by Tim Myers
I dashed out front, grabbed some of the gel candles I’d made recently and brought them back in. As I walked back to the classroom, I saw Eve waiting on the woman with the frosted beehive hairdo again and found myself wondering where I’d seen her besides the candleshop. There was no time to pursue it at the moment, but it was still driving me crazy.
I showed Mrs. J the samples. She studied them for a minute, then said, “Why are there varying amounts of bubbles?”
“That’s one of the neat things about this technique. It’s all based on the temperature of the gel when you pour it. You get a lot more bubbles at a hundred and eighty degrees than you do at two-ten. The bubbles are almost entirely eliminated then.”
“So why don’t you heat the wax to two hundred and fifty degrees and make it clear?”
I shrugged and said, “I’ve heard that you can preheat the container in an oven, but I haven’t tried it myself. I do know that if you get the wax too hot, you’ll scorch it.” I knew from experience how closely you had to watch the temperature on the thermometer to be sure you didn’t overheat it.
Mrs. Jorgenson didn’t say anything, but she began collecting a handful of smaller stones, and on a whim she added a small piece of birch bark.
“Okay, now let’s heat the wax, and you can make your layout plan while it’s melting,” I told her.
I opened the tub and showed her what the gel wax looked like in its container. She touched it tentatively, then pulled back her finger. “It’s not at all what I expected. It’s so rubbery.”
“When it’s heated, it will be totally liquid,” I said. The first time I’d made gel candles, I’d heated the wax in a double boiler, but that took forever. I learned it worked fine in a regular pan, and had the advantage of being a lot quicker.
“Now, while that’s melting,” I said, “let’s pick out a few containers for you. Would you like to add a color?” I asked, knowing that Mrs. Jorgenson would never go for it. She believed the basics had to be mastered before anything extra could be added.
She shocked me by saying, “Why not? How about some red?”
“That’s the spirit,” I said, grabbing a small chunk of the red dye.
Mrs. Jorgenson said, “Can we add it after we’ve poured the first one? I’d like to have one of each.”
“Mrs. Jorgenson, we can do whatever you’d like.” As the wax started to melt, I stirred it a little, then checked the temperature with one of our thermometers.
“We’re at a hundred and eighty-five,” I said.
She looked at her watch, then said, “Oh, dear, I can’t wait much longer. Can we pour now?”
“If you don’t mind the bubbles, we’re ready,” I said.
“Bubbles are fine. Let’s pour.”
I transferred the gel wax into a container with a spout, then handed it to her. “Now just pour the wax around the wick. It’s okay if you get some wax on it, it will peel right off. That’s good,” I said as she made her pour.
Mrs. Jorgenson handed the pot back to me, and I poured it back into the pan. The gel wax quickly liquefied again, and I handed the dye to my pupil. “Go ahead and put it in.”
“There’s not much here,” she said.
“Remember, a little goes a long way.”
Once it was ready, I transferred it yet again into the pouring container and she quickly had a second candle.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“Give it a little time to set up, then you’re ready to burn it.”
She studied the top of the second candle and said, “It’s rather bumpy, isn’t it?”
I pulled out a hair dryer and said, “Just give it a quick shot from this and it will be fine.”
She did as I suggested, and the candle’s top evened out. “That’s amazing.”
“Just a trick of the trade,” I said. “It’s a shame you don’t have time to do any more.”
“I agree. Do you have any kits I can take with me?” she said, her earlier complaint about kits quickly forgotten. “You’ve shown me the technique, so I can practice at home on my own.” I set her up with two of our deluxe gel kits while she collected several bags of items to include in her candles. Eve rang the sale up gratefully, but she didn’t let her breath out until Mrs. Jorgenson was gone.
“Man, oh man, that was too close,” I said. “For a minute there at the start, I thought I was going to lose her.”
“Harrison, I can’t believe she came back. What did you say to her?”
“We both apologized, and after that, she was raring to go again. I noticed you had a few customers while I was teaching.”
Eve said, “I made a few little sales, but nothing big. Jubal Grant came by.”
“What did he want?”
“I’m not quite sure. He said it wasn’t important. If you want to know the truth, I think the poor man’s lonely. You appear to be the only soul he knows in Micah’s Ridge.”
“That very well could be. I’ll try to stop by and see him sometime in the next few days. Hey, I noticed that our frosted beehive lady was back,” I said. “I know her from somewhere, but I can’t put my finger on it for the life of me.” I stared off into space for a few minutes, then suddenly it hit me. “I’ve got it,” I said a little too loudly. “She was at the Founder’s Day celebration. In fact, I spotted her talking to Gretel just before she was shot.”
“So she likes candles. It makes sense that she’d talk to two chandlers, wouldn’t it? Harrison, you’re getting paranoid again.”
“No, I’m saying she was right there when Gretel went down. She might have seen something. I need to talk to her.”
I ran out the door and scanned the other shops when I saw she wasn’t in the parking lot, but it was too late; she was already gone.
I told Eve she had vanished, then headed over to Millie’s for lunch. Normally I ducked upstairs to grab a quick sandwich, but I wasn’t in the mood to be alone. Millie’s place was crowded, but I found a spot by the front window after I ordered my meal. I was sipping a Coke when I nearly choked on the drink. The woman with the frosted beehive hairdo I was looking for came out of Millie’s bathroom and headed toward the counter.
I approached her and asked, “Excuse me, but do you have a minute? I’d really like to talk to you. I’d be happy to buy you a cup of coffee, or even lunch.”
“You’re from the candleshop, right,” she said, studying me curiously.
“At Wick’s End, that’s right. My name’s Harrison Black.”
“Mr. Black, I’m flattered, I really am, but I’m afraid I’m not interested. It isn’t you. You’re just not my type.”
“Ma’am, I promise you I’m not trying to pick you up. I just want to ask you a few questions.”
She said, “Surely it’s not about candlemaking.”
“Please? If you don’t want to eat with me, give me two minutes of your time and I’ll leave you alone.”
She thought another moment, then turned to Millie and ordered the most expensive combo on the menu. “Put it on his bill,” she said.
With what her lobster salad sandwich was costing me, I hoped the woman had some answers for me. Millie raised one eyebrow, but I nodded my agreement to the deal.
“First off,” I said as soon as we were at my table, “I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Evelyn,” she said. “No last names. You can’t be too careful these days.”
“Evelyn’s fine.” I took a sip of Coke, then said, “I saw you at the Founder’s Day Celebration the day Gretel died. In fact, you were standing right beside her.”
“Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Black?”
“No, of course not,” I said, though if the sheriff’s forensic team had found powder burns on Gretel’s back, I would have. “I was just wondering if you saw anything.”
“I saw a great many things that day, and heard even more,” she said. “Of course you mean when that poor woman was shot. I was quite shaken when I saw her collapse. You were nearby yourself, we
ren’t you? Did you hear the shot? I didn’t, but there were so many dreadful fireworks going on that day it’s a wonder we’re not all deaf.”
“So you didn’t see anything?”
She said, “I wouldn’t go that far. You saw the clown too, didn’t you?”
“Clown? What are you talking about?”
“Standing just to the side of you was a man in clown makeup. He had on a red and blue suit and wore those ridiculous floppy shoes, too. I thought it odd that he had one of those toy guns that said bang on a piece of cloth unfurled from the barrel just after that poor woman was shot. Quite inappropriate, if you ask me.”
“I missed him,” I admitted. “I was more focused on Gretel falling.”
“He was standing right beside the cannon, I don’t know how you could have missed him.”
“Did you tell the police what you saw?”
She said, “I tried, but the moment I mentioned the clown, the deputy I was speaking with got an odd look on his face, as if he were trying not to laugh. Well, sir, I know when I’m being mocked. I wasn’t about to just stand there and take it.”
“I don’t suppose you could identify this clown if you saw him again, could you?”
“Mr. Black, are you making fun of me as well?” she asked as she started to rise out of her chair.
“No, Ma’am, I just remember reading that most clowns like to stick to a particular design in their makeup. I was just wondering what this clown’s face looked like.”
“They really are evil, aren’t they, always mocking us,” she said. “This one had teardrops running down each cheek, and a huge frown painted across his mouth. That’s all I remember. Honestly, I shouldn’t even have been there in the first place, but I went by Flickering Lights and they were closed.”
“Are you sure about that?” I asked.
“Now Mr. Black, to be fair, I didn’t even know about At Wick’s End. I just moved to Micah’s Ridge.”
I waved a hand in the air. “I’m not worried about where you were shopping. I thought Flickering Lights was open all day Saturday.”
“I’m sure the store was open at some point, but I must have caught Mr. Grant on his lunch hour. I knew Gretel was operating a booth, so I decided to drive over to New Conover on the spur of the moment.”
I fully realized that there were businesses that closed during lunch, especially on Saturdays, but Jubal had claimed to have worked through his lunch hour that day. Had he lied to me, or had he stepped into the restroom for a discreet break, unwilling to leave the candleshop unattended for even a few moments? Or perhaps he’d stepped out for a bite and didn’t want to admit that he’d closed the shop. I envied him the ability to do it if that was the case, but it just highlighted the differences between working at a store and owning it. When I’d first taken over At Wick’s End, I was reticent to even close the place down at night, and it was obvious from my conversations with Jubal that candlemaking wasn’t a passion for him.
Our food came before I had the chance to ask any more questions, and once that sandwich was in front of Evelyn, she lost all interest in talking to me. It was amazing watching her devour her order. It took me a few minutes to remember my own sandwich, lying half-forgotten on my plate.
When she’d finished, Evelyn said, “That was wonderful. I’ve been dying to try it since I first came here. Thank you, Mr. Black.”
I couldn’t believe she’d taken advantage of me like that, but there was nothing left to do but be gracious about the whole thing. “You’re most welcome. I have another question. Would you be willing to talk to the police again about this clown you saw?”
She stood and said, “I doubt it. What do you expect me to do, pick him out of a lineup? Come now, he was in full makeup. I wouldn’t know the man if he walked up to me on the street and slapped me in the face with a dead fish.”
“What makes you think it was a man?” I asked.
“Come now, it was a general expression.” She started for the door, then paused and looked back at me. “Actually, I’m fairly certain it was a man. He had an average build, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made me assume his gender. I’m truly sorry I couldn’t be more help to you.”
She bolted out the door before I had the chance to ask her anything else. Millie came over to bus our table, and as she stacked the plastic baskets on top of one another, she said, “I don’t even want to know what that was about.”
I shook my head and said, “Good, because I wouldn’t know where to begin to tell you.”
Millie said, “Wrong answer, my friend. How am I supposed to live with not knowing why you bought that dreadful woman lunch?”
“Do you know her?” I asked.
“She comes around for the soup of the day, my dollar ninety-nine special, then cleans out my cracker supply. Whooee, she saw you coming, didn’t she?” Millie cleaned off the tabletop with a damp rag, then said, “You’re not dating her too, are you?”
“Come on, give me more credit than that.”
“So why the free lunch?” she asked.
“She was at the fair when Gretel died,” I said as Heather walked in.
“Who was?” she asked as she joined us.
“Nobody,” I said. “It’s not important.”
Millie said, “Heather, I’ve got your sandwiches ready.”
As she went to get them, I said, “Did she say plural? Don’t tell me you’re taking somebody else out to lunch yourself.” Heather and I shared a picnic lunch occasionally on the concrete steps that led from the River’s Edge complex down to the water of the Gunpowder River. Since the weather had turned cold, we hadn’t had any outdoor feasts, but there was no doubt we’d renew the habit once things warmed up.
“I can’t wait around forever for an invitation from you,” she said with a smile.
“So who’s the lucky lunch mate?”
She said, “Sorry, it’s not all that exciting. I may be working late tonight, so I thought I’d get something for the fridge. I keep plenty of Esme’s food on hand; I don’t know why I can’t keep things around for myself.”
“Bon appétit,” Millie said. “I hope you enjoy both meals.”
“Thanks,” she said distractedly as she took the bags from her. The residents of River’s Edge all kept a tab with Millie and settled up at the end of the month. It was handy for us that way and easier for her to collect it all at once. After she was gone, Millie said, “That was odd.”
“I know, I thought she was buying lunch for somebody else, but she explained that one sandwich was for now and the other was for later.”
Millie nodded, “I guess that explains it. But who in their right mind would want to eat the same meal twice in a row?”
“You’re kidding, right? If they were your sandwiches, I’d do it myself if I could afford it.”
She snapped a towel playfully at me and said, “Harrison Black, you aren’t half as charming as you think you are.”
I returned her smile. “Hey, if I’m halfway there, I’m still doing pretty well.”
Millie frowned, then said, “Do you happen to know when Pearly’s getting back?”
“Why, is something wrong around here? You know I’m pretty good with a tool belt myself.”
She sighed. “No, nothing’s in need of repair, but I do miss him.”
“We all do,” I said. I considered sharing Morton’s dim view of our favorite handyman with her, but decided against it.
Speak of the devil and he appears, the old saying goes, but I hadn’t said anything aloud about Morton, just focused on him briefly in my thoughts, and yet there he was, walking into the cafe like he was a man on a mission.
Unfortunately, I suspected I knew just what that mission was.
Chapter 14
“I’m going to ask you one more time. Where is he, Harrison?”
“I told you, I don’t know where Pearly is. We are talking about my handyman, aren’t we?”
Morton scowled at me, then said, “
You know it. I can’t believe you’d flat-out lie to me.”
I let my voice get loud enough to match his. “And I can’t believe you’re accusing me of it.”
Millie joined us and said in a calmer voice, “Would you two like to take this shouting match outside? I’ve got customers who are trying to have a peaceful lunch.”
I looked around and noticed that most folks eating at The Crocked Pot weren’t even pretending to look away. When our gazes met, though, they dropped their chins and stared at their plates, but I knew they were still listening.
“She’s right,” I said. “Let’s take this outside.”
Morton turned on his heel and stalked out of the cafe. Millie asked, “What’s he talking about, Harrison?”
“I wish I knew,” I said. “You haven’t seen Pearly around, have you?”
“No, I haven’t seen him since he left.”
“I haven’t either, so why does he keep harassing me about it?”
The sheriff was outside waiting impatiently for me, his arms crossed over his chest.
I cut him off before he had the chance to say a word. “Listen, I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but Pearly’s not here.”
He snapped, “So I won’t need a warrant to search your apartment?”
“Be my guest. Come on up, I’ll show you around myself.”
He followed me upstairs, and as we climbed the steps, I said, “I swear to you, I don’t know where he is.”
Morton just grunted. I unlocked my apartment door and he brushed past me. “You normally leave tools laying around on the furniture?” he said as looked down at the hammer perched on the end table by the entry.
I’d been using it to hang pictures and had forgotten to return it to Pearly’s workbench. “Absolutely. There’s a chain saw on the bed, and I’ve got a router sitting in my bathtub.”
He ignored my jibe and started looking around. It didn’t take him long to search the apartment, it wasn’t that big a space. The only place he even hesitated at was the ladder-bars in my closet that led up to the roof. “What’s that?”