Death Waxed Over (Book 3 in the Candlemaking Mysteries) Read Free Page A

my
space, but there would be time, since the festivities didn’t
officially open until 9 a.m . I was nearly back to my booth
when I ran into Gretel Barnett, the femme candlemaker
herself.
    “ Hi, Gretel. I didn’t know
you were going to be here,” I said, trying to hide my displeasure
at her presence.
    In a voice that rang out over the nearby
sounds of folks setting up, she proclaimed, “It’s a free country,
Harrison. I could hardly stand by and watch you steal all my
customers from me, now could I?”
    “ How in the world can you
accuse me of stealing anything? You’re the one encroaching on my
territory.” My voice tends to get louder when I’m excited or angry,
and I noticed that a few nearby vendors were watching us intently.
So be it. I wasn’t sure what had brought out this new belligerent
attitude of hers, but I wasn’t going to let her get away with
it.
    She retorted, “This is the land of
democracy, the American way. Surely you’re not against America.”
Gretel nearly shouted her last words, and we were getting more and
more attention.
    Fighting to keep my voice calmer than I
felt, I said, “I won’t give you the satisfaction of making me lose
my temper in public. This didn’t have to be personal, but you’re
making it that way.”
    “ I’m going to bury you,” she
said, not softening her voice at all. “You and your sad little
candle store.”
    As she stalked off, I felt my face redden. I
was still steaming as I approached my table.
    Heather asked, “What was that all
about?”
    “ You heard?”
    “ Everyone here heard you
two. Did she just accuse you of being un-American?”
    “ I thought we were going to
have a friendly little competition between candleshops, but I guess
I was wrong. Now it’s personal.”
    “ Harrison, you need to try
to get along with her.”
    A lecture was the last thing I needed at the
moment. “Heather, I don’t need you as my conscience. I wasn’t the
one who started this.”
    We didn’t share more than half a dozen words
after that, each left to our own thoughts. What in the world had
brought out that kind of attack from Gretel? She’d been abrupt when
she’d come into my shop before, but she hadn’t been insulting.
    As I worked on my display, I couldn’t help
wondering what had set her off. She’d been open only a week, but I
was already seeing a sharp drop in my sales. It hadn’t really
surprised me. Gretel had the wisdom of her franchise to back her up
and help her keep from making some of the mistakes that had nearly
ruined me.
    I’d been wondering if she was going to wipe
out my business, and then she actually had the nerve to make her
declaration to the world that she was going to bury me! If I lost
it all, it wasn’t going to be without a fight. I was determined to
prove her wrong, no matter what it took. If that meant extending my
hours and deepening my discounts, I could get by on less if I had
to. At least I had all of River’s Edge to help defray my expenses,
while she had only her stand-alone shop. I just wish I knew what
kind of cash reserves she had. Buying the franchise couldn’t have
been cheap, and I knew their support only went so far.
    Starting Monday morning, I was going to plan
an assault on Flickering Lights that would drive one of us out of
business; I just hoped it wasn’t At Wick’s End. I loved my
candleshop too much to just let it sink quietly into oblivion.
    But if a fight was what Gretel Barnett
wanted, then she was going to get one.

    I laid out my display, including a free
giveaway drawing for one of Eve’s most ornately carved candles. It
was a work of art, though she hadn’t liked it when I’d said that,
and I was hoping we could get enough names and addresses with the
entry forms to start a newsletter for At Wick’s End. It was an idea
I’d picked up from my research on making small businesses grow, and
I was willing to try just about anything. Another article had said
that if you could get the kids