Town In a Blueberrry Jam

by B. B. Haywood

  “What?”

  “In taking over Sapphire’s column.”

  “Oh. That.” Candy let out a sigh as she closed the folder. “I just don’t know, Ben. I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Well, like I said, I sure could use your help. Of course, I’d pay you for your work.”

  That perked up her ears. “Pay? As in money? Cash?” He chuckled. “We’re on a tight budget, unfortunately, so I can’t afford much. Maybe seventy-five dollars a week?”

  It wasn’t much. Not enough to make her jump at a job she wasn’t sure she wanted.

  “Let me think about it,” she said again.

  Ben nodded. “Okay, but—not to put too much pressure on you—I need an answer fairly quickly. By, say, sometime tomorrow?”

  Candy nodded. “I can do that. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

  “Fine, fine.” He dug into a shirt pocket and pulled out a card. “Here’s my number.”

  Candy glanced down at the business card. BEN CLAYTON, EDITOR, it read in the center of the card in raised black letters. The name of the paper was in the upper left corner, followed by the address. The e-mail address and phone and fax numbers were at the bottom.

  Candy shoved the card into a back pocket as Ben reached up and flicked off the light. He led her back through the offices and down the stairs. Outside, the rain had let up a little.

  “I hope you’ll consider the offer,” he said as they stood in the alcove again. “I sure could use the help.”

  “It might be fun,” Candy said, trying to sound positive, though something about the whole thing bothered her. Maybe it was the fact that she would be taking Sapphire’s old job.

  She raced back to the Jeep and jumped into the front seat, but sat for a few minutes before she started it up, considering Ben’s offer. She believed in going with her gut instinct, and that instinct told her to take a pass on the job. Still, she had promised him she would think about it, and she decided that that was what she would do.

  But first, she had a friend to save, and a stop to make.

  SIXTEEN

  Even as she walked up to the front door, she wasn’t sure why she had come.

  Ned Winetrop lived in what was commonly called a New Englander—a catchall term for a two-story, high-peaked-roof affair that couldn’t quite be classified as a Victorian, cape, ranch, or anything else. This one had obviously once been known euphemistically as a “fixer-upper,” but Ned, being a carpenter, had done quite a bit of work on it over the years. It was now fairly presentable, though still rather plain looking, with its simple lines and white clapboard exterior.

  Candy was somewhat surprised to find Ned’s old, dark blue Reading-bodied work truck in the driveway. Some part of her had been hoping he wouldn’t be home, but he was, so she had no excuse for driving away without talking to him.

  She had been uncertain at first of what she was going to say to him, but on the ride over she had worked it out in her head. She rehearsed it mentally one last time as she climbed the cement steps, pulled open the screen door, and rapped loudly on the front door, which looked as though it had just been given a fresh coat of burgundy-colored paint.

  She heard movement inside. A moment later the door opened and Ned peered out, holding a half-eaten sandwich in one hand. “Yeah?”

  “Hi, Ned. It’s Candy Holliday.”

  He looked surprised to see her. “Oh, hi, Candy.” He leaned out and glanced back and forth. “Doc with you?”

  “No, I’m here alone. I wondered if I could have a few minutes of your time.”

  Ned took a bite out of the sandwich. He had a pudgy face with high cheeks, and the combination partially obscured his dark eyes, as though burying them amongst a jumble of deep red pillows. “Sure, guess so. What about?”

  “The Blueberry Queen Pageant.” Candy flashed the business card Ben Clayton had given her, though she was careful to hold her thumb over Ben’s name, so that just the newspaper’s name and address at the top showed. “I’m working for the Cape Crier now. Ben, the editor, asked me to write an article about the pageant. I thought I’d include something about your efforts.”

  “Really?” Ned’s eyes widened, he grinned oddly, and with his ample hip he pushed the front door open all the way. “Come on in.”

  The living room was neat and welcoming, though it was clear Mrs. Ned subscribed to the Wal-Mart School of Decorating. “Wanna sit down?” Ned indicated the olive green sofa, which obviously was not from the Ethan Allen collection.

  “Okay, sure.”

  “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

  Candy shook her head as she settled into the sofa. “I don’t want to take too much of your time.”

  Ned finished his sandwich in three bites and dusted his fingers on the front of his shirt. “So what can I help you with?” he asked around a mouthful of ham, cheese, and French’s mustard.

  “Well, I know you did a lot of work on the set for the pageant.”

  He nodded as he settled into a well-worn armchair. “Yup, yup.”

  “I was just curious about some of the stuff you did, how long it took, that sort of thing.”

  Ned scratched his head. “Well, you know, it wasn’t that tough of a job. I helped build the backdrop and did some of the decorating . . . ,” and he went on to describe his contributions to the pageant.

  “So you were in Town Hall most of the afternoon, then?” Candy asked. “On Saturday, I mean.”

  “Yup, on Saturday. I wasn’t there that long. Just a couple of hours.”

  “I heard you needed some new tools to do some of the work.”

  Ned’s thick dark brows fell into a questioning look. “Tools?”

  “Yeah, you know, I heard you had to buy a new hammer.”

  “Oh, that.” He relaxed a bit. “You know, there’s a funny story about that. I loaned my best hammer to a friend, and would you believe he busted it trying to get a tire off his van?” Ned laughed. “He had a flat, and the tire was stuck—they’ll do that sometimes, you know. Most times you just have to give it a good kick with the heel of your boot, but he didn’t know that, so he banged on the metal wheel one too many times with my hammer. Shattered the handle. ’Course, he gave me some money to pay for a new one, and I had to make a trip to Gumm’s that morning. Bought this nice new red-handled job. And would you believe I lost it that same day?”

  “You lost it?” Trying to remain nonchalant, Candy laughed with him—a good acting job, she thought.

  “It sounds funny now, but I’ll tell you I was pretty burned up about it at the time. I set that thing down on the stage—at least, that’s where I thought I put it—and when I went back to get it, it was gone. Either someone stole it or . . .”

  It must have dawned on him then what he was saying, because he stopped suddenly and looked at her with a strange expression on his red face. “Why are you asking me about the hammer?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

  Candy waved a hand at him and laughed nervously. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, trying to sound light and airy, though it came out incredibly forced. “It just sounded like an interesting story.”

  Ned stared at her for the longest time, his face an unreadable mask as his mind worked back over the conversation. Finally he asked, “How did you know I bought a new hammer?”

  “Oh.” Candy bit her lip, trying to think fast, but nothing much came to her. She shrugged, attempting to remain calm. “I guess I just heard it somewhere. It’s not that important. I wanted to ask you about Ray. . . .”

  “Ray?”

  “Yeah, I know he helped you out on Saturday and—”

  “Candy, does this have anything to do with that murder?”

  “Murder?” Candy repeated parrotlike, putting on her best surprised look. “You mean Sapphire Vine? Why, no, of course not, I, I . . .”

  Ned rose abruptly. “I don’t think I should answer any more questions,” he said stiffly.

  Candy felt her heart thump in her
chest as she rose too. “Why not?”

  He let out a long breath through his nose. “I don’t think I should say anything about it right now.”

  “Have the police talked to you?”

  “Candy . . .” Ned’s voice trailed off as he crossed his arms and admonished her with his eyes.

  “Okay, okay,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry if I’ve said anything to offend you. I was just trying to get some info for my story.”

  “Well . . .” He rolled his eyes. “No harm done, I guess, but I just can’t say anything else about what happened that day.”

  “Oh no, of course not, I completely understand,” Candy said awkwardly, and made her way to the door.

  I guess that was a stupid thing to do, she thought as she climbed back into the Jeep and drove home.

  On the other hand, it had worked. She had found out an important piece of information about that day—Ned had lost his hammer. She sensed she was on to something.

  In a moment of clarity, she knew what she had to do next.

  When she got home, she walked around to the back of the barn. Doc was working on the coop, attaching the new chicken wire with a staple gun. “I’ll be right there to help, Dad,” she called to him, then turned, walked into the kitchen, and picked up the phone.

  She called Maggie first. “Can’t meet you today,” Maggie said hurriedly. “Just got too much to do. Tomorrow, lunch?”

  “Sure. I’ll meet you at Duffy’s at twelve thirty. I have a lot to tell you.”

  “I can’t wait. See you then.”

  After she hung up, Candy took Ben’s card from her pocket and dialed his number. “Hi, it’s Candy Holliday,” she said when he answered the phone at the other end.

  “Oh, hi, Candy. What’s up?”

  “About that job you offered me? I’ve decided to accept it.”

  SEVENTEEN

  The next morning, Candy and Doc climbed into the Jeep Cherokee and headed up to Route 1, where they turned east toward the town of Machias, the county seat. The day was overcast, the remnants of the previous day’s storm still clinging stubbornly to the coast, which only added to their somber moods.

  They were silent for most of the forty-minute drive, which took them through small settlements and past boulder-strewn blueberry fields ripe for the harvest. Candy kept the radio tuned to an AM news station, though they heard more static than news as the signal faded in and out. They were eager for the latest information about the investigation into Sapphire Vine’s murder, but there was nothing to be heard, which only made Candy more morose and Doc more restless.

  The Washington County Sheriff’s Office was located on Court Street just off Machias’s main street, in a red brick building next to the Superior Court. They parked in the side visitor’s lot, checked in at the front desk, and at just after ten o’clock were shown into an empty room by a young, straight-backed, mustachioed officer named Wayne Safford. “You can wait for Ray in here,” he told them. “He’ll be right in.”

  It was a small, windowless, cheerless room with a freshly waxed brown and white tile floor and walls painted a dull institutional beige. At its center was a narrow folding table surrounded by four metal folding chairs. A U.S. flag stood in one corner, next to a flag of the great State of Maine, with its moose and pine tree, farmer and seaman, set on a blue field under the North Star. There was no other furniture in the room—no pictures or photos on the walls, no one-way mirrors. The place smelled old yet efficient.

  “Well,” Doc said as he dropped into one of the chairs with a grunt, “at least they let us in to see him. I thought they’d give us a hard time.”

  Candy nodded her agreement and stood with her arms folded across her chest, hugging her shoulders. The air conditioning in the building must have been set on high, or perhaps it was all funneled into this small room. Feeling chilled, she wished she had brought a sweater with her. But who travels with a sweater when it’s eighty degrees outside?

  She thought of sitting down beside Doc but realized she was too nervous for that, so she paced the perimeter of the room, looking for anything the least bit interesting to occupy her time, and failing miserably.

  Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait too long. Sooner than she expected, the door swung open and Ray shuffled in, his head bowed low. He looked terrible. Even when he saw Candy and Doc, the most he could manage was the most pitiful smile she had ever seen. He sank heavily into a chair opposite Doc. His gaze dropped to the table and stayed there.

  “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” Officer Safford said. He left, closing the door firmly behind him.

  A loud click told them the door locked itself as it shut.

  Doc tried to ignore that disconcerting fact. “Well, how ya doing, Ray?” he said in a lively tone that sounded much too forced. He managed a smile as he leaned closer to the handyman. “Are they treating you all right?”

  Ray shrugged, a quick movement that showed defeat. He let out a long shuddering breath. “Oh, they been okay to me.” His bottom lip puffed out a little. He seemed to be fighting back tears.

  Candy felt the despair, embarrassment, and confusion radiating off him in waves. “Are they feeding you, Ray?” she asked, looking worried. “Are you eating?”

  Ray nodded, though he still stared at the tabletop. “I had donuts and flapjacks for breakfast. They even gave me some blueberry syrup. I been eatin’.”

  Candy went to stand beside him, and she couldn’t help reaching out and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Ray,” she said softly, “do you want to tell us what happened?”

  That did it. The tear ducts opened, the emotions bubbled up, and he shook like a house in a hurricane. “I . . . I didn’t do it,” he stuttered between sobs. “I didn’t do that terrible thing they said I did.” He glanced up at Candy, a horrified look in his eyes. “How could they say I did it? They don’t know me. I could never do somethin’ terrible like that.”

  “I know, Ray, I know,” Candy said sympathetically.

  “We know you didn’t do it,” Doc added, “but what happened? How’d you get mixed up in this mess?”

  “I don’t know, Doc, I just don’t know,” Ray wailed, shaking his head frenetically and dropping it into his open hands.

  “Try to stay calm,” Candy told him, sinking into the chair beside him and looking at him intently. “Take a few deep breaths.”

  He listened to her. He straightened and took a breath, then another, shaking with grief the whole time. That calmed him a bit, though the distress he felt was still evident on his face. “Why do they think I did it?” he asked finally, looking over at her, his eyes reddened.

  Doc leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped together on the tabletop. “Well, for one thing, Ray, they have witnesses who say they saw your truck at Sapphire’s house Monday night, right before she was murdered,” he explained as gently as possible.

  Ray nodded as his lips trembled. “Yeah, that’s right. I was there all right. She left me a note. Said she wanted me to come over at nine thirty and help her fix something. It was late, but I went over there anyway, just like she said. But when I got there she got mad at me for some reason. She yelled at me and told me to go home. I didn’t know what to do. So I left. But I didn’t kill her.”

  Candy exchanged a questioning glance with Doc. “Did you tell the police what you just told us?”

  Ray nodded emphatically. “I told them—over and over I told them. But they won’t listen. They said I did it. They said they have evidence.”

  “They do,” Doc said quietly. “They found your hammer at her house, next to her body.”

  Candy watched Ray to see his reaction to this piece of information, and what she saw surprised her. His expression changed in an instant. He looked as though he had just been accused of the worst crime in the world—something far worse than murder, if that were possible. He started to wail in a high voice, a strange sound that reminded Candy of a wet kitten mewling pitifully.

  “My . . . m
y hammer,” he said softly. “But how’d it get there?” He lost his composure then and broke down again, crying uncontrollably now.

  Candy and Doc sat silently for a moment, feeling helpless. Neither of them knew what to say. They tried to comfort him, but this time it didn’t help. He just shook his head over and over and wouldn’t say anything else.

  “Ray,” Doc said finally, trying to get the handyman to look at him. “Ray, do you have a lawyer yet? Have they appointed someone to help you?”

  But Ray wouldn’t answer. The sobs finally lessened, but he sat crouched over, his hands around his knees, his shoulders hunched and arms tucked in at his sides, rocking back and forth. And then he started humming something.

  Candy put her arm around his shoulders. “Listen, Ray,” she said, leaning close to him, “we’re going to help you any way we can. You hear that? Don’t you worry. We know you didn’t have anything to do with this. And we’re going to do everything we can to prove it. We’re going to get you out of here. That’s a promise.”

  She didn’t realize until that moment that there were tears in her eyes. She wiped them away quickly with her fingertips. Doc reached across the table and handed her his handkerchief.

  When Officer Safford finally unlocked the door and peered into the room, Ray was still sitting in that same position, rocking back and forth. Doc and Candy were standing quietly beside him. There was nothing more to say.

  “Does he have an attorney?” Doc asked as Ray was coaxed to his feet.

  Officer Safford nodded. “He’s got someone. And a county social worker has been assigned to him also. He’s in good hands.”

  “What’s the lawyer’s name?” Candy asked.

  “Big-time guy by the name of Cromwell. Down from Bangor.”

  With that, Ray was led away, and Candy and Doc were left alone in an empty room.

  EIGHTEEN

  As Candy and Doc drove into Cape Willington, the sun finally broke through the coastal clouds, brightening the day, but it did little to lift their spirits. They had talked themselves out on the drive home and had ridden the last twenty minutes or so in silence. But as they approached the Coastal Loop, Doc straightened, rubbed at his eyes, stretched, and then looked over at her. “You want to stop at the diner for a while? Get a cup of coffee maybe, see if Finn’s got any news about the investigation?”