Snuffed Out - Tim Myers [42]
“They seem to be satisfied with their conclusions.”
She looked triumphant. “Aha, you don’t believe it either. Tell me, Mr. Black, who is it you suspect?”
Should I tell her, or let it slide? The last thing I wanted was for Mrs. Jorgenson to be involved in a situation Markum and I were investigating. Then I got an idea. I took a deep breath, then said, “Can I tell you something in strict and utter confidence?”
She nodded vigorously, so I said, “The electrical cord of the wheel appeared to be a little too perfectly frayed.”
She nodded. “So the bucket of overturned water was prearranged as well.”
“Mrs. Jorgenson, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anybody what I’ve told you.” What possible excuse could I use to get her to hold her tongue? Then I had it. “We don’t want any of our suspects to be forewarned. And,” I added for dramatic flair, “If you say anything, you could be in danger.”
Her pupils dilated and she took a quick sharp breath of air. “Of course. I understand completely. You will keep me informed though, won’t you?”
“I promise,” I said. “Now why don’t we dip some candles and see what we can come up with today?”
She forgot about Aaron Gaston quickly enough once we were dipping candles, and I only hoped she’d keep her focus on wax and not homicide.
Once we both had suitable tapers in translucent wax, I hung them on the cooling rack. We had eight tapers between us, plenty for experimenting.
Mrs. Jorgenson asked, “What happens now? Shouldn’t we twist them or something?”
I said, “We have to let the wax cool a little.” I retrieved two rolling pins, matching pieces of maple, then touched the surface of one of our candles. It felt solid, not tacky at all. Snipping the candles’ connected wick, I took one and handed the other to my student.
“Now the first step is to roll the candle with the pin to flatten it. Not all the way,” I said as she started from the very top. “Leave about an inch at the top and bottom.”
“Why not flatten it the entire length?” she asked.
“The bottom needs to be round so it can still fit into a base. As for the top, I just think it looks better that way.”
I looked up from my worked candle and saw that she’d merely managed to somehow square up a round candle. “You’re going to have to press harder than that,” I said. “Flatten it out to around three eighths of an inch thick.”
She put more effort into it and soon had the desired thickness.
“Now what?” she asked.
I picked my own flattened candle up and said, “Start twisting it with your hands like this.” I twisted and kneaded the wax until I had a fairly true taper. I’d done it several times before, so it had become a practiced skill. Mrs. Jorgenson’s attempt turned out rather differently. Her taper had a definite cant to the left, while the spiral itself was an undulating wave of wax. She held it toward me, both of us studying her efforts critically, then thrust it into my hands. “Fix it and show me what I did wrong.”
I took the taper from her, worked at the wax more until I had a fairly uniform taper, then straightened the whole thing into a decent spiral.
“I believe I see now. Let’s try it again.”
As I severed the wick between two more tapers, she said, “Do you mind if you supervise me instead of twisting your own candle? I really could use the guidance.”
“Of course,” I said as I laid the taper in my hand aside. I resented the command for a moment, then remembered how much I was charging her for this private lesson.
“Harder, that’s it, really roll it out,” I instructed as she worked.
After we were both satisfied with her efforts, I said, “Now it’s time to pull back a little. You aren’t trying to get the twist in a single motion. Don’t be afraid to work with the wax.”
Her second effort was a little better than the first, but only by