Death Waxed Over (Book 3 in the Candlemaking Mysteries) (12 page)

“
Harrison, we need to
talk.”

That tone of voice couldn’t lead to anything
good. Trying to cajole her out of her dark mood, I asked, “Are you
ready for your next lesson? I could probably squeeze you in now
before things get busy.” In all honesty, I didn’t have very high
hopes that business would pick up any more than the trickle of
customers we’d had the past few days.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t have time
for that right now. There is something we need to resolve.”

“
Why don’t we go back to my
office then.” I followed her through the candleshop, but instead of
the usual browsing she did every time she’d visited At Wick’s End,
her gaze was focused straight ahead of us.

I settled into my chair and said, “I wasn’t
sure we’d see you again.”

She scoffed. “Harrison Black, I’m not about
to be driven off because of rumors and whispered accusations.”

“
Funny, but I was beginning
to suspect that was exactly what happened.”

Her back stiffened. “Young man, are you
intentionally baiting me?”

I knew it was time to back off. Not only did
I need Mrs. Jorgenson’s income from her lessons and purchases, but
I also wanted her close enough to question. Like it or not, she was
one of my suspects, and alienating her wouldn’t do me a bit of
good. I took a deep breath, then said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been under
a great amount of strain lately. I didn’t mean to take it out on
you.”

Her hard expression softened. “I know it’s
been difficult for you. I’m willing to give you some latitude, but
don’t push me too hard.”

“
Understood. I heard you’re
under some pressure of your own.”

That certainly got her attention. “What
exactly do you mean by that?”

“
Runion told me he was
buying up Gretel Barnett’s block, and I happened to hear that you
own property close to Flickering Lights.” I watched her expression,
but if there was any change there, it was too subtle for me to
see.

“
Mr. Runion spoke out of
place.”

“
So it’s not
true?”

Mrs. Jorgenson snapped, “It’s irrelevant.
Harrison, I own a great many properties around Micah’s Ridge and
beyond. That pipe dream of his wouldn’t have affected me much one
way or the other.” She was a bright woman, and it didn’t take long
for my question to click. “Are you accusing me of anything?” she
asked with deadly calm.

“
No, Ma’am. I was just
hoping you might know something about what happened to
Gretel.”

My backpedaling helped some, but not nearly
enough. “I don’t make it a habit of getting involved in murder, no
matter what your own predilection appears to be. Now if you’ll
excuse me, I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

“
Listen, I’m sorry if I was
out of line. I just hate being a suspect in murder.”

“
I can appreciate your point
of view, but pardon me if I’m not all that eager to take your
place. Good day.”

I couldn’t stop her from storming out, nor
was I certain I wanted to try. Was her righteous indignation real,
or was she upset that I was on her trail? Either way, I realized
with a sinking feeling that I may have just driven off my one
guaranteed source of income. But the alternative could be going to
prison for a crime I didn’t commit. I had to explore every possible
trail that could lead me to the truth, no matter what the
consequences.

As I came out of the office, Eve said,
“Harrison, do you have a death wish? I’ve never seen anyone as
furious as she was when she stormed out of here.”

“
I may have crossed the
line,” I admitted.

“
Well, don’t just stand
there. Go apologize.”

“
I didn’t say I was wrong.
All I’m willing to admit is that I may have pushed her a little
hard.”

Eve gestured around the shop. “So you pick
this moment to alienate our best customer. Brilliant.”

I thought about it a moment or two, then
realized Eve was right. I shouldn’t have pressed Mrs. Jorgenson,
certainly not without more information than I had. I hurried to the
parking lot to see if I could catch her, but by the time I got
outside, she was already gone. It appeared that I’d blown my last
chance with my star student and benefactor.

To my surprise, we had a relatively busy day
at the candleshop, though I was too morose to enjoy it. I knew
Markum was expecting me to get Gretel’s lawyer’s name from Jubal,
but I didn’t have time to slip away. I was thankful for the
shoppers and didn’t want to leave a buzzing store. Maybe things
were finally easing up. I was happy The Gunpowder Gazette hadn’t
printed any more photos or stories linking me to Gretel’s murder.
At least on that front, things were improving.

By the end of the day, I actually had enough
income to justify taking it to the bank for more of a reason than
just routine. As I filled out the slip and prepared the deposit,
Eve took one of our Shaker-style baskets we were starting to carry
made by a local craftsman and began filling it with candles and
accessories.

After she was finished, she plopped the
basket down in front of me.

“
What’s this for?” I
asked.

“
It’s your apology to Mrs.
Jorgenson.”

I pushed the basket away. “What makes you
think she’d even see me?”

“
What makes you think she
won’t?”

“
You’re kidding, right? I’ve
got a feeling the way she stormed out of here was a pretty good
indication that she might not be all that eager to greet
me.”

“
Thus the goodwill basket,”
Eve said. “Harrison, the longer you let this go, the more permanent
the rift might become. Make amends before she convinces herself she
doesn’t need us anymore.”

I took the deposit and started for the door.
“I think we’ve already crossed that particular line.”

“
You owe it the candleshop
to at least try,” Eve said firmly, collecting the basket, then
pressing it into my hands. “Swallow your pride,
Harrison.”

I took the offering from her, albeit
reluctantly. “I don’t even know where she lives.”

Eve said, “She’s in Parsons Ferry. Here, I
wrote her address down for you.”

I took it and stuffed the note into my
pocket. “Okay, I’ll do it. You realize she’s probably going to slam
the door in my face.”

“
From the way she looked
when she left, you’ve got it coming, wouldn’t you say?”

I drove to the bank and made the deposit,
though it would have been much closer going to Mrs. Jorgenson’s
first. Every plea I could think of was rejected as quickly as I
thought of it. What could I say, that I was sorry? Was I, though?
The more I thought about it, the more I had to acknowledge to
myself that I was. I’d let my imagination get the best of me. I
didn’t care what Markum thought. There was no way Mrs. Jorgenson
would shoot Gretel. She might try to run her out of business and
Micah’s Ridge, but murder? No, I just couldn’t see it. I’d let the
fact that I was under police suspicion cloud my judgment about a
friend, and I vowed to never let that happen again.

Parsons Ferry was the ritziest development
in Micah’s Ridge. I hadn’t been there since I’d moved into town,
but I’d heard enough around that should have prepared me for what I
found. The houses—perched on the edge of the Gunpowder River—were
extraordinary: mansions on the water. I hadn’t even slowed at the
guarded gate, just tossing a wave to the man inside. The builder
had tried to make the development an exclusive one, and the
imposing guard’s station was just one of the many ways it tried to
discourage casual visitors. But an article in The Gunpowder Gazette
a few months earlier had disclosed that since the state of North
Carolina maintained the roads, there was no way access could be
limited legally. Cruising the neighborhood had become a new hobby
for some of Micah’s Ridge’s less wealthy citizens, and I’d heard
complaints from some of my customers that something was going to
have to be done to curb it.

The Jorgenson property was surrounded by a
high stucco wall, taking up three expensive lots facing the river
side by side by side. The imposing structure greeted me as I drove
up, and I felt more than a little conspicuous in my Ford truck. At
least I’d had sense enough not to show up in my battered old Dodge.
Still, I felt like I was wearing bibbed overalls to the prom as I
parked in front of Mrs. Jorgenson’s house.

I couldn’t believe it when an actual butler
answered the door just as I rang the bell. He studied me with a
glance and blocked my way before I could step a foot inside.

“
Yes?” he said in a voice
that hinted of a British accent.

“
I’m here to see Mrs.
Jorgenson,” I said, holding the basket of goodies in front of me
like a shield.

“
I’m sorry, sir, but she’s
unavailable at the moment.” Not much of an apology, no offer to
check with her first, just a flat and final refusal.

“
Listen, tell her I need to
speak with her. My name’s Harrison Black. I run At Wick’s
End.”

“
I’m afraid her instructions
were most specific,” he said.

This was getting me nowhere. It was obvious
I wasn’t going to be able to brush past her guardian.

“
Fine. Give this to her and
tell her I’m sorry,” I said as I thrust the basket into his hands.
He accepted the offering with gentle distaste, then shut the door
on me before I had a chance to say another word.

I got back into the truck and was just
starting to drive away when he suddenly reappeared, waving me down.
I rolled down the window, and he said, “Please take this back, sir.
Mrs. Jorgenson isn’t interested in your gift.”

“
Tough,” I said. “I won’t
take it. Tell her I’m just as stubborn as she is. I can’t make her
accept my apology, but I’ll be dipped in candle wax if she thinks
I’m going to let her insult me by refusing my gift.”

I drove off, half-expecting the man to throw
the basket into the back of my truck. When I glanced back in my
rearview mirror, I saw him shaking his head and staring at the
basket as if it were diseased.

I’d done all I could. If Mrs. Jorgenson
declined my offering and my apology, there was nothing else I could
do about it. I refused to beat myself up about it anymore. It was
time to move on, forget about my star student and get back to
running my candleshop.

At least I wouldn’t have to face Eve until
morning. I had some free time on my hands, and I suddenly had no
desire to go back to River’s Edge. I was finding that with the
lessening of daylight hours in the winter, I was spending more and
more time in the evening burrowing into my apartment, and though I
enjoyed my time alone, it was getting to be a habit I was going to
have to break.

Though my checking account was anemic, I
decided to treat myself to a pizza and some of April May’s company
at A Slice of Heaven.

The place was crowded, and I worried about
finding a table, when Heather Bane from River’s Edge called out to
me, “Harrison. Over here.”

She’d been the one to introduce me to April
and her pizzeria, and I joined her gratefully. I noticed that
Heather was dressed much nicer than was normal for her, and I said,
“Are you here by yourself?”

Heather nodded. “I had a date, actually, but
it appears that he stood me up.”

“
What a jerk,” I
said.

“
I don’t really mind, to be
honest with you. My girlfriend’s cousin set it up, and I was
dreading the whole ordeal.”

“
Then we’ll drink a toast to
the dumb cluck and have fun in spite of him.”

April made her way through the crowd and
studied me before speaking. “Please tell me you’re not him.”

“
I’m not him,” I said
simply.

April smiled. “That’s a relief. Heather, are
you going to let this riffraff sit at your table, or should I put
him back in the kitchen?”

She pretended to consider the offer, then
said, “He might as well stay. That way I won’t look like a pig when
I eat an entire pizza by myself. Bring us a medium special, unless
you want to join us.”

April looked tempted, then studied the room.
“I’d better not. Things are hopping tonight. One special, coming
up.”

She started to leave, then said, “Harrison,
have you picked your song yet?”

“
I’m still thinking about
it. How long do I have?” April had a policy that with every ten
pizzas purchased, the customer could pick one song for her jukebox.
The only restrictions were that it had to be from the fifties or
sixties, and if the customer didn’t renew it with another ten
pizzas in two months, it was pulled from the rotation.

April said, “I’ll give you a few more days.
Do you want to look at the catalog again?”

“
No, I’ve got it down to two
choices.”

She said, “Care to enlighten me?”

“
Now what fun would that
be?” I said.

She swatted at me with a bar towel, then
said, “I’ll send your beer over in a minute.”

After she was gone, Heather said, “So how
are things, Harrison?”

“
We’re actually starting to
get some of our customers back, if you can believe it.”

‘
That’s wonderful news,”
Heather said. “Has Morton finally decided to believe you?” Heather
wasn’t our sheriff’s biggest fan, and while I didn’t agree with her
low opinion of him, I knew she had reasons of her own.

“
He’s still not sure, but at
least he’s looking at other folks, too.”