Town in a Wild Moose Chase chm-3

by B. B. Haywood

  “Sure, I’ve been listening. So…?”

  “You’re incorrigible, you know that.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Look, just do me one favor, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  “Don’t ever wear anything from this shop again, ever. But if you do, please, please, please don’t tell me about it. Promise?”

  Maggie beamed and held up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “I promise!”

  Seventeen

  An hour later, the snowfall lightened as dusk fell, and Cape Willington turned into a magical winter wonderland.

  Strings of lights, some left over from Christmas and some hung especially for the Moose Fest, made the town seem to glow under its fresh glazing of snow. Streetlights and store windows, benches and tree trunks were all alight, reflecting off the surrounding snow and ice, making everything sparkle. Even many of the townies and tourists who had gathered for the parade, decked out in their most colorful hats and scarves—a Moose Fest tradition—wore lighted necklaces and bracelets, or carried flashlights wrapped in green or blue or orange cellophane, turning the oncoming night even more colorful and festive.

  Candy barely noticed the gathering crowds and building buzz, for she was deep in a conversation with Duncan Leggmeyer, who was confirming information she’d heard from several other people during the past hour as she’d made her rounds in Town Park.

  “I just hope they keep it all on the up and up,” Duncan was telling her, the intensity strong in his dark chocolate eyes. “We really don’t know what’s going on. It’s been a fairly secretive process, which concerns me a lot.”

  He’d taken a break from finishing up work on a one-block sculpture of a bear cub, part of the larger ice display depicting Maine wildlife, when Candy had asked for a few mo-ments of his time. It had turned into a nearly twenty-minute conversation, with Duncan doing most of the talking and Candy doing most of the listening. He’d started off discussing the general stuff—the art and craft of carving ice—but when Candy had asked him about Preston Smith’s organization, the conversation had taken a serious turn.

  “Have you talked to Preston personally about this sponsorship issue?” Candy asked.

  “I’ve mentioned it to him a couple of times, but I got the feeling pretty quickly that I wasn’t going to get any straight answers.” Duncan seemed resigned to his fate. “He’s been pretty fuzzy about the whole thing from the beginning, but he says he’s talking to a chain-saw company that’s interested in sponsoring one of us—sort of an official spokesperson type of thing. You know, we’d use their products and wear ballcaps with their logos on them, that sort of thing. Apparently they’re getting ready to make a lucrative offer, and they’ve asked Preston for his recommendation. He still hasn’t said who’s involved or how much we’re talking about, but he let us know that he will be finalizing his decision any day now.”

  “How come I haven’t heard anything about this before?” Candy asked. “Was there an official announcement?”

  Duncan shrugged. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask Preston about that.”

  Candy pursed her lips and made a note. “Maybe I will.”

  “A bunch of us have been talking,” Duncan continued as he watched her scribble down a few quick lines, “and we’re all pretty much in agreement that whatever’s going on, Liam probably has the inside track on it. Either him or Victor. Those two are the most competitive of the group, though some of the women do a pretty good job keeping up with them.” Casually he nodded toward Felicia Gaspar and Gina Templeton.

  Candy didn’t disagree with him. She’d talked to both of them, as well as to Liam. Gina in particular had seemed driven, yet at the same time distracted and even evasive, when Candy had spoken to her and asked about her husband, Victor.

  “I’ve heard he’s pulled out of the event,” Candy had said casually to Gina, who was covered in ice crystals at the time and chipping away at the face of a young female figure, who was beginning to emerge from a block of ice.

  “I’d prefer not to talk about that,” Gina had replied, barely looking at Candy, her gaze affixed on the frozen visage before her. “It’s a private matter.”

  “Are you going to continue to participate in the exhibition yourself? According to the schedule, you and Victor are supposed to be giving an ice-carving demonstration tomorrow morning. Are you still participating?”

  A look of genuine surprise crossed Gina’s face, as if she’d completely forgotten about the event, though she quickly moved to force her emotions below the surface. “Well, um, yes, of course. I’ll be there!”

  These last few words sounded forced to Candy, but she let it go, suspecting there was more Gina wasn’t telling her, but guessing it had something to do with Gina’s marital relations with her husband. And perhaps she was right—it probably was a private matter.

  As Gina went back to carving, practically attacking the ice, Candy backed off and finally turned away. But as she did so, she noticed Gina glance first at Liam and then at Felicia, before returning to her task with renewed effort.

  Her conversations with Felicia and Liam hadn’t gone much better. To Candy, they all seemed strangely driven yet disconnected, like they were trying to reach an unknown destination without a map. Pedal to the metal with no idea where they were going. Only Baxter Bryant and his wife, Bernadette, seemed truly to be having a good time today. Baxter in particular always had a crowd around him as he worked, as he frequently took the time to talk about what he was doing and show off some of his techniques. He was definitely popular.

  And so was Colin Trevor Jones. Candy had talked to the young chef as well, and his enthusiasm and love for his craft, as well as his skill in shaping the ice, gave her a new appreciation of him, and made him a favorite with the crowd.

  Candy thanked Duncan for taking the time to talk to her and started flipping back through the pages of her notebook as she walked away. Several of the folks she’d just interviewed, including Liam and Baxter, also had mentioned this spokesperson thing to her, though they all seemed reluctant to talk about it. Perhaps they were afraid of some sort of repercussion or backlash, though from whom she couldn’t imagine. Preston Smith? Could he possibly have that much power? she wondered as she made her way back to the dry cleaner’s.

  Preston was a bit of an odd fellow, yes, but he seemed relatively harmless. Still, on the two occasions she’d met up with him, he’d exhibited some strange behavior too. He seemed to have a way of ducking in and out of conversations, and now that she thought about it, he had a knack for avoiding certain people, like Ben. What was that all about?

  She reminded herself to check for a response to the e-mail she’d sent off to Preston’s assistant the night before, as soon as she had the chance. Maybe that would provide some answers, or at least verify his credentials. But for now, she had a parade to catch.

  As she made her way up the street, she looked around as casually as possible.

  She spotted him almost at once.

  Officer McCroy was back on her trail.

  He trudged up the street in the midst of the crowd, perhaps twenty feet behind her, wearing the same police-issue coat and hat with a solemn expression on his face, as if he was running down Al Capone.

  “Well, that’s just great,” Candy said to herself. And resigned to the fact that she’d probably have a shadow for the rest of the weekend, she turned halfway around and gave him a casual salute.

  He nodded back, the look on his face growing more stern, as if to say, “I have you in my sights. You won’t get away from me again that easily, Ms. Holliday.”

  Candy hesitated a moment. Perhaps, she thought, she could use this situation to her advantage.

  With a shrug, she turned fully around and started toward him, threading her way through the tourists crowding the sidewalk.

  When he saw her coming, he stepped aside, waiting, obviously wondering what she was up to.

  He must have thought she was going to confro
nt him again, but she had a different idea in mind this time.

  She approached more slowly, in a nonthreatening manner, and even pulled a hand out of her pocket and waved tentatively.

  “Hi… ah, Officer Jody. If I may call you that?”

  “It’s Officer McCroy, ma’am,” he corrected in a stoic manner.

  “Yes, well, Officer McCroy, I wonder if I can ask you a question.”

  He gave her a scrutinizing look. “I’ve already told you, ma’am. You have to talk to Chief Durr about that.”

  Candy shook her head and waved a hand. “No, it’s… it’s not about that. It’s about”—she couldn’t help glancing around and lowering her voice just slightly—“Preston Smith.”

  He gave her a confused look. “Who?”

  “Preston Smith. You know, the”—she pointed uncertainly toward Town Park—“the I.C.I.C.L.E. guy.”

  He looked at her as if she were speaking a different language. “Ms. Holliday, I have no idea who you’re talking about. My assignment is to keep an eye on you in case—”

  “I know, I know,” Candy said, interrupting him. Flipping her head around, she started back up the street. “You’re waiting for me to lead you to Solomon Hatch.”

  “It’s for your own protection, ma’am,” Officer McCroy called after her.

  She didn’t respond. Part of her chafed at the surveillance by the young police officer, but another part of her was grateful for it. She’d found herself in serious trouble on at least two occasions before when solving mysteries around town. Maybe operating under the watchful eye of the authorities wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  And, as she walked back up the street, she felt some satisfaction, as she had uncovered another small piece of the puzzle. Officer McCroy had confirmed what she had already guessed about Preston—that he was trying to avoid certain people, the police included.

  She couldn’t decide if that was significant or not.

  Maggie was just locking up the store when Candy arrived yet again at the dry cleaner’s. Pulling her quickly into the back room, Maggie said, “Here, we need to get dressed up for the parade,” and she dug into a shopping bag full of colorful clothing she said she’d brought from home. “I promise all this stuff is mine,” Maggie said in response to Candy’s inquisitive expression.

  If Maggie had supplemented the clothes with a few unclaimed items she’d found lying around the store, she wasn’t saying.

  Within ten minutes she’d outfitted both Candy and herself. Maggie wore a red jacket trimmed in white faux fur, a bright green scarf, a multicolored, multispiked jesterlike hat with bells at the tips of the cloth spikes, and bright yellow boots (definitely borrowed from her daughter, Amanda), while for Candy she’d selected a bright pink down jacket, a red and white striped scarf, a purple knit cap, and mauve fur-lined boots.

  “Now you sort of look like a stick of bubblegum, which is exactly how someone named Candy should look,” Maggie announced proudly as she studied the fruits of her labor. On an impulse, she gave her friend a quick hug. “This is going to be so much fun. Are you sure you don’t mind if I tag along tonight?”

  “Maggie, I insist.”

  “But won’t I intrude on your little thing with Ben?”

  “Of course not. We haven’t planned much anyway. Well, he did offer to buy me a glass of wine afterward…”

  Maggie’s expression turned suddenly serious. “If you two need some time alone tonight, just give me the signal and I’ll quietly slip away,” she promised. “The last thing I want to do is get in the way of true love.”

  Candy laughed. “I don’t know if it’s progressed quite that far, but this strange little mystery out in the woods does seem to have brought us closer together.”

  “Then we should have more strange little mysteries around here!” Maggie announced brightly.

  Candy gave her a dubious look. “Maybe, but let’s solve this one first.”

  “Have you found any clues yet?”

  “A few,” Candy confirmed, “although I still don’t know how they all fit together. But my instincts tell me I’m on the right trail.”

  “Well, that’s good to know,” Maggie said, her voice suddenly turning serious. “The only question is, where does the trail lead?”

  On that ominous observation, they locked the door behind them and started down the street toward the Lightkeeper’s Inn. Ahead of them, out over the ocean, the sky was near dark, while remains of the sunset still lightened the western sky behind them. All the voices and other sounds around town had taken on hushed, expectant tones as the onlookers who had gathered on the sidewalks awaited the arrival of the winter parade. Vendors were walking along the edge of the street, selling lighted necklaces and glow sticks. A group of individuals off to one side was singing “Sleigh Ride” in three-part harmony. True to Ben’s prediction, a few snowballs flew back and forth across the street, causing the targeted teens, dressed in dark colors and doing their best to appear cool, to dodge adeptly side to side and bark with laughter or feigned annoyance.

  As Candy and Maggie neared the inn, the crowd thickened, but with a little bit of patience they managed to negotiate their way through the pressing bodies and reach the inn’s porch just as the jingling of bells and the first clip-clops of horse hooves echoed down from Main Street.

  “Here they come!” Maggie said excitedly, clapping her hands together.

  Ben had staked out a primo spot on the porch with excellent views up Ocean Avenue and across to Town Park, so they wouldn’t miss a thing. And he had a treat for them. “Freshly made hot chocolate with homemade whipped cream, courtesy of Chef Colin,” he said as he pointed to a small silver serving tray on a table nearby, with a large steaming pot and several heavy mugs set out. “Ladies, can I interest you in cup of cocoa?”

  Warming their hands around the mugs and basking in the mellow aromas coming off the hot chocolate, they sipped away in deep pleasure as the first sleighs turned down Ocean Avenue.

  Almost immediately Candy made a face. When she spoke, her tone was edged with uncharacteristic coolness. “I should have figured.”

  “What?” Maggie followed her friend’s gaze, craning her neck to see. When she finally realized what Candy meant, she made a face as well. “Oh, it’s her! What’s she doing there?”

  At the front of the procession of sleighs and sleds was a magnificent restoration of an antique Hudson Valley sleigh, with a family of five passengers in two rows, tucked under warm blankets and waving to the crowds. The sleigh was lit only by a discreet string of white lights edging the upper rim of the body of the sleigh. It was pulled by a single black draft horse and sat high on its framework of metal runners with thick tubing from front to rear. A wreath of entwined blueberry sprigs was hung from the front of the sleigh’s body, and garlands of pine branches swooped along its recently repainted sides.

  And planted firmly in the front row, wedged comfortably between the driver and right-side passenger, was Wanda Boyle.

  She was dressed like a big snowflake, Candy thought, in a fluffy white, high-collared coat, white knit cap, white earmuffs, and white scarf. As the sleigh came down the street, greeted by the cheering crowds, Wanda alternatively waved pleasantly to the crowds and snapped photos with her digital camera.

  Behind them came another dozen sleighs, including two-row bobsleds, half-roofed doctors’ sleighs, Albany-style open sleighs with their oval-shaped bodies, and two-passenger Portland cutters with black runners and tufted upholstery. One crowd-pleaser was a small, black single-passenger child’s sleigh, driven by Lyra Graveton and pulled along by a small, brown-furred pony with a long blonde mane.

  The sleighs were lighted in unique ways. Some had electric lights powered by batteries, while others opted for glow sticks, and several had charming dual lanterns hung from hooks on poles along the sides of the sleighs. Many of the passengers tossed out candies and beads to those lining the street, sending children and their excited parents scampering.

  As the
front sleigh passed the inn, Wanda scanned the assembled crowd, looking for someone to impress. Her gaze alighted briefly on Candy but just as quickly flitted away without a hint of recognition. Instead, she waved to Oliver LaForce, the inn’s proprietor, and blew a kiss to Colin, the chef, before snapping his photo for her blog.

  Behind the sleighs came neighborhood kids and families, pulling sleds and toboggans filled with siblings, friends, family members, and pets.

  Up the street, however, Candy heard a sudden hush fall over the crowd, and then what sounded like a collective “Awwww!” moved through the assembled throng like a wave. A smattering of applause rippled down the street as well.

  “What is it?” Maggie asked, leaning out over the porch railing to catch a glimpse of whatever might be coming down Main Street toward the Ocean Avenue intersection.

  At first all Candy saw was a swarm of kids, teens, and their sleds, skimming over the ice, usually pulled by an older sibling, or a parent in some cases. But they scattered when they saw what was coming behind them, heading for the curb and any shelter they could find along the sides of the street.

  Thus giving the white moose a clear path as it ambled down Ocean Avenue toward the inn and the sea.

  Eighteen

  The moose sauntered down the street as if it hadn’t a care in the world and came to a stop directly in front of Candy.

  Once again a hush fell upon the crowd, as voices dropped to whispers, and even those pulling sleds and driving carriages paused and looked around to see what was happening. For the space of a few heartbeats, the entire town came to a standstill. Moose weren’t necessarily rare around these parts of Maine, but still, when one walked through the center of your village, it was worth at least a few raised eyebrows.

  But the moment soon passed, as children giggled and teenagers called out to the creature, and couples started talking excitedly to one another about the majesty of the animal standing in their midst, so close they could reach out and touch it.