Town in a Cinnamon Toast

by B. B. Haywood

  And she had to determine if that slip of paper had any real link to Julius Seabury.

  There was an easy way to do that, she knew, but now was not the time.

  And what about the other family names on that slip of paper?

  Bosworth. Ethingham. Whitby. Rainsford. Palfrey.

  L. B.

  And what about the words written at the bottom of the paper, according to Owen?

  Foul Mouth?

  Had Owen mentioned to the police that he’d found a slip of paper in a book in that room? He’d said it wasn’t important—“odd scribblings” was the phrase he used.

  Yes, but whose odd scribblings?

  She looked up at the chief, who was waiting for a reply to his last question. Finally, after thinking it all through, she answered him.

  “Right now, Chief, I have no idea.”

  He held her gaze for the longest time, as if judging her response. Finally, he nodded, placed his palms on the table, and pushed himself to his feet. “Somehow I knew you’d say that,” he said, looking suddenly weary. He reached up, lifted his cap, and scratched his head with a few fingers. “Why do I get the feeling we’re playing a game of cat and mouse here?”

  Candy shrugged innocently. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  That made him smile, but there was no humor in it. “No, I’m sure you don’t.” He started toward the door, opened it, and turned back toward her. “You’re free to go, for now. But stay close, in case we need to talk again. And I’m sure you know this, but if you think of anything that might aid in our investigation, contact myself or someone at the department immediately.”

  “I’ll surely do that, Chief.”

  He nodded. “Just do me a favor, Candy, and take care of yourself. And whatever you do, for the sake of both of us, don’t get into any more trouble, okay?”

  Now it was Candy’s turn to smile. “I’ll try my best, Chief. Just like I always do.”

  NINE

  Once out of the building and into the cool night air, Candy paused, took in a few deep breaths, and looked around as she considered her next move.

  Myriad thoughts ran through her mind, most of them focused on Julius. What had he been doing up in the archives? Why had he been researching deeds? How did the champagne bottle get up there? And what about the list of names? Did that have anything to do with his death? Was the Sykes family somehow involved in his murder?

  And what about the unconscious waiter, the one the chief had mentioned? Did he have anything to do with this? If so, what was the connection?

  There was a simple answer to that last question: the champagne bottle. Someone must have walked it over to the museum. A waiter was the logical person. Had Julius asked for it for some reason? Had he been drinking? Or planned to drink? It might explain his disheveled clothes. But what about the sand on the bottoms of his shoes?

  Sand.

  Where had it come from?

  Her head twisted to her right, eastward, toward the sea. From where she stood, she could hear the waves slapping gently against the shoreline. She was tempted to head down that way, to the waterfront, to perhaps get an idea of where Julius might have picked up the sand on his shoes. Much of this part of the coastline was rocky, especially the wedge of land upon which the English Point Lighthouse and Museum stood. But she knew there were also small stretches of sandy coastline just south of the buildings and parking lot, a few hundred steps away. She wanted to check the area and see if she could spot anything suspicious, possibly turn up a clue or two.

  But, she decided with some reluctance as her gaze shifted around, this wasn’t the right time. Not only was the place crawling with police officers, who would notice her movements, but it was also too dark to make any sort of an effective search. She might slip out on those wet, black rocks, fall, and break something. Or completely miss anything that might be useful. Better, she thought, to wait until daylight, when she could see where she was going and what she was doing.

  Besides, there were other things she needed to check on first.

  So, instead, she hurried up the sloping walkway toward the parking lot, where a couple of squad cars with lights still flashing flanked her Jeep. Off to one side of the lot, several officers were bunched together, talking amongst themselves. She eyed them surreptitiously as she unlocked the Jeep and climbed inside, but they paid her no attention.

  Deciding to move on quickly while she could, she started the engine, flicked on the headlights, and made a beeline for the Lightkeeper’s Inn, which was only a block or so away. She made the trip in just a few minutes, found a parking spot along Ocean Avenue, and headed into the inn.

  The dining room was dimly lit and somewhat subdued, though still busy enough for a weeknight. But as she’d expected, the alcove where the pre-wedding dinner party had taken place was deserted. The table had been cleared off, and a new crisp white linen tablecloth laid upon it. Unused place settings and silverware were set out. But no Maggie, no Herr Georg, no Doc, nor anyone else she knew.

  She glanced around and flagged down a passing waiter. “Do you know what happened to the folks who were eating in here a little while ago?” she asked.

  He looked around at the empty private room. “They’ve finished,” he said simply, and nodded toward the front of the inn. “I think they moved into the lounge.”

  Candy thanked him and headed in that direction. Like the dining room, the lights in the lounge were turned down low, making the burning logs in the open stone fireplace along the far wall even more eye-catching. Candy paused in the entranceway as she scanned the room. And there, sitting in a wood-and-leather booth to one side of the fireplace, were the people she sought—her father, Maggie, and Herr Georg, along with Maggie’s mother, Ellie, Amanda and Cameron, and Malcolm and Ralph.

  Her father glanced around, spotted her, and waved her over, rising from his seat as she approached. “Hi, pumpkin, glad you finally made it back,” he said, giving her a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. “We’ve been so worried about you. Are you all right?”

  “As good as can be expected,” Candy replied as Maggie came over and gave her a hug also. Herr Georg scooted aside, making room for her in the booth.

  “So, is it true?” Maggie asked after Candy had settled herself, voicing the question they all seemed to have. “Is Julius really gone?”

  Candy nodded. “I’m sorry, but yes, it’s true. I saw his body myself.”

  “It’s still hard to believe,” said Herr Georg, his voice cracking a bit. “He was such a wonderful man, with a zest for life, and never a harsh word for anyone. Why would someone want to harm him?”

  Candy had a ready answer, as she’d thought about that question a lot over the past couple of hours. “Because I think he was onto something,” she said. “Something he uncovered in his research.”

  “What could it possibly be?” asked her father.

  Candy shook her head. “I don’t know exactly, but according to Owen Peabody, Julius was apparently looking through records of old land deeds.”

  Maggie made a face. “Land deeds? Why would he be interested in that?”

  “I thought he was writing a book about the founding families in Cape Willington,” Doc said. “At least, that’s what I heard. He also told me a little while ago he was thinking of writing a book about the controversy over alewives.”

  “Alewives?” Maggie said, sounding confused. “What’s an alewife? Like a tavern owner’s wife?”

  “In the Middle Ages, yes, it had that kind of meaning,” Doc said. “But here in Maine it’s a type of herring that lives in the ocean but spawns in rivers, like the St. Croix, which serves as the boundary between us and New Brunswick. Apparently they’ve had a negative effect on the smallmouth bass population.”

  There was silence around the table as everyone tried to digest this curious bit of information.

 
; “But why would he write about that?” Herr Georg finally asked.

  “Sounds fishy to me,” Maggie agreed.

  Doc just shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s how Julius was.”

  “Did he ever mention a book about land deeds—local property?” Candy asked.

  Doc shook his head. “Not that I can remember.”

  She looked over at Herr Georg. “You were close to him. You two talked a lot. Did he tell you anything about what he was working on?”

  The baker scrunched up his face, as if thinking hard. “Well, I, um, I can’t recall,” he said noncommittally.

  Candy studied him for a moment, then turned back to her father, changing the subject. “Dad, have you ever heard of someone—or someplace—called Foul Mouth? Does that ring a bell?”

  Doc didn’t have to give it much thought before he answered. “Sure, it’s a fairly common name in the Northeast. Falmouth was an early name for Portland. The settlers took it from a seaside town in England. Of course, when it was first established, the city we know today as Portland was called Casco, but it was changed to Falmouth in 1658 by the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Then in 1786 the portion of the city out on the neck was split off and rechristened Portland, after a town on the southern coast of England. Part of the original town of Falmouth remains today, just north of Portland, and there are also towns called Falmouth in Massachusetts and Jamaica.”

  Candy had known most of that—well, not the dates specifically—but let her father confirm it all for her. When he’d finished, she hesitated before she said, “Thanks, but I’m not sure that’s what I’m looking for, Dad. It’s pronounced the same but it’s two words—Foul Mouth.” And she spelled it out, just as Owen had done a few hours earlier. “It sounds like something that, well, something that smells funny, I guess. Or maybe someone who swears a lot?” She was just speculating at this point, and the tone of her voice communicated that.

  Doc gave her a blank look. After a few moments he said, “Are you sure it’s not just a misspelling?” He paused. “What has this got to do with Julius anyway?”

  Candy sidestepped the question for now. Instead, she asked, “What about some of the town’s founding families, like the Whitbys, the Rainsfords, the Ethinghams, and the Palfreys? Oh, and the Bosworths. And, um, the Sykes clan. How familiar are you with their family histories?”

  “Whitby?” Herr Georg asked. “Rainsford, Ethingham? Sykes? And Bosworth? As in Judicious F. P. Bosworth?” he asked, referring to the local town mystic. He looked a little confused by this line of questioning. Candy noticed a lot of confused expressions around the table.

  “I don’t know, pumpkin,” Doc said, his face tightening as if he were in pain. “I’ve heard of all of them, of course. I could give you specifics on all those families, though I’d have to do a little research and check out some of my old notes first. But why? What’s this all about, anyway?”

  Candy shook her head. “I don’t know, really. Just wondering.”

  There was an uneasy silence around the table. Candy could hear the crackling of the fire, the tinkling of glasses, the quiet conversations going on around them. No one seemed to know what to say.

  Maggie finally broke the silence, speaking softly in a voice barely above a whisper. “So . . . what are we going to do about it?”

  “About what?” Doc asked, roused from his deliberations.

  “About everything! We’ve just lost a good friend and our best man! That’s terrible news, of course—we all loved Julius dearly—but his passing leaves us in an awkward position.”

  “Which is?”

  “What should we do about the wedding? About all the preparations and last-minute planning and setting up?” She couldn’t help but sound a little exasperated as she looked around the table, and she pointed at Malcolm and Ralph. “These two have done a lot of work on this, so we have to let them know what’s happening. All of us have to know what’s happening. So . . . what are we going to do?”

  Herr Georg reached out, put his hand on hers, and squeezed it lightly. “What my beloved is trying to say,” the baker told those seated around the table, “is that she and I have been talking, and, well, we’re wondering if we should postpone the wedding—given what’s happened to Julius, out of respect for him.”

  Doc harrumphed at that. “Well, I know Julius—um, knew Julius, I suppose—fairly well, and I can tell you he was really looking forward to the wedding, and to being your best man. I have no idea what happened to him, why he’s no longer with us, but I think he’d be devastated to know that the wedding was postponed or canceled because of him.”

  “I agree,” said Maggie’s mother, piping in. “I think it would be a shame to cancel or postpone it at this late date, after all the preparations you’ve done.”

  “Everyone in town is looking forward to it,” Malcolm said, joining in.

  “And you’ve waited so long for this moment to arrive,” added Ralph passionately.

  “He’s right,” said Amanda, touching her mother’s arm. “You’ve spent months getting ready. Your dress is beautiful. Melody’s all ready to go with the catering. The reception tent is set up at Blueberry Acres, and Candy and Doc have been working for weeks to get the place in shape. We’ve ordered all the tables and chairs, which will arrive tomorrow. Everything’s all lined up. It would be a shame to postpone the ceremony at this point.”

  When they were all finished, Candy turned to her best friend. “Those are all good points,” she told Maggie softly, “but you should really do what your heart tells you to do. Whatever decision you make, we’ll support you.”

  All around the table agreed.

  Maggie wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so Herr Georg spoke up again, turning to look at his bride-to-be. “We need to consider another issue, my beloved, which we’ve already discussed. As you well know, we have a very small window here. We’re opening the shop in a couple of weeks. We have barely enough time for a quick honeymoon trip to New York. If we postpone the wedding now, all our plans will have to change. We’ll probably be too busy over the summer and well into the fall to reschedule the ceremony anytime soon. Of course, we could postpone until Thanksgiving, I suppose, or Christmas, or push it back to next year. . . .”

  He let his words trail off, giving that thought time to sink in.

  Maggie responded by squeezing his hand and giving him a weak smile. “I know, Georg, and you know I love you. I don’t want to delay the wedding any more than you do,” she said, “but it just seems like there’s so much going on right now that’s out of our hands. And there’s still so much to do! We both have cakes to make, we have to set up the barn and tent, and decorate, and we have a wedding rehearsal, and I have to get my hair and makeup done. . . . It’s all just making my head spin!”

  “That’s why we’re here,” said Malcolm reassuringly. “Our goal, as wedding planners, is to take all the stress out of your big day. You won’t have to worry about a thing. We promise.”

  “And the rest of us will help out too, Mom,” said Amanda. “That’s what we’re all here for. Like Malcolm said—you shouldn’t have to worry about a thing.”

  “I know, but I do, I do! And now we don’t even have a best man!”

  “Ah, yes. The best man.” Herr Georg held up a finger. “We can never replace Julius—he was truly one of a kind—but I’ve been giving that issue some thought as I’ve been sitting here, listening to everyone, and I think I might have a solution—one I’m sure Julius would approve of, if he were still with us.”

  The baker looked over at Doc. “You were a good friend to Julius, and you and I have known each other for many years. You’ve always been kind and welcoming to me, and have never failed to pitch in and help any way you can. Perhaps, if it isn’t too much of an imposition, you wouldn’t mind stepping into Julius’s place, at this late moment, and serving as my best man?”

  Doc look
ed surprised by the suggestion—and a little saddened by it. “Well, Georg, I . . . I don’t know what to say. I wish it hadn’t come to this. I wish Julius was still here, as all of us do. But he’s not . . . and of course I’d be honored to stand in for him.” He paused, and his expression subtly lightened as a smile slowly spread across his face. “Yes, that’s certainly something I could do.”

  “Wunderbar!” exclaimed Herr Georg, his face brightening as well. Candy leaned toward her father and laid a hand on his arm. “That’s very gracious of you, Dad.”

  “I guess it’s all settled now,” said Ellie, and she slapped the table with her palms. “We’re going to have a wedding!”

  But Maggie still looked skeptical. “But what about the murderer? We have someone running around town who killed Julius—with one of our champagne bottles! What if he or she strikes again?” Her face grew a little paler. “Or what if the police think one of us did it? After all, we did order those bottles. Any one of us might be a suspect!” She turned toward her fiancé, alarmed.

  At her words, the smiles around the table disappeared, and all eyes turned inevitably toward Candy.

  “Well,” she said after a few moments, leaning forward and lowering her voice so only those around the table could hear her, “I think that’s a very real possibility, Mags, and something they’re considering down at the station right now. From what I’ve heard, Herr Georg and Dad seem to have alibis, at least right now. But unfortunately I’m currently at the top of their lists of suspects,” she continued, “and, honestly, it makes perfect sense. As the chief pointed out to me just a little while ago, I was at both the inn and the museum tonight. I easily could have carried that bottle over there myself. And Georg was the one who ordered those cases in the first place, so I’m certain he’s still under some suspicion. But, honestly, we all know that none of us was involved in Julius’s death, right?”