Scent of Murder. Virginia Smith
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