“And don’t worry too much about Solomon,” Ben continued. “He’s gotten pretty good at taking care of himself. I have a feeling he’s just holed up somewhere in these woods, and if he’s out here, we’ll find him sooner or later.”
Back at Blueberry Acres, Candy made a quick dash inside to change her clothes. She put all her borrowed items into a plastic shopping bag for return to the dry cleaner’s and jotted down a brief note to Doc. Outside again, she walked over to Ben’s Range Rover. He sat in the driver’s seat with the engine running and the heater on full blast, but he had the window rolled down. “You headed to Town Park?” he asked.
Candy nodded. “I’m going to make a quick stop at the dry cleaner’s first, and after that I’ll check out the ice sculptures and see how much progress they’ve made. Want to come along?”
He sighed. “Unfortunately, I have to take a rain check. I need to finish up a few things in the office—write a few headlines, copyfit a few stories. But why don’t we meet up later and watch the parade together? Who knows, maybe I’ll even spring for a glass of wine afterward.”
“Hmm, that would be heavenly.”
“Shall we rendezvous at the inn then?”
She leaned in the window and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “It’s a date,” she said, “and thanks for helping me out today.” Then, as Ben wheeled around the Range Rover and headed back out the lane, she walked over to Maggie’s car, climbed inside, and cranked up the engine.
The streets leading into town were busier than usual, thanks to the influx of tourists for the weekend’s festivities. Most of the license plates that weren’t local were from the New England region, primarily Massachusetts and New Hampshire, although she spotted a few plates from New Jersey and New York. The crowd for this weekend’s festivities wouldn’t be nearly as large as those at summer events, but Candy knew they would be no less enthusiastic, and were no less important to the town’s proprietors and shopkeepers.
On the trip back to town, the snow started to fall heavily, and by the time she found a parking spot on Main Street, not too far from where she’d found the car, the town was already blanketed under a thin yet rapidly growing layer of fresh snow. She grabbed her tote and bag from the passenger seat, locked up, and hurried to the corner and then down along the busy sidewalk, aswarm with chattering tourists in colorful winter garb. Many of the shops she passed were crowded as well, with patrons slipping in and out of their front doors, and she smiled with a sense of relief and happiness. It would be a good weekend in Cape Willington, Maine.
Halfway down the block, she entered the dry cleaner’s, only to find the front room empty. She heard Maggie puttering around in the back, humming happily to herself.
“Hello in there,” Candy called out. “It’s me.”
“Oh, hey, there you are!” Maggie called excitedly as she emerged from the back room wearing a very stylish, and very expensive looking, embroidered Scandinavian sweater. “So how did it go? Did the costume work?”
“It did.”
“And did you talk to the Psychic Sisters?”
“I did. And I got to hang out a little with Ben in the woods.”
“That’s good, honey. I’m real happy for you. Hey, what do you think about my new sweater? Isn’t it a beaut?” She put her hands on her hips and turned back and forth, modeling it for Candy. “I’ve been getting all kinds of compliments on it. Everyone who comes in here loves it. So, how do I look in it?”
Candy studied the sweater with a calculating eye. “It fits you great. Is it yours?”
Maggie waved a dismissive hand. “I’m just borrowing it.”
“You’re not shopping the racks in the back, are you?”
“No…”
“Mags, we talked about this, remember?” Candy leaned in closer as she lowered her voice. “It’s not a good idea to wear clothes that other people bring into the store for cleaning, see? It’s not considered good manners, even though—”
Maggie was about to say something in her defense, but Candy beat her to it: “—even though, yes, I know they’re cleaned before you wear them, and yes, you send them back for cleaning again after you wear them. But it’s still not something normal people do.”
Maggie pursed her lips. “But no one really minds,” she said in an assuring tone, “and besides, it’s no different than wearing clothes that came from a thrift shop, when you think about it—although, yes, technically these have to go back to their owners.”
“So, in other words, you are completely sane, and you do understand what you’re doing.”
“You’re making it out to be a bigger deal than it really is.”
“That’s because it is a big deal,” Candy insisted.
“Well,” Maggie said with a touch of indignation in her tone, “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
“Maggie,” Candy said, coming around the counter and giving her friend a big hug, “I love you, but you can’t wear it anymore. You have to take it off.”
“But it’s been hanging around the racks for weeks, even months,” Maggie protested, “and the owner hasn’t come in to pick it up. I’ve called—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Candy said, cutting in for emphasis. “People get upset about things like this.”
“But it’s sooo pretty,” Maggie said, dragging out the word for dramatic emphasis, “and it’s been calling to me. Oh yes, I’ve heard it back there, whispering to me, telling me not to let it be forgotten. Clothes are made to be worn, Candy. That’s one thing I’ve learned since I started working here. Clothes must be worn regularly, and if they’re not, it makes them unhappy.” She tapped her friend lightly on the forearm. “Come on, admit it, you have some unhappy clothes in your closet, right? They’re begging to be worn, and you really, really would like to wear them, but something about them just doesn’t work—the color’s not quite right, or the fit’s off just a bit in the shoulder—but they’re such nice clothes, they’re like your family, and you can’t get rid of them. Right?”
She was beaming, as if she’d just made the game-winning point.
Candy’s gaze narrowed to a thin slit. “So… I was mistaken, then, right? You really, really are insane.”
Maggie looked at her expectantly. “Does that mean I can keep wearing it?”
“No!” Candy threw up her hands. “Haven’t you heard a single thing I’ve said?”
“Sure, I’ve been listening. So…?”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Look, just do me one favor, okay?”
“You got it.”
“Don’t ever wear anything from this shop again, ever. But if you do, please, please, please don’t tell me about it. Promise?”
Maggie beamed and held up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “I promise!”
SEVENTEEN
An hour later, the snowfall lightened as dusk fell, and Cape Willington turned into a magical winter wonderland.
Strings of lights, some left over from Christmas and some hung especially for the Moose Fest, made the town seem to glow under its fresh glazing of snow. Streetlights and store windows, benches and tree trunks were all alight, reflecting off the surrounding snow and ice, making everything sparkle. Even many of the townies and tourists who had gathered for the parade, decked out in their most colorful hats and scarves—a Moose Fest tradition—wore lighted necklaces and bracelets, or carried flashlights wrapped in green or blue or orange cellophane, turning the oncoming night even more colorful and festive.
Candy barely noticed the gathering crowds and building buzz, for she was deep in a conversation with Duncan Leggmeyer, who was confirming information she’d heard from several other people during the past hour as she’d made her rounds in Town Park.
“I just hope they keep it all on the up and up,” Duncan was telling her, the intensity strong in his dark chocolate eyes. “We really don’t know what’s going on. It’s been a fairly secreti
ve process, which concerns me a lot.”
He’d taken a break from finishing up work on a one-block sculpture of a bear cub, part of the larger ice display depicting Maine wildlife, when Candy had asked for a few mo-ments of his time. It had turned into a nearly twenty-minute conversation, with Duncan doing most of the talking and Candy doing most of the listening. He’d started off discussing the general stuff—the art and craft of carving ice—but when Candy had asked him about Preston Smith’s organization, the conversation had taken a serious turn.
“Have you talked to Preston personally about this sponsorship issue?” Candy asked.
“I’ve mentioned it to him a couple of times, but I got the feeling pretty quickly that I wasn’t going to get any straight answers.” Duncan seemed resigned to his fate. “He’s been pretty fuzzy about the whole thing from the beginning, but he says he’s talking to a chain-saw company that’s interested in sponsoring one of us—sort of an official spokesperson type of thing. You know, we’d use their products and wear ballcaps with their logos on them, that sort of thing. Apparently they’re getting ready to make a lucrative offer, and they’ve asked Preston for his recommendation. He still hasn’t said who’s involved or how much we’re talking about, but he let us know that he will be finalizing his decision any day now.”
“How come I haven’t heard anything about this before?” Candy asked. “Was there an official announcement?”
Duncan shrugged. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask Preston about that.”
Candy pursed her lips and made a note. “Maybe I will.”
“A bunch of us have been talking,” Duncan continued as he watched her scribble down a few quick lines, “and we’re all pretty much in agreement that whatever’s going on, Liam probably has the inside track on it. Either him or Victor. Those two are the most competitive of the group, though some of the women do a pretty good job keeping up with them.” Casually he nodded toward Felicia Gaspar and Gina Templeton.
Candy didn’t disagree with him. She’d talked to both of them, as well as to Liam. Gina in particular had seemed driven, yet at the same time distracted and even evasive, when Candy had spoken to her and asked about her husband, Victor.
“I’ve heard he’s pulled out of the event,” Candy had said casually to Gina, who was covered in ice crystals at the time and chipping away at the face of a young female figure, who was beginning to emerge from a block of ice.
“I’d prefer not to talk about that,” Gina had replied, barely looking at Candy, her gaze affixed on the frozen visage before her. “It’s a private matter.”
“Are you going to continue to participate in the exhibition yourself? According to the schedule, you and Victor are supposed to be giving an ice-carving demonstration tomorrow morning. Are you still participating?”
A look of genuine surprise crossed Gina’s face, as if she’d completely forgotten about the event, though she quickly moved to force her emotions below the surface. “Well, um, yes, of course. I’ll be there!”
These last few words sounded forced to Candy, but she let it go, suspecting there was more Gina wasn’t telling her, but guessing it had something to do with Gina’s marital relations with her husband. And perhaps she was right—it probably was a private matter.
As Gina went back to carving, practically attacking the ice, Candy backed off and finally turned away. But as she did so, she noticed Gina glance first at Liam and then at Felicia, before returning to her task with renewed effort.
Her conversations with Felicia and Liam hadn’t gone much better. To Candy, they all seemed strangely driven yet disconnected, like they were trying to reach an unknown destination without a map. Pedal to the metal with no idea where they were going. Only Baxter Bryant and his wife, Bernadette, seemed truly to be having a good time today. Baxter in particular always had a crowd around him as he worked, as he frequently took the time to talk about what he was doing and show off some of his techniques. He was definitely popular.
And so was Colin Trevor Jones. Candy had talked to the young chef as well, and his enthusiasm and love for his craft, as well as his skill in shaping the ice, gave her a new appreciation of him, and made him a favorite with the crowd.
Candy thanked Duncan for taking the time to talk to her and started flipping back through the pages of her notebook as she walked away. Several of the folks she’d just interviewed, including Liam and Baxter, also had mentioned this spokesperson thing to her, though they all seemed reluctant to talk about it. Perhaps they were afraid of some sort of repercussion or backlash, though from whom she couldn’t imagine. Preston Smith? Could he possibly have that much power? she wondered as she made her way back to the dry cleaner’s.
Preston was a bit of an odd fellow, yes, but he seemed relatively harmless. Still, on the two occasions she’d met up with him, he’d exhibited some strange behavior too. He seemed to have a way of ducking in and out of conversations, and now that she thought about it, he had a knack for avoiding certain people, like Ben. What was that all about?
She reminded herself to check for a response to the e-mail she’d sent off to Preston’s assistant the night before, as soon as she had the chance. Maybe that would provide some answers, or at least verify his credentials. But for now, she had a parade to catch.
As she made her way up the street, she looked around as casually as possible.
She spotted him almost at once.
Officer McCroy was back on her trail.
He trudged up the street in the midst of the crowd, perhaps twenty feet behind her, wearing the same police-issue coat and hat with a solemn expression on his face, as if he was running down Al Capone.
“Well, that’s just great,” Candy said to herself. And resigned to the fact that she’d probably have a shadow for the rest of the weekend, she turned halfway around and gave him a casual salute.
He nodded back, the look on his face growing more stern, as if to say, “I have you in my sights. You won’t get away from me again that easily, Ms. Holliday.”
Candy hesitated a moment. Perhaps, she thought, she could use this situation to her advantage.
With a shrug, she turned fully around and started toward him, threading her way through the tourists crowding the sidewalk.
When he saw her coming, he stepped aside, waiting, obviously wondering what she was up to.
He must have thought she was going to confront him again, but she had a different idea in mind this time.
She approached more slowly, in a nonthreatening manner, and even pulled a hand out of her pocket and waved tentatively.
“Hi… ah, Officer Jody. If I may call you that?”
“It’s Officer McCroy, ma’am,” he corrected in a stoic manner.
“Yes, well, Officer McCroy, I wonder if I can ask you a question.”
He gave her a scrutinizing look. “I’ve already told you, ma’am. You have to talk to Chief Durr about that.”
Candy shook her head and waved a hand. “No, it’s… it’s not about that. It’s about”—she couldn’t help glancing around and lowering her voice just slightly—“Preston Smith.”
He gave her a confused look. “Who?”
“Preston Smith. You know, the”—she pointed uncertainly toward Town Park—“the I.C.I.C.L.E. guy.”
He looked at her as if she were speaking a different language. “Ms. Holliday, I have no idea who you’re talking about. My assignment is to keep an eye on you in case—”
“I know, I know,” Candy said, interrupting him. Flipping her head around, she started back up the street. “You’re waiting for me to lead you to Solomon Hatch.”
“It’s for your own protection, ma’am,” Officer McCroy called after her.
She didn’t respond. Part of her chafed at the surveillance by the young police officer, but another part of her was grateful for it. She’d found herself in serious trouble on at least two occasions before when solving mysteries around town. Maybe operating under the watchful eye of the authorities wasn’t suc
h a bad thing after all.
And, as she walked back up the street, she felt some satisfaction, as she had uncovered another small piece of the puzzle. Officer McCroy had confirmed what she had already guessed about Preston—that he was trying to avoid certain people, the police included.
She couldn’t decide if that was significant or not.
Maggie was just locking up the store when Candy arrived yet again at the dry cleaner’s. Pulling her quickly into the back room, Maggie said, “Here, we need to get dressed up for the parade,” and she dug into a shopping bag full of colorful clothing she said she’d brought from home. “I promise all this stuff is mine,” Maggie said in response to Candy’s inquisitive expression.
If Maggie had supplemented the clothes with a few unclaimed items she’d found lying around the store, she wasn’t saying.
Within ten minutes she’d outfitted both Candy and herself. Maggie wore a red jacket trimmed in white faux fur, a bright green scarf, a multicolored, multispiked jesterlike hat with bells at the tips of the cloth spikes, and bright yellow boots (definitely borrowed from her daughter, Amanda), while for Candy she’d selected a bright pink down jacket, a red and white striped scarf, a purple knit cap, and mauve fur-lined boots.
“Now you sort of look like a stick of bubblegum, which is exactly how someone named Candy should look,” Maggie announced proudly as she studied the fruits of her labor. On an impulse, she gave her friend a quick hug. “This is going to be so much fun. Are you sure you don’t mind if I tag along tonight?”
“Maggie, I insist.”
“But won’t I intrude on your little thing with Ben?”
“Of course not. We haven’t planned much anyway. Well, he did offer to buy me a glass of wine afterward…”
Maggie’s expression turned suddenly serious. “If you two need some time alone tonight, just give me the signal and I’ll quietly slip away,” she promised. “The last thing I want to do is get in the way of true love.”
Candy laughed. “I don’t know if it’s progressed quite that far, but this strange little mystery out in the woods does seem to have brought us closer together.”
Town in a Wild Moose Chase Page 12
