Page 1 of Hold a Candle

Chapter 1

Jamie MacNamara slippedhis key into the old lock on the back door of Happy Housekeepers, the business he ran for his daughter Lucerne. When the door slid open before he’d even turned the key, his first instinct was to back away, turn around, and go down to his car to call the police.

Twenty years ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to step boldly inside and tackle an intruder. But then that was twenty years ago. He paused and listened. Someone was moving around inside the little kitchenette. Trying to be stealthy, he started backing up the eight feet required to get to the back steps and inadvertently kicked into something with his heel. Swearing softly, seconds of memory flashing in his mind told him that the terra cotta pot planted with a single bright yellow Dahlia plant was about to be history. True to his thought, Lucerne’s flower pot rolled backwards down the stairs and crashed onto the pavement of the parking lot, breaking into several different pieces.

Frozen in place and barely breathing, Jamie stared at the door, expecting to be bowled over any second by someone trying to escape. When he heard footsteps, they weren’t coming toward him, they were pounding hard toward the front office area. Quickly, he leaped into action, slamming the door backward and racing towards the front. When he got to the front, the door was wide open and he could see a slim figure racing down the steps dressed in a scruffy black sweatshirt that had seen better days, faded jeans hanging down the back of his butt cheeks, and thick brownish hair pulled behind his neck in a curled ponytail. Jamie made it to the front door and peered out, but the figure disappeared around the next corner and was gone without a backward glance. Whoever it was, they were fast.

Disgruntled, he took out his cell phone and headed back into the kitchen to assess the damages and call the emergency number. As he turned to his left when he entered the kitchen, it was the trickling of blood pooling from the corner that caught his immediate attention. Following the stream upward, his eyes fastened on the tennis shoe and lower jean-clad ankle of a man sticking out from between the fridge and the pantry that sent chills through his body. The large trash can that usually fit into the area was on its side, the contents strewn across the floor.

“Hello? Hello?”

Stunned, Jamie realized someone had finally answered his phone call. Stuttering, he tried to explain.

“T-There’s a body...I was broken into...there’s blood...someone ran away...”

Quickly, the disembodied voice on the phone started asking pertinent questions, and all Jamie had to do was answer them while he tried to collect his scattered wits.

“The police and ambulance are on their way, sir. Please don’t touch anything. Just stay on the line with me until they arrive.”

“Aye,” Jamie replied with a frown. “Ye don’t want me to check the person to see if he is alive?”

“Nay, sir. Ye appear to have interrupted a crime in progress, and ye don’t want to disturb the crime scene.”

Jamie nodded, although the lass couldn’t see him. He looked around the little kitchen, which was a complete mess. It looked as if there had been a fight. Doors to the cabinets above the counters were hanging open, biscuits were spilled out on the counter, and his coffee pot was shattered on the floor. He couldn’t even see the handle of it anywhere. It looked as if someone had been grabbing anything they could reach and throwing it on the floor. Or at someone, and then it had bounced to the floor. What in the world was going on?

When the jean-clad ankle suddenly moved and a groan emanated from the corner, Jamie stiffened. “Lass, the body just moved,” he informed her, his pulse racing. “And I heard a groan of pain.”

“For yer safety, sir, do not approach. Ye don’t know if this person is the victim or the aggressor, ye could be in danger.”

Backing up slightly towards the front office area, Jamie tried to see around the corner of the counter. The kitchen table and chairs had been shoved up against the wall. A chair lay over the top of the red trashcan blocking most of the view. He could see a big hairy arm bent at the elbow as if the man might be holding his head. Then the arm just dropped and Jamie wondered if he’d passed out? He sure had lost a lot of blood, so it wouldn’t surprise him.

“The police should be in the parking lot of yer location, sir. Please move to the back door and if ye have any weapons, put them on the floor.”

“Why would I have any weapons?” Jamie asked uneasily.

“I just have to read ye the precautions, sir,” the female voice added firmly. “Let me know when ye have engaged with the constables, please.”

Jamie moved cautiously out to the flat step of the concrete landing and watched two constables get out of their car and slowly approach him. “I see yer constables,” Jamie said into the phone, waving them forward.

“Thank ye, sir. I’ll be letting ye go now.”

“Aye, thank ye too,” Jamie added inanely. He dropped his phone in his pocket and engaged with the constables, Kearns and Withers. Kearns was the female, a mite taller and prettier than her partner, with her dark hair pulled behind her head, and a trim figure. Withers was stocky and muscled with short-cropped red hair and serious-looking blue eyes.

The next few minutes passed in a blur as they quickly took over the scene and called the detective inspector on duty. The ambulance drivers were waved into the secured scene and he got to see the rest of the man as they took him out on a stretcher.

Jamie’s eyes bulged when he saw the handle of his coffee pot protruding from the man’s muscled, upper chest, very close to his thick throat. “Cripes,” he exclaimed.

The man had several tattoos running up his arm and beneath his short-sleeved black t-shirt. He had cuts on his face and a huge lump over one of his thick, bushy eyebrows. There was no hair on his head, but the chest above his scoop necked shirt was hairy and matted with blood. He looked like a thug.

“Do ye know this man?” Kearns asked.

“Nay, I’ve never seen him before.” Jamie sat down on the deck chair that leaned up against the back of the building to dial Lucerne’s number while he waited for the lead detective.

Seeing what he was doing, Kearnes reached in and took his cell phone. “Ye can’t be calling anyone until ye have spoken with Detective MacBride,” she reproached him.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “This business belongs to Lucerne MacCandish. She needs to know what happened.”

Her eyes lit up with suspicion. “We’ve already confirmed that. Someone from the station is getting in touch with the property owner. What are ye doing here?”

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