Snuffed Out - Tim Myers [43]
I dipped some of the reserve tapers into warm water.
“Why on earth did you do that? I’m not finished with them,” she said fiercely. Mrs. Jorgenson hated it when she didn’t master a technique on the first or second attempt.
“We need to keep the wax warm. We could use an oven just as easily, or even dip them a dozen more times, but this should work best for what we’re doing.”
“If you say so,” she said.
By the time she’d gone through all the candles we’d dipped, her technique was just starting to come around to something resembling my first effort. It was gratifying that there was at least one form of candlemaking I’d mastered quicker than she had, but this was certainly no time to gloat about it. I said, “If you’d like to try your hand at braiding candles, we can have another lesson right now.”
She scowled. “I need to master this one first. I’ll be back, don’t you worry about that,” Mrs. Jorgenson said. Out in the main part of the store again, she said. “I believe I’ll take some of those wax beads. They are rather convenient.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else I can get you?”
She thought about it a moment, then said, “Let’s have a few more spools of wick, and I need six of your beeswax kits.” We’d tackled rolling candles out of sheets of wax earlier.
“Brushing up, are you?”
Mrs. Jorgenson sniffed the air. “These are for my grandchildren. They spend entirely too much time on their computers, and these kits should do nicely to distract them from their monitors.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.”
As I totaled her bill and had her sign the receipt, I said. “Do you want to go ahead and schedule the next session, or should we just play it by ear again?”
She wasn’t amused, not in the least. “Make it in three days. I’ll have mastered the twists by then.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” I said as I helped carry her purchases out to her car. After every previous lesson, she’d taken her efforts proudly home with her, but I noticed I’d forgotten them.
I said, “Give me a second and I’ll go get your candles.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “By tomorrow I’ll have much better tapers.”
“Good for you,” I said as I stepped away from the car.
She seemed to think about it for a few seconds, then said, “I don’t suppose it would hurt anything to take them with me. Would you mind?”
“Not at all,” I said, glad she hadn’t abandoned her efforts.
Eve met me at the door. “She forgot these,” she said, nearly out of breath as she pushed a bag into my hands. The tapers were all safely wrapped and in the bag.
“Thanks, Eve.”
I passed them on to Mrs. Jorgenson, and she grabbed my hand before I could release it. “About Mr. Gaston,” she said in a lowered voice. “Do keep me informed.”
“As soon as I know anything,” I said.
She nodded and drove away, and I watched until she disappeared. I wasn’t sure about this new development, having the richest woman in Micah’s Ridge butting into a murder investigation. It could lead to a lot of trouble, for all concerned.
But I couldn’t waste too much time worrying about it, either.
I had a business to run, a complex to watch over, and if time permitted, a murder to solve.
Chapter 11
“Welcome to the grand reopening of The Pot Shot,” I said to the crowd of onlookers poised in front of Sanora’s pottery shop. I had no idea how she’d drummed up so many people on such short notice, but I was impressed. Not only were there nearly a hundred people in the audience, there was a reporter from The Gunpowder Report, our local newspaper, and a camera crew from KRZY, our local television affiliate.
If this was her basic, spur-of-the-moment promotion work, I couldn’t imagine what a well-thought-out campaign must look like. I doubted I’d be able to get this kind of a turnout unless I started giving candles