Town in a Wild Moose Chase chm-3

by B. B. Haywood

  He gave her an “uh-huh,” but she couldn’t tell what was going on behind those narrowed blue eyes of his.

  He asked her again about the contents of the burlap bag. Whether she’d touched any of the items. Turned on the phone. Looked into the wallet.

  She answered as honestly as she could.

  “Did you touch the hatchet?”

  “I did, but only briefly—and with gloved fingers—to turn it over and read the inscription. Solomon touched it too, when he took it out of the bag and later when he put it back inside.”

  “Did he alter the evidence in any way, that you know of?”

  To the best of her knowledge, she said, he hadn’t.

  They talked about Duncan Leggmeyer then, and what Candy had discovered about his hatchet-throwing championship. She hadn’t been able to find any corroborating evidence online for that particular event, but she did find several grainy, low-resolution images of Duncan throwing axes and hatchets at other competitions. It seemed to be a hobby of his. Apparently, he was sort of the mountain-man type, as in several of the images he had longer hair and a thick beard.

  But why would he have killed Victor Templeton? With a hatchet he’d won as a trophy in a contest?

  That’s what the police are trying to find out, she reminded herself.

  She had some ideas of her own, of course, but for the moment she thought it best if she suppressed those as much as possible. At least until she was out of the police station.

  The chief turned his questions back to Solomon, which made perfect sense. The old hermit was obviously a significant player in this mystery. He had found the body, and the murder weapon, and had moved the body—twice. Candy could understand how his activities over the past few days might appear more than a little suspicious. But when the questions became accusatory, hinting at the possibility of something more sinister, including a possible collusion with Duncan, Candy drew the line.

  “Solomon was an innocent participant in all this, and that’s all,” she told the chief. “He stumbled on the body by accident and did the best he could to make sure it got back into the right hands. Maybe his decisions weren’t all within the boundaries of established law, but he did in his heart what he thought was right. You can’t fault him for that.”

  To her surprise, the chief agreed with her. “No, I can’t,” he said, steepling his fingers together and peering at her like a hawk. “But we also can’t instantly dismiss him as a suspect. He’s too heavily involved. I suppose he told you about his incident years ago, didn’t he?”

  “He mentioned it, but we didn’t talk about specifics.”

  The chief lowered his arms and leaned forward, his voice dropping into a low, folksy cadence. “He had some legal problems with us many years ago—back in the seventies, I think it was. That was before I got here, but I’ve heard about it a few times over the years, and reviewed the files. It was a pretty sensational event at the time. A local girl—someone close to Solomon—was murdered. Initially he was a suspect. I think he might’ve even spent some time in jail. Not many in town rallied to his support, and I suppose it made him bitter about it, though most of that seems to have worn away over the years. He doesn’t seem to hold much of a grudge. Eventually he was cleared, but as you’ve seen, it’s affected him. He’s become a recluse, living out at the place he inherited, and he’s skittish around the police. I suppose that’s understandable behavior, given what he’s been through, and for the most part we’ve left him alone out there. Still, after what’s happened here recently, and with his history, it’s only reasonable to see if there’s a connection. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t follow up on it.”

  Candy understood, but clarified, “There’s no way he could have done anything to hurt that man.”

  “I don’t disagree with you,” the chief said, “but it would be best for all parties if we could just get together with him, talk about it, and clear this up right away.”

  “Yes, it would,” Candy said, “but I don’t think that’s going to happen. He said he was leaving the area, and he didn’t say where he was going.”

  “Do you think you could find this cave of his again?”

  She actually gave that some thought. It had crossed her mind a number of times since she’d walked out of the woods. Finally she shook her head. Again, she decided complete honesty was the best approach, but she phrased it in the language of the woods, mimicking something the old hermit had said.

  “Anything’s possible,” she told the chief, “but it started snowing right after I got back to the farm. Those woods change a lot after a snowfall, you know. Even a little one. It makes everything look different.”

  He wasn’t completely accepting of her cryptic answer, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  After another ten minutes he ran out of questions. He rose, giving her a nod and an appreciative smile. A brief moment of understanding passed between them, and she sensed in him some admiration for what she’d done in locating the old hermit and the victim’s effects. For a moment he let down his guard and allowed a weary look to cross his face.

  He’s probably had a rough weekend so far, she thought.

  And the weekend’s not even half over.

  She had places to go and things to do, and it looked like the interview was done, but he had some parting words for her.

  “We may need you to come back in tomorrow or Monday to clarify some points,” he told her. “I guess I don’t have to warn you to stay in the area. No crossing state lines or anything incriminating like that. And please, Ms. Holliday—Candy—try your very best to stay out of our investigation.”

  She promised she would.

  “And,” he continued, “if you hear of anything else—anything at all—call me immediately.” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out two cards. “One’s for me. One’s for Officer McCroy. He’s still assigned to you, though he’s off on some godforsaken wild goose chase at the moment, which is just the kinda thing we don’t need right now. But he’ll be back a little later on. You need anything, you call one or both of us anytime. Got it?”

  “Got it, Chief.”

  With a sigh of resignation he let her go.

  She felt like she’d just been released from the principal’s office.

  Back in Doc’s truck, she let out a deep breath of her own and could hardly contain her relief. “Wow, what an ordeal.”

  “You okay?” her father asked, sounding worried.

  “Well, they refrained from beating me, if that’s what you mean. For a while there I wasn’t sure they were going to let me go.

  “They were pretty hard on you, huh?”

  Candy shrugged and looked out the window. “I don’t know. More than anything else, I was worried about missing my date with Ben tonight. And I was worried about you sitting out there in that drafty waiting room. But in some strange way, I was okay with all of it. It’s like I almost knew what to expect. I’m afraid I’m starting to get used to these sorts of things happening to me, Dad.”

  It was a sobering thought. They were silent the rest of the way back to the farm.

  Her cell phone buzzed as she climbed out of the cab, alerting her to unread messages. While Doc walked onto the porch and unlocked the front door, Candy flipped open her phone and clicked through to the proper screen.

  Ben had called almost an hour ago. He’d left a message. And Maggie had texted her, reminding her to stop by the house to pick up her dress for the Moose Fest Ball that evening.

  Needing a moment to collect her thoughts, she flipped the phone closed and looked up at the sky. It was still overcast, though the flurries had stopped. The clouds sunk low, seeming to practically graze the tops of the trees in some places. They’d have more snow this evening. She could sense it in the air, which had a raw, almost sensual feel. Perfect weather for a winter ball.

  But her mind couldn’t help wandering in other directions. She turned her head slightly, letting her gaze drift down from the sky, to h
er left, falling to the tree line on the ridge at the far side of the blueberry field behind the house.

  The chief had sent more officers into the woods this afternoon, she’d heard, but she doubted they’d find anything. Solomon was probably long gone by now. They’d recovered the body and knew there was only one, that of Victor Templeton. They had the murder weapon. Any incriminating footprints or tracks around the murder scene had been covered up by… someone or something, according to Solomon. Candy guessed the old hermit had also covered his own tracks on the way out of town, to avoid detection and to ensure no one could follow him, wherever he’d gone. The items taken from the body had been retrieved and delivered to the proper authorities. Both she and Solomon had done their parts.

  And yet, she couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t over yet—at least, not for her.

  She thought back over the items Solomon had laid out on the table in front of her. A wallet. Car keys. A cell phone. A brass hotel room key…

  How many hotels around here still use keys like that? she wondered.

  Almost immediately she thought of someone who might know.

  Maggie had worked at Gumm’s Hardware Store on Main Street all last summer and fall, until she’d switched jobs and taken the counter position at the dry cleaner’s, which paid her an extra fifty cents an hour. She’d loved working for Mr. Gumm but had needed the extra few dollars a day. She’d even cried on his shoulder when she left. He threw her a party. Maggie had loved it.

  She might know something about hotel room keys.

  It was worth a try, Candy thought. She needed to head over there anyway to pick up the dress for the ball. So she told Doc she was running out on a quick errand, jumped into the Jeep, and drove over to Maggie’s place at Fowler’s Corner.

  Thirty

  She found Maggie sitting in a tastefully decorated room tucked into the back corner of her two-story, green gabled house. It had once been a playroom for Amanda, Maggie’s daughter, but over the years it had morphed into a family room and an office, a place where Amanda did homework and Maggie sewed on quiet evenings. When Amanda left for college, Maggie transformed it again into a cozy work space and retreat for herself. Here, she kept her small collection of business and community awards and mementos, mostly from her days at the Stone & Milbury Insurance Agency, along with her burgeoning collection of salt and pepper shakers, a small library of mystery and romance novels, a variety of scented candles of all shapes and sizes, a few hand-painted miniatures of lighthouses, and plenty of photos of Amanda, Amanda’s boyfriend Cameron, and other family members and friends, including several of Maggie and Candy together, taken over the past few years.

  Maggie had her nose pressed up against a computer screen. “The only way I can keep up with Amanda and Cameron is on Facebook,” she said with a touch of melancholy in her voice. “At least they friended me. I think that’s what they call it. Or is that tweeting? And what the heck is Skype? It sounds like a skin condition.” She swept a hand back through her hair. “All this technology stuff is moving too fast. How does anyone keep up with it anymore? What happened to the good old days when we used to talk to each other on the phone?”

  “Or over the backyard fence,” Candy said, dropping into an upholstered chair, which had bare wood arms.

  “Or on the front porch.” Maggie laughed. “Listen to us, a couple of modern girls reminiscing about the old times, when things were a lot simpler. Of course, back in those days, they also lacked microwaves, garage-door openers, and Scrubbing Bubbles.”

  “And electronic locks,” Candy said, seeing an opening to steer the conversation to a more pressing topic. “Listen, I have a question for you.”

  Maggie swiveled in her chair so she could give Candy her full attention. “Fire away.”

  “Okay.” She took a quick breath and plunged right in. “Well, earlier today I found this brass hotel key, attached to one of those red plastic key tag thingies with room numbers on them. You know what I mean, right? Now, I know most hotels around here use electronic key cards, but there are probably a few places in the area that still use actual keys instead of plastic cards. Any idea which ones those might be?”

  Maggie was silent for a moment, a haze of confusion clouding her face. Finally, she asked, “Is this a technical question?”

  “Sort of, I suppose.”

  “I just wondered because, you know, you’re asking me about keys. That’s not a common topic of discussion. So, of course, it makes me curious: Why the sudden interest in keys?”

  Candy shrugged casually. “I just like keys. Keys are interesting things.”

  “But you never cared about keys before.”

  “I’ve gained a new appreciation of them, due to recent developments.”

  “Hmm.” Maggie scrutinized her friend with a narrowed gaze. She glanced down at Candy’s pockets. “Do you have this mystery key with you?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Why is that not surprising?” Maggie tapped her pursed lips with an index finger. “You know what I think? I think you’ve been nosing around—without me, I might add—and you found a clue. And now you want my help in figuring it out. Is that about right?”

  The corners of Candy’s mouth turned up into a conspiratorial smile. “You’re not totally incorrect. I’ve had a busy afternoon, yes.”

  “You must have. I’ve barely seen you all day. What have you been up to?”

  “Like you said—nosing around. Getting myself in trouble. And just for the record, I wasn’t intentionally doing it without you—nosing around, I mean.”

  “I know that, honey. You can’t help yourself,” Maggie declared knowingly. “Just like Mr. Biggles, God rest his soul—always on the prowl. He was relentless. Nothing could stand in his way when he was on the trail of something.”

  She paused, grinning cagily as she sharpened her gaze on her friend. “That’s how you get when there’s a mystery in town. I admit, it’s probably due to some sort of chemical imbalance in your brain or something like that, but it’s why we all love you.” She smiled warmly.

  “Um, thanks—I think. Anyway, back to the key question.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m looking for hotels that use real brass keys, like the one I saw. Any idea which ones those might be?”

  “Oh, right. The key. It’s probably the key to this whole thing, right?” She chuckled, amused. “That’s pretty funny. The key is the key. How often does that happen? Not very often, I’d guess. Well, hmm, let me think.” She closed her eyes for a few moments as she pondered the issue. With her eyes still closed, she asked, “Did you get a good look at this key?”

  “Well, yes and no. I saw it, but I didn’t pay that much attention to it. There were… distractions.”

  Maggie opened one eye. “Such as?”

  “I’d rather not say at the moment.”

  Maggie opened the other eye and gave her friend a questioning look. “Withholding evidence? You’ve been warned about that, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “If I help you out, I could be considered an accomplice in whatever crime you’re about to commit—or have already committed.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “That’s true. Okay, so, sometimes those old keys have room numbers or the name of the hotel stamped on them. Did you notice anything like that, during the distracted time this particular key was in your presence?”

  Candy ignored her friend’s humorous asides and stuck to the facts. “It looked like it had at one time, but it was so old that anything valuable had rubbed off.”

  “Okay, we’ll just have to figure it out. Which hotels still use keys like that?” Maggie asked herself rhetorically as she tapped at her chin. “A few maintenance men from those places used to come into the hardware store when I worked there. One was from Hidden Valley Motel and Cabins, that place up on Route 1. And then there’s the Shangri-La, that little place just outside of town. It’s a little dingy, if you ask me
. Probably hasn’t been renovated since the sixties. One of those room-by-the-hour places, if you know what I mean. Of course, I’ve never been in a place like that myself. But I’ve heard rumors.…”

  Maggie’s eyes suddenly lit up, as if something had just clicked inside her brain. She raised a finger. “Hey, you know what, I just read something strange about that place when I was online this morning before I went to work. Now, where was it?”

  She swiveled back to her computer, grabbed the mouse, and began navigating her way around the screen. After scrolling down through the browser’s history and clicking the back button numerous times on the half dozen tabs she had open, she finally found the page she was looking for.

  It was a bright, busy design, with flashy typefaces and bright lime green and fluorescent purple colors.

  Candy had seen it before. It was Wanda Boyle’s blog, The Cape Crusader.

  Maggie looked a little embarrassed. “Oh yeah, that’s right. I remember now where I saw it.”

  Candy waved it off. “That’s okay. I’ve been checking Wanda’s blog a lot lately myself. I hate to admit this, because if she gets any inkling it came from me, I’ll never hear the end of it, but she’s actually been doing some pretty good reporting, for someone just starting out.”

  “She’s got the inside scoop on a lot of things, that’s for sure.” Maggie pointed at the screen. “Here’s the item that caught my attention.”

  It was a four- or five-paragraph blog posting titled Police Log.

  Candy leaned in for a closer look. Ben ran a similar thing in the paper, compiled by one of the volunteers. The only problem was, the paper published only twice a month in the winter, so it lost its timeliness. They’d transferred some sections online but usually updated it only once or twice a week. Wanda was posting daily, and often multiple times. The police log was one of several postings she’d made the previous evening.

  “See, right here,” Maggie said, pointing, and she read,” ‘A guest staying at the Shangri-La Motel on North U.S. 192 reported a missing toboggan on Thursday, January 27. The guest had left the toboggan leaning against an outside wall of the motel. A brief search turned up no sign of the item. The owner later reported finding the toboggan in the woods behind the motel. Police surmised someone had taken the item and later returned it.’ That’s all it says. Not much, really.”