Town in a Wild Moose Chase chm-3

by B. B. Haywood

  For the moose’s part, if it had any opinions about the momentous nature of its presence here in Cape Willington, it wasn’t giving anything away. It stood nonchalantly, barely acknowledging the surrounding crowd. It was angled sideways, almost parallel to the porch upon which Candy stood, perhaps twelve feet away, with its right side toward her and its head pointed down the street toward the ocean. It flick-ed its thick ears, sniffed the air, let out a frosty breath through its big nostrils, and almost imperceptibly turned its head in Candy’s direction, its right eye not quite making contact with her.

  Candy was flabbergasted. “Are you following me?” she asked the moose.

  Maggie nudged her in the side. “Friend of yours?”

  “We’ve met,” Candy said curtly. “He’s been hanging around the farm.”

  “And you didn’t tell us about it?” Maggie asked, feigning shock. “You’re holding out on us!”

  Ben eyed Candy warily. “You know, Maggie, I think you’re right.” To Candy, he added, “Is this the same moose you said you saw the other night?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, you were right,” Ben said, studying the creature with admiration. “He certainly is a big guy. It’s a bull, all right. Fully grown. Probably five or six years old. At the peak of his life and all that. He seems to have an affection for you.”

  It took a few moments for Ben’s words to sink in. “He what?”

  “He’s saying the moose is in love with you,” Maggie interpreted for her.

  “He’s courting you, or at least that’s my guess,” Ben clarified.

  “You’re both crazy,” Candy retorted, crossing her arms. She suddenly realized everyone on the porch was looking at her. Someone in the crowd catcalled, another whistled, and others were chuckling.

  “He’s giving you his best dreamy-eyed look,” Maggie observed. “It’s sweet, really. I wish I had a boyfriend with eyes like that.”

  Candy frowned, unamused. “Isn’t it a little early for mating season?”

  “Love knows no bounds,” Maggie opined.

  “He’s probably just a little confused,” Ben said. “It happens sometimes. Moose tend to fall in love with all sorts of things. Cows. Lawn ornaments. Pickup trucks.”

  Candy’s brow furrowed. “Did you just compare me to a pickup truck?”

  “I think he compared you to a cow,” Maggie said helpfully.

  Ben chuckled. “Well, not exactly. But it’s the same principle. He must have seen you around the farm and got curious. Maybe he was attracted by your hair or your scent or something like that.”

  “Hey, you’re not wearing that Eau de Moose perfume I gave you for a joke gift last Christmas, are you?” Maggie asked with all seriousness.

  “No,” Candy said curtly. At moments like this, brevity was probably the best response, she decided. She didn’t want to encourage Maggie and Ben any further. “So how do I get rid of him?”

  “He’ll eventually wander away on his own.”

  And sure enough, as if he had suddenly forgotten her, the white moose gave a snort, turned his head about, and started off down the street, following the horses and sleighs, eyeing the lighted trees curiously, and doing his best to stay clear of the curious onlookers. The crowd respectively made room for him, and as he reached the bottom of Ocean Avenue, he turned left up the Loop, following the parade on its way to Fowler’s Corner.

  “Well, that was just about the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Candy said as the moose ambled away, half hidden behind the trees of Town Park.

  “Not really,” Maggie began. “You’re forgetting that time—”

  But Candy cut her off quickly. “Thank you very much, Miss Tattler, but I don’t need anyone reminding me of my past transgressions, whatever they may be.”

  “Just trying to help,” Maggie said glumly. Candy gave her friend a playful jostle.

  “Well, now that the excitement’s over,” Ben said, rubbing his gloved hands together, “shall we retreat to a warmer spot inside?”

  Maggie heaved a deep sigh and put on her best forlorn look. “You two go ahead. I have some sewing to catch up on.”

  She started away, but Candy took her friend’s arm, pulling her back. “Oh, don’t be silly. Stay awhile.”

  “I won’t interfere?” Maggie asked hopefully.

  “The more, the merrier. Come on, join us for a glass of wine, and I’ll tell you about this real jackass who once fell for me.” She glanced at Ben, then back at Maggie. “And no, it’s no one you know.”

  The inn’s lounge was packed, but they managed to squeeze into a tight spot at the far end of the bar, and for the next hour, as a cold, crisp night settled over Cape Willington, they chatted about the day’s events over glasses of a tart Pinot Grigio (although Ben eventually switched to vodka martinis) and a cheese, fruit, and marinated olive plate they’d ordered to snack on. Still feeling like a third wheel, Maggie tried to sneak away once or twice, in an effort to “leave the two lovebirds alone,” only to be repeatedly pulled back. But eventually it was Ben who bowed out early.

  “I apologize, ladies, but I really have some work I need to finish up tonight.”

  “Really? On a Friday night?” Now it was Candy’s turn to act glum.

  He gave her a warm kiss on the cheek. “I took some time off this afternoon to help a friend, remember? I just have to catch up a little. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll meet up,” he told her before heading out into the cold night.

  “There he goes again,” Maggie said, raising a wineglass in salute to Ben’s disappearing back. Turning to Candy, she added, “You should have let me go, honey, so you and Ben could’ve had some time together. Maybe get a bite to eat at a candlelit table.”

  “Oh, it’s all right. Besides, he probably wouldn’t have stayed much longer anyway,” Candy mused with a sigh. “Too much work.”

  “And not enough time,” Maggie finished for her, grabbing the nearly empty bottle of wine and freshening their glasses.

  “It’s the story of my life.”

  “Mine too.”

  They were both silent for a few moments. Then Maggie brightened. “Well, look, if things don’t work out with Ben, there’s always the moose.”

  Candy raised her wineglass. “To the moose!”

  “To the moose!”

  As their glasses clinked together, Candy saw Chief Darryl Durr enter the lounge. He took off his hat as he looked around the room, spotted her, and started threading his way through the chatting patrons to their end of the bar.

  “Oh, oh, here comes trouble,” Maggie said, following Candy’s gaze. “Looks like you’ve been busted.”

  Candy tried to discreetly hide her face behind her hands. “Me? What did I do?”

  “Blocking traffic with a live moose?”

  “But I had nothing to do with that!”

  “Don’t tell me! Tell him!”

  “Ms. Holliday,” Chief Durr said as he slid onto a bar stool that suddenly opened up next to her.

  Maggie jumped to her feet and grabbed her purse, which was sitting on the bar. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the little girl’s room,” she announced.

  But Chief Durr pointed with his pinky at the bar stool she had just vacated. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a few minutes, Mrs. Tremont. I’d like to speak to you as well.”

  Maggie gulped noticeably as she returned to her seat, her purse clutched protectively in front of her.

  “It’s come to my attention,” Chief Durr said without further preamble, “that you two have been playing games with my police officer.”

  “Excuse me?” Maggie said, blinking quickly.

  “Officer McCroy,” the chief clarified as he focused in on Candy. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “He’s there for your protection, Candy. I know he’s been a little conspicuous—”

  “He’s been a little spooky, to tell you the truth,” Candy told him flatly.

  Chief Durr held up both hands, as if to calm her.
“That was my call, just so you know the truth, and I had a reason for it. I wanted it to be obvious to others that you were being watched.”

  “Others?” Candy’s voice suddenly turned concerned. “What others?”

  “We wanted a visible police presence,” Chief Durr said, evading her question. “Now, there’s nothing to be concerned about. We’re just being thorough.”

  “Thorough? What are you talking about?”

  “Is Candy in danger?” Maggie asked worriedly.

  “Not that we know of. At least, we’ve had no specific threats.”

  Candy didn’t like the sound of that. “Have you had unspecific ones?”

  “No.” A look of amusement flashed through Chief Durr’s eyes and he allowed himself a smile. “None of those either. Nonetheless, we’d appreciate your cooperation until we get to the bottom of this little… mystery. I’ll instruct Officer McCroy to give you a wider berth, but for now I want him out in the open—and close by, in case Solomon tries to contact you.”

  “Or in case something more serious happens to me,” Candy added, thinking about the times in the past when she’d run afoul of a murderer or two.

  Chief Durr nodded his head. “We have an agreement then. I’ll keep him off Blueberry Acres for now, to give you a little privacy, but you have to promise me that you’ll contact us immediately if you see anything else out in those woods.”

  Candy thought about that and finally nodded. “You have my promise.”

  “Mine too!” Maggie piped in.

  “Good!” Chief Durr slapped the bar with a hand, rose, and put on his hat. But before he left, his expression turned serious again. “I’ll hold you to that—both of you. Now you ladies have a good evening.” And with that, he gave them a well-practiced smile and walked away.

  “Friendly guy,” Maggie observed.

  “Secretive too. I wonder what he’s sitting on.”

  “A bar stool?” Maggie offered.

  “Information,” Candy replied. “He knows something we don’t.”

  “About Solomon?”

  “About something.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

  “We will,” said Candy, checking her watch, “but not tonight. Ready to head home?”

  Twenty-five minutes later, Candy was sitting beside the dying embers of a fire Doc had made, sipping a relaxing cup of the blueberry green tea she’d bought earlier in the week at a new organic and herbal shop in town, and finishing a warmed-up cup of lobster stew, made with a famous recipe. They had the TV on with the sound down low, turned to a cable cooking show, but they really weren’t watching it. Doc had his nose deep in a history book about lost Maine coastal schooners, and Candy was absently flipping through a regional magazine, glancing at stories about skiing, sea glass, covered bridges, and the preservation of historical state photos.

  By eleven the TV was off and Candy was in bed, though Doc stayed up awhile reading. Eventually, though, she heard him make his way up the stairs and quietly close his bedroom door.

  She fell into a deep sleep and awoke only when her alarm clock went off. It took her a few moments for her to realize it was Saturday morning.

  But I didn’t set my alarm clock to go off, she thought groggily.

  She heard the ringing again and realized it was the phone downstairs. It rang a couple more times before the answering machine, an antiquated device Doc insisted on keeping, went off. After the recorded message, Candy could hear a voice talking frantically into the machine. It sounded like Finn Woodbury’s voice. She thought she heard him say the words police, road, and dead.

  She tried to roll out of bed, but Doc beat her to it. She heard him open his door and pad down the stairs. A few moments later she could hear him listening to the message, rewinding it, and listening again.

  Almost immediately he headed back up the stairs.

  A moment later he knocked on her door.

  “Pumpkin?” he called, opening the door a crack. “You awake?”

  She poked her head out from underneath the warm, cozy covers. “Yeah, Dad, what is it?”

  “They found a body.”

  Nineteen

  For an hour Candy fretted, wandering around the house in her fluffy pink slippers and thick bathrobe, wondering if the body they’d found at dawn along the Coastal Loop just outside of town was Solomon Hatch.

  She could think of no other scenario that might fit, and blamed herself for it. She should have done a better job searching for him. She should have spent more time in the woods, looking behind every tree and beneath every rock. She should have done whatever she needed to do to find him, wherever he’d been hiding. But she’d been too distracted, and she hadn’t devoted the time to the search she now felt she should have. If she’d been more focused on the woods behind her house than on Town Park, she might have found him—and maybe saved his life.

  But Doc warned her not to jump to conclusions. “Let’s wait until we hear back from Finn before we go about burying Solomon,” he told her in his thick morning voice. He’d been on the phone several times since he’d woken, and still hadn’t had his first cup of coffee. Candy offered to make him a pot, but he waved her off. “Just give me five minutes,” he told her, “and we’ll get in the truck and head to the diner.”

  But five minutes came and went several times as Doc stayed on the phone and Candy paced nervously. Finn Woodbury had an inside connection in the local police department and usually was able to get information before anyone else. Even though he was wintering in Florida, at an RV park about an hour south of Orlando, Finn stayed connected to Cape Willington and was working the phones, trying to find out more about this latest mystery. But so far he’d heard nothing definitive about the identity of the body, or how the person had died.

  Tired of waiting, Candy jumped in the shower. By the time she’d toweled off, dried her hair, and dressed in her regular jeans, turtleneck sweater, and fleece jacket, Doc was ready to go. “We’re reconvening at the diner,” he informed her as she grabbed her tote bag.

  Duffy’s Maine Street Diner was hopping with activity on this Saturday morning, due to the influx of tourists in town. All the booths as well as most of the seats at the counter were occupied, but Artie Groves and William “Bumpy” Brigham, the two members of Doc’s inner circle who had remained in town for the winter, had managed to hold the horseshoe-shaped corner booth for them.

  “Anything new?” Doc asked as he slid into the red-upholstered seat next to Artie, who was digging into a tall plate of pancakes dripping with maple syrup. He had grown a goatee for the winter and sported a new pair of silver-rimmed glasses, which replaced his previous horn-rimmed ones, giving him a nattier appearance. Naturally, the rest of the crew had endlessly commented on Artie’s new look. Even Finn had weighed in from Florida after Artie posted a new photo on his Facebook page. Rumor was that he had cleaned up his look because he had a new girlfriend, though so far he had neither confirmed nor denied that point.

  Candy slipped into the booth on the other side, next to Bumpy, who had packed on some extra weight for the winter, which he called his “insulation.” Apparently he felt as if he’d packed on a little too much insulation, however, since he’d decided to forego the pancakes this morning and had settled instead for oatmeal and fruit. From the furtive glances he cast across the table at Artie’s plate, it was clear he wasn’t completely satisfied with his breakfast choice.

  Candy had barely sat down when a steaming cup of hot coffee magically appeared before her.

  She looked up. Juanita Perez, one of the diner’s longtime waitresses, beamed down at her. “I’ve already ordered a toasted English muffin for you, just the way you like it, with blueberry jam on the side,” she told Candy before she hurried away to check on her other customers.

  Candy graciously accepted the premium customer service, even though Doc and the boys still sometimes kidded her abo
ut it. Ever since Juanita had won a cook-off contest the previous summer, for which Candy had been a judge, the waitress had made her gratitude well known, telling Candy she had “an endless cup of coffee and anything she wanted” whenever she stopped by the diner. Candy had protested at first, to no avail. And, truth be told, she kind of liked the way it made the boys in the corner booth jealous, especially when Juanita sent her home with a special treat, such as a thick slice of chocolate cake or a bowl of the diner’s newly famous lobster stew.

  It was a benefit she’d secretly come to enjoy, and even at times to relish.

  Today, though, she was less concerned with the food and drink, and more focused on hearing the latest information.

  “I just got a text from Finn. We now know who discovered the body,” Artie said, dousing his pancakes with more syrup. “It was Francis Robichaud.”

  “The snowplow driver?” Candy asked.

  Bumpy nodded. “He was plowing that stretch of the Loop up past Fowler’s Corner right after daybreak and saw the body lying by the side of the road, halfway stuck in a snowbank, right there in front of him. They had to dig the body out, from what we’ve heard. How it got in there, no one knows.

  “We still don’t know if it was an accident or something more serious, like homicide,” Artie continued evenly while Bumpy scooped up another spoonful of oatmeal. “They’ve got the area blocked off and the police are checking it out now.”

  “Do they have any idea who it is… or was?” Candy asked.

  “No word yet,” Bumpy said, “but Finn’s on it.”

  “He said he’ll let us know as soon as he hears something,” Artie added.

  “I can’t believe it,” Doc said, shaking his head. “Another mysterious death in town. This makes how many?”

  “Not that we’re keeping score, but that’s five in less than two years,” Artie said, adjusting his glasses.

  “That’s just great,” Doc said. “If this keeps up, they’ll start calling us the murder capital of Maine.”

  Juanita brought Candy’s English muffin, along with a small plate of homemade blueberry jam, and she delivered Doc’s coffee and took his order, joking with him and the boys the entire time. That got them going, and they fell into their typical morning chatter session, which today focused on a variety of pertinent topics, including the mysterious body, the Moose Fest, Doc’s historical presentation later in the morning, parking in town, taxes, the weather, the latest eBay trends, and the upcoming spring baseball training season. “Twenty-two days until pitchers and catchers re-port,” Artie cheerfully informed them, and he proceeded to give his impression of the upcoming baseball season.