At Wick's End (Book 1 in the Candlemaking Mysteries) (3 page)

“
I don’t understand this.
Nothing of value seems to be missing.”

Seeing her things violated like that
appalled me. I waited until I couldn’t take it anymore. It was
obvious we were a low priority for the police. I said, “Listen, do
you mind hanging around here and taking care of this? I need to get
down to the candle shop.”

“
You really should stay for
the police,” Mr. Young said in an officious manner.

“
What can I tell them that
you can’t? This is the first time I’m seeing this place. You can
tell them what it was like when you left. If they decide they need
to talk to me, send them down to the shop. I’m not going anywhere.”
I’d deal with the disaster at Belle’s place later. For now, I just
had to get out of there.

As I hurried downstairs, I couldn’t help
wondering what the thief had been looking for, though. And more
importantly, had they found it, or was there still something they
wanted hidden in Belle’s room?

Eve was ringing up a customer’s order as I
walked in, so I decided to start my tour of Wick’s End without her.
The main body of the shop was divided into two spaces, with the
lion’s share taken up by row upon row of shelves sporting waxes,
wicks, molds, racks of tools, boilers, pots, and vials of
oddly-colored potions. There were powders, decals, globs of weird
gels and sheets of honeycombed wax dyed in hues that rainbows
hadn’t even dreamed of. But most of all, there were candles.

Short and fat, long and tapered to slender
points, round candles, candles in jars, in mugs and even in small
teakettles. There were candles with twists and braids that belonged
in a Salvador Dali painting or an Edgar Allan Poe nightmare,
candles that floated in water and some that seemed to be a part of
the water itself.

Eve found me gawking at the array after her
customer left.

“
I’ve got to tell you,” I
said, “I never imagined there were this many different types of
candles on Earth.”

She tried to hide her satisfaction with the
compliment. “We don’t have a tenth of the candles that we make on
display right now. In fact, our inventory’s been dropping
recently.”

“
Any reason in particular?”
I asked.

She didn’t want to answer, that much was
obvious, but finally Eve shrugged and explained, “Belle’s been too
distracted to do much original work lately. You know about the
offer, don’t you?”  Before I could say a word, Eve said
heatedly, “You can’t sell River’s Edge, Mr. Black. This was Belle’s
home.”

“
I have no intention of
selling,” I said, neglecting to mention that Mr. Young had already
informed me that it wasn’t an option.

Eve said, “Do you mean that?”

“
I’d like things to stay
just the way they are around here, at least for now. I’m smart
enough to realize that I don’t know enough at this point to decide
what changes might need to be made, but I’m staying.”

“
I can’t tell you what a
burden you’ve lifted from me. I naturally assumed that from the
moment I found Belle on the floor that the building would be sold.
It’s callous to think that way about a friend’s passing, and she
was my friend, believe me, but I don’t know what I’d do without At
Wick’s End in my life.”

“
You don’t have to worry
about that,” I said. “Tell me about how you found
Belle.”

I spotted a lone tear creeping down her
cheek. “Must I? I’ve been trying to forget the sight ever since I
found her. There was simply no sense in it. I’m no spring chicken,
you can be assured of that, but I didn’t mind in the least going up
and down ladders around here, and she was never shy about asking me
to do so. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but Belle grew to
hate heights over the last few months. Why, it even made her
nervous living on the second floor, and she was surrounded by all
that mortar and brick up there.”

“
So what could have
possessed her to climb a ladder in the storeroom?”

Eve wrung her hands together. “That’s what I
don’t understand. There was a box of golden beeswax sheets near her
body on the floor, but when I checked the shelves out front we had
plenty! It just doesn’t make sense.” As she said the last word, she
began to cry in earnest.

I never know what to do in those situations.
We had just met, so I couldn’t very well offer her an embrace
unless she initiated it. Nor did I feel comfortable just standing
there until she cried it out of her system. I finally settled for
touching her shoulder lightly. “It’s probably too soon for you to
be working,” I said. “Why don’t you go home and I’ll take care of
the shop myself.”

She swabbed at her damp cheeks and said
through the snuffles, “You must think I’m a fragile old woman,
falling apart like this. I’m so sorry.”

“
What I think is that you
just lost a very dear friend,” I said gently.

“
Thank you for that, Mr.
Black,” as she touched my hand.

“
It’s Harrison,” I
said.

“
Not Harry for short,” Eve
said, trying to lighten the gloom in the air.

I smiled. “You can call me whatever you want
to, but Harrison’s the only name I’ll answer to.”

She nodded. “Harrison it is.” As she wiped
the last tear from her face, she said, “Why don’t we get
started.”

“
What are we going to do?”
I asked, suddenly curious about this turnaround in her
behavior.

“
Why, I’m going to teach
you all there is to know about making candles,” she said as she
headed for the back room. “Give me a minute to get things set up.
Just keep an eye on the front door. If anybody comes in, call
me.”

I was standing by the display of books on
candlemaking that we stocked, selecting a copy of each for my
supplemental education, when the bell over the front door
chimed.

An older woman walked into the store, draped
in fur and the smell of money. “May I help you?” I asked, hoping
she knew what she needed, since I wouldn’t have a clue to the
answer of the most basic of questions.

“
I’m here to see the
proprietor,” she said airily.

“
You’ve found him,” I said.
“What can I do for you?”

“
I was passing by and saw
the wonderful display of candles you have here. I understand this
is a place for instruction as well as purchasing, is that
correct?”

“
Yes, ma’am,” I
said.

“
Very well, I’d like to
learn to create my own candles. It’s always best to start at the
beginning. After all, one must have a foundation in the basics
before one’s imagination can take control. Are you free for
instruction now? I have some time available.”

“
I’m sorry, but my
schedule’s pretty full at the moment,” I said. I wasn’t about to
admit that the only thing I knew about candles was how to burn
them. “However,” I added, “we’ve got a woman on staff here that is
most adept at candlemaking, and I’m sure she would be glad to help
you today.”

Her gaze tightened slightly. “What is your
name, sir?”

I gave her my name, and she said, “Mr.
Black, I work with proprietors, not with their staff.”

“
I could try to work you
in, but I’m not making any promises,” I said, hoping she’d take the
hint and allow Eve to teach her.

The woman looked at me steadily for a few
seconds that felt like days. “As I said, I expect the owner to
assist me. I suggest you find the time for me. I trust you’ll be
able to give me an hour on Thursday. Let’s say ten o’clock, shall
we?” She handed me an elegantly printed card as she left. I hadn’t
lied to her, but I wasn’t about to confess that I was the rankest
amateur either.

Eve was standing in the wings. “Harrison, if
you don’t mind my saying so, you’re going to need to work on your
people skills if you’re going to run At Wick’s End. That woman was
ready to spend a fortune, and those customers are rare enough to be
treated like royalty when they come in.”

I studied the card. Mrs. Henrietta Jorgenson
was all it said, in raised letters that looked handcrafted. “Can
you believe this? She actually gave me one of her calling
cards.”

Eve asked for the card, and I handed it
over. She said, “Mrs. Jorgenson! She’s a legend around here in the
craft circles. Wilma Martin runs the needlepoint store in Three
Corners. She told me one time Mrs. Jorgenson paid for her Alaskan
cruise with two purchases from her shop! Belle and I used to dream
about her coming by At Wick’s End.”

“
So all our money problems
are over,” I said, feeling slightly better about the payments
looming over my head.

Eve frowned for a moment, then said, “Not
necessarily. Anne Green at Crewel World said something to offend
her, quite by accident, I’m certain, and suddenly Anne was
blacklisted at all the craft shows. It nearly put her out of
business. So what did Her Highness say?”

“
She wants me to teach her
how to make candles,” I said. “And she wants to start
Thursday.”

Eve looked grim as she said, “Then you’d
better get your first lesson right away.”

We moved to the smaller working area in the
back where it was obvious the regular classes were taught. There
were six benches around the room, with enough space for twenty-four
students. Sinks and storage took up the rest of the tight quarters.
I picked up a chunk of translucent wax and said, “Let’s get
started.”

Eve took it from me and put the wax back on
the counter. “We don’t have time to go into dipping or pouring just
yet. Hmmm, I suppose sheet rolling would be the best place to
start. Let me collect some materials and we can get started.”

I followed her to one of the shelves near
the front and saw an array of honeycombed sheets in a variety of
hues, along with wicks, knives, straight edges and cookie cutters.
She chose a packet with sheets of golden-yellow wax a little
narrower than a piece of notebook paper but quite a bit longer. I
picked up a pack myself so I could get a closer look. The wax had a
definite raised imprint throughout. “This is neat. It’s like a
soccer ball.”

Eve took the packet from my hand and said,
“It’s a hive pattern. We only need one for now,” she added as she
returned mine to the shelf behind her.

Eve motioned me to one of the workbenches, a
long countertop with overhead lights that illuminated the entire
tabletop. After she removed the wax and wicks from the pack, I
grabbed the sheet and flexed it in my hands. “It’s kind of thick,
isn’t it?”

Eve shook her head and easily located a seam
I’d missed. She peeled one sheet from the other and handed it to
me. I was expecting it to be sticky for some odd reason, but it
wasn’t at all. The single sheet was really pliable as I made waves
with it, shifting it in my hands. I held it to my nose and caught a
pleasant, faint scent that did indeed remind me of honey.

I caught Eve smiling at me, something she
quickly stifled the second she saw me notice. “Here’s the wick
we’ll be using,” she said as she handed me a piece of string that
was thicker than kite string but thinner than a shoelace.

“
It’s pretty long, isn’t
it?” I asked.

She said, “We can cut it to any length we
need. Now today is rather warm, so we can skip the preheating
process.  Sometimes in winter I like to use a blow-dryer to
make the wax more malleable.”

“
Blow-dryer. Got it,” I
said as I fiddled with the wax. “What do I do now?”

“
Lay the sheet out flat,”
she said. “Then trim the wick within three-fourths of an inch
beyond the edge of the wax. No, not that way, go along the width,
not the length.”

I did as I was told, and she continued. “Now
fold the wax over the wick tightly. Don’t be afraid to use your
thumbnail to clinch it into place along the entire length.
Remember, the tighter the candle is rolled, the better and longer
it will burn.”

I finished that step, and she reluctantly
nodded after inspecting my work and adding an extra pinch or two.
“Now it’s simply a matter of rolling the candle up tightly till you
get to the end.”

I did as I was instructed, amazed at how
simple the process was. Until I found that somehow I’d gotten off
course and my candle now had a definite diagonal slant to it.
“Okay, how do I fix this?”

“
You rolled your candle too
quickly. Unroll it, the wax is very forgiving, and try it again.
Take your time and watch the edges.”

It was just like unraveling paper towels
from the roll as I started over at the cinched wick. This time I
was more careful with the edges and produced what I thought was a
decent candle.

“
What do you think?” I
asked as I gave it to Eve.

“
It’s adequate for a first
try. You’ll get better as you practice. If this were a regular
class, we’d dip the tip and butt of the candle in melted beeswax,
but it’s not necessary right now.” She unrolled the candle, handed
the sheet and wick back to me, and said, “Now let’s try that
again.”

By the time I’d finished my fourth try, I
was really starting to enjoy the process. “Hey, this is fun,” I
said as I laid the finished candle down.

Eve said, “I believe you’ve got the hang of
it now. This is the simplest form of candlemaking we teach. Now we
can move on to shaping unique candles with the sheets of wax. Mrs.
Jorgenson will want to be able to do that, I’m sure.”

Eve was just starting the next lesson when
the door chime announced another customer. “That will have to do
for now,” she said. “We’ve still got a shop to run, you know.”