Town in a Cinnamon Toast

by B. B. Haywood

  “Not since breakfast.”

  “You like tuna fish?”

  “Love it.”

  “I think I have a jar of pretty good pickles I can open, and I can maybe scrounge up some potato salad from the fridge. Why don’t we eat and then we can try to figure this out?”

  “Works for me.”

  While she made him a sandwich, her mind going over all the new information she’d just learned, Neil plopped down into a chair at the kitchen table by the window, doffed his ball cap, and ran a hand through his unruly hair. Once settled, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through it until he found what he wanted. He hit the speaker button and held it out toward her, so she could listen to Julius’s message from the previous day:

  Neil, it’s Julius Seabury. I wonder if you might have time to meet with me this afternoon, or perhaps early this evening. There’s something important I need to discuss with you about the deeds. I can’t go into any details right now, over the phone, but I have some information that might be of interest to you. I’ve also come across a reference to something called Foul Mouth. I don’t know if that means anything to you, but I’ll explain when we meet. I’ll call you back later.

  That was it.

  She listened to the message a second time as she set two plates down on the table, and then a third time as she sat herself, picking the phone off the table and holding it to her ear while Neil gobbled down his sandwich. But she left hers largely untouched as her mind worked.

  She was just about to pull out her own phone when she heard another vehicle coming up the driveway, and suddenly everyone was there, and she was swept away into other things.

  They all arrived within five minutes of one another, coming up the dirt lane in a variety of cars and trucks, leaving low clouds of dust in their wakes. Doc came first, pulling up next to the porch in his pickup truck with his buddies in tow, driving three separate vehicles. They were followed in short order by Maggie with her mother in the Subaru, Herr Georg in his Volvo, Amanda and Cameron in a separate pickup truck, and finally their nascent wedding planners, Malcolm and Ralph, in a small convertible import sports car with a large yellow rented cargo van right behind them.

  As the parking lot filled with cars and trucks, it also became filled with the sounds of meetings and greetings, handshakes and backslaps, smiles and solemn words about the absence of Julius, before they got down to business.

  Two workers who arrived with the van opened up the back doors and started to unload folding tables, chairs, plants, and long white aisle runners, rolled up like giant scrolls, which they planned to put down over the barn’s recently swept and hosed-off cement floor and out past the back barn door to the reception tent. Doc, Neil, Cameron, and the boys—Finn, Artie, and Bumpy—pitched right in, helping to carry and set up, while Maggie and Candy started pulling out potted plants and setting them down near the entrance to the barn. Ellie, meanwhile, headed into the kitchen to start making lemonade and treats for the workforce, and before turning their attention to other tasks Herr Georg went off with Malcolm and Ralph for a quick tour of the property and potential parking spots for wedding guests.

  They worked for most of the afternoon, as the sun went behind a bank of clouds and the day turned a little cooler. Candy took a few minutes to walk through the hoophouse with Neil, who gave her some pointers, and they pulled a few seedlings out of the back of his Saab, taking the plants into the new structure. And she finally found the time to make a few phone calls, though she came up empty. Owen didn’t answer, and Chief Durr was currently occupied. She left messages for both of them to call her back.

  She also tried to spend as much time as possible with Maggie, who told her about the groom’s cake she was baking. “It’s going to be fantastic,” Maggie said, her hands moving as she talked. “It’s going to be chocolate, since that’s traditional for groom’s cakes, but I’m going to make it from scratch, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” said Candy.

  “I’m going to frost it with chocolate blueberry frosting and then decorate it with candied pansies and blueberry blossoms, which I’ve already made. I’ve got them tucked into a container in the back of the fridge, where Georg wouldn’t find them if he came over. Round, two layers, with this gorgeous cake topper I found at Malcolm and Ralph’s store. It will be my most inspired creation to date! I’m going to bake tomorrow morning, if you want to come over to help.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’ll be fun. You’re all set with Freda at the House of Style, right?”

  Maggie gave a quick nod. “Hair and makeup, first thing Saturday morning, by special appointment. She’s opening the shop early just for us—and Amanda and mom, of course. Plus Piper, she’ll be here by then.”

  “Your sister-in-law, right? And your brother, Jack? They’re from Presque Isle, right? When are they coming in?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. They’ll be here in time for the wedding walk-through and rehearsal dinner, so she’ll go with us Saturday morning. We’ll make it a girls’ beauty breakfast!” She brightened at the thought of that. “Georg says he’s making Viennese apple strudel for us, from scratch! He’s even going to spike it with a little bit of rum—just to, you know, help calm our nerves . . . well, help calm my nerves!”

  Candy laughed. “Sounds yummy. I can’t wait to try it—and a little bit of rum first thing in the morning will definitely get the day started in the right direction. What about the groom’s gift?”

  “I’m glad you mentioned that!” Maggie said, her eyes going wide. “It’s finally ready. He called a couple of days ago but I haven’t had a chance to make it up there yet. So I thought I’d drive up there this afternoon to pick it up. He closes up his shop at six, so I have to leave soon!”

  Over the past few months, Maggie had fretted endlessly about an appropriate groom’s gift for Herr Georg. She’d considered a number of ideas, like an old and valuable cookbook, or family photos of his ancestors from Germany, but nothing felt quite right to her. “I want to give him something special,” she’d told Candy, “something that he’ll always remember.”

  She’d finally settled on an antique gold pocket watch that had once belonged to her grandfather. Ellie had come up with the idea, and Maggie liked it.

  “It’s something personal, and somewhat valuable, and it will help welcome him to our family,” Ellie had said, according to Maggie. “It was your grandfather’s retirement watch. I’ve held on to it this whole time, but I think it’s time to pass it along to someone like Herr Georg, who I know will love it.”

  The only problem was that because of its age, the watch needed maintenance and cleaning, so they’d found a jeweler in Ellsworth with experience in such watches. He’d had it for two weeks now, and had just finished working on it.

  “You want some company on your trip up there?” Candy asked.

  “Mom’s going with me. And Amanda.” Maggie glanced around to make sure no one else was listening in before she continued. “And there’s actually something else you can do for me here.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Will you cover for me while I’m gone? You know, run interference, in case someone comes looking for me?”

  “Like Herr Georg?”

  “Right. I don’t want him to know where I’m going.”

  “Of course. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll cover for you like a blanket covers a bed. So when do you think you’ll be back?”

  Maggie raised her gaze toward the sky and put her hands on her hips as she thought out loud. “Well, let’s see. It’s close to an hour each way, give or take a few. And I’ll need some time in the shop, to make sure everything looks right with the watch, especially with the new engraving I’ve had made. We’ll call it two and a half hours round-trip—depending on traffic, though that’s a relative term here in Maine.”

  Candy knew what she was talking about. “More likely
you’ll get stuck behind a tractor than encounter heavy traffic, right?”

  “Or a slow-moving eighteen-wheeler, or a lumber truck, which are much more likely here than a traffic jam. Have you seen those lumber trucks? I hate getting behind them on those old two-lane roads! Those things are scary. Have you seen how high they stack those logs on there, held on by only a few narrow forks or bands or whatever? I hate it when I get behind them—or have to pass them! I just zip around as quick as I can. Imagine what it would be like to have some of those logs come crashing down on you!”

  “Definitely uncomfortable,” Candy acknowledged.

  “Anyway, Mom usually gets hungry early, so we might stop on the way back to get something to eat. And that means”—she checked the time again—“around sevenish or so? Maybe a little later? Something like that?”

  “Sounds good. And don’t worry about a thing here. I’ll take care of everything, and I’ve got plenty of people to help me out.”

  Maggie leaned forward then and gave Candy a big hug. “You’re the best friend ever!”

  “Why don’t you and your mom and Amanda slip away right now while no one’s paying much attention?” Candy continued. “I’ll make up some excuse if anyone spots you. And I’ll hunt up Malcolm and Ralph and go over the wedding checklist again with them. We’ll figure out what still needs to be done and divvy it all up, so we make sure everything gets done in time. I imagine Georg will want to head back to the bakery soon, so he might not even notice you’re gone. And if you hurry, you’ll still have time to meet him later for dessert.”

  Maggie’s eyes brimmed over with gratitude, but then her expression turned sly. “Someday I hope we’ll be doing all this for you, for your wedding! And, of course, I’ll be your maid of honor—or matron of honor, I guess!”

  “Of course! That goes without saying . . . if it ever happens, which I’m sure it probably will someday,” Candy said noncommittally. “But you’re first. So let’s both get going.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Twenty minutes later, Candy almost ran headfirst into Herr Georg.

  She was just leaving a conversation with Malcolm and Ralph, where they went over the wedding-day timeline and discussed last-minute details, and came away with a list of calls to make, including one to the caterer and another to the Reverend James P. Daisy, just to touch base with him a final time. She’d also talked to Neil, who was headed back to his place to do his evening chores while it was still light outside.

  She was walking across the driveway toward the house, her head turned back toward the barn to see how much progress they’d made inside, and the baker was coming out of the house and down off the porch, looking back over his shoulder toward the blueberry fields. They both noticed each other at the very last moment and came to jerky stops before nearly colliding with each other.

  “Candy, there you are!” Herr Georg exclaimed, his eyes bright and his white mustache twitching excitedly as he spoke. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  She pointed back the way she’d come. “I was talking to Malcolm and Ralph over by the cars. We were going over the wedding checklist and timeline.”

  “Oh, wunderbar! Wunderbar! They’ve done such an excellent job so far, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. It’s all coming together quite nicely. And your father and the others have been so helpful, and creative! Have you seen what they’ve done inside the barn?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll check it out shortly. I have to make a few phone calls first, before it gets too late.”

  “They’ve transformed the place, I don’t mind telling you!” Herr Georg continued. “It looks like a palace in there—well, a rustic one, of course, but what they’ve done with the lighting and drapes and potted plants and overall setup is quite impressive. Maggie will be so thrilled when she sees it!” He glanced around, his eyes searching. “Where is she, anyway? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  Candy had hoped to avoid the question completely but she had a ready response at hand. “Oh, she just had to dash off to run a quick errand. She shouldn’t be gone too long. I’m sure she’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Oh . . . yes, I see . . . hmm. Lots of secrets, eh? Wedding related, I imagine.” Herr Georg’s expression was more thoughtful than playful. “Well, since you and I have a few moments alone together, I wonder if the two of us could talk?”

  “Sure. About what?”

  Again, Herr Georg’s eyes darted back and forth, this time in a more surreptitious manner. When he spoke, he lowered his voice so only she could hear. “It might be better if we discussed this someplace a little more private.” And in an even quieter tone, he added ominously, “It’s about Julius.”

  “Oh! Of course.” She looked around as well, before pointing toward the house. “Why don’t we talk inside? We can use Dad’s office.”

  Herr Georg nodded. “You lead the way,” he said, and together they walked onto the porch and in through the kitchen door.

  Once they were settled, with the office door closed behind them to ensure their privacy, Herr Georg came right to the point. “I have to admit,” he said, talking quickly now in a long stream of words, “that I’m not used to this sort of thing, by any stretch of the imagination. I’m not an investigator at heart, as you quite obviously are, and I don’t have the instincts of a supreme detective of any sort. But since I’m intimately involved in this unfortunate business, and since a confounded champagne bottle I ordered myself was used as a murder weapon, raised against my own best man, well, I believe I was compelled to act, right? I mean, I had no choice in the matter, don’t you see?”

  He paused, his eyes open wide and his face reddening as he looked expectantly to Candy for some sort of response.

  She blinked a time or two, uncertain of what to say. “Well, yes, I suppose I can understand that.”

  Appearing relieved, he went on. “So that’s why I went down to the inn, to talk to Chef Colin, because I was trying to find out what happened, and I thought he might be able to point me in the right direction. Which he did, of course. He provided some very helpful information. That’s why I went over to the Whitby place.”

  “You were at the Whitby place?” Candy asked, surprised.

  “Um, yes.” He seemed a little unsettled by her reaction. “I drove out there this morning, right after I talked to Chef Colin. Shouldn’t I have?”

  Candy considered her response. “Well, I don’t know, really. I was toying with the idea of going over there myself, but I wound up doing other things.” She paused and shook her head. “But I think I’m missing something here. Why don’t we back up a little bit? What did Colin tell you in the first place that made you go out to the Whitby estate?”

  “Well, it was because of that waiter, of course. The young man Maggie found in the storeroom last night, unconscious,” he clarified. “Chef Colin told me his name. It’s Scotty Whitby.”

  Candy’s eyebrows rose. “Whitby? The old family name?”

  She was quiet for a moment as her mind worked over this new bit of information, wondering what it might mean. “So that’s why you went over there, to the Whitby place—to try to talk to him? So you could ask him if he knows anything about that champagne bottle?”

  “Something like that, yes, but there’s more to it, you see. I went there because he’s disappeared—Scotty Whitby has—or at least that’s what Chef Colin told me,” Herr Georg explained. “From what I’ve heard, after Maggie found him unconscious last night, they took him to the hospital to check him over. He was supposed to stay overnight for observation, but later they found his room was empty. He’d vacated it when no one was watching him. So far, there’s no sign of him anywhere. No one knows what’s happened to him.”

  Candy looked concerned. “Do the police know this?”

  Herr Georg nodded. “I believe they’re looking into it, but I thought I might conduct a little investigation of my own. So t
hat’s why I went over there—I was hoping I might find someone at their family estate who would know where he’s gone.”

  “And did you find anyone? The house has been closed up for a while, right?”

  “Yes, well, that’s just it. You’re right. The place was deserted, because it’s been for sale, I suppose. I thought I might get lucky, but no one was around. I was going to have a quick look about the place, but then someone else arrived, and I learned something else, something curious. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I found out who bought it.”

  Candy nodded. This bit of information she did know, but she waited for confirmation from Herr Georg.

  “His name is Porter Sykes,” the baker continued. “I learned this from his attorney—a man by the name of Marshall Bosworth, who came by the estate when I was out there looking around.”

  “Marshall Bosworth?” It took her a moment, as the name rang a bell, and then she remembered where she’d seen it—in Lucinda P. Dowling’s book on the Bosworths up in the archives that morning, when she’d been sneaking around. “Judicious’s brother!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes, I believe it’s the same family, though Marshall didn’t say so specifically. They’re all in the legal profession, isn’t that correct? Judicious was an attorney also, wasn’t he, before he went off to Tibet?”

  Candy nodded. “Their father is a judge—the Honorable Rutledge Howard Paul Bosworth, if I remember correctly—but I don’t know much about him, or the brother, except he’s about four years older than Judicious.”

  “He gave me this.” Herr Georg reached into a shirt pocket, located a business card, and handed it over to Candy. It read:

  Marshall L. Bosworth

  Attorney-at-Law

  Bosworth & Bosworth, LLC

  Bangor Portland Bar Harbor

  Her brows furrowed. “Marshall L. Bosworth?” she said to herself, more than to Herr Georg. She tilted her head thoughtfully, and read it again.

  Marshall L. Bosworth.