Town in a Wild Moose Chase (12 page)

The police officer pressed his lips together, but otherwise his face remained stoic. “No, ma’am.”

“Then why the shadow routine?”

“Ma’am?”

She let out a breath of frustration. “Why are you always standing there when I look around? Just tell me what this is all about.”

“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am.”

“You can call me Candy. Who
is
at liberty to say?”

“That would be Chief Durr, ma’am, um, Ms. Holliday.”

“The chief?” Candy made a face. “But why would he tell you to…?

She caught herself as she suddenly realized the answer. “Does this have anything to do with that body in the woods?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that, ma’am, pending chief’s orders.”

“You’re trying to keep me out of trouble, aren’t you? You’re afraid I’m going to solve another mystery in this town and embarrass the police department, right?”

Officer McCroy remained silent. She knew she had struck a nerve. She pressed on.

“So, what? You’re following me because you think I’m investigating the mystery on my own and will stumble upon a few clues?”

“It’s possible Mr. Hatch might contact you again at some point,” Officer McCroy confirmed. “We want to be there if he does.”

“Ah, so that’s it. I’m sort of an accessory to an alleged murder?”

After a few moments, the officer said, “It’s for your own safety, ma’am.”

“Hmm.” Candy studied him for a few moments. “Have you found Solomon yet?”

No response.

“Are you conducting any more searches today, or have you called the whole thing off?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss police business with a civilian.”

“So,” Candy said, as if that proved her theory, “I’m right, aren’t I? This is Chief Durr’s way of keeping me in line.”

Officer McCroy’s gaze narrowed in on her, and as if he were echoing the chief’s words, he said, “If I can give you one piece of advice, ma’am, you should leave the detecting to the detectives.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Candy muttered under her breath as her cell phone buzzed, distracting her. She shook her head as she turned away and fished in a pocket for her phone. She didn’t recognize the number that flashed on the phone’s small front display screen, though it was a local area code. She flipped it open and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Is this Candy Holliday?”

She said that it was. “Who’s this?”

“My name is Annabel Foxwell. You may have heard of me. I live at Shipwreck Cove with my sisters.”

Candy had indeed heard of her. The Foxwell sisters—Annabel, Isabel, and Elizabeth—were local, middle-aged eccentrics who lived in a weathered, hundred-year-old saltbox on a seaside homestead not far from Blueberry Acres. They had quite a piece of land—somewhere in excess of ten acres, Candy remembered, some of it prime coastline—that had been handed down in their family far generations. People around town called them the Psychic Sisters and rarely disturbed them, an arrangement that seemed to be a silent agreement among all parties. Candy had caught fleeting images of them around town but had never met any of them personally.

To receive a phone call from one of them was a major coup.

“Yes, Ms. Foxwell, I’ve heard of you. It’s wonderful to hear from you. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

When she spoke, Annabel’s voice was rushed and whispery.
“I don’t mean to alarm you, Candy, but my sisters and I have received a message, and we have some very important information we need to share with you.”

“What type of information?”

“It’s not something we can discuss over the phone. We’ll need to speak to you in person. As you probably know, we’re not used to entertaining guests. But we’ve decided to make an allowance just this once. Would you be able to come out to see us at Shipwreck Cove?”

Candy blinked several times. She was surprised by the invitation. “Well, yes, of course. When were you thinking?”

“Today,” Annabel said emphatically. “This morning if possible. When would be a good time?”

Candy thought quickly and glanced at her watch. It was just past nine. She still wanted to finish up some interviews here, and she’d thought about stopping in to see Doc and the boys at the diner to find out if they’d heard any news about Solomon, but that could wait until later. “About ten thirty?”

She heard discussion in the background. “That would be fine. Do you know how to get here?”

Candy said she did, and after saying good-bye, she keyed off the call.

She felt her heart beating just a bit faster. She seemed to finally be onto something, though what it might be, she had no idea. Still, she knew the clues were all around her, just as Judicious had said. She just had to follow them.

The game was on.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced over at Officer McCroy, who had taken a few steps away and was engaged in a conversation with one of the younger men in the crowd—a friend of some sort, Candy surmised.

If she was going to have any sort of freedom to begin her own investigation, she’d have to lose the Boy Scout.

After a few moments, she grinned to herself. “I think I have an idea.”

She spent the next forty-five minutes darting around the ice sculptures, conducting quick, on-the-run interviews, trying to shoot a few decent pictures, and making sure she appeared as normal—and as unexciting—as possible. She spent an-other fifteen minutes or so mingling with the growing crowd, drinking coffee, and talking with Maggie on her cell phone as she bided her time, watching for her best opportunity.

At one point she shivered, looked up at the blue-gray sky, and took a dark wool cap from her tote bag. While she talked she absently pulled on the cap and lifted the collar of her coat, disguising most of her honey-colored hair.

When a few oohs and ahhs arose from the crowd, and a wave of warm applause and cheers swept through the park, Candy figured that was the best distraction she’d get and made her move—as casually and as discreetly as possible.

Keeping her head low so she’d blend in with the crowd, she began to drift along a broad, well-trodden pathway
between the snowbanks, headed in the general direction of the inn across the street. She stayed close to groups of three or four people, using them to shield herself from any eyes that might be observing her.

In a few minutes she was out of the park. She crossed Ocean Avenue with the crowds at the red light, again mingling with chattering, excited tourists and townies headed in both directions.

On the far side of the street she continued straight ahead with eight or ten other people who were headed toward the Lightkeeper’s Inn. The hotel looked like a stately, snow-wrapped princess, pale and delicate, yet steadfast against the weather, and offering the promise of a cozy respite from the chilly temperatures.

Those who entered, including Candy, were not disappointed, for a great roaring fire in the lobby helped to thaw out the inn’s guests. But while the others loitered by the fire or headed for their rooms, Candy quickened her pace, threading her way through and around the guests, bags, and carts littering the lobby, and walking past the front desk, a cozy sitting area, a door that led into a small business office, and a small yet very active coffee bar tucked into a corner under the broad staircase leading to the second floor. She angled right and entered a carpeted hallway that led past some of the inn’s small meeting rooms and offices.

Up to this point she’d judiciously avoided looking behind her, but it had been driving her crazy. She had to know if she was being followed, so halfway along the hall she ducked into a familiar doorway that led to a small receptionist’s office and two inner offices, belonging to the innkeeper, Oliver LaForce, and the assistant innkeeper, Alby Alcott.

As she’d hoped, all three offices were empty. Everyone was busy elsewhere. She knew she probably had only a few minutes alone, but she didn’t intend to linger long. She leaned back against the wall just inside the doorway, took a few moments to catch her breath, and as carefully as possible,
edged her head toward the doorway so she could peek around the corner into the hallway and lobby beyond.

She scanned every face, every guest as quickly as she could, but she saw no one who looked like the police officer.

With the faint hope that she’d already ditched him, she started off again, continuing along the hallway and exiting through another door onto the side porch. Hands tucked deep into her pockets, she hurried down the stairs and angled toward the rear of the building, snuggling into her coat in an effort to appear as inconspicuous as possible. She followed a narrow pathway between thigh-deep snow to a tree-framed parking lot, which she hurried across. On the other side, she entered a narrow alleyway that ran behind the back doors of the shops along Ocean Avenue. The buildings were spaced closely together here, with only a few feet between them, and some were attached to one another.

She soon came to a walkway that led between two of the brick buildings. She slipped through as quickly as she could, since the wind funneling into the narrow space made it seem frostier than the surrounding air, and exited onto busy Ocean Avenue.

Dodging pedestrians and traffic, she crossed to a storefront on the other side and pushed through a glass door.

“There you are,” Maggie said from behind the counter. She’d been reading a magazine; she had no customers at the moment. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

“I was trying to throw him off my trail,” Candy said as she crossed the small, carpeted reception area, staying well away from the front window. She headed behind the counter with Maggie, then sidestepped back around a corner so she wouldn’t be seen by anyone looking in from the street. She peered around the corner, scrutinizing the passersby outside. “Any sign of our friendly young police officer?”

Maggie glanced out the storefront window as casually as possible, scanning the street outside. “Not a single uniform
in sight—not even a Boy Scout. I think you’ve lost him for the time being. But I’d stay hidden if I were you. The moment he realizes you’ve slipped away, he’ll come looking for you, and he’ll probably walk right past here.”

“Is everything ready?”

Maggie turned with her hands on her hips and gave Candy a look. “Well of course everything’s ready. It’s like a wedding. I live for stuff like this. Come on.” She waved an arm as she walked past Candy into the back room, which was filled mostly with racks of cleaned, plastic-encased clothes waiting for pickup by customers. Off to one side were bins of tagged clothes, awaiting pickup for cleaning, which was done off-site.

“I did the best I could on such short notice,” Maggie said, “but I think it’ll all work. I even found an old wig, believe it or not, though I’m not sure you’ll need it.”

She paused at the center of the room and pointed. “The shirts, pants, boots, and hats are on the shelf to your right. That’s the best stuff from the unclaimed bin, and most of it should fit you. I think there’s a couple of flannel shirts, a really nice puffy down-filled vest, a thick cardigan sweater, and some scarves and hats with earflaps. The coats are hanging on that first rack. They should bulk you out real nice.”

Rubbing her chin, Candy considered the bounty laid out before her with discerning eyes. “Yes, I think you’re right,” she said after a few moments. “This should work out just fine. So, where do we start?”

Ten minutes later, Candy left the dry cleaner’s by the back door. The Jeep remained parked out front. She’d be taking Maggie’s Subaru, which was parked up on the tail end of Main Street—perfect for Candy’s purposes.

Seven or eight layers of flannel, down, cotton, and canvas gave her a huskier look, which she hoped would enable her to make good her escape undetected. She’d opted for a black and gray billed hat with thick earmuffs and a dark green scarf. She’d finished it all off with scuffed work boots, dark
brown leather gloves, and wraparound sunglasses, which hid the color of her eyes.

As she walked along the lane behind the storefronts, she even tried to adjust her gait, making her steps heavier and more deliberate, to add to the illusion of being a middle-aged man. Continuing up the slope, she kept her head down but occasionally glanced around her.

She’d just navigated her way through another narrow, snow-clogged passageway between buildings and emerged onto the upper end of Main Street when she practically walked right into Officer McCroy. He had his back to her, thumbs locked into his utility belt, scanning the street in front of him—searching for her, she had no doubt. As inconspicuously as possible she turned to her right, brushing past him. She lifted her left shoulder and tucked her head down, in case he should glance in her direction, but if he did, he paid her no attention. She was just one of the townies, maybe a plumber or bus driver or oil deliverer, in worn baggy corduroys, huddled against the cold and headed home for the afternoon.

Candy slipped away unnoticed.

Rather than drive down Main Street past Officer McCroy, she headed out to the Coastal Loop, following it around past the English Point Lighthouse, Town Park and the inn, past Pruitt Manor and the Lobster Shack, and back out of town in the direction of Blueberry Acres. But instead of taking the turnoff toward the farm, she continued on, past the low brush and thin pine trees, rocky patches, and occasional glimpses of the coastline. Houses dotted both sides of the road, most sitting on several acres each, making them well spaced. Some were newer, rambling rustic or country styles, with porches and large chimneys. Others stood more upright, with long windows and steep metal roofs designed to easily shed snow and ice. She even passed small capes and saltboxes, like Ray Hutchins’s place.