Town in a Strawberry Swirl (Candy Holliday Mystery) (7 page)

“Sure do, now that I think of it.” Doc nodded. “I made three stops that afternoon, first at Mrs. Fairweather’s. Then I swung by Sally Ann Longfellow’s place, and finally I ran out to see the Gumms, since Gus was out of action this spring due to that back surgery he had.” Doc caught his daughter’s eye. “I must have left the shovel at one of their places.”

For a few moments both were silent, surprised by their discovery. “Wow, how about that?” Doc said finally, sounding a little pleased with himself. “We actually figured something out.”

“We did,” Candy said, “and it just might help us find out what really happened to Miles.”

“It certainly might,” Doc agreed. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier. I guess my brain isn’t working right today.”

“It’s to be expected, after what you’ve been through,” Candy said supportively. “At least you remembered.”

“With your help. It’s like you said—I bought that new shovel for a reason. I just didn’t remember why.”

“It’d be hard to prove in court, though,” Candy said thoughtfully, “if it ever came to that, I mean—to prove it wasn’t in your possession when Miles was killed. Are you sure that’s what happened to it? You left it at one of your stops that day?”

“I’m positive.” Doc nodded a single time for emphasis. “I remember throwing it into the back of the truck and driving into town. It’s clear as day in my mind right now.”

“Then you know what this means?”

“What?”

“It means that one of those three or four people you just mentioned—Mrs. Fairweather, the Gumms, or Sally Ann—might be the person who killed Miles Crawford and left the shovel beside his body.”

Doc snorted. “That’s impossible. Those folks are all in their seventies or eighties. Some might be pushing ninety. I think Mrs. Fairweather is in line for the cane, isn’t she?” It was a tradition in some New England villages to award an honorary cane to the oldest person in town. “I’m not sure she could even lift a shovel, let alone swing it that hard. Neither could any of the others.”

“What about Sally Ann?” Candy asked thoughtfully.

“Well, she’s a tough old bird, all right. She still wrangles those goats pretty well.”

“And Mr. Gumm? He still gardens and he’s active.”

Doc eyed her skeptically. “You really think Gus could do something like that?”

“No,” Candy admitted, and then she turned toward her father, eyeing him curiously. “Could
you
?”

“Could I what?”

“Could
you
lift and swing that shovel?”

Doc took a moment to answer. “I’m not sure why you’re asking me that,” he said finally, “but of course I could, if I had to. But why would I ever want to?”

Candy let his question pass. “My point,” she said instead, “is that right now we shouldn’t rule out anyone as a suspect—even if it’s someone we know, even if it’s someone who we think is incapable of committing such a deed. People do strange things, for strange reasons. If there’s anything I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s to assume nothing, and to consider everything, even if it’s highly unlikely. So for the moment, we don’t take anything—or anyone—off the table.”

Doc shuffled his feet and frowned. He didn’t seem happy with this latest development. “Then maybe I just shouldn’t have said anything at all,” he muttered, his voice sounding a bit strained. “The last thing I want to do is get any of those nice old folks into trouble with the police. I don’t want to point the finger of blame at anyone—especially them.”

“Neither do I,” Candy said.

Doc was about to respond, further arguing the point, but he paused, and considered what his daughter had just said. “So what do
you
think we should do?”

Candy hesitated only a moment before responding. “I think we should call the police right now and tell them we just figured out what happened to that shovel.”

“But that won’t work,” Doc said with a shake of his head. When this daughter said nothing in reply, he continued, “For two reasons, since you asked. First, they’re so darn busy at the station that I’m not even sure I could get anyone on the phone if I called over there right now. They didn’t have time to see me today. Who knows if they even want to talk to me?”

“They’ll talk to us if we have information about the shovel,” Candy said, playing devil’s advocate.

“Yes, but that’s just it. And brings me to my second point.”

“Which is?”

“It would just traumatize those old folks if the police came calling on them.”

Candy had to agree with him on that point.

“Which is why I think we should just go and find out what happened to that shovel ourselves,” Doc concluded.

“Conduct our own investigation, you mean?”

“No. Go talk to our friends. See if we can figure out what happened. Once we know where I left that shovel, and figure out how it made its way to Crawford’s Berry Farm,
then
we’ll contact the police and tell them what we’ve learned.”

Candy nodded. “Okay, agreed. But no matter what we find out, we call the police this afternoon and fill them in.”

“Agreed.” Doc seemed pleased with their compromise.

“So where do we start?”

Doc shrugged. “With Mrs. Fairweather, I guess. She was my first stop that day.”

“I’m not sure that’s necessary then,” Candy said, “because if you
had
left the shovel at her house, you wouldn’t have had it when you got to Sally Ann’s place, or the Gumms’. You needed it to knock down the icicles at all three places.”

“But that’s just it,” Doc said. “I remember taking the shovel with me that day, and I remember where I stopped. But I think I also used their shovels at some of the places. I just can’t remember which is which.”

“Okay, so we’ll visit all three.” Candy turned on her heels and headed toward the house. “I’ll get my keys. We’ll take the Jeep.”

On the way back to town, Doc fiddled relentlessly with the radio dial, searching for any news of the town’s most recent incident. But he found nothing other than the usual classic rock, oldies, and talk radio stations, as well as a Spanish language channel and one devoted exclusively to polka tunes. Giving up, he shut off the radio, scratched at his leg, looked out the window, scratched his leg some more, and made a face. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said finally, in a tone that had a defensive edge to it.

Candy glanced over at him, a half smile on her face. She had grown used to her father’s many moods. “And what am I thinking, Dad?”

“You’re wondering if this is the right thing to do.”

“Which part?”

Doc let out a sigh. “You know—talking to these people ourselves, rather than going right to the police.”

“Ahh.” Candy slowed the vehicle as they came to a line of traffic on the outskirts of town. “So you’re having reservations?” She’d thought that might happen. “Should we head over to the police station instead?”

Doc waved a hand dismissively in the air, as if swatting away a fly. “No, no, that’s just it. I’ve thought it through, and I’m convinced we’re doing the right thing.”

“Really?” Candy found herself somewhat amused. Usually she was the one who went off on her own investigations, while Doc took a more levelheaded approach, cautioning her to follow protocol and leave the detecting to the experts. “And why is that?”

“Because we’re the ones with the best chance of finding out what happened here.”

“How so?”

“Well, look. If we’d gone to the police first, they’d have rushed over to see these folks and started questioning them. Then it would have spread around town, and people would think those folks were mixed up in the murder somehow, and it would have turned into a huge mess.”

“You’re saying we should be more discreet?”

“Not even talk about the murder,” Doc confirmed. “Just a few friendly little chats. Besides, if we start talking about dead bodies and murder weapons, that would just get everyone worked up. It’d probably scare the bejesus out of Mrs. Fairweather to know she might be tied up in a murder case. She’d probably just clam right up—get so confused she wouldn’t know what to say. And you know Sally Ann can be pretty cantankerous at times. She doesn’t get along well with the police, mostly because of those goats of hers, which have caused some trouble around town. But she likes me, so I can talk to her. And, of course, we both know Gus pretty well.”

That was true. They were frequent visitors to Gumm’s Hardware Store, and Candy and Maggie had managed Mr. Gumm’s pumpkin patch for him for the past two years, so she had a good relationship with him.

“So it’s best to do this ourselves, and keep a low profile—for now,” Doc concluded.

“Got it, Dad. Good thinking.”

He pointed out the windshield, toward the upcoming intersection and traffic light. “Let’s stop by the hardware store first and see if Gus is around. Then we’ll head over and see the others.”

They indeed found Augustus “Gus” Gumm behind the counter of his hardware store on Main Street. They entered as nonchalantly as possible, as if they’d stopped by to do a little browsing around the store. Doc started talking about the weather, and Candy mentioned something about the pumpkin patch, but Mr. Gumm saw through their charade right away. He eyed them both with a look of cold logic. “I don’t suppose this little drop-in has anything to do with the events taking place this morning out at the Crawford farm.”

Candy and Doc exchanged a glance, knowing they’d been found out. “Well now, Gus,” Doc said, shuffling his feet a little, “you know if it did, we really couldn’t say.”

Mr. Gumm had a quick response. “So does that mean if you
aren’t
saying, then it really
does
have something to do with that murder I just heard about?”

Doc cleared his throat and smiled obligingly, though Candy noticed his smile looked a little forced. But considering the circumstances, he made a pretty good actor.
He’s getting the hang of this
, she thought as she stood off to one side and let her father do the talking.

“Actually we’re here about a shovel,” Doc said, making it sound as if he’d lost his favorite pair of socks.

“A shovel? Got plenty of those along the back wall.” He pointed toward the rear of the store.

“No, this is one of our old shovels we had out at Blueberry Acres. It’s got the initials
B.A.
on the handle. I had it with me when I came out to your place last March, when we had those snowstorms, remember? I helped knock the icicles off your house? But I lost the darn thing somewhere along the way. Thought I might have left it at your place. You seen anything like that around?”

“Well, now, let me think.” Mr. Gumm plopped himself on to an old varnished wooden stool behind the counter, rubbed the stubble on his chin, and rolled his gaze to the ceiling. But finally he shook his head. “Don’t recall seeing a shovel around the house with any initials on the handle,” he said after a few moments. “Of course, we got lots of tools out in the sheds. Got three toolsheds in all, you know. Dozens of shovels and rakes and what have you. Could be in there somewhere. But if it is, I don’t recall.”

“Do you remember seeing a strange shovel lying somewhere around the place, maybe on a walkway or leaning up against the building?” Doc pressed. “Somewhere I might have left it by mistake?”

“Sure don’t, Doc.”

“What about Mrs. Gumm?” Candy asked. “Could she have picked it up?”

Mr. Gumm shrugged. “It’s possible. Any tools she finds lying around, she leans them up against one of the sheds, so I can sort them out. You got to keep them in order—otherwise you’ll never find what you want. So she leaves that up to me.”

Sensing they were getting nowhere, they thanked Mr. Gumm and headed back out to the Jeep. The day had grown warmer, so Doc rolled up his sleeves as he climbed into the cabin, and opened the passenger side window. “No sense searching those sheds. Sounds like a dead end,” he said as Candy started the engine. “Let’s see what Sally Ann and Mrs. Fairweather have to say.”

They made a quick jog back out to the Coastal Loop, headed north a block, and then made a right turn on River Road, which ran parallel to Main Street. Rachel Fairweather lived closest to them, near the corner of Pleasant Street and Shady Lane, just a block over from Gleason Street and two blocks from Rose Hip Lane, in the older, historic section of the village. Sally Ann Longfellow’s place, an old Cape Cod-style house, was just a little farther out, where Gleason met Edgewood Road at the outskirts of town. So they’d decided to stop at Mrs. Fairweather’s first.

Time was becoming an issue, since Candy had meetings in the afternoon, so they agreed to keep their conversations as brief as possible.

They parked in the gravel driveway in front of Mrs. Fairweather’s house and hopped out of the Jeep. Her home was a modest chocolate brown bungalow with white trim, and she’d done her best to keep the place neat. The hip-high white picket fence around the property had been recently painted, and window boxes held colorful cascades of flowers in red, yellow, and violet, while well-tended gardens encircled the house, meandering artfully from dual walkways that ran to either side and met somewhere around the back.

Doc ambled right up the front walkway, climbed the steps to the porch, and knocked on the front door, while Candy wandered around to the left side of the building, admiring a wisteria-covered archway and a row of sunflowers hugging the building, almost shoulder high. She spotted a rose garden a little farther on, and could see part of a large vegetable patch out back with several bean teepees. She looked over when she heard the front door open, and noticed the surprised look on Doc’s face.

“Oh, hello,” he said hesitantly to the person who opened the door. “I’m looking for Mrs. Fairweather. Rachel Fairweather? She’s still around, isn’t she?”

“Yes, hi.” A slim, dark-haired woman pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. She looked to be around Candy’s age, in her late thirties or early forties. She wore a knee-length flowery print dress, loosely belted at the waist. She was barefoot.

“I’m Morgan,” the dark-haired woman told them. “Aunt Rachel’s niece—or rather, her grand-niece, or something like that—I’m not really sure, to be honest. You’d have to ask her, I guess.” She laughed pleasantly.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Morgan,” Doc said with an affable grin. “I’m Henry Holliday. Doc, actually. Well, that’s what everyone calls me around here.”

“Nice to meet you, Doc.” They shook hands, and Morgan turned to wave at Candy. “And you must be the famous local detective—Candy Holliday, right?”

“That’s me,” Candy said lightly, and when Morgan came over to the porch rail, leaning toward her and reaching over, Candy walked forward, and they shook hands also.

“It’s so good to meet you both,” Morgan said, looking back at Doc. “I’ve heard so much about you two.”

“All good, I hope,” Doc said with a grin.

“Oh yes. Aunt Rachel has told me quite a bit about your exploits. You’re both fairly famous around here, you know. Almost like local celebrities.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go quite that far,” Candy said. “We’re just regular villagers, working out at the farm most of the time, and doing what we can to help out when needed.”

Morgan’s eyes widened. They were a rich, deep brown, framed by long dark eyelashes. “Don’t underestimate yourselves! From what I’ve heard, you two have been involved in catching a few very bad criminals around here. I hope the townspeople realize what gems you both are. You should be congratulated.”

“I can’t take the credit for any of it.” Doc motioned toward his daughter. “She’s the one with all the talent. She seems to have an instinct for solving these local cases.”

“More like an instinct for getting myself into trouble,” Candy said with a wry smile, “something I’ve promised to stop doing.”

“Well, I hope you don’t mind if I disagree. You’ve been doing a great job, and I think you should continue doing it,” Morgan said sincerely.

“Yes, well.” Doc cleared his throat. “It’s actually other business that’s brought us out here today—farm business, you could say. We seem to have lost one of our garden tools—an old shovel—and we’ve been trying to track it down. It’s possible I left it here when I visited your aunt a few months ago. The initials
B.A.
are marked on the handle. I wonder if you or your aunt might have seen it?”

“Well, I wish I could help you out, Doc, but I haven’t seen it around anywhere,” Morgan said. “But why don’t we ask Aunt Rachel? She’s moving a little slowly today—she’s almost eighty-five, you know, but her mind is still sharp as a tack. If your shovel is around here, she’ll remember. She’s out back, relaxing in one of the gardens. Here, I’ll walk with you.”

Morgan took Doc’s arm and guided him down the stairs, then came around the porch toward Candy. “I was in the area on business and I just stopped in for a brief visit today,” she said as they headed along the side of the house toward the back, “but it’s always wonderful to see Auntie, even if it’s only for a couple of hours. I live down in the city and I don’t get up here as much as I’d like to check on her, but I do my best. The whole family helps out whenever we can. And she seems to be doing well enough on her own, for the most part. She still cooks and bakes and takes care of herself. She has a strawberry pie baking in the oven at this very moment.”

“Isn’t that a wonder,” Doc said, genuinely impressed.

“So you’re from Boston?” Candy asked.

“Actually, I’m working in New York City right now,” Morgan said. “I’m with a financial firm. We’re in commercial real estate, property management, investments, that sort of thing. It’s fairly dull work, so I like to get away and come up here whenever I can. Cape Willington is just so beautiful at this time of year, and of course Auntie always loves the company—as long as I don’t interfere with her gardening.”

It was clear Mrs. Fairweather spent a considerable amount of time in her gardens, for they were quite verdant, and smartly laid out, making them easy to tend, with pathways, stepping-stones, and numerous places to sit, relax, and enjoy the flowers. Candy paused frequently to admire a small lush strawberry patch, an herb garden thick with lavender and chives, the neat rows of black-eyed Susans and lupines, phlox, and asters.

They found Mrs. Fairweather in a small alcove near the back of the yard, seated in a bright yellow Adirondack chair, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, with a basket of fresh cuttings beside her. As Morgan had said, she was resting in the sun with her eyes closed. She appeared to be taking a nap.

“Oh, here you are, Auntie,” Morgan said as they approached. “Are you awake? I’ve brought some visitors. Candy and Doc Holliday have stopped by to see you.”

“Who?” Mrs. Fairweather’s eyes eased open and focused on her guests. A faint smile came to her face. “Oh, hello you two. What an unexpected surprise. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

That got the conversation started, and soon enough Doc was able to angle it around to the shovel, but again, they came up empty-handed.