At Wick's End - Tim Myers [6]
“I don’t understand this. Nothing of value seems to be missing.”
Seeing her things violated like that appalled me. I waited until I couldn’t take it anymore. It was obvious we were a low priority for the police. I said, “Listen, do you mind hanging around here and taking care of this? I need to get down to the candle shop.”
“You really should stay for the police,” Mr. Young said in an officious manner.
“What can I tell them that you can’t? This is the first time I’m seeing this place. You can tell them what it was like when you left. If they decide they need to talk to me, send them down to the shop. I’m not going anywhere.” I’d deal with the disaster at Belle’s place later. For now, I just had to get out of there.
As I hurried downstairs, I couldn’t help wondering what the thief had been looking for, though. And more importantly, had they found it, or was there still something they wanted hidden in Belle’s room?
Eve was ringing up a customer’s order as I walked in, so I decided to start my tour of Wick’s End without her. The main body of the shop was divided into two spaces, with the lion’s share taken up by row upon row of shelves sporting waxes, wicks, molds, racks of tools, boilers, pots, and vials of oddly-colored potions. There were powders, decals, globs of weird gels and sheets of honeycombed wax dyed in hues that rainbows hadn’t even dreamed of. But most of all, there were candles.
Short and fat, long and tapered to slender points, round candles, candles in jars, in mugs and even in small teakettles. There were candles with twists and braids that belonged in a Salvador Dali painting or an Edgar Allan Poe nightmare, candles that floated in water and some that seemed to be a part of the water itself.
Eve found me gawking at the array after her customer left.
“I’ve got to tell you,” I said, “I never imagined there were this many different types of candles on Earth.”
She tried to hide her satisfaction with the compliment. “We don’t have a tenth of the candles that we make on display right now. In fact, our inventory’s been dropping recently.”
“Any reason in particular?” I asked.
She didn’t want to answer, that much was obvious, but finally Eve shrugged and explained, “Belle’s been too distracted to do much original work lately. You know about the offer, don’t you?” Before I could say a word, Eve said heatedly, “You can’t sell River’s Edge, Mr. Black. This was Belle’s home.”
“I have no intention of selling,” I said, neglecting to mention that Mr. Young had already informed me that it wasn’t an option.
Eve said, “Do you mean that?”
“I’d like things to stay just the way they are around here, at least for now. I’m smart enough to realize that I don’t know enough at this point to decide what changes might need to be made, but I’m staying.”
“I can’t tell you what a burden you’ve lifted from me. I naturally assumed that from the moment I found Belle on the floor that the building would be sold. It’s callous to think that way about a friend’s passing, and she was my friend, believe me, but I don’t know what I’d do without At Wick’s End in my life.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “Tell me about how you found Belle.”
I spotted a lone tear creeping down her cheek. “Must I? I’ve been trying to forget the sight ever since I found her. There was simply no sense in it. I’m no spring chicken, you can be assured of that, but I didn’t mind in the least going up and down ladders around here, and she was never shy about asking me to do so. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but Belle grew to hate heights over the last few months. Why, it even made her nervous living on the second floor, and she was surrounded by all that mortar and brick up there.”
“So what could have possessed her to climb a ladder in the storeroom?”
Eve wrung her hands together. “That’s what I don’t understand. There was a box