Town in a Cinnamon Toast

by B. B. Haywood

  Candy explained quickly, telling him how she’d found the body while searching for Julius after he failed to show up for their dinner party. “I was worried about him, and discovered him here, just like that.” She pointed toward the body. “He was dead when I arrived. I’ve called the police. They’re on their way, and an ambulance,” she finished. “I actually thought you might be them—but, of course, you’re not.”

  “No, no, I’m not,” Owen finally managed to say, working his mouth strangely, which set his jowls jiggling. He looked as if he wanted to move closer to the body but couldn’t. “But . . . how did this happen? How could such a thing take place here, at the museum?”

  “I don’t know,” Candy said, “but I think that is the murder weapon.” She indicated the bottle of champagne, rolled up against the wall.

  As the realization of what had happened began to sink in, Owen let out a small, unearthly wail. “But this is a terrible tragedy,” he said. “Just terrible. Julius was, well, I just can’t believe it.”

  His gaze shifted away from the body, glancing around the room. It settled for a few moments on the champagne bottle, before moving to the table and the dusty old volumes scattered across it. “But what was he doing up here?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been wondering that myself.”

  On an impulse, Owen crossed the room, stopping to look at the books arrayed on the table. His head tilted to one side so he could read the words on one of the spines. He leaned forward in curiosity. “Land deeds,” he said.

  “What?” Candy wasn’t sure what he meant.

  Owen pointed at the books on the table. “Historical records of some of the early land transactions and deeds here on the cape. Mid-eighteenth century. He must have been conducting research on them, though I have no idea why he was up here this late at night working on it.”

  “Was it for a book he was writing?” Candy asked.

  Owen waved his hand dismissively. “No, no, nothing like that. This is most unusual.” He looked as if he was about to say more, but his gaze shifted again, and he spotted something that seemed to horrify him. Moving quickly for such a heavy man, he walked around the table to the far side of the room, close to the window. “What is this doing on the floor?” he asked as he bent over to retrieve something. “It could become damaged.”

  Before Candy could warn him not to disturb the crime scene, he had plucked up the book that had fallen to the floor. It had a black, battered cover, she saw, and looked very old. He lifted it gingerly and turned it over in his hands so he could examine it. “Fortunately the spine’s not broken. It must have fallen from the table.” He fanned the pages a little, checking them.

  “Owen, don’t—” Candy began, but stopped when a folded slip of paper fell from between the pages of the book and fluttered to the floor.

  “What’s this?” Owen asked, stooping again.

  “We shouldn’t touch anything,” Candy cautioned. “It’s a crime scene. It needs to be preserved so the police can conduct an investigation.”

  But Owen didn’t pay any attention to her. Instead, he straightened. With thick fingers he unfolded the paper, removed a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses from his jacket pocket, settled them on his nose, and studied the writing on the paper.

  “Just a bunch of names,” he said, unimpressed. “Bosworth. Ethingham. Whitby. Rainsford. Palfrey. Sykes.” He made a face. “Old family names, some of the early settlers here on the cape. And, of course, descendants of most of those families still live here. Three of them sit on the board.” He paused and adjusted his glasses. “Then there are two initials below that: L. B., underlined twice. And these words here.” He frowned as he pointed with a pinky at some writing at the bottom of the note. “‘Foul Mouth,’ it says.” He crinkled his nose as he spelled it out, as if it were something distasteful to him, then shook his head and refolded the paper. “I don’t know what any of it means. Just odd scribblings, probably. Nothing important, as far as I can tell. It’s probably been stuck inside that book for years.”

  Absently, he slipped the paper into his jacket pocket and closed up the book reverently as Candy heard dying sirens outside and saw flashing lights reflected through the windowpanes. The lights flashed vividly on Owen’s face, which turned alternately red and white. She could hear car doors opening, a rush of movement. Moments later, the police and paramedics entered the building in a dense clatter of footsteps and voices.

  SEVEN

  At first Maggie couldn’t quite comprehend what she was seeing—or maybe, she thought, she hoped she wasn’t seeing it. She blinked several times, thinking the figure lying prone before her might simply disappear in a poof! It certainly would make her life a lot easier if that were to happen, if it would just go away.

  But it didn’t, much to her dismay. It stayed right where it was, there in the center of the room, facedown, unmoving. So she’d have to deal with it somehow.

  She gulped and thought of calling out, or maybe letting out a hearty scream, which surely would bring someone running to help. Doc and Georg were somewhere nearby. They’d know what to do.

  But before she could muster up the vocal power needed, she heard, much to her surprise, a low moan echoing through the room, like the sound a ghost might make.

  She froze. It took her a few moments to realize the moan was coming from the body.

  “Oh!” was all she could manage to say.

  The person was alive then. She hadn’t been certain earlier. Now at least she knew.

  Eyes wide, fingers feeling cold, her throat choked with uncertainty, she took a step toward it. And then another.

  She stopped when, suddenly, the body moved. The shoulders shifted slightly, the eyes fluttered, and the head, resting on its right cheek, slid a micro-inch across the cold floor.

  He was young, maybe in his early twenties. Longish dark hair, with thin black eyebrows. A pale face, straight nose, wide mouth with reddish lips. A long, thin frame, wearing black pants and a white shirt.

  It was one of the waiters, Maggie realized as she took another step closer, though she didn’t know his name. He hadn’t served their table tonight, but she’d seen him earlier scooting around the dining room, waiting on other guests.

  “Um, hello?” she called to him gently, still a short distance away.

  Another moan, as if in answer.

  “Are you . . . okay?”

  She waited, and when there was no reply, said, “Okay, I admit, that was a dumb question.” She hesitated before moving any closer. “I suppose I should . . . go get someone?”

  The eyes fluttered again.

  “Yes, I’ll go get help,” Maggie said, answering her own question. She finally moved quickly, back across the room and out the door, where she almost ran headlong into Doc, who was walking along the hallway.

  “Maggie!” he said as he jerked to a sudden stop, narrowly avoiding running into her. “What are you—?”

  “There’s a body!” Maggie said, interrupting him. And she pointed back the way she’d come. “In there. A waiter. You’d better go take a look at him.”

  “A waiter?” Doc’s brow dropped as he processed this new information.

  “He’s alive,” Maggie said urgently, “and he needs help!”

  Doc’s head swiveled toward the door through which she’d just emerged. He nodded, shifted on his heels, and disappeared into the room.

  Before Maggie could follow him back inside, she heard a familiar voice behind her. “What’s this about a body?”

  She turned and saw her fiancé at the other end of the hallway, just coming back from the kitchen. He looked worried about something. Seeing the expression of concern on his face, she ran to him and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Georg! I’m so glad to see you!”

  It took him a moment to compose himself, as he seemed startled by her sudden appearance back here, but he quickly re
turned her hug. “Maggie, mein Liebchen. I thought you were still at the party. I went looking for you. When I couldn’t find you I . . .” He let his words trail off, and Maggie filled in the blanks.

  “I wondered what you and Doc were doing,” she said, talking quickly, “so I followed you. I heard your voices and I didn’t want you to think I was snooping on you, so I hid in that room back there.” She turned slightly and pointed. “And I found a body lying on the floor. One of the waiters. Oh, Georg! I didn’t know what to do. Doc’s looking at him right now.”

  As if on cue, Doc emerged from the room, spotted them, and hurried in their direction. “The boy was knocked unconscious,” Doc informed them. “He’s the waiter we’ve been looking for—the one who moved the cases of champagne into that back room. I’m not sure what happened to him yet—he’s still groggy—but I called an ambulance. They’re on their way. I’ll stay with him until they get here. But would you inform Alby, who I think is at the front desk, and Oliver, if he’s still around? They need to know what’s going on.” Alby Alcott was the assistant innkeeper, while Oliver LaForce was the proprietor of the Lightkeeper’s Inn.

  Georg nodded. “I’ll let Colin know as well. He’s out looking for that waiter right now.”

  Maggie knew that Colin Trevor Jones was the inn’s executive chef, but the names and details were flying by so fast she could barely keep up with them. “What’s going on?” she asked, turning back to her fiancé and looking him in the eyes. “What happened to that waiter? And why are you both sneaking around back here?”

  Herr Georg kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’ll explain right away, as soon as we inform the inn’s staff.” He turned his attention back to Doc and gave him a nod. “At least there haven’t been two deaths tonight.”

  “You got that right,” Doc said as he headed back into the room.

  “Two deaths?” Maggie said, her breath leaving her in a rush. It appeared her instincts had been right. Something bad had happened. “But—”

  She never got any further, for Georg took her by the hand and led her toward the kitchen and the lobby area beyond. “Come, my dear. We have people to see first, and then we have much to discuss. All your questions will be answered in good time.”

  “But . . . what about the dinner party? What about our guests?”

  “The guests will have to take care of themselves for the moment,” Georg said over his shoulder as they made their way across the kitchen. “We’ll return to them as soon as we can. But first, I’m afraid, I have some bad news, and then you and I have some important decisions to make.”

  “Decisions? About what?”

  Georg turned back to look at her, and by the expression on his face, she knew their upcoming conversation was going to be a difficult one.

  EIGHT

  “Okay, Ms. Holliday, let’s go over it all again,” said Chief Darryl Durr of the Cape Willington Police Department. “From the beginning, if you don’t mind.”

  Candy took a long breath and checked her watch. Nearly an hour and a half had passed since the police had arrived at the museum. Almost immediately they’d ushered her and Owen away from the crime scene, out of the upstairs room, and downstairs to separate first-floor rooms, where they’d both been sequestered. Candy hadn’t seen Owen since, but she guessed that, like her, he was being extensively questioned about everything that had happened that evening.

  She’d already given a statement to one of the police officers, Molly Prospect, whom she’d known for several years. Molly was professional as always, and relatively understanding and consoling.

  “I know it’s difficult, Candy,” she’d said at one point during the initial interview, “but I just have a few more questions for you. Now, when you discovered the body . . .”

  After about an hour or so, Chief Durr had entered the room and Officer Prospect had left, closing the door behind her.

  Candy had gone over everything again for him, and when she’d finished, he asked her for another recounting.

  She was tired. She was hungry. She was still in shock about the loss of Julius, and felt a hollow place inside her. Who could have done such a thing to such a sweet man? She wondered what her father had found out about the bottle of champagne, and if he’d told Maggie and Georg about Julius’s death. How would they take the news? Obviously, not well. And what would it do to the wedding? She wanted to get back to them and commiserate with them, tell them what had happened, what she’d found, and figure out how to get through this together.

  But, she knew, that would have to wait until the chief was satisfied with the account of her involvement in the incident here tonight.

  So she started again, from the beginning, explaining how Julius had failed to show up for the dinner party, and how she’d gone looking for him, first at his cabin, then here at the Keeper’s Quarters. As she talked, the chief questioned her about every detail.

  “Was anyone else in the building when you arrived?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. I checked all the rooms down here before I went upstairs. Owen showed up a little later.”

  “What position was Mr. Seabury lying in when you found him?”

  “Facedown, with his cheek against the floor.”

  “Did you touch the body?”

  “Only to see if he was still breathing.”

  “And?”

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  “Did you disturb anything around him?”

  “No, I tried not to.”

  “What about the champagne bottle?”

  “Well,” she admitted, “I might have hit it with my foot and knocked it aside.”

  “Do you know where it came from? Is the label familiar?”

  Candy admitted that it was, and explained about the cases of champagne Herr Georg had ordered for tonight’s dinner party.

  The chief nodded at her admission. “Yes, we’re checking out that connection right now. We’ve talked to both Georg Wolfsburger and your father, and for the moment they both seem to have pretty good alibis for tonight, since they were both at the dinner party. But there’s been another development.” He paused, and after a few moments said, “I suppose I can tell you this, since you’ll find out shortly anyway, but apparently they found one of the waiters unconscious in a storage room off the inn’s kitchen.”

  Candy was suddenly alarmed. “Who found him?”

  “Your friend Maggie Tremont.”

  This added to her shock. “Is Maggie all right?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t give you the details right now.”

  “Who is he—this waiter she found?”

  “We’re not releasing his name yet, but we’re trying to find out if he’s connected to this whole episode.”

  “Were any of the champagne bottles missing?”

  He gave her a stoic look. “Again, we’re not releasing that information just yet. But I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” Another pause. “Do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm Julius Seabury?”

  Candy didn’t hesitate before she shook her head. “I’ve racked my brain about that, Chief. He was such a kind person. I don’t think he ever had a cross word with anyone. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do this to him.”

  The chief’s jaw tightened as he looked at her with a more scrutinizing gaze. “You realize, of course, that you were at the inn earlier in the evening, and you could have had access to those cases of champagne.”

  “So could a lot of people,” Candy countered.

  The chief nodded, accepting her response. “Yes, that may be true, but so far you’re the only person we know of who was at both the inn and here at the museum tonight.”

  Candy’s face tightened but she said nothing.

  The chief continued. “According to Owen Peabody, you were up
here alone with the body. Is that correct?”

  Candy nodded hesitantly. “Yes, but—”

  “He says he saw you standing over the body.”

  “He what? I wasn’t—”

  “Let’s be clear about this, Ms. Holliday,” the chief said, cutting her off. “You were the only person up here, alone with the body, when Owen arrived here tonight. He saw no one else in the building, nor was anyone else spotted on the premises around that time. And as we both know, you have a history of stumbling into these sorts of situations. It’s happened several times over the past few years. And to anyone with a suspicious mind, this makes one time too many.”

  Candy felt a chill go up her spine. “What are you saying?”

  The chief leaned forward and put his elbows on the table between them. When he continued, he was businesslike and somewhat distant, even though she thought they’d developed a somewhat respectable professional relationship over the past few years.

  “I’m just stating the facts, Ms. Holliday. So far we’re not accusing anyone of anything, but your continued involvement in this series of murders that has taken place in the village, well, frankly, it’s troubling. Do you have any explanation as to why you seem to be at the center of these events that have been plaguing our town?”

  As a matter of fact, Candy thought in the back of her mind, she did—or at least, she had an inkling of an idea. But she wasn’t ready to admit that to the chief just yet. Most of what she believed was circumstantial. She had no direct evidence of anyone’s involvement. But the very fact that Julius had died while apparently researching old land deeds was . . . troubling, she thought, to borrow a word from the chief.

  During all her accounts of this evening’s events, she hadn’t mentioned the slip of paper that had fluttered out of the book Owen had picked up off the floor, uncertain whether it had any relevance or not. But at least one of the names on that list raised her suspicion.

  Sykes.

  She’d had several encounters with members of the Sykes family over the past few years, and most of them had been unpleasant. Some of her encounters with them had been downright dangerous. The idea that a member of the Sykes family might be involved in Julius’s death gave her greater concern than she wanted to admit. But she also felt she couldn’t come right out and make an accusatory statement about them to the police—at least, not right now. She had to think about it first. She had to assess all that had happened tonight.