He removed his fake teeth. “I went as Mark Twain to that particular event. I modified the costume a little for this weekend’s impersonation. Do you think it worked?”
When his disguise was fully removed, she saw a man in his early forties, with thick brown hair, an aristocratic nose, a rugged face, and piercing blue eyes. He gave her a devious smile. “It’s good to finally meet you for real, Candy. My name is Porter Sykes.”
FORTY-NINE
“We don’t have much time,” he said, “but I wanted to let you know what was going on before I left town.”
“Left town?” Candy gave him a hard look. “They’re going to arrest you and throw you in prison. If you’re lucky, maybe you can arrange for a family reunion.”
The man formerly known as Preston Smith, but now revealed to be Porter Sykes, chuckled as he pulled a large plastic storage bag from a coat pocket, slipped the wig and other components of his disguise inside, zipped it closed, and slid it away again. “I’m afraid that won’t be the case.”
“And why not? What’s to prevent me from yelling for Ben right now and calling the police?”
“Frankly, nothing at all. But I don’t think you will.”
“And why not?” Candy asked.
“Because right now you’re too curious to hear what I have to say. You’re wondering what my angle is—what I want. And you’re trying to figure out why I would go to all this trouble.”
Candy had to admit, he was right. The extent of all he’d done was impressive. She had to think it through for a few moments, until she finally looked at him with grudging respect. “It was all a lie, wasn’t it? There is no I.C.I.C.L.E., is there?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Porter said.
“No sponsorship program, no spokesperson, no international event that would have put our town on the map, no huge economic windfall from this wonderful ice-carving competition of yours.”
He shook his head.
“But why?” Candy asked, astounded by the scope of it all. “Why go to these lengths?”
At the question, Porter Sykes shrugged. “I have my reasons. But for now, let’s just say I wanted to stir things up—to get to know some of the people around town without them knowing who I was, and to see how they behaved under pressure.”
A shadow crossed Candy’s face. “This isn’t a game. People have died.”
“Yes, well, that sort of thing happens when you’re playing the big game. It was unexpected, I’ll admit, but I was able to take advantage of it. And it worked out quite well. You see, Victor was starting to get suspicious of me. I’d tried the Preston Smith act on some of the sculptors—Victor and Gina, especially. Felicia’s too perceptive—I knew she’d see through the disguise quickly enough, so I tended to avoid her, as well as Ben. I’m sure you can understand why. As for Liam, he’s a liar and a cheat. I have to admit, it was somewhat satisfying to see him in cuffs, even if it was just for a short while. And as for Duncan, well, he’ll gain some notoriety out of it, which might give his career a boost.”
Candy crossed her arms, reluctantly impressed by the way he’d set things up. And there was more, she suspected. She was beginning to see all the links. “You’re the one who sent that text message to Gina, telling her where to find Victor and Felicia.”
“She was oblivious about what was going on,” Porter said. “She needed a nudge.”
“And,” Candy said, “you were the one who put that hatchet in Victor’s back.”
Porter let out a sigh. “I picked that motel strictly for its reputation. I didn’t figure any of the ice carvers would stay there. So I was surprised to see Victor and Felicia driving by one night, headed for one of the back rooms. I texted Gina, and kept an eye on them. But once Gina arrived, no one left—until dawn. That’s when they took the body out. I followed, of course, and when I saw where they dumped it, I sensed an opportunity. Liam’s worked for me a few times down in Boston. He kept showing off that hatchet of his, and I got so tired of hearing about it that I took it from him at an event we both happened to attend.”
“You stole it,” Candy corrected.
“I had every intention of just getting rid of it, but I couldn’t help thinking that there might be a better purpose for it. So I brought it along with me when I came to Maine. And wouldn’t you know…”
“So you went back out to the body, taking Liam’s hatchet, and plunged it into Victor’s body.”
Porter’s face grew still. “He was already cold, and stiffening. I cleaned up my tracks—and Gina’s and Felicia’s. I’m not really sure what I planned to do about the body. Leave it there and let someone discover it in the spring? Perhaps it would never have been found—but it worked out for the best, didn’t it?”
“And now you’ll go to prison.”
Porter laughed and shook his head again. “You’re not seeing the reality here, Candy. I certainly won’t be going to prison. And you won’t tell anyone about what you’ve learned here today.”
Candy felt a cold shiver deep inside her. “And why not, Porter?”
“Because I haven’t done anything. Because I was never here—Preston was, but he’s a ghost. And because if you tell anyone about me, no one will believe you.”
Candy’s anger flared. “You were involved in at least two murders that I know of, including Victor Templeton’s,” she said, “and I can prove that.”
Porter Sykes sighed. “You could try, but you’d lose. I won’t go into the details here. There’s just not enough time. But trust me—I’ve taken great care to cover all my tracks. None of the clues can be traced to me, and all of the online evidence has already been erased. You’ll find only residual references to Whitefield or I.C.I.C.L.E., and those will be only ghosts. Just so you know, I’ve technically been in Boston all weekend. I attended a fundraiser this morning and will be at another tomorrow. There’s no trace of me up here. And besides, I’m sure you’re aware that I own your newspaper. It’s part of my family’s holdings. As such, both you and Ben work for me. You wouldn’t want me to shut down your own paper, would you? You wouldn’t want Wanda Boyle to become the sole news reporter in town? You wouldn’t want Ben to leave town for another job, and lose that extra income for yourself and Doc?”
Candy was stunned. “What are you saying?”
Porter’s tone suddenly turned very serious. “Here’s what I’m saying. I’m putting Cape Willington on notice. It’s time for all of you to pay up for past transgressions. So I’m letting you and a few others know. Call it a simple courtesy, but do not be mistaken. For too long my family has been disgraced by the people of this town. Those days are over. And I just wanted you to know it so you could have a front-row seat as you watch it happen.” He gave her a dark grin.
“But why?
He turned and looked out the window then, and checked his watch. “Our time is up. You should leave the building now. It’s not safe here.”
He tossed the black key to her, then turned and started to walk away, but Candy called after him: “What did your brother take from the journal that night at the lighthouse?”
She was referring to an incident that had occurred the last time she’d encountered a member of the Sykes family. And that one had been strangely similar to this.
Porter stopped and turned back to her. “It’s what we’re all looking for,” he said enigmatically. “Even Ben. Why don’t you ask him about it?”
And with that, Porter Sykes disappeared into the shadows of the house.
FIFTY
A little more than a week later, on a Monday morning, the last day of January, Candy Holliday sat at the kitchen table, paging through seed catalogs and sipping a cup of hot tea. Every once in a while, as she flipped a page or after she’d focused in on a particularly interesting description of a zucchini or a pumpkin, she’d shift her gaze out the window, toward the blueberry fields and the woods behind the house.
There had been no arrest of Porter Sykes—or someone known as Preston Smith, for that matter. There ha
d been no word from him since she’d last seen him out at Whitefield. The Sykes mansion itself had been in the news this past week, however. Apparently some kids had broken in and started a fire to warm themselves, but things got out of hand. The fire spread to some rags and debris nearby, and soon the whole place was ablaze, quickly burning down to the ground. The fire department arrived too late to save the old mansion, but it wasn’t much of a loss, most around town agreed. The place had fallen into disrepair years ago. The following day, the Sykes family of Boston issued a statement saying they were putting the property up for sale.
Ben had shared some of his research of the Sykes and Pruitt families with her. She’d told Doc a little bit about it, and he’d done some digging in the historical society’s archives. He’d come up with an interesting old newspaper clipping from the Bangor paper, with a press date in the mid-1960s.
“It’s about a historian from Orono who was researching local family histories,” Doc told her as he handed it to her. “This historian, a man by the name of Decker, promoted the fact that Gideon Sykes, the father of Porter and his siblings, and the husband of Daisy Porter-Sykes, had committed suicide in that old mansion. His theory was that after Gideon had taken his own life, there had been a huge cover-up, and this Decker fellow suspected it had something to do with the old man’s insurance money—a sizable payout, by the way.”
Candy had read the rest of the clipping and handed it back to Doc. “Bury it somewhere,” she told him.
Toward the bottom of the article, she’d read that the historian named Decker had died a few weeks later, under mysterious, still-undetermined circumstances.
For now, she thought, it was best to keep that information under wraps.
For the past week she had struggled with the question of what to do about Porter and the information he’d told her. It had kept her awake nearly every night since, and had just about driven her crazy. She’d nearly spilled the beans to Doc several times, desperate for his advice. She’d avoided seeing Maggie, knowing it was next to impossible to keep anything from her friend. And she had resisted talking to Ben until she could sort out what to do and what to tell him.
The good news was that Doc barely noticed her internal agony. He was back at work on his book, and there were evenings when he brought home armloads of them from the library and historical society. He’d even made a trip to the university library up at Orono, which gave him a chance to catch up with some old friends, lifting his spirits.
Speaking of spirits, she had seen the white moose only one other time, a few nights ago from her bedroom window, as the moon drifted lazily in its arc across the sky, casting its white glow upon the frozen blueberry fields. The moose had stood in the shadows of the distant trees for the longest time, watching the house, and she had watched back, until finally her eyelids had grown heavy and she’d gone to bed.
Now she looked out at the fields and shrugged. In another few weeks winter would begin to loosen its grip on the landscape. They’d still have a storm or two in early March, usually sometime around the eighth of the month, but the cold season was coming to an end, and then the wondrous rebirth would begin.
Candy Holliday sighed deeply in anticipation and turned back to her catalogs. Spring was coming, and she had a garden to plan.
EPILOGUE
Ben slammed the book closed and tossed it roughly on a nearby table, which itself was laden with numerous historical works and archival manuscripts. He’d been going through the material for weeks now, searching for the one clue that would tell him what was really going on and give him some insight into the murders that had been occurring around town. His gut told him there was a pattern, a reason it was all happening, but if one existed, he still could not see it.
His search would go on, though. He was determined to find out why the Sykes family had targeted Cape Willington and what their ultimate goal was.
As his gaze scanned the desktop, he caught sight of the letter, stuffed into a cubbyhole off to one side. It was the third one he’d received in as many months. But it had been no less confounding than the first two. There had been only a couple of lines:
There’s danger for you and your girlfriend if you stay, it said. Get out while you can.
It was unsigned, but he had a good idea who it had come from. There had been no specific threats yet, in any of the letters—nothing he could take to the police. But even if there had been—or might be in the future—he wasn’t sure he would. This wasn’t a matter for the police to sort out. This was his mystery. And he would pursue it himself.
He’d thought of telling Candy several times about what he was doing, bringing her deeper into his theories and fears. But he didn’t want to worry her right now. Besides, after all that had happened to her over the past two years, he didn’t want to burden her with the knowledge that this could just be the beginning.
He let out a deep breath, got up to put another log on the fire, and returned to his desk.
Just another book or two, he told himself, and then he’d give up for the night.
RECIPES
Sandy’s Favorite Whoopie Pies
Whoopie pies are now the official Maine treat. These are small whoopie pies, about four bites per pie, and not as sweet as most. You’ll want to make a double batch—they’re that good!
For the cake, cream together
5 tablespoons cocoa powder
6 tablespoons Crisco or other shortening
1 cup sugar
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
Add
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
1 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
Mix together.
Drop by tablespoonfuls onto a cookie sheet.
Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. Place cookie sheet on wire rack and let cakes cool completely.
For the filling, cook in a medium saucepan to a paste consistency
1/2 cup milk
2 tablespoons flour
Add:
1/4 cup Crisco or other shortening
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
Beat until smooth with an electric mixer or by hand until creamy.
Refrigerate the filling until cool.
Spread the filling on half of the cakes. Top with the remaining cakes.
Wrap individually with waxed paper and keep refrigerated.
Don’t worry about how long they keep, because after a couple of days there won’t be any left!
Melody’s Chocolate Mousse
6 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped, or chocolate chips
1 ounce unsweetened chocolate, chopped
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup confectioners’ sugar
In a small saucepan, combine the semisweet and unsweetened chocolates with the milk.
Stir over low heat until melted.
Add the vanilla.
Turn off the heat and let stand until cool to the touch.
In bowl, beat the cream and the sugar with a mixer until stiff peaks form.
Add some of the chocolate mixture to the cream mixture and fold together using a wire whisk.
Add the remaining chocolate and fold in until it is all combined.
Spoon the moose into 6 serving dishes and refrigerate until ready to serve.
This delectable dessert is served daily at Melody’s Café!d
Marjorie Coffin’s White Moose Hot Cocoa
Combine in a small saucepan:
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Blend in 1/3 cup hot water.
Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring constantly.
Boil and stir for 2 minutes.
Add 4 cups milk.
Stir and heat. Do not boil.
Remove from heat.
Add 3
/4 teaspoon vanilla extract.
Stir with a whisk until foamy.
Pour into mugs and sprinkle with white chocolate chips.
Nanna Tibbetts’s Moose Mincemeat
Use given amounts if making mincemeat preserves. Halve the amounts if using for pie filling.
3 to 4 pounds moose meat (you can substitute venison or beef)
3 to 4 pounds apples, cored, peeled, and chopped
1 pound of suet (you can substitute Crisco)
2 1/2 cups sugar
1 1/2 pounds raisins
2 1/2 cups strong coffee
2 teaspoons nutmeg
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon cloves
Chop moose meat after cooking.
In a large Dutch oven, combine the meat, chopped apples, and suet (or Crisco).
Stir in remaining ingredients, varying the spices.
Simmer for 1 hour, stirring occasionally.
For moose mincemeat pie, use as a filling in any piecrust.
To preserve, pack hot into pint-size canning jars. Process pints for 20 minutes at 10 pounds pressure in a pressure cooker or for 1 1/2 hours in a boiling-water-bath canner.
Nanna Tibbetts’s Moose Mincemeat Cookies
1 cup shortening
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup honey
3 eggs, well beaten
3 1/4 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup chopped nuts
1 cup moose mincemeat, drained
In a large bowl, cream the shortening.
Beat in the vanilla, honey, and eggs.
In a separate bowl, sift together flour, salt, and baking soda.
Add dry ingredients to the egg mixture.
Fold in nuts and mincemeat.
Drop by teaspoonfuls on a buttered cookie sheet.
Town in a Wild Moose Chase Page 28
