Town in a Wild Moose Chase (7 page)

As they turned away from the young police officer, leaving him to his note taking, and started off toward the rising sculptures, Candy couldn’t help but shiver. Ever since she’d seen Solomon Hatch stumble out of the woods that morning and collapse in the middle of the blueberry field, she’d had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Some part of her hoped the whole thing was a fluke, a mistake, nothing more than a disoriented old hermit who got spooked in the woods and overreacted. Maybe he’d let his imagination run a little too wild and mistook an animal carcass for a human body. Or something like that.

But she feared a more sinister scenario was playing out.

Twice before she’d stumbled into mysteries that had involved murder, and even though she’d eventually unmasked the villains, she’d put herself and her friends in danger. She hoped she wasn’t seeing a repeat of those events.

What bothered her at a deeper level, though, was a secret she’d uncovered last May, hinting at an ominous force
behind the murders eight months ago. She had linked initials written in the corner of a set of blueprints to a Boston developer named Porter Sykes. Though she couldn’t prove it, she felt he had been responsible, at least in some way, for the deaths in town last year. Over the summer she’d quietly made a few inquiries and conducted what research she could, but she hadn’t been able to put all the pieces together, to figure out what it all meant. Wanda Boyle still held a piece of that puzzle, in the form of the blueprints in question, but, naturally, she had refused to cooperate. So Candy had eventually let it go. And as the months passed and summer faded into fall, which slipped into winter, she’d let her concerns retreat to the back of her mind, where they’d become overshadowed by more pressing demands, like paying for the oil bill and bringing in a few more armloads of wood.

Now, those earlier concerns were again coming to the fore.

She did her best to squash her rising sense of dread and turned to face Ben.

Instantly she felt her worries ease. If anything, he was more reassuring, and more handsome, than when they’d first met. His face had aged just slightly, altering the angles and emphasizing the lines of his jaw. With the shorter, overcast days of winter, he’d lost some of his summer color, but he’d grown out his hair, giving him a shaggier, earthier appearance that fit him well. He’d kept active by cross-country skiing most weekends, and had even tested his ruggedness by camping out once or twice during the winter.

But something else had changed in him—something less tangible. She first noticed it last summer, when his demeanor had subtly shifted. Before that, he’d been guarded, cautious, at times distracted, and overall unattached. He had joked with her and been friendly enough, but their relationship had remained mostly on the surface. He’d rarely talked about his past, his beliefs, his goals, his wishes. But he’d been fun and charming and good company for her, and she’d been
happy enough with that. Still, she’d often felt he was holding something back.

Then, last summer, it was as if he’d suddenly discovered a part of himself he hadn’t known existed. He began to talk about his concerns and reveal details he’d only brushed over before—about his childhood in Rhode Island, his engineer father, his younger sister, and his mother, who had been a social studies teacher and nourished his interest in current affairs, politics, and geography. She’d been the one who’d encouraged him to travel, to seek his destiny in the world’s great spaces, and to think and write. After attending Boston University, where he studied journalism, he’d traveled to India, Sri Lanka, and Singapore before eventually landing a job with an international news organization, which took him to other countries in Africa, the Middle East, Europe, and Asia.

Much of this Candy already knew, but on one of their dates, at an Italian restaurant up on Route 1, over plates of spaghetti
mare e monti
, slices of toasted garlic bread, and glasses of a robust Chianti, he began to open up. He talked about his two marriages, and why he felt he needed to spend time on his own after his second divorce, devoting himself to the pursuit of books, knowledge, and nature in a fit of self-discovery. It was as if he was giving her an insight into his thinking over the past two years, and the reasons he’d behaved in the ways he had. And for the first time that night, he started talking about the two of them, and where they might be headed as a couple. By the end of the evening, they’d both agreed they weren’t quite ready for a serious relationship (yet), but they also both admitted they were fond of each other and liked spending time together. Whether their relationship would go further than that remained to be seen.

Candy was telling the truth when she said she wasn’t sure she was ready for a relationship. She was still recovering from past emotional wounds, and anyway, she continually told herself, she had too much to do out at the farm and too
much to do around town, just to try to make ends meet. She also found herself increasingly drawn into the activities of her adopted coastal community, attending meetings and events, getting involved with local organizations, and helping out at the newspaper.

But over the past few months, she’d felt her relationship with Ben deepening in unexpected ways. For one thing, he’d become more demonstrative, frequently putting his arm around her waist or taking her hand when they were alone. He’d also become more involved in her life, hanging out at the farm, chatting with Doc for hours, and helping in the fields at harvest time. He’d even taken to calling her in the evenings, to say good night and make sure she was okay.

Some of that had fallen away after the beginning of the year, but even now, as they headed toward the ice sculptures, they walked so closely together their shoulders touched, and she sensed his concern for her. She wanted to reach out and take his arm, but they were always hesitant to display their affection for one another in public. After all, he was still her boss, and they wanted to maintain some professionalism between them. So, instead, she waved indistinctively toward the activity ahead. “Have I missed much?”

Ben shook his head, his longish hair shifting around his face. “They just finished unloading the blocks a little while ago. Nothing much exciting there, unless you enjoy watching beefy guys with forklifts moving around big ice cubes.”

Candy gave him a mischievous smile. “Sounds like a perfect date for a Saturday night.”

Ben laughed, easing the tension he seemed to be holding inside. “Funny, I always took you for more of a pizza-and-beer kind of woman.”

“Pizza and beer?”

“Okay, maybe more like wine and blueberries. By the way, you’re looking great today.”

She gave him a demure smile and nudged him gently. “You always say that.”

“Well, it’s always true,” he said, and grew serious again as his voice lowered. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay about this thing with Solomon?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she told him honestly, looking off toward her left, past the trees and over the rooftops, “though… well, what if it’s true? What if he’s right?”

“You mean about the body?”

Candy nodded. “What if Solomon really did discover someone in the woods—someone who’s hurt or injured? Who could it be?” She paused, considering her own questions as her gaze shifted back to Ben. She gave him a quizzical look. “You haven’t heard of anyone missing around town, have you?”

He thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Of course, if Solomon really did find a body, it doesn’t have to be someone we know—or even someone local.”

Candy pursed her lips as she turned toward the ice sculptures and the crowd of workers. “I was thinking the same thing. We’ve got lots of out-of-towners coming in this weekend. It could be anyone, from anywhere.”

“It sure could,” Ben said, eyeing the shifting faces around them, “so maybe we’d better find out who’s alive and then we can begin to figure out who’s not.”

Candy gave him another nudge and a playful smile. “Hey, that’s a not a bad idea. We’ll turn you into a detective yet.”

He laughed again. “I think I might look pretty good in a deerstalker hat and cape.”

“And a pipe,” she said as she glanced over at him, studying the angles of his face and his gentle, inquisitive eyes. “You know, I think it’d actually make you look quite dashing.” And she couldn’t help but lean into him as they approached the ice sculptures.

The two forklifts were zipping around the park, whirring and beeping as they lifted and placed the big blocks of ice. Many were set down in freestanding positions, while others were stacked and fused together to form two platforms,
which would serve as the foundations for the large multiblock sculptures. Once that part of the operation was complete, the carving could begin.

“I’d heard early rumors they might work through the night,” Ben told her, “but I think they’ve decided to relax tonight instead and start at first light.”

“Will they finish in time for the parade?”

He gave her one of his editor’s looks. “I don’t know, but I know where you can find the answer.” With a movement of his hand he indicated the crowd.

She took the hint. “You’re a tough taskmaster, Ben Clayton, but I guess you’re right. It’s time to get to work, isn’t it?” She reached into her tote bag, withdrew a notebook, pen, and digital recorder, and flung the bag back over her shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she said, and flashing him a smile, she started off.

She began with a hollow-cheeked, pale-skinned, raven-haired woman who introduced herself as Felicia Gaspar, from upstate New York. A professional chef turned ice sculptor, Felicia was dressed in dark blue cargo pants tucked into knee-high, fleece-lined boots, and a navy blue down vest over a thick, sand-colored fisherman’s sweater. She wore padded mittens and had pulled back her long, straight hair into a thick braid to keep it out of her way.

“I was born to do this,” she told Candy. “When I’m working with the ice, I’m one with it. I can see the harmonics in it—the precise places to chip away the outer layers to reveal what lies beneath. And I can wield a pretty mean chain saw too,” she added. “When it comes to cutting into the ice, I’ll give any one of these guys around here a run for his money. I may look delicate, but I can be pretty physical.”

Candy didn’t doubt it. Felicia had a sinewy toughness to her, like a mother snow leopard. “I still cook as much as I can,” she said, “but ice carving is my passion now. And my profession as well.”

“What will you be carving this weekend?” Candy asked,
holding out her digital recorder so she could catch Felicia’s response.

“I’ll be working on the animals in the large display—deer and moose are a specialty of mine. But my favorites are horses. I won’t be doing any of those this weekend, which is a pity. They turn out so majestic in the ice. I once carved an entire team of horses pulling a wagon, for a beer company. That was one of my most challenging works. I won an award for it, you know. I won’t be re-creating the entire sculpture this weekend, but I’m going to carve a life-sized sleigh, in honor of the Sleigh and Sled Parade. You’ll actually be able to climb up on it. I’ll also carve a few smaller pieces. I do a beautiful curling snail with a textured shell and little antennae, for instance.”

“How long does all that take?” Candy asked.

“It goes pretty fast. A few hours per piece, I suppose. The larger sculptures will take longer, of course. We’ll work in teams, which will help, but we’ll be at it all day Friday and Friday night, and into Saturday morning.”

She also talked about an international competition she’d recently attended in Alaska and an upcoming one at the Winter Carnival in Quebec. “That’s my favorite event. You’ve been to the carnival, haven’t you? No? Oh, you really should go. There’s a whole circuit the ice carvers travel, you know. Some even head Down Under in the summer—a perpetual-winter sort of thing. It brings in a few extra dollars. I’ve been once or twice. Every little bit helps, you know? Hey, who is that guy? Is he with you?”

Caught off-guard, Candy turned to look back over her shoulder. “Who?”

“That guy there. The one with the shaggy brown hair.”

Candy focused in the direction she was pointing, and felt a jolt of surprise. “You mean
him
?”

Felicia was talking about Ben.

“He’s adorable,” Felicia said hungrily. “Just my type. You don’t happen to know if he’s available, do you?”

“He… what? Available?” Candy didn’t know how to respond.

“Yeah, you know, is he hitched? Married? Divorced?”

“Um, yes, he’s divorced… I think so… I mean…”

“If I lived in this town, I’d scoop him right up,” Felicia said, studying Ben. But after a few moments her gaze shifted to Candy. “Are you a friend of his? I saw you two walking in together.”

Candy’s mind flashed through a half dozen responses, but she went with the safest, easiest, least-revealing one. “He’s my boss.”

“Ahh.” Felicia nodded. “So you’re kinda chummy with him, is that it?”

Candy allowed herself a brief smile. “That’s an interesting way to describe it, but yeah, something like that.”

“So you, what, kinda date and stuff but nothing too serious yet? Just a casual sort of thing, right?”

Again, Candy hesitated. She didn’t know exactly what Felicia was after, and decided the best course was a cautious one. “Ben and I are good friends,” she said definitively.

“Uh-huh.” Felicia crossed her arms in front of her as she turned her hawklike gaze back to Ben. “I think I understand. Wonder what he’s saying to Gina.”

“Who?” For the first time it registered with Candy that Ben was in the midst of a conversation with another woman—a rather plain-looking sculptor with dirty blonde hair, wearing a faded light blue jacket, unflattering jeans, and scuffed work boots. Her long knit scarf was wrapped tightly around her neck, and her hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of her jacket. She looked unhappy about something.

“Gina Templeton, of the self-absorbed Templetons,” Felicia explained. She frowned and glanced at Candy. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that. She’s actually not that bad a person. It’s just that her husband, Victor, won a few international competitions, and now she thinks she’s the queen bee
of the ice-carving circuit. She’s a decent carver herself, though not nearly as talented as her husband. He’s the true artist in that family—his stuff is fantastic.”