Death Waxed Over: Book 3 in the Candlemaking Mysteries (Volume 3) by Tim Myers

Author:Tim Myers [Myers, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, cozy, candlemaking, north carolina, traditional, tim myers, crafts, at wicks end, harrison black
ISBN: 9781493500291
Amazon: 1493500295
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2013-10-18T00:00:00+00:00

“I’d like to see the owner,” I said the next morning as the hostess of The Ranch Restaurant approached me. She wore a fringed black vest and tall boots that nearly reached the hem of her skirt. I had decided the night before to pay a visit to Martin Graybill, one of the other property owners who’d hoped to make a deal with Runion. I wasn’t scheduled to come into the candleshop till noon, though no one would probably have noticed if I took a few days off. While business was beginning to pick up a little again, it was still quite a bit off from what we’d been having before Gretel’s murder.

“Is there something I can help you with?” the pretty redhead said.

“Sorry, I need to see Mr. Graybill.”

“He won’t be in for another half-hour. Would you like a table in the meantime?”

“No thanks, I’ll just wait at the counter.” I found a seat on one of the spinning stools and looked around. True to its name, The Ranch Restaurant sported all kinds of cowboy memorabilia, including lassos hung over the bar and a white counter dotted with cow spots. There was country music playing in the background, and I half- expected the waitresses to be wearing cowboy hats. They did all sport similar fringed vests and shiny boots, just like the hostess wore. I wondered what the waiters wore, but when I scanned the workers, the only men I saw were working back behind the grill. There was a signed photograph on the wall in front of me, and I wondered who would want the autograph of a rodeo clown.

An older blonde with a big smile filled up my coffee cup before I could refuse. “What can I get you?”

“This is fine,” I said.

“Just coffee? Okay then. If you want something else, let me know.” She moved on down the line and refilled a few more cups, each time pausing to look expectantly at me. It got to the point where I refused to make eye contact with her.

I’d been there ten minutes, nursing what was in my cup, when somebody slid onto the stool beside me.

“Roxie said you were looking for me.”

I swiveled on my seat and found a balding man wearing a shirt with metal collar tips, a bolo tie and the gaudiest cowboy boots I’d ever seen in my life. “Mr. Graybill?”

“You can call me Marty; everybody does,” he said as he stuck out his hand.

I took it, then said, “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thank you kindly, sir. Now what can I do for you?”

I took a sip of coffee, then said, “I’m here to talk to you about Gretel Barnett.”

Marty stiffened slightly beside me, then said, “Don’t know much about her. She was new in town. It’s a shame what happened to her.”

“That’s a pretty charitable attitude, considering that you must have been pretty upset with her.”

His “boy howdy” attitude was slipping quickly. “Why do you say that?”

“I’ve talked to Runion, I know all about the deal she blew for all of you.

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