Town in a Maple Madness Page 17

  There was also a short message from Officer Molly Prospect at the hospital, who told her that Neil was finally back in his room, resting comfortably, and that Candy was welcome to visit him as soon as she had a chance.

  So, good news, she thought as she leaned back in the chair. She let out a slow breath, feeling deeply relieved. Now she just had to find the time to make the trip back to the hospital to see Neil, since the journey there and back would take several hours.

  She lowered her phone and shielded her eyes against the sun as she looked around. The wind had picked up again, scattering the smoke that drifted up from the sugar shack. Leftover fall leaves blew across the fields. The visitors who remained clutched at their hats and coats. Though the crowds had thinned, there were still quite a few people around. Finn and Hawthorne were still boiling sap, so they couldn’t keep an eye on the bottles of maple syrup for her. There were tours to give, questions to answer, traffic to manage.

  Even though the pace had slowed, she didn’t want to abandon her post. She felt she was still needed here. Of course, she was probably needed at the community center as well. She wanted to run by Town Park and see how preparations for the marshmallow roast were going. She’d promised Maggie she’d help in the booth later on. And, in the back of her mind, she still wanted to try to run down that elusive purple van, and the red snowplow truck.

  She had much to do, and felt as if she were being pulled in a dozen different directions. She was about to go talk over her dilemma with Finn—and possibly get one of Hawthorne’s succinct responses as well—when she spotted a maroon Chevy Suburban cruising up the lane, churning up the damp earth.

  Candy knew right away who it was. For better or worse, Wanda Boyle, managing editor of the Cape Crier, had arrived on the scene.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Candy watched the Suburban approach with mixed feelings of curiosity and unease.

  Why would Wanda drive all the way out here at this time of day, Candy wondered, especially when there was so much going on in town right now? She should be covering the preparations taking place in Town Park, or mingling with contented pancake munchers at the community center. Or she should be at the police station, trying to find out what she could about Mick Rilke’s murder and Hutch Milbright’s knife. Or out on the village’s streets and byways, interviewing tourists for a newspaper article.

  Maybe Wanda’s sudden appearance here was innocent enough. Maybe she’d just driven out to the strawberry farm to see how things were going at the sugar shack, how the crowds had been that morning, and how the bottles of maple syrup were selling. Maybe she’d come to talk about Neil and find out how he was doing. Offer her sympathies for what he’d been through. Maybe she just wanted to lend a little moral support—a thought that made Candy chuckle the moment it crossed her mind.

  Or maybe Wanda had a different reason for driving out here.

  Whatever it was, Candy knew she would soon find out.

  Unfortunately, she thought with a sigh, it appeared her short break was over.

  Rather than follow the posted signs and angle off toward the designated parking area back along the trees, where all the other visitors’ vehicles were corralled, Wanda plunged straight ahead, toward the farm buildings in front of her. It was typical of her nature, Candy thought. Wanda wasn’t one for following the crowd.

  Seeing no one in her direct path, she gunned the engine a little as she made a beeline for the barn, steering with one hand for a short distance before she stomped down hard on the brake pedal. Candy, still seated in the lawn chair in front of the open barn doors, with the tables of maple syrup just to her left, watched the whole maneuver with a certain amount of concern. As the Suburban zeroed in on her, she briefly considered abandoning her post, leaping from her chair, and jumping back behind the barn doors for some protection. But she held her ground, as she’d learned to do with Wanda over the years, and simply stared her down as the vehicle approached.

  With a certain amount of finesse, Wanda brought the Suburban to an abrupt yet smooth stop right up against the front of the barn, the vehicle’s prominent nose just a few feet from the tables of maple syrup. As the SUV idled, its engine pinging and clicking, the big vehicle rocked on its suspension a little, accompanied by a few high-pitched squeaks and creaks.

  Candy remained where she was, deciding to let Wanda come to her.

  Of course, it didn’t happen quite like that—at least, not right away. In fact, Wanda seemed to barely notice her. She remained in the driver’s seat with a cell phone pressed tightly to her left ear and was apparently deep in a conversation with the person at the other end. Not missing a beat, Wanda pulled at the emergency brake with her other hand, switched off the engine, flipped down the visor to check her lipstick in the mirror, dabbed with a pinky at one corner of her mouth, flipped the visor back up, pushed open the driver’s side door, and hopped out, slamming the door shut with her hip.

  She stood for a few moments by the side of the SUV, talking loudly into the phone as she casually surveyed her surroundings.

  “We need to get on top of this situation, right away,” she said, her eyes moving but not really seeing anything as she focused her thoughts on the call. “We need someone out there. Maybe you should go yourself. Do some digging around. Ask a few questions. See what you can find out.” She listened briefly before continuing. “I understand that, but don’t worry about the police. Trust me, they have other things on their minds. Just poke around innocently, stay off their radar, see if you can talk to her.” Another pause, and Wanda distinctly frowned, her mouth turning down sharply and her plucked eyebrows falling together. “Where did you hear that? Are you sure that’s what she said?” As she listened again, her gaze shifted, searching, before eventually coming to rest on Candy.

  The two locked eyes.

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Wanda continued into the phone. “I’m out at the berry farm now. She’s right here in front of me.” Wanda’s eyes flicked up and down Candy, from her face to her feet and back again, as if assessing her. “I’ll send her over there right away. Maybe she can get the woman to talk. After all, she still writes for the paper. Maybe we can get an exclusive on this. I’ll keep you posted. Oh, and before I forget, tell Lizzie I need that bonfire story by tomorrow A.M. for the website. Can’t keep the readers waiting. She’s been missing her deadlines a lot lately, and we have to tighten up this ship if we want to keep our readers happy and keep page views up. And tell her to take plenty of pictures. And make sure they’re in focus this time. Her last batch was pretty fuzzy.” A final pause. “Okay, keep me posted. I’ll let you know what happens here.”

  The moment she pulled the phone away from her ear, her frown disappeared, replaced by a carefully arranged smile, one that Wanda had perfected over the years.

  When they’d first encountered each other nearly a decade ago, Wanda had been sharper edged, prickly and defensive, slow to listen and quick to attack. But over time she’d evolved a little, especially after she’d inherited the position of managing editor, her dream job, from Candy. She’d learned to smooth out some of her sharper edges and had developed a new approach, preferring to use honey rather than browbeating to get what she wanted.

  She nodded politely at Candy as she slipped the phone into a back pocket. “So here you are!” she said pleasantly as she started in Candy’s direction. “We missed you downtown this morning, you know. Your absence was noticed. I kept saying to everyone, ‘Where’s Candy? Is she doing all right?’ But, of course, I heard you’d been up to the hospital to see Neil, and that you were helping out here at the berry farm. How nice of you to do that! You always seem to know exactly where you’re needed, don’t you?”

  Candy could think of several different responses to that last inquiry, not all of them polite, but decided to be pleasant herself. She wasn’t ready to get into a tussle with Wanda, not after what she’d been through over the past day or
two. “It’s nice to hear I was missed,” she said, “but I knew you and the others would have everything under control. So, yes, I thought I’d help out here for a few hours, just to make sure the sugar shack tours were running smoothly.”

  “And everyone in town appreciates your efforts,” Wanda said magnanimously. “Especially the tourists. I’ve heard several of them talking about how impressed they were with the tours and the sugar shack operation out here. And it looks like you’ve sold plenty of bottles of syrup.”

  “We’ve gone through almost three boxes so far, a dozen bottles in each box,” Candy said, “and still have a bunch of boxes left for the rest of today and tomorrow. So, how’s everything going at the community center? And at Town Park?”

  Wanda stopped a few feet in front of her, shielding her eyes with the flat of her hand as the wind tossed about her red hair. Candy finally felt compelled to rise to greet the newcomer, pushing herself to her feet as one of her knees cracked audibly. Random appeared out of nowhere and gave Wanda a quick sniff and hand nuzzle before heading off again.

  “Such a delightful dog,” Wanda said, watching him go. “Lots of personality. Just like his master.”

  “He was pretty upset last night,” Candy said, “but he’s calmed down a lot today. The visitors are helping. They’re giving him lots of attention, which is what he needs. It keeps him distracted while Neil’s recovering.”

  “So what’s his prognosis?” Wanda asked, and they chatted briefly about Candy’s visit to the hospital that morning, and the latest report from Officer Molly Prospect, and Candy’s intent to head back to the hospital as soon as possible. “But I don’t feel right leaving Finn and Hawthorne here on their own.” She paused. “Especially Hawthorne. Have you met him?”

  “Our elbows have brushed against each other a time or two. The silent type.”

  “That’s him.”

  “So how can I help?”

  The question was so unexpected, and seemed so out of character for Wanda, that it caught Candy off guard. “With what?”

  Wanda turned and waved a hand around the property. “Here. At the berry farm.”

  Candy wasn’t sure what to make of this. “You want to help out here? At the farm? Today? But I thought you’d have more important things to do this afternoon.”

  “I have lots of important things to do,” Wanda said, her suddenly steely gaze swinging back toward Candy, “but I need a favor.”

  “Ahh.” Candy had wondered when that was coming. “So you’ll keep an eye on things here at the farm if I run a little errand for you, or something like that?”

  “Something like that,” Wanda admitted, with a cunning expression on her face, “but I think it might prove beneficial for the both of us.”

  Intrigued, Candy crossed her arms. “How so?”

  “Well,” Wanda said, and she leaned in conspiratorially, a single eyebrow raised, “here’s what I have in mind.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Everything came together surprisingly quickly. Wanda called in the troops, or at least a couple of troops—apparently she had no intention of personally staying around the berry farm any longer than she had to—and they arrived with alacrity, as if they’d been hovering nearby, waiting for her summons.

  After a few quick hellos, they pitched right in. None other than Carol McKaskie, the vice chair of the town council and longtime member of Wanda’s inner circle of friends, took over the sales of maple syrup with a cheery smile and a good eye for marketing and display. She promptly rearranged the offerings on the tables to make them more aesthetically pleasing, and sold three bottles right off. Wanda’s son, Bryan, now in his early twenties and sporting a black beard and a dark blue bandanna wrapped around his longish unwashed hair, arrived shortly after to help out in the sugar shack, giving Finn and Hawthorne a little relief. “He’s had some experience with this sort of thing,” Wanda explained. “He helped with the boiling demonstration down at the community center this morning, but he called in some of the old vets to take over for a while so he could come out here.”

  It was almost as if Wanda had the whole thing planned from the start, Candy thought, though she doubted that was the case. Instead, Wanda simply had a knack for pulling in the right people for the right project, and she had a big network of friends, family, collaborators, and acquaintances from which to draw. As always, she had her finger on the pulse of the town and knew how to effectively move people around to the places where they were most needed, according to her sole determination.

  “That should take care of the situation around here for a while,” Wanda said twenty minutes later, with a certain sense of satisfaction, “and I can bring in a couple more folks this afternoon if needed, so you can go off for that little meeting we talked about. And then, of course, you can head over to see Neil.”

  Candy almost felt grateful to the other woman—something she wasn’t used to. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

  Wanda nodded. “I insist. It’s all for the good of the village, of course. And tell Ginny I said hi.”

  “When do you need the story by?”

  “I can guarantee you the front page of next Friday’s edition,” she said, “so Monday afternoon would be ideal, but no later than Tuesday morning. Agreed?”

  “Agreed. As long as there’s a story there.”

  Wanda gave her a hard look. “Of course there’s a story there, if what I’ve heard is true. Trust me. Hutch didn’t do it. The police are focusing on the wrong man.”

  This particular bit of information had come to Wanda through the village grapevine, and a quick conference with Finn in the sugar shack, verified with an equally brief phone call by Finn to an unnamed source within the Cape Willington Police Department, seemed to confirm what she’d heard:

  Hutch Milbright had an alibi.

  What’s more, Ginny Milbright was apparently claiming that Hutch’s knife—the alleged murder weapon—had been stolen from their home a few weeks earlier. Whether or not either of the Milbrights had contacted the police about the alleged theft of the collectible weapon was unverified, but it threw enough of a doubt about Hutch’s involvement with the murder to cause a lot of concern around town.

  “You know what this means,” Wanda said, more a statement than a question. “Everyone thought this thing was wrapped up and the culprit identified, but this newest development means we could still have a murderer running around, possibly ready to strike again. The whole town is on pins and needles about it.”

  “It could also just be a smoke screen,” Candy said, playing devil’s advocate, “something Hutch and Ginny made up to get him off the hook.”

  Wanda squinted at her. “It could be. But do you really believe that?”

  Candy pushed a hand with fingers splayed back through her disheveled hair. “I don’t know. I admit the whole thing sounds fishy to me, but where the truth lies, I’m just not sure yet.”

  “That’s why you need to get over to the Milbrights’ place ASAP and talk to Ginny,” Wanda said. “You’re going over there to verify her story and get the details. And you’re the only person she’ll talk to, for some reason. She’s made that clear.”

  “But why me? She can talk to the police. She can talk to a lawyer. I’m a blueberry farmer.”

  At that comment, Wanda rolled her eyes. “Who knows what she’s thinking? I offered to go myself, but she won’t see me. For whatever reason, she wants to talk to you, and you alone. That’s why we’re relieving you here, so you can go off and do what you do best.” She paused, and though the next few words appeared hard for her to get out, she nevertheless managed to do so. “Somehow, once again, it seems you’re in the center of all this. I don’t know why it keeps happening, but there it is. And, honestly, you’re the town’s best bet for figuring this out quickly, so we can identify who’s behind Mick’s murder, put that person behind bars, and get on with our live
s.”

  It was bluntly put, but Candy had heard similar statements before. Wanda was right. Somehow she always managed to get herself stuck in the middle of these cases, and here she was again.

  Only this time there was more at stake. This time Neil was involved. What had he stumbled into? she wondered. How had he gotten himself knocked out and dumped in that boathouse? More important, how was he involved in all this? Was there a link between Neil and the stolen sap? Or between Neil and Mick Rilke?

  Questions bubbled in Candy’s mind as her gaze drifted.

  Wanda had turned away for the moment. She was back on her cell phone, again talking loudly about something or other, gesticulating wildly with her hands, a twisted expression on her face. She certainly has a lot going on, Candy thought, watching her. And in that moment, she didn’t regret giving up her position as the paper’s managing editor—or interim managing editor, as it were—for a less complicated, and definitely less stressful, job back on the farm.

  But her life had become more complicated again—and more stressful, considering all that was at stake for many of the villagers, including Neil. Once again, she was faced with a dangerous tangle of events.

  Candy watched Wanda for a few moments with a hazy vagueness, then shifted her gaze, past Wanda, across the driveway to the red splotch nearby that had caught her eye.

  Neil’s red Saab wagon, now parked under the trees on the far side of the farmhouse.

  When she’d arrived out here earlier in the day, the faded old wagon had been in its usual parking spot in front of the barn. But she’d found the keys on a hook inside the front door, where Neil always kept them, and moved the Saab out of the way, to make room for the tables and clear a path for visitors.

  As she’d done so, she’d realized its presence here was a fairly important clue, because if it was here, that meant Neil hadn’t driven himself to the boathouse. He couldn’t have. He had no other way to get there. It only strengthened her suspicion that he’d been abducted somehow, perhaps while he’d been out in the woods collecting sap, and transported to the boathouse by an alternative means.