by Tim Myers
“I promise,” I said. “Now why don’t we dip some candles and see what we can come up with today?”
She forgot about Aaron Gaston quickly enough once we were dipping candles, and I only hoped she’d keep her focus on wax and not homicide.
Once we both had suitable tapers in translucent wax, I hung them on the cooling rack. We had eight tapers between us, plenty for experimenting.
Mrs. Jorgenson asked, “What happens now? Shouldn’t we twist them or something?”
I said, “We have to let the wax cool a little.” I retrieved two rolling pins, matching pieces of maple, then touched the surface of one of our candles. It felt solid, not tacky at all. Snipping the candles’ connected wick, I took one and handed the other to my student.
“Now the first step is to roll the candle with the pin to flatten it. Not all the way,” I said as she started from the very top. “Leave about an inch at the top and bottom.”
“Why not flatten it the entire length?” she asked.
“The bottom needs to be round so it can still fit into a base. As for the top, I just think it looks better that way.”
I looked up from my worked candle and saw that she’d merely managed to somehow square up a round candle. “You’re going to have to press harder than that,” I said. “Flatten it out to around three eighths of an inch thick.”
She put more effort into it and soon had the desired thickness.
“Now what?” she asked.
I picked my own flattened candle up and said, “Start twisting it with your hands like this.” I twisted and kneaded the wax until I had a fairly true taper. I’d done it several times before, so it had become a practiced skill. Mrs. Jorgenson’s attempt turned out rather differently. Her taper had a definite cant to the left, while the spiral itself was an undulating wave of wax. She held it toward me, both of us studying her efforts critically, then thrust it into my hands. “Fix it and show me what I did wrong.”
I took the taper from her, worked at the wax more until I had a fairly uniform taper, then straightened the whole thing into a decent spiral.
“I believe I see now. Let’s try it again.”
As I severed the wick between two more tapers, she said, “Do you mind if you supervise me instead of twisting your own candle? I really could use the guidance.”
“Of course,” I said as I laid the taper in my hand aside. I resented the command for a moment, then remembered how much I was charging her for this private lesson.
“Harder, that’s it, really roll it out,” I instructed as she worked.
After we were both satisfied with her efforts, I said, “Now it’s time to pull back a little. You aren’t trying to get the twist in a single motion. Don’t be afraid to work with the wax.”
Her second effort was a little better than the first, but only by a little. I’d planned to get into braiding with her in the same lesson, but it was not to be. We’d have to postpone that to another session. If there was one thing I’d learned about Mrs. Jorgenson since we’d started our lessons, it was that she demanded she master each and every task before going onto the next phase.
I dipped some of the reserve tapers into warm water.
“Why on earth did you do that? I’m not finished with them,” she said fiercely. Mrs. Jorgenson hated it when she didn’t master a technique on the first or second attempt.
“We need to keep the wax warm. We could use an oven just as easily, or even dip them a dozen more times, but this should work best for what we’re doing.”
“If you say so,” she said.
By the time she’d gone through all the candles we’d dipped, her technique was just starting to come around to something resembling my first effort. It was gratifying that there was at least one form of candlemaking I’d mastered quicker than she had, but this was certainly no time to gloat about it. I said, “If you’d like to try your hand at braiding candles, we can have another lesson right now.”
She scowled. “I need to master this one first. I’ll be back, don’t you worry about that,” Mrs. Jorgenson said. Out in the main part of the store again, she said. “I believe I’ll take some of those wax beads. They are rather convenient.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else I can get you?”
She thought about it a moment, then said, “Let’s have a few more spools of wick, and I need six of your beeswax kits.” We’d tackled rolling candles out of sheets of wax earlier.
“Brushing up, are you?”
Mrs. Jorgenson sniffed the air. “These are for my grandchildren. They spend entirely too much time on their computers, and these kits should do nicely to distract them from their monitors.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.”
As I totaled her bill and had her sign the receipt, I said. “Do you want to go ahead and schedule the next session, or should we just play it by ear again?”
She wasn’t amused, not in the least. “Make it in three days. I’ll have mastered the twists by then.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” I said as I helped carry her purchases out to her car. After every previous lesson, she’d taken her efforts proudly home with her, but I noticed I’d forgotten them.
I said, “Give me a second and I’ll go get your candles.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “By tomorrow I’ll have much better tapers.”
“Good for you,” I said as I stepped away from the car.
She seemed to think about it for a few seconds, then said, “I don’t suppose it would hurt anything to take them with me. Would you mind?”
“Not at all,” I said, glad she hadn’t abandoned her efforts.
Eve met me at the door. “She forgot these,” she said, nearly out of breath as she pushed a bag into my hands. The tapers were all safely wrapped and in the bag.
“Thanks, Eve.”
I passed them on to Mrs. Jorgenson, and she grabbed my hand before I could release it. “About Mr. Gaston,” she said in a lowered voice. “Do keep me informed.”
“As soon as I know anything,” I said.
She nodded and drove away, and I watched until she disappeared. I wasn’t sure about this new development, having the richest woman in Micah’s Ridge butting into a murder investigation. It could lead to a lot of trouble, for all concerned.
But I couldn’t waste too much time worrying about it, either.
I had a business to run, a complex to watch over, and if time permitted, a murder to solve.
Chapter 11
“Welcome to the grand reopening of The Pot Shot,” I said to the crowd of onlookers poised in front of Sanora’s pottery shop. I had no idea how she’d drummed up so many people on such short notice, but I was impressed. Not only were there nearly a hundred people in the audience, there was a reporter from The Gunpowder Report, our local newspaper, and a camera crew from KRZY, our local television affiliate.
If this was her basic, spur-of-the-moment promotion work, I couldn’t imagine what a well-thought-out campaign must look like. I doubted I’d be able to get this kind of a turnout unless I started giving candles away. Maybe not even then.
I looked down at my notes, then said, “River’s Edge welcomes you. Feel free to shop all of our fine stores while you’re here.” I’d suggested the last bit to Sanora, and she’d heartily okayed it. After all, while we did run separate businesses, we were also part of a community. Besides, I thought it wouldn’t hurt her standing with the other tenants, and the fact that it might throw a little business our way at the candleshop hadn’t escaped me.
But these folks were here for Sanora, and I felt obligated to give the pottery center stage.
“There are some great deals inside, there’s food and drink, too, so come on in.” With that, I used a giant pair of scissors to sever the red ribbon Sanora had strung across the door, and she was officially open for business.
As folks moved toward the open doors, I thought I spotted Heather in the background, but I must have been mistaken. Coming to Sanor
a’s opening was something I just couldn’t see her doing. I regretted she was missing the opportunity for sales, but shutting her store down had been her decision.
I found myself standing beside Tick after the crowd vanished into The Pot Shot.
“Nice speech, Harrison,” she said. “I didn’t know you were available for rallies and celebrations.”
“Believe me, I have no intention of making a habit of this. Sanora needed a quick substitute when the mayor canceled, so she asked me.”
“You did fine,” Tick said.
“Do you think this crowd is going to wander around to our shops after they see what The Pot Shot has to offer?”
Tick said, “It’s too soon to tell, but it couldn’t hurt How’s business at the candleshop been lately?”
“We’re keeping our heads above water,” I said. “How’s the world of antiques?”
“Oh, it stays pretty steady between our walk-in customers and our regulars. Why, I’m even on the Internet now, if you can believe that.”
“Getting much business there?”
She shook her head. “Not particularly, though I must admit, I don’t give it the time it requires. I have a young lady from the high school working my web page. It was her idea, since she had a debt to work off with me.”
“How did that come about?”
Tick said, “Young Maria has a passion for Depression Glass, and we barter for her services. You haven’t been in the shop lately, you should stop by. I’ve just gotten some lovely furniture from Ireland.”
“It must be great fun amassing your stock. Do you ever go on any expeditions yourself?”
She nodded. “In fact, I was supposed to go to Scotland two weeks ago, but I had to cancel at the last minute. My traveling companion backed out on me almost as we were boarding, and it’s no fun going alone.”
“I understand that,” I said as I started for The Pot Shot. “Are you coming?”
“Do you know, I’ve never stepped one foot into that pottery shop? I don’t appreciate the medium at all.”
“How about candles? You know you’re always welcome in At Wick’s End.”
She shuddered visibly. “Thank you for the invitation, but no, I’m afraid not. You see, I’ve got a horrid fear of fire. I’m afraid I spend all my time with my treasures.”
“Well then, maybe we could have lunch at Millie’s sometime.”
Tick frowned, then said, “I seem to keep saying no to you, don’t I? I’d honestly love to, Harrison, but I don’t have someone like Eve watching over my wares.” She glanced at an antique watch pinned to her sweater, then said, “I’d better go back to the shop.”
“I’ll catch up with you later, then.”
“Do visit me sometime soon,” she said as she headed back to her world of antiques.
Sanora was busy behind the cash register, so I wandered around the shop. The display I’d seen earlier sporting many of Aaron’s pieces had already grown smaller, and from the look of things, there wouldn’t be anything left by the next day. What was it about the work of some artists and craftsmen that as soon as no new pieces would ever be available, the remaining ones sold so quickly, and in most cases for so much more? Folks had grabbed up many of Belle’s creations after her death, until I held some in reserve for the shop with “Not For Sale” stickers attached. In a way, it kept her a part of the shop she’d so carefully created.
The press had left as soon as they’d gotten their pictures, but the browsers and buyers were buzzing about in full force. Sanora noticed me and waved me to her.
“Thanks again for doing that, Harrison,” she said as she wrapped a tea set up in thick brown paper.
“My pleasure. If you don’t need me, I’m going to head back to At Wick’s End.”
“See you later,” she said as she ran a customer’s card through her register. I noticed her sign-up sheet for classes was already filling up, and I wondered how to juice up the attendance in our candlemaking classes. Maybe a display in the front window, or even an ad in the paper. Eve had been pushing for more exposure, and I was ready to listen to her.
I moved down the wide walkway of River’s Edge back toward my shop and glanced at the river beside us. The Gunpowder was flowing past at a good clip, and for a moment I wished I could be out there on it. Not today, though. I had too much work to do. Thinking of kayaking made me wonder about Erin and what her history was. Had she truly been interested in candlemaking when she’d come by the shop, or was there a chance she was interested in the candlemaker?
I laughed out loud at that. My imagination was definitely getting the better of me. April May had told me clearly enough that she knew Erin was still getting over someone, and besides, I didn’t have time for someone in my life, not with the demands of my responsibilities. Still, I missed those jitters that made me feel alive. When I fall for a woman, I tend to fall pretty hard, and a part of me yearned for that butterfly feeling in my stomach at the sound of someone special’s name. I wondered if my late Great-Aunt Belle realized just how much she’d put on my plate by leaving me River’s Edge. Probably, she was a crafty old gal, and I found myself missing her every day. There were a thousand questions I would have loved to ask her, but then again, if she’d still been around I wouldn’t be running At Wick’s End.
I glanced in Tick’s antique shop and saw there were a handful of customers in her shop. Maybe, if we were lucky, some of them would migrate all the way down to the candleshop.
I found Eve doing inventory when I walked in the door. There wasn’t a customer in sight.
“How was your speech?” she asked. “Sorry I missed it, but someone had to watch the store, goodness knows it’s been quiet though. Did many people show up?”
“There were about a hundred, I’d guess,” I said, “And the speech was everything it needed to be: short and to the point. Have we had anyone drift in yet?”
“Not since you left. I certainly hope we get some of the traffic here. You did mention us in your speech, didn’t you?”
“I mentioned everyone,” I admitted, not wanting to get into my lack of a specific endorsement. I still believed I’d handled the situation correctly, but I had no desire to get into that particular discussion with Eve.
I glanced at the clock. “You can leave early again today, if you’d like. I should be able to handle things here.”
“There’s nowhere I need to be,” she said. Funny, just last week she’d skipped out early nearly every single day. Something had changed in her life, there was no doubt about that.
I bit my lower lip, then asked, “Eve, is there anything you want to talk about? On a personal level? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”
“There’s certainly no need for that,” she said abruptly.
“If you change your mind,” I said, “I’m here.”
Eve ruffled the papers in her hands, then said, “I’ve got work to do.” She disappeared into the storeroom and I regretted saying anything to her. When would I learn? While she and Belle had been great friends, I still got the impression that Eve barely tolerated me.
A few customers managed to find their way down to At Wick’s End, but they were more interested in browsing than buying. When it was time to close out the register for the day, I realized we were actually quite a bit below our normal daily take. So much for the trickle-down theory of customers shopping all the stores at River’s Edge. I sent Eve home and closed out the books, filled out the deposit, and locked the shop up for the evening. It was one of our early closing days, and I was looking forward to a little time away from River’s Edge. If I hurried, I might be able to get down to Erin’s boating shop before she closed. But the bank deposit came first.
I dropped the bag off, and made it to Erin’s twenty minutes before closing. No one was there, though. I found a sign on the door that said, gone for the day. whitewatering on the nolichucky.
So much for that. I wondered how much a kayak cost, and more important, if I could afford it on my limited budget.
It would be nice to hit the water whenever I felt like it and not have to rely on someone else. Then again, I wouldn’t have the excuse to pop in on Erin anymore either.
I’d have to think about it, then consult my bank balance.
I was in no hurry to get back to River’s Edge, not after being so eager to leave it, so I decided to head over to the library to see what was new in the stacks. I had my share of mysteries on the shelves from Belle, but I also had a passion for biographies, one my late Great-Aunt hadn’t shared with me.
Robyn, my friend and the best research librarian in the state, was busy helping a patron. I waved to her, and she acknowledged me with a bob of her head. I wandered over to the biographies, located near the open study area, and was browsing through the Gs when I heard a familiar voice.
It was Cragg, and from the look of things, he’d gotten himself into a spot of trouble.
I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to, given the volume of the two men’s voices. Cragg was talking with a man nearly twice his size, with thick shoulders and hands that looked like they could crush rocks.
“Stay away from her,” the man said, punctuating his point by jabbing Cragg’s chest. The attorney stood up under the assault, though he did back up a step or two.
“Let her make up her own mind,” Cragg said.
“She did. She wants me.”
Cragg said, “When she tells me that, I’ll believe it. That first tap was free. If you touch me again, I’ll sue you until you’ve lost every last dime to your name.”
“Lawyers. What a bunch of cowards.”
Robyn suddenly appeared, and though she was quite a bit smaller than Cragg, let alone the giant with him, she marched in between them as if she was twenty feet tall.
“I’ve told you both twice to lower your voices. Leave this library, and I mean right now.”
The big man said, “We’re not finished.”
Robyn walked up under his chin and said, “Believe me, you don’t want to push this. Now are you going to go peacefully?”
The big man looked at her a second, then said, “Yeah, I’m going.” He stopped and said to Cragg, “Leave her alone.”