by Tim Myers
I was in no mood to go out.
Instead, I curled up with Rest You Merry from Ms. MacLeod and settled in for the night.
Chapter 16
I normally got to At Wick’s End an hour before opening the shop, but since I had indulged in a little extra sack time, I rolled in with just thirty minutes to spare.
I found the woman from the day before standing outside the door, a chocolate cake in her hands.
She offered it to me, then said, “Here’s the cake, as promised.”
I smiled broadly at her, trying to hide my surprise. My sense of humor oftentimes got me into trouble, but this was the first time it had brought me a cake!
“I see you’ve brought your golden ticket,” I said as I unlocked the door and held it open for her.
She stepped inside, then said, “My husband thought you were kidding, but I knew better.”
“You should have brought him along. I wouldn’t have minded sharing.”
She laughed. “Are you kidding me? He kept after me last night until I baked him one, too.” I took the platter from her and said, “Feel free to look around. If you don’ mind, I think I’ll have a slice for breakfast.”
“Breakfast? You’re kidding me.”
I shook my head. “Hey, it’s got flour, eggs, all kinds of healthy stuff in it. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know. Care to join me?”
“I had cereal, thanks anyway.”
I smiled. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” I flipped all the lights on and went back to the office for a knife, a couple of plates and two forks. I thought about trotting upstairs for a glass of cold milk, but since Eve wasn’t due in until noon, I had to stay with the shop.
I put the utensils down and said, “Forgive me, but should have introduced myself. I’m Harrison Black.”
“Celeste DeAngelo,” she said.
“Celeste, it’s a pleasure knowing you.” I cut a fat wedge of cake and tasted the first bite. “Wow, it’s wonderful.”
She smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Are you sure you won’t join me? How about just a small slice?”
She laughed lightly. “Why not? I’ll cut my own piece though.”
I handed her the knife and she cut a sliver of cake and put it on the offered plate. I sneered at her serving size. ”You could read through that. Come on, have some cake.”
“This will do nicely,” she said as she took a bite. “Bob will never believe this.”
“I’m willing to bet if you offer him some for breakfast tomorrow, he won’t say no.”
She grinned. “No doubt you’re right.” We ate our cake, then Celeste said, “Now for some shopping.”
I finished my slab, thought about getting another piece, then decided to wait until lunch. Dessert after lunch, I amended. I was going to have to supplement my menu with some healthy fare. And some time on one of Erin’s kayaks, if I wanted to be able to wear my jeans much longer. Maybe if I worked it right I could slip out a little early. Well, Eve had opened the door for me taking more breaks from the shop. All I was doing was trotting through it.
Celeste picked out a nice array of things, from some beeswax blocks I’d just got to a Christmas-tree mold that I’d been wanting to try myself. I totaled her purchases up, then gave her a ten-percent discount.
“Why the price break?” she asked as she saw the minus sign on the register.
“Didn’t I tell you? It’s chocolate-cake day. Hey, they’re a lot better than coupons.”
She thanked me, then walked out just as it was time to officially open up. “Come back soon, Celeste, and you don’t have to bring a cake with you next time.”
“Don’t tell me, you’d like an apple pie next, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say no to one, but you don’t have to bake something every time you come.”
“Come on, Harrison, don’t let me down and start getting normal on me. My friends back home are going to howl about this.”
I shuddered when I thought about what new stereotypes about the South I was setting, but let them think we were all a bunch of eccentrics. It was my bit as goodwill ambassador for the land below the Mason-Dixon line.
I’d nearly forgotten about my next session with Mrs. Jorgenson when Eve came in at noon and reminded me. She said, “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” I asked. “I’m not going to lunch today.” I’d had another piece of cake midmorning, despite my good intentions, and I was still pretty full.
“Good, you could probably use the practice. She’s due here in less than an hour.”
Then it hit me. “Thanks, I forgot all about it. Don’t worry, I’ll be ready.”
I left Eve to manage the front and started making preparations for my next lesson in candlemaking. If Mrs. Jorgenson arrived promptly, which I had no doubt she would, I’d have just enough time to dip the demonstration candles for today’s lesson. That was the thing with Mrs. Jorgenson; she always wanted to start from the ground up, but once she’d mastered a technique, she was perfectly happy to let me do the grunt work in preparation. And why not? She was paying handsomely for the privilege, money the candleshop could ill afford to lose.
We’d done translucent candles during our last session, so I decided on a nice, warm red for our candles today. On a lark, I set up two double-boilers with melting wax, then changed the hue just enough to see the difference between the two pots.
I knew I could set my watch by her. Just as the first batch of candles were cooling from their dips, Mrs. Jorgenson rushed into the room.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said.
I glanced at the clock and realized that she was two minutes past due. “I was about to give up on you,” I said with a smile.
She didn’t notice. “I don’t expect you to extend the lesson on my account.”
“Hey, it’s on the house. I’ll even throw in a piece of chocolate cake at the end.”
“I don’t eat chocolate, and I haven’t had cake since my seventh birthday.”
I should have known better than try to tease with her. Though she’d warmed up to me since we’d started our lessons, we weren’t exactly at the “buddy” stage.
She looked disappointed when she saw the dipped pairs of candles on the racks. “I thought I’d be doing that today.”
“I figured if I skipped the first few steps we could get right on it. After all, you’ve mastered dipping.”
She nodded, then said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right, but I do enjoy it so. Will we be twisting tapers again today?”
“No, ma’am, we’re going to the next stage and start braiding candles. It’s great fun.”
“What do we do first?” she said, eager to get started.
“It’s the same basic technique, we just add one more candle and braid the three together.”
She selected two of the darker red tapers and one of the lighter, then braided them with expert skill. “You’ve been practicing,” I said.
“I may have made a twist or two since our last lesson.”
“No braiding?” I asked.
She said, “Not candles, at any rate.”
“Let me guess, you used to braid your sister’s hair.” No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t see Mrs. Jorgenson as a little girl. Some people were just born middle aged.
“No, but the late Mr. Jorgenson used to enjoy braided loaves of bread and it’s the same principal, isn’t it?”
“You never talk about him,” I said. “What was he like?”
For a minute I thought she wasn’t going to answer. After some hesitation, she said, “He was jolly, and he had a way of making me laugh as well. He also had a gift of acquiring money that was quite astounding, though I told him repeatedly I would have rather had the time he stole from us than all the money in the world.” She suddenly realized how much she was revealing and said, “Are you going to braid those, or may I?”
“They’re all for you,” I said.
I’d thought I had made too many tapers for the lesson, but Mrs. Jorgenson used them all. “It’s amazing how they touch and then separate again, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
She held one braid she was particularly proud of and said, “I know I’m just a silly old woman, but would you accept this as a way of my saying thank-you above and beyond my regular payment? Look at me, giving a candle to a candlemaker.”
She started to pull it away, but I wouldn’t let her. “I’m honored,” I said as I took it. “I’ll start burning it tonight.” She looked pleased by my acceptance.
After Mrs. Jorgenson was gone, Eve said, “What was that all about?”
“I’m not quite sure I know myself,” I said.
Eve glanced at the clock, then said, “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get rid of you, but if you’d like, I’d be happy to watch the shop for the rest of the day.”
“I can’t do that to you,” I said. “I’ve been taking too much time off lately as it is.”
“Please, Harrison, you’re here all the time. It’s only two hours until closing. Go.”
“You’ve talked me into it,” I said. “I’ll be back for the deposit, though.”
“It can wait until tomorrow. See you then.”
“Bye, Eve. And thanks.”
“At Wick’s End belongs to you. I’m just trying to get t you to enjoy it a little more.”
I thought about going by Erin’s for a kayak ride, but then I remembered I owed Wayne a call, and a tennis match, if he was up for it. Wayne was a great deal more to me than my mechanic; he was also one of my best friends in the world. But lately, since taking over River’s Edge, I’d been too busy to do anything with him, and finally he’d stopped asking. He was one part of my old life I didn’t want to change.
I went up to my apartment and dialed the phone number to his garage.
When I got him on the line, he said, “Wait a second, the voice sounds familiar. Don’t tell me, give me a second, I’ll get it.”
“You are such a funny guy. Any chance you can skip out early and get a few sets of tennis in?”
“What happened, did the candleshop burn down?”
“Bite your tongue. No, I thought I’d take a few hours off. We could hit some balls.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Let me check my schedule.”
I waited a few minutes, then he came back on. “Nothing here that can’t wait. My guys have it under control. You want to meet me at the court?”
“See you in half an hour.”
I changed into shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt, grabbed my racket and a can of balls I’d had three months, and headed out. When I got to the court, Wayne pulled up right behind me.
I said, “Perfect timing. How have you been?”
He shook my hand in a grip that could have broken every finger if he’d wanted to. “I’ve been busy, but that’s a good thing. You ready?” he asked after we both stretched a little.
“A moment of silence,” I said, as a part of our ritual. We both stood there as I peeled back the lid of the can, and I was rewarded with the swoosh of air as the seal was broken.
I tossed a ball to him, took two for myself, then jogged over to the other side of the court. My serve was rusty, but I managed to get one in after three straight shots into the net.
The only silver lining was that Wayne hadn’t played since the last time we’d taken the court together either.
We split the first two sets and were both too tired to play a third. Wayne reached in the back of his truck and brought out a cooler.
“Want one?” he asked as he brought out a bottle of water.
“Sure,” I said and we moved to a picnic table nearby.
As we drank, Wayne asked, “So how’s life among the flames?”
“I lost a tenant at River’s Edge.”
He nodded. “That’s right, I read about that potter in the paper. Some freak accident, right?”
“I don’t think so. You don’t want to hear about it, do you?”
Wayne said, “Are you kidding? The most exciting thing that’s happened to me lately is that I worked on Sandra Bullock’s car. At least she looked like her until I got closer. Give.”
So I told him about Aaron’s death and the suspects in my mind. “The lawyer did it,” he said flatly.
“Why do you think that?”
“Why not? They’re always up to something no good.”
I shook my head. “As foolproof as your logic is, I don’t think so.”
He said, “Sounds like Aaron was a bit of a player.”
“That’s the way it’s turning out, but I never would have pegged him for one.”
Wayne took a drink of his water, then said, “So who’s the last woman in his life?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“You might want to find out.”
“Why do you say that?”
He polished off his water, then said, “Think about it. He’s had an ex-wife for quite a while, and unless you think this Heather did it, you’ve got to look at his last love. Especially since you won’t agree with me about the lawyer. Follow his love life.”
“How do I find out who she was? He was keeping this one a secret, as far as I can tell.”
“Somebody had to have seen her visit him. Ask your other tenants.”
I laughed. “Have you been watching Murder, She Wrote again?”
“Hey, you asked.”
“No, you’re right. I’m going to see if I can figure this out.”
Wayne said, “When you do, let me know. This is frustrating. It’s like reading a book and finding out the last chapter is missing.”
“Books are neat; it’s life that’s messy,” I said.
“Get that out of a fortune cookie, did you?”
I slapped him on the back. “Do me a favor, buddy, don’t ever change.”
He held his hands out. “Why should I? I’m the perfect me.”
As I drove back to River’s Edge, I wondered if anyone had seen Aaron’s secret love. It wouldn’t hurt to ask around.
After a shower, and changing into clean clothes, I had just enough time to talk to Millie before she left for the day. Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen a soul. Nor had Tick, or Heather, or any of the other first-floor tenants, though Heather suggested I talk to Sanora.
I was going to do just that, but The Pot Shot was closed when I went by. So it was another dead end.
When I got up to my apartment, there was something taped to my door. For a second I thought Markum might be back in town. Then I saw the words. “Mind your own business or else.”
It appeared that someone wasn’t happy with me.
Most likely Heather or Sanora had decided I was being too nosy butting into their business, but I thought the note was over the top. I started to throw it away when I got inside, then thought better of it and put it on the table by the door. Tomorrow I’d have to ask them about it and see if I could mend fences. With all of us working so closely together at River’s Edge, I didn’t want something like this hanging over our heads.
I put the water on to boil, since tonight was going to be spaghetti night given the state of my finances, and then I set the table. The center of it looked bare, so I searched around for a candle to burn. It was a habit I’d started with Belle’s tribute soon after she’d died, and I’d found it soothing.
I spotted the braided candle Mrs. Jorgenson had given me and decided to light it for my companionship. The braided wicks, overdipped a few times to make them one piece, lit readily as the candle began to burn.
By the time the pasta was ready and the sauce heated, the three candles had burned enough to separate slightly before rejoining. What a wonderful gift from my star student. The pasta was good, though the sauce was a little sweet for my taste. I blew the braided candle out, then curled up on the couch to finish my book. For once, I was able to spend a quiet evening alone at River’s Edge.
I was in dire need of it,
even if it did turn out to be the calm before the storm.
Chapter 17
I need to speak with you,” I said the next morning as I saw Heather going into her shop. I’d been watching out for her since I’d come down, the note weighing heavily on my mind.
“What’s up?” she asked as she walked in ahead of me.
I followed her, then said, “Do you happen to know anything about this?”
She took the note from me and read it, then shoved it back at me. “It looks like Sanora didn’t take too kindly to your interference yesterday.”
“So you didn’t write this?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. How long have we known each other, Harrison? If I felt this way, do you honestly think I’d write you a note?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Not if I was around to yell at,” I added with a grin.
“Exactly. Go talk to Sanora.”
The potter was outside in front of her shop displaying some small pieces on a table.
“Aren’t you afraid somebody will steal these pieces?” I asked.
“From my bargain table? They’re welcome to them, if they’re that desperate. I put my culls out here, marked down of course, then if they like what they see, it brings them inside. You should try it with some of your candles.”
“It sounds like a good idea,” I admitted.
“So is that why you’re here, looking for retailing tips?”
I shook my head. “It’s about this.”
She didn’t even touch it, but read it in my hands. “My goodness, you certainly made Heather mad yesterday. You should talk to her about it. Look how hard she wrote the letters. The paper’s even torn in a place or two.”
“So you didn’t write it either, then.”
She frowned. “Of course not. I’m an adult, Harrison. If I have a problem with you, you won’t find out about it from a note, believe me.”
“Heather denies writing it, too. So if you didn’t write it, and she didn’t, who did?”
Sanora said jokingly, “Who else have you offended lately? For a candlemaker, you certainly do cultivate trouble, don’t you?”