“So you used me?” Candy asked, incredulous.
“Don’t be so stupid,” the skeleton spat out. “Of course I used you. And now I have one more task for you. I want you to take that key you found, and I want you to walk over to Abigail’s desk and unlock the drawer. And then I want you to hand me what’s inside.”
Candy hesitated. “And if I don’t?”
She heard a click, as if someone had flicked off the safety on a pistol.
“Then you’ll die—just like Sebastian did.”
FIFTY-ONE
Again, Candy knew, she had no choice—and one way or the other, she decided she had to see this through to the end.
So cautiously, as if treading on thin ice, she edged forward, a step at a time, around the end of Abigail’s canopied bed and past the small marble fireplace, then angling toward the writing desk. As she did so, the skeleton backed deeper into the shadows in the corner, keeping the pistol trained on her the entire time, ready to fire at the slightest provocation.
Candy approached the front of the desk, where she hesitated for a few moments, glancing out of the corners of her eyes at the discreet door to her right, next to the bed, that led into Cornelius Pruitt’s bedroom.
I can make a quick dash for it, she thought. Get away while I still can.
But if it was locked, she thought, she’d still be stuck here, in this bedroom—with a gun pointed directly at her.
As if reading her thoughts, the skeleton spoke up. “Go ahead, open it,” the smug voice chided. “You’re just as curious as I am to see what’s inside it.”
It’s true, Candy had to admit. She was indeed curious.
She lifted the key ring, holding it in her open palm as she studied it.
After discovering Abigail’s diary hidden away in a side pocket of the red purse, Candy and Maggie had searched the diary’s binding—and come up empty, just as the skeleton had a few minutes earlier. They’d been confused at first, wondering if they’d misread the clues. But then Candy remembered the keys clutched in Sebastian’s cold fist, and on in impulse, they’d started checking all the keys and key rings associated with the house.
The ring of duplicate keys they’d found in the junk drawer had held a number of possibilities, including a smaller, flat metal key that looked like it might open a small locked box or drawer. Maggie had known that most of the keys on the ring fit specific locks and keyholes throughout Sapphire’s house, but this one had remained a mystery.
It was, as Maggie had called it, an orphan—a key without an associated lock.
There had been no way to actually test their theory—that the orphan key on the ring opened the drawer in Abigail Pruitt’s writing desk—until now.
Candy took the small key between two fingers and lifted the entire key ring off her palm. As she leaned forward, toward the drawer, she repositioned the key, the flat end aiming downward, the jagged edge pointed up. She held her hand as steady as possible as she moved it toward the keyhole, though she noticed she was shaking just a little. If she’d guessed wrong, she knew she was as good as dead.
She gently slipped the key inside, and turned.
The lock was old and didn’t give way easily. She had to coax the key around, turning it one way and then the other, loosening the path, until something inside clicked.
She reached out with her other hand and pulled open the drawer.
Inside was a single yellowed letter-sized envelope, with the word Emma printed on the front. Candy recognized Abigail’s handwriting from the diaries.
“Take it out,” the skeleton ordered. It had come up a few steps behind her. “Tell me what’s inside.”
Candy did as she was told. She lifted out the envelope, opened the flap, which had been neatly tucked inside, and withdrew several sheets of folded documents on thick paper.
“Read them,” the skeleton ordered.
Candy turned and shot a questioning look at the skull mask, and the eyes behind it. “Are you sure you want me to do that? You can just…”
“Read them,” the voice said, more emphatic this time.
Candy took several quick breaths and realized her heart was beating faster. She unfolded the pages and scanned the top sheet.
“The first one’s a birth certificate,” she said, “for Emma Rose Pruitt.”
“I’ll take that.” The skeleton hand darted forward, faster than Candy expected, and snatched the sheet from her fingers, then backed away again. “Next.”
Surprised, it took Candy a few moments to refocus. But when she did, scanning down the next sheet in her hands, she knew instantly what it was. “This is it—the document Emma signed.”
“And what does it say?” the skeleton asked. It sounded as if it was grinning.
Candy took a few moments to scan the text before her and look back through the other sheets, which were all clipped together. “It’s a legal document, just like I thought,” Candy replied, and then she looked up at the skeleton. “It says, basically, that Abigail would continue to provide a home for Emma at the house on Wren Island, as long as Emma agreed to disavow any legal claim to the Pruitt fortune.” Candy paused. “It also says that none of her heirs can lay claim to the fortune as well.”
There was silence in the room for a few moments as those words sunk in. Finally, Candy said breathlessly, “You’re her, aren’t you? Your Emma’s daughter?”
It took the longest time, as the seconds seemed to stretch to minutes, but finally the skeleton reached up with one hand and slid up the skull mask.
Underneath was the face of Olivia March.
FIFTY-TWO
“So it was you all along,” Candy said.
“It was me all along.” Olivia’s face looked pale in the dim light, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked on the verge of a breakdown, though she forced a smile, trying to make a strong appearance. “But you must have suspected at some point. You had most of this figured out.”
Candy nodded, and there was a sadness to the gesture. “I did—though I was hoping I was wrong. But I had to make sure. If Olivia—if you—really had been kidnapped by someone else, and your life really was in danger, I knew I was the only one who could help you, because I had the diary and the key. So I couldn’t take any chances.”
Olivia was silent again, her mouth a tight line. After a few moments, she said in an almost mocking tone, “Well, I’m genuinely touched you were so concerned about my well-being. Unfortunately, I can’t say I feel the same way about you.” She reached out a hand, making a beckoning movement with her fingers. “I’ll take those.”
Candy glanced down in the documents she still held, then looked back up at Olivia. “What are you going to do with them?”
Olivia’s brow fell and her face hardened. “Destroy them, of course.”
“So that’s it then? That was your scheme? Destroy the documents that would prevent you from laying claim to the Pruitt fortune? And then what?”
Olivia’s eyes turned suddenly dark. “I am the granddaughter of Cornelius Pruitt and Daisy Porter-Sykes!” she said, her words coming with some force, though she kept her voice low. “I have a legal claim to both those fortunes. And I plan to take full advantage of that claim!” Her face twisted. “There’s a conspiracy here that goes back decades—more than sixty years. My mother…” Her voice trailed off as she looked down at the folded birth certificate she held in her hands. “I never even knew the exact day she was born. Did you know there are no records of her—except for this? Someone had all her other birth records destroyed. How, I don’t know—but none exist. There’s nothing that proves my mother was even alive. I know. I looked. That’s why I needed your help.”
“My help?” Candy asked.
“You had information I didn’t,” Olivia said, her voice taking on a haunting edge. “You knew Sapphire Vine. Your friend manages her property. You’re at the center of everything that’s going on in this town. So I shot Sebastian in the pumpkin patch, made up a few stories about a pump
kin patch killer to stir things up, and let you do the rest. And you delivered, like I knew you would. You found Emma’s grave for me, and the diary, and the key. And you found this.” She waved the birth certificate in front of her. “This proves it, once and for all. Now I can legally show proof of who I am, and I’m going to get what’s rightfully mine.”
Candy looked back down at the sheets she still held. Slowly she folded them up and placed them back into the envelope. “As long as these papers your mother signed don’t stand in your way.” Again, for a fleeting moment, she thought of making a quick escape, out through the side door to Cornelius Pruitt’s bedroom.
But Olivia was quicker. She darted forward, grabbing the envelope from Candy’s hands. She slid it inside her costume as she backed away, around the bed toward the hallway door.
“You’ve done your job,” she sneered, “and you’ve been very helpful. But you know too much. I’m sorry it has to end this way.”
She slid the skull mask back down over her face and stepped into the center of the room, where she’d have a clear shot at Candy, who still stood by Abigail’s writing desk.
But at that moment, the door behind Candy burst open and Officer Molly Prospect rushed through, arms stretched out in front of her, holding the butt of a pistol in the palm of her left hand, her right index finger hovering near the trigger, both hands steadily aiming the weapon directly at Olivia. “Drop it!” she ordered.
For a moment, no one moved. The air tensed as Candy held her breath, and Olivia and Officer Prospect stared each other down.
Then the door to the hallway swung open and Tristan poked his head through, his tricorn hat tilted jauntily to one side. “Candy, are you in here? Everyone downstairs is looking for you. We have a…”
But he never had a chance to finish, for there was a shout. The next thing he knew, a skeleton was rushing toward him, seeking freedom through the open door.
“Stop her!” Candy and Officer Prospect yelled almost in unison.
And Tristan did. The skeleton brought up its hands, intending to push him out of the way—or perhaps just to shoot him—but at the last moment, he stepped elegantly aside, reaching out to grab the wrist of the hand that held the weapon. He gave it a jerk and a yank, and the skeleton spun around, growling in pain as it dropped to one knee. The pistol fell from its grip and clattered away across the floor.
“Hold her!” Officer Prospect sprang across the room, kicking the gun farther away, under the bed. After making sure she was all clear, she lowered her weapon as she reached behind her and pulled out her handcuffs.
It was over in seconds. Olivia March, with the skull mask still over her face, lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, handcuffed and defeated.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Tristan asked, looking around the room with a shocked expression on his face. Then he saw Candy, who stood with one hand clutching the edge of Abigail’s writing desk. She looked unharmed as far as he could tell. He crossed quickly to her. “Candy, are you all right?”
She felt a wave of relief engulf her as she watched Officer Prospect, who obviously had control of the situation, radio for backup. She also noticed her whole body was shaking. She took several deep breaths to calm herself. “Yes, I just…I need a few moments.”
“Very well,” Tristan said, his own face showing his relief. He stepped closer to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, steadying her. “But don’t be too long. Otherwise, you’ll be late for your own surprise party.”
FIFTY-THREE
She pretended to be surprised—and she did a very good job of it. She even had tears in her eyes. Real tears.
Maggie gave her a kiss and a hug. “Happy fortieth birthday, honey! And happy Halloween!” She’d been dressed as a witch. Candy hadn’t recognized her until they’d all removed their masks and cried out happily, “Surprise!”
Everyone had been there, all in disguise for the masquerade ball—Doc and the boys, Cameron and Amanda, old Mr. Gumm, Ray Hutchins, Melody Barnes and her husband, Jesse Kidder and other coworkers from the newspaper, the Reverend James P. Daisy and his wife, Gabriella, town council chairman Mason Flint, Lyra Graveton and her husband, Llewellyn, local shop owners Ralph Henry and Malcolm Stevens Randolph, the Daggerstones and the Coffins and the Chapmans. They all hugged her, shook her hand, clapped her on the back, kissed her, brought her glasses of champagne, fussed over her costume, and generally wished her well.
Even Wanda Boyle had showed up, dressed like an Egyptian princess, accompanied by her husband, Brad, who had chosen the role of a Roman emperor.
She also saw Judicious F. P. Bosworth, who was presently visible, and surprisingly well engaged with the crowd. She gave him a restrained hug.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” she told him, “though in the past you’ve helped me solve the murders in town. This time you were noticeably absent.”
He smiled warmly at her. “This time you didn’t need my help,” he said simply, “but I’ll always be there when you need me.”
Doc and the boys told her the same thing. “We’re always there for you, pumpkin, you know that,” her father said as they embraced.
“And I’m always there for you, too, Dad,” she told him. She lifted her wrist, showing off the blueberry bracelet. “And thank you for this.”
“Anytime, pumpkin,” he said with a grin. “Now let’s party! After all, this is your pumpkin bash!”
Herr Georg Wolfsburger appeared with a flourish from a side room, wheeling a cart that held a tall birthday cake, which he’d personally made for her. “Mein leibchen!” he cried to her happily when he saw her. “You are beautiful! Like a fairy princess!”
She stood with Tristan and Maggie, Cameron and Amanda and Doc as they once again sang to her, and they clapped and snapped photos as she turned and blew out the candles on her cake—all forty of them.
A short time earlier, when she’d come down the stairs with Tristan, she’d been surprised that no one here on the first floor knew what had happened upstairs. “And we’d like to keep it that way for the moment,” Tristan had told her. Before they’d left Abigail’s bedroom they’d retrieved the documents from Olivia March, and Tristan had had a quiet talk with Officer Molly Prospect, who had relayed his requests to Chief Durr. “The police are going to announce shortly that they’ve made an arrest in the Sebastian J. Quinn murder case,” he’d told her as they’d come down the stairs, “but they’re going to keep some of the details under wraps for now, until we can sort everything out. Anyway, we’d like to keep the family name out of this as much as possible.”
Candy doubted they’d be able to do that for long, but for the moment, she decided to let other people handle it. She’d done her part. Now it was time to let the experts do theirs.
As the evening wore on, and the ten o’clock hour approached, Candy started looking around the room. Someone was missing. Someone who’d promised he’d be here for her birthday.
Ben Clayton finally showed up at ten thirty.
She saw him standing under the arch that led out into the first-floor hallway, silhouetted by a light behind him, searching for her. She’d recognize his profile anywhere. He looked a little disheveled—he’d just come across the country, after all, flying first into Boston, then hopping on another plane to Bangor before driving down to Cape Willington. It was a long trip, and he’d been away for what seemed like forever, though it had been less than a week.
She crossed the room toward him, and when he saw her, he met her halfway.
He gave her a hug and whispered “happy birthday” in her ear. But there was something in the tone of his voice that instantly alerted her. When she looked into his eyes, she knew something was up. “What is it?” she asked, sounding worried.
“Candy, I have to tell you something. I know this isn’t the best time but…things have been happening so fast and I…I’ve received an offer.”
Her brows knitted together. “An offer for what?”
“For a
job. In San Francisco. As managing editor for the Chronicle.”
She looked into his eyes, somewhat confused. “But…that’s wonderful news but…what does it mean?”
He smiled hopefully. “Candy, I’ve accepted the job. I’m leaving town. I’m headed to San Francisco. And I want you to go with me.”
FIFTY-FOUR
The following Wednesday afternoon, she drove out to Pruitt Manor.
A week had passed since her birthday party, the arrest of Olivia March—and the bombshell dropped by Ben. And today, Candy had a little unfinished business to tend to.
The Pruitts had left town the previous weekend. Mrs. Pruitt had returned to her primary home on Beacon Hill in Boston, and Tristan had flown off on Sunday to New York, and eventually to Europe on business.
Ben was gone as well. The previous Friday had been his last day in the office. They’d thrown a small party for him, but it had been a subdued affair. Other than that, he left with little fanfare. He’d flown out Saturday to the West Coast. He had plans to return to Cape Willington at some point to pack up his things, but he didn’t know exactly when that would be.
He’d obviously been disappointed when Candy had told him, after thinking it over, that she couldn’t go with him—her home was here in Cape Willington. But they both knew it was the right decision. Neither of them had been completely sure about the direction of their relationship. In the end, it had been an amicable split.
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