Town in a Cinnamon Toast

by B. B. Haywood

  When she heard no disagreement from anyone around the table, she took a breath and continued. “So, that means one of two things happened. Either Julius took that bottle over there himself for some reason, or someone else had access to those bottles, someone who was here at the inn over the past day or so—maybe even tonight—and removed one from those cases without anyone noticing. Then that person surprised Julius at the museum and deliberately used the bottle to end his life—perhaps with the very intent to implicate one of us.”

  “But why? Who would do such a thing?” asked Maggie.

  “I don’t know,” Candy said with a determined tone in her voice, “but I have a few suspicions of my own, and I promise you I’m going to find out.”

  “What about this unconscious waiter Maggie found?” Herr Georg said. “Maybe he can help us solve this.”

  “Does anyone know what happened to him?” Candy asked. “He was working here all evening. Could he have taken the bottle of champagne over to the museum? Or did he see the person who did? Is that why he was knocked out?”

  “We don’t know yet,” her father answered, “but we’re working on it.”

  Candy nodded thoughtfully and turned back to Maggie. “There are a lot of smart people sitting around this table. We’ll figure this out, Mags, if we all pull together. So don’t you worry, because one way or another, we’re going to get to the bottom of this, and we’re all going to make sure your wedding goes off without a hitch!”

  Ellie grinned at that. “Or, rather, with one, I hope!” she said, and Cameron raised a glass. “To the bride and groom!”

  “To the bride and groom!” they all echoed.

  That brought a somewhat lighter atmosphere back to the table, Candy noticed. But she also saw the concerned look still on Maggie’s face, and knew she had only a couple of days to solve this latest mystery if she was going to make sure her best friend’s special day was one they all would remember.

  TEN

  The following morning Candy was up early. There was a lot to do. And a lot to think about.

  The night before seemed like a dream. She ran over in her head all that had happened, trying to make sense of it, wondering how all the pieces fit together. She still couldn’t believe Julius was gone, but she had seen him with her own eyes. Now she wanted to find out what had happened to him.

  She checked the calendar on her phone and began to formulate a plan. She had to be back at Blueberry Acres around noon, since Maggie, Herr Georg, the wedding planners, and other friends and family were stopping by in the afternoon to set up the barn and tent for the ceremony on Saturday. But she had nothing else planned until then, so she had time to do a little snooping around.

  She had two simple questions on her mind: Who killed Julius—and why?

  Time to get a move on and see what she could find out.

  She wasn’t surprised to find her father already awake, working downstairs in his home office. Doc often worked late at night or early in the mornings when he was on a mission, and he appeared to be on one today.

  Still in her stocking feet, Candy entered the office quietly, so as not to disturb him if he was deep in thought. An old beige radio, tuned to an AM station, was playing the local farm report. A cup of coffee in a white mug steamed at his elbow. He was sitting at an old oak desk, pushed up against the opposite wall, with his back to the open door, surrounded by piles of papers and wall-length shelves filled with old books, photos, mementos, and awards of recognition from his years as a college history professor. But he must have heard her coming, because he said to her without turning around, “Hello, pumpkin. How are you doing this morning?”

  “You always can hear me coming, can’t you?” Candy crossed the room and plopped in a chair beside the desk. “I’m doing okay, considering everything that happened last night. How about you? How long have you been up?”

  Doc checked his watch. “An hour or two now. Couldn’t sleep. Thinking about Julius, I guess. And I wanted to see what I could find out about those families you mentioned last night. See if I could turn up anything that might help you out—whatever it is you’re planning on doing.”

  Candy smiled at that. “And?”

  “Well,” Doc said, leaning over to turn down the radio, and pulling out a folder, which he opened, “might as well get into it. Let’s start with the Sykes family, since we’ve both had some experiences with them in one way or another. As you know, they were among the original settlers here on the cape, going all the way back to the eighteenth century and Captain Josiah Sykes. They were seafarers, traders, and often scoundrels and thieves, though they became quite respectable landholders as the decades passed, and made a name for themselves around here. But they also ran into hard times, especially when they came up against the wealthier and more powerful Pruitts. Those two families have had some bitter clashes over the years.”

  “I have a feeling those clashes are still going on,” Candy said.

  Doc nodded. “You could be right. As you’ve no doubt heard, rumors about a resurgent feud between those families has been widespread for years now, though sometimes it’s hard to tell fact from fiction. Evidence is sketchy. Of course, there was that burned-down foundation we found out at Crawford’s Berry Farm a couple of years back, and the treasure box that once belonged to Silas Sykes, who lived around here a hundred years ago or so. Julius did some research on that box a while back, when we first found out about it, but I don’t know if he ever came to a satisfying conclusion about its contents.”

  “You think that treasure box could have had something to do with Julius’s death?” Candy asked, feeling a sudden chill.

  Doc shrugged, missing his daughter’s reaction. “Don’t know, pumpkin. At the moment, we have to keep every option open, I guess.” He shuffled through a few papers before he continued. “Daisy Porter-Sykes, the current family matriarch, is still alive, though she’s well into her nineties by now. I’ve heard she’s having trouble getting around these days but she’s still as feisty as ever.”

  “And probably still as dangerous,” Candy muttered under her breath.

  Doc arched an eyebrow but let the comment slide, continuing on without skipping a beat. “She lives in the old family house down in Marblehead near Boston, which she inherited through her mother’s side of the family, I believe. Roger, one of her grandsons, remains in the Maine State Prison at Warren, where he’ll be for a long time. Another grandson, Porter, is a developer and was the primary force behind that new hotel and convention project they built down on Portland’s waterfront a while back. And then there’s the granddaughter, Morgan, who we ran into a couple of years ago.”

  Candy tilted her head, picturing in her mind a dark-haired woman in a flowery print dress, standing on the porch of a modest chocolate-brown bungalow on a side street in Cape Willington. “I remember.”

  “She seemed like a pleasant-enough person at the time,” Doc said, “though I haven’t run into her around town since then. I’m not sure she’s ever returned, after what happened to her aunt.” He was referring to Rachel Fairweather, an elderly town resident who had died under mysterious circumstances a couple of years earlier.

  “She has made herself scarce, hasn’t she? They all have.”

  “Especially since one of their last major holdings, Whitefield, burned down a few years ago, and they sold the property, including the remains of the mansion and nearly a hundred acres or so of land. I suppose it made sense, since the old place had been abandoned for years. They haven’t actually occupied a property here on the cape for a decade or more. Just about everything they owned was lost or sold off long ago. The Pruitts saw to that.”

  Candy glanced at the papers spread out on the desk. “Any information on whether they’re trying to get back into the real estate market around here?”

  Doc shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard, though I’m looking into it. What about you?”<
br />
  Candy admitted she’d heard a few rumblings but nothing specific. “I can ask Wanda about it. She might know something. She keeps her ear pretty close to the ground.” Wanda Boyle, whom Candy would best describe as a frenemy, had been her co-worker for years at the Cape Crier. Recently, Wanda had been promoted from her role as community correspondent to managing editor, a position Candy had held before she’d made the difficult decision to leave the paper so she could spend more time on the farm.

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Doc closed the file, reached across the desk, pulled another one toward him, and opened it. “Okay, the Whitby family. Another familiar name around the cape. We both know of Elliot Whitby, a fairly cadaverous villager who likes to dress up like Edgar Allan Poe and give annual readings of ‘The Raven’ in Town Park on All Hallows’ Eve. His impersonation is pretty popular with tourists and locals alike, as you know, and he usually attracts large crowds for his readings. And, if you recall, a few years back, we ran into Oliver LaForce at the Lobster Stew Cook-off contest, who provided us with a quick history of the Lightkeeper’s Inn, and the Whitbys’ involvement with it.”

  Candy nodded. “I remember. It was for that book you were working on—the history of Cape Willington.”

  “Still working on it,” Doc said with a slight grimace. “I’m up to the early twentieth century. Hope to finish it sometime this year. There’s more material than I thought to work with. And I keep getting distracted.”

  “Happens to the best of us,” Candy acknowledged.

  “Anyway, as Oliver pointed out, the inn dates back to 1791, which was also the year the town was incorporated. It was one of the cape’s original buildings, but burned down in 1811. It was rebuilt and burned down again. The current structure dates back to 1902, when Elias Whitby, Elliot’s ancestor, took over ownership of the place. The Whitby family continued to run it until the mid-eighties, when they sold it. And just recently, of course, they put their old mansion across the bay up for sale.”

  “The Whitby estate,” Candy said, nodding. “Wanda wrote something about it in this week’s issue. Apparently it’s been sold, though I haven’t heard anything about the buyer yet.”

  “No one has, far as I can tell. It’s all hush-hush, for some reason. Maybe some big celebrity bought it or something like that.”

  “Maybe. But it’s pretty isolated out there on that point all by itself. And it’s half an hour or so from town, since you have to drive around the bay to get there.”

  “True,” Doc said, “but I also hear it has amazing ocean views, and a good view of Cape Willington as well. As long as the weather’s clear, they say you can see both lighthouses, the docks, and even the opera house from that side of the bay.”

  “Hmm.” She thought a moment, her mind working. “Are you aware of any connections between Julius and the Whitbys? Or any of these families?”

  Doc saw right through her question. “You think it’s possible someone from one of these families could be involved in Julius’s death?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. That’s what I’m trying to find out.” And briefly she told him about the list of names that had fallen out of the book Owen picked up the night before, and how it included the words Foul Mouth and the initials L. B.

  “Ahh, so that’s where all these names come from,” Doc said, a look of understanding spreading across his face. “You didn’t mention any of this last night.”

  “I didn’t want to discuss it in public—and I wanted to give it some thought before I said anything.”

  “Makes sense,” he acknowledged. “So you think that list had something to do with Julius’s death? Or this Foul Mouth thing? Or this L. B.?”

  “I’m considering all possibilities at this point. You have any idea who—or what—L. B. might be?”

  “Not off the top of my head but I’ll think about it.”

  “What about the families on the list? Could there be a connection between one of them and Julius?” she asked again.

  Doc answered quickly. “Sure, it’s possible. Over the years Julius probably talked to people from all those families you mentioned, as research for his books. I’m sure he knew a lot more about them than I do.”

  He leaned back in his chair and indicated a row of slim books on a shelf above his head, all written by Julius. “I haven’t had a chance to go back through them in detail today, but it’s on my to-do list. There might be something useful in one of those.”

  Candy glanced up at the row of white-and-blue-spined volumes. There were seven or eight in all, thin self-published trade-sized paperbacks authored by the elderly historian later in his life, primarily for sale to tourists.

  On an impulse, Candy rose and plucked one from the shelf, opening it to the first few pages. Julian had included a short inscription to Doc and signed his name in black ink on the title page in a flowing yet sure hand. “‘To my good friend and fellow lover of history,’” Candy read. She turned the book around to show her father. “When did he sign this for you?”

  “A few years back, I guess. Why?”

  “Do you mind if I take this one with me? There’s something I’d like to verify.”

  Doc made a motion with his hand. “Sure, be my guest, if it will help. You see something interesting?”

  “Maybe,” Candy said, mulling over some thoughts in her head.

  They went on to talk about the other family names listed on the piece of paper that had fallen out of the book the night before. The Rainsfords, Doc told her, had family roots in Cape Willington going back generations, to around the time of the Civil War. “They were loosely affiliated with the much wealthier Pruitts, and there has been some intermarriage between the two families, though not for quite a while, to the best of my recollection.”

  They talked briefly about Alice Rainsford, a descendant of the original settlers, who was now a member of the Cape Willington Heritage Protection League. Candy recalled her encounters with Alice, a reserved and reliable woman. She couldn’t see any real link between Alice and Julius, though. She knew they’d been acquaintances, but probably no more than that.

  “The Ethinghams were early landholders and foresters around Mount Katahdin, north of here,” Doc went on, continuing down the list of names. “Some of their holdings adjoined those of Percival P. Baxter, the wealthy governor of Maine back in the nineteen twenties. The association was lucrative for the Ethinghams, who acquired other lands and properties throughout the state, including some in Cape Willington. They’ve always worked behind the scenes, though, and were never a truly prominent family, either locally or statewide. One of the current residents from the family is Gilbert Ethingham, whom I’m sure you’ve heard of.”

  “Of course,” Candy said, “but we’ve never met.”

  “I’m not surprised. He’s no exception to the family’s trait of avoiding the limelight. He’s something of a recluse.”

  “A bachelor for as long as I’ve been in town, if I recall.”

  Doc nodded. “He rarely mingles at community affairs and prefers his own company much of the time. But I’ve heard he turns up occasionally.”

  “Have you ever run into him?”

  “Once or twice, shook hands with him but didn’t talk much, other than to say hello. Quiet guy, not really heavyset but he has a pale, puffy face. I don’t think he goes out in the sun much. Despite his aversion to social events, he does tend to stand out in a crowd, since he likes to wear expensive jewelry, things like silver bracelets and expensive watches. I’m honestly not sure what he does with his time, but it’s really none of my business, is it? Anyway, moving on. The Palfreys.”

  He paused a moment, leaned forward to take a sip of his cooling coffee, and continued. “The family hasn’t been in town as long as the others, but they’ve had some impact locally. Samuel Palfrey sat on the town council for a couple of decades back in the fifties and sixties, his wife, Shirley, wa
s a schoolteacher here in the village her entire career, and their son, Plymouth Palfrey, is something of a local celebrity, though he hasn’t lived here in town for many years.”

  “I’ve never met him in person either, though I’ve seen him at a couple of his speaking engagements. He started his career here, with the paper, right?”

  Doc nodded. “As a volunteer reporter many years ago, when he was still in his teens. After college he worked his way up through newspapers in Ellsworth, Bangor, and Boothbay Harbor before segueing into magazines and then book publishing. He started his own small publishing house, the Kennebec Press, out of the basement office at his home in Boothbay Harbor, and he’s achieved some level of success by focusing on regional subjects like lobsters, lighthouses, history, and local mysteries.”

  “When was the last time you talked to him?”

  “It’s been a while,” Doc admitted. “Probably close to a year ago now, when we discussed that history book I’ve been working on, and some of my other projects, like the book on Devil’s Half Acre up in Bangor.”

  “He seemed to like that idea.”

  Doc nodded. “He did, and I’m sure we’ll talk again as I get closer to finishing one of them. But he hasn’t been around town much lately, and I’ve been too busy to follow up.”

  “What about the rest of his family?”

  “The parents are gone now, and the kids have scattered. He has a brother in Vermont and a sister in Detroit, both with families of their own.”

  “So none of them are living in town right now?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  They discussed the Palfreys a little longer before segueing to the Bosworths. They started by discussing Judicious F. P. Bosworth, a villager who lived in a small cabin by the English River just north of town. Shunning the family tradition of a career in the legal or political fields, Judicious took a different path. Considered the town mystic by some, and a few bricks shy of a full load by others, he’d gained a certain amount of notoriety for his alleged ability to turn himself invisible. Candy wasn’t sure she believed it or not, but she’d seen Judicious pop up, and disappear, in some surprising ways over the past few years, so she simply accepted him as a friend and fellow villager, and left it at that.