Town in a Wild Moose Chase

by B. B. Haywood

  Abruptly she lost track of the footprints. Solomon had wandered into a shadowed area between a tight group of trees, and there the footprints had been brushed away, disappearing in midstride. She walked around the trees on either side and studied the area around her, expecting to see the continuation of the footprints farther on. But Solomon had swept his tracks clean.

  Again, she was mystified. It was as if he had purposely prevented anyone from following him.

  What was he up to?

  She turned three-hundred-sixty degrees, searching the woods again. But the old hermit was gone.

  For several tense moments she debated what to do. She was hesitant to go any farther. Solomon’s footprints, and hers, provided her with a trail back home. If she moved ahead, out of view of the footprints, she might get lost and become a problem to herself and others. She knew these woods fairly well, but everything looked different when encased in snow and ice. She quickly decided to do the smart thing. She turned around, walked back to the farmhouse, and called the police.

  They arrived in less than fifteen minutes. Two squad cars rushed up the plowed driveway, followed by Candy’s father in his old pickup truck. “What’s going on?” Doc asked worriedly as he climbed out of the well-heated cab, slamming the door shut behind him. “Anyone hurt?”

  “I don’t know, Dad,” Candy said, walking up to him. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  She turned toward the police cars. She didn’t recognize the young, tall police officer who climbed out of the first car, but she certainly knew the middle-aged man who stepped out of the second one. It was Darryl Durr, Cape Willington’s chief of police.

  He nodded his head at her as he came around the front of the car. He was a rugged-looking man, with a weathered face, pale blue eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair that curled at the neck. “Good to see you again, Ms. Holliday,” he said in a professional manner, with a slight nod of his head. “How’s everything been going today?”

  “Well, to be honest, Chief, it started out fine but then took a strange turn.”

  “You been having a little trouble out here?”

  “You could say that.”

  He gave her an odd smile. “Funny, isn’t it, how trouble seems to keep following you around?”

  Candy folded her arms. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

  She and the chief had talked several times before, though usually under less than pleasant circumstances, and their conversations often involved some sort of lecture from the chief, warning her to stay out of trouble and to stop trying to solve murder mysteries around town.

  “Well, why don’t we go inside,” Doc said, stepping forward briskly to shake the police chief’s hand. “We can all talk where it’s warm.”

  “Good idea,” Chief Durr said with a nod, and he tilted his head toward Candy. “Hopefully we caught up with you on your baking day, Ms. Holliday. Your pies are the talk of the town.”

  He smiled again, more genuine this time, and Candy, realizing she’d tensed up, allowed herself to relax a little. It was true. She’d developed something of a reputation for her baked goods, especially her pies, which she sold to Melody Barnes, who ran a small cafe on River Road. She also worked part-time at the Black Forest Bakery, which Herr Georg, the German baker who ran the place, had closed for the season. But over the past year he’d taught her a lot about baking, and she had been preparing for the shop’s reopening in mid-April by practicing her craft as much as possible. In fact, she’d whipped up a German apple cake the day before.

  She gave him a weak smile. “I’m sure I can find something to put out. Come on in and I’ll warm up the coffee.”

  As they walked toward the house, Chief Durr indicated the tall, dark-haired officer who accompanied him. The young policeman wore a spotless, sharply creased uniform and brown utility coat. His shoes were shined to a high gloss, so they looked like black mirrors.

  “This young fellow here is Officer Jody McCroy,” the chief said. “He’s new with the force, fresh out of the Maine State Police Academy in Augusta. Graduated near the top of his class. Thought I’d bring him out here to meet you in person.”

  Candy gave the chief a curious look, wondering what he meant by that, but he had already turned away to talk to Doc. When she looked around, she saw Officer Jody McCroy holding the door open for her.

  “After you, ma’am,” he said in an official-sounding tone.

  She was surprised by how young he looked. She hesitated only for a moment, then gave him a nod and walked inside.

  After she’d cut slices of cake and Doc had poured the coffee, they sat around the kitchen table. She noticed Officer McCroy had a notepad and pen set out in front of him. His hands were folded on the table. The young man looked prepared.

  “So, could you tell us what happened?” he asked as Chief Durr sipped at his coffee, quietly watching her.

  “Sure,” and she told them, pointing out the window as she explained how she’d seen Solomon Hatch emerge from the woods behind the house, how he’d appeared injured, and how he’d told her about a body in the woods. After she’d finished her story, they all walked out to inspect the spot where the old hermit had fallen. Hands casually in his pockets, Chief Durr squinted back up at the trees at the edge of the field. “And you say you followed his footprints?”

  “Yes, but he must have erased them at some point. I lost track of him.”

  “And he didn’t say anything else about this body he thinks he found?”

  Candy said that he had not.

  Chief Durr turned slightly and nodded at Officer McCroy. Without a word, the young man headed back toward his car at a brisk trot.

  The chief turned back to Candy. “Okay, we’ll check it out. Officer McCroy’s going to search the woods and see what he can find. He’s just getting into his winter gear first. And I’ll also send someone around to visit Solomon’s camp. Most likely it’s nothing,” the chief said, looking Candy in the eye, “but one way or the other, we’ll get to the bottom of it. If you see or hear anything else from him, you get in contact with us right away, okay?”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll let you know if we find out anything. In the meantime—”

  “I know,” Candy said, interrupting him. “Whatever it is, stay out of it.”

  The chief smiled broadly. “You took the words right out of my mouth, Ms. Holliday. Thanks for the cake and coffee. Doc, good to see you again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork sitting on my desk desperately awaiting my signature.”

  THREE

  Doc looked worried. “Are you sure you’re okay, pumpkin?”

  Candy reached for her new tote bag, a stylish Kenneth Cole tan and brown number she’d picked up at a discount store in Bangor a few weeks ago, between Christmas and New Year’s. She’d taken along her best friend, Maggie Tremont, and they’d made the rounds, looking for bargains. As soon as she came across the bag, Candy knew it was meant for her. It was casual yet classy, and gave her professional image a positive tweak.

  Today, it also gave her something to do with her hands. She was grateful to see they weren’t shaking as she checked the bag to make sure she had everything she needed—notepads, pens, her date book, digital tape recorder, business cards, flashlight, and her trusty cell phone, which was starting to show its age but still served her well.

  “Dad, for the hundredth time, yes, I’m fine,” she said without exasperation. She knew her father was worried about her. He worried about a lot of things these days. The past couple of years had been rough, and they’d had a few close calls, financially and with the crop. They’d also had to invest in some new farm equipment, which they couldn’t really afford, but they’d bought it anyway. And they’d managed to survive, thanks to small revenue streams from multiple sources—as many as they could come up with. It was the Maine way of getting by.

  Doc had recently published a couple of articles in a popular history magazine, and was working on another one, which brought in a few mu
ch-needed extra dollars. And Candy held down at least four jobs herself, though some were seasonal and others required only a few hours a week.

  It was her job as community reporter that had her headed out the door today.

  But Doc wasn’t ready to let her go quite yet. “You must have had a pretty good scare out there,” he said, giving her his most concerned look.

  Candy thought about that as she zipped up the bag and crossed the room to the coatrack by the kitchen door. She reached for a scarf and began to snug it around her neck. After a few moments she said softly, “Well, yeah, I guess he caught me by surprise. And I have to admit I’m still worried about Solomon.” She paused. “But the police are in charge now, right? I think it’s best if I just stay out of it and go about my business.”

  Even as she said the words, though, she wondered if that was possible. Once again, there were mysterious goings-on around Cape Willington. And the timing was curious. Could this have something to do with the upcoming weekend’s events? she wondered. And if so, what is the connection?

  She pondered these questions as she began to pull on her yellow fleece jacket.

  “I thought you were going to take the day off,” Doc said as he watched her.

  “I took the morning off.”

  “You get everything done you wanted to?”

  “No, but I’ll try again another day. For now, I have to go.” She slipped the tote bag’s strap over her shoulder and picked up her gloves.

  “You headed to Town Park?”

  Candy nodded as she took her keys from a hook by the door, and ticked off her plans for the afternoon. “The blocks of ice are arriving at around two, so I’m going to talk to some of the sculptors and watch them set things up. After that I’m headed across the street to the inn, where they have a couple of the sleighs on display. Maggie gets off at four, so we’re going to meet up, have a couple of drinks, maybe get something to eat.”

  She started toward the door but paused, turning back toward her father. “Hey, you want to come along? I could drop you at the diner while I’m doing my interviews. You’re welcome to join Maggie and me for dinner later on.”

  Doc considered the offer briefly but finally gave her one of his patented don’t-worry-about-me looks and waved his hand. “No, you go ahead. I have plenty to keep me busy around here. I have only a few chapters left of that historical mystery novel I’ve been reading, and I’m trying to finish up my article about Maine’s role in the War of 1812. There was a lot of fighting along this coastline, you know. I just have to put some time in at the historical society.”

  “Well, if you go over there, steer clear of Wanda Boyle. You don’t want to wind up in her blog.”

  “Heaven forbid!” Doc said in mock horror.

  “Are you all set for your presentation on Saturday?”

  “Oh, that?” He waved a hand. “Piece of cake. I can deliver a speech like that in my sleep.”

  Candy laughed. “I bet you can. Well, I’ll call you if I’m going to be out late. And give me a buzz if they hear anything about Solomon. I’m kind of worried about the old guy.”

  “Me too,” Doc said, and he turned toward his office as she headed out the door.

  After the biting cold they’d experienced over the past month and a half, today felt like a hint of spring, and she found she could actually breathe a little easier. She always seemed to hold herself tighter when it got really cold, as if she were freezing up herself. She didn’t mind it too much, though. It was just something to get through so you could enjoy the spring.

  During snowy weather she often parked her trusty old teal-colored Jeep Cherokee in the garage alongside the John Deere tractor and other farm equipment, but last night she’d left it in its summer place, in the driveway just off the back porch. She opened the cab, hopped into the seat, and headed toward town.

  During the spring, summer, and fall, Cape Willington was a beautiful village, but it took on a special glow in the winter, glazed by nature’s icing. It looked like a picture from a vintage Currier and Ives print. Of course, some of that icing had slipped a little with the warmer weather, covering the roads and sidewalks with an icy slosh that squelched satisfyingly under the shoe or boot.

  Two town maintenance workers were out today, operating a nimble duo of industrial lawn-sized tractors equipped with snow shovels and large rotating brushes. They were clearing away some of the built-up snow from the sidewalks and parking spaces, making quick work of preparing the town for the weekend’s festivities. Of the many things Mainers excelled at, clearing away snow was near the top of the list. Lord knows, they’d had plenty of practice over the years.

  Candy found a parking spot at the lower end of Ocean Avenue, just past the opera house and almost directly in front of the old Stone & Milbury Insurance Agency. The place had been closed for nearly a year now, ever since Mr. Milbury, one of the firm’s co-owners, absconded with hundreds of thousands of dollars in embezzled funds. They’d caught him in Arizona as he was attempting to cross the border into Mexico. Now he was serving time at a federal prison in northwestern Pennsylvania.

  Stone & Milbury had occupied a fairly large space along Ocean Avenue, where it had been a fixture for more than two decades. But after the firm’s implosion and the store’s closure, the landlord had eventually split the storefront into two smaller spaces. A dry cleaner’s now occupied the right side of the space, while a ritzy new art gallery had moved into the other side. The gallery had opened during the fall leaf-peeping season and had done a brisk business through the holidays, but Candy had heard that sales had slowed dramatically after the beginning of the year, causing the gallery to open only on weekends since midmonth. But today the store’s OPEN sign was prominently displayed, and through the window Candy noticed a few folks browsing around inside. And that made her happy. With the Winter Moose Fest kicking into high gear, tourists were once again filling the town’s inns, restaurants, and shops. The increase in activity was evident—and very welcome.

  Grabbing her tote bag, Candy slid out of the front seat, locked up the Jeep, and carefully negotiated a narrow pathway through a chest-high streetside snowbank before dashing into the doorway on the right. Inside, her best friend, Maggie Tremont, stood behind the counter, chatting amiably with a customer. As soon as Candy entered, both pairs of eyes turned toward her.

  “Well, look who’s here,” Maggie said, proudly extending an arm in greeting, as if the Queen of England herself had just entered the room. “Our very own town detective and star reporter, right on cue!”

  Candy stopped and blinked, surprised by the sudden attention. “Who, me?”

  “Of course you, silly,” Maggie said with a wave of her hand as she came around the end of the counter and took her friend by the arm, leading her forward. “Someone here wants to meet you.”

  Candy’s gaze angled to the customer who stood in front of the counter. He was an older gentleman, perhaps in his midsixties, with gray, longish hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a tanned complexion, as if he had spent the past few months wintering under the Florida sun. He was smartly dressed in a black woolen overcoat, expensive-looking cream-colored dress shirt, gray and yellow argyle vest, and dark, sharply creased dress slacks. It was a stylish ensemble, disturbed only by the black rubber boots, encrusted with muddied, caked-on snow, poking out from under the cuffs of his slacks.

  She’d never seen him before, but his boots gave her a clue to his identity. He’s a true New Englander, she thought.

  He came toward her with his hand outstretched and one of the widest smiles she’d ever seen, framed by a thick gray moustache. “Candy Holliday, this is a thrill!” he said with great enthusiasm. He shook her hand warmly. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment for quite some time. I’m Preston Smith.”

  Candy gave him a guarded smile. “Hello, Mr. Smith, it’s very nice to meet you.” She glanced sideways at Maggie, hoping for some explanation.

  “He says he’s read your columns,” Maggie said, as if t
hat explained everything.

  “My columns?”

  “Oh yes, I’m a big fan,” Preston Smith told her. “I’m quite intrigued by them. I’m from the city, you see. All that noise and traffic and people jammed together. But your columns truly capture everyday life here in this wonderful little village of yours. I’ve been hoping to visit for quite a while, so I couldn’t be happier I’ve finally found the time to make the trip. And please, call me Preston.”

  He smiled at her so warmly she couldn’t refuse. “Well, okay, Preston.” She paused. “Where did you say you’re from?”

  “He’s from I.C.I.C.L.E.!” Maggie interjected excitedly.

  Candy looked confused. “Icicle? What state is that in?”

  Preston Smith laughed heartily. “I see you’re not familiar with this particular usage of the term,” he said with a toothy grin. “It’s an acronym, actually, for the International Committee of Ice Carvers and Lighting Experts.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Candy said.

  Preston chuckled. “No, we’re quite serious, though our name is a little mischievous, I’ll admit. But we thought it would be fun and grab people’s attention. We’re a relatively new organization, you see, which probably explains why you haven’t heard about us. In fact, not many people have. But we’re growing fast. We truly believe in the beauty of carving and lighting ice. We’re hoping to turn it into an inter-national phenomenon—a type of sport, if you will, rivaling the popularity of football and baseball.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s wonderful,” said Candy, not completely convinced. Still, she thought as her reporter instincts took over, it might make a good story. “I’d love to write an article about your organization sometime.”

  “Perfect! To be honest, that’s one reason I’m here, Ms. Holliday. As I said, I’ve been reading your columns for quite some time, and I’ve enjoyed following all the activities and events taking place in your charming little town. One day recently, I was struck with this epiphany: what if we held one of our international ice-carving events right here in Cape Willington!”