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

by Tim Myers

  “I’ve been on the telephone with the Environmental Protection Agency all morning. I finally found someone with enough authority to look into it and they now reluctantly admit they received Becka’s information and were getting ready to act on it.”

  “Do you believe them?” I asked her.

  “I do, since my favorite congressman happens to be on the Ways and Means committee. They’ll have a team here by nightfall, and clean-up should begin by morning.”

  “Harrison, you’ll have your park before you know it, I promise you that. It’s the least I can do, given all you’ve done for us.”

  Ruth startled me by offering a hug. I stepped into her arms, held her for a full minute and then she released me. She said, “If you’re ever in West Virginia, I hope you visit us. It’s beautiful country up there, too, you know.”

  “If I can ever take a few days off, I might just take you up on that.”

  “You’re always welcome in my home, Harrison. Cyrus is waiting out in the limousine. He’d like a moment of your time, if you can spare it.”

  “You know it,” I said, and I followed her outside. Cyrus looked good sitting in the back of the car, though he had a blanket wrapped around his waist. I gave him my hand, and he did his best to give a firm shake in return.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Cyrus said.

  “Just say you’re coming back someday,” I said. “That’s all I need.”

  “Thank you,” he said simply.

  “You’re welcome,” I replied.

  We locked gazes, then he said, “Ruth, are you quite ready? If we’re driving, let’s do it now.”

  John shut Cyrus’s door and walked around the car to open Ruth’s. She said, “He’s getting fussy, so that’s how I know he’s finally on the mend.”

  “What did the doctors say?”

  She scowled. “The drugs he was given are out of his system, but it’s going to take some time for him to recover fully. By the way, the sheriff stopped by the house this morning. They found the charlatan who drugged him. It sounds as though he’s going to jail for a very long time. Sheriff Morton also asked me to tell you that Runion and Jeanie are turning on each other. Evidently she played a more active role in this than anyone realized, so we have you to thank for her incarceration as well. I was gratified to hear that you turned her bribe down, but Cyrus said he would have been shocked if you’d done otherwise.” She leaned forward, kissed my uninjured cheek gently, then got into the car.

  I waved good-bye, but instead of going back to the candleshop, I decided it was high time I went back out onto the water by myself. It felt good the second my kayak hit the Gunpowder, and as I coasted by what would soon be a park, I saw a team of men in white suits working to remove the last of the barrels Runion had dumped there.

  Becka would be pleased, I knew, but there was one more thing I could do to honor her memory. Since she didn’t have any living relatives, there was no one to give the thousand dollars to that Markum and I had found in her apartment.

  I decided to buy the nicest bench I could find, place it along the path, and have a plaque installed that would say:

  “There is not enough darkness in all the world to put out the light of even one small candle.”

  —Robert Alden

  I knew in my heart that Becka would have appreciated that.

  Dorothea Hurley’s Orange Slice Muffins

  This is another recipe from my late mother-in-law, a blessed woman who believed that no meal was complete without a slice of pie or a baked treat, and that included breakfast.

  Ingredients

  3/4 cup margarine or butter

  2 cups sugar

  3 eggs

  3 ½ cups flour

  2 teaspoons baking soda

  4 teaspoons cinnamon

  1 teaspoon nutmeg

  ½ teaspoon cloves

  ½ teaspoon salt

  3 cups applesauce

  1 box raisins (16 oz.)

  1 bag orange slice candies (16 oz.)

  (Optional 1 cup chopped nuts)

  Directions

  Cream the margarine or butter and sugar, then add eggs and beat Alternately, add the sifted mixture of flour, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and salt; add the applesauce to the mixture. Add raisins and orange slice candies (nuts, too, if you want them), and place the mixture in greased muffin or loaf pans.

  The dough will make two large loaves or 30 muffins. Bake at 325 degrees for 90 minutes (loaf) or 20 to 25 minutes (muffins), testing with a toothpick in the center. When it comes out clean, it’s ready.

  These are great hot out of the oven or frozen, then defrosted in the microwave as needed. We especially like this recipe during the holidays.

  Candlemaking Tips: Poured Candles

  Once you’ve mastered the basic pouring techniques, it’s great fun to use different, creative mold forms you can scavenge on your own. For example, egg shells make fascinating candles on their own. Any shape that can handle the hot wax can be converted into a candle. A teapot makes a particularly nice candle as well.

  Chunk candles of preset wax can make a beautiful candle.

  For a more ethereal look, trying adding ice to the mold just before the pour.

  If your candle sticks to the mold, try putting it in the refrigerator to cool it.

  If your candle looks frosty or has White horizontal lines, the wax was probably too cool when you poured.

  If there are tiny pinpricks all over the candle, the wax was probably too hot when you poured.

  If there are cracks in your candle, it probably cooled too quickly.

  Bubbles in the base of the candle could mean the water bath level wasn’t high enough.

  Have fun, and don’t be afraid to experiment with dyes and scents as well as unique shapes.

  And now a peek at

  INVITATION TO MURDER,

  Book 1 in the Cardmaking Mysteries,

  written by Tim Myers

  under the name Elizabeth Bright

  INVITATION TO MURDER

  By Tim Myers

  writing as Elizabeth Bright

  Chapter 1

  “You’ve got to tell her I won’t stop it! She’ll believe you. Please, you’re the only one who can save me.”

  I frowned at the telephone, wondering if someone was having some fun at my expense. “Who is this?”

  “Don’t you know? Donna, you’re my last chance. She’s going to kill me if you don’t tell her the truth.”

  “I’m sorry, but my name’s not Donna. I’m Jennifer.”

  “Oh, no, she’s here.” There were a few choked sobs, and then she added in a whisper, “It’s too late for me, isn’t it?”

  Just before the line went dead, I heard a scream that will haunt me till the day I die.

  Earlier that Tuesday morning I’d been wondering if going into business for myself had been such a great idea after all. My name’s Jennifer Shane, and I own and operate Custom Card Creations, my very own handcrafted-card shop. My specialized store was recently born from the need to get out on my own and away from my big sister Sara Lynn’s scrapbooking store—aptly named Forever Memories—a place where I had worked after leaving my corporate sales ob peddling pet food all over the Southeast As much as I loved being around my sister, I knew I had to do something on my own when I’d tried to convince her that a handcrafted greeting card corner was a natural

  sideline for her business. Sara Lynn hadn’t been interested. Not because it wasn’t a good idea, mind you, but because her baby sister had come up with it and Sara Lynn hadn’t thought of it herself first. So I took J a deep breath, withdrew every dime of my savings and ; my inheritance from the bank and opened my shop on the opposite end of Oakmont Avenue. We were ‘ bookends on the town’s main road where tourists ; browsed when they came to Rebel Forge, Virginia. I Whether in the area for skiing in the winter or boating in the summer, there was a steady stream of shoppers most of the year. Scattered between our shops were I old and charming bui
ldings filled with crafters, antique « dealers, an art gallery, a potter and a dozen other eclectic businesses that somehow felt just right to me. . The first real chance I had to make a sale for my ‘ shop was one I nearly turned down. I wasn’t particularly interested in doing wedding invitations; that I wasn’t why I’d opened my handcrafted-card store, but . | the check Mrs. Albright waved under my nose convinced me otherwise. I

  She’d walked into my shop earlier that morning I with her nose in the air and a look of complete and I utter disdain plastered on her sharp ferret features. I | couldn’t see why her reaction had been so negative. The shop was in a quaint little tumbled-brick building with scarred hardwood floors and exposed oak beams in the ceiling. It had formerly housed a handbag boutique, but I hoped I had better luck than the last ten- { ant. The poor woman had gone bankrupt, but before , the bank could foreclose, she’d driven her car off the dam into Rebel Lake.

  “I’d like to speak with the owner,” my visitor said in a voice that dared me to comply. She had probably once been lovely, but the years hadn’t been kind to her. Without even knowing her, I was certain that she was in a constant battle to lose that last thirty pounds—a battle I was pretty sure she was never going to win.

  “You are,” I said, offering my brightest smile. “How may I help you?” I gestured to the specialty areas I’d taken great pains to set up before I’d opened the shop for business. “I have handcrafted cards and stationery for sale up front, and if you’re interested, I offer everything you need to make your own cards, as well. I have specialty scissors, rubber stamps, cutouts, stickers, stencils, pressed flowers and a dozen other different ways to enhance the cards you make. I offer a variety of paper and envelopes in several textures, thicknesses and colors, and if you want something totally unique, I can design and fabricate a custom batch of paper just for you. I’ve even got a computer, if you’d like to design something yourself that way. Oh, and I offer classes in card making in the evenings, but if you’re already a card maker, we’ve got the Crafty Cut-Ups Club that meets here every Thursday night.” Okay, the last bit was a stretch, but I honestly did plan to start the club just as soon as I found at least two people who liked making cards as much as I did. I’d memorized my sales pitch a few days before, and I promised myself to pause for a few more breaths the next time I had the chance to give it. I’d nearly passed out trying to get everything out in one breath.

  The woman’s disapproval was readily apparent. She studied me with her querulous gaze, and it was all I could do not to stoop down. I’m just a few inches short of six feet tall, and when my long brown hair’s up in a knot like it was nearly all the time, I knew I could be an imposing figure. Maybe if I was one of those rail-thin nymphs that weighed next to nothing I could still get away with my height, but I was solid—at least ten pounds overweight even for my frame—and that was saying a lot.

  She sniffed the air, then said, “No, I’m afraid you won’t be able to help me after all.”

  “Come on, it’s way too soon for you to give up on me. If it involves cards, believe me, I can do it.”

  Tm sorry, but I suppose I’ll have to use a printing

  business in a larger city. I had hoped to offer something at least a little above the ordinary to our guests and friends.”

  As she started for the door, I said, “Why don’t you tell me what you want? Then I’ll let you know if L can do it or not.” -

  She paused, which was a good thing, because I was getting ready to tackle her before she could get out of my shop. I’d only been open two days, but in that , time I’d had three people come in to ask me for directions to other businesses along Oakmont, and a spry ; little old man had wanted change for a single so he | could buy a newspaper. I hadn’t sold a card yet, not1 I a single piece of card stock or stationery, or even a . stamp for that matter, and my sister’s prediction of I doom kept echoing through my empty store.

  “I need wedding invitations, but they have to be different: something bold, yet dignified; daring, yet classic.”

  I wanted a pony myself, or at least a way to make my first month’s rent. “How many invitations are you going to need?”

  “This is a very exclusive event,” she said. “We’re holding the guest list down to our four hundred closest friends.” She looked around my small store, then said, “Perhaps I’d better see if someone in Charlottesville can help me. Thank you for your time.”

  As her hand touched the doorknob, I said, “Actually, that might be for the best. After all, I’m certain my designs would be too outré for you.”

  As I’d hoped, she looked intrigued for the first time since she’d walked into my shop. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Let me get some samples for you.” I raced to my workroom, a small space in back where I made the customized cards and papers I hoped to sell. I’d just finished a fresh batch of handmade paper, and I’d included some glitter and tinsel in the mix on a lark. I took a few sheets from the drying rack, grabbed a

  handful of my more experimental selections and hurried back before she could get away. If I’d been thinking straight, I would have dead bolted the front door to keep her there until I could make my pitch.

  “Here are a few possibilities,” I said as I laid the sheets out on the counter in front of her.

  She studied the selection, paused over my latest effort and picked it up. “But it’s still wet.”

  “Of course it is,” I said as if it were the most common thing in the world to handle brand-new paper. “As I said, this is all cutting-edge. The textures are amazing, aren’t they? I can create whatever paper we decide to use, based on your needs and tastes. There are lots of variations.”

  She looked around my shop again, then stared at me for a moment before speaking. “And you’re certain you can handle this?”

  “I can honestly say that I haven’t had a single dissatisfied customer since I’ve been in business.” Well, it was the truth. The man I’d made change for had been extremely grateful, and if there had been anything wrong with the directions I’d given, no one had come back to complain. That made it a perfect score, in my opinion.

  “Then let’s do this. I’ll be in touch sometime in the next few days about the details.” That’s when she waved a check for the deposit under my nose. If I could pull it off, my business would be on its way. It surprised me that a woman who seemed to be such a control freak wouldn’t want to settle the details on the spot, but Mrs. Albright seemed rushed, no doubt already late for her next appointment. After she was gone, I was still admiring the amount—afraid to put the check in my cash register lest it disappear—when my big brother, Bradford, walked in, decked out in his sheriff’s uniform. He was two inches over six feet, and standing next to him, I somehow managed to feel svelte.

  Before I could even say hello, he snapped, “When

  are you going to get over your pigheaded stubbornness and start talking to Sara Lynn again?”

  “Hello, brother dear, it’s nice to see you, too. Did you come in to buy a card?”

  He snorted. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Seriously, Jen, what’s going on between the two of you?” Brad- ford was the middle child of our family, the consummate peacemaker when it came to his sisters’ squabbles. I liked to think that all those years of maintaining harmony in our house had carried over into his career choice. Bradford was the sheriff for our ! resort community, keeping the peace now on an entirely different level. I just hoped he had more luck with the residents of Rebel Forge than he had with me and Sara Lynn.

  “Talk to her if you don’t like what’s going on between us,” I said. “I offered her a truce, and she blew me off.”

  “You did kind of step on her turf,” Bradford said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Listen, if you’re not going to buy anything, why don’t you just go?” Then ; I realized that I was letting him off way too easy, especially since he’d just taken Sara Lynn’s side instead of mine. “Hey Bradford, since you’re he
re, you should buy something nice for your wife.”

  “If I walk in my door at home with a card for Cindy, she’s going to think I’m up to something.”

  “If you don’t, she’s going to be even more suspicious, especially after I call and tell her you were in here shopping today and bought something romantic from my store.” I scanned the room. “Let’s see, what did you buy again? Oh, yes, that stationery and envelope set. You have excellent taste, Bradford. It’s the very best I carry.”

  He knew when he was beaten—I had to give him that. “Give me a break, Jennifer. I’ve got two kick who will eat anything that’s not nailed down. I’m having a tough time making it on a cop’s salary, even with. Cindy’s income from the library.”

  I relented, as I almost always did when my big brother pleaded his case. “Okay, how about one of these, then? I just made them.” I handed him one of my newest creations, a soft-violet-shaded card that sported pressed wildflowers embossed in the paper and the envelope. On the front of the card, it said in my best calligraphy, “Just Because . . . ,” and inside, simply, “I Care.”

  “How much is this going to set me back?”

  “You know,” I said, snatching the card from his hand, “suddenly I’m not sure it’s going to be enough. You didn’t say a word about how pretty my new design is.”

  “It’s gorgeous, an absolute work of art. Whatever it costs, I’m sure it’s worth a lot more than you’re charging me.” He gave me his brightest grin, the same one I’m sure had won Cindy’s heart. My brother, despite his Neanderthal leanings, could be quite charming when he put his mind to it.

  “Okay, don’t show too much enthusiasm. It’s out of character.” I rang the sale up, slid his card and envelope into a bag, then gave Bradford his change.

  As he took the money, he said, “Now are you going to talk to Sara Lynn?”