Scent of Murder

The scent of the previous afternoon’s pour lingered heavily in the air. Naturally it had to be Cinnamon Red Hots. The strong smell always made his eyes burn. He didn’t need to walk around with red eyes—especially not today.

“Did you hear the news, Chase?” Irene Bledsoe stood in the doorway and clutched the straps on her insulated lunch bag with both hands. Apparently the police had not identified him to the reporters, thank goodness.

“I heard.” Seated behind one of the two desks in the crowded office, Chase offered the woman a polite smile. She’d been one of the first employees Grandpa Samson had hired back in the seventies when he expanded the family business.

“I wonder if it’s related to…” She licked her pale lips nervously. “Uh, you know.”

Oh, yeah. He knew. But he didn’t want to talk about it, certainly not with one of his employees, no matter how long she’d been employed by his family.

Irene lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Maybe the police will get some leads from this case that will help them with the first one. I never believed that story the paper printed. Kevin Duncan was a good boy, no matter what they said.”

Chase managed a nod. Irene was right. Nobody knew that better than him. Without a word, Chase went back to his paperwork. After staring a moment, the woman headed for the back.

He hadn’t written three numbers on his inventory report before Alex Young stepped into the spot Irene had vacated. “You hear about the body they found over at the park this morning?”

Chase nodded but didn’t look up.

“The radio said the guy’s throat was cut.”

Chase copied another item number onto his ledger. “I heard that.”

“Kinda spooky, don’t you think? That’s the second one. Somebody down at the Dairy Dip said they found this guy around the same place, too.”

Chase raised his head slowly and met Alex’s gaze. He kept his expression carefully blank.

Alex took a backward step. “I’ll just get on in there and see about the next pour.”

“Good idea.”

Chase returned to his report. Not two minutes later, his cousin, Korey, breezed into the office and threw himself in the chair behind the second desk.

“Seen the television lately? They found another body in the park this morning. Sca-ry. I hope this doesn’t end up hurting business.”

Teeth clenched to hold back a resigned sigh, Chase tossed his pencil on the ledger. He might be able to avoid discussing the day’s hottest news with the factory employees, but his cousin was a different matter. Subtle hints were lost on Korey.

“What do you mean? How can this hurt business?”

“You know. Tourists.” Korey used his forefingers as drumsticks on the edge of the desk. “If tourists find out two people have had their throats slit in these parts, they’re probably not going to want to come to the area. They won’t be shopping, which means the candle shops won’t be placing any new orders, which means we won’t be making any sales.” He ended his drum solo with a flourish and grinned. “I thought you, being a college boy and all, would have figured that out all by yourself.”

He had to admire Korey’s logic, even if it was flawed. More proof of a fact he’d long known—his hyperactive cousin may not have the patience and temperament for school, but he sure had a knack for business. His instincts were some of the best Chase had ever seen, and sometimes that counted for more than education.

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about. If word gets out, people might avoid the state park, but they’re not going to stop coming to Little Nashville. Besides, Internet sales are climbing. If you’d take a look at that P&L statement I gave you last week—”

“Ah, you know I don’t have time for that. You’re the one who’s good at number crunching. I’d rather spend my time getting my hands dirty.” Korey jumped out of the chair and headed for the door. Nothing held the guy in place for very long.

“You don’t fool me, bucko.” Chase smiled. “That awesome Web site you designed is what’s driving our business through the roof. That, and your contract with the Candle Corner, has our profit margin up twenty percent over last year.”

He stopped in the doorway and smirked. “Just trying to make sure I earn my keep so the new owner doesn’t throw me out on the street.”

Chase laughed. Korey liked to tease him about being the new owner, even though Chase was a couple of years away from buying out his cousin’s share of the family business. “I think you’re safe, buddy.” Then he sobered. Better give Korey the whole scoop before it broke on the news. “Guess I should tell you before you hear it somewhere else that I’m the one who found that body this morning.”

Korey’s eyes went round. “No kidding?”

Chase nodded.

“Ah, man. I wondered where you were this morning.” He paused. “Uh…what were you doing in the park?”

Chase lifted a shoulder. “Just walking. You know?”

Korey’s gaze dropped to the floor in front of his feet. “Yeah. I know. If I can help, just ask.”

It took a few seconds before Chase’s throat loosened enough so that it was safe to answer. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

When Korey disappeared in the direction of the pouring room, the face of a stubborn police detective came into focus in Chase’s mind. Was Irene right? Would Detective Jenkins uncover something that would help reveal what had really happened to Kevin?

He bounced a pencil eraser on the desk. Jenkins had refused to listen to reason last year, and nothing Chase saw this morning indicated he had changed. There had been times Chase wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.

Maybe Chase could force him to listen to reason this time. Maybe if he offered to help the police, he could somehow help clear up the dirty rumors still circulating about Kevin’s death.

Chase stood abruptly. The desk chair rolled into the wall behind him with a loud smack. What was he thinking? No way he was getting involved with another murder investigation. One was enough.

He tossed the pencil onto the desk and headed for the door. Numbers weren’t going to hold his attention today. He’d go see if Alex could use some help with that pour.

THREE

A sign on the side of the road a couple of miles inside the Brown County line caught Caitlin’s attention.

Good Things In Wax

Scented Candle Factory

Free Tours Monday Through Saturday

Closed Sunday

3 Miles——>

She tilted her left hand on the steering wheel to see her watch. Just past one o’clock. Check-in time at the hotel wasn’t until three. A tour might be a good way to kill some time. She turned in the direction the arrow indicated.

Three hours in the car with her favorite music blasting had improved her mood considerably. And she’d reached an important decision a few miles inside the Indiana border.

Who needed a guy to be happy? Not her. She had a job she loved teaching music to a terrific bunch of kids. She had her church activities, her friends, Sassy. Plenty to keep her occupied while she healed. And she needed time to heal, which was the reason she’d decided she needed a dateless year. She refused to let a romantic thought even cross her mind for at least twelve months. If God wanted her to go out on a date before then, He’d have to drop a guy on her doorstep with a bow around his neck.

After her big decision, the drive had been uneventful until she pulled off the interstate onto the four-lane road that would take her into Nashville. Or “Little Nashville,” as a billboard proclaimed. The landscape in this part of the country boasted a beauty all its own. Dense trees blanketed the rolling Blue Hills of Indiana, though at this time of year they weren’t very blue. Deep, pinkish-purple spring blooms covered the redbuds that grew in abundance throughout the woods on both sides of the road.

As promised, Good Things In Wax lay three miles off the main road. The Geo’s tires crunched over a small gravel parking lot toward a charming wooden building with a wide covered porch. The building had no windows, except for the one in the front door. Caitlin parked and climbed out of the car.

The scent of vanilla warred with the natural smells of pine and soil from the surrounding forest. She drew in deep breaths as she mounted the steps to the porch. Vanilla was one of her favorite scents.

The moment she stepped inside, a mishmash of odors and colors assaulted her senses. She stood in the factory’s gift shop, where hundreds of multihued candles lined shelves on all four walls. The door whooshed closed behind her, and for a moment she didn’t move, but let her gaze sweep the room as she adjusted to the sensory overload. She imagined there were at least fifty different varieties of candles—pillars, tapers, and candles in jars. The combination of scents, with the unmistakable smell of hot wax dominating the rest, was almost overpowering. How could people work in here all day? Maybe they eventually got used to it.

To her right stood a sales counter with a cash register and a rack of flyers. No sales clerk, though. She glanced at one of the brochures, a promotional piece about the company and a list of their most popular scents. A sign beneath the glass on the counter listed the prices for each size and announced, “Buy Three And The Fourth Is Free!”

She had just picked up a deep-maroon jar candle off the closest shelf when someone came through the doorway in the rear wall behind her.

“Hello. Feel free to look around and I’ll be happy to answer any questions.”

“Okay, thanks.” She half turned to smile at the man as she pried off the lid. When she caught sight of him, she stopped, the candle momentarily forgotten.

A friendly smile flashed in her direction as he pulled a wax-splattered canvas apron off over a head with hair the color of ripe wheat. His shirt shifted upward over a trim waist when he raised his arms. She tore her gaze away quickly as he folded the apron and tossed it on the corner of the sales counter.

And then she glanced back at his left hand.

Oh, no! I’ve turned into one of those desperate women who checks for a wedding ring! I can’t stand those women!

A stab of anger sent heat flooding through her. Her decision to embrace her single status wasn’t two hours old, and here she was, ogling the ring finger of the first handsome guy she came across.

This is Glenn’s fault. The bum. Look what he’s turned me into.

Well, she refused to become one of those women.

A full year without dating. I mean it.

“That’s a good one.”

Caitlin realized she’d been staring at his hand. Her gaze jerked upward to his face. “Excuse me?”

He nodded toward the jar she held. “Mulberry is one of our most popular scents.”

“Oh.” She pulled the lid off and raised the candle to her nose. “Mmm, that is nice. Kind of fruity.”

“Well, berries are considered fruit.” He grinned as he came around the counter toward her.

Was he flirting with her? A warm blush threatened to climb into her cheeks. Caitlin fought it off. He was a salesman, that’s all. Trying to impress her with candles was his job.

“So they are.” Caitlin busied herself with another deep sniff.

“Here, try this one.” He picked up a light green jar, popped the lid off, and held it toward her. “It’s Fresh Apple.”

She leaned forward to inhale the candle’s aroma. “Ah, that’s nice. Smells just like real apples.”

His smile lit his eyes. “Glad to hear it. We try hard to keep the scents authentic.”

The front door burst open and a woman bustled through.

“Chase, I’m so sorry I’m late. I was just going to dash into the bank, but I ran into Helen from church and I couldn’t get away from her. Seems like the whole town is talking about that body in the park. Oh.” She noticed Caitlin and raised a hand to cover her mouth, eyes round. “Sorry, honey,” she said to Chase.

Body? Caitlin cast a startled glance at the man this woman had just called “honey.” His lips formed a tight line as he repositioned the Fresh Apple candle on the shelf.

“Anyway,” the woman rushed on, “here’s the receipt from the deposit.” She fished a slip of paper out of her purse and set it on the counter. A bright smile widened her mouth as she turned toward Caitlin. “Hello. I’m Betty Hollister.”

Caitlin opened her mouth to answer, but Chase beat her.

“This is my mother.”

“Your mother?” Actually, now that she looked closer, Caitlin could see a family resemblance in the shape of their eyes.

They both grinned. “Good Things In Wax is a family business,” Mrs. Hollister explained. “Though my sister and I mostly just assist these days. Chase and his cousin Korey are the next generation, and they’re the real brains behind the business.”

What a nice thing to say. Motherly pride beamed from her eyes as she turned toward her son. Caitlin smiled warmly at her.

Chase ignored the compliment, but moved his pointer finger across the shelf as he scanned the labels. “Were you looking for a particular scent?”

Ah. Back to business. “Actually, no. I just got into town and saw your sign out on the main road.”

“I didn’t think you were from around here,” Mrs. Hollister said. “I hear an accent in your voice.”

Chase cocked his head and eyed her speculatively. “South, I’d guess. But not too far south. Kentucky, or maybe Tennessee?”

“You’re good. Kentucky.” Caitlin confessed, “I don’t like my accent. I wouldn’t mind sounding like a southern belle, but I’m afraid I’m more like a hillbilly.”

Mrs. Hollister laughed. “I think it’s charming.”

Caitlin liked the woman. Something about her laugh was infectious. But then she caught a calculating sparkle in the eyes that swept from her to Chase. Uh-oh. Something of a matchmaker for her son, was she?

Sorry, Mrs. Hollister. You’d better keep looking. I’ve got three hundred sixty-five days of unencumbered singleness ahead of me.

Caitlin cleared her throat. “I saw on your sign that you give free tours, and thought I might take one.” She glanced around the room, looking for a listing of the tour times. “When is the next one scheduled?”

Mrs. Hollister looked at her watch. “How does right now sound?”

“Perfect. Do you conduct the tours?”

The woman looped her hand through her son’s arm and squeezed. “Chase does a much better job with the tours than I do. He can tell you everything you ever wanted to know about candle making.”

Chase looked startled. “But I’ve got to finish the invent—”

“Nonsense!” The stern look Mrs. Hollister turned on her son brought a grin to Caitlin’s face. She looked like she was scolding her ten-year-old, though Chase was closer to thirty, if Caitlin was any judge.

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Caitlin said. “I’m here until Sunday night. I could come back tomorrow.”

The stern look turned her way. “It’s no trouble at all. Is it, Chase?”

He obviously didn’t want to be bothered giving her a personal tour. But apparently he wasn’t up for contradicting his mother. The smile he assumed held a touch of resignation. “I have been making candles long enough to know a thing or two about the process.”

This is a joke, isn’t it, God? Throw me together with a handsome guy, add a few not-so-subtle nudges from his mother—it’s a test to see if I’m really serious about my decision, isn’t it?

Well, Caitlin was accustomed to scoring well on tests.

“That’s terrific. Thanks so much.” Did her voice sound too bubbly, too enthusiastic? To cover her embarrassment, she thrust her hand toward him. “My name’s Caitlin Saylor.”

“Nice to meet you, Caitlin.”

Their hands connected, and the soft skin of Caitlin’s palm tingled where it nestled next to his. An answering flutter tickled the pit of her stomach. This kind of stuff never happened to her. Why now, after her decision?

When Chase released her hand, she clutched the shoulder strap of her purse and lifted her chin, determined to ignore the flutter.

Three hundred and sixty-five days. No problem.

“We break the blocks into smaller pieces to speed the melting process.” Chase directed Caitlin’s attention to the worktable where Alex stood hacking at a slab of wax with a hammer and chisel.

She stopped her curious inspection of the room to watch Alex. Chase didn’t think her interest was feigned, though up in the shop he’d thought she might hightail it out of there when his mom started shoving them together.

Not that Chase would have blamed Caitlin. In fact, he’d have been tempted to flee with her, to escape the machinations of his mother when she got that gleam in her eye. And she seemed to get it a lot lately. Like finding him a date had become her number-one priority in life or something. She reminded Chase at least twice a week that he hadn’t gone on a date since he and Leslie broke up, shortly after Kevin’s death.

The image he’d seen inside the car this morning flashed across his mind with surprising clarity. An answering surge of bile threatened. Chase gulped in a couple of deep breaths.

“I do the same thing with baker’s chocolate.” Caitlin brought him back to the task at hand. “Otherwise part of it scorches before the bigger pieces have a chance to melt.”

“Exactly.”

Alex pounded off another chunk, this time with a quick sideways glance at Caitlin as the piece of pale white wax broke off. Were his biceps bulging more than normal? Yeah, they were. Chase swallowed a disgusted grunt. Alex was flexing them on purpose, the show-off. Known as something of a lady’s man, Alex loved to put on a show for the pretty tourists.

And Caitlin was pretty. Blond hair. Blue eyes. The top of her head was on level with his nose.

Her looks weren’t lost on Alex, apparently. The guy puffed his chest out and swaggered behind the table where he stood. “This is the easy part,” Alex said. He waved a dismissive hand at the block of wax. “Requires nothing but brute force.” The show-off gave her a broad wink as he hefted a new slab of wax into position. “Stick around and I’ll be happy to demonstrate the part that takes finesse a little later.”

Judging by the way her cheeks flushed, she caught the double entendre. Chase couldn’t tell if she was pleased or embarrassed by Alex’s flirting, but she didn’t meet his eyes. Definitely didn’t flirt, like many women would have.

In fact, she hadn’t flirted with him, either. Chase liked that—he preferred women who didn’t go for all that eyelash-batting stuff.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think we’re good.” Chase gave Alex a stern stare over the top of Caitlin’s lowered head. Grinning, the Romeo lifted a shoulder and picked up his hammer.

Chase smiled down at Caitlin. “Let’s go into the other room, where the real work takes place.”

He put a hand on the back of her arm and guided her away from Alex’s worktable. He pointed out the neat rows of twenty-five-pound pails containing scented oil, stored on shelves along the rear wall, then led her through the doorway into the long, narrow room beyond. Fifty or so jars filled with liquid wax lined the worktable in the center. At the deep sink, Irene was cleaning up the last of the equipment from the morning’s pour. She flashed a smile in their direction, continuing with her task.

“You just missed a pour,” he informed Caitlin as he led her down the length of the table. “We did French Vanilla this morning.”

He described the process of mixing the fragrances, achieving the correct wax temperature, securing the wicks and pouring, and also the various effects to be achieved by different cooling techniques.

When he finished his spiel, she pointed toward a table that lined the rear wall, laden with dozens of metal molds. “You do all kinds of candles at once? Jars, pillars, tins, all the ones I saw in the shop?”

He shook his head. “We use a different kind of wax for pillars and votives, because they have to be taken out of the mold.” He nodded toward the table. “Those are Cinnamon Red Hots from yesterday afternoon. They’re ready to be unmolded, wrapped and shipped out.”

She gave him a surprised look. “Shipped out? You don’t sell them all here?”

“Oh, no. The shop is just one small piece of our business. We have a great Web site, and we get orders from all over the country. And most of our local business comes from the shops downtown.”

Chase led her to the third worktable, where four boxes of jar candles stood waiting for delivery. “These are interesting.” He flipped open a flap of the box and pulled out a deep-purple candle. “Forbidden Fantasy. Last year we designed this scent for a shop here in town. They sell a ton of them.”

He held the jar up for her inspection, and she read from the label. “‘Made by Good Things In Wax exclusively for The Candle Corner, Nashville, Indiana.’” She tilted her head to look at him sideways, a smile hovering at the edge of her mouth. “So you mean I can’t buy this from you? I’d have to go downtown to get it?”

That almost-smile was contagious. Chase found his mouth curving in answer, and was unable to look away from eyes almost exactly the same shade of blue as his favorite Maui Breeze candle.

On impulse, he pushed the jar toward her. “You don’t have to go anywhere. This is your gift for taking the tour. With our compliments.”

The smile broke loose, and a deep dimple creased her cheek. “Thank you.”

Blue eyes, blond hair, dimples. Chase tore his gaze away, his throat suddenly dry. “That concludes the tour, I’m afraid. If you’ll follow me.”

“Hey!”

An exclamation from behind made Caitlin jump, and Chase turned, frowning toward the intruder. Willie Evans had come through the back door and was hovering at the edge of the worktable.

“Yes, Willie?” Chase kept his tone polite. Truth be told, he didn’t like the man. Something about the way he wouldn’t look Chase in the eye when they talked. Like now. His eyes moved continually, darting between Caitlin and Chase and the boxes of product. But he was a charity case of Korey’s, who’d insisted on giving him a job as a part-time delivery driver because the guy needed steady employment. He was too scattered, too inattentive to trust in the factory, but he was a good driver. He’d never had an accident, and Chase had to admit, Willie was reliable. He showed up for work when he was supposed to and he made the deliveries on time.

“Uh, I was just getting ready to take those over to the Candle Corner.” A muscle beneath his left eye twitched as his gaze fixed on the jar in Caitlin’s hand. “Now there’s one short. I don’t wanna get in trouble or nothing.”

Chase forced himself to smile at the man. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure their account reflects the credit. If anybody says anything, have them call me.”

Willie’s tongue made an appearance to run quickly across his lower lip, his gaze fixed on the candle. His nod was more like a jerk. “I’ll tell ’em.”

Chase flashed a quick smile of dismissal before he turned away, and Caitlin fell in beside him. As they passed through the workroom, Alex stopped in the act of placing another slab of wax on the sturdy table to watch their progress across the room. Caitlin didn’t seem to notice his attention, but stuck right by Chase’s side, holding her candle close. Chase straightened his shoulders and smirked over the top of her head. Take that, Casanova.

FOUR

They stepped into the shop to find Chase’s mother chatting with two older women. Caitlin hesitated. Should she buy something? It would probably be the polite thing to do, since she’d taken up so much of his time—and since he’d given her one candle as a gift already.

She turned away from him to hide a fit of nerves. The suddenness of his gesture in the back room led her to believe not every person who took the tour left with a gift. Especially one of the special candles they didn’t even sell in their own store. That definitely counted as flirting. And she’d probably flirted back, despite her best intentions.