Town in a Blueberrry Jam (23 page)

THIRTY

Maggie threw up her hands, deep frustration showing on her face. “I can’t believe they’re doing this to me. What are they up to? Where can they be? We’ve checked everywhere.”

Candy nodded.
It’s true
, she thought, both hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. She felt edgy, ragged, and thirsty; her brain hurt and her fingers felt numb. She knew she was rapidly wearing out—it had been a long day, and it showed no signs of ending soon.

They had been combing the town for the past two hours, starting at Cameron’s home, which they found dark and lifeless, then on to all his favorite haunts, including McCoy’s, the only burger joint in town, where the high school kids hung out in the summer evenings, and the teen center in the basement of the Episcopal church. They had come up empty everywhere they looked. Maggie had tried to use her cell phone to call folks around town, to ask if anyone had seen Cameron and Amanda, but the reception was lousy, fading in and out. It was sporadic even on a good day, which was why Candy had gotten out of the habit of carrying her own cell phone. But when inclement weather set in, it was near impossible to get a signal—so they had been forced to stop back at Maggie’s house to use a land line. They wasted another twenty minutes there, and even that effort turned up nothing positive.

That’s when Candy had an idea, and that brought them here, to Sapphire’s house, less than twenty-four hours after they had broken into the place.

As before, Candy parked a block away and they snuck around to the back of the house. It wasn’t fully dark yet, but the thick clouds that had been building throughout the afternoon and early evening had darkened and lowered, threatening rain, and a strong wind was kicking up out of the northwest. Sapphire’s house looked eerie in the odd slanted dusk light and gathering gloom, like a dark sentinel guarding a long-held secret.

But there were no more secrets to be revealed this night. The back door was locked, and the key was in the exact place Candy had left it the night before, on a ledge above one of the back windows. It hadn’t been moved since she had put it there, as far as she could tell, so unless Cameron had his own key, he wasn’t here.

They hovered around the back of the house for a few minutes, debating whether to enter again. In the end, they decided against it. “They’re not here,” Candy said, the disappointment strong in her voice as she glanced at the upper windows, which showed no signs of life inside. “If they were, we’d know it. We’d see their car or footprints, or hear them talking inside. They’re teenagers, after all.”

“Where
are
they then?” Maggie asked again, looking as though she was about to burst with anger and worry. She had bitten her lip raw, and her eyes were red and tired. “I just want to find them,” she pleaded, to the sky as much as to Candy. “I just want to make sure they’re safe.”

“I know. Me too.” Candy lowered her head and for the first time felt ashamed she had ever thought Cameron could have had anything to do with Sapphire’s death. Something was bothering him, yes—something that tore at him, that much was obvious. Whatever it was, it had him running scared, taking Amanda with him. He wasn’t a killer—she realized that now—but he still could be in trouble. Candy and Maggie had to find him before he did something they’d all regret. . . .

She looked up at Maggie, who stood with arms crossed as the wind tore at her clothes. “Is there anyplace else they could have gone? Anywhere? Maybe Cam has a friend who lives out of town . . . or Amanda? Up in Bangor, maybe?”

Maggie thought a moment, then shook her head. “I’ve called everyone I can think of.”

“Some place, then—where they might hang out, go for walks, hiking, anything like that?”

Maggie tilted her head as her mouth tightened. She closed her eyes and rubbed at her face with her hands. “Think, think!” she commanded herself. “Come on, there must be something I’m missing . . . some . . .” She stopped, her hands flying away from her face, her eyes wide. “The camp!”

“The camp?”

“Yes!” She jabbed a finger excitedly at Candy. “That’s it! The Zimmermans have a camp up north, about two hours away. Cameron and his dad go up there every summer to hunt and fish. It’s the perfect place for them to hide out!”

Candy checked her watch. Nearly seven-thirty. A two-hour trip would put them at the cabin well after dark, which came early even in the summer at this far-eastern end of the time zone. “I don’t suppose there’s a phone up there?”

Maggie shook her head. “I don’t suppose there is.”

“Where’s this place at?”

“East Musquash Lake, up by Topsfield. Do you think that’s where they went?”

“There’s only one way to find out. I’ll have to stop for gas on the way.”

For a moment Maggie was silent, but then she rushed forward and gave Candy a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re with me. You’re the best friend a gal could have.”

“You’d do the same for me, right?”

“You know it.”

“I wasn’t doing anything special this evening anyway,” Candy said as they started back to the Jeep. “A night drive might be nice.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, really. It’ll give us a chance to talk a little.”

“That’s right. We can talk. You had something you were going to tell me, didn’t you?”

“About what?”

“Something you said on the phone—Cameron took something?”

“Oh, that’s right!” Candy clutched Maggie’s shoulder as she remembered. “I forgot about that! And I have more to tell you—about Herr Georg, and Ray’s tree fort.”

“All that? Sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do. I guess this
is
a good time for a long drive.”

So as the impending storm squeezed the last light from the sky and the night deepened prematurely, they drove out of Cape Willington to Route 1 and from there turned eastward toward the small, quiet Downeast towns of Cherryfield, Columbia Falls, and Jonesboro. Along the way, Candy explained about the break-in at the house, her harrowing search with the shotgun, and her discovery that the files were missing. “I think Cameron took them for some reason,” Candy explained, still trying to sort it all out in her head. “He saw us up in Sapphire’s attic last night. He must have guessed we took those files.”

“But why would he want them? What was in those files anyway?”

“I didn’t get through all of them—but I did get a chance to look through Herr Georg’s file.” As the first raindrops splattered like giant bugs on the windshield, Candy told her about the e-mails between Sapphire and the German baker, and her talk with him that afternoon, though she kept back some of the details about his past, out of respect for his privacy.

“This is not for public knowledge, of course,” Candy finished, “but you’ve been involved with this from the beginning, so I thought you should know.”

“And Sapphire was blackmailing him?” Maggie asked in disbelief. “I knew she was evil, but I had no idea she was
that
evil.”

“There’s more,” Candy said. “I found Ray’s hammer.” She paused as Maggie gasped, and was just launching into the story of her discovery of Ray’s tree fort when Maggie’s cell phone rang.

“I can’t believe it!” Maggie said in a surprised tone as she dug into her purse. “Wouldn’t you know, it hasn’t worked all day, and just when we’re getting to the bottom of this story, now it suddenly works. Must be something to do with the storm.” She glanced at the phone’s display, then let out a shriek that nearly split Candy’s ears open.

“Oh my God! It’s Amanda!”

“Amanda? Well answer the dumb thing.”

“Right.” Maggie thumbed the call button. “Amanda, where are you? I’ve been scared to death.” She listened then, the silence lengthening as they drove east, her stillness speaking more than words.

When she finally lowered the phone to her lap, Candy didn’t have to look at her to know her friend was stunned. “Is everything alright? Are the kids okay?”

It took Maggie a moment to answer. “Turn around. We’re headed in the wrong direction.”

“Why? Where are they?”

“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

“I’ll believe you. Just tell me.”

“They’re at Quinn’s cabin.”

“Quinn? As in Sebastian J.? I don’t believe it.”

“It gets worse. Cameron’s holding a gun on Quinn. He thinks Quinn’s the one who killed Sapphire.”

Now it was Candy’s turn to look stunned. She blinked several times, shook her head, and slowed the Jeep to a crawl, then cranked the steering wheel as she expertly made a three-point turn in the middle of the road. With the Jeep pointed in the opposite direction, she gunned the gas pedal, and they headed back through the gathering darkness toward Cape Willington.

THIRTY-ONE

The cabin Sebastian J. Quinn had rented for the summer was located at the end of a dirt road, on a high, rocky spur that jutted out into the sea. It was a rugged section of the coast, but a cluster of small wooden summer cabins clung tightly to this piece of land, as they had for decades, standing tough against the frequent onslaughts of sea and storm that could be beyond fierce. On summer days, though, when the sea was calm, the sun bright, and the breezes warm out of the south, when the gulls were impatiently wheeling high overhead and distant sails floated lazily past out on the sharp line of the horizon, when you could sit on this piece of land with your feet up and a book in your hand and forget anything or anyone else existed, you knew there was no place else like it on earth.

Quinn’s cabin was isolated and peaceful, though the place could hardly be called luxurious. It was fifty years old if it was a day, and that was probably being kind, but it was charming in a rustic way, even though it lacked any aesthetically pleasing features. It was a simple cape, with a gray clapboard exterior and white-trimmed windows that looked as if they hadn’t been washed since Eisenhower’s presidency. On the sea side—the front of the house—was a screened porch with weathered rockers, and beyond that, out at the edge of the property, just above the sea, sat a welcoming pair of Adirondack chairs, painted blue and yellow.

Candy could picture the cabin’s interior in her mind, though she had never been inside, but she knew such places well enough. It would have a camplike feel, with a linoleum floor in the kitchen and threadbare carpeting in the living area, walls of varnished pine that held the smells of the ages, big comfy chairs and perhaps a few antique lights, and a checkerboard set on a side table, waiting for someone to play. There would be a couple of bedrooms up a narrow stairway, and a single bathroom on the first floor that had been added to one side of the house sometime in the sixties or seventies.

It probably went for about fifteen hundred a week and more than likely was never empty from May through October.

A rented white sedan sat in the parking area behind the house. Next to it was Cameron’s truck.

Candy drove up slowly behind the truck, eased the Jeep to a stop, switched off the headlights, and shut off the engine.

They sat for a moment in silence, exchanging wary looks, listening to the roar of the ocean. On days when the sea was calm, you’d never know it was there if you were facing the other direction. But when a storm blew in and the sea rose in fury, it could sound like an approaching train—or perhaps a dozen of them all at once. And if the tide was high, and gray breakers pounded at the rocky coast, driving great sprays of seawater into the air—it was then you understood and respected the power of the sea.

Fortunately, the heaviest rain still held off, except for brief waves of heavy drops that sprayed the coastline. Candy leaned forward and looked up at the dark sky, then turned toward the cabin. “I guess we should go inside.”

“I guess so.”

A pause. “You go first. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Spoken like a true friend.” Maggie took a deep breath. “Okay, here I go.”

She had just reached for the Jeep’s door handle when she heard a shout to her right. Looking over, she saw the cabin’s back door swing open. Amanda ran out.

“Amanda!” Maggie cried, jumping out.

“Mom, you’re here!”

“Amanda! My baby!”

They ran into each other’s arms and hugged.

“What took you so long?” Amanda asked, looking worried.

“We got here as quickly as we could. What in the devil’s name is going on?”

Amanda hesitated, casting a glance at Candy, then looking back at her mother. She took Maggie’s arm, tugging her toward the cabin. “You’d better come inside.”

Maggie let her daughter pull her through the door, and Candy followed. They entered a small mudroom, then turned right into a narrow kitchen.

“Amanda, what . . . ?” Maggie began, but Amanda shushed her, then turned toward a doorway that led to the cabin’s living area. “Cam, it’s me. We’re coming in,” Amanda called out.

There was a mumbled response. Amanda led them into the room beyond.

It took Candy a few moments to make sense of all she saw.

The large, gray-carpeted room doubled as a dining area and living room, with a dining table and chairs in one corner, a big comfy sofa in the middle, and windows all along the side that looked out over the sea—an incredible view during the daytime, Candy guessed. Bookshelves lined the back wall, and a stone fireplace occupied the interior wall to her left. It was a cozy, inviting place—though tonight it looked storm tossed, as if a great wind had somehow broken into the place and swept incautiously through.

Near the center of the room, sitting in a straight-backed chair, was Sebastian J. Quinn, wearing khakis, a baggy, faded blue sweatshirt, and old-man’s slippers. His hands appeared to be tied behind his back, held in place with repeated wrappings of steel gray duct tape. A gag had been tied around his mouth. Candy shuddered when he looked at her with hateful eyes, then followed his gaze as it shifted across the room.

Candy saw him then, Cameron, the same tall, scrawny kid, standing in a darkened corner. His lopsided grin was gone, though, his shaggy hair even more disheveled, and his green eyes were narrow and intense. A hunting rifle was tucked into his shoulder. His finger rested uneasily near the trigger, the muzzle pointed straight at Sebastian J. Quinn’s chest.

Candy couldn’t help but gasp.

She noticed how stiff Cameron stood, how stoic his face had become. All the joy had gone out of him. He looked not unlike a caged animal.

“Cameron,” she said softly, her voice shaking, “what are you doing?”

Almost simultaneously, Maggie let out a shriek. “Cameron! Put that thing down before you hurt someone!” she demanded sharply.

But he barely acknowledged their presence. Sebastian J. Quinn grunted something, drawing Candy’s attention. “Why is he tied up like that?” she asked, the confusion evident in her voice. She started toward him, not sure what she planned to do, although she supposed she should free him. But she was stopped by a shout.

“Don’t move!”

“What?” Candy turned to Cameron, her brows falling, her head tilting. “Cameron, I don’t understand what’s happening. We can’t leave him like that. We have to untie him—right now.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? This is crazy. What are you doing?”

Cameron’s face shifted just slightly at Candy’s questions, as if he were being scolded by a parent. In response, he pointed with his eyes and a tilt of his head. “It’s over there.”

Both Maggie and Candy turned—and that’s when Candy saw the files.

They were piled on the table. One of them lay open, its papers strewn about.

In an instant Candy’s confusion was pushed aside as her anger rose. “You
did
take them!” she shouted, looking back at him, her gaze narrowing. “You broke into our house!”

“I had to,” he said, his voice deep and husky. “I had to know what was in them.”

“But Cameron—”

“It’s all there,” he interrupted. “Didn’t you look at them?”

“Of course I looked at some of them but—”

“I called him,” Cameron went on, the words tumbling out of him now as Candy glanced at Sebastian J. Quinn, then moved curiously toward the table. “I called him and told him I knew what he had done. I thought he was coming after us.”

“Called him? Who’s coming after you?” Maggie asked, a touch of fear creeping into her voice.

Cameron pointed, his eyes darkening eerily. “Him. He did it. He murdered my mother.”

“He . . . he
what
?” Maggie gasped.

“He did it, Mom,” Amanda piped in from where she stood near the doorway. “It’s true.”

“I don’t understand.” Maggie looked hard at Cameron. “What are you talking about? Your mother’s not dead. She’s still alive. I talked to her just last week. How could he have killed her?”

“Not that mother,” was Cameron’s answer.

Maggie turned to her daughter, shaking her head, still not understanding. “Amanda? What the hell is going on?”

Candy had reached the table now, and as her gaze swept across the papers on the table she suddenly realized what Cameron was saying. It all came rushing in, engulfing her like a wave, overpowering her, hitting her so hard and fast it almost hurt—all the missed clues, all the puzzle pieces that didn’t seem to fit, all the facts that had seemed so confusing but now became so clear.

She spun toward Cameron, her eyes wide, her mouth falling open.

She saw it now—the hair, the eyes, the posture—so like those of the man in the photo that rested on Sapphire’s piano, the man who stood beside the young Susan Jane Vincent, smiling easily, wearing a USM sweatshirt.

Candy raised a trembling finger, pointing it at Cameron, shaking it a little as the words spilled out of her. “Oh my God! You’re Sapphire’s son!”