Death Waxed Over - Tim Myers [17]
The stars, at least for the moment, had lost their pull for me, and the cold, biting wind just reinforced the fact that I was alone. I put the chair and blanket away feeling the chill of the night, and headed down to my apartment. Once I was back in the warmth, the flashing light of the answering machine caught my eye again, and I knew I’d have to sift through the messages before I’d be able to get to sleep that night. Curiosity was a curse of mine, one I’d had no luck breaking in the past. The light now read twenty-eight; someone must have called while I’d been up on the roof.
Most of the messages were as I’d expected—people calling demanding to know if I’d really killed Gretel, reporters asking for interviews and a few folks even defending my honor—but the last message struck me as the oddest of the lot.
“Candles soon burn out,” was all the caller said in a whispered, gravelly voice.
Now what in the world did that mean? Was somebody trying to be funny, or was it some kind of veiled threat? I reached to hit the save button so I could replay it for the sheriff, but my finger slipped off it and hit the delete key instead; so much for preserving it for further study. Why would anyone threaten me like that? It was a little too creepy for my taste. I wished I’d saved it for Morton to hear, but now I couldn’t even mention it to him. Knowing the sheriff, he’d probably think my accidental erasure was just a little too convenient, since I couldn’t back the claim up with anything other than my word. If any of the other messages I’d accidentally deleted were important, I just had to hope that they’d call back when they didn’t hear from me.
As I tried to sleep, my thoughts kept returning to what tomorrow would bring. I couldn’t get comfortable in my bed as my mind raced back to the unwelcome sight of Gretel collapsing, slow motion, over and over again. I was almost ready to give up on sleep when it came unexpectedly.
I might have been better off staying awake. All night the reel kept playing over and over again in my mind, and I was in no shape to face the day when my alarm finally went off.
I’d prepared myself to face a mob at the candleshop, but twenty minutes before opening, there wasn’t a soul in sight, including Eve. I’d skipped my ritual breakfast at The Crocked Pot, not wanting to face any strangers I didn’t have to. Instead, I’d heated a few frozen waffles upstairs and lingered in the apartment, puttering around as the time crept by before finally heading down to At Wick’s End. It was Sunday, and we didn’t open until noon, so I had a lot of time to kill. Ordinarily I’d take my kayak out on the water—regardless of the cold—or go for a walk, or even go down to the candleshop and practice some new technique, but I was in no mood for any of my options.
Though it was nearly eleven when I finally stepped outside for the first time that day, the weather had turned back to the cold we normally expected for late fall in our part of North Carolina, and I was glad for my jacket even in my brief commute from my apartment upstairs to the candleshop below.
As I hung my coat up in the office, I glanced at the schedule and realized that Eve wasn’t due to come in at all that day. It looked like I was going to have to face the crowds alone. As I busied myself preparing to open the store, the telephone started to ring, but I wasn’t about to answer it until I had to. Unfortunately, by noon it still hadn’t given up, and it was time to unlock the doors.
Bracing myself, I walked to the door and pulled the blinds back.
No one was there.
I opened the door with more relief than I should have felt and peeked outside. Not a solitary soul was loitering anywhere nearby. While I was happy none of the pests from the day before had shown up, the fact that none of my regular customers were there either took the edge off my temporary joy. Sunday was normally a big day for us, but it was looking bleak from the start. So was this going to be it? Would Gretel manage to carry out her