Town in a Lobster Stew chm-2 Page 5

  Nothing negative. Good.

  Mostly she saw the typical things — calls from a local historian, Julius Seabury, who was giving a presentation at the library the following week, and from a woman named Cassandra Rockwell, who had just opened a new consignment shop on Main Street. Margaritte Jordan called about a scrapbooking group she was organizing. A PR person from one of the coastal resorts had contacted Candy about a wellness weekend she was promoting. Finn Woodbury, one of Doc’s buddies, had called about the upcoming auditions for the Cape Summer Theater’s annual summer musical, which would be Brigadoon this year.

  The last message was from Oliver LaForce, the proprietor of the Lightkeeper’s Inn. Candy had met Oliver several times over the past few months. He was a humorless, fastidious man who ran the inn with cold precision. The message, as expected, was businesslike and to the point: Please call to confirm your attendance on Saturday. A press badge will be waiting for you. I have some news as well. We’ll discuss at the event.

  News? That piqued Candy’s interest. Could it have anything to do with the rumors she’d heard of a guest judge?

  She thought about picking up the phone and calling Oliver right then to find out what was going on. But she quickly decided to put it off until later.

  She had something more important to do right now.

  Inexorably, her gaze was drawn across the room, to the filing cabinet in the corner. She focused in on the bottom drawer, the one labeled with only two letters: SV.

  She’d avoided going into that drawer for a long time — but she knew she could avoid it no longer.

  It was time to have a look at Sapphire Vine’s old files.

  Six

  Sliding out of her chair, she crossed the room and fell into a cross-legged seating position in front of the filing cabinet’s bottom drawer.

  For the longest time she just sat there, staring at it. She knew she was dredging up old mysteries and unwanted problems. She knew she was delving into the twisted mind of a dead woman. She knew she should probably have followed an earlier instinct and just burned the files, committing them to ashes, which was where they truthfully belonged.

  But she hadn’t. They were still here, in her possession. And they were here for a reason.

  With a great force of will, she moved her hand to the drawer’s metal handle. Taking a deep breath, she slid the button aside with her thumb and pulled open the drawer.

  She hadn’t been in these files for ten months, since she’d inherited them from Sapphire Vine, the newspaper’s previous community columnist. Sapphire had been many other things as well, including a gossip, a blackmailer, the reigning Blueberry Queen, a keeper of dark secrets, and ultimately a murder victim. She’d been brutally struck down in her home with a red-handled hammer. Finding her killer and solving the mystery of her death had been Candy’s first true case — and it had almost gotten her killed.

  Last summer, when Ben had placed the files in Candy’s hands, they had helped her track down Sapphire’s murderer. But with the mystery solved and the murderer arrested, Candy had brought the files back here to the office, stuffed them in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, and left them there, secrets and all.

  Some of the folders Candy had opened and perused in an effort to find the murderer. She had not looked at the rest, however, and with good reason. Sapphire had been quietly assembling private, personal, and often damaging information about many of Cape Willington’s residents. And the former Blueberry Queen was not averse to using that information for her own gain. That’s what led to her death.

  So Candy had left the tainted files alone — and had overcome an instinct to burn them and bid them good riddance. She couldn’t help feeling, back then, that at some point in the future the files might come in handy.

  That time had come.

  She leaned forward and started working her way back through the files, carefully checking the labels. She didn’t have to flip back too far to find the one she wanted. It was a thick folder labeled WB.

  Candy pulled it out, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, hesitated just a moment, and opened the cover. Curiously, she started paging through it.

  “Just as I thought,” she muttered to herself a short while later.

  Sapphire had assembled a hefty dossier on Wanda Boyle. Newspaper clippings abounded, covering most of Wanda’s activities over the past few years. Sapphire had also included a few grainy black-and-white photos — apparently taken surreptitiously — of Wanda consorting with many of the town’s more powerful and wealthier individuals.

  That made sense. Wanda did whatever she could to ingratiate herself with the popular folk around town. But after studying the photos, Candy could see nothing inappropriate going on. All the photos had been taken at what looked like public events. No bedroom shots or anyone in a compromising position. It was probably just Sapphire snooping around, looking for dirt that wasn’t there — a modus operandi that had, at times, yielded boffo results for the gossip columnist.

  Candy pursed her lips as she dug farther back into the folder, where the documents were crisper and starting to turn brown with age. Sapphire had included a few pages about Wanda’s husband, who was a building contractor and remodeler, and some brief notes about Wanda’s children — their ages, teachers, and classes, mostly.

  Candy found the whole thing creepy. Even now, nearly a year later, Sapphire’s level of obsession and attention to detail still horrified yet fascinated her.

  She went back and forth through the folder a few more times before finally pulling out the documents she wanted.

  One was a year-old newspaper clipping about Wanda’s volunteer efforts at the Cape Willington Historical Society, located in the red-roofed Keeper’s Quarters out at English Point Lighthouse, just a block or so from here. Dating back to 1857, the lighthouse stood on a point of black rock near the mouth of the English River, which formed the northern boundary of the village of Cape Willington.

  The other document, in Sapphire’s own flowery handwriting, provided details about Wanda’s parents and siblings, including an older brother named Owen, who just happened to be a cabinetmaker and carpenter.

  That had caught Candy’s attention. Wanda’s brother was a carpenter? Could he have been the one who worked on Wilma Mae’s shelving unit and discovered the secret document drawer?

  It sounded just a little too convenient, though, didn’t it? Then again, maybe she’d already discovered her first clue to the mystery.

  She was in the process of stuffing the folder back into the filing cabinet when Maggie walked in.

  Although Maggie was not a slim woman, neither could she be called full figured. She had a few curves and a few extra pounds, yet she carried herself well, with a certain grace and fluidness of motion. She always dressed well, with discreet makeup that accentuated her best facial features — her prominent cheekbones and her dark, flashing eyes. Her chestnut hair was stylishly cut and naturally curly, resulting in a lush and, Candy often thought, attractive look for her.

  Maggie was also incredibly vivacious, a good counter to Candy’s more subdued, thoughtful personality.

  “Hey stranger,” Maggie said, entering the room like a fresh spring breeze. “I saw the Jeep out front and thought I’d stop in to say hello real quick. I haven’t seen you all week. What have you been — ”

  She stopped abruptly when she saw her friend sitting on the floor in front of the filing cabinet instead of at her desk. She gave Candy a mystified look. “Honey, what are you doing down there on the floor? Are you okay?”

  As casually as she could, Candy rose to her feet and nonchalantly dusted off her jeans. “Oh, sure, sure, I’m fine.”

  “Well what were you doing down there?” Maggie repeated.

  “Oh, you know.” Candy stuck her hands in her back pockets. “I was just... you know, relaxing.”

  “Relaxing?” Maggie blinked several times as she looked from Candy to the still-opened drawer. Quickly her mind registered what wa
s going on. She gasped. “You were looking in the bottom filing cabinet, weren’t you! You were going through her files!”

  None too discreetly, Candy reached out with a sneakered foot and slid the bottom drawer closed. “Who, me? Naw, I was just, um, practicing my yoga moves.”

  But Maggie was having none of it. “Don’t give me that. You don’t do yoga — though that’s not a bad idea, you know. Hey, we could do it together — get us a couple of those cute leotard things, or maybe even capri pants. I’d probably wear black, because of my figure and all, but with your hair color you’d probably look good in a...” She paused, catching herself. “Hey, wait a minute. Don’t try changing the subject on me, missy.” Her gaze narrowed on her friend. “You were looking through Sapphire’s old files, weren’t you?”

  “Um, well, I...”

  Maggie leveled a finger at her. “Aha! So I was right. And you didn’t even call me!”

  “I was going to but, well... it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing.”

  “But you said you weren’t going to look at those files ever again unless it was an extreme emergency. Those were your words: extreme emergency.”

  “Um, well,” Candy said hesitantly, “I guess this is sort of an emergency.”

  “An emergency? But...” Maggie’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh my God! You’re on a case! You’re investigating another mystery, aren’t you!”

  Candy knew she could never keep anything from her friend. She let out a sigh and flopped back down in her desk chair. With a resigned tone, she said, “Well, if you must know, yes.”

  Maggie’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Oh, thank goodness. Something exciting is finally happening! I’ve been so stressed lately, what with everything that’s been going on with Ed and Amanda and all the drama at work. I need something totally different to do with my life for a while. I need something to occupy my mind. And a good mystery is just the thing. So, tell me,” Maggie said as she slid into a folding chair along one wall and tucked her hands expectantly into her knees, “what are you investigating this time? Spill the beans. And don’t leave out a single detail.” Maggie settled herself again. “So, what have you got?”

  “Well, it’s not that much, really. Just a small case.” Candy held out a hand, with her index finger and thumb slightly apart. “Just an itty-bitty one.”

  “Okay, so tell me all about it. No, wait! Better yet, let me guess. This’ll be fun.” Maggie scrunched up her face as she rubbed her chin. “What were you doing today?” She studied Candy with an appraising eye as she pondered her own question. After a moment, her eyebrows rose dramatically. “You interviewed Wilma Mae Wendell, didn’t you? About that recipe of hers!” Another pause as she thought it through. “This is about her lobster stew recipe, right? And the cook-off on Saturday?”

  “Darn, you’re good,” Candy admitted.

  Maggie shrieked in excitement. “You mean I’m right?”

  “Yes, you’re right. But I didn’t think you’d figure it out that fast. Listen, you can’t tell anyone about this, okay? This is just between us for now. But yes, I’m doing something for Wilma Mae.”

  Maggie’s voice was suddenly hushed as she leaned forward. “What is it?”

  Candy hesitated, but Maggie had been a big help in tracking down Sapphire’s killer last summer. Candy might need her help again. “It’s nothing dangerous or anything like that. She just has a little... problem.”

  “What kind of problem? Does it have anything to do with the lobster stew recipe?”

  “Well, since you asked, yes.”

  “Is she giving it to you? Is that it? There are rumors all over town she’s giving it away.”

  “No, that’s not it. She’s not giving it away.”

  “Then what?”

  Candy leaned close to her friend and said in the lowest whisper she could manage, “The recipe has been stolen.”

  “Someone stole the lobster stew recipe?” Maggie said loudly before being shushed by Candy. More softly, she repeated, “Someone stole the recipe? Who could have done such a thing?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  “And she wants you to get it back for her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ooh, fun. It’s the search for the stolen recipe.” Maggie’s gaze shifted toward the filing cabinet. “That’s why you were looking in Sapphire’s old files, isn’t it? You were looking for clues.”

  Candy nodded. “Something like that.”

  Maggie’s eyes shifted back to her friend. “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” Candy said dramatically, “that I’m searching for specific clues, in a specific file. Wilma Mae already has a suspect.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t have a cow, but it’s Wanda Boyle.”

  At the mention of Wanda’s name, all the excitement and enthusiasm seem to drain right out of Maggie. The expression on her face instantly deflated to one of total disbelief. For a moment she sat in stunned silence. Then she reached out and took Candy’s arm, as if she were comforting a terminally ill friend. “Tell me I heard you wrong. Tell me you’re not serious.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Wanda Boyle? Are you crazy? You can’t investigate her.”

  Candy understood her friend’s concern. “You think I’m kicking over a hornet’s nest?”

  “Honey, it’s much worse than that. She owns this town. She knows everyone. If she thinks you’re investigating her or that you’re plotting against her, she’ll ruin you! She’ll turn everyone in this town against you. And she’ll ruin me too, because I’m your friend!”

  Candy gave a feeble laugh. “You’re exaggerating.”

  But Maggie shook her head adamantly. “No I’m not. You have to stop this investigation right now. Because if you don’t, Wanda Boyle will destroy us both!”

  Seven

  Twenty minutes later, as Candy walked outside and climbed behind the wheel of her Jeep, Maggie’s final words echoed in her mind:

  Avoid Wanda at all costs. Stay on her good side. Don’t ruffle her feathers. Or we’ll both pay for it!

  Candy blew out a long breath of air as she started the engine. She didn’t necessarily disagree with Maggie. But she hadn’t expected her friend’s strong reaction to the news of her latest investigation.

  A short time earlier, Maggie had made a quick exit from the Cape Crier offices, saying she had to get back to work. “Something’s brewing over there,” she told Candy. “I don’t know what yet, but I’m going to find out. Whatever it is, it’s sure got my boss on edge, so I can’t be gone too long.”

  But before she headed out the door, she pleaded with Candy to abandon the investigation. “You’re treading on dangerous territory,” she said ominously. “Just tell Wilma Mae you couldn’t help her, and let sleeping hornets lie.” She left with her final words of advice, her dislike and fear of Wanda Boyle evident.

  That fear had caught Candy off-guard, though she completely understood it. She knew well of Wanda’s influence around town, and the odd power the woman seemed to wield over its citizens. After talking to Maggie, Candy sensed that going up against a force such as Wanda Boyle, if it came to that, might be difficult and perhaps even disastrous — if Maggie was to be believed. Still, Candy couldn’t imagine why her actions would cause any trouble. She was just doing a little poking around. She was no threat to anyone.

  She decided, as she sat listening to the Jeep’s rumbling engine, that she’d have to be cautious and keep the investigation low-key. But at the same time she told herself that, no matter what happened, she wouldn’t let herself be scared off.

  She had told Wilma Mae she would look into the situation. And she was determined to do just that.

  So she backed out of her parking spot and headed down Ocean Avenue, past the opera house, which doubled as Town Hall, past the cemetery and Town Park, to the red light at the bottom of the street, where she flicked on her left turn signal.

  Just ahead, past a wide expans
e of black rocks, low shrubbery, and a narrow, pebble-strewn beach, lay the ocean, bright blue and moderately choppy today. She had rolled down the driver’s-side window and could almost feel the ocean’s spray on the wind. A seagull rose lazily on an updraft. Candy watched it until the light turned green, then steered the Jeep onto the Coastal Loop headed north.

  It didn’t take her long to reach her destination. Just a short distance up the road she turned off into a parking lot on her right, which gave her access to the Waterfront Walk and the pathway leading to the English Point Lighthouse and Museum. She pulled out her purse, locked the door, and turned her face into the wind.

  A few minutes’ walk took her through the low shrubbery and down a slope toward the rugged shore, where the lighthouse rose majestically, a round, white tower gleaming in the early afternoon sun. Around it huddled several buildings, including the Keeper’s Quarters and a maintenance shed off to one side.

  As many times as she had visited the lighthouse, she still never ceased to marvel at its stateliness and beauty. It stretched nearly ninety feet into the air, with its iron balcony, or watch deck, at the top accessed by a spiraling cast-iron staircase located inside the tower.

  The Keeper’s Quarters nestled at the foot of the tower, a two-story Victorian-style home that had housed the lightkeeper and his family until the early 1980s, when the light’s operation was modernized. In the mid-1980s, the town took control of both the lighthouse and the buildings surrounding it, turning the Keeper’s Quarters into a visitor’s center and museum. In the late 1990s, the building became the official home of the Cape Willington Historical Society.

  Candy approached the lighthouse with her purse on her shoulder and her hands tucked deep into her pockets. She tilted her head way back and stopped for a few moments to admire it, watching the high clouds scud past its highest point, which made the tower look as if it were dipping to one side. Finally she moved on, turning toward the Keeper’s Quarters. She paused to read one of the descriptive plaques posted outside before climbing the gray-painted wooden steps and entering the museum.