Town in a Wild Moose Chase

by B. B. Haywood

  “Then we should have more strange little mysteries around here!” Maggie announced brightly.

  Candy gave her a dubious look. “Maybe, but let’s solve this one first.”

  “Have you found any clues yet?”

  “A few,” Candy confirmed, “although I still don’t know how they all fit together. But my instincts tell me I’m on the right trail.”

  “Well, that’s good to know,” Maggie said, her voice suddenly turning serious. “The only question is, where does the trail lead?”

  On that ominous observation, they locked the door behind them and started down the street toward the Lightkeeper’s Inn. Ahead of them, out over the ocean, the sky was near dark, while remains of the sunset still lightened the western sky behind them. All the voices and other sounds around town had taken on hushed, expectant tones as the onlookers who had gathered on the sidewalks awaited the arrival of the winter parade. Vendors were walking along the edge of the street, selling lighted necklaces and glow sticks. A group of individuals off to one side was singing “Sleigh Ride” in three-part harmony. True to Ben’s prediction, a few snowballs flew back and forth across the street, causing the targeted teens, dressed in dark colors and doing their best to appear cool, to dodge adeptly side to side and bark with laughter or feigned annoyance.

  As Candy and Maggie neared the inn, the crowd thickened, but with a little bit of patience they managed to negotiate their way through the pressing bodies and reach the inn’s porch just as the jingling of bells and the first clip-clops of horse hooves echoed down from Main Street.

  “Here they come!” Maggie said excitedly, clapping her hands together.

  Ben had staked out a primo spot on the porch with excellent views up Ocean Avenue and across to Town Park, so they wouldn’t miss a thing. And he had a treat for them. “Freshly made hot chocolate with homemade whipped cream, courtesy of Chef Colin,” he said as he pointed to a small silver serving tray on a table nearby, with a large steaming pot and several heavy mugs set out. “Ladies, can I interest you in cup of cocoa?”

  Warming their hands around the mugs and basking in the mellow aromas coming off the hot chocolate, they sipped away in deep pleasure as the first sleighs turned down Ocean Avenue.

  Almost immediately Candy made a face. When she spoke, her tone was edged with uncharacteristic coolness. “I should have figured.”

  “What?” Maggie followed her friend’s gaze, craning her neck to see. When she finally realized what Candy meant, she made a face as well. “Oh, it’s her! What’s she doing there?”

  At the front of the procession of sleighs and sleds was a magnificent restoration of an antique Hudson Valley sleigh, with a family of five passengers in two rows, tucked under warm blankets and waving to the crowds. The sleigh was lit only by a discreet string of white lights edging the upper rim of the body of the sleigh. It was pulled by a single black draft horse and sat high on its framework of metal runners with thick tubing from front to rear. A wreath of entwined blueberry sprigs was hung from the front of the sleigh’s body, and garlands of pine branches swooped along its recently repainted sides.

  And planted firmly in the front row, wedged comfortably between the driver and right-side passenger, was Wanda Boyle.

  She was dressed like a big snowflake, Candy thought, in a fluffy white, high-collared coat, white knit cap, white earmuffs, and white scarf. As the sleigh came down the street, greeted by the cheering crowds, Wanda alternatively waved pleasantly to the crowds and snapped photos with her digital camera.

  Behind them came another dozen sleighs, including two-row bobsleds, half-roofed doctors’ sleighs, Albany-style open sleighs with their oval-shaped bodies, and two-passenger Portland cutters with black runners and tufted upholstery. One crowd-pleaser was a small, black single-passenger child’s sleigh, driven by Lyra Graveton and pulled along by a small, brown-furred pony with a long blonde mane.

  The sleighs were lighted in unique ways. Some had electric lights powered by batteries, while others opted for glow sticks, and several had charming dual lanterns hung from hooks on poles along the sides of the sleighs. Many of the passengers tossed out candies and beads to those lining the street, sending children and their excited parents scampering.

  As the front sleigh passed the inn, Wanda scanned the assembled crowd, looking for someone to impress. Her gaze alighted briefly on Candy but just as quickly flitted away without a hint of recognition. Instead, she waved to Oliver LaForce, the inn’s proprietor, and blew a kiss to Colin, the chef, before snapping his photo for her blog.

  Behind the sleighs came neighborhood kids and families, pulling sleds and toboggans filled with siblings, friends, family members, and pets.

  Up the street, however, Candy heard a sudden hush fall over the crowd, and then what sounded like a collective “Awwww!” moved through the assembled throng like a wave. A smattering of applause rippled down the street as well.

  “What is it?” Maggie asked, leaning out over the porch railing to catch a glimpse of whatever might be coming down Main Street toward the Ocean Avenue intersection.

  At first all Candy saw was a swarm of kids, teens, and their sleds, skimming over the ice, usually pulled by an older sibling, or a parent in some cases. But they scattered when they saw what was coming behind them, heading for the curb and any shelter they could find along the sides of the street.

  Thus giving the white moose a clear path as it ambled down Ocean Avenue toward the inn and the sea.

  EIGHTEEN

  The moose sauntered down the street as if it hadn’t a care in the world and came to a stop directly in front of Candy.

  Once again a hush fell upon the crowd, as voices dropped to whispers, and even those pulling sleds and driving carriages paused and looked around to see what was happening. For the space of a few heartbeats, the entire town came to a standstill. Moose weren’t necessarily rare around these parts of Maine, but still, when one walked through the center of your village, it was worth at least a few raised eyebrows.

  But the moment soon passed, as children giggled and teenagers called out to the creature, and couples started talking excitedly to one another about the majesty of the animal standing in their midst, so close they could reach out and touch it.

  For the moose’s part, if it had any opinions about the momentous nature of its presence here in Cape Willington, it wasn’t giving anything away. It stood nonchalantly, barely acknowledging the surrounding crowd. It was angled sideways, almost parallel to the porch upon which Candy stood, perhaps twelve feet away, with its right side toward her and its head pointed down the street toward the ocean. It flick-ed its thick ears, sniffed the air, let out a frosty breath through its big nostrils, and almost imperceptibly turned its head in Candy’s direction, its right eye not quite making contact with her.

  Candy was flabbergasted. “Are you following me?” she asked the moose.

  Maggie nudged her in the side. “Friend of yours?”

  “We’ve met,” Candy said curtly. “He’s been hanging around the farm.”

  “And you didn’t tell us about it?” Maggie asked, feigning shock. “You’re holding out on us!”

  Ben eyed Candy warily. “You know, Maggie, I think you’re right.” To Candy, he added, “Is this the same moose you said you saw the other night?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, you were right,” Ben said, studying the creature with admiration. “He certainly is a big guy. It’s a bull, all right. Fully grown. Probably five or six years old. At the peak of his life and all that. He seems to have an affection for you.”

  It took a few moments for Ben’s words to sink in. “He what?”

  “He’s saying the moose is in love with you,” Maggie interpreted for her.

  “He’s courting you, or at least that’s my guess,” Ben clarified.

  “You’re both crazy,” Candy retorted, crossing her arms. She suddenly realized everyone on the porch was looking at her. Someone in the crowd catcalled, another whistle
d, and others were chuckling.

  “He’s giving you his best dreamy-eyed look,” Maggie observed. “It’s sweet, really. I wish I had a boyfriend with eyes like that.”

  Candy frowned, unamused. “Isn’t it a little early for mating season?”

  “Love knows no bounds,” Maggie opined.

  “He’s probably just a little confused,” Ben said. “It happens sometimes. Moose tend to fall in love with all sorts of things. Cows. Lawn ornaments. Pickup trucks.”

  Candy’s brow furrowed. “Did you just compare me to a pickup truck?”

  “I think he compared you to a cow,” Maggie said helpfully.

  Ben chuckled. “Well, not exactly. But it’s the same principle. He must have seen you around the farm and got curious. Maybe he was attracted by your hair or your scent or something like that.”

  “Hey, you’re not wearing that Eau de Moose perfume I gave you for a joke gift last Christmas, are you?” Maggie asked with all seriousness.

  “No,” Candy said curtly. At moments like this, brevity was probably the best response, she decided. She didn’t want to encourage Maggie and Ben any further. “So how do I get rid of him?”

  “He’ll eventually wander away on his own.”

  And sure enough, as if he had suddenly forgotten her, the white moose gave a snort, turned his head about, and started off down the street, following the horses and sleighs, eyeing the lighted trees curiously, and doing his best to stay clear of the curious onlookers. The crowd respectively made room for him, and as he reached the bottom of Ocean Avenue, he turned left up the Loop, following the parade on its way to Fowler’s Corner.

  “Well, that was just about the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Candy said as the moose ambled away, half hidden behind the trees of Town Park.

  “Not really,” Maggie began. “You’re forgetting that time—”

  But Candy cut her off quickly. “Thank you very much, Miss Tattler, but I don’t need anyone reminding me of my past transgressions, whatever they may be.”

  “Just trying to help,” Maggie said glumly. Candy gave her friend a playful jostle.

  “Well, now that the excitement’s over,” Ben said, rubbing his gloved hands together, “shall we retreat to a warmer spot inside?”

  Maggie heaved a deep sigh and put on her best forlorn look. “You two go ahead. I have some sewing to catch up on.”

  She started away, but Candy took her friend’s arm, pulling her back. “Oh, don’t be silly. Stay awhile.”

  “I won’t interfere?” Maggie asked hopefully.

  “The more, the merrier. Come on, join us for a glass of wine, and I’ll tell you about this real jackass who once fell for me.” She glanced at Ben, then back at Maggie. “And no, it’s no one you know.”

  The inn’s lounge was packed, but they managed to squeeze into a tight spot at the far end of the bar, and for the next hour, as a cold, crisp night settled over Cape Willington, they chatted about the day’s events over glasses of a tart Pinot Grigio (although Ben eventually switched to vodka martinis) and a cheese, fruit, and marinated olive plate they’d ordered to snack on. Still feeling like a third wheel, Maggie tried to sneak away once or twice, in an effort to “leave the two lovebirds alone,” only to be repeatedly pulled back. But eventually it was Ben who bowed out early.

  “I apologize, ladies, but I really have some work I need to finish up tonight.”

  “Really? On a Friday night?” Now it was Candy’s turn to act glum.

  He gave her a warm kiss on the cheek. “I took some time off this afternoon to help a friend, remember? I just have to catch up a little. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll meet up,” he told her before heading out into the cold night.

  “There he goes again,” Maggie said, raising a wineglass in salute to Ben’s disappearing back. Turning to Candy, she added, “You should have let me go, honey, so you and Ben could’ve had some time together. Maybe get a bite to eat at a candlelit table.”

  “Oh, it’s all right. Besides, he probably wouldn’t have stayed much longer anyway,” Candy mused with a sigh. “Too much work.”

  “And not enough time,” Maggie finished for her, grabbing the nearly empty bottle of wine and freshening their glasses.

  “It’s the story of my life.”

  “Mine too.”

  They were both silent for a few moments. Then Maggie brightened. “Well, look, if things don’t work out with Ben, there’s always the moose.”

  Candy raised her wineglass. “To the moose!”

  “To the moose!”

  As their glasses clinked together, Candy saw Chief Darryl Durr enter the lounge. He took off his hat as he looked around the room, spotted her, and started threading his way through the chatting patrons to their end of the bar.

  “Oh, oh, here comes trouble,” Maggie said, following Candy’s gaze. “Looks like you’ve been busted.”

  Candy tried to discreetly hide her face behind her hands. “Me? What did I do?”

  “Blocking traffic with a live moose?”

  “But I had nothing to do with that!”

  “Don’t tell me! Tell him!”

  “Ms. Holliday,” Chief Durr said as he slid onto a bar stool that suddenly opened up next to her.

  Maggie jumped to her feet and grabbed her purse, which was sitting on the bar. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the little girl’s room,” she announced.

  But Chief Durr pointed with his pinky at the bar stool she had just vacated. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a few minutes, Mrs. Tremont. I’d like to speak to you as well.”

  Maggie gulped noticeably as she returned to her seat, her purse clutched protectively in front of her.

  “It’s come to my attention,” Chief Durr said without further preamble, “that you two have been playing games with my police officer.”

  “Excuse me?” Maggie said, blinking quickly.

  “Officer McCroy,” the chief clarified as he focused in on Candy. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “He’s there for your protection, Candy. I know he’s been a little conspicuous—”

  “He’s been a little spooky, to tell you the truth,” Candy told him flatly.

  Chief Durr held up both hands, as if to calm her. “That was my call, just so you know the truth, and I had a reason for it. I wanted it to be obvious to others that you were being watched.”

  “Others?” Candy’s voice suddenly turned concerned. “What others?”

  “We wanted a visible police presence,” Chief Durr said, evading her question. “Now, there’s nothing to be concerned about. We’re just being thorough.”

  “Thorough? What are you talking about?”

  “Is Candy in danger?” Maggie asked worriedly.

  “Not that we know of. At least, we’ve had no specific threats.”

  Candy didn’t like the sound of that. “Have you had unspecific ones?”

  “No.” A look of amusement flashed through Chief Durr’s eyes and he allowed himself a smile. “None of those either. Nonetheless, we’d appreciate your cooperation until we get to the bottom of this little… mystery. I’ll instruct Officer McCroy to give you a wider berth, but for now I want him out in the open—and close by, in case Solomon tries to contact you.”

  “Or in case something more serious happens to me,” Candy added, thinking about the times in the past when she’d run afoul of a murderer or two.

  Chief Durr nodded his head. “We have an agreement then. I’ll keep him off Blueberry Acres for now, to give you a little privacy, but you have to promise me that you’ll contact us immediately if you see anything else out in those woods.”

  Candy thought about that and finally nodded. “You have my promise.”

  “Mine too!” Maggie piped in.

  “Good!” Chief Durr slapped the bar with a hand, rose, and put on his hat. But before he left, his expression turned serious again. “I’ll hold you to that—both of you. Now you ladies have a good evening.” And with that, he gave them
a well-practiced smile and walked away.

  “Friendly guy,” Maggie observed.

  “Secretive too. I wonder what he’s sitting on.”

  “A bar stool?” Maggie offered.

  “Information,” Candy replied. “He knows something we don’t.”

  “About Solomon?”

  “About something.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

  “We will,” said Candy, checking her watch, “but not tonight. Ready to head home?”

  Twenty-five minutes later, Candy was sitting beside the dying embers of a fire Doc had made, sipping a relaxing cup of the blueberry green tea she’d bought earlier in the week at a new organic and herbal shop in town, and finishing a warmed-up cup of lobster stew, made with a famous recipe. They had the TV on with the sound down low, turned to a cable cooking show, but they really weren’t watching it. Doc had his nose deep in a history book about lost Maine coastal schooners, and Candy was absently flipping through a regional magazine, glancing at stories about skiing, sea glass, covered bridges, and the preservation of historical state photos.

  By eleven the TV was off and Candy was in bed, though Doc stayed up awhile reading. Eventually, though, she heard him make his way up the stairs and quietly close his bedroom door.

  She fell into a deep sleep and awoke only when her alarm clock went off. It took her a few moments for her to realize it was Saturday morning.

  But I didn’t set my alarm clock to go off, she thought groggily.

  She heard the ringing again and realized it was the phone downstairs. It rang a couple more times before the answering machine, an antiquated device Doc insisted on keeping, went off. After the recorded message, Candy could hear a voice talking frantically into the machine. It sounded like Finn Woodbury’s voice. She thought she heard him say the words police, road, and dead.

  She tried to roll out of bed, but Doc beat her to it. She heard him open his door and pad down the stairs. A few moments later she could hear him listening to the message, rewinding it, and listening again.