15 Minutes of Flame

by Christin Brecher

  It took a second or two for me to realize that as I’d tumbled backward, my feet had splayed outward and hooked around the ladder’s ropes. Given the situation I was in at that moment, I know it sounds crazy to have felt so good about myself, but I really did. I rocked back and forth like a piece of meat hanging from a butcher’s hook, but I was able from that vantage point to finally get a good look at Nancy. Her dress was hiked in a way that showed me much of the ground below her, and I was able to determine that the map was not there.

  Now, more than ever, hanging upside down on a ladder in the middle of the night in an old abandoned well, dangling over a skeleton, I felt sure that I’d been on the right trail. Both Nancy and Patience had been murdered, and Solder’s murder was the result of someone wanting to get their hands on the map.

  “Son of a gun,” I said.

  Then, my phone pinged. There was no chance I was going to take pictures tonight, but the phone’s screen shone through the nylon bag. I could read a text from Fontbutter.

  Call me. We have work to do.

  Chapter 17

  Unable to respond to Fontbutter’s text for obvious reasons, I took hold of the ropes before the ladder could fight me. With a stroke of good fortune I’ll not soon forget, I found strength in my forearms to pull myself back up to a standing position. There’s nothing like adrenaline to conquer all things.

  By the time I reached the top of the well, I was good and tired. The first burst of adrenaline had ebbed, leaving my forearms with an ache I knew I’d be feeling tomorrow. I was grateful to feel the fresh air when my bloody knuckles made their first grasp of the well’s wall. I pulled myself up and swung my leg over the edge, amazed I was still alive. Slowly, and quietly, I rolled the ladder up. It looked so innocent in my hands, but we both knew what we knew. With the bundle in my arms, I flung my other leg over the well’s edge, and jumped to terra firma. I felt for a moment like a sailor returning to land. The ground seemed to sway below me, so I squatted down beside the well to compose myself.

  While my thoughts were fresh, I tried to rebuild the case. This morning, Leigh had left the well to replace the walkie-talkie while Solder was focused on Nancy’s body. He’d taken her bonnet and the canvas bag containing the map. He put both of these into his knapsack, left his helmet, and ascended from the well. It occurred to me now that the only reason he might have left the helmet was that he’d heard the tree crash and Leigh scream. Fearing for her safety, he had likely rushed to harness himself to the ropes and climb up. By then, all of us had entered the thick foliage in search of a path to Leigh.

  It was during this window of time that someone had strangled Solder and had taken the map, embroidered on a piece of linen. Since the police had been unable to find that map on the initial suspects—namely, Fontbutter, Bellows, and Leigh—I assumed that the thief and murderer had taken off through the trees on their way to the boat. I still didn’t understand what had happened with the tree, but I had to admit that it pointed to the idea that the murder had been premeditated. Had someone known the map was down there before the dig? I thought of Old Holly and Agnes. Perhaps even Bellows?

  Before heading home, I had one more thing to do. I stood up, put myself in order as well as I could, and headed up the field, this time unafraid of who might see me. As I drew closer to the house, Old Holly’s cries became louder, but I couldn’t tell if his team was winning or losing. Even when he was excited by a play, he still sounded somewhat angry.

  I knew the man was inside. Every living creature within ten yards of the house could hear him. At my knock, however, the house became silent.

  “I know you’re in there,” I said. “Muting the television won’t work.”

  “Stella? What do you want?” I heard from inside.

  “I want to know where you found the axe,” I said.

  There was silence, and then the sound of the ball game resumed.

  I knocked again.

  “I’ll stay here all night if I have to,” I said.

  “Knock yourself out,” he said.

  “I’ll call the police,” I said.

  “You’ll save me the nickel,” he said, making me wonder what sort of phone plan he was on.

  At a loss, I decided it was me versus the television, so I banged and banged against the door until I won. Old Holly opened the door. In lieu of a greeting, however, he let the door hang open while he returned to his chair. I dropped the ladder at his feet, walked past him and went to his kitchen.

  “What’re you doing in there?” he said.

  I returned, handed him a beer, and put a dollar on the table next to him for mine. Then I sat on the sofa and watched the game with him. By the seventh-inning stretch, Holly had had six beers. I know because he directed me back to the kitchen to get each of them. My patience was finally rewarded at the seventh-inning stretch.

  “I found the axe, if that’s what you want to know,” he said. “Strangest thing. It was under the porch.”

  “What were you doing looking under the porch?”

  “I damn well wanted to find my axe. Someone takes my axe, I’m going to find it. The police looked everywhere, but then I remembered the porch. Low and behold, there it was.”

  I believed that he’d retrieved the axe from where he’d said because the knees of his pants were covered in dirt. I’d been wondering about the stains for the last two innings.

  “Did you call the police?” I said.

  “Haven’t yet,” he said, scratching his belly. “I decided before I made a fuss about my discovery that I’d make good and well sure that the old axe was responsible for the cut in the tree.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” I said. “If there were fingerprints, they’ll now be hard to lift.”

  Holly scratched his head.

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” he said.

  “Or had you? If you were the one who made the hack to the tree in the first place, you’ve now done a good job at turning the story around.”

  “What do you know?” said Holly, indignantly. “I saved the police quite a bit of work. I walked right down to the tree, and I matched up my axe head with the cuts.”

  “One trip down to the tree and you’ve figured all of this out.”

  “I guess you aren’t the only one who can solve a murder,” said Old Holly, with more than a little grandiosity.

  “So,” I said, taking the bait, “who did it?”

  “That fellow from the museum,” said Old Holly.

  At this point, he raised a hand for me to be quiet and turned back to the TV.

  “Bellows?” I said. “Why do you think Bellows did it?”

  Old Holly answered by raising the volume on his television. I had to wait until the end of the seventh inning before Old Holly turned his attention back to me.

  “Because,” he said, as if it had been a mere moment since we’d last spoken, “I found him creeping around my backyard tonight. He doesn’t think I saw him, but I did.”

  There were so many things I wanted to say, but I knew I was competing with a commercial break, so I went right to the heart of it.

  “What was he doing?” I said.

  “Snooping around my woods,” said Holly. “I was on one side. He was on the other. Dumb fool didn’t even notice me. His head was to the ground. Looking for something. He probably left a clue behind and was trying to find it before the police did.”

  Like a map he’d hidden, I thought.

  “I’m going to call the police right after the game,” he said. “I’ve got the whole case solved. That Kyle fellow and Bellows were in on it together. Kyle used the axe to loosen the tree. Bellows did the murder. As I said, beat you!”

  I was intrigued by Bellows’s decision to revisit Old Holly’s house tonight. That certainly didn’t look too good, and I had no problem with Old Holly calling the cops on him. He evidently did not know that Kyle had an alibi, but I hoped his call wouldn’t stir things up again for the gardener. I gave Old Holly a stern look. />
  “Tell me,” I said, “how come you were the one I saw walking around with the axe tonight? If Kyle was behind this, wouldn’t he have taken the axe with him?”

  “I guess he wanted to pin it on me,” said Old Holly, a little defensively.

  “You’ll have to do better than that with the police,” I said. “It was your axe. You were the only one able to ‘find’ it.” I used finger quotes to make my point. “And, frankly, I can think of more motive for you to kill Solder than for Kyle or Bellows.”

  “Me?” said Old Holly. His face became as red as his baseball team’s uniform. “Why would I kill that skinny little fellow?”

  “Means and motive. You’ve contracted with a TV developer to make this into a show, and you had a scientist in charge who had no interest in letting you move ahead with your plans. With Solder’s death, you now have a sexier story and no one standing in your way. I’m sure you could use the money. Who couldn’t?”

  “Not for murder,” he said. “You’re as crazy as the rest of them.”

  He looked genuinely outraged as he said the words, and I did feel that the man was speaking the truth. But facts are what count, so I pressed on.

  “What about the fact that you were the only one who did not join us at the excavation?” I said. “Were you watching TV, or did you sneak down to the well and attack Solder from an entry none of us knew about?”

  “Out,” said Old Holly, pointing to his front door. “You get out of here.”

  “I will, but I’d think twice about calling the police on Kyle,” I said. “I’m only telling you now what the police will think when you tell them you found your axe.”

  At this point, Old Holly began to breathe heavily. I was afraid I’d gone too far. I ran to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. After a few sips, he put the glass on the table next to him.

  “Do you think Bellows found anything when he was here tonight?” I said.

  Old Holly shrugged.

  “Are you sure it was him?” I said.

  “I am,” he said. “I studied him carefully. The fog was playing tricks on me. At first, he seemed almost ghostlike. I can’t explain it. Maybe the whole area was giving me the creeps, but I saw him before I heard him. It was eerie.”

  I nodded. How many people had felt the presence of a ghost today?

  “I think that’s why I lost my voice to call out to him,” said Old Holly. “I just stood and watched while he circled the well, his head down.”

  “Did he pick up anything?” I said.

  Old Holly shook his head.

  “If anything, I think he tossed something into the well,” he said. “He leaned over the edge a couple of times.”

  What had I missed by the well?

  “You need to hand over the axe to the police.”

  “Now I don’t want to,” said Old Holly.

  “I’ll talk to Bellows,” I said. “I’ll see what I can find out to bolster your story.”

  “Talk to him in the morning,” said Old Holly. “Then I promise I’ll give them the axe. I like the idea of having someone else on my side.”

  I wasn’t sure I was on his side, but I promised I would.

  Old Holly sighed and looked back at his game.

  “I don’t like this,” he said. “You all should have left well enough alone to begin with.”

  I left the man staring blankly at his TV. When I reached my car, my phone rang.

  “I told you to call me,” said Fontbutter. “I like your idea about interviewing me at the site where the other skeleton is. It’s time I saw the other victim. I’m going to come by your house in the morning. We can do some establishing shots of the space near Patience Cooper’s body. I can do a combination of film and digital, so I’ll bring my handheld for this. It will be easy for you to use. The dig’s tomorrow at ten, so I’ll come at eight thirty. Also, I like the idea that you make candles.”

  “It’s not so much an idea as a business,” I said. “I have a store, the Wick and Flame, in town.”

  “Exactly,” said Fontbutter. “I’d like you to have two dozen black candles handy when I come. When I shoot my scenes down in the well, I’m going to light them around the perimeter. You know, to create the ‘old Nantucket’ vibe.”

  “Sure,” I said, always happy to sell two dozen candles in one go, “but if you’re going for authenticity, you’ll want white candles, not black.”

  “I love your trivia, but white won’t give the right effect,” said Fontbutter. “Let’s stick with black. See you in the morning.”

  I said good-bye, but the line had already gone dead.

  I could easily have stopped by the Wick & Flame on the way home to pick up Fontbutter’s order, but I needed to work. When I’m in the zone, doing what I love best, I am at my most relaxed and sharpest at the same time. It’s in those moments that I sometimes make my greatest decisions or have my biggest ideas. I had enough supplies back at the Morton house to fill the order, so I headed home to work. Driving back to the house, I decided that pillar candles in different heights might add interest to the scene Fontbutter was trying to create.

  When I got home, I could see that Peter’s work at securing the chain on the door to The Shack had held up, so I headed inside. I set up my makeshift workshop in the second of the three bedrooms in the Morton house. The windows were closed, but they were old, so I could hear the occasional breeze. Tonight, there was no banging outside my house whenever the wind blew. It was as if Patience and I were enjoying a respite from the murderous activities of the last two days. I melted wax and colored it a deep black with a touch of blue, small enough that, to the naked eye, the candles were black but somehow still popped with vibrancy. The candles were unscented. I assumed there would be no need for the extra ambience of scent if they were only going to be used for the film. One by one, I poured the candles and let them set, enjoying the comfort of a living space that was hospitable to my trade. The kids in the town might think I was a witch living with a skeleton this week, but my haunted house was quite cozy.

  Enjoying the house as much as I did, I had brought a candle clock with me from the store for an authentic experience. When my work was done, I curled up in bed with my candle-by-the-hour set for thirty minutes. My bed was inviting, Tinker having warmed it up for me, and I treated myself to an overnight mask. Waiting for it to set, I scrolled through my social media to see what I’d missed in the last day. I was not surprised to see that many of my local friends had posted photos of The Shack, respectfully taken from the sidewalk but with comments that were filled with speculation about who was buried inside.

  When my candle hit the half-hour mark and extinguished, I gasped. It was very efficient, but I found myself startled to be in the dark so suddenly. I lay in bed, Tinker snuggled against me and purring in his sleep. As my eyes began to shut, I wondered if Brenda would be able to add more to my evolving understanding about the story of Patience and Nancy in the morning.

  Chapter 18

  Some advice: do not fall asleep with a face mask on—especially if it’s a clay mask. Although a trip down a well had led to a good night’s sleep, I woke up surrounded by flakes of clay. Expelling a few that had managed to find their way into my mouth, I realized I was parched.

  I rinsed my face and put on a pound of moisturizer. Tinker stretched in one delicate move that I’d be proud of in a yoga class and joined me in a perch on top of the toilet as I pulled myself together.

  “This is quite a case,” I said to my furry friend after gulping down some water from the faucet. “There are too many suspects. Too many motives.”

  Tinker’s not one for unnecessary drama, which is something I like about him. He focused on the light coming through my window. I could see he was deciding whether to soak up the sunlight or paw at the dust particles that were illuminated by it.

  “Hey,” I said, putting on a pair of moon-shaped earrings, “eyes over here, buddy. We have work to do.”

  Tinker compromised. He jumped up onto the
windowsill to both enjoy the sun and humor me. He looked adorable up there, so how mad could I be? I don’t have a window in my own apartment’s bathroom, but I could imagine enjoying a little ritual like this. I gave Tinker a pat on the head, glad that he seemed to be happy with his sojourn here. He didn’t even seem to mind the ghosts and goblins on display downstairs. I only hoped that when the Girl Scouts came later today, he wouldn’t object to any additional décor. My one concern was the Candleers’ cobwebs. I could only imagine how beautiful they’d be to Tinker in the sunlight. Fingers crossed he’d behave.

  “Who dunnit, my friend?” I said to him.

  His answer was a blasé tail whisk. I was on my own.

  “We have a suspect,” I said. “Jameson Bellows. He fits the bill too. He was the first person on-site to acknowledge that the map was an important find. He was found sneaking about the Holland property last night as well. Why? To find something he’d left behind? To add a clue to distract the police?”

  Tinker licked his paws. I stopped to watch him. He stopped to watch me. I took that as a sign he was listening.

  “I still don’t know how or why that tree fell, but the man had motive. He wanted the map—and maybe he took advantage of the opportunity.”

  I walked into my bedroom and pulled out the most innocuous clothing I had—a pair of leggings and a T-shirt. I decided these would be the simplest clothes to wear underneath the Quaker dress Brenda had promised to bring. I was looking forward to trying on the outfit. I may not have been going to the excavation this morning, but I had a busy schedule before my store opened.

  Heading down to the kitchen with Tinker at my feet, I prepared breakfast for the two of us. Tinker dove into his Friskies while I buttered a piece of toast. My mind, of course, was still on murder suspects. After I put the dishes away, I checked the time, wondering where Brenda was. I had hoped she would have come and gone by now. I didn’t want Fontbutter to arrive while she was in her Quaker dress. I couldn’t imagine what he would think up to exploit her for his film.