Town in a Blueberrry Jam (12 page)

Finn gave them a wink, Artie looked up and nodded, and Bumpy raised a couple of fingers in greeting. “Hey, Doc. Hey, Candy. Where’ve you two been? We were expecting you half an hour ago.”

“We stopped over at the police station to talk to Ray,” Doc explained, “but they wouldn’t let us see him.”

“I’m not surprised,” Finn said knowingly. “Booking and all. Plus he’s a murder suspect. They have to be careful how they handle these things.”

Doc shifted restlessly. “So they said, though I can’t imagine why they’d arrest him in the first place. Damn foolish, if you ask me.”

“They must’ve had a reason,” Bumpy said, giving into temptation and filching a French fry from Artie’s plate. He dipped it generously in ketchup before he ate it. “They just don’t arrest a person like that for nothing.”

“What kinda reason could there possibly be for arresting Ray Hutchins?” Doc shot back. “That boy is as innocent as a newborn baby.”

Finn cleared his throat. “Um, well, not necessarily.” They all looked over at him. For a moment everyone was silent.

“Well,” Doc said finally, breaking the silence, “it’s obvious you’ve heard something through your usual sources. You gonna tell us what you know or do we have to beat it out of you?”

“I think we should give him a sound rapping about the head and shoulders,” Bumpy suggested.

“Naw, he’d probably enjoy it,” Artie added with a grin.

Finn leaned forward over the table. “Okay, I’ll tell you,” he said, his voice conspiratorially low, “but you can’t say nothing.”

Everyone groaned. “Enough with the horseshit,” Artie said.

“Yeah, cough it up,” Doc added. “You know something, so spill it.”

Finn’s dark eyes shifted around the diner, as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Convinced he wasn’t being overheard, he folded his arms on the table and lowered his voice even more, to a coarse whisper. “Well, like I said, you haven’t heard this from me, but they arrested Ray because they have stone-cold evidence that he murdered that Vine woman.”

“Evidence?” Candy said testily. “What kind of evidence could they possibly have?”

Even as she asked the question, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Finn told her anyway.

“From what I’ve heard from the boys inside, they found the murder weapon, right there at the scene of the crime, and they traced it right back to Ray.”

Artie snorted. “Who would be stupid enough to leave the murder weapon at the scene of the crime?”

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?” Finn said. “Who
would
be stupid enough to do that?”

They all sat in silence for a moment as the question answered itself.

“So what was this murder weapon that incriminated Ray?” Candy finally asked, still refusing to believe.

Finn glanced over at her, then said to them all, with as much drama as he could muster, “A hammer. A brand-new red-handled hammer.”

Candy closed her eyes as the air seemed to go out of her. “Oh no.”

Finn nodded. “From what I’ve heard, someone—Ray, allegedly—took that hammer and bashed in Sapphire’s skull from behind. Blunt trauma. Pretty gruesome, they say. She must have died instantly. Never knew what hit her.”

“That’s awful,” Bumpy said.

“Terrible. Just terrible,” Artie agreed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

“But what makes them think Ray did it?” Doc asked angrily. “Did they find him there? Did anyone see him do it?”

Finn shook his head. “Not that I know of, but there are witnesses who saw Ray’s truck parked in front of Sapphire’s house last night. And someone said they heard shouting coming from the house at around nine last night.”

Candy opened her eyes but kept them focused on the table in front of her, unable to look at the others in the booth. It all seemed so unreal. She looked at her hands, but even those seemed foreign to her as she anxiously rubbed them together.

She had seen that hammer before—had held it in these very hands. And now it was a suspected murder weapon, wielded—apparently—by someone she knew.

At
someone she knew.

Suddenly she felt very sick.

THIRTEEN

Their food was delivered, but Candy found she had lost her appetite. She sat for a while with Doc and the boys, listening to their back-and-forth banter, which turned quite salty, as it often did. She stayed as long as she could, her stomach churning, until finally she pushed the plate back and excused herself from the table. “I’m going to run over to Gumm’s and pick up that chicken wire,” she told Doc. “I’ll meet you back at the truck in fifteen minutes.”

He looked up, his gaze narrowing. “You all right? You’re looking kinda pale.”

She smiled weakly. “I just need some air.”

“You gonna finish that?” Bumpy asked, pointing to her uneaten lunch.

“It’s all yours.” She left without another word, giving them a halfhearted wave before walking out of the dark coolness of the diner. Once in the bright sunlight of the midsummer afternoon and away from the talk of murder, she felt a bit better. The day was hot and the humidity was building again. Dark, ominous clouds were piling up above the western horizon.
It’s going to turn stormy
, the news announcer had said on the noonday forecast.

She had been right in more ways than one.

Clutching her purse, Candy crossed Main Street, dodging cars and pedestrians, and headed down the block toward Gumm’s Hardware Store at the far end. A few of the townsfolk said hello to her as she passed them on the way, but she replied absently, still feeling shaky.

Ray’s hammer
, she thought as she walked inattentively, head down.
The same hammer I used the other day when Ray came over to the farm to help with the booth. I held the murder weapon in my hand. I held the weapon that killed Sapphire Vine.

She felt her stomach churning even more. For a moment she thought she was going to be physically sick, but she forced it back as another thought struck her:
My fingerprints are probably on the murder weapon. What if they think I had something to do with Sapphire’s death?

Now she really thought she was going to be sick.

Trying to shake off her queasiness, she pushed through the front door of Gumm’s and into the coolness again. Cameron, Amanda’s boyfriend, stood behind the counter, looking incredibly bored.

“Hi, Cam,” she said, giving him a wave.

“Oh, hi, Candy. How’s it going?”

“Not so great right now. Where do you keep the chicken wire?”

He pointed, looking concerned. “Back corner, next to the rakes and shovels. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just . . . things are a little crazy. So how’s Amanda doing?” she asked as she started off down the aisle.

“She’s okay. Glad the pageant’s over.”

“All of us are,” Candy said as an image of a postpageant Sapphire Vine flashed unbidden through her mind. She saw Sapphire standing in the living room of her little yellow house, being struck in the head from behind by a shadowy figure that held a red-handled hammer. . . .

Candy shook away the frightening image.

She’d been positive there was no way Ray could have done such a thing, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Could he really have killed her?
she thought as she wandered back through the aisles of the hardware store, still feeling as if she were in a daze.
Of course he could have,
she realized after a moment.
Just about anyone can be pushed over the edge, given the right circumstances. Maybe she pressed him too hard about something, or maybe she was blackmailing him. . . .

Blackmail
. Now
that
was an interesting thought.

There were rumors around town about that, Candy recalled. Some said, in whispers, that Sapphire found great joy in digging around for dirt on various townsfolk. It was said she even kept secret files on some people. Maybe Sapphire had turned up something about Ray’s past that he didn’t want known. It was a possibility, Candy realized.
What do you really know about him, anyway? Everyone has secrets. Maybe Sapphire found out what Ray’s were. Could she have confronted him, put a good scare into him, backed him into a corner so he felt he had no choice but to hit her over the head with his shiny new hammer?

But what could it have been? What could have provoked him into doing such a thing?

That was the question that gnawed at her as she blinked rapidly a few times and found herself standing in the back corner of the store. Forcing herself to focus, she ran her eyes up and down the shelves, back and forth. She finally spotted a few bundles of rolled-up chicken wire piled in the back of the bottom shelf, covered in dust.

As she knelt down and reached for a couple of bundles, she heard garbled voices from the front of the store. Cameron was talking to someone, but Candy couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. She rose and absently wandered down the aisle, her eyes raking over the shelves and displays, trying to remember if she needed anything else while she was here.

She turned into the next aisle and stopped suddenly. Then just as suddenly she backed up around the corner. She froze as her heart raced.

A uniformed police officer stood in the center of the aisle she had been about to enter. He hadn’t seen her; he was standing in front of bins of tools, his back to her, talking to Cameron.

“They’re right here,” Candy heard Cameron say to the officer. “We just got them in about a week ago.”

“How many were in the initial shipment?” the policeman asked in an official-sounding tone.

“I think we ordered eight.”

“There are five left. Who’d you sell the other three to?”

Cameron went silent a moment. Evidently he was thinking about his answer. “Well, Ray bought the first one, the same day they came in. He loves buying new tools. He’s in here all the time.”

“Ray Hutchins?” the officer clarified.

“Yes, sir.”

Candy thought she heard the scratch of a pen on a notepad. “What about the other two?”

“I think I sold one on Saturday morning to someone who came over from Town Hall. He said he needed it to work on the pageant set.”

“Do you remember the name of the person who bought it?”

As they spoke, Candy edged along the aisle, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She pretended to look at chain saws as she eavesdropped on their conversation, just in case someone should come around the end of the aisle and spot her.

“I don’t know his name,” Cameron said. In her mind’s eye she could see the teenager shrug, his bony shoulders rising and falling, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his worn jeans. “He was just one of the construction guys.”

“A male then?”

“Yeah—um, yes, sir. A male.”

“How old was he, would you say?”

“In his forties, I guess.”

“I’ll need you to give me a description of him. So who bought the third hammer?”

“I don’t remember. I don’t think I sold it.” At that, Cameron shifted and called out toward the small office at the back of the store. “Hey, Mr. Gumm, did you sell one of these new Apex hammers to someone in the past few days?”

Candy heard someone grumbling and then a shuffling of feet. “Er, what was that?” came a thin, elderly voice from the office doorway.

“These hammers,” Cameron repeated. “Officer Martin wants to know who we sold them to.”

“What hammers?”

The shuffling feet came down the main aisle, which ran perpendicular to the one where Candy now stood, and then old Mr. Gumm appeared. Candy lowered her head and held still, hoping he would pass by the end of the aisle without see her. Fortunately, he was looking down at the floor as he walked past. He shuffled on by and turned into the next aisle.

“These Apex hammers,” Cameron said again.

“What, the ones with the red fiberglass handles?”

“Yes, that’s right, sir,” said the police officer as Mr. Gumm approached them. “Allegedly three of these hammers have been sold. I need to know who you sold them to.”

“Well, let me see now.” The shuffling stopped as Mr. Gumm thought about this. “I sold one to that butler fellow who works up at Pruitt Manor. Unpleasant one, he is,” Mr. Gumm grumbled. “Looks a lot like a bulldog, doesn’t he?”

Candy’s eyes grew wide as the policeman asked, “When was that, sir?”

“Well, now, let me see. Must’ve been Thursday or Friday last week, I guess. Yup, yup, that’s right. Cam’s off on Thursdays, so I was here by myself. That’s when it was.”

“I see. I’m afraid I’ll need to confiscate the rest of these hammers,” Officer Martin said. “They might be evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“It’s part of a murder investigation, sir.”

“Murder? In Cape Willington? Who got murdered?”

“A woman named Sapphire Vine. A hammer just like one of these was used as the murder weapon.”

“What?!” Cameron’s voice came out as a disbelieving shout that made Candy jump, even though she was an aisle away. “What did you say?”

Calmly, Office Martin repeated his statement. “Someone murdered Sapphire Vine, using a hammer for a weapon.”

“But that’s impossible!” Cameron shouted, his voice so high it was almost a shriek.

“I’m sorry but it’s true.” Officer Martin’s voice was strangely calm, almost cold.

“But she can’t be dead! She can’t be!” Cameron sounded as if he were about to cry.

“I know how shocking it can be,” Officer Martin said, forcing sympathy into his voice.

“Shocking? Damn right it’s shocking,” Mr. Gumm said. “And with a hammer? Well, that’s downright brutal.”

“It was, sir. The hammer we found at the scene of the crime was brand new, just like these. Didn’t have a scratch on it. Just to tie up any loose ends, we’re running down all the other hammers like it in town. That’s why I need to take custody of these. If more are sold it might foul up the investigation.”

“Well, I’ll have to charge you for them then,” said Mr. Gumm. “Those are quality hammers—our top-of-the-line. Cost eighteen dollars each.”

“Send a bill over to Town Hall. You can tag it with my name if you want.”

Mr. Gumm grumbled at that. “Durn right I’ll put your name on it. And you ain’t leaving here until you at least fix your signature to a sales receipt. I ain’t made of money, you know. Got a business to run here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cameron, help him bag up those hammers. I guess we got to give them to him. Just got them in—durn shame.”

“I’ll need to bag them myself,” Officer Martin said. “Special handling.”

“Well, do what you have to do,” Mr. Gumm said, and he began to shuffle away.

“I . . . I have to leave,” Cameron said suddenly. Candy could hear his footsteps head away back down the aisle and toward the door.

“Hey, boy! Where’re ya going?” Mr. Gumm called out, but there was no reply.

What was that all about?
Candy wondered as she suddenly remembered that she had to meet Doc. She checked her watch. It was nearly one thirty. As quietly and carefully as she could, she walked to the end of the aisle and strolled nonchalantly up to the cash register, where Mr. Gumm was scribbling something down on a nearly used-up pad of sales receipts. He looked up at her as she placed the bundles of chicken wire down on the counter.

“Oh, Candy, it’s you. Didn’t know you were here.”

“I was way in the back, looking at chicken wire. I need to do a few repairs on the coop. Got a fox trying to get at the girls.”

Mr. Gumm shook his head and had a chuckle at that. “Those foxes do love their chickens. Sneaky little critters. They got dark murdering hearts, they do.”

Candy nodded grimly. “They’re not the only ones.”

“You got that right. Been strange goings-on in this town lately. Strange goings-on.” The old man shook his gray head again and jabbed a crooked finger at the keys of an ancient cash register. “That’ll be five twenty-five.”