Town in a Lobster Stew chm-2

by B. B. Haywood

  Ben had told her, quite politely, that he’d consider her recommendations, and then completely ignored them. Instead, he had run a correction in the next issue, but Wanda had not been appeased. From then on, she had taken it as her patriotic and community duty to scrutinize every word in the paper, particularly in Candy’s columns, and proceeded to let everyone know when she found even the slightest error. An e-mail or letter to the editor arrived at the Cape Crier’s office just about every week now, taking the paper to task for one issue or another, many of them unfounded, in Ben’s opinion. “She’s just picking at us. Don’t worry about it. Just ignore her,” was Ben’s simple solution.

  But Candy found it unnerving and soon feared to look through her mail and messages, worried that she’d find another accusing missive from Wanda. There had been some nights, after she’d received a particularly barbed message, when Candy lost sleep over it. But she was more concerned for the paper’s reputation than her own job.

  Ben, however, just shrugged off Candy’s concerns and Wanda’s rantings. “It comes with the territory,” he told her in his laid-back, somewhat disinterested tone. “If you’re a writer, sooner or later you’re gonna piss someone off. That’s just the way it is. You just have to get used to it. Don’t let it bother you so much.” He had laughed a little to himself. “Well, it helps to have a thick skin, I guess. And I’ve probably developed a pretty thick one over the years. But just remember this: mistakes happen. Our job is to do the best we can, minimize the errors, correct the ones we make, and move on to the next story.”

  And Candy had resolved to do just that. She worked hard to make sure the columns and feature articles she wrote were as accurate and as comprehensive as possible. At the same time, she began to realize that she was taking Wanda much too seriously. Finally, she decided to follow Ben’s advice, and simply started ignoring her.

  But it appeared she couldn’t ignore Wanda forever — not when the woman was standing right in front of her.

  “Well, isn’t that nice?” Charlotte said into the silence, seemingly unaware of the tension between the two. “Wanda, I was just telling Candy about your art and architecture educational project for middle schoolers this summer. She’s interested in writing about it for the paper. Perhaps you could take her upstairs and show her some of your research. It would be a wonderful way to promote the program — and be sure to give yourself some credit for all the hard work you’ve been doing.”

  “Yes,” Candy added, seeing an opportunity to offer a peace flag, and perhaps still get what she came for. “Charlotte was just telling me about some of the architects who’ve designed houses in town. It’d make a great story. I’d love to hear more about what you’ve been up to — if you’re not too busy, that is.” Her smile was more genuine this time.

  Wanda cast a dark look at Charlotte and an even more venomous one at Candy. Her lips were moving strangely, as if she wanted to spit a particularly caustic remark in Candy’s direction — perhaps something along the lines of, Not over my dead body, you cheap imitation of a community columnist! But she held back, apparently with great effort, for her face began to flush red, approaching the shade of her hair. She squared her shoulders as she straightened and took a long, deep breath, calming herself.

  “I’m not ready to show it to anyone just yet,” she said finally in an oddly hushed tone. “I still have a lot of work to do on it.”

  Charlotte’s gaze focused in on her. “Oh, well, Wanda, you’ll forgive me if I’m a little confused, because I was under the impression you were making good progress,” she said with a noticeable edge in her voice. “Didn’t you tell me just the other day you were nearly finished with it?”

  The museum director turned toward Candy, with an odd glint in her eyes. “Wanda is such a perfectionist,” she said in an attempt to be pleasant. “I don’t know how she does it! She has to have everything just perfectly right. I guess that’s why she’s put so much time into this latest project of hers. She’s been up in those archives for weeks!”

  There was no mistaking the veiled sarcasm in her words.

  “Really?” Candy eyed Wanda, intrigued. And just what have you been doing up in those archives for weeks, Wanda? she wanted to ask. Instead, she said, “I don’t mean to intrude on your work, but perhaps you could just show me... some of the preliminary research you’ve been doing. I’m particularly interested in any information you might have on John Patrick Mulroy. I’ve heard he’s designed several houses in town — and that he built secret hiding compartments in many of the homes he created.”

  She watched Wanda closely for any sign of a reaction, but Wanda stood stone-faced, giving nothing away. Her eyes, however, shifted back and forth after a few moments, as if she were contemplating her next move. Candy could practically hear the gears in her head whirring.

  The scowl that eventually emerged onto Wanda’s face was not a pleasant thing to behold. She apparently knew she’d been backed into a corner, and she seemed none too pleased about it. “If it’s that important, I guess I can show you. It’s the least I can do to help you get your facts straight.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Wanda,” Candy said with a mild air of triumph.

  Charlotte looked from one to the other, then to her watch. “Well, this is very exciting, isn’t it? I’m glad you two have a chance to talk, since it appears you’re both interested in the same thing. Candy, let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with. And I know Wanda will be a wonderful guide for you here at the historical society. She’s one of our most knowledgeable volunteers.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Candy said without a hint of sarcasm.

  Wanda gave her a nasty look, then, sensing she was being dismissed, stepped into the room, around Candy, and approached Charlotte’s desk. “Before we get to that,” she said, “I wanted to show you a couple of things.”

  She flourished the papers she held. “Those records of land deeds from the eighteenth century we were looking for? Here they are. They were buried in a cabinet with the register of voters. I think Edna put them there — she’s not always as cautious as she should be when she’s filing. And I found the original sketches of the opera house made by Horace Roberts Pruitt himself. I’ve been looking for those for more than a week. They include details of the widow’s walk.” Here she glanced at Candy before returning her gaze to Charlotte. “Those were stuck in with the cemetery records. Unfortunately some of our ladies working up there aren’t paying attention. You really need to do a better job training them. But I’ve managed to sort everything out.”

  Charlotte stiffened a bit when challenged directly by Wanda but otherwise kept her composure. “Well, thank you for your thoroughness, Wanda,” she said stiffly as her appraising eyes flicked across the documents Wanda had laid before her on the desk. “Yes, this is very helpful. It’s always important to keep our archives accurate and up-todate. Congratulations on the good work you’re doing up there.”

  “Yeah, well, someone has to do it,” Wanda said under her breath as she pulled out the folder from under her arm. “You might want to see these as well. I found them in a battered envelope that must have been sixty or seventy years old. They’re architectural notes from Charles Bulfinch himself. In his own handwriting.”

  “Oh my.” Charlotte looked truly impressed as she slid on her reading glasses and examined the papers Wanda handed her. “Well, isn’t that wonderful. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “It just takes hard work and determination,” Wanda said smugly as she looked Candy’s way again. “And a willingness to go the extra mile. I simply refuse to fail. Life’s too short to settle for second best.”

  “That is so true, isn’t it?” Charlotte said absently as she continued to examine the documents. Finally she looked up. “Well, thank you so much for showing these to me, Wanda. I’ll read them over later this afternoon.” She gathered the papers, clipped them together, and dropped them into the mahogany wood tray.

  Without another wo
rd, Wanda turned on her heels and headed back the way she had come, motioning with a hand for Candy to follow.

  She crossed the main display room, waving to Captain Mike as she went, and headed into another section of the Keeper’s Quarters, which housed additional exhibits, including displays on navigational equipment, log books, clocks, and uniforms. She turned through a doorway along the left wall marked ADDITIONAL EXHIBITS and headed up a narrow wooden staircase. Candy followed at a respectable distance.

  The staircase took them to the second floor of the Keeper’s Quarters, located under the building’s angled roofline. Here, two rooms were devoted to the museum — one a map room, the other displaying exhibits of the lightkeepers’ families and domestic life. Three other rooms farther back on the second floor housed part of the historical society’s archives.

  Wanda walked straight into one of the archive rooms. Candy followed her in curiously, surveying the place.

  Shelves and drawers occupied just about every spare space along the walls, while a long conference-style table with a number of captain-style chairs provided a place to sit and work. Wanda had obviously made herself comfortable. She’d set herself up at one end of the table, with notepads, her laptop, and a cup of coffee close at hand. Battered folders, aged documents, yellowed drawings, and black-and-white photographs were strewn across the tabletop. Sunlight angled in a small south-facing window. The place felt warm and welcoming.

  “What a nice cozy spot,” Candy observed.

  Wanda gave her a contemptuous look and crossed her arms. “Well, look who finally showed up at the historical society — our very own community columnist. I’m surprised you finally found the time to make it out here. I would think this would be one of the first stops a community columnist would make.”

  Candy made a wide-open gesture with her hands. “I’m here now.”

  “Yes, you are.” Wanda took a seat in one of the padded wooden chairs. “Now I just have to figure out what you’re up to.”

  Candy gave her a puzzled look. “I’m not quite sure what you mean by that.”

  “Don’t act so innocent. You know exactly what I mean.” She hardened her gaze on Candy. “I suppose you’ve been getting my e-mails and letters.”

  Candy nodded, trying to maintain a calm expression as her heart beat a little faster. “We’ve been getting them. And we’ve read every one of them. We appreciate your input.”

  Wanda snorted. “I’m sure you do. Lord knows you could use it, considering that operation you’ve got going on over there, working with your boyfriend and all.”

  “What?” Candy felt a jolt of anger shoot through her. She could think of several choice things to say, but instead she forced her emotions back down. This wasn’t the time for a confrontation with Wanda Boyle.

  “Look,” Candy said in as honest a tone as she could muster, “I know we got off on the wrong foot a while back, and I’m sorry about that. I know I left your son’s name out of the column, and I’m sorry about that too. I know you wanted the job as community correspondent, and I’m sorry it didn’t happen the way you wanted it to. But I’m not your — ”

  Wanda cut her off. “I know what you are,” she said haughtily, her eyes showing something other than anger. “You think you can just walk into this town and take it over. You think you can throw around your pretty looks and get whatever you want. I’ve been living in this town for more than thirty years, I’ll have you know. My husband was born in the next town over. I’m originally from New Hampshire. I’ve been a New Englander all my life, and I’ve seen your kind come and go. And let me tell you something, Miss Community Correspondent. You don’t impress me. Maybe you’ve solved a couple of mysteries around here, and maybe the people of Cape Willington are fooled by your perky attitude and your tight jeans, but I’m not. I know what you’re up to.”

  That took Candy aback. “What do you think I’m up to?”

  Wanda gave her a hard look. “Don’t be coy with me. You wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something from me. So what is it? Are you trying to horn in on my territory? Because if you are, you’ll lose. I’ll crush you. I’ll have you run out of town so fast you won’t know what happened — and your father too. I own this town. Just you remember that. And there’s no way you’re going to take it away from me!”

  Nine

  Candy was still shaking as she headed back to the parking lot. Her encounter with Wanda had not gone well, and she blamed herself for it. She’d walked right into the hornet’s nest Maggie had warned her about and got stung. She should have been more cautious. Next time, she vowed, she wouldn’t let herself get sideswiped like that.

  Wanda was a forceful person, no doubt about that. And Candy took her threats seriously — at least some of them. But she also wondered what motivated Wanda. Did she have such a deep need to feel accepted around town that she was willing to do anything she could to gain recognition — and threaten those who failed to buy into her carefully cultivated reputation as a wonderful human being, when in truth she was anything but?

  It was a question Candy didn’t have an answer for.

  One thing was certain — Wanda, at least for now, was the key suspect in the theft of Wilma Mae’s lobster stew recipe, especially given her research of John Patrick Mulroy. But Candy had been unable to determine if Wanda had actually stolen the recipe — not that she hadn’t tried.

  After Wanda’s initial threats, Candy had attempted to cool things off by steering the conversation back to more neutral ground. She was intrigued by Wanda’s research and wanted to find out what she knew about Mulroy and his tendency to build secret hiding places into the homes he designed. She also wanted to ask a few questions about Wanda’s brother, the carpenter. Was he the one who had worked on Wilma Mae’s shelving unit in the upstairs bedroom? That could be a critical piece of the puzzle.

  But Wanda had been frustratingly uncooperative. She sat back in her chair, crossed her arms, and glared at Candy, refusing to say anything about her research or anything else relating to the historical society. “You won’t get any information out of me,” she’d said. “If you want to know something, you’ll have to find out yourself.”

  Candy remained as polite as possible, asking about the architects who had designed some of the historical houses in town. In response, Wanda handed her a few brochures that explained the upcoming summer programs, but she was of no more help.

  Candy had been tempted to ask Wanda about her visits to Wilma Mae’s house. And she wanted to ask about Wanda’s involvement with the cook-off itself. But in the end, she thought she should leave well enough alone. So she had finally shaken her head and left.

  Downstairs, Charlotte had disappeared, and Captain Mike was engrossed in a mystery novel, so Candy headed out of the building without another word to anyone.

  As she started up the path toward the parking lot, she felt a strange itching on the back of her neck, as if someone were watching her. She turned quickly, eyes searching, but saw nothing suspicious, no one lurking behind her. Off to the right of the Keeper’s Quarters stood a maintenance shed, and inside she saw a large, burly man with sandy-colored hair, wearing a dark green shirt and jeans, fiddling with the engine of an industrial-size lawn mower. Her gaze shifted. She spotted a few tourists lingering around the tower, but they all seemed preoccupied, staring up at the lighthouse or out toward the deep blue sea.

  She looked up next, at the windows on the second floor of the Keeper’s Quarters, and thought she saw a white curtain swaying, as if someone had pulled it aside and had just let it fall back into place. But she saw nothing beyond the curtain other than dusty shadows.

  Is Wanda watching me? Or Charlotte?

  And if so, why? Do they have something to hide?

  As she’d discovered last summer, there were plenty of people around Cape Willington with secrets they desperately wanted to keep hidden.

  What kinds of secrets are hidden inside the lighthouse museum? she wondered. Or up in the historical society’s
archives?

  Deep in thought, she walked the rest of the way to the Jeep. Despite her clash with Wanda — or perhaps because of it — she sensed she was on the right track. The fact that Wanda was digging around the archives, researching John Patrick Mulroy and the homes he built, was an important discovery, she knew, and could indicate a definite link between Wanda and the missing recipe.

  I actually might be onto something, she thought as she reached the Jeep and pulled the keys from her purse.

  Before she climbed into the front seat, she pulled out her cell phone and keyed down through the list of calls she had recently received. When she found Wilma Mae’s number, she pushed the call button.

  The elderly woman picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Wilma Mae, it’s Candy Holliday.”

  “Oh, hello Candy dear. I didn’t expect your call so quickly. Have you found my recipe?”

  “No, not yet. But I’m working on it. And I have a quick question for you. When I was at your place this morning, you mentioned you had some work done on the shelving unit in the upstairs bedroom. You said you brought in a carpenter to do some repairs to the unit. Do you remember the carpenter’s name?”

  “Well, let me think. It was a local fellow, I can tell you that. A tall man. Fairly young. Good with his hands. But I’m embarrassed to say his name escapes me at the moment. Isn’t that funny? And we were just talking about him.”