time to cool.”

  As she surveyed the candles in their respective baths, she said, “It’s a little like making gel candles, but pouring is a great deal more involved than rolling or dipping candles, isn’t it?”

  “There are more steps, true, but there are also more variations.” I’d read through half a dozen of our books and had seen some marvelous candle creations. It was amazing to me that anyone could make them, and I hoped to be good enough some day to try my hand at all of them myself.

  She glanced at her watch and said, “We’ve been waiting some time now. Are they cool enough?”

  “Let’s check.”

  The first mold was indeed cool to the touch. “I think we’re ready. Would you like to take it out, or should I?”

  “I’ll do it,” she said, removing the weight and delicately pulling the mold out of the water.

  “Okay. Take the mold seal off the wide on the bottom first, then flip the candle over. It should come right out in your hands.” At least I hoped it would.

  It slid out beautifully, landing in her hand with alacrity.

  After cutting off the wick bottom—which was still wrapped tightly around the dowel—she held the candle up and studied it closely. “What caused this, Harrison? Did I do something wrong?”

  I took the candle from her and saw a network of cracks in the face of the candle. They gave the piece a certain homemade look, but it was an appearance I was certain Mrs. Jorgenson wouldn’t be pleased with.

  “Let me check something,” I said, pulling out one of my reference books. I found the page on water baths and said, “I’m guessing the bath water must have been too cold. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s my fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have rushed the process.” Then she studied the candle again and said, ‘To be honest with you, though, this presentation is growing on me.”

  “It does have a certain rustic charm, doesn’t it?”

  She said sternly, “Not that I have any desire to repeat the experiment.”

  “Of course not,” I quickly agreed.

  “Is the other candle ready?” she asked.

  “Let’s check on it.” The cracks could have been disastrous, but it was pretty obvious Mrs. Jorgenson wanted her candlemaking to succeed. That was something in my favor, but I knew I didn’t have too many more grace periods before she got fed up and moved on to another craft, blackballing At Wick’s End along the way.

  At least her second candle turned out beautifully. Or so I thought

  “This one has pinpricks all over it Oh, dear,” she said as I reached for another manual.

  I found the culprit right away. “Okay, the wax was too hot that time.”

  “So much for the art of the pour,” she said frostily.

  I tried my best to grin. “Third time’s a charm, they say. Shall we make another candle?”

  “It will have to be another time,” she said. “I’m nearly out of time.”

  “Let’s at least finish off the bottoms,” I said, desperate to salvage something out of the session. I heated a small metal disk oil one-of the hot plates and held the bases of both candles on it long enough to melt them into perfect flat surfaces.

  She surveyed the results as I asked, “Shall we have our second lesson next week?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Jorgenson said abruptly. Well, it looked as if I’d blown it after all. I just hoped we could survive her abandonment

  She shocked me by adding, “I don’t think I can wait that long. Let’s do it again tomorrow, shall we? I’m eager to get another crack at it” She arched an eyebrow, then added, “No shortcuts next time, Mr. Black. We do it by the book, the traditional way.”

  “By the book,” I promised.

  “Till tomorrow then.” She picked up her new candles and started for the door.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, fighting to hide the relief from my voice.

  So I hadn’t lost her after all.

  At least not yet.

  Chapter 5

  Eve waited until Mrs. Jorgenson was gone, then said, “Tell me you didn’t use a water bath on those candles.”

  I shrugged. “I would if I could, but you know how I hate lying to you.”

  The look of dread and uncertainty on her face said more than her question. “Did they turn out all right?”

  I didn’t want to admit my failures, but Eve would find out sooner or later. “Not so much. One was full of hairline cracks and the other had pinpricks all over it” She started to say something when I added, “Don’t worry a
bout it, it’s not a problem. I used some of our reference books, so I know what I did wrong.”

  “Is she ever coming back?” Eve asked, her gaze at the door. She was as aware as I was that Mrs. J was extremely meticulous about her candlemaking.

  “She wants another lesson tomorrow,” I said.

  Relief flooded her face. “No more baths, Harrison. Promise me.”

  I smiled. “Mrs. Jorgenson’s words exactly.” I glanced at the clock, realizing that it was nearly time to close. It was hard to believe all that had happened since I’d decided to go out in my kayak that morning.

  Eve said, “Would you like me to take the deposit into town tonight? I don’t mind, honestly.”

  I knew she hated carrying around the cash from our day’s take. “No, I don’t mind. You’ve done enough today.”

  She touched my arm lightly, rare physical contact from her. “Harrison, it will get better with each passing day. I promise you that.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said. I’d managed to keep busy enough so that I hadn’t dwelt on finding Becka’s body, but I knew the night would be the worst, and it was something I wasn’t looking forward to.

  She said, “Should you see your doctor? I’m sure he’d be happy to prescribe some sleeping pills to help you through the night.”

  Eve didn’t know that Becka had died from an overdose, so I couldn’t blame her for suggesting it, but I still felt my stomach lurch when she mentioned pills. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” I said. We had four minutes left before closing, so I added, “Why don’t you go on home? I’ve got this covered.”“

  “I don’t mind staying, truly I don’t”

  “I know that but it might help me to keep busy. Good night Eve.”

  “Goodnight then.” I knew she was really worried about me when she didn’t put up a fuss about leaving early. Normally Eve wanted to stay longer than I did, and I owned the place.

  As I ran the reports from our cash register and started balancing the till, I suddenly realized that I still had Becka’s thousand dollars in my pocket. What was I going to do with it? I surely didn’t want to keep it on me all the time, but I didn’t want it in my apartment, either. I went into the storeroom and pulled down one of the rubber molds from the back of the highest shelf. It was of a Christmas tree, and I loved the candles it made. I jammed the folded bills up into the peak, then put the mold back on the shelf where no one would stumble across it One way or another, that cash would be long gone before people started buying Christmas molds again.

  By the time I got back to the register the reports were all run. The totals matched the cash, so I made out my nightly deposit. As I was locking the door behind me on my way to the bank, I heard a car horn.

  Erin Lane, the young woman who owned the canoe and kayak rental place on the Gunpowder River, was speeding into the empty parking lot

  I waited for her by the steps.

  She said, “Harrison, I just heard about what happened. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks,” I said, already tired of talking about it. If I didn’t have to discuss my horrendous discovery every ten minutes, maybe I could convince myself it never happened. ‘

  As she approached me, she said, “I can’t believe you found her in your kayak.”

  “Speaking of which, how would you like to buy one, dirt cheap? I’m not going to be needing mine anymore.”

  “Harrison, you can’t let this stop you from paddling. I know how much you love being out on the river.”

  I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice calm. “Erin, if I never go out on the water again, it won’t break my heart. Do you want it, or should I just put an ad in the paper?”

  Now she was the one who looked like she wanted to cry. “If that’s what you really want, we can work something out but we don’t have to talk about it right now. Would you like some company?”

  I thought about it a second, then said, “Sorry, but I’m not in the mood to talk.”

  Erin nodded. “I understand that and I promise; no questions. I won’t say a word. I’ll just keep you company.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m tired and I’m not really in the mood for company. I just want to drop this off at the bank, then come back here and crash.”

  “I can take your deposit for you if you’d like, since it’s on my way home. That way you won’t have to deal with it tonight”

  “I don’t mind, really, but thanks for offering.” A hurt expression crossed her face before she could bury it and I wondered if she thought I didn’t trust her. “Okay, I give in. Why don’t you ride with me to the bank? I know it means you’ll have to come back out here with me, but it might be nice having you go.”

  “That’s great” she said, immediately brightening.

  We walked back to my truck parked in its space behind the building and I held the door open for her.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.” We rode in companionable silence to the bank, and Erin was true to her word. I glanced over at her a few times, but she was looking out the window as darkness approached.

  Finally, I said, “The streetlights are really pretty from River’s Edge.”

  “You can see them from your apartment? I thought the trees would get in the way.”

  “I can see them,” I said, not wanting to share the information that I had a whole other world on the roof of the complex. It was as private a place as I could ever have, accessed only through a scuttle in my apartment closet My great aunt Belle must have enjoyed it as well, and I knew that sometimes it was the only thing in the world that kept me sane.

  Erin didn’t press me on it I got out at the bank, made the deposit, then we headed back to River’s Edge.

  “Thank you,” I said as we neared the complex. “You’re’ as good as your word.”

  “I was glad to come along. It’s not often I get to ride instead of drive. It always amazes me how much more I can see from the passenger side.”

  “That’s not what I’m thanking you for, though I do appreciate your company. I meant about not quizzing me on what happened.”

  “Harrison, I’m your friend. If you want to talk, I’m here to listen, but I’m not going to press you about it”

  I thought about it a second, then asked, “Would you like to see something really special? I’ll show you if you swear you don’t tell a soul about it”

  “I’m intrigued,” she said. “Where is it?”

  I pointed to toward my place. “Upstairs in my apartment.”

  Erin laughed. “You certainly know how to get a girl’s attention, but if you’ve got etchings up there to show me, I’m going to push you out of your own window.”

  “It’s nothing like that. I promise.”

  “Then lead on,” Erin said.

  She followed me upstairs to my place, then I led her back to the bedroom. I noticed an uncertain expression on her face, but she didn’t say a word. When I stepped into the closet, she was openly baffled by my behavior.

  It was time to explain before she bolted on me. “This is the scuttle to the roof. It’s where I go when I want to get away from the world. Nobody but you knows about it now.”

  “I’m honored,” she said softly. I climbed the rungs, with Erin just behind me. I grabbed the flashlight from the hook near the hatch, then realized I had only one of everything on the roof. There’d been no need to have duplicates, since I was the only one who ever went up there. “You need to stay close to me,” I said.

  . I flipped the hatch open and stepped through, then moved aside so Erin could climb up. She looked around in wonder and said, “Hey, you really can see the lights of town from here.”

  “Like I said, this is where I go to get away. I don’t want anyone to know where I’m at when I disappear.”

  She nodded. “You have my word.”

  I led her to the storage Inn where I kept my chair, blankets and umbrella. After pulling the chair out and setting it up, I offered it to her a
nd sat on the bin itself.

  She shivered in the chilled air and said, “Do you mind if I borrow one of those blankets?”

  “Not at all,” I said as I retrieved one and handed it to her. I’d positioned the chair so she could see the lights of Micah’s Ridge, but not my face. It was somehow easier sitting there in the darkness not having to make eye contact as we spoke.

  In the shadows, I began to talk. “I met Becka seven years ago. She was gorgeous, the kind of woman I ordinarily never would have approached, but she did that herself. I was at an art gallery opening in Charlotte where a friend of mine was showing his sculptures, and Becka was there with some friends as well. Her heel caught on the carpet and she literally fell into my arms. We dated off and on for a few years after that. It’s hard to describe what attracted me to her.” I paused, then said, “Okay, she was great-looking, but that only goes so far. There was something about her—a drive to follow her own heart— that attracted me. Was she perfect? Far from it, but there Was a bond between us I still can’t explain. Even when she was doing her best to drive me crazy, I still cared about her. Nothing romantic, mind you—not in the last ten or eleven months, anyway—but she was a part of my life, and now she’s gone....” I hadn’t meant to make such a long-winded speech, and I felt embarrassed by it

  Erin took it all in, then said softly, “It’s okay to miss her, Harrison.”

  I felt the tears come. I hadn’t wept since Belle had died, but I couldn’t stop them. Erin stood, moved near and put her arms around me, nestling my head to her chest. She stroked my hair and hummed softly as the emotion ran through me, until it finally faded I pulled away and said, “Sony about that, I don’t know what happened”

  “Do you feel better?” she asked.

  “You know what? I do. Thanks.”

  Erin stepped away and said, “Thank you for sharing all of this with me, Harrison.”

  “I’m glad I did.”

  She looked up at the stars and said, “How could I not love it? Could I come back up another time?”

  “That sounds great. We can have a picnic sometime.”