Snuffed Out - Tim Myers [9]
I tore open a pack, snipped off some wick, then rolled a candle out of a sheet of golden beeswax.
She said, “It’s too quick.”
“That’s where the cookie cutters come in.” I grabbed one, cut out four stars and built another candle.
She nodded. “I’ll take fifty packs,” she said, shoving her credit card in my face.
“I’ll give you a quantity discount for that.”
After I rang up the sale, I grabbed packets from the storeroom, pulling a rainbow of colors for her, and carried the box out to her car. As I slid the packets onto the front seat, I asked, “Who’s watching them now?”
“My husband. I wanted to take them to the movies, but he said it was too expensive, that we should have a nice little party at home. When I left he was ready to hand them all twenties and drop them off at the mall.” A soft smile crept to her lips as she added, “I think I’ll take the long way home. Twenty more minutes ought to do it.”
I waved good-bye as she drove off at a rather sedate pace, then locked the store up yet again. At least I’d managed to cover a few of the utilities with the final sale. The entire day’s receipts hadn’t come close to touching what I’d lost when Mrs. Jorgenson had walked out on me. Should I call her and apologize? Blast it all, no. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and while my customer service skills had come a long way since I’d taken over At Wick’s End, I wasn’t about to say I was sorry for not being more than five minutes early for a candlemaking lesson.
We’d just have to find a way to limp along without Mrs. J’s cash influx.
I wasn’t in the mood to run a report from the cash register, and though my bookkeeper would no doubt scold me about it, there wasn’t anything that needed doing that couldn’t wait.
I put the money from the till in our safe, turned out the lights, and locked up.
What I needed was a hot shower, a bite to eat, and a good book. I’d read through my late Great-Aunt Belle’s Agatha Christie books and had moved on to her Charlotte MacLeod collection.
I nearly missed the blinking light on my answering machine upstairs, and I debated ignoring it, but there was something about not knowing who was on the other end that wouldn’t give me a moment’s peace until I hit the play button.
After I had, I found myself wishing I’d ignored it.
Chapter 3
I punched the button and heard Ann Marie Hart’s voice, and from the sound of it, my accountant was not happy. “I just heard about Aaron. You need to fill that slot fast, Harrison. Call me.”
I couldn’t face any more talk of my imminent doom, so I decided Ann Marie could wait till morning. Why hadn’t she called the store instead of my apartment, anyway? My place upstairs was the only sanctuary I had.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I had Belle’s little hideaway roof terrace, and tonight would be the perfect time to get away from the world.
I grabbed an old rugby jersey, made a quick sandwich, and collected a Coke from the fridge, then balanced it all as I climbed up the rungs in my closet to the roof. The air was starting to bite as I threw back the hatch, and I was glad I’d brought the jersey with me. I put the scuttle access back down and plugged a cord into an outlet nearby. Suddenly a twinkling lane of white icicle lights lit my way. I’d made a few improvements since taking over River’s Edge, but none as important to me as the work I’d done on my getaway from the world. I pulled my folding recliner chair out of a waterproof storage bin I’d hauled up the stairs and set it up under the stars. The jersey, as warm as it was, couldn’t hold back the chill of the wind coming off the Gunpowder River, so I retrieved one of Belle’s whimsical blankets, this one sporting ice-skating penguins, and wrapped it around me before I sat down. The stars were glorious, and I was glad again that River’s Edge was far enough away from town to give me such a view. I ate my sandwich and drank my soda, taking in the smells of autumn as the breeze kicked up, catching hints of wood smoke in the air. Belle’s apartment had a tiny woodstove in one corner, and I’d been waiting