At Wick's End (Book 1 in the Candlemaking Mysteries) (7 page)

Young laughed sadly. “I’m afraid that’s what
you owe on the outstanding balance. Your great-aunt had only a
minimal down payment, and she hadn’t been able to reduce the
principal much. Here are your monthly payments.”

I nearly choked when I saw the next page.
How in the world was I going to come up with that kind of money
running a candle shop? “Do the other businesses bring in much in
the way of rent?”

“
Even at full capacity,
you’re barely going to be able to make the mortgage payments. And
before you think about raising the rents to give yourself some
breathing room, your great-aunt locked in such low rates, against
my advice, I might add, that it’s a stretch to make those
payments.”

“
But Belle managed, didn’t
she?” The picture was getting gloomier by the minute.

He said, “Initially she had a nest egg to
draw from, an emergency fund, if you will.”

“
Did she leave that account
to someone else? You didn’t mention that in her assets.”

Young ran a hand over his head. “That’s
because it’s all gone. She used it to make up what she owed every
month.”

I studied the river and thought about
jumping in, Young’s words were so depressing. He must have sensed
the emotions running through me. “Harrison, I know you want to
succeed at this, but there’s no shame in walking away from this.
Even if you could sell the place, I’m not sure how much equity
you’d get out of it.”

I shook my head. “Belle wanted me to stay,
so I’m going to hang on as long as I can.”

“
That’s admirable, but it
might not be all that practical.”

I said, “I’ll make it work. I have to.”

The attorney said, “I understand. Listen, if
there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know. I hate being
the bearer of bad news, but I thought you should know what you’re
up against.”

“
No, I appreciate the
heads-up, I really do.”

He said, “Well, I’d better grab a quick bite
before my next appointment.” He patted me on the shoulder and
added, “If you need someone to talk to, I’ve got a special this
month, all the advice you need, free of charge.”

I tried to muster a smile, but I knew it was
a weak attempt. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

After he was gone, I found myself wondering
just what Belle had gotten me into. If she couldn’t make it work,
what chance did I have? I’d never held a job more than two years,
let alone run a business. I tucked the papers under one arm,
promising myself to study them later, then walked back to the
candle shop, a great deal of the wind taken out of my sails. It
appeared that I was going to have to learn the business even faster
than I’d thought.

By the time we were ready to lock the door
that night, I was nearly ready to call Mr. Young and have him start
the paperwork to sell the place at auction. We had one customer all
afternoon, a woman who bought a tea light for half a dollar.

Eve said, “Don’t worry, Harrison, our
business runs in spells.”

“
I hope we do better
tomorrow,” I said, still thinking about that payment hanging over
my head without the benefit of Belle’s nest egg.

Eve said, “There’s not enough to worry about
depositing, we’ll just leave it for tomorrow. Belle and I did that
on occasion.”

I said, “Fine. Thanks.”

She paused at the door, then said, “Good
night, Harrison. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“
Good night.”

She added, “Try to get some sleep tonight.
You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“
Let’s hope so.”

Eve said, “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten
about your lesson with Mrs. Jorgenson at ten o’clock tomorrow
morning. You need to be sharp for that.”

“
Oh, I remember,” I said.
After talking with Mr. Young, I knew that now more than ever, it
was critical I succeed. I pointed to a stack of books by the
register. “I’m taking these upstairs to study tonight.”

She walked back to the stack and pulled one
out of the pile. “You’re just rolling candles tomorrow. Study this
one.”

I took it from her and locked the door
behind her after flipping the open sign to closed. Maybe I could
get in a little work before going back upstairs.

No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t
concentrate on what I was reading. After skimming the same page
three times, I decided I’d had enough candlemaking for one day,
locked up the shop and went upstairs. I nearly tripped over the
boxes holding Belle’s personal possessions, and I thought about
taking them to the Salvation Army, but I didn’t have the heart to
do it. Getting rid of her things would be almost like turning my
back on her. There wasn’t much in Belle’s refrigerator, but I found
some sourdough bread in her freezer and a jar of peanut butter in
one of the cabinets. I was going to have to wash it down with water
when I found three cans of soda stowed under the counter. It wasn’t
the most nutritious meal I’d ever had, but I was ashamed to admit
that it wasn’t the least I’d had either.

After I ate, I decided it was the best time
to go through those boxes one last time, and then load them into my
truck and get rid of them.

Saving her personal possessions for last, I
opened each box of clothing, checked them all one last time, then
sorted them into piles. I was surprised to find a crumpled piece of
paper in the bottom of one of her pockets. The boldly written note
said, “YOU AREN’T GOING TO GET AWAY WITH THIS, I’LL SEE TO THAT.”
Now what in the world could that be about? It sounded like a threat
to me, and I wondered who’d written Belle such a dramatic note. A
sudden thought struck me. Could this note be tied to her death? Had
the writer carried through with their threat and pushed Belle off
that ladder? Something had been going on in my great-aunt’s life
just before she’d died, and I was starting to get the feeling that
her accident hadn’t been one after all. I already knew there was no
reason for Belle to have been up on that ladder, the boxes of sheet
wax on the floor proved that. The note just confirmed my
suspicions. How hard would it be to set the scene to make things
look like an accident? Belle was older, how old I couldn’t imagine,
and I could see the police swallowing the setup, no matter how
competent Coburn seemed. If he wasn’t looking for a homicide, would
he see Belle’s “accident” for what it was?

I thought about calling him, but I didn’t
have enough to go on, certainly not enough for his high level of
requirement of proof. But there wasn’t anything to stop me from
looking into Belle’s death. I searched the rest of her things for
another clue about what might have happened, but there was nothing
else that stood out. In the end, I tucked the note in one of
Belle’s books and tried to get some sleep. Eve was right;
tomorrow’s lesson with Mrs. Jorgenson might be the deciding factor
in whether I could afford to keep running At Wick’s End, and I had
to be ready for my prize pupil.

The next morning, Eve wouldn’t even let me
out on the sales floor. Instead, I practiced making sheets into
candles over and over again. Even at our cost, I wasn’t comfortable
with how much material I was burning through, but Eve had insisted
in the end it would pay off. After a while, I needed a breather, so
I went into our office and leafed through the candlemaking book I
should have studied the night before. It still couldn’t hold my
attention though; I was focusing on what might have happened to
Belle. The more I thought about it, the more certain I was that
someone had stolen the last few years of her life. I was still
sitting at the desk thinking about how I was going to prove it when
Eve stuck her head into the office after knocking once.

“
Mrs. Jorgenson’s been
waiting out front for five minutes,” she said in a hushed whisper,
as if announcing the arrival of a pope or a president.

“
Why didn’t you let me
know?” I asked.

“
She’s been shopping and
I’ve been helping her, but I think she’s getting restless.
Harrison, you can’t keep her waiting,” Eve said
insistently.

“
Then I guess we’d better
get started,” I said as I closed the book.

I found Mrs. Jorgenson browsing the store
shelves, picking up a candle now and then, studying it, then
handing it to Eve, who was again waiting by her side with a basket
nearly full of candles.

“
I trust we’re ready to
begin,” she said in a lordly manner as I walked out into the
shop.

“
I’m ready if you are,” I
said as I led her back to the workroom where the classes were
held.

Mrs. Jorgenson paused to answer her cell
phone, and after a whispered conversation, she offered the caller
an exasperated good-bye, shut her telephone off and said, “I’m
afraid I’ve got to reschedule our lesson. Margaret Blaine is in
charge of the luncheon at the club, and things are falling apart on
her.” She looked quite pleased with the news.

With a wave of her hand, Mrs. Jorgenson
added, “Still, my visit today was interesting. I found several
things I like. I trust we’ll be able to begin our lessons tomorrow.
Shall we say eleven o’clock?”

“
I’ll be here,” I said,
relieved that I’d have more time to prepare, but disappointed that
we couldn’t get started immediately. I was excited about sharing my
newfound knowledge with someone. On second thought, after talking
with Mr. Young, I realized I was depending on Mrs. Jorgenson’s
patronage more than I’d expected.

Mrs. Jorgenson took a few steps toward the
door, then stopped and turned back toward me. “Oh my goodness, I
just remembered I’m already committed all day tomorrow, I’ve got a
charity board meeting at the hospital. Let’s make it Monday. I
never go out on the weekends.”

To my surprise, I felt like a kid who just
found out his midterm tests had been canceled. I was more nervous
about teaching than I’d realized.

“
Monday will be fine,” I
said, fighting to keep the joy out of my voice.

Eve rang up Mrs. Jorgenson’s purchases,
looking at me quizzically a time or two, then handed her the bag.
“Thanks for coming by,” Eve said as Mrs. Jorgenson left, but the
socialite didn’t take the trouble to reply.

She was probably already thinking about how
she was going to make Margaret Blaine squirm.

If I’d been Margaret, I doubt I would have
made the call. Sometimes the frying pan is better than the
fire.

Chapter 5

Before I could explain to Eve what had
happened, a customer came in, one who approached my assistant with
a frantic plea for help. As they started to discuss the woman’s
candlemaking problems, Pearly Gray walked into the store.

“
Do you happen to have a
moment, Harrison?” he asked with that cultured voice of
his.

“
I’m all yours. What’s
up?”

“
I just wanted to speak
with you about the break-in.”

Millie had been right; there was no need for
a newsletter for the folks at River’s Edge. It appeared the
grapevine in place took care of distributing information just fine
without it. “I don’t know much about it myself,” I said. “Mr.
Young, Belle’s attorney, had just done an inventory of her things,
and when he checked the place again, he said nothing was
missing.”

Pearly frowned. “But then he didn’t know
your great-aunt as well as some of us did. Who’s to say he didn’t
miss something during his first canvass?”

“
Pearly, you haven’t always
been a handyman, have you?”

“
Why do you
ask?”

I said, “You just seem a little too...”

“
Eloquent?” he asked with a
smile.

“
Exactly.”

Pearly paused a moment, then reluctantly
admitted, “In another life, I served the world as a clinical
psychologist.”

“
So what happened to bring
you here?” One look at his face told me I’d overstepped my bounds.
“Sorry, it’s really none of my business.”

Pearly shook his head. “Actually, I
understand your curiosity. Harrison, when I finally realized I
couldn’t save the world, I decided to lower my sights and keep
River’s Edge running. It’s a glorious old place.”

I knew there had to be a lot he wasn’t
telling me, but I wasn’t about to push him any further. I had to
get over the fact that Pearly was dressed in a pair of faded bibbed
overalls and clunky work boots, and accept the fact that the man
was most likely a great deal smarter than I was. It was just so
easy to take him at face value based on his appearance and forget
the life he’d led before opting to become a handyman.

“
If something was stolen
from Belle’s, it’s long gone,” I said. “There’s nothing anyone can
do about it now.”

“
Still, I’d like to survey
the scene on my own, if you don’t mind.”

Enough was enough. “Pearly, the place has
been cleaned up. You’re too late to see anything. I’ve got some
boxes ready for the Salvation Army and I’ve already moved my things
upstairs. As far as I’m concerned, the incident’s over.”

He nodded. “I suppose you’re correct. It can
be difficult to let go though, can’t it?”

I patted his shoulder. “Sometimes that’s the
only option we have.”

I thought the conversation was over, but
Pearly hesitated, then added, “By the way, the new lock was an
excellent idea.”

“
Thanks. I get them every
now and then,” I said, then added a smile so he could see I was
joking. Before Pearly could leave, I asked, “Since I’ve got you
here, I’d like to ask you something. What do you know about this
Markum fellow upstairs?”