Town In a Lobster Stew

by B. B. Haywood

“They left you alone?”

  “We told them to go ahead.”

  “You and Wilma Mae didn’t go along?”

  Maggie lowered her voice over the phone. “We talked about it. Wilma Mae wanted to watch the ceremony out at the cemetery. But we’re getting a little . . . tired. I’m thinking maybe we should take her home.”

  Candy put a hand to her forehead. She’d been so busy, she hadn’t considered how Wilma Mae must be feeling, what with all that had happened in her life lately. “You’re right. The poor thing’s been through a lot. Okay, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  She keyed off the phone and was just about to close it when she noticed an alert telling her she had a new text message. Curious, she thumbed through the menus and read the subject line on the top message.

  It was from an unidentified number.

  She pressed the middle button, displaying the message:

  Hi there cinnamon girl again we have to talk your place two thirty be there you want to see this.

  Candy’s mouth tightened.

  Cinnamon Girl. Wanda.

  Candy read the message again, her eyes lingering on the last few words: you want to see this.

  See what? Had Wanda found the ledger?

  Candy checked the time on her phone. It was a few minutes before two o’clock. She flipped the phone closed and slid it into the front pocket of her jeans. If she wanted to make it back to her place in time to meet Wanda, she’d have to hurry.

  Now that the parade had passed, Ocean Avenue was jammed with people hurrying off in every direction as the first cars allowed back onto the road started inching their way up along the Loop. She could hear the sounds of the band and sirens fading into the distance as the parade marched northwest toward Stone Hill Cemetery.

  She quickened her pace, but immediately the dispersing crowd slowed her up, making her move in starts and stops. At this pace I’ll never make it home in time to meet Wanda, she thought.

  On a sudden impulse she reached into her pocket for the phone and called Maggie again. “Can you meet me at the Jeep? I have to hurry.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I’ll tell you in the car.”

  A short time later, feeling a bit bedraggled after rushing about and fighting her way through the crowds, she saw Maggie standing beside the Jeep, and waved.

  “Who’s your hairdresser?” her best friend asked as she walked up.

  Candy gave her a half smile. “Why?”

  Maggie discreetly indicated her hair. “You might want to make an appointment.”

  Candy’s hand instantly went to her hair. “Does it look that bad?” she asked in an exaggerated whisper.

  “Nothing a good comb-through won’t fix.” Maggie reached up to brush back several loose strands of Candy’s hair and arrange it a bit. “There, that helps. Oh, here. You probably need this.” She handed over Candy’s purse, which she’d been carrying. “I found your keys and opened it up. I hope that’s okay.”

  She pointed through the window. Wilma Mae was sitting in the backseat, wrapped in a shawl. When she saw Candy, the elderly woman waved with her fingers and smiled weakly.

  Candy opened the driver’s-side door and climbed in. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s hanging in there. Aren’t you, Wilma Mae?” Maggie flashed a wave at the elderly woman as she scooted around the front of the Jeep and climbed into the passenger seat. “We had fun with the boys, but then they took off and left us girls sitting in the booth alone, so we sort of watched the parade from there.” She looked over at Candy as she snapped her seat belt closed. “So, it sounds like you’ve been busy.”

  “I have, and I found out some interesting things.”

  “Like what?”

  Candy started up the Jeep, checked the rearview mirror, and looked behind her as she backed out. “Like Wanda was trying to get Charlotte fired.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup, and I got some interesting news from Oliver about the cook-off and that stew Wilma Mae tasted.”

  “My, my.”

  “And, oh yeah, Captain Mike’s watching my back.”

  Maggie laughed. “Captain Mike? That old geezer?”

  “The very one. If I’m ever in trouble, and you need to get help, he’s definitely the one you should call.” And as they sat in a long line of cars waiting to exit the parking lot, Candy told Maggie everything she’d found out about Charlotte and Wanda and the contestants’ sheet on Robbie’s clipboard and the mysteriously mobile bowl of lobster stew that had somehow showed up in front of Wilma Mae.

  “Who could have put it there?” Maggie asked.

  “I can think of several people right off the bat.” Candy flicked on her signal and finally made a left-hand turn out of the parking lot onto the Loop, aided by a uniformed police officer, who held the traffic back for them. Maggie waved politely at the nice officer. “Like Robbie Bridges.”

  “Or Roger Sykes.”

  “Yup, there’s him. Alby could have done it too, I suppose. Even Wanda, though I don’t recall seeing her around the judges’ table. Or maybe there’s someone else we don’t know about yet.”

  “Of course, that’s the stew Wilma Mae ate,” Maggie said softly, turning around and giving the elderly woman a smile. But Wilma Mae was staring out the window in silence. She seemed oblivious to their conversation.

  “Of course.” Candy glanced down at her watch again. It was nearly two twenty. She had to be back at the farm in less than ten minutes to meet Cinnamon Girl, alias Wanda, and they were still stuck in postparade traffic.

  “So this mystery stew just happens to show up right in front of her? Doesn’t that sound awfully suspicious to you?”

  “It does.”

  Maggie leaned close and lowered her voice. “Do you think someone put it there on purpose, so Wilma Mae would see it?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I can’t see where there’s anything to be gained by it. Unless . . .” Candy’s voice trailed off as a sudden thought came to her.

  “Unless what?”

  Candy glanced back over her shoulder, then said in a whisper only Maggie could hear, “Unless someone wanted to get rid of Wilma Mae. Maybe someone didn’t want her judging the cook-off. And they figured the best way to disrupt things was to put that stew in front of her and create a ruckus.”

  “I guess it worked, didn’t it?”

  “It certainly did.”

  The traffic thickened as the minutes ticked by all too quickly, and Candy soon realized there wasn’t enough time to take Maggie and Wilma Mae back to Maggie’s home in Fowler’s Corner and still make it to the farm by two thirty to catch Wanda.

  So at the intersection of River Road, Candy flicked on her signal again and turned left instead of right. “I know you’re going to hate this,” she told Maggie, “but you’re going to have to indulge me on something.”

  “What’s that? We’re not going home?”

  “We’re going to Blueberry Acres. I have to meet someone at the farm at two thirty, and I’m late. So you’ll just have to come along for the ride, okay?”

  “Well, sure, but . . . who are you meeting?”

  Candy looked as apologetic as possible, as if she were delivering some really bad news. “It’s Wanda Boyle.”

  Maggie’s shocked expression and silence told her everything she needed to know, but the situation couldn’t be helped.

  Ten minutes later they turned into the long dirt driveway that led to the farm. As Candy drove toward the house, she spotted Wanda’s SUV parked in front of the barn.

  She pulled the Jeep to a halt beside Wanda’s vehicle and turned toward her friend. “Look, you don’t even have to get out of the car,” she told Maggie. “Just sit tight and let me talk to her.”

  “What about Wilma Mae?”

  Candy looked around. The elderly woman was nodding off. “On second tho
ught, maybe you should take her inside and let her lie down.” She handed the keys to Maggie. “As soon as I’m done here we’ll take her back to your place.”

  “Well, okay.” Maggie sounded uncertain as she looked over. “Just be careful. Whatever you do, don’t turn your back on her. I don’t trust her.”

  “Neither do I,” Candy said as she opened the driver’s-side door and climbed out.

  She found Wanda behind the barn looking at the chickens.

  “Hello, Wanda,” Candy said as she walked up behind her nemesis.

  Wanda turned, surveying her imperiously. “You’re late.”

  “I got stuck in traffic.”

  “I was just about to leave.”

  “Well, I’m here now. So what’s this all about?”

  Wanda stood with her body tense and her lips tightly pursed, displaying her disapproval at having been kept waiting. When she thought she had sufficiently communicated that fact, she nodded just slightly. “I’ll show you. It’s in the SUV.”

  Together they started around the side of the barn. Wanda walked just a little ahead of Candy, taking determined steps, as if she were a prizefighter about to enter the ring. She came around the end of the barn at full steam, crossed the driveway toward her vehicle, and practically walked right into Maggie, who was coming around the side of the Jeep.

  Both women froze in their tracks. After a few moments, their heads dropped and they took aggressive stances, like two stags on a mountaintop squaring off, antlers lowered. Candy could practically see the steam coming out of their nostrils.

  “What are you doing here?” Wanda growled.

  “I was invited,” Maggie responded roughly, giving no ground.

  “This is a private meeting,” Wanda insisted.

  “Fine by me. I want nothing to do with it, or with you. I just have to get Wilma Mae in the house. She’s worn out.”

  “Wilma Mae?” Wanda’s head swung toward the Jeep. She spotted the elderly woman sitting in the backseat.

  At the same time, Wilma Mae saw Wanda. Her eyes grew wide with fright as she recalled the times Wanda had come to her house, demanding to see Mr. Sedley’s recipe.

  Seeing her reaction, Maggie opened the rear door and spoke softly to Wilma Mae, motioning for her to step out. But the elderly woman refused, clutching her purse tightly and shaking her head in fear.

  “What’s wrong?” Maggie asked.

  Wilma Mae could only shake her head and point.

  Maggie spun on Wanda. “See what you’ve done? Now you’ve scared her.”

  Wanda took a step forward, but before she could say anything, Candy interceded. “Wanda, what did you want to show me? Let’s get this over with.”

  It took a few moments for Wanda to register the words, but finally she wheeled away. “Fine,” she huffed.

  She crossed to her vehicle, opened the back door, and pulled out a large manila envelope, which she held tightly. It was clear she had no intention of handing it over to Candy just yet. “Is there someplace we can look at this . . . in private?”

  Candy and Maggie exchanged a brief, knowing look before Candy waved her hand. “Come on, we can talk in Doc’s office.”

  Taking the keys back from Maggie, she walked to the house and unlocked the door. She walked through first, with Wanda right behind her. As she entered the kitchen, Candy took a quick glance at the Jeep and saw that Maggie had managed to coax Wilma Mae out of the backseat. The elderly woman stood uncertainly, looking about her.

  Candy turned back to Wanda. “This way.”

  Doc had taken one of the rooms at the back of the house for his office. Its hardwood floors were covered with dark area rugs, bookshelves lined the walls, and a large wooden desk, piled high with books, folders, and papers, occupied one end of the room.

  After glancing around, Wanda crossed to a table underneath a large window that looked out over the blueberry barrens behind the house. She cleared a spot on the table, opened the manila envelope’s flap, and withdrew an aged, folded document from inside. Delicately she unfolded the document, laid it out on the table in the space she had cleared, and flattened it carefully with her hands to smooth the creases. When she was done, she stepped back so Candy could get a better look at it. “Have any idea what this is?” she asked smugly.

  Candy switched on a light and stepped closer. She knew right away what it was. “Some type of blueprint.”

  “That’s right, but a blueprint for what?”

  Candy held Wanda’s gaze for a moment, then leaned closer for a better look.

  It was a single sheet, perhaps three feet long and two feet wide, with several design sketches on it, drawn in thin, precise lines and annotated with an architect’s hand. The sketches showed different angles of a carpentry project. A shelving unit, Candy realized as she leaned in even closer.

  It hit her quickly, and she couldn’t help gasping. “They’re the plans for the shelving unit in Wilma Mae’s upstairs bedroom.”

  “That’s right.” Wanda jabbed a finger at the blueprints. “And if you look right here, you can see the design for the secret drawer.”

  Candy studied the drawings for several moments. Wanda was right. She looked up. “These are Mulroy’s plans?”

  “A copy of his original, as far as I can tell,” Wanda confirmed.

  “But that means . . .” Candy’s mind worked quickly as the ramifications quickly became apparent. Slowly she straightened. “Whoever had these plans would have known exactly where Wilma Mae had hidden the recipe for Mr. Sedley’s lobster stew.”

  “That’s right, Sherlock.”

  Candy took a step back as her gaze narrowed on Wanda. “Where did you get these?”

  Wanda squared her shoulders back proudly, well aware that she had once again scooped the town’s amateur detective. “I found them in Charlotte Depew’s office.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  “Charlotte.” The word left Candy in a long breath. She’d been reluctant to believe it was true, but here was more proof. All evidence pointed to Charlotte as the one who had stolen the recipe from Wilma Mae’s house.

  One mystery, it appeared, had been solved. But larger, deadlier questions loomed.

  If Charlotte had stolen the recipe, had she also murdered Mr. Sedley?

  And who had killed Charlotte?

  Candy stood with her arms crossed, staring down at the plans. So Charlotte had managed to get her hands on exactly what she needed to win the Lobster Stew Cook-off—details about the document drawer secreted away in the shelving unit designed by James Patrick Mulroy. The architect’s plans showed the exact location of the drawer, as well as the device that activated it.

  But had Charlotte used that information to steal the recipe herself, or had she conspired with someone else, who stole the ledger for her?

  It was an interesting question, but either way, Charlotte was still implicated in the crime.

  So where had Charlotte found the plans? Probably in the museum’s archives, Candy surmised. It would have been easy enough for Charlotte to dig around up there for hours after work, when the place had emptied out and she could go through the file cabinets undisturbed. She’d probably discovered the plans in the back of some forgotten drawer located in an ancient cabinet secreted away in a dark corner of the archives, some place only she knew about, where no one else looked.

  Not even Wanda.

  Or, Candy thought, maybe she got them somewhere else.

  Her gaze was drawn to the upper left-hand corner of the blueprints. Someone had written a message there. She leaned forward again, her eyes squinting so she could see a little clearer. Uncrossing her arms, she put her hands on the table and leaned forward even more, her head twisting around to match the slope of the lines.

  The writing was clearly in a different hand than the original architect’s—cursive, slanted, and scribbled hastily, as opposed to Mulroy’s neatly printed block letters. Still, the message was easy enough to read:

  Here are the plans. PS Make sure no
one else sees this.

  She read it again. So. That answered the question of where Charlotte had found the blueprints.

  She hadn’t found them. They’d been given to her.

  But by whom?

  Perhaps by the same person who killed Charlotte, Candy realized with a start.

  But that didn’t make sense. Why would someone give Charlotte the plans and then kill her?

  Candy studied the scribbled lines again. There was no signature, no way to determine who had written those sentences.

  Wanda broke into her reverie. “Raises all sorts of questions, doesn’t it?” she asked, her voice seeming out of place in the serenity of Doc’s office.

  “Yes, it does.” Candy looked up. “But it also answers a few.” She tapped at the blueprints with her index finger. “This is the missing link. We know the recipe was stolen, right? We know Charlotte used it to create her stew for the cook-off. You told me that yourself. And now we know how she got her hands on the recipe. She took it from Wilma Mae’s house, using these blueprints, which showed the exact location of the document drawer—and the ledger.”

  “Right.” Wanda gave Candy a smug look. “Just like I said, Sherlock.”

  Candy stiffened as something clicked inside her, and a long-suppressed knot of irritation suddenly unraveled. She could hold it back no longer as she straightened and turned to face the larger woman. “Wanda, what’s up with you?” she asked angrily.

  The smugness abruptly disappeared from Wanda’s face. “What?”

  “I mean, come on, what’s with the attitude?”

  Wanda’s face settled into a cold mask. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  But Candy was having none of it. “You know exactly what I’m referring to. It’s these smug comments you’ve been making over the past few days. Calling me Sherlock. My name is Candy. You can call me either that or ma’am. We’re done with the Sherlock thing. You got it?”

  Now Wanda looked offended. “Well!” she said. If she had had a feather boa, Candy thought, she probably would have flipped it back over her shoulder and stormed off.

  “And while we’re on the subject,” Candy continued, “did you use this same attitude with Charlotte?”