Town in a Blueberrry Jam (14 page)

Candy wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, I don’t know.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have much trouble doing it, not with your writing experience. I can show you, if it would help to convince you.” He pointed up the stairs behind them. “You got a minute?”

Candy looked out at the rain, which if anything was coming down harder than before, and then looked over at Ben Clayton.

Tall Ben. Handsome, lean, rugged Ben. Smart Ben. Very smart Ben.

A newspaper editor.
Employed
Ben.

Without seeming too conspicuous about it, she glanced down at his left hand.

No ring.

Tall, handsome, rugged, smart, employed,
single
Ben.

“Well, sure, okay, I guess I have a few minutes,” Candy finally said with a sweet smile.

He flashed a broad grin, showing off beautiful teeth. “Great! Come on, I’ll take you up to our offices.”

The
Cape Crier
was run out of cramped quarters above a real estate office. An ancient dark staircase led up to the rabbit warren of rooms that wound their way back into the nether regions of the building. “It’s a bit of a mess up here,” Ben apologized as he led Candy to a small, windowless office not much bigger than a closet. He pulled a string attached to a porcelain light fixture screwed into the ceiling. The room was cast in the harsh light of a single naked bulb.

“This is—sorry,
was
—this
was
Sapphire’s office.”

Candy wasn’t impressed. In fact, she found it hard to hide her disappointment. The newspaper business always sounded so glamorous to her, but this was far from what she expected.

A small metal desk was shoved into one corner. A computer that must have been five years old—at least—sat to one side of the desktop. On the other side were metal trays overflowing with files, notes, and papers in disarray. A gray metal file cabinet and a rickety old chair were lined up against the opposite wall.

Sapphire had done her best to add some spice to the place. Posters of kitties and horses covered cracks in the walls, and a Tiffany-style lamp sat on one corner of the desk. A colorful, cozy-looking knitted cushion covered the seat of the desk chair. Knickknacks and paperback novels lined a sad-looking shelf. Dated press passes were thumbtacked to a small bulletin board on the wall in front of the desk, along with neatly printed three-by-five cards that said things like, “You look mahhhvelous today” and “You go, girl!”

It all made Candy feel incredibly depressed.

Barely noticing the clutter, Ben crossed to the desk and plucked a green file folder from the top tray. “Like I said, the police have been through here, so it’s a bit of a mess.”

How could you tell
? Candy nearly blurted out.

“Anyway,” Ben said as he flipped open the folder and ruffled through the papers inside, “here are some clippings of Sapphire’s previous columns, so you can see the kinds of things we’re looking for. I’ve also included some notes that she made at . . . um . . . at the end of last week, as well as a few notes of my own. Unfortunately, she never really had a chance to get started on this week’s column. It was supposed to be a firsthand account of the pageant, of course. I thought she had done some preliminary research work on it, but I haven’t been able to locate any of that information yet. Once I dig around a little it’ll probably turn up.”

He closed the file and held it out to Candy, who took it tentatively. She looked around. “You mentioned something about other files?”

Ben held up a finger. “Right.” He turned to the file cabinet and pulled open one of the drawers. “She kept all her research in here.” He ran a finger along a long line of files, arranged alphabetically by name, Candy saw. Many of the names she recognized.

Ben continued. “A few of them are gone, of course. The police took Ray’s and a few others. But they didn’t find much. I’ve been through a lot of these. There’s nothing you’d call injurious or scandalous in them. It’s all pretty harmless.”

He drew out a few of them and flipped through the papers inside to show her.

“Can I see the file she kept on me?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” Ben turned, dug back into the filing cabinet, and pulled out a blue file. “This is yours.” He handed it over, a bit sheepishly, she thought.

With some trepidation Candy flipped open the cover and glanced at the contents, but Ben had been right. A few clippings about Blueberry Acres, a photocopy of a newspaper article Candy had written a half dozen years ago (though she had no idea where Sapphire had found
that
), and a loose-leaf page with a few notes jotted on it. One scribbled line in particular caught Candy’s attention. It read, “lonely divorcee.” Candy noticed that there was a little heart over the
i
in
divorcee
.

Lonely?
Was that how she seemed to Sapphire?

Funny, but of all the words Candy would have used to describe herself, and after all she had been through, she never would have considered herself lonely. In fact, she felt quite the opposite most of the time.

“So, are you interested?”

Candy looked up. Ben was watching her with a hopeful look in his deep brown eyes.

“What?”

“In taking over Sapphire’s column.”

“Oh. That.” Candy let out a sigh as she closed the folder. “I just don’t know, Ben. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Well, like I said, I sure could use your help. Of course, I’d pay you for your work.”

That perked up her ears. “Pay? As in money? Cash?” He chuckled. “We’re on a tight budget, unfortunately, so I can’t afford much. Maybe seventy-five dollars a week?”

It wasn’t much. Not enough to make her jump at a job she wasn’t sure she wanted.

“Let me think about it,” she said again.

Ben nodded. “Okay, but—not to put too much pressure on you—I need an answer fairly quickly. By, say, sometime tomorrow?”

Candy nodded. “I can do that. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“Fine, fine.” He dug into a shirt pocket and pulled out a card. “Here’s my number.”

Candy glanced down at the business card. BEN CLAYTON, EDITOR, it read in the center of the card in raised black letters. The name of the paper was in the upper left corner, followed by the address. The e-mail address and phone and fax numbers were at the bottom.

Candy shoved the card into a back pocket as Ben reached up and flicked off the light. He led her back through the offices and down the stairs. Outside, the rain had let up a little.

“I hope you’ll consider the offer,” he said as they stood in the alcove again. “I sure could use the help.”

“It might be fun,” Candy said, trying to sound positive, though something about the whole thing bothered her. Maybe it was the fact that she would be taking Sapphire’s old job.

She raced back to the Jeep and jumped into the front seat, but sat for a few minutes before she started it up, considering Ben’s offer. She believed in going with her gut instinct, and that instinct told her to take a pass on the job. Still, she had promised him she would think about it, and she decided that that was what she would do.

But first, she had a friend to save, and a stop to make.

SIXTEEN

Even as she walked up to the front door, she wasn’t sure why she had come.

Ned Winetrop lived in what was commonly called a New Englander—a catchall term for a two-story, high-peaked-roof affair that couldn’t quite be classified as a Victorian, cape, ranch, or anything else. This one had obviously once been known euphemistically as a “fixer-upper,” but Ned, being a carpenter, had done quite a bit of work on it over the years. It was now fairly presentable, though still rather plain looking, with its simple lines and white clapboard exterior.

Candy was somewhat surprised to find Ned’s old, dark blue Reading-bodied work truck in the driveway. Some part of her had been hoping he wouldn’t be home, but he was, so she had no excuse for driving away without talking to him.

She had been uncertain at first of what she was going to say to him, but on the ride over she had worked it out in her head. She rehearsed it mentally one last time as she climbed the cement steps, pulled open the screen door, and rapped loudly on the front door, which looked as though it had just been given a fresh coat of burgundy-colored paint.

She heard movement inside. A moment later the door opened and Ned peered out, holding a half-eaten sandwich in one hand. “Yeah?”

“Hi, Ned. It’s Candy Holliday.”

He looked surprised to see her. “Oh, hi, Candy.” He leaned out and glanced back and forth. “Doc with you?”

“No, I’m here alone. I wondered if I could have a few minutes of your time.”

Ned took a bite out of the sandwich. He had a pudgy face with high cheeks, and the combination partially obscured his dark eyes, as though burying them amongst a jumble of deep red pillows. “Sure, guess so. What about?”

“The Blueberry Queen Pageant.” Candy flashed the business card Ben Clayton had given her, though she was careful to hold her thumb over Ben’s name, so that just the newspaper’s name and address at the top showed. “I’m working for the
Cape Crier
now. Ben, the editor, asked me to write an article about the pageant. I thought I’d include something about your efforts.”

“Really?” Ned’s eyes widened, he grinned oddly, and with his ample hip he pushed the front door open all the way. “Come on in.”

The living room was neat and welcoming, though it was clear Mrs. Ned subscribed to the Wal-Mart School of Decorating. “Wanna sit down?” Ned indicated the olive green sofa, which obviously was not from the Ethan Allen collection.

“Okay, sure.”

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

Candy shook her head as she settled into the sofa. “I don’t want to take too much of your time.”

Ned finished his sandwich in three bites and dusted his fingers on the front of his shirt. “So what can I help you with?” he asked around a mouthful of ham, cheese, and French’s mustard.

“Well, I know you did a lot of work on the set for the pageant.”

He nodded as he settled into a well-worn armchair. “Yup, yup.”

“I was just curious about some of the stuff you did, how long it took, that sort of thing.”

Ned scratched his head. “Well, you know, it wasn’t that tough of a job. I helped build the backdrop and did some of the decorating . . . ,” and he went on to describe his contributions to the pageant.

“So you were in Town Hall most of the afternoon, then?” Candy asked. “On Saturday, I mean.”

“Yup, on Saturday. I wasn’t there that long. Just a couple of hours.”

“I heard you needed some new tools to do some of the work.”

Ned’s thick dark brows fell into a questioning look. “Tools?”

“Yeah, you know, I heard you had to buy a new hammer.”

“Oh, that.” He relaxed a bit. “You know, there’s a funny story about that. I loaned my best hammer to a friend, and would you believe he busted it trying to get a tire off his van?” Ned laughed. “He had a flat, and the tire was stuck—they’ll do that sometimes, you know. Most times you just have to give it a good kick with the heel of your boot, but he didn’t know that, so he banged on the metal wheel one too many times with my hammer. Shattered the handle. ’Course, he gave me some money to pay for a new one, and I had to make a trip to Gumm’s that morning. Bought this nice new red-handled job. And would you believe I lost it that same day?”

“You lost it?” Trying to remain nonchalant, Candy laughed with him—a good acting job, she thought.

“It sounds funny now, but I’ll tell you I was pretty burned up about it at the time. I set that thing down on the stage—at least, that’s where I thought I put it—and when I went back to get it, it was gone. Either someone stole it or . . .”

It must have dawned on him then what he was saying, because he stopped suddenly and looked at her with a strange expression on his red face. “Why are you asking me about the hammer?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Candy waved a hand at him and laughed nervously. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, trying to sound light and airy, though it came out incredibly forced. “It just sounded like an interesting story.”

Ned stared at her for the longest time, his face an unreadable mask as his mind worked back over the conversation. Finally he asked, “How did you know I bought a new hammer?”

“Oh.” Candy bit her lip, trying to think fast, but nothing much came to her. She shrugged, attempting to remain calm. “I guess I just heard it somewhere. It’s not that important. I wanted to ask you about Ray. . . .”

“Ray?”

“Yeah, I know he helped you out on Saturday and—”

“Candy, does this have anything to do with that murder?”

“Murder?” Candy repeated parrotlike, putting on her best surprised look. “You mean Sapphire Vine? Why, no, of course not, I, I . . .”

Ned rose abruptly. “I don’t think I should answer any more questions,” he said stiffly.

Candy felt her heart thump in her chest as she rose too. “Why not?”

He let out a long breath through his nose. “I don’t think I should say anything about it right now.”

“Have the police talked to you?”

“Candy . . .” Ned’s voice trailed off as he crossed his arms and admonished her with his eyes.

“Okay, okay,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry if I’ve said anything to offend you. I was just trying to get some info for my story.”

“Well . . .” He rolled his eyes. “No harm done, I guess, but I just can’t say anything else about what happened that day.”

“Oh no, of course not, I completely understand,” Candy said awkwardly, and made her way to the door.

I guess that was a stupid thing to do
, she thought as she climbed back into the Jeep and drove home.

On the other hand, it had worked. She had found out an important piece of information about that day—Ned had lost his hammer. She sensed she was on to something.

In a moment of clarity, she knew what she had to do next.

When she got home, she walked around to the back of the barn. Doc was working on the coop, attaching the new chicken wire with a staple gun. “I’ll be right there to help, Dad,” she called to him, then turned, walked into the kitchen, and picked up the phone.

She called Maggie first. “Can’t meet you today,” Maggie said hurriedly. “Just got too much to do. Tomorrow, lunch?”

“Sure. I’ll meet you at Duffy’s at twelve thirty. I have a lot to tell you.”

“I can’t wait. See you then.”

After she hung up, Candy took Ben’s card from her pocket and dialed his number. “Hi, it’s Candy Holliday,” she said when he answered the phone at the other end.

“Oh, hi, Candy. What’s up?”

“About that job you offered me? I’ve decided to accept it.”