Town in a Strawberry Swirl (Candy Holliday Mystery) (10 page)

This seemed to appease Della for the moment. As she sat, Candy turned toward the last woman, who still stood in the doorway.

She was the group’s other founder, and unlike Della, she had been in town for as long as anyone could remember. And she had an unmistakable air about her that made sure everyone knew it. Elvira Tremble had family roots in Cape Willington that went back generations, to around the time of the Civil War. Like Betty Lynn, she claimed a maritime-affiliated ancestor, a Captain Ezekiel Tremble, who had piloted steamboats along Maine’s nineteenth-century coastline. From what Candy had read, Captain Tremble made quite a bit of money as the part owner of a regional transportation company that still maintained a small percentage of some of the ferry lines around the state. Her purple ensemble was complemented by expensive jewelry and a designer purse. She held her head aloof as she entered the office, studying it with a discerning eye. She managed to look down her nose as she turned to Candy and spoke.

“So is this
her
office?” Elvira asked, without any sort of introduction or pleasantries.

Uncertain what she was asking, Candy shook her head and said, “This is Ben Clayton’s old office. I recently moved in, until they hire a new full-time editor.”

“So is
she
here?” Elvira pressed, her dark eyes narrowing in like a vulture’s.

Candy blinked several times and looked around the circle, from one woman to another. “Is who here?”

“The editor,” Della Swain said.

“I’m the editor,” Candy answered as she plopped down into her padded office chair. “At least, temporarily. I’m filling in—for now.”

“There’s been some mistake, then,” Cotton said from the end of the row. “We were supposed to meet with the
other
editor.”

“The other editor?” Candy shook her head, confused. “Who’s that?”

Elvira Tremble made a sound in the back of her throat, as if this was something she’d expected from such a shoddily run operation. “The woman we wanted to meet with is the same person who writes the community column. You know who she is.”

Candy nodded as the realization stuck her. “Ahh, yes. Our community columnist. You’re talking about Wanda Boyle.”

It had been, Candy thought, an act of total desperation. And it had worked out better than she could have ever expected.

Her decision—an over-the-top gamble, really—had grown out of the events of a cold uncertain winter, when the newspaper’s fate had hung in the balance, and rumors of financial troubles and even the paper’s closing had been rampant around town. Candy hadn’t known where the stories were coming from, but they hadn’t been far off base, she eventually came to discover. As it turned out, the unexpected resignation of Ben Clayton and the rapid departure of two subsequent editors had caused instability at the newspaper, which was compounded by a lack of direction, support, and communication from the paper’s then-owner, who was based out of Rhode Island.

At the same time, the increased popularity of a local community blog called the
Cape Crusader
, owned and written by a local woman named Wanda Boyle, challenged the newspaper’s status around town and drained off some of its readers, which in turn caused ad sales to drop. Budgets were tightened and hours reduced. The paper’s volunteer staff grew fretful and undependable, despite Betty Lynn’s best attempts to keep up morale around the office by putting a positive spin on the latest news, whatever that might be.

The situation worsened right before Thanksgiving, when the then-owner announced that the paper was indeed up for sale. Shocked villagers sent the rumor mill spinning into high gear. Because of uncertainty about the paper’s future, ad sales faltered even more. Financially the
Cape Crier
teetered on the brink. For a few desperate weeks at the end of the previous year, everyone associated with the paper, including Candy, prepared for the worst while hoping for something—anything—even remotely positive to happen.

As all this was going on, Candy had expected Wanda Boyle, through her
Cape Crusader
blog, to rejoice in the paper’s problems. Wanda’s primary competitor in town appeared to be on its last legs. Certainly this was what she had wanted all along, Candy remembered thinking.

Their relationship had been a rocky one over the past few years. Wanda remained upset that Candy had been hired by Ben as the paper’s community columnist, and as a result they’d butted heads a number of times since. It was the primary reason Wanda had started her own community blog—as a way to rattle the town’s established newspaper, which had, in her opinion, rejected her.

However, Wanda surprised everyone by coming out strongly in support of the
Cape Crier
. Decrying the possibility of its demise, she called the paper “a local treasure” that was “essential to the village’s lifeblood,” and considered it “a vital source of news and information for the people and businesses of our community.” Over a series of blog posts, Wanda had whipped up local support for the paper, and even started an online petition to protest the paper’s possible closing. Within a week she had several hundred signatures, and to date more than a thousand people had put their names to the document.

Once the paper’s new owners had taken over after the beginning of the year, things had quieted down a bit. Still, the paper struggled financially. After all the negative publicity through the fall and into the winter, they’d lost quite a bit of readership and advertising, and didn’t expect to get it back until the tourist season started up in late May. Candy wasn’t sure the paper would last that long. The end seemed imminent. To prevent that from happening, she knew she needed to come up with a way to boost readership and ad sales as quickly as possible.

With Ben gone, no new editor in sight, and only a handful of part-time and volunteer workers left in the office, Candy took it upon herself to try to find a solution. So one cold February morning, she sat down at her office computer and drafted an e-mail to the new owners, who were located on Commercial Street in Portland, outlining several options.

Some of her ideas, such as reducing the number of issues they published each month or completely closing down the office for a day or two each week to save on utilities and other overhead costs, were practical but painful to envision. So she added a more creative solution, one that had actually been suggested by Betty Lynn on a dismal winter morning, when they were in Candy’s office reading one of Wanda Boyle’s blog posts describing the proper way to plow a driveway after a heavy snowstorm. The four-paragraph piece included interviews with local snowplow drivers and a handy bulleted list of do’s and don’ts.

“She’s turning into a pretty good reporter,” Betty Lynn had observed at the time. “Too bad she’s not working for us.”

It was true. Wanda had a prickly personality that made her hard to get along with. She could be snobbish when she wanted to be, and she sometimes resorted to mockery and sarcasm to make her points. Her fashion tastes were distinctive, to say the least. But she was good at what she did. She was a clever entrepreneur who worked hard and made smart decisions. She demonstrated tenaciousness and creativity. She knew just about everyone in Cape Willington, and she’d developed a strong following on her social media accounts, thanks to her on-the-spot reporting of the community’s many events and activities.

And she’d always wanted to work for the paper.

Candy thought:
Why not?

Maybe it was just what the paper needed—something fresh, something different, something to shake up the status quo.

Candy’s outside-the-box proposal prompted a flurry of e-mails with the paper’s new owners, and after receiving approval, she approached Wanda with a novel concept.

By the end of the April, Wanda Boyle’s first column had appeared in the
Cape Crier
.

The idea had been a simple one—offer Wanda what she’d always wanted by naming her the paper’s new community correspondent, and launch a new print version of her blog, which would be prominently featured on page three of every issue of the paper. Wanda would also continue to write for her online blog on a regular basis, but now it would reside on the newspaper’s website.

There were obvious benefits both for the paper and for Wanda. By joining forces, the paper could draw in all Wanda’s followers. Maybe that would be enough to give them the boost in readers and sales they needed. And Wanda gained the prestige of working for an established print publication. She was thrilled with the idea, because she finally got what she’d always wanted—the title of community correspondent.

They decided to call Wanda’s new column the
Cape Crusader
, just like her blog, and it replaced the paper’s existing community column, which had been titled
Blueberry Bits
. Candy herself had written the column for the past several years, ever since she’d been hired by Ben for the position.

During the exchange of e-mails with the owners as the details of the new arrangement were being worked out, Candy had agreed to relinquish the title of community correspondent, which she’d had for four years, and temporarily step into the position of managing editor. She had plenty of experience for the job, having worked closely with Ben all those years. And although it meant more work for her, it also meant more money, since her hours at the paper would increase. In the end, despite her reservations, she had agreed to give it a try.

It many ways it was a bittersweet transition for her. She’d had fun writing the
Blueberry Bits
column over the past few years, and had learned a lot from the process. But now she would turn her attention more toward editing, assigning, and managing, and less to writing.

Just as they’d all hoped, Wanda’s column took off, creating a buzz around town. Issues of the paper started selling out again. They increased their press run. More copies started popping up around town, and advertisers were suddenly intrigued by the paper’s resurgence. In the end, financial disaster was averted, and the paper moved onto stabler financial ground, especially with the tourist season now in full swing.

Of course, the new arrangement meant Candy and Wanda had to learn to work together—which hadn’t been easy for either of them at first. But they both knew they needed each other, and so they’d developed a relatively civil working relationship—which mostly consisted of Candy biting her tongue a lot. For her part, Wanda had developed a more professional demeanor, and tried her best to keep her outsized personality in check. And as expected, she took her work very seriously. Her social media accounts thrived, and she quickly established herself as a recognized voice for the paper.

As Wanda’s fame had grown, Candy had taken a few steps back out of the spotlight, concentrating her attention on the activities in the office.

So it wasn’t surprising to hear that Cotton Colby, Elvira Tremble, and the other ladies of the Cape Willington Historical Protection League thought that Wanda Boyle—and not Candy—was the editor of the newspaper.

“She’s such a wonderful writer,” Della Swain said, trying very hard to keep the swoon out of her voice. “I’ve learned so much about the village while reading her articles over the years. And now to see her with her own column in the newspaper!” She puckered her face in excitement. “What an honor it must be for you to work with her!”

“Um, yes, it’s . . . quite an honor,” Candy said hesitantly. “Wanda’s a great asset to the
Crier
, of course. I don’t know what we’d do without her. Excuse me for a minute.”

She slipped out of her chair and went to find Betty Lynn, who was in a conversation with Jesse Kidder, the paper’s photographer and graphic designer. Candy broke in to ask if Betty Lynn knew the whereabouts of Wanda. “These ladies want her to sit in on the meeting,” she explained.

Betty Lynn leaped right into action. “Let me see if I can get hold of her,” she said, dashing off to her desk.

Jesse grinned at Candy’s evident discomfort. “Tough crowd?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Candy blew out a breath. “You have no idea,” she said, and returned to her own office.

“We’re trying to track Wanda down right now,” Candy explained to the ladies once she was seated again. “Just so I can understand what went wrong, did you talk to Wanda personally when you set up the appointment with me, um, with
us
?”

“I believe she was CC’d on our e-mails with Betty Lynn,” Cotton informed her primly.

“That’s right,” Della confirmed. “I made sure Wanda was included.”

“Della is our e-mail expert,” Brenda Jenkins explained helpfully, “so if she says Wanda was notified, then she’s telling the truth!”

“But I don’t want to get Wanda into trouble,” Della responded, sounding horrified.

“Wanda’s not in trouble,” Candy assured her. “It’s just a little mix-up.”

“We
asked
for a meeting with the
editor
,” Elvira clarified, bunching together her dark eyebrows. She had finally seated herself, though she perched on the edge of her chair with her tightly folded hands resting uneasily in her lap, as if she wanted to be ready in case she needed to spring to her feet and make a hasty exit.

Candy was tempted to say,
Well, you
are
meeting with the editor
—she was certain that was what the ladies had requested in those e-mails, and Betty Lynn had complied with their wishes—but she held herself back. She also wanted to ask them why
she
hadn’t been included in this apparent exchange of e-mails, but let that go as well. Today was not a good day to upset the ladies of the Heritage Protection League and stir up even more problems for herself.

So instead, as pleasantly as she could, she said, “Well, then, I’m sure Wanda will be here shortly to meet with you. In the meantime, if there’s any way I can help, I’d be glad to do what I can.”

The ladies were silent for a few moments. They exchanged furtive glances, as if silently coaxing one another to say something. Finally they all looked at Della, who cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, and asked, “What is it you do again?”

As she spoke, studious Alice Rainesford leaned forward and pulled out a notebook from her tote bag. She flipped it open and took up a pen, apparently prepared to make notes of the meeting.

Candy eyed all five of them. “Hmm,” she said.

How to answer?

She finally reached around, took a pile of business cards from her desktop, and passed out a card to each lady. “I’m a writer and a reporter for the newspaper,” she told them in a clear tone, as if talking to first graders. “I was the community correspondent before Wanda. For most of my time here I wrote a column called
Blueberry Bits.
I also covered a number of news stories about events in town. Now I’m the interim managing editor.”

“I thought Wanda wrote
Blueberry Bits
,” Della said, tapping a finger to her chin.

“No, Wanda writes a new column called the
Cape Crusader
. It’s based on her blog. It replaced my column a few months ago.”

“You have a blog?”

“No, Wanda has a blog.”

“Then who have I been reading all these years?” Della asked, sounding confused.

“You’ve probably been reading all of us,” Candy said. “My column, Wanda’s blog, Ben’s editorials—”

“I really did enjoy reading Ben’s articles,” Della said wistfully. “Are you sure he’s not still around?”

Elvira Tremble waved her hand, interrupting them. “I have a question,” she said in a somewhat haughty tone.

Candy looked at her expectantly. “Yes?”

“What is an
interim managing editor
?” She made the last three words sound like something she’d expect to find at the bottom of a drain pipe.

Candy gave her a polite answer. “It means I’ve temporarily taken over the editor’s duties here at the newspaper until they can find the right full-time person. Currently, I’m responsible for assigning, writing, editing, and proofing all the content in the paper. I work with Jesse and the production department on layout. I write headlines and photo captions. I meet with people and take phone calls. That sort of thing.”

“Oh, I see.” Elvira considered this. “So you say you’re a writer?”

“Yes, well, I try to be.”

“Will you be covering the Strawberry Fair this weekend then?”

“Of course,” Candy said. “Both Wanda and I will be there, along with our photographer.”

“And what exactly will you be writing about?”

Candy tilted her head slightly. “What do you mean?”

Cotton Colby spoke up in response. “You realize how important this event is to our organization?”

Candy was silent for a moment as she thought about that. “I’m not sure. In what way?”

Cotton straightened herself in her chair and launched into what sounded like a carefully rehearsed spiel. “We need to preserve our way of life—our heritage—here in the village,” she said with great seriousness. “Our group is not antigrowth or antibusiness. In fact, it’s just the opposite. We believe the village needs to maintain its small-town atmosphere in order to survive and thrive. That’s what brings all the summer visitors here and helps keep the village humming along. So we, as civic-minded citizens, believe we must guard against anything that might threaten Cape Willington’s small-town charm.”

“Of course,” Candy said. “Anything in particular you’re referring to?”

“Well, since you asked,” Elvira said, “we’re opposed to the unfettered building of large commercial establishments on historic farmland that contributes to the health and vitality of this community, especially without the voice of the people being heard on the subject.”

“Ah. You’re talking about the alleged real estate deal out at Crawford’s Berry Farm?” For the moment, Candy avoided any mention of her own involvement in the events of the past few hours. Instead, she said, “Yes, Wanda’s been writing quite a bit about that over the past few weeks, hasn’t she?”

“Her articles have been very informative,” Della agreed with a nod of her head.

“Is that why you wanted to talk to Wanda?” Candy asked. “To find out information about the berry farm? About this supposed sale?”

“We want to make sure our voices are heard,” Cotton said. “We want to make sure our event gets the coverage it deserves. And yes, we were hoping Wanda could tell us the latest about the situation at the berry farm and this new resort we’ve heard about. We want to keep our berry farm intact. We don’t want some big conglomerate moving in. So we’re very concerned with what’s going on out there.”

“Especially after what happened
this morning
,” Elvira said in a tone so low it sounded like a growl.

Again, they were all silent for a moment, until Candy finally said, “Yes, yes, from what I’ve heard, it’s very . . . unfortunate.”

Elvira leaned forward from her perch on the chair. “As the interim managing editor, as you call it, have
you
heard any behind-the-scenes information you could share with us?” she asked craftily. “Do they have any idea who did it?”

“Any clues you could share with us?” Della added breathlessly.

“Just so we know how to proceed in order to better protect our village from further harm, of course,” Cotton clarified.

Candy had known the question might come up, and she’d already formulated her response. “I only know what the police have officially released.”

“I see,” Cotton said with a stern look. “It’s been a shock for all of us, of course. We held an emergency meeting of our executive committee this morning to discuss whether we should proceed with the Strawberry Fair or cancel it.”

“I was late for the meeting!” Della cut in. “I was out running errands. I didn’t even know we were having one!”

“A few people were late,” Cotton confirmed, and her voice rose just a bit in pitch. “As I said, it was an emergency meeting to make a decision about the Fair. We had a quorum. Of course, the decision was easy. Too much time and money has already been spent to turn back now. We agreed unanimously to proceed as planned. Besides,” she added, “we all think the Fair might just be what the community needs to get us through this difficult time.”

“We’re having pony rides!” Della said excitedly.

“And we’ll have speeches and performances as well,” Brenda added, “with food booths and several contests. I’m helping out at the strawberry shortcake tent,” she said proudly.

“The Pruitt Foundation has helped us fund the event,” Elvira noted. “Of course, we’re grateful to them for their support.”

“Really? The Pruitt Foundation?” Candy had not heard that. Established by one of the town’s wealthiest families, the foundation supported a number of local civic and charitable events. “That’s not the type of thing they usually do, is it?” Candy asked. She was a little surprised.

“They respect the town’s heritage as much as anyone,” Cotton said. “They’re helping us preserve our way of life here.”

So does that mean the Pruitts oppose the rumored sale of the berry farm?
Candy wondered.

It was food for thought.

She was about to say something else when they all heard heavy footsteps on the wooden staircase leading up to the second floor. The main office door creaked open and then slammed shut. A tornado swept down the hallway toward them.

Wanda Boyle had arrived.