“So,” Candy said, as she tried to make sense out of what Lydia was telling her, “if Miles was so adamant against selling the farm, why all of a sudden would he hire you to help him sell it?”
“That,” Lydia said, “is the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to figure that one out for weeks, ever since this whole thing started. That first time we met out at the farm, he told me he’d changed his mind. He wanted me to help him find a buyer for the place—but the right buyer, he said. Someone who would respect the property, keep it as it was, as a berry farm. He wasn’t interested in selling to a speculator or developer, no matter how much money they offered. He told me he wanted to find a nice family who would take over the farm and continue what he’d been doing for thirty years. But,” Lydia added, holding up a thin finger, “he wanted me to do all this off the record. No advertising, no MLS listings, no public release of information or acknowledgement whatsoever about the sale. He told me he wanted to keep it private, a secret—just between him and me for now.”
“But why?” Candy asked.
Lydia shrugged her bony shoulders. “He had his reasons—though he never shared them with me.”
“So you were looking around for a buyer?”
“I was,” Lydia said. “Miles was my client, so I did as he asked. I did some searching and was in the process of identifying a few prospects. As I’ve said, whoever I found had to meet certain criteria. I sent him a report every week or two, bringing him up to date. But I didn’t hear back from him until this morning. I thought that’s why he wanted to meet—to talk about my progress, to see where we were at. Of course, all the secrecy—the e-mail message, the request to delete it—struck me as odd, as I’ve said. But I thought Miles was just being cautious, given all the rumors that have sprung up.”
“Which brings us back to the hoophouse,” Candy said.
“Yes, the hoophouse.” Lydia swallowed and rubbed at her forehead. “I can’t believe what happened,” she said after a few moments. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I can still see him there, lying facedown on the ground, his body all twisted around and crumbled randomly, with his limbs at odd angles, as if he’d just dropped where he’d stood. For a split second, when I first spotted him, I thought he might be looking for something or trying to make some sort of repair or something like that. But when I got closer, I knew right away he was dead. At first I thought he might have had a heart attack. But then, well, I saw his head.”
Her voice dropped off, and her hands fell into her lap. A silence built inside the car. Hesitant to interrupt, Candy waited until the other woman started again. “I never touched him,” Lydia said softly. “I just backed away as soon as I realized what had happened. I left him right where he was.”
“So you didn’t approach the body?” Candy asked. “Check for a pulse or—”
Lydia shook her head quickly. “No, no, I . . . I couldn’t go near him. I couldn’t even move. If there was any way to help him, I would have. But I knew he was dead right away. That was plain to see from . . . the body.”
Candy nodded. She’d been inside that hoophouse too.
“It all happened in a flash,” Lydia said, her voice starting to sound tired. “At a moment like that, when you realize what you’re looking at, your heart tells you it can’t be true but your mind tells you it is.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?” Candy asked. “If what you’re saying is true, and you found him already dead, then you’re innocent. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“But that’s just it,” Lydia said. “I can’t prove I did—or didn’t do—anything. And I knew right away, as soon as I walked into that hoophouse and saw that dead body, that I was being framed somehow. I didn’t know how or why at first. It took me a little while to figure it out. But eventually it hit me.”
“The shovel,” Candy said softly.
Lydia nodded. “When I saw it lying there next to the body, I knew something about it was familiar, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Only later, when I was driving around, running through everything in my head, did I remember where I’d seen it before.”
“Judicious gave it to you,” Candy said.
Even in the shadows, the shock on Lydia’s face was evident. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Because Doc and I tracked down its whereabouts today,” Candy said, and she explained how she and her father had traced the shovel from Sally Ann to Ray Hutchins to Judicious F. P. Bosworth, “who says he gave it to you,” Candy finished.
“That’s right, he did.” Lydia’s head nodded absently as her memories took her back to previous events. “This was . . . well, I guess maybe six or seven weeks ago, maybe two months, something like that. Since Judicious doesn’t have a car and has to walk everywhere he goes, I told him I’d return the shovel to Blueberry Acres for him. And that’s exactly what I planned to do. But I had to make a stop first, at the beauty shop in town. It was one of the first warm days of the year, and I remember I had the top down on the car, so I just tossed the shovel on the floor behind the front seats. I didn’t bother putting the top up because I wasn’t inside the hairdresser’s that long. And I parked right out in front of the shop, where I could look out and see the car whenever I wanted to. It wasn’t as if I’d parked in some dark alley or in downtown Boston. Besides, there wasn’t anything valuable inside to steal. I keep all my important stuff, like boxes of brochures and signs, locked up in the trunk. Who’s going to steal a worthless old shovel, right? But when I came out, it was gone.”
“You’re saying someone took the shovel out of your car while you were inside the hairdresser’s?”
Lydia made a sound of frustration in the back of her throat. “I know how it sounds—like I made all this up. But it’s true. That’s the only place someone could have taken it out of the car. Why, I don’t know. I didn’t think about it much, really. I thought someone had just borrowed it again, or maybe you or Doc had seen it and took it, since you work right around the corner, and the bakery shop is just a few doors down. I meant to call you and tell you about it, but to be honest, I got busy with other things and it slipped my mind. Only today did I realize that someone stole that shovel right out from underneath my nose, used it to kill Miles Crawford, and then left the shovel there on purpose, knowing it would probably lead back to me—which is exactly what happened, of course.”
She paused a moment as she looked down at her hands in the darkness, before she continued. “With all those rumors swirling round town, saying I was trying to get Miles to sell his farm—well, that just provides motivation, doesn’t it? It makes me the perfect villain. I heard the police stopped by my office this afternoon, and at my home. Of course, I wasn’t at either place. But it just proved that I was being set up to take the fall for Miles’s murder. And that’s why I’m here. I need you to figure out who stole that shovel from my car. Help me find the person behind this, so I can clear my name. I’ll pay you—I’ll do whatever it takes. But as I’ve said, I can’t go to the police, because I have no proof and they won’t understand. They’ll just throw me in jail. I need someone on my side. So will you do it? Will you help me?”
Candy thought about Lydia’s request for several long moments, then held out her left hand. “Can I borrow your flashlight?”
It took Lydia a few moments to react, but finally she nodded and relinquished the flashlight.
Candy opened the passenger side door, climbed out, reached around the seat, and found the latch that flipped it forward. She shined the light behind the seats. “Have you cleaned the car since you had the shovel back here?” she asked.
Lydia craned her thin neck around so she could look at the floor. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
Candy reached down, running her hand over the thick carpeting, her fingers searching.
“What are you looking for?” Lydia asked curiously.
“Something like this.” Candy held up a small clump of dried dirt, about half the size of her little fing
ernail. “It could be dirt from the shovel. It could be something else. Mind if I look at your boots?”
“My boots?” Lydia echoed, shifting around even more.
“It’ll just take a second.” Candy lifted one of the black rubber boots she’d seen on the floor behind the driver’s seat and shined the light at the heel. “Did you wear these boots this morning out at the berry farm?”
“Well, I, ah . . .”
Candy checked the bottoms of both, just to be sure. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It’s not the pattern I’m looking for.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing.” Her search complete, Candy returned the seat back to its regular position. Then she climbed back inside, closing the door. She turned back to Lydia and handed over the flashlight. “The truth is, I’m not sure how much I can help you. But I’ll do what I can. However, I highly suggest you go see the police first thing in the morning.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that,” Lydia said. “I’m headed out of town tonight. I’m going to make one more stop and then lay low until this whole thing blows over.”
“Where are you going?” Candy asked.
But Lydia shook her head. “I won’t say, but it’s a safe place. I have just one more stop to make tonight before I’m gone.”
“How will I contact you if I find out anything?”
“You won’t. I’ll contact you. I’ll give you a call tomorrow evening, and we’ll go from there. It won’t be from my regular number, so be sure to answer your phone if you see an unfamiliar number.”
She reached over and placed a bony hand on Candy’s forearm. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. You’re the only friend I have at the moment. I want you to know I appreciate your help.”
A few minutes later, she was gone.
The next morning, she was dead.
TWENTY-FOUR
Candy’s phone rang first thing. It was Finn. “You’d better get over here.”
“Why, what’s happening?” Candy was still upstairs, dressing. Her father was already outside on the porch with his first cup of coffee and the morning paper.
“There’s a lot of chatter going on over at the station this morning. The police have found something.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“Where are you?”
“The usual place. We’re keeping a couple of spots reserved for you and Doc.”
She finished combing out her hair and dressing and hurried downstairs. For a few moments she lingered in the kitchen. She disliked rushing out like this, first thing in the morning, without a few minutes to get herself organized and take care of a few chores. But there was one chore she couldn’t ignore. She grabbed her tote bag, did a quick sweep of the kitchen to see if she’d forgotten anything, and headed outside.
Doc had his phone out and was looking down at it. “I just got a text,” he said.
“From Finn, I’ll bet.” And she told her father what she’d just heard.
Doc folded up the paper as he listened, and swallowed the rest of his coffee, then rose. “I’ll lock up the house and meet you over there,” he said as he started toward the door. But he stopped after a couple of steps and looked back at her. “Hey, did someone stop by the house last night?”
Candy gave him a brief wave of acknowledgement as she headed down the steps and around the porch toward the chicken coop. “I’ll tell you about it at the diner.”
The chickens were clucking and pecking at the ground, content as usual. She went about her daily routine, collected the eggs, and ten minutes later she was in the Jeep, headed toward town.
She was the last one to arrive in the corner booth. Doc and the boys were working on a plate of doughnuts and fruit-filled croissants. As she slid into the booth, this time next to Artie, a cup of coffee instantly appeared in front of her, delivered by Juanita.
A warm blueberry muffin and a small chilled bowl with freshly made honey butter arrived a short time later. Despite Candy’s protests, Juanita continued to provide her with free food, because of an earlier episode between the two. For a long time Candy had protested the special treatment, but after a while, rather than fight it, she’d learned to accept it. Instead, she’d simply started leaving larger tips, which worked out to be a comfortable compromise.
Finn waited until they’d all settled, with their food served and coffee cups filled, then leaned forward toward the center of the table, resting his elbows lightly on the edge. “The news is about to break,” he said in a low voice, “so I’m not telling you anything you wouldn’t know in a few minutes anyway. But they’ve found Lydia St. Graves.”
Candy didn’t say anything but Doc sounded surprised. “They have? Where?”
“Up on Route 1. She was in an accident overnight. Her car ran off the road and hit a tree sometime around midnight. Apparently no one saw her, since she wound up pretty far off the road, so she wasn’t spotted until daybreak. They got her to a hospital but she didn’t make it.”
Candy was about to take a bite out of her muffin, but it dropped to the plate as a shocked expression came to her face. “Lydia’s dead?”
Finn nodded grimly. “That’s what they’re saying.”
“How is that possible?”
Finn shrugged. “These things happen.”
“What about the airbags?” Doc asked. “Didn’t they go off, especially in that fancy car of hers? That thing must have six or eight of them at least. And doesn’t that model have some sort of automatic alert system, which sends out a signal in the event of an accident?”
“Good points,” Finn said, “and yes, her BMW had accident assist and GPS, but both had been disabled. She’d also apparently discarded her phone. She must have known she could be traced that way. As for the airbags, her vehicle had four, since it’s a convertible. Front and side airbags. They deployed exactly as they were supposed to, which is what makes the death so mysterious.”
“Mysterious?” Candy echoed. She didn’t like the sound of that. “In what way?”
“Well, she was out there all night in her car,” Finn said, “but her injuries weren’t necessarily that severe, from what I’ve heard. As Doc said, the airbags went off, so she was fairly well cushioned. She might’ve had a few bruised ribs, maybe even a broken bone or two. She would have been dehydrated when they found her, of course, but she didn’t appear to be fatally wounded.”
“But you said she died,” Candy pointed out.
“That’s just it. She did die. But she shouldn’t have.”
Candy scrunched up her face. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m just reporting what I’ve heard. No one knows what happened yet. They’re still trying to figure it out. But there are a few theories floating around.”
“Such as?”
“Well, as I said, when they found her, she wasn’t in bad shape physically. They got her into an ambulance and checked her out on the way to the hospital. At first they thought she might have had a heart attack, though they were able to rule that out. And they also thought she might have overdosed on her medication. Now, however, they have a new theory. They think she might have been poisoned.”
TWENTY-FIVE
After she left the diner, Candy swung by the Black Forest Bakery briefly to say hello to Maggie and Herr Georg, but stopped in the doorway when she saw the crowd in front of the counter. Maggie waved to her but was obviously too busy to talk. “I’ll come back a little later,” Candy mouthed to her friend.
Back outside, she headed down the street and up the stairs to her office, where she pulled her phone out of her tote bag, tossed the bag onto a side chair, and closed the door behind her. She could hear a few voices around the office, and she preferred to make her next phone call in private.
She scrolled down through the contacts until she found the number she wanted. But when she made the call, she was sent straight to voice mail. She left a quick message—“It’s Candy Ho
lliday. We need to talk. Call me as soon as you can”—and ended the call.
She dug back through her contacts and found another number that might work. This time someone answered. “Cape Willington Police Department. How may I direct your call?”
“Chief Durr, please.”
“The chief is unavailable at the moment. Is this a personal matter, or can I direct your call to someone else who might be able to help?”
“It’s a personal matter,” Candy said, and left her name and number, along with a request for the chief to call her back as quickly as possible.
“I’ll make sure he gets the message,” Candy was informed, and she ended the call.
That was all she could accomplish on the phone at the moment, she decided. Now she’d just have to wait for the chief to call her back. So she set the phone aside and reached across her desk for the list of questions she’d made the previous afternoon. She had a number of new questions to add. She found a clean page and wrote down her thoughts quickly, while they were still fresh in her mind:
Why would someone poison Lydia? What was the motive?
Why did the alleged murderer set up Lydia by leaving the shovel from Blueberry Acres next to the body in the hoophouse? The motive appeared to be an effort to frame Lydia for Miles’s murder, Candy thought, which was exactly what the real estate agent had claimed last night. But was that what really happened?
Is there a connection with the beauty shop? Lydia said she’d parked right in front of the shop when she went inside. Could someone already inside have spotted the unattended car with the convertible top down and waited until an opportune time to steal the shovel? It was certainly a possibility, Candy thought. But why would someone steal the shovel from Lydia’s car and then hold on to it for a couple of months before taking it out to the berry farm? That would indicate a long-term intention—premeditated murder.
Town in a Strawberry Swirl (Candy Holliday Mystery) Page 15
