Town in a Wild Moose Chase chm-3

by B. B. Haywood

  Candy turned to Ben. “It probably has something to do with the hatchet,” she told him, and he listened with lips pursed tightly as she explained how Solomon had found the body with a hatchet in its back and had passed the murder weapon on to her so she could deliver it to the police department.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked, expressionless.

  “There was so much going on. I never had a chance.”

  He nodded and pulled her over to one side, out of earshot of the others gathered in the lobby. “Okay, tell me everything you know,” he said, and he cast his eyes downward in concentration as Candy explained what she had discovered that day, with Maggie eavesdropping on their conversation.

  “I have to call Finn,” Ben said when she’d finished, “and see if he’s heard anything. Then I should head over to the police station.” He took her hand. “I’m sorry our big night out has been ruined,” he said sincerely.

  She gave him an understanding look. “It was brief but wonderful. Go do what you have to do.”

  “I don’t mean to leave you stranded. Can you find a ride home?”

  “Maggie will take me.” She gave him a quick hug. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you as soon as I know something,” he said, and kissed her before he ran off to grab his coat.

  After he’d gone, Candy took a deep breath. “Well,” she said to Maggie, “at least we got in one good dance before things got crazy.”

  Maggie sighed along with her. “You’re lucky. I barely had that. And now it appears my date has run out on me—though I’m not sure exactly what I did. And to think I got all dressed up for this.”

  Candy turned toward her friend, eyes suddenly blazing. “Speaking of dresses…”

  If Candy expected any sort of sympathy from her friend—or, heaven forbid, an apology—she was left sorely wanting, for Maggie defended herself vigorously. “Well, no, I didn’t tell you about that part of it because I knew you’d have a cow,” she said lightly, “but there’s no harm done. She doesn’t know the dress is hers—that’s old Mrs. Stevenson, by the way. One of the summer people. They just came up from Connecticut for the weekend. Really nice folks. He made his money in Laundromats. Can you believe that? He’s a millionaire because people plunk quarters into machines to wash their clothes. He’s made his millions a quarter at a time! Anyway, they dropped off the dress the last time they were here, between Christmas and New Year’s. It’s been hanging back there on the unclaimed rack for weeks. And as far as they’re concerned, it’s still hanging there. They’ll probably leave town tomorrow, and it’ll hang there for another few weeks until they get back to town and finally pick it up.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Candy said. “It’s not mine. I have to get out of it at once.”

  “But it looks sooo good on you,” Maggie protested.

  That, Candy had to admit, was true. She’d received a number of compliments tonight while wearing it. “I do hate to part with it. Do you think she’d sell it to me?”

  “I have a better idea,” Maggie said slyly.

  “What is it?” Candy asked, and abruptly paused as she reconsidered her question. “No, wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

  “It’s nothing illegal,” Maggie assured her. “I promise.”

  But Candy would not be swayed. “It doesn’t matter. Just take the dress back, put it back on the rack—after sending it back out for cleaning, of course—and let’s be done with it.”

  Maggie made a huge deal of sighing in a very dramatic manner. “Fine. Be that way.”

  “Good,” Candy said, trying to convince herself that this indeed was the right course of action.

  “Good,” Maggie said, affirming that it was—the decision had been made, and that was that, and they were moving on.

  Resigned to the fact that she had to give the dress back, Candy changed to another less sartorial subject. “Anyway, back to Preston. Outside, when Ben interrupted us, you were about to tell me something Preston had said—about a message for me?”

  “What? Oh, yeah, right. That guy.” She rolled her eyes. “How do I keep getting mixed up with guys like that?”

  “It’s your charm.”

  “True. And my good looks. I tend to attract the more dangerous types.”

  “So what did he say?”

  “Well, like I told you, it was just two words.” She lowered her voice to a hush. “He said I was supposed to tell you white field.”

  Candy drew her head back, uncomprehending. “What the heck does that mean? What does a white field have to do with anything?”

  “I thought it was strange too, but that’s what he said.”

  Candy pondered the two words for a few moments as the strains of a Mozart concerto drifted down the hall. The string quartet had started up again. Her stomach growled.

  She turned to Maggie. “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “Think we should get something to eat first?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “After all,” Candy said as they started down the hall toward the ballroom, “we did pay for these tickets—or at least our dates did. We might as well get what we can from them while we figure out what to do next.”

  Thirty-Seven

  “Okay,” Candy said, “here’s what we need to do.”

  She was working her way through a petite slice of blueberry cheesecake with a miniscule, token dollop of homemade whipped cream on top and a crust that was deliciously crumbly. She’d tried to deny herself dessert altogether, but she’d lost that battle, so she opted for moderation instead.

  “First, we need to find out about that hatchet. We know from that online posting that Duncan was the winner of a hatchet-throwing contest about a year ago. The posting also said Duncan’s winning caused some sort of friction between him and Liam—and clearly time has not healed the wound, as we saw tonight. But did Duncan really stick that thing in Victor’s back? He apparently had the skill to do so, from a distance if necessary. His name is on the murder weapon. So why didn’t the police arrest him or at least handcuff him?”

  “Maybe he didn’t do it,” Maggie suggested.

  “Yes, but if he didn’t, who did?” She expertly pierced the cheesecake and arrowed off a thin slice, which she nibbled on as she talked. “Next, what’s up with Preston? We have to get to the bottom of that. I mean, is he legitimate? Ben’s barely heard of him. Same thing with the police—he’s not even remotely on their radar. He seems to have slipped into town largely unnoticed, talked to only a few people—including you and me, I should point out—and avoided detection by most others. That’s pretty mysterious, if you ask me. Even Officer Jody didn’t pay much attention to him—he was too focused on me. Big mistake. So, what’s going on with Preston? We need to check him out.”

  She paused. “If we ever see him again, that is. It’s possible he could just disappear on us. But I have a feeling that, one way or the other, we’ll hear from him again.”

  She thoughtfully nibbled at her cheesecake. “And third, we need to do more research on Liam. There was obviously animosity between him and the other sculptors, including Victor. And obviously the police think he had something to do with Victor’s murder. But what’s the link?” She paused, pondering her own question, and finally sighed. “There are so many pieces on the table—I just can’t figure out how they all fit together.”

  Maggie was silent for a long, stretched-out moment as she lingered over her chocolate sorbet. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she appeared to be deep in thought.

  “White field,” she said finally.

  Candy had begun jotting down notes on a napkin, using a pen she’d borrowed from a gentleman at the table across from her. When Maggie spoke, she looked up. “Did you just say something?”

  “I think I might know what Preston meant.”

  “About what?

  “About that message he had: white field.”
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  Candy put down the pen and leaned forward, giving her friend her full attention. “And what does it mean?”

  Maggie didn’t answer the question immediately. Instead, impressed with herself, she said, “I can’t believe it, really. I think I actually figured something out by myself.”

  “And how did you do that?” Candy asked, both amused and intrigued.

  Triumphantly, Maggie allowed herself a generous spoonful of sorbet, which she popped into her mouth and savored. “By paying attention,” she said around the frozen dessert.

  “And what did you pay attention to?”

  In response, Maggie pointed at the blueberry cheesecake. “You done with that?”

  At the sudden change in subject, Candy gave her friend a curious look, but she finally nodded. “It was about the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten, but I’m not as active in the winter as I am in the summer, so I have to watch my figure.”

  Maggie sighed, set down her spoon, and pushed away the rest of her dessert. “Unfortunately I’m done as well. So, do you think they have a computer around here somewhere?”

  “A computer? What for?”

  “I could tell you, but it’d be easier to show you. So, where can we find one?”

  Candy arched an eyebrow at her friend. “You’re acting very mysterious all of a sudden,” she said, “but I’ll play along. I think there’s a small business center off the lobby. Maybe we can find one in there.”

  “Good idea. Let’s have a look.”

  Leaving their desserts behind, and after returning the pen to its owner, they made their way out of the ballroom and into the hallway leading back to the main building and the lobby.

  “Are you going to fill me in on what’s going on?” Candy asked as they walked.

  “It suddenly dawned on me,” Maggie said cryptically, “that I’ve seen the words white field before.”

  “And where was that?” Candy asked.

  “You’ll see,” Maggie said with a toss of her head.

  They found the business center in a small room sandwiched between the lobby’s main desk and the elevators, near the concierge’s station. The lights were on, but the place was vacant. A couple of nineteen-inch computer monitors sat on a side table, next to a printer and fax machine. “Here we go,” Maggie said. She pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “You know,” she said, as she tapped at the keyboard’s space bar and waited for the machine to pull itself out of hibernation, “that Preston’s a cagey guy. This afternoon at the cleaner’s, when we were talking, he told me that he’s been keeping tabs on Cape Willington for a long time.”

  Candy lowered herself into a nearby chair. “Yeah, he said the same thing to me a few days ago.”

  With the computer awoken, Maggie launched a browser and keyed in the URL for Wanda Boyle’s website. As she worked, it finally dawned on Candy what she was doing. And when she clicked on the comment section for one of Wanda’s latest posts, Candy had nothing but respect for her best friend.

  “You’re a genius,” she said.

  Maggie allowed herself the merest of smiles. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

  There, on the screen in front of them, was a recent comment, written in response to one of Wanda’s blog posts. The comment had been written by someone named Whitefield.

  Candy remembered now. She’d seen the same thing just a couple of days ago, on Thursday night, when she’d gone up to the Cape Crier’s second-floor lair, intending to sneak a look at Ben’s office.

  “My guess is, Preston Smith and this Whitefield person are one and the same,” Maggie said, doing her best to contain the glee she felt at her discovery. “That’s why he told me to you give that message. He was sending you a clue.”

  “And he’s been posting on Wanda’s blog,” Candy said, impressed with her friend’s astuteness.

  “Indeed he has.” Maggie studied the screen. “There’s actually been quite a few comments from him over the past few weeks.”

  “He’s been spying on us anonymously,” Candy noted, “and stirring up trouble.”

  “That’s right. And look at this. He posted his latest comment just about an hour ago. And I think it’s personal.” She leaned back and wiggled her finger, signaling that Candy should have a look.

  “What does it say?”

  When Maggie didn’t answer, Candy leaned in closer so she could read the comment:

  For the Town Crier: Check at the foot of the Ice Princess. Your destiny awaits.

  “Short and sweet,” Candy observed, leaning back after she’d read the message.

  “Do you have any idea what it means,” Maggie asked, “other than the fact that you’re obviously the Town Crier. That’s what he called you when you two first met, re-member?”

  “I do,” Candy said. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms as she thought, but she knew almost at once what they had to do. “We need to get our coats,” she said.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I think the answer to at least one of our questions is at Town Park, hidden in the ice.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Outside, the temperature had fallen into the teens, on its way to single digits. The two women had switched out their heels for boots and pulled on their wool coats, hats, and gloves, but still braced themselves as they ventured into the cold air. Their hands tightened on their scarves and collars, pulling them a little snugger, and they blew out their breaths, which misted around them as they hurried along. They crossed the street at the light and turned into Town Park, walking carefully on the salted yet still-slippery surfaces.

  Despite the chilly weather, or perhaps because of it, the place looked as festive as Candy had ever seen it. She craned her head up and around, her eyes following the strings of lights, which curved around tree trunks and swooped from tree to light post to tree.

  It would have been a magical night for a stroll here with Ben, she thought absently as they walked briskly along. But in the next moment she told herself that she couldn’t think about that right now. She had other concerns. Ben was at the police station, running down the story on Liam, and she was here, searching for something hidden in the ice.

  “What are we searching for?” Maggie asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  Candy pointed out in front of them, where spotlights attached to posts and trees illuminated the icy works of art, perfectly preserved in the bracing air. “An ice princess.”

  “You think Preston left a clue for us?”

  “That’s what it sounds like, doesn’t it? At the foot of the Ice Princess. That sounds like a definite invitation, and why would he invite us to look if he hadn’t put something there?”

  “But why would he do that? Why not just call us or text us or tell us over coffee and Danish?”

  “Because I think Preston’s playing a game with us,” Candy said, her face turning more angular as her jaw tightened, both against the cold and what might lie ahead. “Something’s been off about that guy from the beginning. It just didn’t stick out that much, since there are quite a few people around here who are a little quirky. So someone like Preston fit right in.”

  “What do you think’s going on?” Maggie asked, an edge of concern slipping into her voice.

  Candy let out a deep, tight breath. “That’s what we’re here to find out.” She nodded up ahead. “When I was out here yesterday afternoon, some of the sculptures were still unfinished. But if I remember correctly, Gina was working on something that might fit the bill.”

  She angled off toward the large ice sculpture of the Maine wilderness, which depicted stately Mount Katahdin and the surrounding pine- and spruce-covered slopes, reflected in a mirror lake. Separate from the main display were individual sculptures of Maine animals, as well as specialties of the ice carvers.

  As they walked along, Candy scanned the area. To their left, up the slope a ways, several teens were playfully throwing handfuls of snow at each other, shouting and laughing. Couples and groups stro
lled along the lighted pathways and lingered around the ice sculptures, impressed with the artistry on display. A few families with smaller children, tired yet excited, roamed the park as well, hand in hand.

  She shifted her gaze right and focused on the single-block ice sculptures, carved for demonstrations earlier in the day: a mountain lion, an eagle with wings spread, a pair of seals, a bear and her cubs, caribou and coyote.

  Beyond that, curving around the back of the main sculpture, were the specialties of the ice carvers—their more personal works. Each sculptor had carved one or two single-block pieces, on display here. It was a diverse collection that included a curling snail adorned with a realistic textured shell and eerily probing antennae, a Sphinx with a face that resembled a national politician, an elaborate depiction of a giant shoe turned into a home for anthropomorphic woodland creatures, a surprisingly detailed tall ship, and a windblown woman who appeared to emerge from the block of ice itself.

  Candy could link up most of the sculptures with their creators. Liam had obviously done the tall ship. She’d seen his detail work, and she had to admit it was impeccable. Baxter had created the giant shoe with all the critters. He’d even added little Snowball, the family dog, to the icy tableau. She could attach Duncan to the politically oriented Sphinx, and Felicia to the exquisite rendering of the snail.

  The final piece was Gina’s work.

  It was just the woman’s head and torso; the rest of her body remained submerged in the ice. But it was her windblown hair that was most intriguing. It streamed out behind her in several thick, swirling strands of ice, only to merge again with the block itself.

  It had a melancholy feeling about it. The way the face seemed to pull away from the ice gave it an element of action, yet her expression was one of both resolve and resignation, as if the woman was trying to break free from the ice but was being held back by some invisible force.