Snuffed Out (Book 2 in the Candlemaking Mysteries)

by Tim Myers

  “More than I ever imagined,” I said as I excused myself and headed back to At Wick’s End. If Sanora and Heather were both telling the truth, then I had offended someone else with my meddling. Could one of the other tenants have resented my inquiries the day before? Or was this about something else entirely? If it involved Aaron’s murder, then I’d struck closer to home than I’d realized. If I only knew which arrow had hit its mark.

  In the meantime, I decided to take Markum’s advice a little more seriously than I had up to then. It was time to start watching my back.

  I found Cragg in his office after my lunch break and decided to show him the note as well.

  “And you think I wrote this,” he said after examining it.

  “I don’t think anything. I’m just asking.”

  “If I ever decide to write you, it will be in the body of a lawsuit,” the attorney said.

  There wasn’t much room for doubt in that, either.

  I went through the rest of the day at the shop, but Eve would have probably been better off if I had called in sick. I couldn’t get the warning out of my mind, wondering what it meant.

  She said, “Harrison, I need your key to the back door. Mine is at home.”

  “Sorry, what was that, Eve?”

  She shook her head. “Honestly, what world are you in? Let me borrow your key to the back, I need to get to the dumpster.”

  I fished into my pockets and pulled out my keys, bringing out the crystal piece Sanora had found in her shop along with them.

  “That’s pretty,” Eve said, spying it. “What is it?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” I said as I handed her the keys.

  Eve said, “Can I trust you to wait on our customers while I’m throwing out those boxes?”

  “I’m fine.”

  A customer came in while Eve was throwing out the trash, and I found myself debating the merits of stearins versus releases with him by the time she came back. The rest of the day passed quickly enough, though I was no closer to the truth than I had been earlier. At least I’d sold a fair amount of supplies and candles, enough to make my nut for the day, at any rate. I was going to have to leave the detecting to Sheriff Morton and stick to what I knew.

  Payday was the next day, and I’d managed to spend my last check completely, even given my free rent and utilities. It was sandwiches tonight, but I promised myself steak the next night.

  Though the meal wasn’t all that formal, I lit the braided candle again and watched it burn as I ate. There was something about the way the lights brightened when the wicks burned together, then lessened as they separated. I felt in my pocket for the piece of quartz and held it up to the candlelight. Light danced through the facets, throwing off a glow that intensified the candle’s output.

  Suddenly I knew where the piece had come from. And unless I missed my guess, I had a good idea who had dropped it in Aaron’s shop. Following the logic of all I’d seen and heard, that led me to the murderer. I thought about confronting the killer, but decided to call the sheriff instead. It was his job, after all, to take the risks.

  He was singularly unimpressed with my detective work. “Harrison, I’ve got a fever and a case of the trots. I’m not getting dressed and driving all the way over there at night based on one of your wild theories.”

  “Will you at least come by in the morning?”

  “We’ll see,” he said and hung up.

  I wasn’t about to wait until morning, though. While the killer was away, I was going to do a little detective work on my own. Maybe if I had more hard evidence by morning, Morton would be more inclined to listen to me.

  I pulled the key I needed off Pearly’s board in the maintenance room, glad I’d insisted on having the key to that area myself. What I was doing was probably breaking and entering, but if I happened to be caught in the act of snooping, I was all ready with my story. I was going to claim that I’d smelled something burning and had investigated before calling the fire department.

  I wasn’t eager to be caught, though. Before I entered the shop in question, I went by the candleshop and grabbed a taper. Overhead lights would surely give me away, and even a flashlight could be suspect, but I was betting that a shielded candle wouldn’t be that easily seen from the outside.

  I unlocked the door, glad my tenant didn’t have an alarm system, and started exploring the shop. I was about to give up after an hour’s search, failing to match the piece in my pocket with anything there.

  Then I stumbled across its mates in the workshop in back. Holding the piece of crystal up to the desk lamp, I knew in an instant it was a perfect match.

  Then the overhead lights came on, nearly blinding me with their intensity.

  “Harrison, what are you doing stumbling around in here in the dark?”

  “I thought I smelled something,” I said.

  “If that were true, you would have turned on the lights.” A look of quiet desperation softened the hard edges of her face. “You know, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She pulled a gun from her purse almost reluctantly, and I could see the scrolls and curlicues on the barrel.

  Tick said, “It’s an antique, like everything else in my shop, but let me assure you, it works perfectly.”

  The candle in my hand started to shake as I saw Tick’s finger start to tighten on the trigger.

  “Can I at least know why?” I asked, hoping to buy a little time.

  “Come now, there won’t be any rescuers tonight, Harrison. You ask why? Aaron destroyed my heart. He honestly thought he could cast me away like some bauble he grew tired of playing with.”

  “But why go after Sanora? What did she do to you?”

  “Are you talking about the hit and run? Happenstance, Harrison, purely an accident, and one I had nothing to do with. How delightful it would have been if it had happened though. I’m not a fan of Sanora’s. She and Aaron talked about everything, or so she told me. However, my name somehow never came up, if Sanora is to be believed. I was home free until you started nosing around.”

  “Why write that note? I don’t understand that.”

  She said, “That was foolish of me. I’m not prone to acting rash, but you visited my shop, and you suddenly seemed to take an interest in me, so I panicked.”

  “I was just trying to get to know you better,” I said.

  “Oh, Harrison, I’m truly sorry about this,” she said as her finger started to tighten on the trigger.

  Behind her, we both heard the sneeze at the same time. Her gun went from me to the sheriff.

  “Drop it,” Morton said. Without taking his eyes of her, he said, “I knew you couldn’t leave it alone, Harrison.” He said to her, “Give up.”

  “I hardly think so,” Tick said. “I’ll have to do some staging, but I think I can make this work. You shot Harrison thinking him a prowler, and he shot you thinking the same.”

  “It’s not going to work out that way,” Morton said.

  “Oh, I think it is.”

  I didn’t want anyone shooting anyone else. I had an idea. Tick had told me once of her fear of fire, and I still had a lit candle in my hand. I threw it at her, hoping that she wouldn’t squeeze off a shot by accident, and was rewarded with a direct strike of flames in the mass of her hair. It caught fire from the hairspray and she dropped the gun as she beat out the fire with her hands. I grabbed a soda from her workbench and poured the remnants out on her head, effectively quenching the fire. After we were certain it was out, Morton cuffed her and led her away.

  “Can you come down to the police station?” Morton , asked after he blew his nose. “I need to interview you.”

  “I’m right behind you,” I said.

  Tick never said another word as he led her away.

  The next day, I made a sign that said, closed for good and put it in Tick’s window. Millie saw me doing it and said, “I heard what happened. I can’t imagine all that happening right under our n
oses.”

  I said, “You never know about people, do you?”

  “Poor Aaron,” she said. “He wasn’t a prince, not by any means, but he deserved better than he got.”

  “He crossed the wrong woman, there’s no doubt about that,” I said.

  Sanora and Heather approached together, and it looked like the two of them were starting to patch up their differences.

  “Harrison,” Sanora said, “Thank you.”

  “Are you two friends now?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say we’re making an effort to leave the past where it belongs,” Heather said. “After all, we both loved the same man at one time in our lives, even if he wasn’t perfect.”

  “It’s a start,” Sanora said. “What’s going to happen to the shop?”

  I groaned and said, “It looks like I’m going to have to find another tenant.”

  Millie said, “I’ve got a friend in Hickory who would be perfect for us. As a matter of fact, I’m going to go call her right now. Why don’t you all join me at The Crocked Pot? Coffee and doughnuts are on me.”

  “Why not?” Sanora said as Heather nodded her agreement.

  “I’ll be there in a second,” I said as I bolted Tick’s door shut.

  I went back to the candleshop and finished my display in the window first. It featured one of Mrs. Jorgenson’s fanciest four-taper braids in the center of it, and the steps to making it all around.

  It was the least I could do, since her candle had helped show me the way. Four lives had touched at different times; Aaron’s, Heather’s, Sanora’s, and Tick’s; burning separately, together, and then all apart again as time passed. And now one of the tapers had been extinguished forever.

  Candlemaking Tips and Fun with Dipped Candles

  Dipped candles, sometimes called tapers, can be great fun, and once you’ve mastered the basic technique there are lots of variations to experiment with. After your melted wax reaches the proper temperature, the layers build up on your wick at a satisfying pace; but be careful, that wax is hot! Each dip of the wick builds another layer on the growing candle, and before you know it, you’ve made your very own taper. You can add scents and dyes to your wax, and make lots of different sizes, too. Sometimes I like to make small tapers the size of birthday candles for fun.

  One of my favorite things to do with a freshly-dipped candle is to twist it. The wax needs to be warm and flexible for this technique, so it works best on a brand new candle. Take the warm candle and place it on a hard surface, then use an old rolling pin to flatten the middle part of the candle. You need to press firmly here to get the wax flat enough for a pretty twist. The flattened section should be about half an inch thick after it’s rolled out. Pick the candle up, grasp the top edge of the flat section with one hand and the bottom of the flattened area with the other. Work quickly here, because the wax is cooling. Gently twist the candle into a spiral until you’ve got a shape you like, kneading it as you go along.

  Another fun thing to do with freshly-dipped candles is to braid them, just like Harrison and Mrs. Jorgenson do in the book. Take two or three freshly-dipped candles and put them on a flat surface. Then, starting from the bottom, plait them into a braid as you go. It’s as easy as that. Squeeze the candles together gently before they cool, then check the bottom to make sure it fits into a candleholder.

  These candles are beautiful to burn, if you can bring yourself to do it! Don’t worry, though; the great thing about candlemaking is that you can always make more. Have fun, and don’t be afraid to experiment. Happy candlemaking!

  Cranberry Muffins

  I’m a big fan of muffins like Millie makes, especially cranberry ones around the holidays. The recipe is simple to use and fills your kitchen with a wonderful aroma as well as yielding baked treats that taste great.

  Ingredients

  1 egg

  3/4 cup milk

  1/2 cup vegetable oil (I like to use canola)

  3/4 cup cranberries, halved

  2 cups all purpose flour

  1/3 cup sugar

  3 teaspoons baking powder

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  This recipe makes about a dozen muffins. I like to use cupcake sleeves in my muffin pan to make cleaning up easier. Heat your oven to 400 degrees. Beat the egg, then stir in the milk and the oil. After that, add the cranberry halves to the liquid. Mix the dry ingredients together, then add them to the liquid, using a sifter. Stir just enough to moisten the flour, and don’t worry if the batter is a little lumpy. Fill the cups about halfway to three quarters full. You can sprinkle the tops with sugar before you put them in the oven if you like them a little sweeter. Bake until the muffins are golden brown—about 20 minutes should do it—then enjoy.

  And now, a peek at DEATH WAXED OVER, book 3 in the Candlemaking mysteries.

  DEATH WAXED OVER

  By Tim Myers

  Chapter 1

  I didn’t hear the shot that killed Gretel Barnett, even though her life was extinguished just fifteen feet from where I stood. There were too many other explosions filling the air, happy merriments celebrating New Conover Founder’s Day. It would have been tragic enough if she’d been a random face in the crowd, but there was something that made it infinitely worse. Gretel was my chief competitor, selling candles and supplies two miles from my own candleshop in Micah’s Ridge, North Carolina. From the way things appeared, I was going to be running short of wick myself if I didn’t come up with who had snuffed out her flame.

  Two weeks earlier, I’d finally worked up the nerve to tell my lone employee, Eve Pleasants, that At Wick’s End was going to have a vendor’s table at the New Conover celebration. I delayed sharing the news as long as I could, knowing that she would most likely take it with less than gracious acceptance. I owned the candleshop, along with the rest of River’s Edge—a former warehouse and factory now converted into a complex of shops, offices and my apartment—perched on the edge of the Gunpowder River. But I was less than the master of my own domain, though I cherished At Wick’s End, with its aisles full of waxes, wicks and molds; racks of tools and pots; shelves of powders; tubs of gel and sheets of honeycombed wax. Most of all, I loved the candles. Whether squatty and fat or long and tapered, shaped like stars or bowls, poured into teapots or watering cans, I found beauty in them all. My Great-Aunt Belle had left me the property, along with a hefty mortgage and the legal stipulation that I couldn’t sell the complex until I’d run the candleshop for five years. I never could have imagined that I’d so quickly grow to love the place.

  My Great-Aunt had also left me Eve, an older, dour, heavyset woman with a knack for candlemaking and a disposition that forced me to tiptoe around my own business most of the time. She was my erstwhile assistant and would-be candlemaking conscience, and little by little, we were finding a way to work together.

  We weren’t there yet, though. She took the news about like I’d expected. “Harrison Black, I’ve told you before that we never bothered with that fair. Belle and I didn’t believe the return on our investment would be worth the trouble and the expense.”

  “We’re not doing it for the profit,” I said. “At least not strictly for that,” I added, knowing that the bottom line was crucial to keeping my shop afloat.

  “Then why put ourselves through it?” she asked.

  “With the new candleshop opening in town, we need to make our presence felt. Let’s face it, we’re probably going to lose some customers, and they have to be replaced.” Flickering Lights—our new competition in the form of a candle franchise that covered the world—was about to open a store in Micah’s Ridge. Located in the revitalized downtown business district, it was declaring itself an upscale version of At Wick’s End all over town. The owner was named Gretel Barnett, a no-nonsense older woman with stylish silver hair and a trim waistline. She had introduced herself a month before opening her shop, coming into At Wick’s End, studying the place with a sharp eye, then declaring her intention to open a candle franchise of her own. At
least no one could say she had skulked into town. I didn’t like being portrayed as the thrift version of candleshops in the area, but so far I hadn’t been able to do anything about it. The Founder’s Day Celebration was my chance to make a statement of my own, and I wasn’t about to let it slip by.

  “Do you honestly think it will help our sales here enough to matter?” Eve asked.

  “It will increase our profile locally, since New Conover’s not that far away, and I’d say that’s pretty important. You told me when I first came to At Wick’s End that you and Belle used to do these street fairs all the time.”

  “It was always more your Great-Aunt’s desire than mine.”

  It was pretty obvious the direction our conversation was taking, and there was no way I was going to endure an entire day at the fair listening to her litany of complaints. Inspiration suddenly struck. “Eve, you don’t have to go. You can keep the store open while I’m there.”

  “You can’t run a booth by yourself, Harrison.”

  There was no way I was giving in that easily. “I’ll get Heather to watch it for me if I need to step away for a minute or two. We’re setting up side by side.” Heather Bane ran The New Age, her self-described serenity shop filled with things like crystals and personal pyramids. Heather’s place was right next door to my candleshop at River’s Edge, and she was participating in the fair as well.

  Eve huffed once, then said, “I don’t suppose there’s any way to talk you out of this, is there? Very well, if you insist, I’ll help you do it correctly.”

  “You know, I think this way is actually better,” I said. “We might even make a profit if you stay here and keep the shop open.” If Eve was waiting for me to tell her I couldn’t do it without her, she was going to be disappointed. Over the past few months I’d gotten pretty good with the basics of candlemaking, and there weren’t many questions at the shop I couldn’t answer on my own, not that I was ready to run the place without her. Eve taught several of our classes at night, and I was the first to admit she handled group sessions better than I did. Still, my income for the store through teaching exceeded hers, and would continue to do so as long as I had my star student, Mrs. Jorgenson, a rich dilettante who had suddenly taken a passionate fancy to candlemaking. Together, we’d explored one-on-one basic candlemaking techniques for rolled candles and dipped ones as well. We’d touched briefly on pouring candles, but Mrs. Jorgenson had recently told me she’d like to get back to that technique before we got into gel candles, and with what she was paying me for private lessons, she could certainly dictate our schedule if she wanted to. It was almost a crime to charge her so much for something I enjoyed doing, but I had to constantly remind myself that I was in business to make money.