Snuffed Out (Book 2 in the Candlemaking Mysteries)

by Tim Myers

  As fate would have it, Eve and I endured the slowest day we’d had since I’d come to At Wick’s End. One older man came in asking for directions and I sold one of our smallest packages of wicks to another customer. I didn’t even cover the day’s electricity bill by the time Eve’s shift was over.

  As she was leaving, she said, “Well, that was a day to forget.”

  “At least the deposit slip will be easy to make out. On second thought, maybe I’ll skip a day.”

  “If you do, Ann Marie will have a fit. She’ll think you forgot.”

  Ann Marie Hart was our bookkeeper, and she watched over the store as if it were her own. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. See you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be here, whether any of our customers show up or not.” On that cheerful note she left.

  I thought about closing the store, since the day was turning out to be a wash. Eve didn’t work every hour I did, but then again, she didn’t own At Wick’s End. That also meant I could close whenever I wanted to, and I was tempted. Still, the hours on the door said Open till 9, so I thought I’d at least give it another hour or two and see what might happen. I might even make that electric bill.

  After an hour, I’d had enough. I was just scrawling out a sign that said, open tomorrow 9 a.m., when someone came in. “May I help you?” I asked as a tall stranger with the thinnest face I’d ever seen in my life came in.

  “Markum,” he said in high-pitched voice.

  “Upstairs. Third door on your left.”

  He looked around the room, then backed out slowly. Markum was River’s Edge’s own salvage expert, whatever that meant. I liked the fellow, big and robust with a ready laugh, but I still couldn’t help wondering what exactly it was that he did. As he’d told me once, salvage could cover a great many things.

  It was a hopeless day for sales. I taped my homemade sign to the door and slid the deadbolt in place so I could run the register tape and call it a night. I wasn’t three steps from the door when someone pounded on it. Markum’s visitor probably couldn’t find the staircase.

  I opened the door and found a frazzled woman with wisps of hair falling down around her face. There was flour on her blouse and something that looked a lot like Silly Putty clinging tenaciously to one shoe. The look of desperation on her face had been enough to make me open the door.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she said as she rushed in past me.

  “Is there something in particular I can help you with?” I asked.

  “I’m having a party for my daughter. She’s ten years old today. I ran out of games,” she added, nearly out of breath. “Do you have anything twenty-four girls can do? Please, you’ve got to help me.”

  “I’ve got just the thing,” I said as I led her back to the packets of sheet wax and wicks. “Sheet candles are easy to roll, and it can keep them busy if you have cookie cutters, too.”

  “Show me,” she said.

  I tore open a pack, snipped off some wick, then rolled a candle out of a sheet of golden beeswax.

  She said, “It’s too quick.”

  “That’s where the cookie cutters come in.” I grabbed one, cut out four stars and built another candle.

  She nodded. “I’ll take fifty packs,” she said, shoving her credit card in my face.

  “I’ll give you a quantity discount for that.”

  After I rang up the sale, I grabbed packets from the storeroom, pulling a rainbow of colors for her, and carried the box out to her car. As I slid the packets onto the front seat, I asked, “Who’s watching them now?”

  “My husband. I wanted to take them to the movies, but he said it was too expensive, that we should have a nice little party at home. When I left he was ready to hand them all twenties and drop them off at the mall.” A soft smile crept to her lips as she added, “I think I’ll take the long way home. Twenty more minutes ought to do it.”

  I waved good-bye as she drove off at a rather sedate pace, then locked the store up yet again. At least I’d managed to cover a few of the utilities with the final sale. The entire day’s receipts hadn’t come close to touching what I’d lost when Mrs. Jorgenson had walked out on me. Should I call her and apologize? Blast it all, no. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and while my customer service skills had come a long way since I’d taken over At Wick’s End, I wasn’t about to say I was sorry for not being more than five minutes early for a candlemaking lesson.

  We’d just have to find a way to limp along without Mrs. J’s cash influx.

  I wasn’t in the mood to run a report from the cash register, and though my bookkeeper would no doubt scold me about it, there wasn’t anything that needed doing that couldn’t wait.

  I put the money from the till in our safe, turned out the lights, and locked up.

  What I needed was a hot shower, a bite to eat, and a good book. I’d read through my late Great-Aunt Belle’s Agatha Christie books and had moved on to her Charlotte MacLeod collection.

  I nearly missed the blinking light on my answering machine upstairs, and I debated ignoring it, but there was something about not knowing who was on the other end that wouldn’t give me a moment’s peace until I hit the play button.

  After I had, I found myself wishing I’d ignored it.

  Chapter 3

  I punched the button and heard Ann Marie Hart’s voice, and from the sound of it, my accountant was not happy. “I just heard about Aaron. You need to fill that slot fast, Harrison. Call me.”

  I couldn’t face any more talk of my imminent doom, so I decided Ann Marie could wait till morning. Why hadn’t she called the store instead of my apartment, anyway? My place upstairs was the only sanctuary I had.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I had Belle’s little hideaway roof terrace, and tonight would be the perfect time to get away from the world.

  I grabbed an old rugby jersey, made a quick sandwich, and collected a Coke from the fridge, then balanced it all as I climbed up the rungs in my closet to the roof. The air was starting to bite as I threw back the hatch, and I was glad I’d brought the jersey with me. I put the scuttle access back down and plugged a cord into an outlet nearby. Suddenly a twinkling lane of white icicle lights lit my way. I’d made a few improvements since taking over River’s Edge, but none as important to me as the work I’d done on my getaway from the world. I pulled my folding recliner chair out of a waterproof storage bin I’d hauled up the stairs and set it up under the stars. The jersey, as warm as it was, couldn’t hold back the chill of the wind coming off the Gunpowder River, so I retrieved one of Belle’s whimsical blankets, this one sporting ice-skating penguins, and wrapped it around me before I sat down. The stars were glorious, and I was glad again that River’s Edge was far enough away from town to give me such a view. I ate my sandwich and drank my soda, taking in the smells of autumn as the breeze kicked up, catching hints of wood smoke in the air. Belle’s apartment had a tiny woodstove in one corner, and I’d been waiting for a chance to fire it up. It looked like tonight was the night.

  But not just yet. On the river below me, I heard a boat go by, wondering what kind of lunatic would be out on the water, as chilly and as dark as it was. Then I had to laugh. It was probably the same kind of idiot up on a roof all by himself at night. A lot had happened in my life lately, and I missed not having someone special to share it with, but I’d learned that love wasn’t something I could make happen. Until it came along again, I’d have to be content with what I had, which was a very full life with people I cared about.

  I stayed as long as I could stand the chill wind, then reluctantly put my blanket and chair away, gathered up my trash, and headed back downstairs.

  I’d laid a fire in the stove two weeks before, just waiting for the first opportunity to use it. The pinecones I used as kindling jumped to life, and in no time at all I had a blaze going. I knew it wasn’t all that energy efficient to leave the stove door open, but I loved to see the flames dance, to hear the popping embers, and smell that smoky aroma.

&
nbsp; I decided to take an extended hot shower before I settled in, and after a nice long steam, I was fully relaxed. I grabbed A Pint of Murder and dove into it, glad for the opportunity to visit another world.

  The pounding on my door took me out of the missive as surely as if someone had snatched the book from my fingertips.

  “Good. You’re still awake,” Markum said as he brushed past me into the apartment. His black hair, wild and untamed as always, was in dire need of a haircut, and his chin sprouted the beginnings of a full, dark beard.

  “I know I don’t keep your hours, but it’s barely ten, I’m still up,” I said. “Getting ready for winter?” I added as I gestured to his chin.

  Markum rubbed it with a huge hand and said, “Going to Alaska next month, so I thought I’d get a little extra insulation.”

  “What takes you so far away?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “A chance at salvage. Say, want to join me? I could use an extra hand. The pay’s good, and I can promise you an adventure you’ll not soon forget.”

  I said, “I’ve got a shop to run, and all of River’s Edge along with it. Thanks for asking though.” A part of me believed that going along with Markum would be exactly the adventure he promised, and I’d been hoping to get a look at just what his salvaging entailed, but the wiser part of me decided being at River’s Edge was adventure enough. Still, maybe someday I’d surprise us both and take him up on his offer.

  Markum said, “Heard about Gaston. Accidents can kill you just as dead as the bad guys can.”

  “Did you know him?” I asked, surprised that Markum’s path would cross the potter’s at all.

  “The man liked working nights as much as I do. Every so often we’d share a sip of whiskey and tell a few lies. He deserved better than he got. I heard you’re the one who found him. How did he die?”

  “Sheriff Morton says he must have kicked over a bucket of water and shorted out his pottery wheel. The cord was frayed, I saw that myself.”

  Markum said intently, “You say he was at an electric wheel?”

  “That’s where we found him.”

  A cloud crossed Markum’s face. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Gaston hated electric wheels. Ask anybody in his crowd, he was a stickler for the old ways, and that included using a kick wheel.”

  “I don’t mean to show my ignorance,” I said, “but what exactly is a kick wheel?”

  “It’s human powered, there’s not a motor on it. Gaston claimed it was the only way he could get the feel for the clay he was throwing. You need to let Morton know that.”

  “Why don’t you tell him yourself?” The last thing I wanted to do was to get embroiled in another murder investigation.

  “The sheriff and I don’t exactly see eye to eye,” Markum admitted. “There was an incident in our past that was open to interpretation; he chose to see things his way, and I chose another. Since then I’ve done my best to avoid him. But you need to tell him, Harrison. He can’t let this go down as an accident, not like that. Will you tell him?”

  I said reluctantly, “I guess so, but he’s going to want to know why I didn’t tell him before.”

  Markum tapped his nose. ‘Tell him you heard it through the grapevine here, he’ll believe that quick enough.” Markum glanced at his watch, then said, “It’s late, I need to go.”

  “I thought you stayed up most of the night,” I said.

  “It’s not time for bed, I’ve got a call to make. Call him, Harrison.”

  I agreed, and Markum left the apartment to talk to worlds unknown to me. Should I call the sheriff now, or wait until morning? Who was I kidding? There was no way I’d get any reading done until I made the call. With any luck he’d be out and I could leave a message. I was in no mood to talk to the sheriff myself.

  Wouldn’t you know it, he picked up on the first ring.

  “Morton here.”

  “Sheriff, I heard a rumor that puts some doubt on your theory about Aaron Gaston’s death being accidental.”

  “What have you heard?” he asked without trying to hide the irritation in his voice.

  “He used only a kick wheel, never an electric one.”

  “What’s the difference, Harrison?”

  “One runs on electricity, one works with a kicking foot. There’s no motor on the wheel he used.”

  Morton chewed on that a second or two, then said, “Maybe he was playing around with it and got burned.”

  “That’s not the way I heard it,” I said.

  “Then why did he have one if he didn’t use it? Answer me that.”

  I thought about it a second, then said, “It must have been there for his students. He teaches ... taught classes just like I do. I’m sure it was there for his students.”

  “You don’t know that, you’re just guessing, aren’t you?”

  I said, “What would it hurt to ask someone who knew him better than either one of us?”

  Morton asked, “Do you have anyone in particular in mind?”

  There was no way I was going to give him Heather’s name, not with the way she was acting lately. Then I remembered the ex-wife. “Isn’t his ex a potter? If anybody should know, she should. Why don’t you call her?”

  “If I do, will it get you off my back?”

  “I just thought you should know,” I said.

  He took so long to answer I nearly gave up on him when Morton added, “Okay, I’ll look into it. And Harrison ...”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Thanks for calling.”

  I was so shocked by his thanks that I couldn’t think of anything to say before he hung up. I stoked the fire, added another small piece of wood, then went back to my book. My hand automatically went down to my lap where Esmeralda liked to sit when I read, and I wondered briefly if I should get a cat myself. I’d never felt all that alone living by myself before, but the apartment, as small as it was, was starting to feel too big for just one person. No, I’d get used to it, just as I’d gotten used to everything else that had come my way. I was just beginning to think of my living quarters as my apartment and not Belle’s. With a little time, I was certain I’d be fine without a roommate of any kind.

  Even a feline one who tended to hog the pillows at night.

  My bookkeeper, Ann Marie, was waiting for me at Millie’s the next morning when I stopped in before opening the candleshop. “There you are,” she said.

  “I didn’t realize we had a breakfast appointment,” I said with a smile as I grabbed a blueberry muffin instead of pumpkin as a change of pace. Millie handed me a coffee, then said, “Are you going to be around later?”

  “I’ll be at the shop all day. What’s up?” Then I remembered our earlier conversation. “Did you nail your new recipe?”

  “You’ll see,” she said, adding a quick smile.

  I joined Ann Marie at her table. “Now what’s so urgent? I know I have a storefront vacant, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now.”

  She tapped a pencil against the tabletop, beating out a staccato accompaniment to her words. “The building has to run at full occupancy, especially on the first floor. You need every dime you’ve got coming in to stay afloat.”

  “I know that, Eve’s been after me too, but isn’t The Pot Shot paid up until the end of the month?”

  Ann Marie shook her head. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately, your late Great-Aunt Belle liked to do things a little differently. She staggered the rents so that she had at least some income every week. I told her it was an accounting nightmare, but Belle liked to get money more than once a month. She said it made it feel like Christmas.”

  “I don’t even have to ask when Aaron’s rent was due, do I?”

  Ann Marie paused the beat of her pencil. “It was due yesterday. You need to jump on this, Harrison.”

  “Fine,” I said, focusing on my breakfast instead of my worries. It was too late. Not even Millie’s fine baking could pep me up
after Ann Marie’s pronouncement. I didn’t have much time at all before things started to fall down around my ears, according to everyone around me.

  Ann Marie had to notice my suddenly slumped shoulders. She stopped tapping her pencil altogether and smiled softly at me. “It’s not as bad as all that. You’ve actually got six days to find another tenant before your electric bill is due.”

  “Wow, six whole days,” I said. “Listen, I know you’re just trying to help. I’ll see if I can round up Belle’s list of potential tenants and find out if any of them are still interested. Thanks for dropping by.”

  She took the hint, swallowing the last of her coffee and waving good-bye to Millie.

  I was still staring at my muffin when Millie came by to top off my coffee. “Don’t let the monkeys get you down,” she said.

  I smiled in spite of my gloom. “Where did you come up with that one?”

  Millie said, “My Uncle Timothy used to say there were kind people on this earth, and then there were monkeys, folks who never evolved past throwing bananas at each other. It’s not the people who try to bring you down, it’s the monkeys.”

  “He sounds like an odd bird,” I said.

  “And proud of it, truth be told. You should meet him. He’s as full of spit and vinegar as anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “Next time he’s in town, bring him by.”

  Millie studied me a moment, then said, “Yes, I believe you would get along just fine with my uncle. Now don’t you have a candleshop to run?”

  I glanced at my watch. “No private lessons today, so I’m not in any rush.”

  Millie said, “Well I am, I can’t stand around here all day and listen to you.” She softened her words with a flick of her towel. “I’ve got baking to do.”

  “Don’t forget, I want to be one of your tasters.”

  “Oh you’re on my list, all right. Now shoo.”

  I walked out of The Crocked Pot as Tick walked in.

  “Morning, Harrison. It’s a stunning day, isn’t it?”

  “You’re feeling better, aren’t you?”