Town in a Maple Madness

by B. B. Haywood

  Down along the street, vendors were selling food and trinkets, balloons and T-shirts. She could hear music drifting up from Town Park. People were everywhere. She and Random wove in and out of the crowd in unison, as if they’d done this for decades, never slowing, always watchful. Half a dozen storefronts past the opera house, which stood about halfway down the block, they rounded a corner, and the park opened up in front of them.

  It was lit up like Christmas Eve. Trees were strung with lights, colorful signs welcomed visitors, and the booths that had been set up throughout the park, all with individual lighting of their own, offered food and wares of all sorts. But naturally the scene was dominated by the big bonfire at its center, which was already lit, its flames reaching upward. The town’s maintenance crew had been collecting branches, brush, and logs for weeks, and had set up a tepeelike structure six feet tall inside a ring of cinder blocks. A group of volunteers in matching yellow T-shirts manned the fire and kept an eye on it, to make certain it stayed contained and didn’t get out of hand. The fire truck had been here as well, for safety reasons, but it had just been called north to tend to another fire.

  Around the bonfire, at a safe distance, villagers and visitors had gathered to roast marshmallows and wieners on long sticks provided for just such a purpose by some of the vendors in the park. Not too far away, on a short stage under a ring of colored lights, a folk trio played. Everyone was chattering and munching on marshmallows and hot dogs, cotton candy and caramel apples. Others sipped Moxie, a popular local soft drink, or ate ice cream cones. And she saw more than a few people nibbling on Chocolate Maple Brownies from the Black Forest Bakery’s booth, which she spotted off toward her left, on the north side of the park.

  It was a festive scene.

  With Random at her side, Candy headed down the walkway toward the bonfire, looking for her father. She’d taken barely a dozen steps when she heard someone behind her call her name. She slowed and turned toward the sound of the voice. It was Wanda Boyle, hurrying down the sidewalk after her.

  “There you are,” Wanda said breathlessly as she approached. “I just heard what happened. It’s all over town. Sounds like you took some heat, but at least you didn’t get fried.” She smiled briefly at her own humor. “Really, it’s a good thing you got out of there alive. Your father’s been raising the hue and cry.”

  “You’ve talked to him?” Candy asked, looking around. “Have you seen him?”

  Wanda pointed. “He’s down near the bonfire, waiting for you, I think. So, did you get my texts?”

  “Your texts?” It took Candy only a moment to make the connection. “So you’re the one who texted me when I was in that garage? You almost got me killed!”

  Wanda looked slightly affronted, uncertain how to take that reaction. “What are you talking about?”

  Candy shook her head and waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll explain later. And no, I haven’t had a chance to read them. What did they say?”

  “Well, it was that license plate you asked me about. RIP DIG, remember?”

  “I remember.” Candy was growing impatient. “But you already told me about that. It belongs to someone named Russ Pooley, right?”

  “That’s part of it, yes. Russ was the RIP. His middle name was Ike, by the way. Like the president. Not Eisenhower, just Ike. I guess he was born sometime in the fifties, and his parents liked the nickname. Anyway, it was the other set of initials that I texted you about—DIG.”

  Candy’s impatience disappeared, and Wanda now had her full attention. “And what did you find out?”

  Wanda pulled herself up a little as she spoke, taking advance credit for the information she’d uncovered. “Well, it appears they were best friends. Russ Pooley and this DIG guy. His last name is Gulliver. Doug Gulliver, who apparently also had a middle name that started with an I.”

  “Gulliver?” Candy’s brow furrowed for a moment as she puzzled it out. After a few moments, her eyes brightened. “Irving,” she said. “His middle name is Irving.”

  Wanda gave her an odd look. “Now how the heck would you know something like that?”

  “Because,” Candy said, “I saw it on a boathouse. Gully’s Boathouse, to be exact. Irving Gulliver must have been Doug’s father. And it all fits. It makes perfect sense. The families were friends. Their boathouse and cabin were close to each other, just a few buildings apart. She probably would have known the boathouse was deserted. That’s why she and Mick dumped him there, rather than at the Pooley cabin. She must have hoped it would be some sort of diversion, a misdirection. To throw the police off the scent. But they must have had an argument about something. . . .”

  Her voice trailed off, and she realized the other woman was watching her strangely, shaking her head.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wanda said, “but if it makes sense to you, that’s all that matters.”

  Candy refocused. “So what about those two—Russ and Doug? Are either of them still around?”

  Wanda shook her head. “Both are gone. They were good friends, from what I’ve heard. Shared just about everything. Doug passed away a decade or so ago. He was killed in a freak boating accident. And Russ died just a few years back.”

  “And his family would have inherited the cabin—and the purple van that went with it.”

  Wanda nodded vaguely. “Sure, I suppose so, if that’s relevant to the current situation.”

  “It just might be,” Candy said, and she reached out and patted Wanda on the shoulder. “Good job. Thanks for your help,” she said, and turned to go, but Wanda called after her again.

  “So how did everything go with Ginny? At the Milbrights’ place?” She raised her voice just a notch as Candy kept moving. “I’m still getting a story out of this for the paper, right?”

  Candy nodded and waved. “Oh, you’re definitely getting a story,” she called into the air as she and Random continued down the walkway toward the bonfire. “It just needs an ending.”

  FIFTY

  She and her father spotted each other at about the same time. Henry Holliday was on the far side of the bonfire, standing with a small group of people, his head down, listening intently to whatever they all were discussing. He wore a soft, tan, wide-brimmed hat that had seen better days, a faded green cotton jacket, and chinos that needed a good washing. He looked up at a break in the conversation, spotted Candy on the sidewalk, and waved in her direction. “Candy!” he called to her, and he motioned for her to join them. “Over here! We have some news!”

  He was standing with three other people, she noticed as she drew closer to the group. Artie Groves was there, although Doc’s other two buddies, Finn Woodbury and Bumpy Brigham, were absent. Mason Flint was in the circle, looking impatient as his gaze seemed to be everywhere at once, keeping a close eye on all the activities taking place in the park. Tillie Shaw, chair of the town’s events committee, completed the group. She looked drained, like she’d been up for two days straight without respite. She held a clipboard in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. Her hair was windblown and her cheeks were flushed, but there was also a focus in her gaze that told Candy she was on top of things.

  As Candy joined the group, Tillie told her, “We’ve been in contact with the police. They’ve got an APB out. State troopers are combing Route 1 and points east and west, and, of course, the CWPD is patrolling this area. If Ginny’s around here, they’ll find her.”

  “We’ve been in touch with Hutch,” Doc added, and when his daughter gave him a questioning look, he continued. “The police have released him for the moment. He’s back at the farm. Been there an hour or so. I just got off the phone with him. He says he hasn’t seen Ginny anywhere. She’s not at their place.”

  “And I’ve talked to Bumpy,” Artie added. “He’s still at the community center, wrapping up everything there. I’ve been trying to get hold of Finn too. Far as I know, he’s stil
l over at the Crawford place, shutting down the sugaring operation and keeping an eye on everything. He’ll let us know if anyone unexpected shows up there.”

  That had been one of Candy’s concerns on the drive down—that she’d been wrong about Ginny’s destination. Ginny could have gone anywhere—back to Sugar Hill Farm, or to Crawford’s Berry Farm, or even to Blueberry Acres. She could be on her way down to Portland now, or Boston, or halfway to New Hampshire. She could even be trying to cross the border into Canada. She could be anywhere.

  But Candy didn’t believe she’d gone to any of those places. Ginny was here somewhere, she thought, still in Cape Willington, probably here in the village. She had no evidence to prove that; she was simply following her instincts at this point. And for some reason, she thought Ginny wasn’t finished with this town yet.

  “What about her Explorer? Has anyone seen it?”

  “They’re still looking,” her father said. “No sign so far.”

  But even as he spoke, Tillie’s walkie-talkie started to squawk, and she turned away briefly as she held it up so she could listen to the incoming message. Moments later she turned back to the group.

  “They’ve found it,” she told them.

  “The Explorer?” Candy asked.

  Tillie nodded. “At least, it matches the description. They think it’s the right one. They found it parked up along the river, just south of the bridge to Fowler’s Corner. No one’s in it. They say it looks like it’s been abandoned. The police are checking it out now.”

  Candy turned, her eyes scanning the crowd. “Then she’s here somewhere,” she said ominously.

  As she looked around, she noticed how crowded the place had become. Town Park was jammed with activity. The bonfire was roaring nicely. People were milling around casually, roasting marshmallows, listening to music, chatting and enjoying themselves.

  How would they ever find Ginny Milbright in a crowd this big? She could blend in easily, making herself almost impossible to spot.

  But Candy had a secret weapon.

  She looked down at Random, who had been straining and snuffling at the air as she held him. She bent down and gave him a brisk scratch behind his collar. “So, buddy, you ready to go to work?”

  FIFTY-ONE

  They wouldn’t let her go off on her own—and, honestly, after what had happened at the Pooley cabin, she was glad for the company. The more eyes, she thought, the better.

  Besides, Tillie had access to a golf cart, which someone had loaned the town for the weekend’s events. After a quick discussion, they decided it would be easier to ride than to walk, and the cart would get them to where they needed to be quicker. Mason decided to stay behind, to keep an eye on the activities in the park, so Tillie drove, with Candy and Random up front on the narrow bench seat beside her. Doc and Artie climbed on the backward-facing second-row seat.

  With everyone on board, they started off.

  “I think Random has Ginny’s scent,” Candy said, talking over her shoulder to her father and Artie as Tillie steered the cart up a wide walkway, out of the park, and to the busy sidewalk that ran along the Coastal Loop. They were headed up along the river, past the docks, warehouses, and community center, toward the bridge across the English River, just a little farther upstream.

  “He must have picked it up somewhere—my guess is back in the woods. I found bootprints in the woods, around two sets of illegally tapped trees, one at the Milbrights’ place and the other on Neil’s property. My guess is someone’s been trying to force a feud between the two of them, for whatever reason. I’m certain that one set of those prints belonged to Ginny. Random picked up her scent again at the Pooley cabin, and I spotted a bootprint that matched the ones I saw out in the woods.”

  “And you think he can pick up her scent now,” her father asked, “and lead us to Ginny?”

  “That’s the plan,” Candy said, and as they drove through the well-lit town, she told them all she had discovered over the past two days, including details about the missing knife, and what she believed were misleading accusations by Ginny. “It must have all been for a reason,” she said as they angled down an asphalt driveway past the community center and weaved through a series of old riverside buildings toward the waterfront.

  “And what do you think that reason is?” Artie called to her, as the wind took some of his words away.

  Candy could only shake her head as they drove on.

  They soon reached the undeveloped land at the north end of the dock and warehouse complex. From here, it was just open land up along the river to the bridge. As the cart pulled to a stop, Random was eager to get out and start working. Candy did her best to control him, but he would have none of it. She finally stopped fighting him and let the scarf slip away from his collar. Suddenly freed, he dashed off with a series of quick barks and rapidly disappeared into the lengthening shadows along the river. It was dusk. Though there was still some light, a grayness was falling over the landscape.

  “Anyone bring a flashlight?” Doc asked as he stepped down off the golf cart, looking up at the sky.

  “Mine’s at home,” Artie admitted.

  “I got one in the Jeep,” Candy said, finding herself ill equipped for the first time in a while.

  “I’ve got one!” Tillie said, and she pulled a small LED flashlight out of her back pocket.

  Candy pointed the way. “Then you lead,” she said.

  “How far are we going?” Artie asked, looking hesitantly over at the black river.

  Candy pointed to the bridge. “Not far.”

  They started off, but it turned out she was right in her last statement. They’d walked only a short distance before they saw flashes of light around a vehicle up ahead, and Random was already headed back in their direction. “Flashlights up ahead. The police are checking out the Explorer,” Tillie said as she listened to some squawking on her walkie-talkie.

  “And here comes Random,” said Artie, turning and pointing.

  The dog passed them by, about twenty feet away, going the opposite direction. He was headed back toward the riverside warehouses, his nose still to the ground. But he looked over at them briefly as he passed by, his eyes glowing in the beam of Tillie’s flashlight. She called out to him, but Candy put a hand on the other woman’s shoulder, quieting her.

  “Let him go,” she said. “Let’s see where he leads us.”

  Traveling as a pack, the four of them shadowed Random as he weaved his way back toward the dock and warehouse complex. They moved quietly, not wanting to disturb him at his work. He seemed to have found a scent, but after a few minutes, he looked distracted, and Candy wasn’t sure he was on the right one. His movements became erratic. A number of times he stopped, shifted direction, and started again. She got the feeling, as she watched him, that he was searching, rather than on the actual trail of Ginny’s scent.

  They followed him between a number of buildings, past the community center, and up to the sidewalk along the main road. There, he became overwhelmed by all the scents he was encountering, and soon started wandering idly in a circle.

  “If she came this way,” Candy said, “she must have crossed the street and gone over toward the bonfire. But she could be anywhere. Maybe we should fan out and look for her.”

  So they did. Her father started off toward the bonfire and the central part of the park, Artie headed toward the upper part of the park, around the food booths, and Tillie dashed back for the golf cart, telling them she’d check the warehouse area.

  Candy reattached the scarf to Random’s collar, so she wouldn’t lose him in the crowd, and together they started off down the sidewalk along the Coastal Loop toward the lighthouse and museum. They passed by the back end of the community center, still all lit up inside, though the pancake operation had closed down a while ago. But she could still smell the lingering scents of pancakes and syrup, as well as the sm
ells of roasting marshmallows and wieners, carried on the wind. It appeared Random had caught the scents as well, for he had his nose up in the air now, not on the ground.

  They were halfway down the street when Tillie flagged them down. She came up behind them in the golf cart, the walkie-talkie in her hand. “I just heard from the police,” she said. “It’s not the right vehicle.”

  Candy stopped in her tracks, surprised. “It’s not?”

  Tillie shook her head. “Not the right license plate.”

  “Are you sure?” That couldn’t be right, she thought. It had to be Ginny’s vehicle.

  But it appeared it wasn’t. “It belongs to someone from down around Portland. Cape Elizabeth, I think they said. Another cape, way to the south. Anyway, I thought you should know.” She pointed over toward the docks. “I’ll check down this way.” And she was off again, deftly spinning the golf cart around and pointing it down the slope.

  Candy stood in the center of the sidewalk with Random waiting patiently at her side, allowing the crowds to flow around them as she tried to figure out the meaning of what she’d just learned.

  It wasn’t Ginny’s vehicle. They still didn’t know if she was here. This could all be a waste of time, a wild-goose chase. They could be looking for her in completely the wrong place.

  She felt a growing sense of dread in her chest, as she sensed the whole thing slipping away from her.

  That’s when she spotted Finn Woodbury.

  He was coming up the sidewalk toward her, hands in his pockets, attention focused across the street, at the bonfire and the activities in the park.

  At first she wasn’t certain it was Finn. Hadn’t Artie just said he was still out at the Crawford farm, shutting down the maple sugaring operation and keeping an eye on the place?

  What was he doing here? And if he was here, then who was keeping an eye on the farm?

  Confused, she started forward and called to him. At the sound of her voice, he turned his head, spotted her, and waved, with a big smile on his face.