Town in a Blueberrry Jam (21 page)

As noon approached, the steady onslaught of customers slowed, and by one o’clock thinned to a trickle. Herr Georg picked up the phone, called Duffy’s, and ordered deli sandwiches and salads for lunch. Then, the morning’s baking done, he wandered out into the front room to check on Candy and the day’s sales.

“We’ve had a busy morning,” she said, showing him the sales register receipts.

“Hmm, yes, that’s very good. It’s all the tourists, you know. They’re always hungry.”

Fifteen minutes later, a delivery boy dropped off their sandwiches and salads. Herr Georg suggested they eat at a small table in the back room.

As they sat, Candy decided that the time to confront him had finally come.

“Herr Georg,” she began, “I have something to talk to you about—something that’s been bothering me.”

“Yes?” He looked at her inquisitively as he took a bite of his smoked turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich, piled high with lettuce and tomato.

Candy hesitated. “Well, it’s about Sapphire Vine.”

That seemed to suck the life right out of him. The energy and optimism he had exhibited all morning disappeared in a flash, and his expression became solemn. He set his sandwich down on its wrapper. He seemed to have suddenly lost his appetite. “What about her?”

Candy took a deep breath, then plunged on, explaining how she had been hired to write a column for the
Cape Crier
, and that she was given access to Sapphire’s files. She left out the part about breaking into Sapphire’s house the night before, but told him that, much to her regret, she had come across a file that contained damaging information about him. She reached for the manila envelope, opened the flap, and withdrew a handful of yellowed, crinkly documents, which she handed to him. “I found these.”

His face went white. He seemed to know in an instant what they were. He took them from her as if they contained his death warrant, and read over them silently for some time, his lips tight, his eyes dark and hollow. “So,” he said finally, letting out a long breath as he set the documents down on the table, “it is true then. I hoped it was all a bluff.”

“What’s true? What’s going on?” She felt a chill go through her. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Sapphire’s death, does it?”

He looked up at her, horror-stricken. “Oh no, of course not! Nothing like that!”

“Then what?” Candy’s tone was sympathetic. She reached out and put her hand on top of his. She couldn’t help noticing that, despite the warmth of the day, his hand was cold. “I’m not sure what this is about, but if there’s any way I can help . . .”

He held her gaze for the longest time, as if considering what to tell her. Finally he nodded once, as if he had made a decision. He rose. “Come, we must talk.”

TWENTY-SIX

Leaving their half-eaten sandwiches and the yellowed German documents behind, Herr Georg took her by the hand and walked to the front door. He flipped the OPEN sign that hung in the door window around so it read CLOSED, walked outside with Candy, and locked the door behind them.

“You’re closing in the middle of the day?” she asked him curiously.

“I must be outside, away from here, to talk about these things,” Herr Georg told her with a hesitant shrug. “This is more important than a few extra dollars, and it’s such a nice day. Let’s walk.”

Sensing the import of what he was about to tell her, she let him lead the way. “Okay, let’s walk.”

With an expressionless face, he started off. Saying barely a word to each other, they crossed Main Street and angled toward Ocean Avenue, which was busy with pedestrians window-shopping and scurrying about. It was a warm day with clouds building overhead. The humidity was on the rise, and the air was sharp with the unmistakable tang of salt and the sea. A flock of gulls arced above, cawing in their hunger and unending quest for sustenance.

As he walked, Herr Georg kept his head turned down, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Candy tagged along as they turned down Ocean Avenue, passed the doorway that led up to the
Cape Crier
’s offices and, a little farther on, the glass front of Stone & Milbury’s. They crossed the street in front of the Pruitt Opera House and walked the rest of the way down the avenue, to Town Park.

With the dull roar of the rolling sea in their ears, they strolled past well-kept flower beds and over freshly mown grass, until Herr Georg spotted a bench in the shade of a thick oak tree. He approached it purposefully, sat down, and beckoned Candy to sit beside him.

“Do you know why I came here? Here, to Cape Willington?” he asked after they had settled themselves. When Candy shook her head, he gave her a melancholy smile. “No one knows, of course, except me—and, for a time, Sapphire Vine. But she is gone now. I had hoped that my secret would die with her, but it appears now that it will live on.”

He let out a tired breath. “I have run from that secret all my life. It is time for me to tell the story, to let it out into the world, for good or bad.”

Candy sensed the turmoil going through him. She felt deep regret at having brought the whole subject up in the first place. But, she reminded herself sadly, she had had no choice. She was on a quest to know the truth—and to save Ray. Still . . .

“Herr Georg, you don’t have to tell me if . . .”

He held up a hand, silencing her. “You’re right. I
don’t
have to tell you. But I
want
to. I have kept it inside for too long. The time has come for the story to be told. And you are the one I must tell it to, Candy. I am
compelled
to tell it, you understand, with all that has happened this week. You have been a good friend to me. I know I can trust you.”

“Of course you can trust me,” she said, “no matter what it is.”

He patted her hand. “I know, I know. But the story I have to tell is a painful one for me. It eats at my soul. You see,” he said, and his gaze shifted, out to the sea, far off to the east, “I was born on the other side of that ocean, on the distant shore, in Germany, just after the war—in the town of Wittenberg, along the Elbe River, southeast of Hamburg. I don’t remember much of my life there. Oh, small snips and bits here and there, a fleeting memory or two, but most of it is lost to me. My mother fled our home country a few years after the end of the war, taking me with her.”

“World War II?” Candy asked in clarification.

“Yes, yes, of course. I was born in 1946. We left in forty-eight. Not because we had to, but because my mother wanted to take me away from the fatherland—and away from my father.” Herr Georg’s gaze shifted back to her, and he looked hard into Candy’s eyes, unwilling to run anymore from his past. “My father was a war criminal—or so I was told by my mother, in her last breaths, before she passed from this earth. She told me he committed terrible atrocities—awful, terrible things—for which he was arrested and tried after the war. It was a dreadful time in our country’s history. My mother, to shield me from what was happening, to protect me from the repercussions of what might occur because of my father’s acts, took me first to England, then brought me here, to the United States, hoping to start a new life. And together we did just that.”

Herr Georg’s gaze shifted away again as he went on. “We took a steamer to New York City, where we lived for a few years. I remember the transatlantic passage well, and many of my earliest memories are of that city. We changed our name, tried to start a new life—but our history was soon discovered. The sins of my father followed us to our adopted country. So we moved again, northward—to Worcester, then to Lewiston, and finally to Calais, at the far eastern edge of Maine—as far as we could go and still remain in this country. My mother loved it there—she said she felt as close to the fatherland as she could be and still live in America. You see, even though she hated what her country had done, she never forgot her heritage, and she would not let me forget it. To make ends meet, she worked as a cook, then as a baker. She was quite accomplished and made a small name for herself, and so I learned from her. When she died I came here, because I loved this village when I visited once with my mother. I love the sea, and I loved the people here. And here I have been ever since—and my secret has remained buried . . . until Sapphire Vine started digging around in my past.”

“How did she find out about it?” Candy asked in a hushed tone.

Herr Georg shrugged. “Who knows? She was a gossip, you know—she talked to so many people. Somehow, somewhere, she heard rumors about me, or read something about me that sparked her curiosity—I don’t know for certain—but she soon found out about my past, and my father’s atrocities. One day—five years ago or so—she confronted me, almost as you just did in the shop. She told me she had evidence—documents. I didn’t believe her at first. I told her she was mistaken. Then she showed me one of them. She had many more, she said. I didn’t know whether to believe her or not, but I could not take the chance.”

Candy felt a flash of anger go through her. “What an awful woman!”

“Oh yes, she certainly was that,” Herr Georg said, “and much worse than you even know. You see, she threatened to reveal what she had discovered about me—that my father was a Nazi war criminal. Of course, I couldn’t let that information get out to the public—I have a reputation to protect, you know, one that I have spent many years building. If such a story were to leak out, I would be ruined.”

“So what happened?”

Herr Georg sighed and shook his head. “What could I do? I offered to pay her to keep her silent.”

“She blackmailed you?”

“Yes, blackmail.”

“And she’s been blackmailing you ever since?”

He nodded.

“How much have you paid her?”

Herr Georg shrugged. “Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands. I honestly don’t know. Every few months, when she needed money, she would call me up or send an e-mail. And not just money. The woman was relentless.”

It took a moment for the rest of Herr Georg’s statement to register with her, and like a knife it struck her deep. Instantly she knew what he was talking about. She couldn’t help gasping. “Not just money? You mean the pageant!”

Herr Georg’s head fell again. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

Candy quickly put it together. “She threatened to reveal your past . . . unless you rigged the scoring so she would win!”

Herr Georg shook his head. “Oh no, no, nothing as conspiratorial as that! Yes, I gave her much higher scores than she deserved, and I scored the other contestants lower than they deserved. But that is all. I didn’t change the scores for the other judges! You must believe me, Candy, when I tell you that I didn’t think it would make any difference. I honestly didn’t! I thought my scores would have no effect on the outcome of the pageant. There were four other judges. I was certain Haley would win by enough points that mine wouldn’t alter the outcome.”

He raised his eyebrows, let out a breath. “But, of course, it did. I have lived with this terrible thing I have done ever since.”

“Herr Georg, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“Please, Candy, don’t think ill of me. I had no choice. I had to do as she asked. You see that, don’t you?”

“Well,” Candy said after many long moments, “I can understand why you voted for Sapphire, yes, and why you gave her money. But it was a foolish thing to do in the first place. No one cares about your past. It wouldn’t have mattered to anyone. And now—well, now you’re in a tight spot. You realize that if the police find out about this, you will become the prime suspect in Sapphire’s death. After all, you had motive. You’re the only person so far who’s had good reason to see Sapphire dead.”

He turned to her then, a pleading look in his eyes. “But they must not find out about this, Candy. They must not! I despised Sapphire, yes—I hated what she was doing to me. But I didn’t kill her! I could never do such a thing! You must believe me!”

For whatever reason, Candy knew he was telling the truth. “I believe you, Herr Georg—I really do—but the question is, will anyone else? And there’s another question that’s even more important.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, if you didn’t kill Sapphire, and Ray didn’t . . . who did?”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Who did?

Who really killed Susan Jane Vincent, alias Sapphire Vine, the Blueberry Queen of Cape Willington, Maine?

That was the question that plagued Candy as she and Herr Georg walked back up Ocean Avenue to the Black Forest. They spoke little now, both of them lost in their thoughts. When they reached the bakery, as Herr Georg nervously tidied up around the front counter and checked on his wares, Candy walked into the back room, gathered up the faded documents from the table where she had left them, walked back out into the front room, and handed the documents to the baker.

“You should have these,” she told him.

He hesitated before reaching for them. “Candy, are you sure you want to do this?”

She nodded. “I’ll give you all the other documents as well. I’ve got them back at the house. You can decide what to do with them. It’s not up to me—and now that Sapphire’s gone, your secret is safe. Let’s talk about it no more.”

And they didn’t. Since Herr Georg had finished in the kitchen, and the crowds had lightened considerably since the morning rush, Candy gave Herr Georg a hug, and walked out into the summer day.

As she headed up the street to her car, she felt she had done the right thing in returning the documents to Herr Georg. Still, now that she had left his shop, she couldn’t keep a lingering doubt from creeping in. His story made sense and the documents appeared to back it up. And if he was indeed telling the truth, as she honestly felt he was, then it followed logically that Sapphire found out about his past and blackmailed him. After all, she had all those documents in her possession, which made Herr Georg’s story all the more likely.

But the fact remained that Sapphire Vine was dead. Someone had killed her. And though Candy found it not only absurd but also literally painful to think that Herr Georg could have plunged a hammer into the back of Sapphire’s head (not to mention how painful it must have been for Sapphire herself), the fact remained that he had an excellent motive for doing just that.

As Candy reached the Jeep Cherokee, she was torn as to what to do next. She toyed briefly with the idea of walking to the
Cape Crier
office to drop in on Ben and find out if he had heard anything new about the investigation into Sapphire’s murder, but she decided against it. She hadn’t started working on her column yet, which was due to Ben on Monday. She hadn’t given much thought to it at all. She knew he would ask about it, and it probably wasn’t the best idea to tell Ben she had made no progress whatsoever. He had enough to worry about; she didn’t want to add to his concerns.

So that was out.

She thought of walking over to Duffy’s or stopping in to see Maggie, but decided against both of those also. She realized that conversation was not what she sought at the moment—what she needed was to be alone, to think, to sort out all the details of Sapphire’s death, to mull over all she had learned during the past few days.

So she pulled her keys out of her purse, hopped in the Jeep, and drove down Ocean Avenue to Waterfront Walk, a public park area with a half mile gravel pathway that meandered along the salt-sprayed shoreline. The path was lined with teaberry bushes and thick stands of rosehips, fragrant with summer blossoms, and benches were located at strategic places all along the walk, affording magnificent views of the coastline and the sea beyond.

She parked in the lot and, climbing out of the Jeep, was immediately assaulted by a stiff sea breeze thick with the smell of fish and salt. She walked a short distance, hands pushed deep into the pockets of her jeans, finally settling onto a lonely bench that looked out over the churning waves.

Mentally she began to form a list of all she had learned so far. Her thoughts went something like this:

• Sapphire had been killed by someone using a red-handled hammer bought at Gumm’s Hardware Store. In all, three of the suspect hammers had been sold—one to Ray, one to Ned Winetrop, and one to Hobbins the butler up at Pruitt Manor. Ray’s hammer was allegedly found at the scene of the crime. Ned lost his hammer on Saturday while he was at Town Hall working on the pageant set. Hobbins still had his hammer and was using it around Pruitt Manor.

• Ray was at Sapphire’s house the night she was killed—he didn’t deny that. Neighbors saw his truck there and heard Sapphire yelling at him.

• Ray had a big-time—and expensive—lawyer from Bangor who was being paid by Mrs. Pruitt. The lawyer was associated with the firm that handled Mrs. Pruitt’s business affairs.

• Sapphire kept secret files on everyone in town, including Jock, Mrs. Pruitt, Amanda, Cameron, Herr Georg, Ben, Sebastian J. Quinn, all of the pageant contestants and judges, even on Candy herself. Sapphire hid the files in a secret attic room that was known only to her and, apparently, to Cameron.

• Sapphire used the information she had collected to blackmail Herr Georg into altering his scores so she could win the pageant, though Herr Georg seemed to think his scores alone could not have affected the eventual outcome.

• Cameron had been shocked to hear about Sapphire’s death. And he had been staying in her attic, apparently sleeping there on occasion. He worked at Gumm’s and had sold two of the red-handled hammers to customers. He had access to all of the new hammers.

• At the bottom of one of the papers in Cameron’s file, Sapphire had written the words
He’s the one.

• Sapphire’s real name was Susan Jane Vincent. She changed it at some point in her life, evidently before she had moved to Cape Willington. One reason she may have had for changing her name was to escape some past indiscretion, or perhaps even criminal activity.

• Mrs. Pruitt strongly believed that somehow, some way, Sapphire rigged the pageant—bribed or blackmailed one or more of the judges. She had been right about that, of course, though she knew nothing about Herr Georg and his past.

That was a pretty accurate list, Candy thought. But there was something else—something Doc had said to her. What was it?

She wracked her brain, trying to remember.

And then it struck her. A fort! What had Doc told her? That’s right, she remembered now:
They’ve been interrogating Ray
, Doc had said,
and apparently he keeps repeating the same thing over and over. Says he didn’t do it and says it’s up at the fort
.

What had Ray meant by that? What exactly was up at the fort? And what fort was he talking about?

Doc hadn’t known. The police hadn’t known. Candy had suggested Fort O’Brien, located up the coast near Machias, the county seat. Fort O’Brien dated back to the Revolutionary War days and was now just old ruins, but it was a popular historic site, with picnic tables, a few trails, and magnificent views of Machias Bay.

But what could those old ruins possibly have to do with Ray?

As far as Candy knew, he rarely left town. Why would he have gone up to an old fort? And if he had, what would he have hidden up there?

Candy rubbed her cheeks absently as she thought and stared out to the sea. There had to be an explanation, had to be an answer to this puzzle. But she just couldn’t figure it out.

Maybe, she thought, she should drive up to Fort O’Brien and have a look around, to see what she could find.

But she shook her head. She sensed that would be a worthless trip—a wild-goose chase. Her instincts told her that the answers she sought were right here, in Cape Willington. She just had to find them.

All of the questions that charged around her mind led back to one person—Ray Hutchins.
He
was the person at the center of this whole mess.
He
was the one who allegedly owned the hammer that killed Sapphire Vine.
He
had been at her house the night of her murder.
He
was the one sitting in the county jail, charged with her murder.

Ray, she decided, was the key. And she had to follow that key wherever it led.

Suddenly she knew what she had to do. Rising purposefully from the bench, she walked briskly to the Jeep, climbed in, started it up, and drove back out onto the Loop. She headed south. The road curved around southwestward, taking her past Pruitt Manor, and then angled northwestward, past the Lobster Shack, past a thin strip of sand that was the town beach, and back up the Cape. She drove out of town, and kept going.

Ten minutes later she turned off the main road onto a dusty lane that led back to an old two-bedroom shack, which sat on a deserted piece of land framed by stands of old pines and low bushes.

Ray’s home.

He had lived here with his mother when she had been alive, and by himself for the past three or four years. It was a sad, lonely looking place, without much character. The little house did have a fresh coat of dull gray paint on it and a porch swing that looked like something Andy Griffith might have sat on in the evenings with Aunt Bee. A rusty old pickup, much older than Doc’s, sat up on blocks, its tires missing. In front of the house and off to one side was a small, weathered barn with a roof so swaybacked that it seemed it would collapse at any moment.

Candy pulled up in front of the house and shut off the engine. She sat for a moment looking around, feeling strangely out of place. She had been here a few times before, but always with Doc, and always when Ray was around. Being here now, alone, with Ray in jail and the place empty and ghostlike made her feel like a trespasser.

But no, it was nothing like that, she reminded herself. She was here to
help
Ray, not to foreclose on his property or tear it down. She was here to
investigate
.

So investigate she would.

Cautiously she climbed out of the Jeep. Birds sang in the high trees. The barn door’s rusted hinges creaked slightly in the breeze. Sounds of cars passing by on the Loop were faintly audible.

Candy slammed shut the car door and walked around to one side of Ray’s old house, squinting up at it, studying it as if she were a prospective buyer considering its aesthetic value. It looked smaller than she remembered. There couldn’t have been more than eight hundred or a thousand square feet inside. The front porch was a newer addition. In the back there was only a cement stoop with an old metal garden chair on it, its faded pink paint rusting in spots. A few dead flowers in pots had been set out back.

Candy tried to peek into a few of the windows, but they were locked tight with the shades pulled down, so she couldn’t see much.

In fact, there wasn’t much at all to see. She walked to the barn, peered in the door, but except for old shovels and rakes, a few bales of moldy hay, and some long-abandoned farm equipment, it was empty. The flooring looked rotted. She decided it was too dangerous to enter, and in fact, she decided, the whole thing should probably just have been torn down.

“I guess this was a bad idea,” she said to herself, shaking her head. “There’s nothing here.”

She started toward the Jeep, pulled open the door . . . but something held her back, kept her from climbing up into the seat. She turned and looked around. It was only an instinct, something gnawing at her, that made her close the door again and take a final walk around the house, with sharper eyes this time.

And that’s when she noticed the well-worn path, angling off through the grassy field behind the house, toward a copse of trees in the distance.

Now
that
was curious.

I wonder where that leads?

Her gaze rose, following the path into the distance. From what she could see, there were no houses back in that direction—no noticeable destination to which the path might lead. Perhaps it led to a garden, or a fire pit where Ray burned his trash.