Town in a Sweet Pickle

by B. B. Haywood

  That fact alone, Candy thought, could disqualify Julia as a suspect. Who would be so foolish to do such a thing? Surely it proved that Julia couldn’t be the poisoner—or the murderer.

  Could she?

  Candy thought back over everything she knew about Julia, and realized she couldn’t remember much. Julia lived in New Hampshire and was the author of a popular regional cookbook. Other than that, she knew little of Julia’s background. Candy had contacted her first a few months ago, true, but Julia had offered to serve as a judge at the cook-off—although Candy had planned to discuss it with her anyway. Now that she thought of it, it was Julia who suggested they set up multiple events this weekend, though Candy had agreed readily with that idea as well. And it was Julia who had arranged and negotiated with the ladies of the Cape Willington Heritage Protection League for her appearance fees and travel expenses.

  She had artfully maneuvered her way into town for the weekend. Had she done that on purpose—as a way to put herself on the scene so she could disrupt the weekend’s events with jars of poisoned pickles? But again, Candy asked herself, why would she do such a thing? What could she hope to gain?

  Then she remembered the extortion letter sent to the Pruitts.

  Money, she thought. In the end, it must be about the money. Put out some jars of poisoned pickles. Make some threats in an anonymous letter. Collect the financial windfall.

  Candy stood for the longest time on the sidewalk near the white VW hatchback, thinking.

  Julia had a two o’clock event at the library to prepare for. Where might she be right now?

  If the VW really did belong to Julia, and it was parked here in the street, then she must still be nearby, probably in her room at the Lightkeeper’s Inn, getting ready for the library event.

  Candy stood looking in the direction of the inn for the longest time, trying to figure out what she might say to Julia, and how she might handle this appropriately. She’d have to be extremely delicate in her questioning, and strive to make any accusations not sound like accusations. But the exact words she might use eluded her at the moment.

  Still without much of a plan, and acting more on an impulse than anything else, she continued on down the avenue, vaguely hoping that Brian Jr. was somewhere behind her, lurking in the shadows and keeping an eye on her—just in case she needed backup.

  FORTY-FIVE

  As she reached the inn, climbed the steps to the wraparound porch, and entered through the side door, she still had no idea what she was going to say. She’d just have to make it up on the spot—not a very smart approach, but it was the only plan she had.

  She walked down the long hallway and came to the lobby, where she paused, half-hidden behind a door frame at the end of the hall. She spotted Alby Alcott, the bearded assistant innkeeper, behind the front desk, dealing with some new arrivals. She thought of approaching him, but hesitated. She didn’t know which room Julia was in, and wasn’t sure if Alby would tell her, despite the fact that they’d known each other for years. He was a stickler when it came to the privacy of his guests, she recalled, and wouldn’t release the information easily.

  She could ask him to buzz Julia to let her know she had a guest, but that would tip Candy’s hand, and she didn’t want Julia to know she was coming just yet. Some part of her told her it would be better to catch the other woman off guard. The first step, however, was simply to find out what room she was staying in.

  Candy turned around and walked back the way she’d come, pulling out her phone as she went. At the other end of the hall, right before the door that exited to the porch, was a carpeted stairway leading up to the rooms on the second floor. Candy turned into the stairway, took a couple steps up, and paused there while she made a quick call to Elvira Tremble, who as a member of the Cape Willington Heritage Protection League had helped with the arrangements for Julia’s stay.

  “I need to talk to her about this afternoon’s event, and I just wanted to stop in and see her real quick,” Candy said. “Do you happen to remember what room she’s in?”

  “Room two fourteen,” Elvira said without hesitation.

  Candy thanked her, ended the call, and continued on up the stairs.

  Two fourteen was about midway along a hallway that paralleled the one below. Once Candy located the room, she walked past it several times, double-checking the number, running over in her head what she was going to say for a final time.

  She checked her watch. Julia would probably be leaving for the event at the library fairly soon. If Candy was going to make her move, she had to do it now.

  She stepped forward and knocked on the door.

  She heard a rustling inside, and had to wait a few moments before Julia opened up. The cookbook author was dressed in a black bathrobe and her hair was fluffed up, as if she’d been in the process of combing it out when she heard the knock.

  She seemed naturally surprised to see Candy. “Oh, why, hello!” She smiled weakly, and her wary eyes indicated she wasn’t prepared to entertain a guest at the moment. “I thought you were one of the hotel staff. What an unexpected . . . visit.”

  Candy launched right into it. “Hi, Julia. I’m sorry to intrude,” she said quickly, “especially since I know you’re getting ready for your talk at the library this afternoon. But I wonder if I could come in for a minute? I just have something real quick I need to talk to you about.”

  “Does it concern the event at the library?” Julia asked.

  “Actually, it’s . . . something else,” Candy admitted. When Julia looked hesitant, she added, “I promise I won’t take up too much of your time. It’s very important.”

  Julia finally relented, stepping aside and opening the door wider. “Well, I think I can spare a few minutes. But I’m on a tight schedule, as you know. I’m loading up the car before I head to the library, and heading home right after the presentation, so I have to finish packing as well.”

  “I understand that,” Candy said, moving quickly into the room. “I won’t keep you long.”

  Julia motioned toward a chair. “Why don’t you have a seat while I finish getting ready? I’ll be right back.” And with that she disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

  Rather than sitting, Candy hovered, her gaze sweeping around the room. It was cozy yet plush, with a rose and cream color scheme, maroon carpeting, dark colonial furniture, a queen-sized four-poster bed, and a small sitting area with a love seat and easy chair. A window at the opposite end overlooked the back of the property, so Julia hadn’t managed to snag an ocean-view room. But the accommodations looked comfortable enough, and certainly a pleasant place to spend the weekend while in town.

  Candy had a fleeting thought to search the room while she had a chance. If Julia really was the person behind the poisoned pickles, she might have stashed a few jars here somewhere, maybe in the closet or in her luggage, where they’d be close at hand if she wanted to put any others out. That would certainly be the evidence Candy needed.

  She took a few steps toward the bed. Julia had brought two suitcases with her. One suitcase, its lid closed, sat on a low folding stand nearby. Another was lying open on the bed.

  Candy inched toward the one on the bed first, her heart beating a little too loudly for her own comfort. A quick scan told her there were no pickle jars inside. She moved next to the one on the folding stand, glancing around as she went to make sure Julia was still in the bathroom. In a quick movement, she lurched forward, raised the suitcase lid with a couple of fingers, and again scanned the contents. Typical clothes, blouses, scarves, underwear, and so forth.

  No jars of poisoned pickles.

  She lowered the lid and backed quickly away, returning to her original spot near the door. The bathroom door was still shut. So far, so good.

  Where else could Julia have hidden the jars if she had them? Under the bed? The mattress sat high, due to its colonial frame with a high headboard. Looking underneath wasn’t much of a problem if she bent over a little. Noth
ing there.

  Nearby, just inside the entry door, was a small closet for coats and wardrobe items. She took a few steps toward it, opened the closet door, and peeked inside. A few clothes hanging from a rack, some still in dry cleaning wrappers. An ironing board tucked into one corner, and an iron on a high wooden shelf. Three or four pairs of shoes, but nothing else on the floor. Nothing on the shelf.

  Candy closed the door and stepped back just as the bathroom door swung open and Julia emerged. She’d tamed her hair and finished her makeup, and had changed into a black skirt and lavender-colored blouse, though she was still in her stocking feet. She padded over to the dresser, flipped open the lid of a black felt jewelry box, and started digging around inside. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?” she asked with her back toward Candy.

  A scattering of thoughts ran through Candy’s mind. What to say? I think you’re Gloria, the woman who used to work at the Sweet Pickle Deli, and . . .

  And then what?

  Are you the person behind the poisoned pickle jars? Are you the extortionist who sent a letter to the Pruitts demanding two hundred thousand dollars . . . or else?

  Did you murder two people and a goat?

  Of course, none of those responses would work, so instead she said, “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for coming this weekend, for serving as a judge at the cook-off contest, and for taking part in these other events this weekend.”

  Julia still had her back to Candy as she plucked several different earrings out of the jewelry box and, turning toward the mirror, held them up to her right ear one after another to see which one she liked the best.

  Several of them, Candy noticed, had tulip designs.

  “Oh, well, dear, it’s been my pleasure. I’ve told you that, haven’t I? You have such a wonderful little town here. I know I’ve been around for only a few days, but I already feel as if I’ve lived here for years. The villagers are such wonderful people, and have been so helpful during my stay.”

  “Hmm, yes, that’s good to hear,” Candy said, distracted by the earrings. “You know, that last pair you tried looked very nice.”

  Julia stopped and turned toward her. She indicated the earrings she was currently holding up alongside her cheek. “Which ones? These?”

  “No.” Candy pointed toward Julia’s hand. “The other ones, the purple and silver ones, with the tulip design.”

  “Oh, those. Yes, they’re among my favorites. And they go well with my outfit today, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do. I take it you like tulips?”

  Julia waved a hand as she turned back to the mirror and started putting on the earrings Candy had chosen. “I guess you can tell, can’t you? I have ever since I was a little girl, when my grandmother used to buy them for me every birthday. I was born in March, you know, which is when the daffodils and tulips arrive in New England. I have all kinds of items and accessories with tulips on them.”

  “Yes, I noticed the umbrella you’ve been carrying around, and that scarf you had on at the book signing yesterday.”

  “My, my, you have quite a memory.” Julia’s gaze flicked to her through their reflections in the mirror. “I do tend to favor them, that’s true.”

  Candy went on, as if just talking blithely. “I noticed Trudy Watkins likes them too. I was over at the general store yesterday and she was wearing an apron with a tulip pattern on it. She says it’s one of her favorites. It was given to her as a gift, years ago, by a woman she used to know, named Gloria. She liked tulips too. You don’t happen to know a woman named Gloria, do you?”

  The silence that followed was noticeable. Julia had not frozen—she calmly finished putting on the second earring, studying herself in the mirror over the dresser as she brushed a hand over her clothes, smoothing out any wrinkles. But her expression had visibly changed.

  “Why would you think I know this Gloria person?” she said finally, her voice low but steady.

  “Because you seem to have a lot in common. You both like tulips, for instance.”

  “You’ve been paying an awful lot of attention to tulips this weekend, haven’t you?”

  Candy shrugged innocently. “Strangely enough, I’ve seen them quite a lot over the past few days. I thought it was kind of interesting, really.”

  “Yes, it is. Perhaps we should start a local tulip-lovers’ club.”

  “Perhaps. That’s not a bad idea, you know. This other woman—Gloria—she would be about your age,” Candy continued, “and just about your height. Someone said the two of you could have been mistaken for each other.”

  “Is that right?” Julia said.

  “It’s just what I’ve heard.”

  “It isn’t that unusual, you know. I’ve been mistaken for other people before. It happens.”

  “That’s true,” Candy said. “It’s probably just a coincidence.”

  “Well, I hope I get to meet this Gloria person someday. She sounds . . . intriguing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must . . .”

  “Can I ask you what kind of car you drive?” Candy cut in, knowing her time was running out.

  “My car? But—?”

  “Because a friend of mine saw a white Volkswagen hatchback yesterday up in Old Town. It had New Hampshire plates, so I thought it might have been you.”

  Another stretch of silence. Finally, somewhat huffily, Julia said, “Have you been spying on me?”

  Candy took that as a positive response to her question. “So it was your car then?”

  “I went to see a friend who lives around there but—” Julia stopped again. With dark eyes flashing and arms crossed, she finally let down her guard. “I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at, or what you think I might have done,” she said, her mouth twisting a little as she tried to muster a smile, “but whatever it is, I assure you I wasn’t involved. And even if I was, there’s not much you can do about it. Let’s say, for the moment, that I did go to Old Town yesterday, to see an old friend. Let’s say I do resemble this person you mentioned—Gloria—with the suggestion, I suppose, that we’re the same person, as ludicrous as that sounds. Let’s say I’m the one who gave Trudy Watkins that apron, and let’s say I used to work at the deli and somehow miraculously reinvented my life, wrote a cookbook, and conspired to come here to Cape Willington so I could poison a number of your villagers with tainted pickles. Let’s say I’m even responsible for the death of that goat they buried this morning. Let’s say that’s all true.”

  Her gaze tightened. “Do you know what I’d say to that?”

  Candy hesitated, but finally asked, “What?”

  “I’d say, ‘Prove it.’”

  FORTY-SIX

  “You can stand here all day and ask questions and make accusations,” Julia continued, her voice taking on a harder edge. “But you’d better have a darn good reason for doing so. I came here at your request, I don’t mind reminding you. I’m doing this as a favor to you and the townspeople. I don’t need to have wild and unfounded rumors about me spreading around town and ruining my reputation, which I’ve worked very hard to establish over the past few years. So unless you have something solid—something you can take to the bank, or to the police—you’d better not waste any more of my time. In fact, I think you should leave.”

  To emphasize her point, Julia shifted and started toward the door. But she stopped halfway and turned back to Candy. “By the way, if you recall, I almost ate one of those poisoned pickles. I could have died, you know. I didn’t say this at the time, but something like that should have never happened. Obviously it speaks to the way your event was run. If I wasn’t such a kindhearted person, I would sue you and the paper over what happened.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Oh, and there’s one more thing. If you talk to the police, I’ll tell them I saw you put that jar out on the table Friday, but I held the information back because I wanted to protect you. You were the one who handed me that pickle to eat and almost poisoned me. You were up at Maurice’s place in O
ld Town yesterday. You could easily have killed him. You’re more of a suspect right now than I am, so who do you think they’re going to believe if we start telling stories about each other?”

  She took a few more steps toward the door and turned back once more. This time her smile was almost genuine. “But I’ll tell you what: I’m not going to do any of those things—unless, of course, I’m forced to. Instead, as a favor to you, I’ll pretend none of this happened. We’ll just put this conversation behind us, so we can get through this afternoon’s event peacefully, and then I’ll be on my merry way.”

  She walked the rest of the way to the door and pulled it open.

  There wasn’t much more Candy could say. Julia was right. Candy admitted it.

  She had nothing concrete—no solid evidence. There was no way to tie Julia directly to some of the incidents that had occurred around town that weekend, nothing she could prove, no accusations she could make that would withstand scrutiny by the police or the courts.

  At least, not yet.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” Candy said. “I’ll see you at the library.”

  She barely remembered the next few minutes. She assumed that she’d left the inn and walked down off the porch and up along the sidewalk to her office, but she didn’t remember anything about the journey. Her mind was too occupied with other thoughts, running over and over in her head the conversation with Julia.

  She finally looked up and didn’t remember where she was for a moment. Then she saw the opera house across the street, and Town Park down toward the ocean, and familiar shops and restaurants, and remembered she was on Ocean Avenue in Cape Willington.

  She stopped and looked back down the street, toward the inn.

  “I think I just uncovered a murderer,” she said with a shake of her head, “and I have no idea what to do about it.”

  Her office was nearby. She needed a few minutes to settle and think this through. It seemed as good a place as any.