Death Waxed Over (Book 3 in the Candlemaking Mysteries) by Tim Myers Read Free Book Online Page A

revelation
that he’d been dating her. If I couldn’t trust Pearly, then who
could I trust? Who could I talk to about the churning issues
stirring in my mind? As I sat there mulling over my dour thoughts,
I began to think that solitude might not be the best thing for me
at the moment. So where was there to turn to for a willing ear? I
would have knocked on Markum’s door, but he was away on one of his
mysterious salvage and recovery trips. There was Millie, the woman
who so ably ran The Crocked Pot. She was a good listener, but no
doubt she was off somewhere enjoying time with her husband George.
Heather had shown signs of roller-coaster reactions to things that
had happened in the past, so I really didn’t want to discuss the
day’s events with her, and Gary Cragg was a man I doubted I’d ever
be able to trust. Sanora, our resident potter, was becoming a
friend, but I still didn’t know her well enough to open up
completely. Erin was off on an expedition, leading a group of
rafters on a trip down the New River in West Virginia. I’d met her
the first time I’d tried a kayak at her business, and there was
definitely a spark between us, but that didn’t mean I could bare my
soul to her just yet, either. That left my mechanic and friend
Wayne, but he was giving all of his attention lately to the new
lady in his life. Though I’d acquired an entire new roster of
friends with the addition of River’s Edge to my life, there really
was no one around I could talk to.
    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