Town in a Lobster Stew chm-2

by B. B. Haywood

She must have heard them as they approached, for she turned her head slightly their direction. She held a small bouquet of flowers in her hands and stood silently as they walked up to her.

  “Wilma Mae, here you are. We were worried about you,” Maggie said.

  “We’ve been looking all over town,” Candy added. “We were afraid you’d gotten yourself lost.”

  “Oh no, dear, I’m not lost,” said Wilma Mae softly. “I’ve been here the whole time. It’s Sunday afternoon. I always come out to visit my Milton on Sunday afternoons. It’s a tradition with us. He was expecting me.”

  “Well, that’s fine,” Candy said. “We just wish you would have told us where you were going.”

  “Oh, I know I should have,” said Wilma Mae with a soft clucking of her tongue, “and I am sorry for stealing your car, Maggie. I hope you’re not too mad at me. But I just wanted a few minutes alone with him.”

  Maggie patted the elderly woman on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Wilma Mae, I’m not mad. I understand completely.”

  “It’s just,” Wilma Mae continued, her chest welling, “well, things are changing, aren’t they? You see, even though Milton left me all those years ago, I’ve always had Mr. Sedley to keep me company. That made it easier for me, you know? Having someone like him around to talk to was, well, it was wonderful. Just wonderful. And I don’t know if I ever told him that — how special he was to me. And now that he’s gone too...” her voice trailed off. “Well, I feel so alone now.”

  She leaned forward and placed the flowers on her husband’s grave. “Now I guess I’ll have two graves to visit on Sunday afternoons, won’t I?”

  Candy and Maggie stood at her side as the wind calmed and Wilma Mae cried.

  Twenty-Seven

  Wilma Mae was in better spirits the following morning when Candy stopped by Maggie’s house around ten o’clock. They had agreed to go together to the Memorial Day Parade, which started at one.

  Cape Willington’s Memorial Day Parade was a town tradition dating back to the early 1940s, and had long been both a celebration of the beginning of the summer season as well as a solemn and patriotic event commemorating those who had served their country.

  From nine until one, the police blocked off Ocean Avenue for a townwide flea market, sponsored by the local American Legion post. Over the past few years, Finn had become involved in organizing the event, and he relied on Doc and the boys, as well as Marti and the ladies of the Women’s Auxiliary, to help him with the details.

  Candy had planned to make only a few brief appearances at the day’s events. She hoped to grab some quick quotes and jot down a few notes for her column, but her plan was to spend most of the afternoon at the farm, working on the gardens with Doc and writing her articles, which were due the following day. But he’d taken off early in the morning to help Finn with the flea market, telling Candy he’d catch up with her later in the day. Shortly after, Maggie had called to coax Candy into attending the parade with her and Wilma Mae.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” Maggie told her over the phone. “Just us three girls, out for the afternoon. Who knows, maybe we can pick up a few cute sailors.”

  Candy laughed. “Well, that does sound tempting. But in case you hadn’t noticed, most of the sailors around here are marching in the parade today and they’re pushing eighty.”

  “Hey, those senior citizens can boogie. Have you seen them at the VFW hall on Saturday night? And they’ll be out in droves today. It’ll be easy pickin’s for us girls. Besides, we need to cheer up Wilma Mae. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  Candy finally relented, and so just after ten in the morning, the three of them climbed into Candy’s Jeep and headed toward town.

  Wilma Mae had dressed for the occasion. She wore a navy blue knee-length dress with a red, white, and blue scarf tied around her neck for an accent. A large American flag broach and sensible walking shoes completed her ensemble.

  Maggie had opted for gray slacks, a sage green cotton sweater over a cream-colored blouse, and stylish loafers, while Candy wore her best blue jeans and a butter-colored fleece pullover. The weather had cooled off, with the warmer temperatures of the past few days retreating southward, allowing chillier Canadian air to filter in. Still, the weatherman had promised a shift in the wind later in the day and a gradual warming into the high sixties by late afternoon. A gentle breeze out of the northwest brought with it a bit of a late spring nip. Still, few Mainers who were out and about today would notice, since they were well accustomed to climate vagaries at this time of year and knew true summer would probably not arrive in its fullness until mid-June or later — if it arrived at all.

  Traffic was heavy as they turned onto the Loop. As they approached the center of town a policeman directed their vehicle toward a parking area located between the opera house and Town Park. They snatched one of the last spots, grabbed their purses, locked up the Jeep, and headed toward Ocean Avenue.

  They made a quick tour of the booths and grabbed some hot dogs at a cart set up just outside Town Park. As they settled onto a park bench to eat, Candy watched Wilma Mae and noticed a definite improvement in her demeanor. She was almost chipper today, quipping away with Maggie about knickknacks they’d seen at the flea market and a small silver broach she’d bought at one of the tables. The elderly woman even smiled once or twice. Candy admired her ability to recover so quickly from the gruesome death of her longtime friend and onetime lover.

  Abruptly, Wilma Mae turned. “Oh look, here comes that nice baker man,” she said, straightening her back and folding her hands neatly in her lap as Herr Georg walked up to them.

  “Ahh, ladies, hello, hello! How are all of you on this fine New England day?”

  They spent the next ten minutes chatting with Herr Georg, who regaled them with stories of his latest creations, including a wedding cake he was baking for a wealthy family up from Rhode Island. “Eight tiers!” Herr Georg explained. “It will tower over the wedding party at the reception. It just may be my greatest creation yet!”

  After Herr Georg bid them an adieu and walked on, Wilma Mae leaned in close to Candy. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

  “Who, Herr Georg? Well, yes, I suppose so.”

  “His moustache is particularly elegant,” Wilma Mae said. “Do you know if he’s married?”

  “What?” Candy was surprised by Wilma Mae’s questions. “Well, no, I don’t think so. I mean, no, he isn’t.”

  Wilma Mae clucked her tongue. “A nice man like that, living alone. Such a shame.”

  They were just starting back up Ocean Avenue toward Main Street when Candy’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse and checked the readout, then flipped the phone open and held it up to her ear. “Hi, Dad. What’s up?”

  “Candy,” he said, an urgency in his voice. “Where are you?”

  She told him.

  “I’m over at the diner with the boys,” he said. “You’d better get up here right away. Something big is happening. You need to hear this.”

  Suddenly she felt very worried. “What’s going on, Dad?”

  “I don’t know if I should say anything over the phone.” His voice had fallen to a whisper.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. No one’s listening on our line. Just say it.”

  “Well...” He seemed to think it over, then said secretively, “Finn just got word. There’s been a huge discovery, and the police are trying to keep it all hushed up for the moment, but it’s about to break all over town.”

  “Dad.” Candy had stopped along the sidewalk, and Maggie and Wilma Mae were staring at her with questioning looks on their face. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s Charlotte Depew,” Doc said finally. “She’s been murdered.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Juanita Perez set a steaming cup of hot coffee and a thick slice of fresh-baked apple pie down in front of Candy. “This one’s on the house,” she said quietly, leaning in toward her. “Just let me know if you need anything
else.”

  She winked, patted Candy on the shoulder, and turned away, practically floating on air as she set off to tend to her other customers.

  “Hey, where’d that come from? How’d you rate that?” Doc asked hungrily, nudging her in the side. He was sitting beside her in the corner booth at Duffy’s Main Street Diner. Wilma Mae and Maggie had squeezed into the booth on the opposite side, next to Artie and Bumpy. Finn was off in a corner by the counter, talking quietly to someone on his cell phone.

  Mystified, Candy shook her head, staring down at the cup of coffee and the slice of pie on the table before her. “I really don’t know, Dad. I haven’t ordered anything yet.”

  “It’s simple,” Bumpy told her as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You were a judge at the cook-off. She’s letting you know she’s grateful she won.”

  “Well, yes, but I wasn’t the only one who made the final decision. And I certainly didn’t expect a free cup of coffee.”

  Artie grinned at her. “Hey, enjoy it. It’s probably not your last one. Who knows — maybe there is such a thing as a free lunch.”

  He elbowed Bumpy, who gave Candy a wink as Finn walked over to their table, slapping shut his cell phone. “They’re keeping it low-key until today’s events are over,” he informed everyone at the table in a quiet voice meant just for them, “but they’re moving quickly on it. The crime van’s already at the scene.”

  “Where did it happen?” Doc asked.

  “Upriver. It’s that picnic area about a mile or two from town, with the boat dock.”

  “Oh yeah, I know the place,” Artie said. “There’s good fishing from that dock.”

  “Yeah, been there a few times myself.” Finn scratched his head. “Caught a pretty-good-sized striped bass there last year. Anyway, some fisherman almost tripped over her body this morning just after dawn. Apparently he thought it was a dead animal at first. Got quite a shock when he realized what it was. According to early reports, she’d been dead several hours.”

  “So it happened sometime overnight,” Doc said thoughtfully.

  Candy scrunched up her face. “What was she doing out there in the middle of the night?”

  Finn shrugged. “That’s what they’re trying to figure out.”

  “Meeting someone,” Bumpy surmised.

  “Makes sense,” Artie added. “A midnight rendezvous. They argued. Things got out of control. It happens, you know.”

  “I know,” Candy said, remembering a similar incident up at Mount Desert Island the previous year.

  “A crime of passion, huh?” Finn considered that. “Could be.”

  “Except,” Candy said, “she just doesn’t seem like the outdoorsy, midnight-rendezvous type. I had her pegged for a more cerebral, museum-loving, wine-and-cheese, sitting-in-front-of-the-fireplace-reading-a-good-book type.”

  “Sometimes love knows no bounds.” Wilma Mae spoke up in a high, clear voice, surprising all of them. “If she found someone she fell for, she would follow him wherever he went, to the highest mountain or the lowest valley, or even to a riverbank. I’ve found love in the strangest of places.”

  Everyone sitting around the table fell silent for a moment. It was, Candy thought as she glanced at the faces around her, a somewhat awkward silence. Obviously the conversation had taken a turn the boys were unaccustomed to, and they didn’t know how to respond.

  Candy decided it was up to her to get the conversation moving again. And she knew just how to do it. For better or worse, it was time to reveal a few cards in her hand.

  She cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose it’s possible she was there for some romantic rendezvous. Or,” she said, trying not to sound too ominous, “maybe she was just involved in something she shouldn’t have been involved in.”

  Now that caught everyone’s attention, she thought, slightly amused, as all heads turned in her direction. Maggie’s head had tilted quizzically, while Finn’s expression was stern and Doc’s was concerned. But Bumpy was grinning. “Ooh. Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re not hiding something from us, are you?” Finn added suspiciously. “Remember, we’ve had two murders in this town in the past few days. If you’ve got something to say, you’d better tell us.”

  “And you’ve got to go to the police,” Artie added, looking nervous.

  “I know all that,” Candy said, “and yes, I am going to go to the police.”

  “Today,” Doc said, emphasizing the word.

  Candy turned to him. “Yes, Dad, today. I promise.”

  “They’ve got a lot going on right now,” Finn said, “but I’ve got a number you can call.”

  Candy thought about it a moment, then nodded, and Finn and the boys dug in their pockets to find a piece of paper he could write on. Artie turned up a business card he didn’t need, so Finn scratched a number on the back of that. He handed the card to Candy.

  “So,” he said, “before you give them a call, anything you’d care to share with us?” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Does this have anything to do with that Cinnamon Girl character — the person you met up with yesterday at the opera house?”

  “It does.”

  “Who’s Cinnamon Girl?” Doc asked.

  Finn ignored him, his eyes holding steady on Candy. “Did she give you a few clues?”

  “She did.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Come to think of it, you never did tell me who Cinnamon Girl was.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she agreed, and found herself strangely hesitant to share her information with him. Why is that? she wondered curiously. Could it be that I really do enjoy detective work, and I want to solve this mystery all by myself?

  She had to admit, there was some truth to that. Then she reminded herself that two people were dead, and this was no time for games. Lives were at stake.

  “It’s Wanda Boyle,” she finally said out loud, before she could change her mind.

  That revelation drew gasps from around the table, but Wilma Mae’s was the loudest. “You met with that horrid woman?”

  Candy looked around at the elderly woman. “Yes, I did — twice in fact. But yesterday’s meeting was the most recent.” And, briefly, she told everyone at the table about her meeting with Wanda at the opera house the previous day, although she left out certain parts, including a few small details concerning Charlotte Depew. She’d decided to save those tidbits for the police.

  “I didn’t know who she was at first,” she added, referring to Cinnamon Girl. “She sent me an anonymous e-mail. I could have been meeting up with just about anyone.”

  “You went alone?” Doc asked, concerned.

  “No. Finn backed me up.”

  “Finn!” The word erupted from several mouths at once, as all eyes turned toward the retired cop.

  He sat stoically with his arms crossed, looking from one to the other. “Well, someone had to do it,” he said finally. “I couldn’t let her go in there alone.”

  Artie leveled a long finger at him. “You been holding out on us,” he accused.

  Doc studied both his daughter and Finn with an appraising eye. “It seems they’ve both been holding out on us.”

  “It’s like it’s a conspiracy or something,” Bumpy said in a hushed voice, and after a moment they all smiled, breaking the small amount of tension that had built around the table. They were, after all, friends, which trumped everything else.

  “So what does Wanda Boyle have to do with all this?” Doc asked after a few moments, bringing the conversation back on track.

  Wilma Mae put a hand on the table and leaned toward Candy. “Did she steal my recipe?” the elderly woman asked.

  Candy shook her head. “I don’t think so.” But before she could say anything else, her cell phone rang. She checked the number but didn’t recognize it. Turning away from the others momentarily, she flipped open the phone. “Hello.”

  “Is this Candy Holliday?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?” She had to stick a
finger in her other ear, as Doc and the boys were chattering again, discussing the latest developments.

  “It’s Captain Mike,” the voice at the other end of the line said. “You remember me?”

  “Yes, of course. From the museum.” As she spoke, she rose and walked away from the booth, to a quieter spot at the rear of the diner.

  “That’s right. I work there Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. And sometimes Sundays. I saw you come in the other day.”

  “Yes, I remember meeting you,” Candy said.

  “Well, I want to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

  “Get here? Where am I going?”

  “I’m over at the Rusty Moose Tavern. You know where that’s at?”

  “Sure, Doc and the boys go there all the time. I’m just around the corner at the diner.”

  “Well, this time,” Captain Mike said, “tell Doc and the boys to stay right where they are and have another round of donuts and coffee. I want to talk to you only. In private. I’ll be in the back booth. How soon can you get here?”

  Twenty-Nine

  Deep in thought, Candy keyed off the phone and turned slightly, so she could eye the corner booth at Duffy’s. Doc and the boys were still giving Finn a hard time, though he seemed to be taking it fairly easily, while Wilma Mae was watching her intently. Obviously she had more questions for Candy. But they’d have to wait.

  With Doc and the boys so riled up, she knew she’d have a tough time slipping away from them. It’d be best if she could get away unnoticed. But how?

  Maybe Maggie can help, Candy thought as she stepped back to the table.

  As she approached the booth, she walked past Doc to the other side of the table and batted a hand at Maggie’s shoulder. “Scoot over, would you?”

  Maggie gave her a curious look. “Hello, stranger. I thought you were sitting over there.”

  “I was. I’m sitting over here now.”

  “And why is that?”