Invitation to Murder (Book 1 in the Candlemaking Mysteries)

by Tim Myers

  “We had a falling-out at our graduation party. I should have apologized to her, but I kept delaying it until the issue became bigger than it really was, all the while a wall built with every minute our conflict continued.”

  This was getting good. “What did you do? It must have been something huge.”

  “Jennifer, the details aren’t important. All you need to know is that we became estranged that night.”

  “Aunt Lillian, there’s not a chance in the world I’m letting you off that easy. Tell me what you did.”

  She stopped and looked at me long and hard. “I told you, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Then I don’t want to hear the story,” I said as I turned around and started back to her car. She was stubborn, but I’d gotten my mulish streak from her; so I knew I could outlast her. Sometimes it was hare; to get Lillian to talk about herself, but I knew once she got started, she’d have a tough time stopping until she finished.

  I was twenty steps back up the path before she said, “I danced with her boyfriend that night.”

  “When you say ‘dance,’ what exactly do you mean?”

  “Jennifer, don’t be vulgar: It was one dance, no more and no less. Francis was in the powder room and Herman asked me. I still don’t know why I said yes.”

  I couldn’t hide my smile. “You had the hots for a guy named Herman?”

  “He was rather dashing, as I remember him,” Lillian said frostily. “Now, do you want to hear the rest of this or not?”

  “You’ve got my undivided attention,” I said.

  At least Lillian dropped her plan to circle the lake. She stood there and continued. “Francis never spoke to me again, a difficult thing to do in a town this small. She moved away soon after high school, but came back here to live after her parents died. They were quite wealthy. The family fortune started with a gold mine in North Carolina, but they quickly branched out into acquiring properties all over the South. Then they started buying up newspapers here and there as a hobby. But the rumors around town were that they barely left anything to Francis, choosing a charity in Richmond to receive the bulk of their wealth instead. The only things Francis inherited was a doorstop and some other equally worthless things, or so the story goes.”

  “So why is she haunting my room? How did she die? And why didn’t I ever hear about this?” It was hard to believe that someone could die in Rebel Forge without the entire town knowing about it.

  “Francis’s husband was related to the Dunbars, and the owners of the newspaper weren’t about to let one whisper of the scandal out. For once, something happened here that no one else knew about. As for the rest of it, you’ll have to get the details from your brother.”

  Great. Grilling Bradford was the last thing I wanted to do. “Lillian, you started this story; now finish it.”

  “Bradford really should be the one to tell you. After all, he was the one who cut her down from the rafters. You see, she hanged herself.”

  A feeling of dread swept over me. “Please tell me she didn’t do it in my beautiful living room.”

  “Of course not,” Lillian said, and I felt instantly better.

  Then she added, “There wasn’t any place to attach the rope there. She used your bathroom.”

  So there it was. I was going to be taking a shower in the middle of a crime scene. How in the world did Lillian think that would be better than my old apartment? “I never should have signed the lease,” I said. “At least no one ever died in my apartment.”

  “Not that you know of,” Lillian said.

  “Why, what have you heard?”

  She shook her head. “Jennifer, I assure you, there’s no such thing as ghosts. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

  “If you’re so sure, then why don’t you move in with me?”

  Lillian looked shocked by the suggestion. “I have my own place, my dear girl. Besides, there’s no room for both of us there.”

  “Okay, then, I’ll move into your place and you relocate here. The cats will love romping around in your big old house.”

  Lillian said, “Jennifer, you’re delusional. I’ll tell you what I will do, though. Spend one week here. If you absolutely hate it, you have my blessing to move out and I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Do you honestly expect me to stay here for a full week?” I looked up at my room and saw the curtain fluttering in the breeze. There were just two problems with that: there wasn’t the slightest whisper of wind in the air, and that window had been closed when I’d left it.

  She said, “Oh, pooh, don’t be so dramatic. Now let’s get back to the card shop. You really shouldn’t leave it unattended this long.”

  I didn’t even know how to respond to that. While it was true I was eager to leave my apartment, I hadn’t expected to go someplace worse. Still, Lillian had paid for two months there; if I could stand it for a week, maybe I could get used to rooming with a ghost.

  Honestly, how bad could it be?