by Tim Myers
The ladder was leaning against a lower shelf, and I had a sudden urge to break it into a hundred pieces, to burn it or at the very least to throw it away. I went so far as to pick it up, but the touch of the wood turned my stomach, so I put it down where it had been. I backed up against one of the shelves to collect myself and saw something that was otherwise easy to miss. There was a button leaning against one of the boxes, and I noticed the torn threads clinging to it when I picked it up. It was large and brown with an ornate carving on its face, surely one of a kind. I thought about the sweaters I’d packed away upstairs the day before. Had there been anything with similar buttons on it, or could it have been from the clothes Belle had been wearing the night she died?
I found Eve still going over her list. “Does this look familiar? I was wondering if it belonged to Belle.”
Eve took the button from me, frowned a moment, then said, “I’ve been looking all over for this. Where did you find it?”
“In the storeroom,” I admitted. “How did you lose it, do you remember?”
Eve said, “Now if I knew that, I’d have looked for it there. My sweater must have caught on one of the shelves when I was helping Belle move something; I lost this weeks ago.” She tucked the button in her pocket, then said, “Have you pulled anything from the list I gave you?”
“No, not yet.”
“Harrison, we don’t have a great deal of time.”
“I’ll do it now,” I said. Did Eve’s story make sense? I wondered about it as I pulled items from the list she’d given me. At least the boxes were clearly marked. Surely if a shelf ripped a button off her sweater she would have felt it. Was it possible that Belle hadn’t been alone in the storeroom the night she died? Could someone have helped her off that ladder? I couldn’t see Eve doing it, but it was possible, I had to admit that much. She had expected to inherit At Wick’s End; that much was clear. That started a line of thought I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. What if Eve’s story was true, that she’d lost the button earlier helping Belle? Did that necessarily rule out the possibility that someone else might have given my great-aunt a shove? It was something I was going to have to consider, no matter how unpleasant the suspicion was. I found a carton of Golden Yellow sheet wax. It was the exact same wax Belle had died trying to retrieve from the top shelf. Eve had said that Belle knew the contents of their storeroom intimately. So why was she looking up there for something that was readily available without the use of a ladder? Was something hidden there, something she didn’t want anyone else to see? I pulled every box off the shelf where she’d been reaching, but all they contained were the supplies clearly marked.
Eve knocked on the door before poking her head inside. “Good heavens, Harrison, what are you doing?”
“I was just looking for something.”
Eve surveyed the mess. “Well I hope you found it. We’re opening in two minutes. Hurry and put what you’ve got on the shelves out front. You’ll just have to clean this up later.”
I spent the day trying to work in the candle shop, but I found myself getting in the way more than helping, and Eve was less than patient with me at times. Hanging on her heels and eavesdropping was one of the best ways I had to learn the business, but she was clearly not happy about my constant proximity.
On one of the rare breaks when we didn’t have any customers, Eve said, “Harrison, why don’t you take a few minutes and clean the storeroom.”
“I can take care of that after hours. I want to watch you work.”
“Honestly, I can’t work with an audience.”
I said, “Okay, I’ll try to hang back a little more, but how else am I going to learn?”
Eve said, “We have books to teach you all about candle-making. They’ll do a better job than I can.”
“How about this? I’ll try to stay out of your way. Honest.”
She sighed, then asked, “Have you ever run a cash register in any of your previous jobs?”
“I’m a whiz at one,” I admitted. “But I want to be able to sell on the floor, and I can’t do that until I have a better grounding.”
“You need to learn to take small steps before you’re ready to tackle selling on the floor. If you run the cash register when things get busy, I’ll let you follow me around other times. Is it a deal?”
“I guess so,” I said.
She looked at the clock and said, “Why don’t you take a quick lunch break?”
“Then I can cover for you?”
She said, “Hardly. I brought my lunch with me. I’ll eat here in the store.”
I started to protest, but I’d probably pushed her hard enough. It was a fine line, dancing between forcing her to help me and risking running her off entirely. I decided to keep my small advantage and grab a quick bite while things were slow at the shop. I thought about going to The Crocked Pot, but it looked like Millie was really busy with customers. Instead, I jumped into my old truck and drove into town, getting a hot dog and a Coke and driving back to River’s Edge as I ate. I knew I wasn’t gone long enough from Eve’s point of view, but I didn’t want to miss a thing.
I bumped into Lucas Young as I walked into the candle shop. “Mr. Young, were you looking for me?”
He nodded. “Eve told me you just went out for lunch.”
“I grabbed a quick bite, but I’m back now. What’s up?”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d have a bite with me. There are a few other things we need to go over, the sooner the better.”
I looked around the store and saw a lone man studying candlemaking kits. Eve overheard the question and said, “Go, Harrison, I have things under control here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” she said just a little too forcefully.
“Okay, but I won’t be gone long.”
The lawyer and I walked outside into the beautiful crisp autumn day. I said, “If you’d like, we can find a table at Millie’s and I’ll keep you company while you eat.”
He glanced at his watch, then said, “No, I’m not all that hungry. It was more of an excuse to get out of my office than anything else.”
“So you don’t have anything for me?”
He patted his briefcase. “I wouldn’t say that. Why don’t we sit at one of the benches that overlook the river? That way we can have some privacy for our conversation.” We found a spot unoccupied in front of the potter’s shop and sat down. The attorney reached for his briefcase and said, “I took the liberty of collecting some papers you should see. I’m not sure if you’re going to change the system, you certainly can, but Belle hired a team of three of us who work together on small business accounts in the area. I handle the legal issues, one woman does the books and another handles advertising and promotion. At least she did until she moved to California last week. I’m afraid you’re on your own in that department.”
“I’m not planning on making any changes. To be honest with you, I don’t know enough at this point to do anything, but I’m going to learn, you can bet on that.”
“That’s admirable,” he said. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look over these statements.” Young handed me a thick sheaf of papers and said, “If you need help reading these, I’ll be glad to offer my assistance.”
I looked at the top paper and saw an incredibly high figure. “Is this how much the property’s worth?” It was more than I imagined by a factor of ten.
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 lock
ed 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 qui
te 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.”
