Town in a Lobster Stew chm-2 Page 15

  The formal dining room occupied the right front corner of the home’s first floor. They found an antique mahogany table with a half dozen chairs, an oak hutch with dinner plates and more ketchup bottles arranged neatly on shelves, and an old cabinet-style stereo that probably dated back to the sixties. Again, Candy checked in the corners and under the furniture, as well as another closet stuffed with tablecloths, linens, and other soft goods, but found nothing.

  They moved back out into the hallway and stood for a few moments eyeing the kitchen at the rear of the home. “I guess that’s next,” Maggie said, obviously not really wanting to move at all.

  “I guess,” Candy said, her voice sounding a little hoarse.

  Reluctantly they both started along the hall. As they moved toward the back of the house, the smell grew worse, more potent, like rotten trash that’d been left out in the sun too long. Maggie made a little sound of disgust in the back of her throat, and Candy had to swallow several times to settle her stomach. But they kept moving forward.

  When they reached the kitchen, Candy immediately crossed it and opened the back door, letting in a cool breath of air. They both lingered by the door as they looked around the kitchen.

  “I should check the cupboards and cabinets,” Candy said finally.

  Maggie nodded. “I’ll check the pantry.”

  They moved in different directions, opening doors and peering into the dark recesses inside. A few minutes later they rejoined by the back door. “Nothing,” Candy said.

  Maggie looked back out into the hallway and pointed at a door halfway along, underneath the staircase. “Where does that lead?”

  Candy shrugged. “A storage area? Or the basement?”

  “The basement?”

  They both looked at each other.

  “I guess we have to look down there too, don’t we?” Maggie asked finally.

  Candy nodded, feeling chilled. “I guess we do.”

  “Okay.” Maggie paused, breathing hard. “You go first.”

  Candy clenched her jaw tightly, pushing down her fear. She’d just checked out a basement yesterday, over at Mr. Sedley’s house. That had been creepy enough. Now she had to go down into another one. For some reason, the basements of these old homes always gave her the willies. For the most part they were dark, silent, cold places, full of spiderwebs, shadows, and secrets. She didn’t relish the idea of what she’d find down there. But she knew it had to be done.

  Gathering her courage, she walked along the hall to the door, with Maggie right behind her. Gingerly she turned the knob and pushed open the door. Instantly they were assaulted by a smell that reminded her of decaying meat, only a hundred times worse. Candy held her hand to her nose and started breathing through her mouth, while Maggie coughed violently.

  “It’s coming from down there,” Candy said, stating the obvious.

  Maggie trembled in fear but managed to put her hand on Candy’s shoulder. “I’m with you,” was all she could say.

  Her hand still holding shut her nose, Candy reached out to flick on the light switch, then stepped through the door onto a landing. With only a moment’s hesitation she started down the wooden steps, which creaked loudly as they descended. She had a fleeting concern that one of the steps would break on her, like she’d often seen in the movies, plunging her down into a dark abyss. So she held tightly to the railing, while Maggie held tightly to the back of her blouse, whimpering softly.

  Fortunately none of the steps broke, and they reached the bottom safely. Here, the smell was partially consumed by the dankness of the basement, resulting in a sickening miasma of odors. Candy had to fight down a sudden urge to gag. Her eyes began to water.

  “This is crazy,” Maggie whispered in a high voice behind her. “We should go back up and call the police.”

  “Just give me a minute,” Candy told her. “I have to find out what’s causing it.”

  “We know what’s causing it,” Maggie said, finally giving words to what they both were thinking. Her voice crackled in anguish.

  “Then where is he?” Candy’s eyes swept the room.

  Finally Maggie pointed. “There.”

  Candy studied the area of the basement Maggie had indicated. She saw it then: a bulging blue tarpaulin, wrapped around something thick and heavy, stuffed into a far corner.

  Slowly Candy approached the tarpaulin, feeling numb, as if she were outside of her own body and someone else was doing what she was about to do. Maggie didn’t follow her now; she stayed behind at the foot of the stairs, unable to move any farther. Candy didn’t blame her. She couldn’t believe she was doing what she was doing. Only thoughts of Wilma Mae and Mr. Sedley, and the love they shared, drove her on.

  When she reached the tarp, she knelt on the cold, dusty cement floor. Holding her breath, she held out a hand and placed it delicately on the bulky wrapped mass in front of her. Whatever was inside felt cold and stiff.

  She quickly removed her hand and looked for a seam, a way to unwrap it. But she could see nothing.

  Uncertain of what to do next, if she should even disturb the macabre bundle in front of her, if it indeed turned out to be a crime scene, she did the only thing she could think of.

  She started to roll it toward her.

  Slowly she unspun the bundle across the floor, and slowly the tarpaulin began to unwrap, the leading edge falling away. She rose and stepped over it, so she could push the bulk of it along across the cement floor. It was a large tarpaulin, perhaps eight feet square, and it took her several seconds to unroll it fully, as Maggie watched in silent, horrified fascination.

  And when Candy was done, when she had fully unrolled the tarpaulin, the dead, stiff body of James Sedley rolled out across the cold cement floor of Wilma Mae Wendell’s basement.

  Eighteen

  The flashing lights of four squad cars and an ambulance danced across Candy’s eyes, making her blink rapidly before she turned away. The sun was sinking toward the western horizon, casting long slants of yellow sunlight along Wilma Mae’s tidy front yard. Blackbirds chattered noisily in the high branches of a tall, sparsely limbed pine tree, angry about something. Candy looked up at them, wondering what had got them so upset and thinking how wonderful it would be to become a bird right now, and just fly away into that sun-paled blue sky, out over the trees into the far distance, to disappear forever....

  She was still dazed and disturbed by what she and Maggie had discovered in the basement. Her breathing had returned to normal, but her chest still felt empty, like someone had plucked out her heart.

  When an officer led her out here to sit on the front porch steps, she had felt ill, probably from the smell, which still clung to her. But as she sat here in the sun and breathed deeply of the cool Maine air, she began to feel better, and the nausea receded.

  Still, she didn’t want to risk standing at the moment, afraid her legs might be too weak to hold her, or the nausea might return, or her head might start spinning. So she sat — though she stayed well off to one side of the steps to avoid getting tramped on by the police officers and EMTs, who were moving rapidly but carefully in and out of the house.

  Daryl Durr, Cape Willington’s chief of police, had showed up half an hour ago, shortly after she had called the station and reported the finding of Mr. Sedley. He had talked to her briefly before he headed down into the basement, sending her outside to recover. “Stay close, though,” he told her gruffly. “I want to talk to you.”

  And so Candy sat on the porch as the afternoon light died, trying to keep the scene in her head from playing over and over.

  When Mr. Sedley’s body had rolled out onto the basement floor, Candy and Maggie had both screamed. It had been a surreal, terrifying moment, though in their hearts they both had known what was coming. But that hadn’t lessened the shock of seeing poor Mr. Sedley so absolutely, completely, unbelievably dead.

  Once past the initial shock, Candy had reluctantly taken a step toward the body to check for a pulse but decided there
was no need. The body had started to bloat and the eyes bulged. The sickening smell permeated everything. There was no doubt Mr. Sedley had been dead several days.

  Ignoring Maggie’s stifled sobs, Candy had quickly scanned the body. The hair was slicked and matted, as if he’d been bleeding from a head wound, though the blood had congealed into a misshapen reddish black mass. Candy had also noticed dark bruising on his forehead and neck. She’d seen no evidence, though, of a more violent death — no blood on his clothes, nothing that looked like a stab or bullet wound.

  He wore a light gray sweater, rumpled brown pants, and black shoes.

  What was he doing here? she’d asked herself. What happened to him?

  She’d considered wrapping the body back up in the tarpaulin but decided against it almost immediately. She’d already contaminated a crime scene, and she thought it best to leave the rest for the experts.

  They hadn’t lingered any longer. Back upstairs, Maggie leaned against a wall, held a hand to her chest, and coughed uncontrollably, trying to get the smell out of her nose and the images out of mind. Candy was coughing as well and her eyes were watering, though whether from the air in the basement or for other reasons, she didn’t know.

  “Who did that to him?” Maggie asked as she waved a hand rapidly in front of her face, trying to clear the air. “Who would wrap him up like that? Did he suffocate? Was it an accident?”

  “It was no accident,” Candy assured her, though she had no other answers.

  “How long do you think he’s been down there?”

  “I don’t know,” Candy said thoughtfully. “But we can’t worry about him anymore. We have someone else to worry about.”

  “Who?”

  “Wilma Mae. What are we going to tell her?”

  As it turned out, neither had the heart to say anything to her right away, so while Candy hovered in the living room, waiting for the police to arrive, Maggie agreed to go up and sit with Wilma Mae while she slept.

  Now a half dozen police officers quietly but diligently searched the house, while a photographer took pictures down in the basement and the EMTs waited to remove the body. Most of them wore face masks because of the smell, and they talked in low voices.

  Sitting on the porch, Candy could hear them speaking to each other inside, though their words were indistinct. But she didn’t have to hear them clearly to know what they were talking about. Despite what had happened the previous summer, murder was rare in Cape Willington, as it was in most of Maine’s rural villages and towns. Any time it happened, it caused shock and surprise.

  That, Candy thought, was probably the best description of how she felt, and more. She was devastated. She hadn’t known Mr. Sedley, except through what Wilma Mae had told her, but she felt as if she had lost a close friend. She couldn’t even begin to grasp what Wilma Mae must be feeling.

  She heard footsteps behind her and turned to look back at the house. Maggie walked out onto the porch and sat down beside her.

  “How’s Wilma Mae?” Candy asked, propping up one side of her head with the palm of her hand, to steady herself while she talked.

  Maggie shrugged. “She took it surprisingly well. I expected tears. I got denial.”

  “Did Chief Durr explain everything to her?”

  Maggie nodded. “He did. He was very professional and very personable.”

  “Does she understand?”

  Maggie considered that a few moments, then nodded again. “I think so. She heard him. She’s just not ready to acknowledge it yet.”

  Candy nodded. “That makes sense, I guess. We all have to handle things in our own way.”

  Maggie shrugged. “I guess. She’s dealing with it as best she can. But right now I think she’d rather just not talk about it. She’s worried about one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She doesn’t know where she’s going to sleep tonight. She doesn’t want to stay in her house anymore.”

  “Yeah, that would be kinda tough to do. Does she have any friends around town? Relatives?”

  “I think she has a sister out in California. And maybe a nephew or something like that up in Machias.”

  Candy said, “Hmm,” and stared out at the lawn for a few long moments. Finally she looked back at her friend. “She can always stay with me and Doc. We’ve got plenty of room out at the farm. She might like hanging around Blueberry Acres for a few days.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Maggie said, her eyes twinkling, “but I have a better idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, she can stay with me.”

  “With you?”

  “Sure! I’ve got plenty of room, and I’m not busy right now. Amanda’s away camping with Cameron and the Zimmermans, and Ed’s — well, Ed’s gone, isn’t he? The house has been kind of lonely lately. It wouldn’t be so bad to have someone around for a few days. And I think it’d be good for Wilma Mae too. I can help keep her mind off things. We’ll drink a few cups of tea, or maybe a few glasses of wine. Watch some TV. Make some popcorn. You know, normal stuff.”

  Candy nodded her approval. “That might be just the thing she needs.”

  She turned at the sound of footsteps again. Chief Daryl Durr walked out onto the porch.

  He nodded at Maggie. “She’s asking for you,” he said.

  Maggie put her hands on her knees and rose. “Guess I should get back. I’ll help her pack,” she said to the two of them. To Chief Durr, she added, “I’m going to take her home with me for a few days.”

  “That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

  He waited until Maggie had disappeared into the house, then dropped down beside Candy, sitting next to her on the porch steps. “So,” he began slowly, staring out toward the fading sun, “how come every time there’s a murder in this town, you seem to be stuck right in the middle of it?”

  Candy didn’t answer. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious, so she thought it best not to say anything.

  He leaned back, turning his head to eye her, squinting slightly as he did so. “So you want to tell me what happened?”

  He waited patiently, his gaze focused on the trees over the rooftops, while Candy explained how Wilma Mae had fainted at the cook-off, and how Maggie had driven the elderly woman back to her home, and about the call from Maggie, and how she and Maggie had found the body in the basement. She stuck to the facts but left out details about the missing recipe and her suspicions about Wanda Boyle.

  When she was done, Chief Durr turned his appraising gaze back toward her. “Sounds good so far. Anything else you’d like to tell me?”

  Candy looked at him, giving him her best uncomprehending look. “Like what?”

  He sighed. “Why do I have this strange suspicion you know more than you’re telling me — again?”

  Candy gulped, but she kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t ready to say anything else — not yet, anyway.

  Daryl Durr swiped at the knees of his sharply pressed khaki trousers, as if brushing away a layer of dust, and rose to his feet. He stepped down off the steps onto the pathway and turned to look her in the eye. “I would like to remind you, Ms. Holliday, that any information you have must be shared with us. Withholding information of any kind is a serious crime.”

  Candy brushed absently at her hair and squinted back at him. “What makes you think I’m withholding information?”

  “I’m not making any insinuations. I’m just letting you know.”

  “I called the station yesterday afternoon,” Candy said, surprised to hear an edge of anger in her voice. “I told the person I talked to that Mr. Sedley was missing. I did my best to notify you and your staff yesterday that something was wrong. Oliver LaForce said he called you too.”

  Chief Durr seemed taken aback by that bit of information. “The innkeeper?”

  “He said he called the station this morning.”

  The police chief thought about that a moment. “I don’t seem to remember hearing anything a
bout that, but I’ll check on it when I get back to the station. Now, again, just to make my point clear. We’re the town police. You’re not. When you first suspected the body might be in the house, that’s when you should have called us.”

  “I was going to, but I had to check it out first. I was just being thorough.”

  The chief nodded his head. “I understand that, Ms. Holliday. And fortunately, we think we were able to get what we needed from the scene. The crime lab van from Augusta will be here shortly, and they’ll follow up. But by disturbing the body like you did, you could have destroyed crucial evidence. You need to learn to leave the detecting to the detectives. Amateur sleuthing is frowned upon in this town. Besides, I thought you learned your lesson after the last time something like this happened. You could have gotten both yourself and your friend killed. Next time, call us first.”

  Feeling he had made himself perfectly clear, he nodded sharply and started up the steps, heading back into the house.

  But as he passed her, Candy looked up at him. “Next time?”

  The chief stopped and stared down at her for a moment. He gave her a pained smile, not completely unlike something she’d see from Doc. “Somehow I get the impression you’re not going to listen to me and that this won’t be the last time you and I meet like this. Isn’t that right, Ms. Holliday?”

  Candy batted her eyes and smiled sweetly at him. “Why, Chief Durr, I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

  Nineteen

  Whoever stole the lobster stew recipe must have murdered Mr. Sedley.

  Candy couldn’t get that thought out of her head. It was the one crucial point she kept coming back to, when everything else that had happened over the past few days still seemed fuzzy. There was so much she couldn’t figure out — and most of it had to do with Wanda.

  Had she really cooked the stew with the cinnamon in it, as the list on Robbie’s clipboard seemed to indicate? And if she had, did that mean she’d also stolen the recipe from Wilma Mae’s house?