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Murder Makes Scents

A Nantucket Candle Maker Mystery

by Christin Brecher

Murder Makes Scents (Nantucket Candle Maker Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
2nd in Series
Publisher: Kensington (February 25, 2020)
Mass Market Paperback: 272 pages
ISBN-10: 1496721411
ISBN-13: 978-1496721419
Digital ASIN: B07R6P9Z8M

Stella Wright loves creating candles at her Nantucket store—and she also has a burning passion for justice. Now, after visiting a perfume conference, she must solve a vial crime . . .

Stella and her globe-trotting mom, Millie, have come home from a perfume industry conference in Paris, where their trip was marred by witnessing the stabbing death of a young man. It’s a relief for Stella to be back on her picturesque island, with the comforting company of her cat, Tinker. But lingering danger may have followed them back across the ocean.

After someone breaks into her candle store, the Wick & Flame, Stella starts feeling spooked. And just as things threaten to ignite, Millie suffers a blow to the head. Stella receives an anonymous note claiming that her mother smuggled a secret formula out of France—and threatening her life if it isn’t returned. Now Stella’s picked up the scent of a cold-hearted criminal and an intriguing puzzle, and things are about to get wicked . . .

Enjoy this peek inside:

Seeing a man collapse with a knife in his back had been so surreal, I would not have believed it had happened except for the frenzy that ensued. In an instant, the World Perfumery Conference ended. The gendarme rushed into the conference center and began to cordon off the room. I heard the sound of sirens and looked through the large paned windows of the hotel, where I saw the flashing lights of firetrucks, police cars, and ambulances. A man in a blue uniform began to bark loudly at all the bystanders. Immediately, we were herded like cattle into one of the hotel’s

empty ballrooms. Many of the unlucky witnesses to the crime rushed into the room offered to us, presumably to escape the scene.

I moved more slowly, as I was fascinated by the proceedings. I watched as officers, wearing a variety of uniforms, converged around the man’s body and scattered across the hotel. Some spoke into walkie-talkies. Others traversed the building to relay information and give instructions. Although the scene looked chaotic, there was efficiency in the way the police, fire department, and emergency medical care teams worked.

At the door to the ballroom, I put my arm around my mother, who had been tugging me to move more quickly. I turned back and took one more look at the crime scene. My last image was of a man in a blue uniform, who passed us with a body bag.

I’d seen a murdered man before, last spring, but I’d never seen a man die.

The victim had made eye contact with me before his last breath. There had been a personal connection.

I had seen the small knife, no bigger than a letter opener, moments after it had been thrust into

his back. I felt sickened and angry that someone could do something so horrible to another human being.

“Dirty business,” I heard a man to the left of me say, “but only a matter of time before something like this happened. There’s a black market for new scents.”

“It was a lovers’ quarrel,” someone to the right of me said.

“I saw him the other night. He worked in the kitchen,” said someone behind me. “Must have been a disgruntled employee.”

Dozens of other theories began to circulate among the crowd in languages familiar and unfamiliar to me.

I watched as some onlookers cried, others took pictures, and still more spoke on their phones, looking annoyed, distressed, or sometimes excited. I recognized a couple of familiar faces from the week, but no one who we’d particularly befriended. I didn’t think anyone looked guilty of murder, although experience had taught me that someone willing to commit murder could hide in plain sight.

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About Author Christin Brecher

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