Town in a Strawberry Swirl (Candy Holliday Mystery)

by Haywood, B. B.

  He grinned. “Why, thank you, Molly.”

  “Sure thing.” The policewoman’s expression turned serious again. “So did you have a party? Was it out at the farm?”

  “Yes, there was a party, but no, not at the farm.”

  “We held it at the Lightkeeper’s Inn,” Candy explained. “Maggie and I arranged it.”

  “How many people were there?”

  Candy shrugged. “Forty or fifty.”

  “Any of them out at Blueberry Acres?”

  “Other than the names on the list, no.”

  “Hmm.” The officer thought a moment, but sensing a dead end, she moved on. “So was there anything else? Any other unique or out-of-the-ordinary events? Some time when you might have used the shovel—when you might have done some digging or something like that?”

  Candy and Doc considered the question, and Doc looked like he was about to speak up, but before he could say anything, the walkie-talkie squawked to life. It was Chief Durr. “Molly, are you just about finished down there? I need you up here right away,” he said amid a crackle of static.

  Officer Prospect picked up the walkie-talkie again and clicked the side button. “We’re just wrapping up here,” she told him. “I’m on my way.”

  As she set the device back down, she turned to Doc and Candy. “We have enough here to get us started,” she said, indicating the list, “but I really need the two of you to see what else you can come up with. We’re looking for something solid. That shovel didn’t walk out of your barn on its own. Someone took it. And if you didn’t bring it out here, as you’ve said, then someone else did. We need to find out who.”

  As Doc climbed out of the cruiser’s passenger seat, the policewoman handed him a card. She gave one to Candy as well. “You probably already have one of these, but take it anyway. Call me immediately if you think of anything else. And Doc,” she added, leaning over and looking out at him, “we need you to stop by the police station so we can get you fingerprinted. As soon as you can.”

  After she was gone, headed up around the barn toward the hoophouse, Candy and Doc lingered in the parking lot. Doc gave his daughter a worried look as he ran a hand though his gray hair. “I don’t have a good feeling about any of this,” he said. “We’d better see if we can figure out what’s going on, and fast, before they wind up arresting the both of us and charging us with murder, all because of that damned shovel.”

  Candy understood her father’s concern, but she didn’t want to overreact. “Well, I don’t think it’s going to get that bad,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. More thoughtfully, she added, “At least, I hope not. But you’re right about that shovel. One way or another, it links us to the murder scene, and it could spell trouble for the both of us.” She said these last few words as lightly as possible, trying not to sound too ominous. But they both knew there was some weight behind them.

  Her father sighed and shook his head. “I just can’t figure out what’s it’s doing up in that hoophouse, lying next to the body of Miles Crawford. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  Candy hesitated, proceeding with a little caution as she asked the next question, since she didn’t want to upset or accuse her father. “Dad, you didn’t bring it out here, did you?”

  Doc grunted as his eyes flashed with a moment of irritation. “’Course not. But I know that’s what the chief probably thinks, right? I had a senior moment? Becoming forgetful in my old age? Well, he’s dead wrong. Despite what anyone else thinks, I didn’t bring that shovel out here. I know that for a fact. And honestly, there’s really no way Miles could have taken it from Blueberry Acres. He never came out to the place—and I can’t imagine he sneaked into our barn when we weren’t around and stole it from us.”

  “I can’t either,” Candy admitted. “So how did it get here?”

  “I don’t have any idea. Do you?”

  “Not yet,” Candy said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means something doesn’t fit right. In fact, it really doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it—or rather none of it,” Candy said, trying to put her thoughts together. “Look, if we assume our shovel was actually used as the murder weapon, then what’s it still doing here? Why did the murderer leave it behind? Why leave it at the scene of the crime, where it would be found?”

  Doc mulled that over as he gazed up the slope toward the hoophouse. “I don’t know,” he said after a few moments. “What do you think?”

  “I think whoever murdered Miles knew the shovel would be found and checked for evidence. They knew we’d all be trying to trace its whereabouts over the past few weeks and months. And they knew it would be used to incriminate either us or a second party. They were trying to divert attention, to pin the murder on another person—or persons.”

  Doc shielded his eyes against the sun as he looked inquisitively at his daughter. “So what are you saying?”

  Candy took a breath before she continued. “I’m saying the shovel wasn’t left there by accident, Dad. Whoever murdered Miles left it there on purpose.”

  EIGHT

  Doc was silent for a long time. He stood almost stone-still, hands deep in his back pockets, face drawn. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, edged with concern. “You’re saying someone in this town left that shovel beside Mile’s body to implicate us in this murder?”

  Candy leaned in a little closer to her father and lowered her voice, just in case other ears were around. “When you put it that way, it sounds pretty dramatic. But yes, I think it’s possible. At the same time, part of me says it’s not very likely they were trying to implicate us specifically.”

  Doc was surprised by this comment. “How do you figure that?”

  “Like I said, something about all this doesn’t add up.” Candy lowered her voice even more. “It just doesn’t make sense—not when you think it through. Let’s assume for a moment the shovel was left there on purpose to incriminate us. That means, one, the killer knew you were coming out here today, and two, the killer took the shovel from our barn months ago in anticipation of today’s events. He or she held on to it all this time, until this morning, and then left it up there in the hoophouse for the police to find right after you stumbled across the body, all to incriminate you or me in Miles’s murder. It’s just too far-fetched. You made your appointment with Miles only a week ago. How would the murderer have known to steal the shovel from our barn last spring?”

  “Hmm,” Doc said, rubbing at his chin. “I suppose that makes sense.”

  “Then there’s the question of motive,” Candy continued. “What could the murderer have hoped to achieve by framing you or me for the murder? What’s the point?”

  Doc had a quick answer for that one, his eyes widening as he spoke. “Maybe the point was to get us both arrested and thrown into jail!”

  “Yes, but again that’s not realistic. Look at the facts,” Candy pressed. “For one thing, we both have pretty solid alibis. We can both prove where we were today. I was at the office all morning before stopping at the bakery—that’s where I got your phone call—and you were at the diner with the boys all morning, right? That’s where you were just before you came out here?”

  Doc nodded. “I walked out of the diner at a quarter to ten,” he confirmed.

  “Right. And we’re a few miles out of town here. By the time you walked out to your truck, started it up, sat in traffic at the light, and followed a long line of cars out of town like I did, it must have taken you, what, ten or fifteen minutes to drive out here? That means you arrived right around ten o’clock.”

  “A couple of minutes before ten,” Doc confirmed.

  “Okay, so you found the body right after that, just a few minutes later. What time did you call the police?”

  “Ten-oh-seven,” Doc said. “It’s time-stamped on my phone. I checked it with Officer Prospect. She wrote it down in her report.”

  “Good, so we ha
ve a time frame. And overall it works in your favor.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, the window is too tight, isn’t it? While it’s certainly possible you could have driven out here in record time, tracked down Miles in the hoophouse, snuck up behind him, whacked him over the head, dropped the shovel on the dirt floor, and called the police, all in a space of about twenty minutes, the facts are your old truck just doesn’t move that fast, and neither do you these days, with that limp of yours.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Doc said with a hint of gruffness.

  “Nothing personal, Dad. I’m just stating the facts. I’m pointing out that you didn’t really have an opportunity to kill Miles, given the time constraints, and why it doesn’t make sense for the killer to make it appear that way. Besides, we both know you’re not a stupid person, right?”

  “I certainly hope not!” Doc said, trying not to sound indignant.

  “So if you had killed Miles, would you be dumb enough to call the police right away after the deed, without tidying up first, and then leave the murder weapon there at the scene of the crime for the police to find?”

  “Of course not,” Doc said, seeing her point. “At the very least I would have ditched that shovel in an out-of-the-way corner or tossed it outside the building—anywhere out of sight. But I think I have something even more concrete working in my favor.”

  “And what’s that?” his daughter asked.

  “The state of Miles’s body.”

  It took Candy a moment to realize what he was saying. She crossed her arms and looked at him with renewed interest. “You have an idea about the time of death?”

  “Not specifically,” Doc admitted, “but I overheard one of the paramedics talking to Chief Durr. She said the body had already cooled a couple of degrees, and he was turning pale when I found him. According to some of those forensics shows we’ve been watching, that means he’d been dead for at least an hour, maybe two. At least, that’s my guess.”

  “Right.” Candy took a deep breath, nodded, and went on. “So based on the state of the body, the fact that the killer couldn’t have known you were going to show up when you did, and the unlikelihood of either of us actually committing the murder ourselves, we have to assume that we’re not the targets here.”

  Doc looked impressed at his daughter’s grasp of the situation. “Okay. So what’s all that mean?”

  “It means the shovel was left there on purpose, not to implicate us, but someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s what we’ve got to figure out.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Well, we’d better come up with something fast,” Doc said, “before the police actually do find a reason to throw us both into jail. It was our shovel, after all. Darnedest thing, isn’t it?” He shook his head, and it was clear the events of the morning were puzzling him. “What about Lydia St. Graves? You think she might be involved in this?”

  Candy was looking out at the sea again. A light breeze had picked up, and the treetops around them rustled. “Possibly. I have no way of knowing for certain, but her behavior was certainly suspicious.”

  “Well, given the rumors flying around town, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s involved in this whole thing somehow. In fact, I’d almost bet money on it, if I were a betting man.” He paused. “You think she could have . . . well, you know, killed Miles herself with that shovel? Is she capable of such a thing?”

  Candy gave it some thought. “Again, I suppose it’s possible. I just don’t know her that well, but she’s obviously a frail-looking woman. I’m not sure she’d have the strength to lift a shovel, let alone hit a man over the head hard enough to kill him. So for the moment I’m trying not to jump to conclusions. Besides, maybe we’re both overthinking this. Maybe by leaving the shovel here, the killer meant simply to muddy the waters for a while—you know, confuse the police, send them off on a wild-goose chase.”

  “Like interviewing every person on that list we just compiled?” Doc let out a snort of air. “You and I both know none of those folks had anything to do with this.”

  “I hope you’re right, Dad,” Candy said softly.

  “So what’s our next move?”

  “I think,” Candy said, turning back to look at her father, “that you should head over to the police station and get yourself fingerprinted.”

  “I’d rather have my teeth pulled out,” Doc said honestly. “Just the idea of it bothers me. To think I could ever do something like that to someone like Miles.”

  “I know, Dad, but it’s just a formality. And it might help the police find the killer.”

  Doc seemed resigned to his fate. “Very well,” he said, sounding a bit antagonistic, “guess I’ll get it over with. What about you? Where’re you headed?”

  “Back to the office.” Candy pointed at the Jeep with her thumb. “I have appointments this afternoon and I need to finish up some work. But on the way, I might stop at the house and check out our barn—see if I can remember the last time I saw that shovel. Maybe something will spark a memory. And I can check on the chickens.”

  With that, they parted. After a quick, reassuring hug, Doc climbed into the cab of his old pickup truck while Candy slid into the driver’s seat of the Jeep. He waved halfheartedly as he drove off. She followed him out to the main road and trailed him for a few miles, until they reached the turnoff that led northward toward Blueberry Acres. She made a left, while Doc continued straight on toward town.

  The blueberry fields behind the house and barn were at near peak. They’d start harvesting in another month or so, and they were beginning to put together their equipment and farm machinery. But in many ways this time period, from early to mid-spring, was the lull before the upcoming storm of activity. The blueberry season would last until mid-August, after which they’d turn their attention to the vegetable gardens, and later on into the fall they’d start mowing the blueberry fields. But for now all they needed was a little rain and plenty of sunshine to ripen the berries.

  Candy pulled up in front of the house and climbed out of the Jeep. The place was amazingly peaceful, though she could hear the chickens cackling in their coop behind the barn. The wind was still blowing from the northwest, a light breeze running down toward the sea, bringing with it the smell of the woods and the ripening berries.

  She checked her watch. It was nearly eleven thirty. She had to get moving.

  She spread some feed on the floor of the coop, checked for eggs, which she collected in a wire basket, and headed into the barn. Near the workbench was a well-supplied tool rack. A quick glance at their collection of lawn and garden tools revealed the typical hoes and rakes, shears and pruners, scythes and axes, trowels and post hole diggers. They also had a number of spades and shovels, including several snow shovels, a wide wood scoop, a short-handled digging shovel, and a wood-handled, squared-off garden spade. Then there was the new long-handled digging shovel they’d bought earlier in the year. Its blade was still shiny.

  Candy looked at the new shovel for several moments. When had they bought that? she wondered. Sometime in the early spring? Or was it during the winter?

  As her mind worked back over the past few months, she was surprised to hear the sound of a vehicle coming up the dirt lane. When she stepped out of the barn, she saw Doc’s old pickup truck pulling to a stop in front of the house. She watched as he shut off the engine, climbed out of the cab, spotted her, and ambled in her direction.

  “What are you doing back so soon?” Candy called to him across the driveway. “Did you get fingerprinted?”

  Doc scowled and waved a hand. “It’s a madhouse over there,” he called back, and as he drew nearer, he continued, “Phones ringing off the hook. Everyone rushing back and forth. They told me to come back later today—or tomorrow. Too busy, short-staffed. I’ll give them a call this afternoon and see when they want me to go in.”

  Candy nodded, a
nd led the way back into the barn. “I was just looking over the tools,” she told him. “You remember that new shovel we bought a few months back? When did we pick that up at Gumm’s?”

  Doc knew the answer right away. “March Madness sale. Got it for twenty-five percent off.”

  “But why buy a new shovel when we had one exactly like it in the barn?”

  “You mean the one that’s currently lying next to Miles’s body?” Doc shrugged. “Because we needed it, I guess.”

  “But why? It’s the same style as the old one.”

  “Well, you can never have too many shovels,” Doc said, sounding a little defensive, “and like I said, it was on sale.”

  Still, Candy pressed him. “Yes, but why, Dad?”

  It took Doc a moment but he finally realized what she was getting at. “Ahh,” he said, throwing back his head, “I suppose I bought the new one because I couldn’t find the old one when I needed it.”

  “Exactly,” Candy said, holding a finger up in the air to make her point, “which means the old shovel disappeared sometime during or before March. Did we have anyone out to the farm at that time? Anything special going on that month that you remember?”

  Doc scratched his head as he thought. “Well, just lots of snow. We had that string of snowstorms and roller-coaster weather. We wouldn’t have used the digging shovel much during that time. We had the snow shovels out a lot, though.” He paused, and his face clouded. “But there was that one time . . .”

  He paused again, blinked several times, and snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

  “That’s what?” Candy asked.

  “Those spring snowstorms we had. They were pretty wet and heavy. The snow melted quickly during the day, then froze up at night.”

  “Icicles,” Candy said. She felt a tinge of excitement as the realization dawned on her.

  “That’s right. I think I used that old shovel to knock some icicles off the house. They can get pretty long and scary-looking, you know. You don’t want one dropping down on the top of your head as you’re passing by. It could be mighty painful.”