Town In a Blueberrry Jam

by B. B. Haywood

  “They’ve contacted you then?” Candy asked.

  “We heard from the pageant committee this morning,” Mrs. Pruitt replied smugly. “There will be a short ceremony at Town Hall on Sunday morning.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful Blueberry Queen,” Candy said diplomatically. In a fleeting moment, she thought of asking Haley her thoughts about Sapphire’s death but decided that it might seem inappropriate at the moment. Instead, she thanked Mrs. Pruitt for seeing her and asked for permission to contact her should she have any further questions.

  A few moments later she was ushered politely outside, and the heavy front door closed firmly behind her.

  As she walked toward the Jeep, digging in her pocket for her keys, she turned and took one last look back at the manor. Its stucco-and-timber exterior was well maintained, and the multiple gables, overhanging upper stories, and tall brick chimneys gave the place an unmistakable medieval appearance.

  She turned, her gaze wandering. A walkway that branched off led to a flowing fountain, and farther off to the right was a four-bay garage. Several of the garage doors were open. Candy could see the tail-end of the Bentley sitting in the cool shade of the garage, and also what looked like a Mercedes SUV.

  Along the wall in the far-right bay was a long workbench, with a variety of toolboxes, an air pump, and other mechanical devices scattered across its surface.

  I wonder, Candy thought.

  She checked over her right shoulder, then her left. She made a complete about-face.

  No one around. She was completely alone.

  Trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible, she meandered along the walkway toward the garage, stopping and turning frequently, pretending to admire the estate and the grounds. As she got closer to the garage, she angled sharply toward the Bentley, deciding to use that as an excuse if anyone spotted her, but veered at the last moment into the far-right bay. Nervously she scanned the workbench, then flipped open the lids of a few toolboxes, searching inside.

  No red-handled hammer.

  Cameron had told Officer Martin that one of the hammers had been sold to the butler at Pruitt Manor—Hobbins.

  If that was true, it had to be here somewhere. She had to check on it, just to satisfy her curiosity.

  She opened a few drawers and scanned the shelves above the workbench but found nothing. She was just about to turn and leave when a voice behind her asked, “Can I help you?”

  Candy spun, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest.

  Standing at the entrance to the bay, and blocking her exit, was Hobbins.

  He had removed his suit jacket and now wore a dark-green work apron. His starched shirtsleeves were rolled up to mid-forearm.

  In his hand was a hammer. A red-handled hammer.

  Candy was so surprised she stuttered and stammered, unable to get out any actual words. “I . . . I . . . um . . . uh . . .”

  “Are you looking for something?” the butler asked suspiciously.

  “No, I . . .uh, uh . . . I was, uh . . . I just wanted to look at your Bentley,” she finally managed to say in a rush.

  “Oh.” Letting out a breath, Hobbins carelessly tossed the hammer onto the workbench and waved. “Well come on then. You can have a look at it.”

  “Oh, um, good. Thank you very much.” Candy forced a smile.

  “It’s a ninety-three Brooklands Saloon style, as you can see,” said Hobbins as he walked to the car. “All the standard amenities—alloy wheels, heated seats, wood trim, traction assist, dual horns. Six-point-seven-five-liter engine capacity. Black with gray interior. Handles like a dream . . .”

  Five minutes later, still shaking a little after the unexpected encounter with the butler, Candy climbed gratefully into the Jeep, started the engine, and drove back down the gravel driveway.

  “You have to stop doing this to yourself,” she muttered as she turned toward town.

  But at the same time she sensed she was making some progress.

  Possible bribery. Missing hammers—and a hammer that wasn’t missing. And was there a link between the pageant itself and Sapphire’s death?

  It all would make for interesting conversation when she met with Maggie for lunch at Duffy’s.

  NINETEEN

  Doc and his buddies were gone. The corner booth at Duffy’s where they usually held court was occupied by a suburbanite family, obviously tourists, with three bouncing children, one of whom had climbed on top of the leatherette booth seatback and was riding it like a horsey. Dolores the waitress, looking exasperated, was trying to coax the young boy back down into a normal sitting position. The parents seemed more annoyed at Dolores than at their own child.

  “Hey, Dolores,” Candy called as the waitress approached her after having had little success with the family in the corner booth. “Have you seen Doc?”

  “He left awhile ago with his posse.”

  “Do you know where they went?”

  Dolores shrugged. “Don’t know, honey. Sorry.”

  As the harried waitress rushed away to deal with her demanding customers, another voice nearby spoke up. “Excuse me, but they said they were headed over to the Rusty Moose to play some pool.”

  Candy turned. “Sorry?”

  Sebastian J. Quinn sat in a nearby booth, alone. He had almost finished what looked like a hot turkey sandwich and mashed potatoes swamped in a river of brown gravy.

  “I heard them talking,” Sebastian went on, pointing with a thumb to the corner booth behind him, “before they left.”

  Candy nodded gratefully. “Oh, okay. Thanks, um, Mr. Quinn.”

  “Please, call me Sebastian.” He motioned to the seat opposite him. “I believe they said they’d be back fairly quickly. You’re welcome to sit and wait for them, if you’d like.”

  “Oh! Well . . .” Candy glanced around at the clock on the wall behind the counter. Twenty after twelve. She was to meet Maggie for lunch at twelve thirty. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone. . . .”

  “Wait with me then,” Sebastian said without a hint of desperation. “We can keep each other company. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

  Candy allowed herself a smile. “To tell you the truth, that does sound pretty good.” And despite her reservations, she slid into the booth across the table from Sebastian as he summoned Dolores.

  After Candy had ordered, Sebastian said, “So, who are you meeting, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Oh, just a friend of mine. Maggie Tremont.”

  “Tremont?” Sebastian’s fork perched above his plate. “Any relation to Amanda?”

  “Her mother.”

  “Ahh.” He scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes, dripping gravy, which he shoveled into his mouth. “Amanda did a good job Saturday night. She seems like a delightful young lady.”

  “She’s a good kid. She worked really hard to prepare for the pageant. All the girls did. It was a wonderful show, though it ended strangely.”

  “Yes it did.”

  “It’s too bad,” Candy went on, giving Dolores a nod of thanks as her coffee arrived, “because everything that’s happened since then has overshadowed the efforts of those girls up on the stage that night.”

  “I suppose everyone’s in shock over the news of Sapphire’s death.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” Candy ripped open a packet of Equal and stirred it into her coffee. “Nothing like that has ever happened in this little town before, at least as far as I know. It just doesn’t seem, well, it doesn’t seem real.”

  “Are you familiar with this Ray fellow—the one they’ve arrested?”

  “Oh sure.” Candy took a sip of her coffee. It was good and hot though a bit bitter even with the sugar—typical diner coffee. “Ray’s a good friend and a really sweet person. I just can’t believe he had anything to do with this.”

  “The murder, you mean? Why is that?”

  Candy sighed. “Well, you’d have to know Ray. He’s a gentle sort. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.
”

  “So you think he’s innocent?”

  “I know he’s innocent,” Candy said adamantly, “and I’m going to prove it.”

  The ends of Sebastian’s wide mouth arced up in a smirk. “Really? That sounds quite noble of you. And how do you plan to do that?” He watched her in amusement as he scooped up the last of the mashed potatoes and gravy on his plate.

  Candy wasn’t put off by his condescending tone. “By finding out who really murdered Sapphire, of course,” she said simply.

  “So you’re a private investigator?”

  Candy snorted. “Far from it. I’m not nearly anything as important sounding as that. I’m just a private citizen trying to do her civic duty.”

  “Well, that’s commendable.” Sebastian placed his knife and fork on the empty plate and pushed it toward the end of the table, then picked up the napkin, which he dabbed at mouth and beard. “And how is the investigation progressing?”

  Candy arched an eyebrow. “Just between you and me, I’ve turned up a few curious clues that so far haven’t added up to much.”

  Sebastian grinned conspiratorially as he put his arms on the table and leaned forward. “I love a good mystery. Care to share what you’ve learned so far?”

  “Not yet,” Candy said enigmatically, “but if I uncover anything particularly troublesome, I’ll let you know.”

  “I’d be glad to lend a hand any way I can, of course. I’m quite adept at unraveling mysteries. I’ve been known to regularly figure out those mysteries on TV long before the third commercial break.”

  “Oh my. A real pro.” Candy feigned an impressed tone, then looked at him catlike as she saw an opportunity. She leaned closer too. “Well, if you really want to help, there is one thing I’m curious about—something you might know.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Well, there’s a rumor going around town that one of the judges was bribed by Sapphire—so she could win the crown. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”

  As she asked the question, she saw, just for an instant, a look of surprise flash through his eyes. “Bribery?”

  “That’s the scuttlebutt.”

  “Scuttlebutt?” He laughed, at ease again, though it seemed a bit forced. “That’s a strange word. You learn that in the military?”

  “Actually, from Doc. He was in the Navy back in the sixties. Went through college on the G.I. Bill. So?”

  But before Sebastian could answer, Maggie huffed up to the table and in a flurry of movement slid into the booth beside Candy. “Hi, honey, made it! Sorry I’m late! It’s just been a hectic week.”

  “Oh, hi, Mags.”

  As Maggie settled herself, she cast an appraising eye at Sebastian. “So . . . I’m not barging in on anything, am I? I’d hate to break up a romantic rendezvous.”

  “Maggie!” Candy yelped, offended.

  “Candy and I were just having a pleasant conversation,” Sebastian said diplomatically.

  “Is that what they call it these days?” Maggie gave him a wink.

  “If you must know,” Candy said archly, “I was just asking Sebastian about the rumors that Sapphire had bribed one of the pageant judges.”

  “Ooh.” Maggie rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Sounds like I made it here just in time.” She looked pointedly at Sebastian, as did Candy. “So?”

  For a few long moments Sebastian J. Quinn stared back at them with something approaching disbelief in his eyes. Then he laughed as he signaled for the check. “Ladies, ladies, you know I can’t talk about anything like that. I’m sworn to secrecy. Besides, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. Perhaps the rumors are wrong. Perhaps Ms. Vine won the pageant fair and square.”

  Candy tilted her head thoughtfully, sharpening her gaze on him. “That’s what Herr Georg said. Sounds like we have a conspiracy on our hands.”

  “Then you also have quite an investigation on your hands,” Sebastian said as he slid from the booth and reached into a pocket, pulling out a wad of bills. He dropped a ten onto the table. “I wish I could continue this delightful conversation, ladies, but I have a few poems to write. If you’ll excuse me . . .”

  After he left, Maggie slipped around to the other side of the booth. “I guess we chased him off.”

  “Think he’s hiding something?”

  “No doubt about it. He knows something, that’s for sure.”

  “Maybe he knows how Sapphire won that pageant.”

  “He’s probably covering up for someone,” Maggie said as she pulled a menu out from its place between the plastic bottles of ketchup and mustard at the end of the table. “I’m telling you, that whole thing was rigged.”

  “That’s what Mrs. Pruitt thinks too.”

  “Mrs. Pruitt?” Maggie looked surprised. “You talked to her?”

  Candy nodded. “About an hour ago.”

  “What! And you didn’t tell me?”

  “You just got here.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Get talking, girl. And don’t you dare leave out a single tidbit. I want to know everything.”

  So as they ordered—a grilled chicken salad with extra alfalfa sprouts and tomatoes for Maggie, a veggie burger with mushrooms and onions, and coleslaw on the side for Candy—the topic of conversation focused on Candy’s visit with Mrs. Pruitt. That led to a discussion of Candy’s red-handled hammer theory, which was still under development—that somehow Ray’s hammer had become mixed up with another one, which had been the actual murder weapon.

  “It’s the only explanation,” Candy said as she took a bite of her veggie burger. “Ned even told me that his hammer is missing, which I find incredibly suspicious. I know the answer to this whole mess has something to do with those damned hammers.”

  “Have you asked Ray about it?”

  “Yeah, Doc and I talked to him this morning, but we got nowhere. He was too much of an emotional mess to tell us much of anything. I doubt he’s told the police much either.”

  “Have they charged him with anything yet?”

  Candy shook her head. “I didn’t think to ask.” After a moment, she added, “How do things like this work? With the police, I mean?”

  “Well,” Maggie said thoughtfully as she munched on her salad greens, “after the perp has been arrested, he’s booked and there’s an arraignment, I think, and a bail hearing. And then I think he’s formally charged, probably at the county courthouse in Machias. Or something like that.”

  “How long does all that take?”

  Maggie scrunched up her nose. “A couple of days, I think?”

  “Hmm.” Candy’s mouth twisted as she thought. “There’s not much time left then. I’ve got to figure this thing out pretty quickly, or Ray’s going to be in a heap of trouble.”

  “News flash, sweetie. He’s already in a heap of trouble!”

  “That’s true, isn’t it? Guess I’ve got to do some more digging to see if I can get to the bottom of this whole mess. Speaking of digging, did I tell you that I was in Sapphire’s office yesterday? And that I got a job offer? From Ben Clayton?”

  “What?” squeaked Maggie. “No, you didn’t! You little weasel! You know you’re supposed to tell me these things the moment they happen! Why didn’t you call me? When did all this take place?”

  “Yesterday afternoon, right after I left your office.”

  “Did he rescue you from that rainstorm?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “And he wants you to work for him? Doing what?”

  “Writing a column. Actually, taking over Sapphire’s column.”

  Maggie was almost beside herself with excitement. “And you accepted his offer, right?”

  “After thinking it over for a while, yes, I did.”

  “You had to think it over?” Maggie looked stunned.

  “I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it.”

  “Are you daft, girl?”

  “It’s a big commitment. A column a week.”

 
“So what’s the problem? You’re smart. You can do that standing on your head with one hand tied behind your back. Is he paying you?”

  “We agreed to seventy-five dollars a week.”

  “Honey, you’ll be loaded!” Maggie beamed for a moment, but the smile slipped from her face, and she suddenly looked depressed. “How did I miss all this? I guess I really am out of the loop, aren’t I?”

  “You’re definitely missing out on the good stuff.”

  “I’ve got to get out more. See more people.”

  “Tell you what,” Candy said with mock sympathy. “I’m headed over to Ben’s office after lunch. He wants me to pick up some files and fill out a few forms. Why don’t you come with me? You can see Sapphire’s office—you know, check out the place where she worked.”

  Maggie’s jaw dropped. She looked as if she had just won the lottery. “Honey, just try to keep me away!”

  TWENTY

  Maggie walked over to the Cape Crier’s office on Ocean Avenue, since it was just a block away, but Candy drove the Jeep, thinking she might need it. She found a parking spot down toward the end of the block, across from the town park. Upstairs, Ben was pleased to see her. “Hi, Candy.”

  “Hi, Ben. I’ve brought a friend of mine along. You know Maggie Tremont, right?”

  “Sure. Maggie and I practically work next door to each other. Hi, Maggie.”

  “Hi, Ben. This is really exciting—for Candy, I mean.”

  He smiled, though he looked a bit frazzled. The sleeves of his blue oxford shirt were rolled up, his tie discarded, and his long brown hair was charmingly askew. He looked like a preppy school kid studying for exams.

  “I’m really glad you decided to take this job, Candy,” he said honestly. “I’ve got everything ready for you.”

  He handed her a manila folder. “Here are some forms for you to sign—a W-2, workman’s comp, that sort of thing,” he said, talking fast. “If you could get them back to me in a day or so, that’d be great. I’ll need your Social Security number so I can get you set up with payroll. You’ll also find a list of publishing dates for the rest of this year, and the deadlines for your column. Generally, it’s due every Monday at noon. Keep in mind that we suspend publication for two weeks at the end of August, which should work out pretty well for you—you’ll have only two columns due before the break, so you’ll have a little extra time to get your sea legs before we hit the fall issues, which can get hectic. Let’s see, what else? Don’t worry too much about a headline and deck—I’ll write those or the copy editor will. She’s a volunteer—great person—you’ll really like her. Anyway, about seven hundred words should do it each week—three pages typewritten. Nothing fancy with formatting. We use Microsoft Word. You can just e-mail the column to me—send it as an attachment.” He snapped his finger, as if he had just remembered something. “That’s right—I’ve got to set you up with a new e-mail address. You’ve got a computer at home, right?”