L. Bosworth.
L. B.?
The same initials Owen had read last night, written on that slip of paper. Could they refer to the same person—or was she reaching too far?
“What did he say to you?” Candy asked, looking back up at Herr Georg, her gaze narrowing.
“That he was the legal representative for the family. That he’d helped put together the real estate deal for the Sykes family, who live in Boston. He said they wanted to expand their holdings in the area, and were looking for a place near the village.”
“But why that place? I would think they’d want something closer to town. It’s nearly a thirty-minute drive over there, isn’t it?”
“About that, yes. And from what I could see, the place appeared to be in a state of disrepair. Quite honestly, it needs some work. It’s isolated, out on that point all by itself. And the roads over there are all dirt into the place. I realized the property probably has some historical value attached to it, and the view is quite incredible out over the ocean. Perhaps that’s why they bought it . . . for the view.”
“Hmm,” Candy said thoughtfully. “Yes. For the view. I’m sure it’s quite amazing.”
She thought of the binoculars Julius had been carrying around, and the sand on the bottoms of his shoes.
Was that what he’d been looking at, across the bay—at the Whitby place? Had he known Porter Sykes had bought the place? And that Porter had been after the deeds for years? Had Julius learned something else, possibly about Porter, something that caused his death?
“What exactly can you see from that point?” Candy asked, instinctively turning her head to the right, eastward, as if she could see through the walls and out over the land to the ocean, and beyond.
“Well, the house faces west,” Herr Georg said, “so you can see parts of Cape Willington, of course, the lighthouses and the docks along the English River.”
“And Pruitt Manor, I bet,” Candy observed.
“Oh, yes, it’s almost a direct view across the bay—point to point, you might say.”
“Yes, you might say.” The wheels in her brain were beginning to turn more quickly. “Well,” she said finally, softly, almost breathlessly, “isn’t that interesting?”
TWENTY-FOUR
Something had clicked in her brain, an almost physical thing. For the first time since she’d found the body of Julius Seabury upstairs in the archives, she could see how the disparate bits of information she’d collected over the past twenty-four hours were beginning to fit together, intersecting in neat ways. Like a spiderweb slowly being spun, one silky strand at a time, the wider design, unidentifiable at first, was beginning to reveal itself.
And Porter Sykes, it seemed, was the spider at the center of that web—an ominous, shadowy presence, lurking, waiting, ready to pounce at some unexpected moment.
Why the Whitby place? she wondered. What could his interest be in that old broken-down estate?
What was he up to?
Was he planning to spy on the village from his vantage point across the bay? Specifically, on the Pruitts? Or on the comings and goings at the museum and lighthouse? It was certainly something he could do from that estate.
But why? What was he hoping to achieve?
Julius had mentioned the deeds in his phone message to Neil. What had he wanted to tell Neil about them? And what about Foul Mouth? Did it have anything to do with the Whitby place?
Candy didn’t know yet if Porter was responsible for Julius’s death, but she knew he’d been the catalyst behind, if not directly involved in, at least two other deaths that had taken place in the village a few years ago, and members of his family had been involved in other murders since she’d been in town. She knew that for a fact. It seemed the Sykes family had a few dark strains of DNA in their chromosomes. He’d revealed as much to her during their brief, surrealistic encounter in that abandoned mansion a few years ago. More recently, she’d crossed paths with other members of his family, who also had murder on their minds. The Sykes family, she knew, had malicious intent when it came to Cape Willington and its villagers, and she wondered what other family members might show up someday soon to cause more trouble.
It was a disconcerting thought, but she pushed it aside for the moment, so she could fully focus her thoughts on Porter.
Despite what she knew about him, or suspected, she couldn’t prove he’d done anything illegal. He’d been careful. He’d always worked in the background, always let others take the fall for him, rarely revealing himself or making himself known.
Until now.
He was finally showing himself, and beginning to make his move—whatever that might be. He was inserting himself back into the village his ancestors had once inhabited, and helped establish. He’d been a part of the conference call this morning at the Keeper’s Quarters, and it was about to become common knowledge that he was the buyer of the Whitby place—which just so happened to have excellent views of the town and, intriguingly, Pruitt Manor across the bay. No doubt he’d start popping up more often around the village. He was raising his public profile, and tapping into his family’s legacy.
And, for some inscrutable reason, he wanted to meet with her.
There must be a plan, a design of some sort, behind all his machinations. She could vaguely see several possibilities of how it all might unfold, but nothing definite. There were too many unanswered questions, huge gaps in her understanding of what was going on. She had to do more work to solve this mystery—and, if Porter Sykes was involved, put an end to his family’s influence and intentions once and for all.
“So what should we do?” Herr Georg asked anxiously, breaking into her musings.
“Hmm?”
She realized she’d been gazing out the back window of her father’s office, absently studying the blueberry barrens and the trees in the distance, her thoughts drifting away with the clouds.
“About Porter Sykes?” Herr Georg said. “And the Whitby place? Do you think he’s after something?”
Candy pulled her attention back to the moment. It was a curious comment from the baker, one that echoed her own thoughts. She sensed he knew more than he was telling her. “Like what?”
There was an odd look in his eyes, and he hesitated only briefly before he continued. “I’ve heard the same rumors you probably have—about the Sykes family, and how they’re looking for some missing documents that used to belong to one of their ancestors. Apparently they’re some old land deeds. . . .”
His words trailed off, and his mouth clamped shut so tightly it made his mustache bristle.
Candy looked at him curiously. “So what have you heard about these deeds?” she asked, prompting him with a twist of her head.
“Well, just that they supposedly once belonged to this fellow named Silas Sykes.” He was talking rapidly again, as if in a hurry to get everything out before he changed his mind. “The story is, they’re the original deeds for properties here on the cape, and were apparently lost long ago, but what if . . . ?”
Again, he let his words hang in the air, like unpopped balloons.
Candy waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be holding something back, and she couldn’t help but brace herself for what he might spring on her next. “Herr Georg,” she said softly but firmly, “if you know something about those deeds, you should tell me now. So, please continue . . . what if . . . ?”
His gaze shifted back and forth as he considered his next words, and he swallowed hard a couple of times before he finally turned his gaze to her, his mouth set firm. “Well, what if they’re not lost?”
“Not lost? You mean they’ve been found?”
“And what,” the baker continued, ignoring her question for the moment, “if he knows that?”
“Who? Porter? But how would he know?” She felt a sudden chill. “Herr Georg, what are you saying? Do you know w
here the deeds are?”
Again, the baker hesitated. But he’d made up his mind, and knew it was time to tell her the truth.
“I do,” he said. “I have them.”
TWENTY-FIVE
“You!”
The word came out in a propulsive rush of energy and disbelief. She said it so loudly Herr Georg had to shush her, verbally and by using his hands, motioning for her to keep her voice down.
“This is top secret!” he said in a hoarse whisper, looking around in both directions, but they were still alone in Doc’s office, with the door closed. One of the windows was cracked open but he could see no one outside within hearing range. He shifted his gaze back to Candy. “I don’t want word of this to get out. You know how the villagers can be.”
“But . . . but . . . but.” Candy hardly knew where to start. With some effort, she finally managed to form a few more words. “But . . . why haven’t you said anything about this before? Neil and I have been looking for those deeds for years—but we kept it to ourselves. No one was supposed to know about them, other than me and Neil and Dad . . . and Julius, come to think of it. So how did you find them?”
“Well, that’s just it,” Herr Georg said. “I didn’t find them, per se. Julius gave them to me.”
“Julius? But where did he get them?”
“Well, from Miles Crawford, I guess.” The story came out quickly then, in rapid, hushed sentences. “Julius got the deeds from Miles, you see—indirectly, as it turns out. Apparently, after Miles found them in an old treasure box he unearthed on his property, he sent them to the museum, where they wound up in Owen Peabody’s office. But because they arrived anonymously, with no explanation of what they were, they were treated with some skepticism. So they were shuffled around for quite a while and eventually were sent upstairs for examination and cataloging. I suppose they must have been there for months, maybe even a year or more, sitting in a dark cabinet, until someone eventually pulled them out again. Then, one day, they came to the attention of Plymouth Palfrey, who was upstairs researching another project—a historical book he’s publishing, I believe. And he’s the one who asked Julius to have a look at them, and perhaps determine their authenticity.”
“So they’ve been floating around the museum this whole time, and nobody knew what they were?” Candy almost laughed at the simplicity of it all. She’d never really thought of checking there, though now in hindsight it seemed the most logical place to start. “And Julius gave the deeds to you?”
“He did. Well, not the original deeds—I believe he kept those for himself. But he gave me copies of them, as a backup, I suppose.”
“Copies? But why?” It took Candy a moment to realize what he meant. “In case something happened to the original deeds? Or to him?”
The baker looked uneasy. “I don’t know for sure. If he was worried for his safety when he gave me the copies, he didn’t show it—or, at least, not that I can recall, though he did seem distracted that day. To be honest, I didn’t think much about it at the time.”
“Did he say anything about who might be after the deeds?”
“No, not in so many words, but he did mention Porter Sykes by name. That’s why I made the connection when I heard Porter bought the Whitby place.”
“What exactly did Julius say about him?”
“Only that Porter expressed an interest in seeing the deeds when Julius had finished researching them—and that others at the museum were suddenly interested in them as well, though he didn’t mention anyone else by name. But he told them his research was incomplete, so he wasn’t ready to give them up just yet.”
“Then why would he give you backup copies, if he wasn’t certain of their authenticity?”
Herr Georg shrugged. “Julius could be a little eccentric at times. We all know that. I admit I thought it was a rather strange request, but it was a favor for a friend. I readily agreed to it. I had no reason to question his motives. He just asked me to hold them for him, to lock them away somewhere, and that’s what I did.”
“So where are the deeds now—the copies?”
“At the bakery, locked in the safe in my office, in the back of the shop.”
“And Julius kept the originals?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
So, Candy thought, Julius must have had the original deeds still in his possession yesterday—possibly with him last night upstairs in the archives at the Keeper’s Quarters, when he’d apparently been researching them.
A definite motivation for murder.
And Porter Sykes had expressed an interest in seeing them. How had he found out about them?
Most likely through either Owen or Plymouth, she thought, since both of them had apparently seen the deeds before handing them off to Julius. Obviously they hadn’t known what the documents were initially, or they wouldn’t have treated them so casually, but they might have found out later. The topic had possibly come up in one of their board meetings. Porter could have called into a meeting when the deeds were discussed, just as he did with the conversation earlier today. Is that how he’d learned about them?
And how hard had he pressed Julius about them? Had his requests been polite, or not so polite? Had threats been made?
Was that why Julius felt it necessary to leave behind those clues in the books? Had he felt he was being threatened? Maybe he thought someone was trying to take, or steal, the deeds from him—and he refused to give them up.
Candy took a deep breath. Out loud, she asked, “So when did this happen? When did he give the deeds to you?”
“Well, just a few days ago.”
“You’ve had the deeds—the copies—for only a few days?”
“Less than a week,” Herr Georg confirmed. “Julius gave them to me last Friday, when we had lunch together. He didn’t tell me how long I should hold on to them. But I didn’t really think that much about it . . . until last night.”
“Did he say anything else to you about them?”
“Just what I’ve already told you—although there was one other thing. As we were leaving, he pulled me aside and insisted I say nothing about them to anyone. No one was to know I had the copies. He was very adamant about that. I did as he asked—until now, of course. But after all that has happened, I felt I had to talk to you about them, get your advice. I’m not quite sure how to handle this. So what do you think I should do?”
Candy fell silent for a few moments as she thought this through. Finally, she answered honestly. “I don’t know yet.”
“Should we take them to the police?” Herr Georg persisted. “Or give them to someone else? Owen, maybe? Or Plymouth, since he gave them to Julius? Or even to Neil, since his father found them in the first place?”
She tugged absently at her chin with her index finger and thumb as she considered his questions. “We could do any one of those things, yes. But Julius also could have done any of them. He could have given the deeds to the police, or back to Owen or Plymouth, but he didn’t—because he was being cautious, I think. He held on to them, saying his research wasn’t complete. But I think he knew what they were. He must have determined they were real, not fake. He knew what they could do in the wrong hands.”
“Is that why he was murdered?” Herr Georg asked.
“It’s starting to appear that way, isn’t it?” Candy admitted.
Herr Georg looked aghast. “So someone really is trying to get those deeds? To, what, gain control of the land around Cape Willington?”
“It’s seems very possible that’s exactly what’s happening, doesn’t it?” Candy said. “And, from the evidence I’ve heard so far, Porter Sykes sounds like the number one suspect.”
Herr Georg looked like he was about to be ill. “But if that’s true, and the deeds really do affect the legality of property ownership in Cape Willington—it would cause absolute chaos, wouldn’t it? We could all l
ose our homes, our businesses, our livelihoods. It could be the end of Cape Willington as we know it.”
“Exactly,” Candy said, “if Porter decided to pursue that course. We don’t know for certain what he would or wouldn’t do. But he certainly has a legal claim to the deeds, since he and his lawyers can probably prove that the original documents belonged to Silas Sykes.”
“Yes, but how do we know he had them rightfully?” the baker asked. “From what I’ve heard, Silas was a scoundrel and a thief. How do we know he didn’t steal them in the first place?”
“I don’t think it matters,” Candy said. “The courts would probably award the deeds to the Sykes family. Which is why we should keep everything we’ve just talked about between us, for now, until we figure out our next move.”
“Which is?”
“Well, we just have to follow the clues—figure out what happened to the original deeds. Make sure they didn’t wind up in the wrong hands. Because if Julius had those deeds with him last night when he died, and the murderer now has possession of them, we could all be out of luck.”
TWENTY-SIX
Absolute chaos.
That’s what they all were facing, as Herr Georg had said—if the deeds were authentic, if they were for property in the village, and if they were now in the possession of Julius’s murderer.
Somehow, she had to find out what was happening—and she had to do it quickly. With an impending wedding and honeymoon, and with both herself and possibly Herr Georg under suspicion due to the use of the champagne bottle as a murder weapon, she felt that time was running out.
After the baker headed back outside to check on the wedding setup, Candy sat alone in her father’s office, trying to figure out her next moves.
For the moment, she decided, it was best to leave the copies where they were. They were safe, and only the two of them knew where the copies were, or even that they existed at all. There was plenty of time to turn them over to the police, or to someone else, if that’s what they decided to do. She didn’t want to make the mistake of putting the copies into the hands of the wrong person.
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