Town in a Sweet Pickle

by B. B. Haywood

  The sun brightened then, streaming in through the storefront’s windows, and the conversation turned to more everyday topics. Between the occasional onrush of customers, they talked about Doc and the farm, and about Maggie’s daughter Amanda, who had just entered her final year in college at the University of Maine.

  Eventually they were joined by Herr Georg Wolfsburger, the bakery’s proprietor, who took a break from the kitchen to greet customers and hobnob with Candy and Maggie, whom he called “my two favorite ladies!” In a more energetic mood than he’d been the day before, he worked the crowd and talked about some of his latest creations, which entertained everyone in the shop. In the past he had been somewhat flirtatious at times like this, but he had toned that down quite a bit since he and Maggie had become engaged the previous summer.

  After he had disappeared back into the kitchen, Candy sidled up next to Maggie. “So have you two set a wedding date?” she asked curiously, giving her friend a nudge.

  “As a matter of fact,” Maggie said, “we’ve been talking about it quite a bit lately.”

  “And?”

  “Well, we’re thinking about next spring,” Maggie said. “Since we’re both staying in town through the fall and into early winter, we’re going to keep the shop open as late as we can this year, possibly until Thanksgiving. We might head south to Georg’s place in Florida for the Christmas holiday and New Year’s, but we want to be back early in the year to do some upgrading here in the shop. Georg wants to put in some new display cases and shelving, do some painting, and spruce up the place before we open next year. He’s already lined up Ray Hutchins to do the work.” Ray was a local handyman who often helped out Candy and Doc at the blueberry farm.

  “So have you thought of a specific date?” Candy asked, bringing the conversation back to the pertinent subject.

  “Well,” Maggie said cryptically, “when do the blueberry fields reach full bloom?”

  “Around mid-May, if we’re lucky and get some warm weather. A few weeks later if not. Why do you ask?”

  “Because,” Maggie said with some hesitation, as if she were uncertain how her friend would react, “we’re thinking of getting married out at Blueberry Acres, when the fields are in bloom. If that’s okay with you and Doc, that is?”

  “Okay?” Candy could barely contain herself from squealing with delight. “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time!”

  Maggie let out a breath of relief. “I’m so glad you think so,” she said. “We’ve talked about it quite a bit, and we’d really like to have the ceremony outside, instead of in a stuffy old building. And since we both love your farm, and Georg especially loves baking with blueberries, we couldn’t think of a better place to say our vows.”

  Feeling an onrush of joy, Candy gave her friend a tight hug. “It’s going to be the best wedding ever. Just wait and see. We’re going to have so much fun!”

  “I know,” Maggie said, “and Georg has promised to bake us the biggest wedding cake he’s ever made!”

  “I can’t wait!” Candy said. “We can start planning right away. We’ll have you and Georg out to the farm as soon as possible, so we can walk the property and find the perfect place for the ceremony. It will be,” she promised her friend, “the social event of the year!”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Given all they had to talk about, Candy didn’t leave the bakery until quarter to eleven, when she had to abandon her position behind the counter to head over to the book signing at the Pine Cone Bookstore. “I wish I could stay longer,” she said, “but duty calls.”

  “This has been so much fun,” Maggie said as Candy hung up her apron. “I’m so glad you came by—although I didn’t mean to put you to work! We were supposed to have tea together.”

  “Honestly, it was a nice change for me,” Candy said. “And I’m always happy to help out, so if you get too busy again, just give me a call.”

  Maggie smiled warmly. “You’re the best friend ever.”

  “You too.”

  They hugged each other again, and with that, Candy grabbed her tote bag, said her good-byes, and headed out to the street, walking the short distance along Main Street to the bookstore.

  She had hoped to stop by the general store first, to talk to Trudy Watkins about her presence at the cook-off contest, but she’d cut the timing too close and would have to do that after the signing. She also wanted to stop by the pizza place to talk to Phil, the manager, but that could come later as well.

  Like the bakery, the bookstore was abuzz. It was not a large store, deeper than it was wide, meandering back into the nether regions of an old brick building, although it was well lit and welcoming, with amply stocked shelves, clever displays, and comfy stuffed armchairs where patrons could sit and read at their leisure.

  An open space had been cleared out near the center of the store, where the staff had set up a wooden table piled high with copies of Julia von Fleming’s cookbook, Homestyle New England Cooking. Candy spotted Julia herself, decked out in a mustard-colored print dress with a short beige jacket and coordinating tulip-patterned neck scarf flecked with red and green, at the center of a small group of ladies who were wide-eyed and smiling, obviously enchanted at meeting a published author.

  Before she had a chance to join them, Candy fell into a conversation with Aurora Croft, the bookstore’s sixtyish owner, who with her face-hugging bowl-shaped haircut, beaked nose, and big round glasses bore an uncanny resemblance to an owl. The illusion was only compounded by her frequent hooting, as well as the fact that today her head was constantly twisting in one direction or another.

  “Ooo, this is all so exciting!” she said, placing a hand gently on Candy’s forearm. “I’m so glad you helped us put this together. What a brilliant idea! Hosting a prestigious author like Julia is a dream come true, and we can certainly use the boost in sales!”

  “It looks like you have a good turnout,” Candy said as several more people came through the front door and began working their way back through the shop.

  “We’ve had to bring in extra chairs,” Aurora said. “We’re expecting a full house!”

  As the eleven o’clock hour approached, the place did indeed fill up, with latecomers finding standing room only. Candy herself hovered at the fringes of the crowd, tucked between two shelves of books, where she could observe the proceedings without drawing too much attention to herself. She had her digital recorder in hand, just in case she wanted to capture any of the remarks, and took a few photos of the assemblage with her smart phone, which she could use in the paper or on the website if she needed to fill space.

  At the top of the hour, Aurora took center stage to welcome her guests and introduce the author, and the crowd erupted into applause as Julia swept forward to stand beside the wooden desk. She warmly thanked the crowd and then picked up one of her books, launching into a description of her work, the challenges of running down some of the recipes, and how honored she felt at locating and preserving some of the recipes in her book.

  “Many are heirloom recipes, dating back several generations,” she informed her listeners, “and some were almost lost to oblivion. I managed to locate a recipe for peach cobbler that dates back to the end of the eighteenth century! There’s also a recipe for cranberry pie, which goes back to the nineteen forties, that’s absolutely scrumptious! It’s a wonderful recipe for Thanksgiving or just a summer picnic. You’ll find it on page ninety-six of the book. And one of my favorites is a recipe for a Christmas goose from a family that emigrated from Frankfurt, Germany. It was a rare find!”

  “How were you able to verify the authenticity of the recipes?” called a voice from the back of the crowd, on the opposite side from where Candy stood. Candy shifted her gaze to see who had spoken and was surprised to see Wanda Boyle, apparently out of the hospital, demurely dressed in a maroon sweater and black pants. She looked a little shaky, and her face was somewhat pale, but otherwise she appeared to be okay, though her overall demeanor seemed
very serious.

  Which wasn’t a surprise, Candy thought, since she’d been poisoned the previous day.

  “Well, of course I’m relying on the honesty of the people and sources from whom I gathered the recipes,” Julia said, smiling as she responded to the question without missing a beat. “I was quite meticulous in my research, I can assure you. All the recipes are properly documented. Now, as I was saying . . .”

  But Wanda cut in again, interrupting her. “In your research, did you come across any stories of stolen recipes?”

  That got everyone’s attention. Candy saw many faces in the crowd craning around to get a better look at the person who was asking these odd questions.

  Julia looked confused. “Stolen recipes?”

  “There was an incident here in town a few years ago,” Wanda went on, undeterred by the sudden attention. “An award-winning lobster stew recipe was stolen from one of our villagers. Caused quite a ruckus.”

  Trying to keep an indignant look off her face, Julia forced a smile, which made her jaws quiver just a bit. “As I said, I can assure you all the recipes in my book are properly documented. None are stolen.”

  “Were any of the people who provided the recipes properly compensated?” Wanda pressed.

  Again, confusion clouded Julia’s face. “Compensated?”

  “Are you aware of any other recipes that might have been stolen around town? Say, four or five years ago? Maybe you heard something about it as part of your research?”

  Julia thought about that a moment. “No, not that I can recall. Why do you ask?”

  At that point, Aurora Croft stepped into the conversation. “Perhaps this is a line of questioning we should save until later, after the signing,” she said in a thoroughly pleasant manner. “Now, why don’t we move forward?” Addressing the crowd, she continued, “Ms. von Fleming’s book is currently available for purchase at the counter, and then you can start lining up to have your copy signed.”

  Wanda’s interruptions forgotten, the crowd moved quickly, surging forward to talk personally with the author or snag a book for her to sign.

  Candy continued to hover for a while, listening to the cash register ring and watching as the patrons began lining up at the wooden table, behind which Julia von Fleming had seated herself. She was chatting easily and smiling again, the strange line of questioning from Wanda seemingly dismissed.

  But Candy hadn’t forgotten it, and she was determined to find out the reasoning behind it. Stashing the digital recorder in her tote bag and slipping its strap up on her shoulder, she began to make her way through the crowd, across the room toward Wanda, who remained planted to the spot upon which she stood, stoically surveying the scene before her. As Candy approached, Wanda’s eyes flicked toward her and followed her as she approached.

  Candy stopped a few steps away. “Wanda, I’m so glad you’re out of the hospital, though I’m a little surprised to see you here today. How are you feeling?”

  “Terrible,” Wanda admitted with a strange twist of her mouth. “I don’t mind telling you, that was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever been through in my life. My stomach and throat still hurt. I could have died, you know.”

  “Thank goodness you didn’t,” Candy said, “but what are you doing here? Why aren’t you home in bed recovering from your . . . terrible experience?”

  “Because,” Wanda said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “I want to find out who’s behind this whole poisoned pickle thing. And I have some new information that might help us solve the case.”

  “Us?” Candy echoed.

  Wanda gave her a dark look. “You’re not the only one who can solve a mystery, you know. I’m just as involved in this as you are.” Her voice had taken on a defensive edge. “More, really. I’m one of the victims, you know . . . one who lived, fortunately.”

  “Yes, fortunately. What’s this new information?”

  Wanda’s hooded gaze shot around the room. “We can’t talk about it here. Too many ears. Why don’t we head over to the office, and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “So, why all the questions about stolen recipes?”

  A pause. “I just wanted to hear what she had to say. She’s apparently done a lot of research on local and regional recipes. I thought she might have heard something.”

  “About what?”

  Wanda harrumphed, as if the answer was obvious. “About stolen recipes, of course.”

  “So you think Julia stole some of her recipes?”

  Wanda waved a hand dismissively. “No, nothing like that. At least, that wasn’t what I was after.”

  “Then what were you after?” Candy asked curiously.

  They were sitting in her office at the newspaper. Candy was in her usual spot at her desk, while Wanda was sitting uneasily in a folding chair across from her. They were alone in the place. No other employees, interns, or volunteers were around to overhear their conversation. Candy’s office door was open, and the hall beyond was dark and quiet. They’d locked the front door behind them upon their arrival, to make sure they were undisturbed.

  “Mostly just confirmation,” Wanda said esoterically, “because I already know the answer.”

  Candy put a hand to her forehead. “Honestly, I’m still confused. Confirmation about what?”

  In response, Wanda reached into a battered tan leather briefcase that she’d brought along with her. It served as her mobile office. She dug around for a moment and withdrew a fairly new manila folder, stuffed half an inch thick with papers and documents. She held it up. “This,” she said.

  Candy eyed it skeptically. It was the second manila folder someone had showed her that morning. She hoped it didn’t contain another extortion letter. “And what’s that?”

  For the first time today, Wanda’s fairly glum mood disappeared. It was replaced by a smug expression, making her look like the Cheshire cat. “Something that’s going to blow your socks off.”

  Candy looked down at her feet. “I’m not wearing socks.”

  “You know what I mean. Here, take a look. Just be prepared to be shocked.” She held out the folder.

  Candy hesitated a moment, squelching a look of disbelief. She knew Wanda had a flair for the dramatic, as well as for self-promotion and exaggeration. She couldn’t imagine that the file’s contents would surprise her that much, especially after what she’d learned earlier in the morning from Tristan.

  But she couldn’t resist. She reached over and took the folder from Wanda. Then, leaning back in her chair, she set it on her lap and opened it. Her gaze narrowed as she began to page through the documents inside, scrutinizing them.

  A few minutes later, she had to admit—if she’d been wearing socks, they would have been blown right off.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “How—and where—did you get this?” Candy asked, unable to contain her amazement. “I thought I burned this last summer, along with the rest of Sapphire’s files.”

  “I’m sure you did exactly what you thought you did,” Wanda said evenly, betraying nothing.

  “But if I burned all those files, then how . . . ?” Candy looked more closely at the documents inside the folder, and a moment later she knew. “They’re photocopies, aren’t they?”

  “Of course they are. They’d have to be, wouldn’t they, if you burned the originals?”

  “But how?” Candy repeated. Suddenly anger flared inside her, and she knew. “You sneaked into my old office one day when I wasn’t there and went through my filing cabinet, didn’t you?”

  Wanda shrugged. “It wasn’t on purpose. I wasn’t spying on you or anything like that. It was a completely innocent act. I was working on a story and needed a file that I’d loaned to you. Of course, this was over a year ago, but if I remember correctly, it had something to do with the Cape Willington Heritage Protection League. I was on a tight deadline, you weren’t in the office that day—”

  “So you went searching for it,” Candy said
in an accusatory tone, filling in the blanks, “in my office.”

  Still calmly, Wanda continued, “Like I said, I was on a deadline. It was a perfectly legitimate excuse. When I didn’t find the file on your desk, I went digging for it in your old filing cabinet, yes. That’s when I saw the bottom drawer, labeled S.V. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

  She paused as her gaze narrowed, and her tone turned tighter as well. “You never told anyone you inherited those old files after Sapphire’s death. You never told anyone you kept them. You could have destroyed them right away—you probably should have, given what was inside them—but you didn’t, did you? So you’re really no better than me. You were curious about what they contained.”

  “Yes, I kept them,” Candy admitted, knowing in her heart Wanda was right, “but I never went through them all. Only a few of them, when I needed to do some research to solve a murder.”

  “So that makes you better than me?”

  Candy could feel her temper simmering, but she wasn’t about to let Wanda get the best of her. She changed her angle of questioning. “So how many of Sapphire’s old files did you go through?”

  “All of them, of course.”

  “Then you probably know some things about this village and its people you shouldn’t.”

  “That may be true,” Wanda replied, “but I’m not a blabbermouth. I can be discreet. I’ve told you that before. It’s obvious, when Sapphire Vine served as the newspaper’s community columnist before you, that she was a royal snoop of the first order. She dug into people’s lives where she shouldn’t. And she used some of the information she uncovered to blackmail certain people.” Wanda pointed to the folder sitting on Candy’s lap. “Like him.”

  Candy looked down at the opened folder. She’d already seen the now-familiar name on a number of the photocopied documents: Maurice Soufflé.