Town in a Maple Madness Read online

  “And Hutch’s too?”

  “Hutch?” Neil shook his head. “I don’t know. Do you think the same person tapped the trees in both places?”

  “That’s what we have to find out. When I talked to the Milbrights about it yesterday, they thought you were doing it.”

  “Me?” Neil looked aghast. “Why would they think I did it?”

  “It has something to do with that knife,” Candy said, “and I think there’s also some jealously on their part because of what you’ve been doing at your farm.”

  “Hmm, yes, I’ve heard that before,” Neil said. “I’ve tried to build a few bridges with them but sometimes people rub each other the wrong way. I had the same situation with Mick.”

  “You did?”

  Neil nodded. “Apparently it goes back years, decades, to events that happened when my dad was still around, running the place. I don’t know the whole story, but there were some bad feelings. But again, I mostly just tried to stay out of it.” He sighed and tossed his head a little. “But I guess I couldn’t stay out of it forever. Somehow they dragged me into it, and now I guess I’m a suspect in Mick’s murder.”

  Candy saw the problem then, the reason for his reluctance in identifying the sap thief. “If you saw Mick stealing from you, and you’ve had conflicts with him in the past, then that means you have probable cause,” she pointed out.

  “Bingo.” The regret was heavy in his voice. “It gives me a motivation for murder.”

  “And you’ve told the police all this—about seeing him in the woods?”

  “I have.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “What do they ever say? We’ll get back to you. Oh, and I shouldn’t leave town—although, technically, I’m not in town at the moment. But I got the gist of it. They want me to stay around for more questioning.”

  “Right,” Candy said, and she turned to look behind her, back to the hallway and the direction from which she’d come. “They don’t appear to have a guard on your door.”

  “Not yet,” Neil said, “but it’s probably only a matter of time.”

  Candy could see the evidence against him, and it didn’t look good. “You had the knife by your side, essentially in your possession. Ginny is claiming you stole it from Hutch, though she hasn’t reported that to the police—yet. You saw Mick stealing sap from your trees. It’s an easy one-two-three link.”

  “Easy,” Neil glumly agreed with her. “That about wraps it up, doesn’t it?”

  “With a neat little bow,” Candy agreed. She had a sudden thought. “Did you handle that knife when Hutch showed it to you a few weeks ago? Are your fingerprints on it?”

  Neil shook his head. “I had to use this dumb little cloth he had in the case. He didn’t want my fingerprints anywhere on the thing.”

  “Well, at least that’s one point in our favor,” Candy said, “and thank goodness for that dumb little cloth, although I’m sure they’re still going to check the knife for prints at the lab. That could seal the case, if they find anything.”

  “Hopefully they won’t,” Neil said.

  “Hopefully.” Candy was silent as she thought. “So,” she said after a few moments, returning to his narrative, “what happened after you saw Mick in the woods? You spotted him, but did you confront him? Did he see you? What did he say?”

  Neil shook his head, and his eyes became shaded. “None of those things happened. I saw him, and that’s honestly all I remember. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in that boathouse, with you staring down at me and Random barking.”

  “You don’t remember anything in between?”

  “Nothing. Nada. Whatever happened to me, I went out pretty fast.”

  Again, Candy’s mind whirred. “I think we can probably figure out what happened. Right after you spotted Mick, someone hit you in the back of the head with some sort of weapon—a tree branch, maybe, or a rock or something like that. I came across that spot too, where I think it happened, when I was following those tracks in the woods. I saw two sets of prints out there, in addition to yours. And two sets of tire tracks. That means there were at least two other people back there, and two vehicles. My guess is that the two vehicles were Mick’s red truck and a purple . . .”

  But she was interrupted by her phone, which pinged in her back pocket. That particular sound meant she’d received a text. Thinking it might be important, she reached back and pulled out the phone. “Hang on a minute,” she said as she quickly checked the screen.

  It was a text from Wanda Boyle. Candy read it quickly:

  Found out about that purple van with license plate RIP DIG. NOT rest in peace.

  A follow-up text added, Belongs to someone named Russ Pooley. Middle initial I. Asking around about the family name. Will contact you when I know more.

  “Pooley,” Candy said as she stared at the texts, her brow wrinkling in thought.

  “What’s that?”

  Candy looked up, and then read the texts back to Neil. “I was just talking about it,” she said. “This purple van on the road behind the Milbrights’ place that almost ran me over yesterday. It belongs to someone named Russ Pooley.” She paused, and then she remembered.

  “I’ve seen that name before,” she said, the light going on in her eyes. “Just recently, in fact.”

  FORTY-THREE

  Quickly she told Neil what she intended to do, but he didn’t want to let her go. “You don’t know what you’re walking into,” he said, sounding worried. “It could be anything.”

  But Candy would not be deterred. “All those places looked like they were deserted when I was out there yesterday. Maybe there’s some sort of connection,” she said, recalling the names on the signs by the small cabins and cottages she’d passed along the river. Bell was one of the names she’d seen. And Cook, and Kimball, and Robinson.

  And Pooley.

  She couldn’t recall that place in particular. It hadn’t jumped out at her in any way. There had been six or eight of the small riverside cabins she’d passed that had been nondescript. Nothing to distinguish them—just low wooden structures, most looking run-down, painted muted colors, some with chimneys, some with screened porches, all dark and locked up.

  Could that be where the purple van had been headed? To one of those cabins by the river?

  And who was Russ Pooley, the apparent owner of the purple van? Was there a connection between him, whoever he was, and the riverside cabin with the same name on it?

  “Anyway,” she said, with a glint of anticipation in her eyes, “I doubt there’s anyone at any of those places today, with everything going on in town. I’ll just run over there real quick and check it out. Maybe do a little snooping around, see what I can find out. I should be okay, if I keep my head low and my nose clean.”

  She glanced around at the clock on the wall. It was just after four in the afternoon. “And after that I have to head over to Town Park. I haven’t been there all day, and I feel like I’ve been shirking my duties. I promised Maggie I’d help out in the booth.”

  Neil understood. They’d been friends and neighbors long enough for him to know how she operated. He knew he couldn’t talk her out of it, or make her change her mind. It was simply her nature in cases like this. And over the years, she’d had a lot of success in solving them—though often at her own peril.

  “Take Random with you,” Neil said, still uncertain he should let her go off on her own. It was clear he wanted to go with her himself, and felt frustrated that he couldn’t. “He’ll help you keep an eye on things. And if you see anything suspicious, anything at all, promise me you won’t get yourself tangled up in it. Just back away and call the police. Better yet,” he added, swinging his head around to look out the door, “they might still be hanging around the building. You should say something to them on the way out, just to let them know what’s going on.”


  “If I see someone, I’ll say something,” Candy agreed, slipping the phone back into her pocket and looking suddenly distracted.

  “Promise me,” he said, and he took her hand again, before she could walk away. “Because I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

  That made her stop, and shift her head, and refocus on him. For a moment, everything else was forgotten. She grasped his hand tightly and felt a sudden glow inside. “Really?”

  “Really,” he said honestly as he looked into her eyes. “I mean, I’ve been lying here all day, thinking a lot, and I’ve decided there’s something I want you to know—something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, though I didn’t really know how to say it until now. But, well, I’ve started wondering why I’ve been doing all this.”

  “All what?”

  “All this,” he said, and he waved a hand in the general direction of Cape Willington. “The farm. The maple sugaring. The strawberries. The cherry trees and the hoophouses and all the sweat and effort. And, to be honest, when I asked myself that question, I wasn’t sure of the answer. I’ve been doing it all by myself for so long that I’ve lost touch with the purpose of it. The reason behind it. But then, after I thought about it for a really long time”—and here he paused to allow himself a brief smile—“I realized why I’ve been doing it. I’ve been doing it for us.”

  Candy wasn’t quite sure what he meant. “For us?”

  Neil suddenly looked hesitant. “Of course, I don’t mean to presume anything,” he said hastily.

  “No, no.” Candy squeezed his hand again. “It’s okay, go ahead and presume.”

  Again, he smiled. “Okay, well, since you insist—but really, it’s why I came here in the first place. For the property, sure. For my family’s legacy, okay. But it has to be more than that. And I realized I was doing it to be close to you.”

  “Really?” she said again.

  “Really. Look, I know I’m not the most outspoken, outgoing person in the world. I know I keep to myself a lot, that I can be a loner. But I don’t think—no, let me rephrase that—I’m sure that’s not the way I want to spend the rest of my life. I have to be doing this for someone, other than just for me. I guess it’s just taken me a while to figure this out, but part of the reason I moved back here from Vermont, and sold the place there, was that I wanted to run a farm close to yours. I wanted to spend time with you. I wanted to work with you. I wanted to, well, be next to you.”

  He stopped. He had the look of someone who’d realized he’d probably said too much.

  Still holding his hand, Candy brushed aside a few stray strands of her honey-colored hair, leaned over, and kissed him on his cheek just above the beard. Staying close to him, looking into his eyes, she said, “I feel the same way, Neil. I always have. And, well, I guess I’m sort of just like you. I live with my dad, of course, but I’ve been by myself for a long time, since I got divorced years ago. And, like you, it’s taken me a while to admit . . . well, I guess that’s why I’ve been spending more and more time at the berry farm with you and Random.”

  Suddenly, at the mention of the dog’s name, her eyes went wide and she straightened, slapping her forehead with her palm. “Random!”

  Neil looked suddenly worried. “What about him?”

  “I left him in the Jeep,” Candy said, “and he’s probably famished. I have to take him something to eat and drink, otherwise he’ll be in a panic.”

  Again, Neil understood. He squeezed her hand a final time, reassuringly, and then let her go. “We’ll talk, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, and she gave him another quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back,” she said, “as soon as I can. And then you and I are going to have to spend some time together.”

  He beamed. “I’ll look forward to every moment. And, hey, you be careful out there.”

  “And you get better, as soon as you can. We need you back at the farm.”

  Their good-byes were rushed and a little awkward, if only because neither of them quite knew how to separate from each other. But Candy finally made her way back into the hallway and down the stairs to the first floor, her thoughts like a swarm of butterflies in flight on a sunny afternoon.

  But she didn’t forget Random. On the way out of the hospital, she stopped at a vending machine and bought a packaged ham sandwich and a bottle of water. And, just for fun, some peanut butter crackers. He’d enjoy those, she thought. He loved peanut butter. A nice treat for all his patience today.

  She made a quick scan of the place, looking for Molly Prospect, but the officer was nowhere to be seen. No doubt she was back in town already, as was Chief Durr. Candy decided she’d simply stop by the police station on her way into town and talk to them there.

  Then she was out the door, into the waning day, headed back to the river.

  FORTY-FOUR

  As she drove eastward from the hospital along Route 1, Candy went over Neil’s words again and again in her head, reliving their conversation, remembering the look in his eyes and the touch of his hands, wondering what his words might mean for the both of them, and what kind of a future the two of them might have together. It gave her a lot to think about.

  But as she approached the intersection with the Coastal Loop and the bridge over the English River, her thoughts became more focused. At the traffic light, she made a left-hand turn off the main road onto the quiet side street that ran north along the river, where the boathouse and waterfront cabins were located. She parked in the same general area she had the day before, and again she had to tussle with Random. “I don’t have a leash,” she told him, “and I’m not sure this is a good place for you to be running around.”

  Before she left the hospital, she’d given him a few minutes outside to stretch his legs, but he was antsy again after the long drive, his eyes flashing. She managed to calm him a little by giving him a couple of peanut butter crackers, which she’d kept in reserve for just this occasion. And she left the side window rolled partially down for him, so he could sniff at the moist air while he kept an eye on her. Feeling it was the best she could do for now, she closed up the Jeep and headed down toward the riverbank.

  She stopped at the water’s edge near a small eddy, created by a trio of boulders just upstream, and surveyed the landscape as she gauged her next move. She knew where she was headed, but Neil’s words echoed in her mind:

  “You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

  He was right. She’d have to be cautious. There was still a murderer around somewhere. She felt she was close to flushing the culprit out, but this was always the trickiest part.

  Slowly, quietly, and with a great sense of vigilance, she started off, hoping she was doing the right thing. Just a few minutes, she told herself, a quick reconnoiter. And then she’d head back to the Jeep and drive to the police station to report what she’d found—if indeed she found anything of interest.

  She headed downstream, careful of her footing on the uneven bank. The river rushed and gurgled on her left, and on her right were the cabins, tucked backed among the foliage, shadow-striped by the slanting sun and surrounding trees. Just as they had the day before, they all looked deserted. Their doors appeared to be padlocked, the windows were dark, and the parking spots beside the cabins were universally empty, except for an occasional abandoned car or off-road utility vehicle.

  As she passed by each cabin, she looked for an identifying sign or plaque. Again, she saw cabins belonging to the Bells and the Donovans and the Cooks. A little farther along, the Robinsons’ place, identified by a hand-painted sign, perched on a low rise above the river. The shades were drawn and the place looked quiet. Again, no one home, from what she could tell.

  As she silently walked past, she knew what was coming next, so she slowed and instinctively took a few steps sideways, into the vegetation on her right. It was, she thought, an attempt to camouflage
herself as she hovered for a few moments, so she could scan the area ahead, looking for any signs of movement.

  Her gaze swept back and forth several times, but she saw no one. She could see the cabin ahead, though, through the trees.

  The Pooley place.

  It was painted a faded bluish gray, she saw now, looking much like the color of river water, which might be why she hadn’t noticed it much her last time through here. It was a low-roofed affair with a stone chimney at one end and a small bay window out front. Other than that it was just a box, really, nothing fancy. A rickety-looking double-car garage, also painted bluish gray, stood next to it on the south side.

  She looked downriver. How much farther away was Gully’s Boathouse? she wondered. Not far. She thought she could see traces of yellow police tape through the trees. Maybe three or four houses farther downstream. The two places were close together.

  She pondered that for a moment, wondering what it might mean—if anything.

  Seeing no one around, she left her cover and crept forward a few steps—and began to wonder why she’d worried so much about the place, or even thought there might be something here. Because there wasn’t much, other than a few fishing poles in a rack on one side of the building, and a battered black barbeque grill nearby that looked as if it had been left out in the elements for too many years. A few empty beer cans and a couple of discarded bottles of charcoal lighter fluid had been tossed to the ground nearby. Nothing threatening in the least about the place.

  With her hands stuck deep in her pockets, she started across the open space in front of the cabin. Her gaze shifted back and forth, keeping an eye out for anything unusual, but as before, she saw nothing to give her concern. She approached the building from the side, and then, deciding to be proactive, she walked to the front door and rapped lightly on it several times. She waited and knocked again. Not surprisingly, no one answered.