Death Waxed Over (Book 3 in the Candlemaking Mysteries)

DEATH WAXED OVER

By Tim Myers

Book 3 in the Candlemaking
Mysteries

Praise for the Candlemaking Mystery series by
Tim Myers

“
Excellent storytelling that
makes for a good reading experience…(Myers) is a talented writer
who deserves to hit the bestseller lists.”

 
---The Best
Reviews

“
A sure winner.”

---Carolyn Hart, author of the Death on
Demand series

“
An interesting mystery, a
large cast of characters, and an engaging amateur sleuth  make
this series a winner.”

---The Romance Reader’s Connection (four
daggers)

“
A smashing, successful
debut.”

---Midwest Book Review

“
I greatly enjoyed this
terrific mystery.  The main character…will make you
laugh.  Don’t miss this thrilling read.”

---Rendezvous

Praise for the Lighthouse Mystery series by
Tim Myers

“
Entertaining ... authentic
... fun ... a wonderful regional mystery that will have readers
rebooking for future stays at the Hatteras West Inn and
Lighthouse.”

—
BookBrowser

“
Tim Myers proves that he is
no one-book wonder... A shrewdly crafted puzzle.”

—
Midwest Book
Review

“
Colorful... picturesque ...
light and entertaining.”

—
The Best Reviews

The Lighthouse Inn Mysteries by Tim Myers

Innkeeping With Murder

Reservations For Murder

Murder Checks Inn

Room For Murder

Booked For Murder

The Candlemaking Mysteries by Tim Myers

At Wick’s End

Snuffed Out

Death Waxed Over

A Flicker Of Doubt

The Soapmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers

Dead Men Don’t Lye

A Pour Way To Dye

A Mold For Murder

The Cardmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers written
as Elizabeth Bright

Invitation To Murder

Deadly Greetings

Murder And Salutations

Death Waxed Over

by Tim Myers.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2005 Tim Myers

All rights reserved.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced,
scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of
copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

Dedication

To Patty and Emily,

The true candles lighting my way.

“
Absence diminishes small
loves and increases great ones, as the wind blows out the candle
and fans the bonfire.”

—
Francois La
Rochefoucauld

Chapter 1

I didn’t hear the shot that killed Gretel
Barnett, even though her life was extinguished just fifteen feet
from where I stood. There were too many other explosions filling
the air, happy merriments celebrating New Conover Founder’s Day. It
would have been tragic enough if she’d been a random face in the
crowd, but there was something that made it infinitely worse.
Gretel was my chief competitor, selling candles and supplies two
miles from my own candleshop in Micah’s Ridge, North Carolina. From
the way things appeared, I was going to be running short of wick
myself if I didn’t come up with who had snuffed out her flame.

Two weeks earlier, I’d finally worked up the
nerve to tell my lone employee, Eve Pleasants, that At Wick’s End
was going to have a vendor’s table at the New Conover celebration.
I delayed sharing the news as long as I could, knowing that she
would most likely take it with less than gracious acceptance. I
owned the candleshop, along with the rest of River’s Edge—a former
warehouse and factory now converted into a complex of shops,
offices and my apartment—perched on the edge of the Gunpowder
River. But I was less than the master of my own domain, though I
cherished At Wick’s End, with its aisles full of waxes, wicks and
molds; racks of tools and pots; shelves of powders; tubs of gel and
sheets of honeycombed wax. Most of all, I loved the candles.
Whether squatty and fat or long and tapered, shaped like stars or
bowls, poured into teapots or watering cans, I found beauty in them
all. My Great-Aunt Belle had left me the property, along with a
hefty mortgage and the legal stipulation that I couldn’t sell the
complex until I’d run the candleshop for five years. I never could
have imagined that I’d so quickly grow to love the place.

My Great-Aunt had also left me Eve, an
older, dour, heavyset woman with a knack for candlemaking and a
disposition that forced me to tiptoe around my own business most of
the time. She was my erstwhile assistant and would-be candlemaking
conscience, and little by little, we were finding a way to work
together.

We weren’t there yet, though. She took the
news about like I’d expected. “Harrison Black, I’ve told you before
that we never bothered with that fair. Belle and I didn’t believe
the return on our investment would be worth the trouble and the
expense.”

“
We’re not doing it for the
profit,” I said. “At least not strictly for that,” I added, knowing
that the bottom line was crucial to keeping my shop
afloat.

“
Then why put ourselves
through it?” she asked.

“
With the new candleshop
opening in town, we need to make our presence felt. Let’s face it,
we’re probably going to lose some customers, and they have to be
replaced.” Flickering Lights—our new competition in the form of a
candle franchise that covered the world—was about to open a store
in Micah’s Ridge. Located in the revitalized downtown business
district, it was declaring itself an upscale version of At Wick’s
End all over town. The owner was named Gretel Barnett, a
no-nonsense older woman with stylish silver hair and a trim
waistline. She had introduced herself a month before opening her
shop, coming into At Wick’s End, studying the place with a sharp
eye, then declaring her intention to open a candle franchise of her
own. At least no one could say she had skulked into town. I didn’t
like being portrayed as the thrift version of candleshops in the
area, but so far I hadn’t been able to do anything about it. The
Founder’s Day Celebration was my chance to make a statement of my
own, and I wasn’t about to let it slip by.

“
Do you honestly think it
will help our sales here enough to matter?” Eve asked.

“
It will increase our
profile locally, since New Conover’s not that far away, and I’d say
that’s pretty important. You told me when I first came to At Wick’s
End that you and Belle used to do these street fairs all the
time.”

“
It was always more your
Great-Aunt’s desire than mine.”

It was pretty obvious the direction our
conversation was taking, and there was no way I was going to endure
an entire day at the fair listening to her litany of complaints.
Inspiration suddenly struck. “Eve, you don’t have to go. You can
keep the store open while I’m there.”

“
You can’t run a booth by
yourself, Harrison.”

There was no way I was giving in that
easily. “I’ll get Heather to watch it for me if I need to step away
for a minute or two. We’re setting up side by side.” Heather Bane
ran The New Age, her self-described serenity shop filled with
things like crystals and personal pyramids. Heather’s place was
right next door to my candleshop at River’s Edge, and she was
participating in the fair as well.

Eve huffed once, then said, “I don’t suppose
there’s any way to talk you out of this, is there? Very well, if
you insist, I’ll help you do it correctly.”

“
You know, I think this way
is actually better,” I said. “We might even make a profit if you
stay here and keep the shop open.” If Eve was waiting for me to
tell her I couldn’t do it without her, she was going to be
disappointed. Over the past few months I’d gotten pretty good with
the basics of candlemaking, and there weren’t many questions at the
shop I couldn’t answer on my own, not that I was ready to run the
place without her. Eve taught several of our classes at night, and
I was the first to admit she handled group sessions better than I
did. Still, my income for the store through teaching exceeded hers,
and would continue to do so as long as I had my star student, Mrs.
Jorgenson, a rich dilettante who had suddenly taken a passionate
fancy to candlemaking. Together, we’d explored one-on-one basic
candlemaking techniques for rolled candles and dipped ones as well.
We’d touched briefly on pouring candles, but Mrs. Jorgenson had
recently told me she’d like to get back to that technique before we
got into gel candles, and with what she was paying me for private
lessons, she could certainly dictate our schedule if she wanted to.
It was almost a crime to charge her so much for something I enjoyed
doing, but I had to constantly remind myself that I was in business
to make money.

From her expression, it was pretty obvious
that Eve was wavering, so I decided to end our discussion. “Then
it’s settled. You keep At Wick’s End open for our regular customers
during the fair, and I’ll see what I can do about getting some new
ones.”

Before Eve could protest any more, the bell
over the front door jingled and Pearly Gray, retired psychologist
and current handyman to all of River’s Edge, said, “Harrison, I
need a moment of your time if you can spare it.”

A smooth escape was exactly what I needed.
As I walked over to him, I asked, “What can I do for you,
Pearly?”

He frowned, then said, “I hate to do this to
you right now, but I need a break from my duties.”

Pearly hadn’t taken a day off since I’d
inherited the River’s Edge complex, and I had no idea what
arrangements for vacation he’d made with Belle. “How much time do
you need? We could probably spare you for a week or two if we had
to.”

He looked startled by the offer. “Goodness
no, it’s nothing like that. I just need tomorrow off. I have to
help a friend.” He said the last with his gaze downcast, and I
wondered what kind of help he’d be supplying, but it was none of my
business.

“
That would be fine,” I
said.

“
Thank you, Harrison.”
Pearly grabbed my hand in both of his and shook it vigorously.
After he was gone, I realized that he was much more enthusiastic
with his thanks than he’d needed to be. What was Pearly up
to?

No matter. I really didn’t have time to
delve into my handyman’s private life. I had a table display to
prepare for the event, just one more task I’d never attempted
before in my life. There was one thing I could say about running At
Wick’s End: just when I thought I had a handle on things, something
new popped up to show me just how wrong I was.

I’d finally gotten Eve to accept the idea of
the Founder’s Day table by asking her opinions on my display plans,
and I thought I had her won over when a frown shadowed her
face.

“
What is it now?” I asked.
“Have you thought of another objection to the idea?”

“
It’s not that. Look who’s
coming in.”

I turned to see Becka Lane, my onetime
girlfriend, rush inside At Wick’s End. Her lustrous blonde
hair—usually perfect in appearance—was tousled, and one edge of her
blouse was coming out of her short skirt’s waistband. My sarcastic
comment died in my throat when I saw her face, though. There was a
look of pure, raw fear in her eyes that startled me with its
intensity.

“
Becka, what is it? What’s
wrong?”