Town In a Blueberrry Jam

by B. B. Haywood

  “I know! Wasn’t she wretched?”

  “Shocking. Quite shocking—and most inappropriate,” Herr Georg agreed.

  “I can’t believe she just flew off the handle like that. I mean, I was as surprised as anyone that Haley didn’t win. But I guess you were surprised about that too.”

  “I, um, yes, ah, yes, yes, as I said before, of course I was.”

  “And who can believe Sapphire Vine actually won? I was thinking about it this morning, and the only reason I can come up with—the only way she could have won—is if one of the judges marked the scoring form wrong, or something like that. You know, got the contestants mixed up and put the wrong scores in the wrong place. But that’s crazy, isn’t it? I mean, I can’t imagine that sort of thing happening. But it seems like the only explanation.”

  “Hmm,” mused Herr Georg. “Do you really think so? It doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

  “Well, no, I suppose not. I mean, these things are carefully monitored, right? It wouldn’t be possible for a judge to screw up like that, would it?”

  “Oh no, of course not, of course not!” Herr Georg replied emphatically.

  “And if one of the judges made a huge mistake like that and threw the vote to Sapphire, the rest of you would know about it, wouldn’t you?”

  “Hmm.” Herr Georg shifted uneasily in his seat and tugged at the end of his white moustache. Clearly he was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Well, not necessarily,” he said cautiously. “I mean, we scored the contestants independently, and we didn’t review each other’s scores, so theoretically it’s possible, I suppose, that one of the judges could have been a little, um, mixed up, as you say. But it doesn’t seem likely, does it? Perhaps, as strange as it may sound, Ms. Vine really did win, fair and square. It is possible, I suppose. Don’t you think? Would you like some tea?”

  “I’d love some but I can’t. I have to stop at the bank and post office, and then I’m off to meet Maggie for lunch.”

  “Ah, yes, I suppose I must press on as well. Ray is due by at any moment. I should get ready for him.”

  “Ray’s coming?” Candy rose and looked around. “Are you remodeling?”

  “Putting in some shelves along the wall here.” The baker pointed to the far side of the room. “Expanding my offerings. I’ve decided to import German-made candies and cookies and sell them here in the store. Here, I’ll show you.”

  He darted behind the counter and pulled a package from a large cardboard box. “You must try these. They are called Waffeletten. Wafer rolls dipped in chocolate. Straight from Germany. Absolutely delicious!”

  He opened the bag and held it out to her. “Here, take one.”

  “Herr Georg, I just can’t.” Candy patted her stomach. “I ate way too much this weekend. I’m going to be on a diet for the next month, at least.”

  Georg nodded, closed up the bag, and passed it to her. “Take them with you then. Doc will enjoy them. Ah, here comes Ray now . . .”

  Candy grabbed the bag from him, mumbled a quick “thank you,” and headed out the back door so she wouldn’t have to spend the next fifteen minutes making small talk with Ray.

  The morning raced by, and before she knew it she was pulling up in front of the Stone & Milbury Insurance Agency, where Maggie worked as an office manager.

  “We have to hurry,” Maggie said, grabbing her purse and dragging Candy out the front door with her. “I have to be back by one sharp.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “There’s that new café that just opened up on River Road.”

  “Oh yeah. Melody’s, right?”

  “I’ve heard good things about it. Let’s check it out.”

  Melody’s Café was a soup, salad, and sandwich bistro with only eight or ten tables crammed into a small wood-floored space, but it was cool inside and tastefully decorated and smelled wonderful. And it was almost full. Candy and Maggie managed to snag the last open table in the back corner and settled gratefully into their cane chairs. Crisp white linen covered the tabletop, fresh flowers added an elegant touch, and fine china and fresh-baked rolls were placed in front of them the moment they sat down.

  “Yummy,” Candy said as she and Maggie tore into the bread like wolves into a fresh kill. Their waitress was a pleasant young woman named Stephanie. Maggie ordered a teriyaki chicken salad, and though it seemed a bit decadent and she was seriously trying to cut back on her food intake, Candy opted for the lobster roll and chips. Both ordered a glass of Chateau Ste. Michelle Chardonnay from Washington State, which was recommended by Stephanie.

  “So,” Maggie said as she sipped her wine and nibbled at a fresh-baked roll oozing butter, “before we get distracted, you never told me how you did at the festival. Did you make out okay?”

  “I had an amazing day. Made almost twelve hundred dollars.”

  “Wow! I’m impressed.” Maggie patted her friend’s hand. “I’m so proud of you! You’re so resourceful.”

  Candy sighed. “I need every penny. I just had to pay a killer property tax bill and make a quarterly payment to the IRS. It looks like Doc’s going to need some dental work. Registration on the Jeep is due next month—I just hope to God it doesn’t need any work to pass inspection. And I have to pay the harvest help. With all these bills I feel like I got the sword of Damocles hanging over my head.”

  Maggie’s mouth twisted in thought. “Hmm. Damocles? He’s not that good-looking UPS driver, is he?”

  They both had a good laugh as their food arrived. Candy nibbled at her lobster roll while Maggie speared a forkful of salad.

  “So tell me,” Candy said between mouthfuls, “how is Amanda doing after her big night onstage?”

  Maggie shrugged. “You know teenage girls. One minute she’s bouncing off the ceiling because she won second runner-up, and the next she’s down in the dumps because she lost to Sapphire Vine. It’s all hormones. An emotional roller-coaster. And having Cameron around so much doesn’t help.” She rolled her eyes.

  “I talked to Herr Georg. You know, that thing we talked about.”

  “You mean the judging?”

  Candy nodded.

  “Ooh, tell me. What did he say? Someone screwed up royally, right? Or maybe Sapphire just got her hooks into one of the judges—you know, bribery?”

  Candy frowned and shook her head. “He wouldn’t admit to anything. But I know it has to be something like that. There’s no way she could have won that pageant without help from someone.”

  “Right. It goes against the laws of the universe.”

  “Something’s definitely rotten in Denmark.”

  “Who gives a crap about Denmark? Something’s rotten right here in good ol’ Cape Willington.”

  They talked on for some time as they finished their food and were still gabbing away when they heard another voice nearby. “Hello, excuse me.”

  Candy and Maggie looked up. A curly-haired woman with a dark complexion, dark brown eyes, and a bright smile stood beside them.

  “My name is Melody . . . Melody Barnes,” the woman said, introducing herself. “I’m the proprietor of this little establishment. I just wanted to come by and introduce myself. You’re Candy Holliday, right?”

  “That’s right.” Candy held out her hand as she nodded toward Maggie. “And this is my friend Maggie Tremont. It’s nice to meet you, Melody.”

  There were smiles and handshakes all around, after which Melody continued. “So how’s the food? Are you enjoying it?”

  “Excellent,” said Maggie.

  “The lobster roll is wonderful,” added Candy. “These chunks of lobster are huge.”

  Melody seemed pleased. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. That’s a specialty of the house. My grandmother’s recipe. It’s all in the spices, you know. Listen, I must tell you, there’s a reason I wanted to meet you. I bought one of your blueberry pies on Saturday.”

  “Oh yes, I remember,” Candy said pleasantly. “Did you like it?”

  “It
was one of the best I’ve ever tasted. I ate one piece myself and served the rest of the slices to some of my customers today. It’s been a huge hit, especially with the tourists, and I was wondering, well, if you would consider baking pies for me on a regular basis, to serve here in the café?” Leaning a little closer, she whispered, “I’ve been told I need to upgrade my desserts!” She leaned back again as she continued. “But I just don’t have the time to bake, since I’m so busy with the rest of the cooking. Anyway, your pies are so much better than anything I could make. I don’t think I could improve on them. And if you could help me out, it would mean the world to me.”

  Candy’s eyes lit up. “Really? Of course! I’d love to do that. How many would you need?”

  They set to talking then, and by the time Candy and Maggie left the café fifteen minutes later, Candy had an order for eight pies a week, half to be delivered on Monday morning and the other half Thursday morning. For this first week, though, she had agreed to deliver five pies the following afternoon.

  “Wasn’t that nice?” Maggie said as they drove back to the insurance agency. “I guess things really are looking up for you, what with the festival, and now this.”

  Candy nodded, feeling all aglow. “It’s great, isn’t it? With the way things are going, I just might be able to pay my bills this month.”

  “Honey, with the way things are going, you’ll be able to buy Pruitt Manor!”

  ELEVEN

  Candy awoke suddenly in the middle of the night. For a few moments she lay in the darkness as a warm breeze blew over her, trying to figure out what had pulled her so quickly out of deep sleep.

  And then she heard it—the chickens were in a frenzy, squawking madly out in their coop about something.

  She jumped out of bed, pulled on a bathrobe, and carefully made her way down the dark staircase. Doc kept a flashlight on the windowsill by the back door, for emergencies. Candy grabbed it, slipped into a pair of sandals, and headed out into the night, flicking on the flashlight as she went.

  A three-quarter moon cast a faint glow on the landscape, giving it a ghostly appearance. Trying to ignore the creepy feeling that edged up her back, she hurried toward the barn and skirted around the side of it. As she approached the coop behind the barn, she could hear the chickens squawking in terror.

  She stopped about ten feet away and shined the flashlight back and forth. Most of the girls were in a frenzy, their underfeathers flying everywhere, but a few still sat up in their roosts, their necks pulled way down into the feathers, clearly frightened out of their wits. Something had spooked them—but what?

  Flicking the flashlight about, Candy searched the shadows around the coop while at the same time looking around for a weapon. This was a rural area, and there could be any number of critters about. If she had to tangle with anything too dangerous, she didn’t want to do it bare-handed. She wished she had remembered to pull Doc’s shotgun from the broom closet in the kitchen.

  And then she saw it—an animal about the size of a small dog pawing at the chicken wire on the back side, trying to break into the coop.

  “Hey! Get out of there!” Candy shouted suddenly, her voice breaking sharp in the night. She moved to her left, bent and scooped up a handful of stones, and flung them at the critter. It shied away when it saw her, its eyes luminescent in the flashlight’s beam, watching her intently to see what she was going to do next.

  She picked up a good-sized rock and threw it at the animal—a fairly large fox, she saw now. “Leave them alone! Git!”

  She picked up a large stick and started toward the creature, but before she had taken even a few steps it turned suddenly and slunk away, seeming to simply disappear into the high grass and shadows that edged the blueberry field behind the barn.

  “What’s wrong?” came a voice behind her.

  Candy jumped at the voice and twisted about. Doc was coming toward her wearing only a T-shirt and boxer shorts. His shotgun was tucked under one arm.

  She held a hand to her rapidly beating heart. “A fox, trying to get at the girls.”

  Doc squinted into the darkness. “Did you chase it away?”

  “Yeah, it’s gone, I think.”

  “Damn critters. Are the girls okay?”

  Candy walked toward the coop, shining the flashlight inside. The chickens were still clucking loudly, still frightened, though they were starting to calm down.

  “They seem all right. Just scared as hell.” She walked around the coop to where the fox had been pawing at it and bent to inspect the chicken wire. “Damn thing almost got in, though. I’m gonna have to fix this in the morning. We got any chicken wire left?”

  Doc shook his head as he leaned the shotgun against the barn. “I don’t think so. I’ll tie a piece of plywood up against it for tonight. That’ll help temporarily, but we’ll have to stop by the hardware store in the morning.”

  Doc helped her patch up the coop as best they could, then they both went back to bed. But Candy found she couldn’t fall asleep again, no matter how hard she tried. She turned and tossed for an hour or so and finally gave up. At first light she climbed out of bed, feeling tired and cranky. She put on the coffee, checked the girls again, and decided she might as well start baking pies to take into town later in the day.

  She knew her arrangement with Melody wouldn’t make her a lot of money, but every penny would help. It seemed that scraping around for money had become a way of life for her and Doc. She had made good money down in Boston, true, and had lived quite comfortably until Clark, her ex-husband, lost his job. As their marriage unraveled, they had to live on her paycheck, which made their finances tight, but they still had their savings—until Clark squandered most of that on his start-up tech company. When they divorced, they sold the house, but after paying off an equity loan, they weren’t left with much. They split it up, and Candy used some of the money to make a few repairs around Blueberry Acres when she moved in with Doc. The place had needed a new roof, and they’d done some remodeling work inside, tearing out old carpet and putting in new wood floors. She’d also had to buy a new fridge and dishwasher when the old ones went out. The rest of the money she still had in a savings account at a bank in Bangor, but she was hesitant to touch it, thinking some day she might buy a place of her own.

  For now they lived off Doc’s Social Security and his retirement money from the university, from the twenty or thirty thousand they made every year selling blueberries, and from the odd jobs Candy did around town. For the most part they lived comfortably enough, until unexpected bills started to pile up or when something special was needed. There were days, when the checking account was near empty, that she considered heading up to Bangor or down to Portland to try to get back into a marketing firm. But every time she considered that option she quickly put it aside. Such a job, she knew, would bring back too many memories of her earlier life, and she resolved again to try to make her current situation work.

  So she was grateful for any extra income—even if it meant making a few extra dollars a week by baking pies for Melody’s Café.

  Several hours later she pulled the last two pies out of the oven, set them on the counter to cool, walked out onto the porch to rest for a moment, and promptly fell asleep in a chaise lounge. The ringing phone woke her.

  Maggie was on the other end of the line. She sounded frantic. “Are you watching TV?”

  “No, I’m . . . I’m baking,” Candy answered, still feeling groggy. “Why?”

  “Turn it on. Now. Channel seven. I’ll call you right back.” She hung up.

  Candy glanced up at the clock. It was just after noon. Had she slept that long?

  She yawned, poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee, and flicked on the small TV set in the corner of the kitchen counter. As the sound and picture came on, she heard the news announcer speaking, starting in midsentence.

  “. . . just after ten thirty this morning. The body was apparently discovered by a neighbor, who called the police. The victim has been id
entified as thirty-seven-year-old Sapphire Vine, who . . .”

  Candy gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth as she watched the image of a stretcher being wheeled out of the front door of a Victorian house. The body lying on the stretcher was draped in a white sheet.

  “. . . was crowned as Cape Willington’s Blueberry Queen just this past Saturday night. According to observers, Ms. Vine’s appearance in the annual pageant was somewhat controversial, since contestants are usually limited to girls of high school age.”

  A homemade video of Sapphire dressed as a blueberry and reciting her poem appeared on screen. It was soon replaced by more shots of the ambulance and police cars.

  The announcer continued. “Sources tell us that Ms. Vine was a columnist for the local newspaper and was a respected resident of the town. According to Cape Willington Chief of Police Daryl Durr, the death is being treated as a homicide, and police say they have arrested a suspect. He is identified as Ray Hutchins, a local handyman. An investigation is underway. We’ll keep you posted on further developments. Now for a check on the local weather, we’ll turn to our own Kimberly Frank, who tells us that it’s going to turn stormy. . . .”

  TWELVE

  Candy felt her legs go numb. Before they had a chance to collapse beneath her, she crossed to a chair and sat down heavily. Her fingertips were tingling, and there seemed to be a buzzing sound in her ears.

  Sapphire murdered? Ray arrested?

  How could that be?

  She didn’t have much time to consider an answer, because the phone rang again. Candy rose shakily to answer it and then sat back down.

  “Did you see it?” Maggie asked breathlessly.

  “I saw it. I don’t believe it, but I saw it.”

  “Wasn’t that utterly, totally bizarre? The way they brought her body out on a stretcher like that? It was so undignified, but at least she got her final moment in the spotlight. I half expected her to jump up in her cowgirl outfit and start reciting poetry.”