Town In a Lobster Stew (13 page)

“Something’s going on in this town,” Candy said, sitting on the sofa with her legs curled up underneath her. “I know it. I can feel it.”

Maggie removed the cork from a bottle of white wine, their second this evening, though it was still early. She sniffed its bouquet thoughtfully. “What, you mean with Ben?”

“Ben? Why would you think something’s going on with Ben?”

Maggie took her friend’s question in stride. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” she said lightly, indicating her living room as she freshened their glasses. “On a Friday night. When you’re supposed to be out on a romantic date with your boyfriend, sipping Chianti and nibbling antipasto at some fancy Italian restaurant up on Route 1. With real tablecloths. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here, but if it were me, I’d rather be out on a date.”

“No offense, but me too.”

“None taken.”

They clinked glasses and sipped. A Michael Bublé CD played on the stereo, and Maggie had lit a couple of scented candles to create a relaxing atmosphere, which they both desperately needed, given the events of the past few days.

“So,” Maggie pressed on, appraising her friend over the rim of her wine glass, “just how
are
things going with you and Ben?”

Candy considered the question. “You know, you’re the second person who’s asked me about Ben today. Why all the sudden interest?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because we all care about you, honey, and want you to be happy. Or maybe we’re just nosy. Or maybe it’s a little bit of both. You know, there are all sorts of people around town who are interested in you two. They’re always asking about you.”

“Really? Like who?”

Maggie waved a hand. “Oh, like everybody. They’re always asking me, ‘So how are Candy and Ben doing? Are they dating? Has he proposed? Are they getting married?’ ”

“Married?”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it, honey. It’s just people talking.”

Candy gave her friend a look of incomprehension. “But I don’t get it. Why would anyone care?”

Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I think we’re all just looking for a little bit of romance in our lives, you know? Even if it’s vicarious. It makes us hopeful—and happy. And Lord knows, happiness is in short supply around our little town lately, in case you hadn’t noticed. Just look at what’s happened to me. Six weeks ago my husband tells me he wants a divorce. He needs to find himself, he says, although I have no idea what
that
means. Now my boss absconds with all the company’s loot. There’s a rumor he ran off to South America with some woman thirty years younger than he is. I don’t know what they put in the drinking water lately, but it’s making some of the men around here a little squirrelly. I’m just hoping we don’t have to put Ben in that category.”

“You and me both,” Candy admitted, “but if you must know, he was very apologetic when he called to cancel. And he has a perfectly legitimate excuse. Some friend of his came up from Boston at the last minute. They’re old buddies. They just wanted to hang out together.”

“So he canceled your date to spend time with his buddy? What’s that all about?”

Candy gave her a look. “This is only the second time he’s canceled on me, missy. He’s been pretty good about keeping our dates. And we’ve had a good time.”

“So you think he’s your Prince Charming?” Maggie asked boldly. She had no trepidation treading on delicate territory with her best friend.

Candy took another sip of wine as she pondered the question. “Well, no, I’m not sure I’d call him that. He’s wonderful and all, but he’s certainly not the most romantic person I’ve ever gone out with. He’s usually too preoccupied with other things, especially the paper. He’s been a pretty good friend, though.”

“Until some old buddy of his comes up from Boston for the weekend. Then you have to fend for yourself on a Friday night.”

Candy raised her wineglass. “To Friday nights.”

“To Friday nights.”

They both drank, and Maggie continued, “If it’s any consolation, I’m happy he canceled on you. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. And Lord knows I need a friend tonight.”

“Been a tough week, huh?”

“That’s putting a mild spin on it. Honey, it’s been hell.”

“Well, you seem to be holding up okay. You’ve been a trooper.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Hey, you know, that’s not a bad idea,” she said with a lopsided grin. “I wonder if the state troopers are hiring?”

“Yeah, that’s all we need. You with a gun and a badge.”

“Hey, I resent that. I’m pretty good with a gun.”

“I know. That’s what worries me.”

They both laughed and sipped more wine. After a few moments, Candy said, “Amanda’s not around this weekend?”

“She went off camping with the Zimmermans.”

“So you’re all alone.”

Maggie spread her arms wide. “Welcome to my world.”

“Obviously mine too.”

“Hey, at least you’re living with Doc. You’ve got someone to talk to. A couple of months ago this place was filled with a husband and a couple of teenagers with raging hormones. Now I’m queen of the castle, and the place is empty.”

“You should get a cat.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking about that. It’s been six months since I lost Mr. Biggles. A new kitty’s just what I need.”

“Maybe a Siamese. Or a Maine coon cat. You know—someone who speaks the local language.”

“Do Maine coon cats speak with a Maine accent?”

“Ah-yuh,” Candy said, and they both laughed again.

Maggie leaned way back in her chair and wiggled her toes. She was going barefoot tonight, and had freshly painted toenails. “So . . . you think something’s up?”

“Huh?”

“You just said
something’s going on
—like what?”

Candy took a few moments to answer. “Just a bunch of weird things,” she said finally, still trying to work it all out. “Too many strange little events that don’t seem to be connected. But it’s too coincidental that they’re all happening at the same time.”

“Yeah, life can be strange like that. So tell me the details. Maybe I can help you figure it out.”

“Well, there’s this whole thing with Wilma Mae’s missing recipe. And Wanda Boyle digging around in the archives at the historical society, supposedly looking for information on architects and historical homes. And I still haven’t found out anything about Wanda’s brother, the carpenter, who might have repaired the shelving unit in Wilma Mae’s upstairs bedroom and discovered the hidden document drawer. And then there’s Mr. Sedley’s disappearance, which could turn out to be nothing.” She paused. “Everything seems to be connected to the Lobster Stew Cook-off for some reason, which just about everyone around town has entered except you and me.”

“Like who?”

“Well, Wanda of course.”

“Of course.”

“And Melody from Melody’s Café. And Burt Ramsay from the Lobster Shack.”

“That makes sense. He sounds like a ringer, though.”

“Yup, he’s got a big following. There’s always a line stretching around the block to get into his place. You can’t go near there in the summer. Then, let’s see—Juanita from the diner has entered. And Bumpy Brigham.”

“Doc’s buddy?”

“Yup, it’s got the whole posse in a frenzy. Apparently Bumpy cooks a pretty mean stew. He’s some sort of quasigourmet chef or something or other.”

“Hmm. I thought all he did was eat, drink, and polish his antique cars.”

“Well there you go—you just never know. And then just a whole bunch of regular folks are entering, like Lyra Graveton, Anita Weller, Walter Gruthers, Delilah Daggerstone, and Tillie Shaw. There’s even a rumor Solomon Hatch is going to enter, though he’ll probably make his stew with nuts and berries. Oh yeah, and Charlotte Depew is on the list.”

“Charlotte Depew? From the museum?”

“That’s the one. I finally met her yesterday. Did I tell you that?”

“No, but I figured you probably ran into her, since you said you went out to the museum.”

“Yes, I did. I think I caught her at a bad time, though. She seemed pretty happy to hand me over to Wanda.”

“You saw Wanda?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d that go?”

Candy shook her head. “Not good.”

“Does she still hate you?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she get nasty?”

“A little.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It was my own fault. I encroached on her territory at the lighthouse, I guess, so that got her feathers all ruffled up. It was like backing a bull into a corner.”

“You gotta steer clear of her. I told you. Don’t make her madder than she already is.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible. Plus, I still feel she’s up to something. I wish I knew what she was really doing. She’s been working up in those archives a lot.”

“Then let her work. It keeps her out of your hair.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. I don’t have much time to follow up with her anyway. I’ve got so much to do, what with the paper and Herr Georg’s bakery and Melody’s pies and the farm.”

“You’re a busy woman.” Maggie paused, then sighed. “And I guess I’ve got to get busy too. I have to look for a new job.”

Candy reached over and patted her on her ankle. “Give yourself a couple of days to recoup, okay? You’ve been through a lot. You deserve some time off. Why don’t you take the weekend to relax and enjoy yourself? You can start looking for work next week, and I’ll help.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Tell you what. Why don’t you go to the cook-off tomorrow with me? It’ll give you a chance to get out in the air a little bit, enjoy the scenery, and sample the wares.”

“Mmm. I wouldn’t miss it. Are you working tomorrow?”

Candy nodded. “I have some interviews to do, but we’ll have plenty of time to walk around together. And who knows? Maybe something really interesting will happen.”

“Are you making a prediction?”

“No, I just have this . . . feeling.”

Maggie’s brow fell dramatically. “You’re not getting psychic on me, are you?”

“No, we’ve already got plenty of those in town. Just call it intuition. I think tomorrow is going to be a very interesting day.”

The day dawned fine and bright, with a light, fresh wind and air as crisp as a just-plucked apple. Early morning dew made the well-manicured lawn at the Lightkeeper’s Inn glisten like a tinseled tree on Christmas morning, and moistened the shoes of the first contestants as they arrived to set up their booths and start their stews. Birds chirped in the branches of the maple, oak, ash, and sycamore trees surrounding the inn’s pristine front and side yards, accentuated by classical music piped into the property through discreetly placed exterior speakers. The inn’s staff had festooned the posts and railings of the building’s front and side porches with red, white, and blue streamers, and hung baskets overflowing with red and white petunias and impatiens from every available spot, adding to the morning’s myriad colors.

Candy and Maggie arrived on the grounds just before nine and headed first to the food tables, where they each grabbed a cup of steaming coffee and a blueberry muffin. Then they walked over to check in at the registration table, where Candy received a press badge and a few printouts with updates on the contestants, judges, and the day’s schedule, plus a hand-drawn map of the property, marking the locations of all the booths, tents, tables, and services.

“I was right,” Candy said as she scanned the printouts she’d received.

Maggie took a large bite of her blueberry muffin. “About what?”

“It looks like there’s been a change with the judges. I mentioned it in my column last week. They’re bringing in some new guy. That should ruffle a few feathers around here, don’t you think?”

Maggie wasn’t paying attention. She was scrutinizing Candy’s press badge, obviously impressed. “Where’s mine?” she asked, pointing with a pinky at the badge hanging on a lanyard around Candy’s neck.