by Tim Myers
“I hope you’re right.”
I left him to his own dilemma and headed upstairs to my apartment. It had been a long day, and though the kayaking had been an even bigger treat than before, I was feeling the strain of that last sprint in my shoulders and arms. A quiet night was what I needed and hoped beyond reasonable expectation that I would have one.
I was jarred awake in the middle of the night by a horrific shrieking. It took me a few precious seconds to realize it was coming from a smoke alarm outside my apartment.
Stumbling into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, I put on my bear slippers, a present I’d received from an ex-girlfriend, and rushed out into the hall. I’d expected the place to be full of smoke, but there were just a few wisps of it coming up the stairs. The candleshop! A fire would burn for weeks with all the wick and wax there. The place was an absolute haven for combustibles.
At least I was the only full-time tenant in the building.
Then I remembered that Markum’s late hours nearly made him one, and before I headed downstairs, I rushed to his office. It was dark inside and the door was locked. Short of breaking the door down, I had no choice. Chances are he was off on one of his salvage missions. At least I hoped so.
I found the reason for the screaming alarm at the bottom of the stairs. Someone had taken one of the outside trash-cans and put it at the foot of the door. The fire had almost burned itself out in the can, but the smell was absolutely awful. I started to drag the can outside so I could hose it off, but the heat from it was too much.
First things first. I reached up and reset the smoke alarm, and was rewarded by sudden, blissful silence. I was suddenly glad Belle had invested in loud ones, though my ears would probably be ringing for weeks. I debated climbing back upstairs for a hot-pad to drag the trashcan away, but it was late, I was tired and in a foul mood. Someone was messing with me, and I didn’t like it one bit. There hadn’t been enough trash in the can to catch the walls on fire. It was a nuisance prank, no more and no less. I pulled off my shirt, wrapped it around my hand three or four times, then grabbed the handle and pulled the can outside. There was a hose nearby, tucked away in a stylish, little planter Pearly had built, so I turned the water on and heard a satisfying sizzle as the stream hit the remaining embers.
At least the security lights worked. The second I moved for the hose, the place lit up like a used car lot. So why hadn’t I noticed it before, when the culprit had been there lighting the fire? So much for my early-warning system. I’d no doubt slept right through the earlier lighting. It had taken a full-scale alarm to rouse me from my sleep.
As I started to put the hose back up, I glanced at Heather’s front door. The sign announcing her moving sale was gone. In its place was one that said, back in two weeks. When had she changed it? Was it related to the fire in the stairwell? I knew Heather was upset when I’d leased Sanora the pottery space, but I couldn’t see her doing such a childish thing as dragging a trashcan into my building and setting it on fire. Still, she’d been acting strangely lately. I wished she’d talk to me and stop running away.
But there was nothing I could do about it until the next time I saw her.
I pulled the trashcan, now cool to the touch, to the back of River’s Edge, but kept it away from the building, just in case, though there was more water than ash in the can at the moment.
I walked back into the building headed for my apartment when the smell hit me. Though the fire had been a minor inconvenience, the odor of burned rubbish was a genuine problem. I propped open the front door downstairs, then opened the two windows at the top of the landing upstairs, hoping for a cross breeze that would get rid of the smell. I sniffed at my clothes, and sure enough, they reeked of smoke. I jerked off my clothes and buried them in my hamper, then got into the shower and scrubbed until I was sure the smell was gone.
Unfortunately, I was as awake as could be, and I had three hours before the world around me came alive.
That was one benefit of owning my own business. It was never too early to go into work.
Chapter 10
I’d been studying a dip-cut-curl candlemaking technique from one of my books, so I decided that would be the perfect distraction. There was no way I considered myself accomplished enough to actually pull it off, but it was an intriguing process, and I looked forward to tackling it. I was surprised by how the time flew. Millie opened at 6:00 a.m., and I’d planned to be there when she unlocked her door, but it was half past the hour when I realized how long I’d been working.
She met me with a grim expression as I walked in. She said, “So you heard the news.”
“Heard it? I’m the one who put it out. How did you find out, though? I didn’t think anybody else knew.”
Millie said, “What are you talking about?”
“The fire in the stairwell. It was just a prank, but it nearly scared me to death. How did you hear about it?”
Millie said, “Let’s back up and start over. Did you hear someone tried to run Sanora over this morning?”
“Tell me what happened.”
Millie explained, “Vera Quimby called me early this morning. She’s got a fondness for her police scanner, don’t ask me why. She says it soothes her to have voices in her apartment. So she jolts awake when she hears Sanora’s name being broadcast to the dispatcher, and naturally she felt the need to call me and wake me up. George was not a happy camper when that happened, until I filled him in. You know he volunteers with the rescue squad, so he made a few calls for me and it turns out Sanora’s okay. She was jogging two hours ago on Hickory Lane and some nit in a Wee Haul rental truck forced her into the bushes. She’s got some cuts and scratches from the fall, but other than that, she’s fine. The thing is, Sanora claims it was deliberate.”
“I can’t believe it. It’s kind of a conspicuous weapon, isn’t it?”
Millie shook her head. “Harrison Black, it’s serious business, if it’s true. Now you know I’m no fan of Sanora Gaston’s, but that doesn’t mean I wish ill of her either. The sheriff’s tracking down rentals in the area, and you’ll never believe who’s name popped up on the list.”
“I couldn’t even guess,” I said.
“George heard this through the grapevine, so it’s reliable enough, though I’m having trouble swallowing it.”
“Who was it?” I pressed.
“Our very own Heather Bane. Now is that an odd coincidence or not? Of course I doubt it was her. Last I heard, she was in Charlotte staying with a friend.”
I knew better. After all, she’d been in town sometime the night before to change that sign on her door. Could she have rented the van to move some of her stock? Had she planned to run Sanora down, or was it an accident too good to pass up when she’d seen her rival jogging alone down a dark, deserted road? No, I couldn’t believe any of it, no matter how logical it sounded. But did I owe it to Sheriff Morton to tell him that Heather had every reason to be driving that van, and a few motives of her own to send Sanora off into the bushes?
“You’re awfully quiet, Harrison. You know something.”
I shrugged. “It’s a terrible thing, isn’t it? I’d love a cup of coffee and one of those blueberry muffins, if you have any.”
She wasn’t buying it, not for a second. “I’m not serving you until you come clean. What is it?”
I should have known better than to try to keep something from Millie. She was the eyes, the ears, and in some ways the heart of River’s Edge. “Do you have a second?”
“For you, I’ll manage it.” She called out, “Vera, I’m stepping out a moment. Would you watch the front?”
“Be right there,” Mrs. Quimby called out, and she was as good as her word. “Harrison, did you hear the news?”
“I already told him,” Millie said, and I watched Mrs. Quimby deflate. “We’ll be back in a shake.”
I led Millie to Heather’s storefront and pointed to the window. “The sign changed sometime from nine last night to three this morning. Heath
er was in town, and we both know she had reason enough to hate Sanora.”
Millie shook her head, a frown creasing her lips. “I don’t believe it. Not from Heather.”
“You sound certain,” I said.
“You would be, too, if you knew that girl as well as I do. She wouldn’t do it, Harrison.”
“I want to believe that myself, but we can’t go by what’s in our hearts and not our heads. We should tell the sheriff about this.”
“And give him more rope to hang Heather? I don’t think so. He’s the great detective, let him figure it out for himself. I won’t be a party to locking her up.”
“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. “It could be important.”
“Let me track Heather down and speak with her before you say anything, Harrison. Give me a day, that’s all I’m asking. What could a day hurt?”
I wanted to say it could mean the difference between attempted murder and a successful one, but I had to go with Millie’s instincts. After all, chances were Morton would ignore my input anyway.
“You’ve got one day. Then I tell him,” I said.
Millie smiled gently. “If I can’t resolve this in a day, I’ll tell the sheriff myself. Now let’s go get you that muffin. And Harrison, why don’t you keep your observation to yourself? I’m happy to have Vera working for me, but she has a tendency to talk out of turn.”
“Okay by me,” I said, relieved to have the burden lifted, if only for a day. Chances were Millie was right and there was a reasonable explanation for what had happened. I just couldn’t imagine what it could be.
As I started out for At Wick’s End, Sanora Gaston called out to me. “Harrison, do you have a minute?”
“Absolutely. Hey, I’m glad you’re all right. Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?”
She shook her head. “I’m not in the mood to face Millie this early. Come down to the shop.”
I followed her to The Pot Shop, and she locked the door behind us. “I don’t want anybody trying to get a sneak-peek of my grand opening.”
“You’re still going through with it after what happened this morning?” I asked.
“Absolutely. Why shouldn’t I?” She studied me a moment, then added, “So you’ve heard?”
“Everybody in Micah’s Ridge has probably heard by now. I can’t believe you’re still going to open today.”
“Harrison, this thing is getting blown way out of proportion. The more I think about it, I’m sure it wasn’t intentional. After all, who would want to hurt me?”
“Tell me what happened.”
She paced around the room, straightening things now and then as she spoke. “I was jogging along, just as I do every morning, and I looked up as a truck approached. It was a big red Wee Haul, so I moved a little more to the edge to give them plenty of room to get around me. The next thing I know, the truck’s drifting toward me. I jumped into the bushes and barely missed falling over the side of the road into the river.”
I said, “And you don’t think it was meant for you?”
She laughed softly. “Come on. Who in their right mind would use a big red truck for a hit and run? You’ve got to be joking.”
I pointed to her arms, where she had bandages showing and hints of yellow beneath them. “That doesn’t look like a joke to me.”
“Whoever was driving probably didn’t even see me. No doubt they were studying a map when they should have been watching the road.”
“So why did you call it in?” I pressed.
Sanora looked uncomfortable with the question. “Okay, since Aaron died I’ve been a little jumpy. I overreacted, I admit it.”
“You should still be more careful,” I said.
“Yes, sir,” she said with a slight grin.
“So is that why you asked me down here?”
Sanora said sheepishly, “Actually, I was wondering if you’d do the honors and cut the grand-reopening ribbon.”
“I thought the mayor was doing that for you.” I’d heard Sanora had pulled about every string she had to get the mayor to come.
“She was supposed to, but I got a call this morning. She’s delivering twins and it could take her all day.” Since Micah’s Ridge was too small to have a full-time mayor running things, Katherine Drake presided over things when her medical practice allowed it. Her rival for office, and our deputy mayor, Catherine Green, normally stepped in, but she wasn’t fond of public appearances, most likely one of the reasons she kept coming in second in our mayoral races. The last campaign had been filled with signs that sported giant Cs and Ks, and for a while Micah’s Ridge looked like an episode of Sesame Street run amok.
“Sure, why not,” I said. After all, how bad could it be? Say a few words, cut a giant ribbon, and get on with my day. “What time do you need me?”
“The press is coming around one,” she said. ‘Thanks, Harrison, you’re a lifesaver.”
“My pleasure. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some candles to make before I open At Wick’s End.”
“See you around one,” Sanora said as she let me out
“I’ll be there.”
I’d been hoping to get a little practice in before I had to open the candleshop, but I was stunned to find Mrs. Jorgenson’s monstrous car idling in front of At Wick’s End, though it was a good five minutes before we were scheduled to open. Eve was already inside. She’d turned on all the lights, and I could look through the window and see her busily restocking the shelves, something I should have already taken care of myself. No doubt I would hear about it from my lone employee, but I resisted the urge to dash in and help her.
I approached Mrs. Jorgenson’s car and before I could get within ten feet of it, she threw the door open and stepped out.
“Good morning,” I said in my most level voice.
“Now before you say anything, I know I’m early for our next lesson.”
“By a day at least,” I said, trying to hide my chagrin with a smile. I needed more practice before I was ready to tackle anything new with her. After all, I was barely half a step ahead of her when it came to our candlemaking lessons, no matter how much I practiced and studied on my off-hours. There was only so much time I could devote to actual candlemaking, as much as I enjoyed it. I needed time to get away from the wax and the wicks, so I could bring a fresh attitude to it every time I worked. Kayaking on the Gunpowder River was just the kind of diversion I needed, but it was getting inconvenient having to trot down to Erin’s every time I wanted to go for a paddle.
Mrs. Jorgenson looked apologetic, something I wished I could get on film. “I simply can’t wait. If a lesson right now inconveniences you, I’m more than willing to pay extra for the privilege.”
“No, ma’am, I won’t take advantage of you like that. Come on in; I’ll set things up for a lesson.”
As she followed me inside, Eve said, “You’re late,” the last word dying on her lips as she saw Mrs. Jorgenson following close behind me.
“Look who I found in the parking lot waiting for us to open.”
I swear Eve almost curtseyed. “I didn’t see you there. I would have opened early if I’d only realized.”
Mrs. Jorgenson said, “No need to apologize, dear, I wasn’t expected today. I trust you can run things while Harrison gives me a lesson?”
“Of course,” Eve stammered.
“Very well. Harrison?” She called out to me as she headed for our classroom in back of the store.
“I’m right behind you,” I said as I offered Eve a broad wink.
In the classroom area, I said, “I need to start the wax melting. Do you mind if we use pellets today, since you already know how to chip off the block?”
I didn’t think there was a chance in the world she’d agree with it, but to my surprise she said, “That would be fine. They melt quite a bit faster, don’t they? Besides, I have the wax-pounding down to an art.”
As I set up two stations for melting, she said, “Are you going to be dipping with me today?”
I nodded as I turned on the burners and started the water boiling. “We’re going to be doing flats and braids today, so we’ll need some freshly dipped tapers to start with.”
After the water started boiling, I poured the wax beads into the double boilers and got the wicks ready. Mrs. Jorgenson watched the process, then asked, “Did you know Mr. Gaston well?”
“Not really,” I said idly, watching the wax start to melt.
She pressed on though. “I understand foul play may have been involved.”
That got my attention. I looked up from the wax and said, “As far as the sheriff is concerned, it was accidental. Why do you ask?”
Was she actually blushing? No, it had to be the light in the classroom. After a moment, she said, “Normally I don’t speculate on idle gossip, but I heard from my gardener that there was some doubt about the circumstances. Being on the scene and all, I thought you might be aware of more than the police are privy to.”
“They seem to be satisfied with their conclusions.”
She looked triumphant. “Aha, you don’t believe it either. Tell me, Mr. Black, who is it you suspect?”
Should I tell her, or let it slide? The last thing I wanted was for Mrs. Jorgenson to be involved in a situation Markum and I were investigating. Then I got an idea. I took a deep breath, then said, “Can I tell you something in strict and utter confidence?”
She nodded vigorously, so I said, “The electrical cord of the wheel appeared to be a little too perfectly frayed.”
She nodded. “So the bucket of overturned water was prearranged as well.”
“Mrs. Jorgenson, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anybody what I’ve told you.” What possible excuse could I use to get her to hold her tongue? Then I had it. “We don’t want any of our suspects to be forewarned. And,” I added for dramatic flair, “If you say anything, you could be in danger.”
Her pupils dilated and she took a quick sharp breath of air. “Of course. I understand completely. You will keep me informed though, won’t you?”