Town in a Wild Moose Chase

by B. B. Haywood

  She did her best not to draw attention to herself, but Felicia must have noticed the movement out of the corners of her eyes, because she spotted Candy almost instantly. She instinctively shrank back several steps, between the dark trunks of pine trees, as if attempting to hide herself.

  Candy remained undeterred, pressing on and waving in as nonthreatening a manner as possible. “Felicia! Hi!” she called out in an easy tone. “I thought that was you I saw standing over here. I don’t suppose I could get a few minutes of your time?”

  Felicia gave no answer. Instead, she turned on her boot heels and fled back up through the park, dodging tourists as she pulled her cape and hood tighter around her in an effort to disguise herself.

  Candy watched her go, mystified. “Well, what was that all about?” she said to herself, letting out a quick breath of frustration. “The plot thickens.”

  She was tempted to follow, to see if she could track Felicia down and ask her about her strange behavior, like she’d seen detectives do in the movies, but she decided against it. She was no Humphrey Bogart, or even Miss Marple.

  Better to go with a known quantity—or, rather, three of them.

  The Psychic Sisters awaited her, and they, at least, wanted to talk to her.

  She headed out of Town Park to her Jeep.

  The day had turned out cold but bright, a definite improvement over the long string of overcast days they’d had recently. For some reason she felt upbeat, which surprised her. Maybe it was just the bright sun, or the incredible landscape unfolding before her, or maybe it was something else. Maybe she felt like she was finally moving in the right direction—whatever that direction might be. She still didn’t know what had happened to Solomon, or to Victor Templeton, but she was determined to find out. As she drove out of town along the southern leg of the Coastal Loop, past the small coastal cabins and the Lobster Shack, all closed up tight for the season, she gazed left, out over the ocean, which stretched away to the curve of the horizon. She never tired of seeing it. There was something special about the coast of New England, and Maine in particular. It was a place unlike anywhere else in the world. The sea here was quixotic and passionate, beautiful yet dangerous, ever changing yet forever unchanged. Somehow it made her relax, and she took a deep breath. She even rolled down the driver’s-side window, just a little, so she could get some of that salt smell in her nostrils. It made her breathe a little easier and helped to clear her head. She took several quick breaths before she raised the window again. It was, after all, winter in New England. And it was cold out.

  In the afternoon light, the house at Shipwreck Cove looked snug and still, its windows frosted and flower boxes stacked high with snow. But birds were at the feeders, squirrels scampered in the snowy yard after peanuts that had been thrown out for them, and a column of smoke rose from the chimney, promising warmth within.

  Not only warmth, she found out as she entered the house, but more tea and treats—lemon squares this time, fresh out of the oven and dusted on top with powdered sugar. Candy had to admit, they were delicious.

  “Maggie would devour them,” she told the sisters, allowing herself a second one after she quickly (yet as daintily as possible) finished off the first. She suddenly realized that, with all the excitement that morning, she’d forgotten to eat lunch. No wonder I’m famished, she thought as she took another bite, savoring it. She turned to Isabel. “So is this from a family recipe?”

  “Oh no, my dear. It came from a recipe book put out by The Old Farmer’s Almanac. We found it at a garage sale, must have been, oh, ten or twelve years ago, wasn’t it?” she asked her sisters. “It’s a treasure. We’ve found a number of wonderful New England potluck recipes in it.”

  “Things like Boston baked beans, johnnycakes, and brown bread,” Annabel clarified.

  “Well, these are wonderful,” Candy said, finishing the lemon square. She resisted taking a third. Instead, she sipped at her tea.

  They talked for a while about recipes, New England dishes, local seafood, the cost of firewood, and the charm and challenges of living in an old house. While the other women chatted, Elizabeth sat quietly by the fire in a padded wicker rocker chair, her legs tucked up underneath her. She had pulled her long gray hair into a ponytail, which spilled over her right shoulder, and was wrapped tightly in a plum-colored shawl over a long white dress.

  During a lull in the conversation, she finally spoke up. “Annabel has told you about my premonition.”

  The room grew suddenly still. Candy took the opportunity to shift her body so she could give Elizabeth her full attention. “Yes, she has. She said you had something you wanted to tell me. That’s why I came over so quickly.”

  Elizabeth nodded. In a soft yet determined voice, she said, “I know how it must sound, me telling you all this. I don’t know why it happens, or what it means. Some might consider it a curse, but I don’t see it that way.” She paused and gazed into the fire. “I have received two messages, and I believe I’m to direct them to you.”

  “Why me?”

  “As I’ve said before, you seem to be at the center of all this.”

  Candy still didn’t know if she believed any of this, but the sisters all seemed so sincere that she decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. “What are the messages?”

  “They came to me in a dream vision,” Elizabeth clarified. “I’ve had the same dream for several nights now. And it’s always the same.”

  “What do you see in your dream?” Candy asked, almost in a whisper.

  “Many things. Clouds. Fields. Rocks. Trees. Woods,” Elizabeth said as a log in the fireplace cracked, sending out sparks, and the sea broke on the shore.

  “And what’s in the woods?” Annabel asked quietly, prompting her sister.

  Elizabeth had a distant look in her eyes. “It’s changed,” she said after a few moments. “Something is different. A presence is no more. But the darkness remains.” She turned to look at Candy. “And the light.”

  Candy leaned in a little closer. “Is that the message?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said. “The first message is, Follow the light.”

  Still not totally believing what she was hearing, Candy asked, “Follow it where?”

  Elizabeth shook her head but gave no other answer.

  All were silent. Finally Candy spoke again. “Okay. I’m to follow the light. Was there something else?”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth’s eyes were growing hazy. “A number.” She paused, then with some effort said, “It’s the number twenty-three.”

  Candy scrunched up her face in puzzlement. “Do you know what it refers to?”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and put the back of a hand to her forehead. “That’s all I can tell you for now.” She opened her eyes and looked back at the fire. “I’m sorry. All of this has made me a little… tired. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll lie down for a while.”

  While Isabel helped her sister to the bedroom, Annabel rose and turned to Candy. “These things always exhaust her,” she said by way of explanation. She held out her hand. “Thank you so much for coming today. Before you go, let me make you a small package of those lemon squares to take back to your friends.”

  Quicker than she knew what was happening, Candy was whisked out of the house—not impolitely, for that was not the way of the Foxwell sisters. But it was clear the audience was over. The messages had been delivered. Her purpose for being here had been fulfilled. That was all there was to it.

  Back out in the Jeep, she started the engine but sat with both hands on the steering wheel for a few moments, shivering in the cold cab as she stared out at the sea.

  What the heck does it all mean?

  Again, more riddles without answers. In this particular case, esoteric pronouncements from a questionable woman’s dreams.

  How should she take these new bits of information? As clues in a larger puzzle? Or the mad ramblings of a delusional woman?

  Maybe all three of them were delusional.


  But maybe not.

  Deep in thought, she turned the Jeep around and headed back to Blueberry Acres. Despite the lemon squares, she was hungry. She decided to stop off at the house and make something to eat, and then head over to Maggie’s place and see if they could find her a dress for tonight.

  Ten minutes later, her mind occupied by mysterious matters, she steered the Jeep into the snowplowed lane that led to the farmhouse at Blueberry Acres. Right after the turnoff, the lane dipped a little as it came in from the main road, resulting in a low spot where a layer of ice sat all winter long. She negotiated this section carefully, for it could be treacherous. As she drove over the icy patch, she looked down at it through the driver’s-side window.

  When she looked up again and out through the front windshield, she saw the white moose standing directly in her path.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Candy slammed on the brakes, causing the tires to lose their grip on the road and sending the Jeep into a skid. Had the original owner of the vehicle added the optional antilock braking system, she probably wouldn’t have had much of a problem. As it was, the vehicle’s tail end swung around to the right, she cranked the wheel to the left, and the back end of Jeep slid deep into a four-foot-high bank of snow piled up by the side of the road.

  In a rush of light and sound, the vehicle came to a stop with a solid whulmpf as the back right tire wedged deeply in the tightly packed snow.

  Candy had her seat belt on, so she was fine. Calmly she put the shifter into park, switched off the engine, and sat for several moments with her hands on the steering wheel and her foot still on the brake. She was more upset at herself than shaken. She’d skidded off the road before. Just about everyone who drove in New England during the winter had at one time or another. It went with the territory. One day on the way home from work you just hit a patch of black ice and the road went out from underneath you. That’s the way it happened. But this time, it had been her own fault, because she’d known she was traveling over a dangerous icy patch.

  Still…

  She turned her head as she lifted it, and looked out the right-hand side of the windshield.

  The white moose stood stoically, unmoving, its head raised. It was staring off into the distance, its thickly furred ears perked, as if it had heard a sound far off.

  Candy shook her head, let out a breath, unbuckled her seat belt, and climbed out of the cab.

  The moose turned its head toward her.

  “What are you doing here?” Candy asked, not sure whether to be angry or thrilled.

  It looked at her forlornly.

  “Oh boy.” She suddenly remembered what Maggie and Ben had told her.

  The last thing she needed right now was a lovesick moose standing between her and lunch. She tried her best not to look too attractive, which wasn’t that hard today.

  “Um, listen,” she said gently. “I wish I didn’t have to be the one to point this out, but you’re blocking my path. I can’t get home. And I would sure like to get inside where it’s warm. So I don’t suppose you could move aside?”

  The moose dropped its head, searching the snow-covered ground for something to munch on. Spotting an item of interest, it took a few steps toward her, snorting as it came closer, stopping no more than a dozen feet away. It sniffed at the ground but found nothing. Giving up, it raised its head again to its full, majestic height.

  Even at that distance, it seemed to tower over her. She couldn’t help but take a step back as she looked up at it. “Wow, you really are a big fellow,” she said, marveling at the size of the creature this close. And, to be honest, she felt a little intimidated by it. She was out here all alone, facing down a moose in the open, with no one else around to help if the animal should suddenly turn wild.

  She considered climbing back into the Jeep, but hesitated.

  Rather than look aggressive, the moose seemed, well, interested. Maybe even curious. It turned its head so its left eye could get a better look at her, and blinked several times.

  Candy didn’t know what to think.

  It turned to look toward the woods, then back at her.

  Candy followed its gaze, puzzled. An odd thought struck her.

  It wants something, she realized. It keeps looking toward the woods. Does that mean…?

  The next moment, Elizabeth’s words came to her: Follow the light.

  Candy’s head tiled. The white moose? Was that what she meant?

  She barked out a quick laugh, which caused the moose to look at her warily. “That’s crazy,” she said to herself.

  Moose didn’t come out of the woods and beckon you to follow them. Those sorts of things just didn’t happen. After all, this wasn’t Lassie. The moose wasn’t here to save the day. This was the real world.

  Of course, this was Cape Willington, where strange things were known to happen—like a playboy falling off a cliff, or someone committing murder for a lobster stew recipe.

  Or an old hermit stumbling across a body in the woods…

  Abruptly the moose snorted softly, swung its head around, and lumbered away toward the back field, moving gracefully.

  It headed straight toward the spot where Solomon had emerged from the woods, two days earlier.

  That struck Candy as oddly coincidental.

  Or maybe it wasn’t a coincidence.

  She watched the moose amble away, and could practically feel the pull it had on her.

  On an impulse, she hurried back to the Jeep and grabbed her tote bag. She fished out a notepad and pen, scribbled a quick note, and along with the keys, left it sitting on the driver’s seat, in plain view, so Doc could see it if he looked in the window.

  From the backseat, she took an extra scarf, her spare knit cap, and an extra pair of fleece gloves, all of which she shoved into her coat pockets. Just in case.

  She looked up. The sky was still clear, though starting to become overcast in the west. Another cold front would move through later in the day, bringing flurries again, but she knew she had at least a few hours before the inclement weather arrived.

  She’d be fine as long as it didn’t snow, since anyone who came behind her would be able to follow her footprints, and she’d be able to follow her own tracks back out. Snow, of course, would cover them, making it more difficult for someone to come after her, or for her to retrace her steps.

  Another thought came to her then. She looked down at her torso. She was wearing the same jacket she’d had on yesterday, when she’d gone into the woods with Ben.

  She unzipped it about halfway and stuck her hand inside, feeling at an interior coat pocket. The compass Ben had given her was safely tucked away, zipped into its own compartment.

  That made her feel more secure. No matter what happens, she thought, I should be able to find my way out if I get turned around.

  As she zipped up again, she turned and looked out across the snowy field, toward the woods. The moose was already heading up the distant ridge toward the upper tree line, moving at a steady clip.

  Candy snugged her jacket tighter around her and started after it at a brisk pace.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Once again, the woods closed in around her, though this time it felt different.

  Perhaps it was the presence of the moose, which, in some way, calmed her. She felt she could trust the animal, no matter what it was up to or where it was leading her. And she felt certain it wasn’t leading her into danger.

  Or perhaps she felt the way she did because she knew this was exactly what she should be doing, at exactly this time. She’d asked all the questions. The answers, she’d known instinctively for a while, were here, hidden in these woods. If she wanted to know what was going on, she would have to unravel its secrets.

  And who better to lead her into the secret heart of the woods than a white moose?

  There was something almost mythical—and mystical—about it, she decided as she followed the creature, her boots crunching in the hard snow. She stayed a safe distan
ce behind it, though she rarely let it out of her sight. It reminded her of a quest, perhaps one in which a misunderstood princess chased a sacred unicorn into the forbidden woods, beginning an adventure that would change her life.

  That sounded strangely pleasant, a little girl’s fantasies. But some fairy tales, Candy knew, had a darker side.

  She wondered how this one would turn out.

  Several times the moose stopped, turning its head first one way, then another, before proceeding on at its casual yet steady gait. It led her first northwest and then angled almost due west, she noted as she checked the compass. It was heading off toward the far back end of the farm’s acreage and onto adjoining land, some of it belonging to neighboring farms and some set aside for conservation.

  As many times as she’d been back here, it always seemed new and unexplored to her. On previous walks through these woods, she’d routinely picked out landmarks to help her determine her whereabouts, but the landmarks always seemed to change each time she passed through.

  A great, low-slung pine tree with layers of thick needled branches curving upward, like overturned umbrellas, would grab her eye one time, but try as hard as she might she’d never be able to find that tree again, as if it had moved on her or changed itself to become unrecognizable. Or a ridge would appear to face a different direction than she’d remembered, or a fallen tree trunk, rotted with age, would show up in a place completely unexpected, and she would gaze at it, wondering if it had been there and looked like that the last time she’d come through here.

  The icy layers of winter made it worse. Everything seemed to have changed. Everything looked different than before. Every once in a while she would see something she’d vaguely recognize, but she could never be quite sure.

  At several points she stopped to look back, wondering whether she’d be able to follow her footprints back out of the woods. For the most part, she thought she could. She knew the general direction of Blueberry Acres, at least during the early part of her journey, but once deep in the woods it was easy to become turned around.