Town in a Cinnamon Toast

by B. B. Haywood

  Until she learned otherwise, she was going to assume Julius had the original deeds in his possession and was murdered because of them. Porter Sykes was an obvious suspect. But so, too, were Owen Peabody and Plymouth Palfrey. Both of them knew about the deeds, which had been floating around the museum, where they’d been sent anonymously by Miles Crawford. Plymouth, if not Owen as well, knew Julius had them. Owen himself was around the Keeper’s Quarters last night, although as far as she knew, Plymouth had still been at his home in Boothbay Harbor, which gave him an alibi.

  So, at least she had a starting place. But there was still a lot she didn’t know.

  First, where was Scotty Whitby, the young waiter Maggie found unconscious in the storeroom last night? Why had he disappeared from the hospital? Could he, like Julius, have felt threatened in some way? And why? Possibly because he’d seen someone at the inn taking away a bottle of champagne. That seemed to make the most sense. But where had he gone? What had happened to him?

  It was a question that required an answer.

  Suddenly compelled to movement, she reached over to her father’s desk, picked up a legal pad and pen, and wrote at the top of the first sheet: Find Scotty Whitby. He might solve the mystery of the champagne bottle.

  That led her to another question: Why use a bottle of champagne in the first place? Was it an attempt to frame Herr Georg? If so, why? Or was it something else—an accident, a mistake of some sort?

  She let that question percolate while she considered others that were swirling around her head.

  She looked down at the business card Herr Georg had handed to her, the one given to him by Marshall Bosworth.

  Marshall L. Bosworth, she corrected herself.

  He had come out of nowhere. She’d never known about any other Bosworth siblings until today. How come Judicious never mentioned his own brother? Why didn’t Judicious talk about his family at all? What could they expect from this Marshall? Was he someone they needed to watch out for? And why was he working for the Sykes family? She hadn’t been aware of that connection. It was one that needed to be checked out.

  There was a relatively easy way to get some answers. On the pad, she wrote, Talk to Judicious.

  And what about the books lined up on the shelf upstairs at the Keeper’s Quarters, the ones devoted to various founding families, with the names arranged so they matched the list of names on the piece of paper that had fallen out of the book Owen had picked up? Could that have any significance? Could Julius have arranged them in that manner for some reason?

  One person might know, if she was still alive: the author of the books.

  Candy wrote, Find and talk to Lucinda P. Dowling.

  Then there was the issue of sand on the bottoms of Julius’s shoes. Had he been out on the beach, perhaps looking across the bay at the Whitby estate? What had he suspected was going on over there? And why the binoculars? Had he seen something that resulted in his murder?

  And, finally, what was Foul Mouth?

  She jotted down these last few questions, just to keep them fresh in her mind, then turned to her other task: making the phone calls on her list.

  She had a brief but pleasant chat with the Reverend Daisy, who told her how much he was looking forward to Saturday’s event, and how sorry he was to hear of Julius’s passing. And she confirmed menus, arrival times, a setup time, and a head count with local café owner Melody Barnes, who’d be hosting the rehearsal dinner on Friday night and catering the Saturday-afternoon reception in the party tent they’d set up behind the barn.

  She made a few additional calls, then keyed up the number for Wanda over at the paper. “Have you ever heard of a woman named Lucinda Dowling?” Candy asked. “She’s a local author. She wrote a number of books about the town’s founding families.”

  “I remember them. They’re upstairs in the archives,” Wanda said, sounding distracted. Candy could hear the clacking of a computer keyboard in the background. Wanda was writing while she was talking. “You can check them up there.”

  “I’m looking for the author,” Candy clarified. “Do you know if she still lives around here?”

  “Why?”

  “Research.”

  “For the story on Julius?”

  “Sure, for that.”

  Wanda hesitated. The clacking slowed, and Candy could sense she was thinking it through, wondering if it was a lead she herself should be running down. But she seemed to finally dismiss it, willing to let Candy chase after it. “I don’t know. I can ask around. Call over to the historical society. They might know.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  After she ended the call, Candy sat for another minute or two in the silence, gazing out the back window, working out her next moves in her head. Then she tore off the front sheet from the legal pad and began to fold it up as she headed back outside.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Once out the front door and down off the porch, lost in her thoughts, she made a beeline for her Jeep, parked at the far side of the driveway. But she was almost immediately sidetracked.

  She noticed a number of people standing over by the barn, including Herr Georg talking to her father, with Cameron and the boys of Doc’s posse hovering nearby. As she passed by them, she heard her father call her name and looked over. He pointed toward the open barn door behind him. “Want to take a look inside?” he asked.

  She smiled, nodded, and headed in his direction.

  “Things are just about wrapped up in there,” he told her as she approached, and as she reached him, her father put his arm around her and guided her toward the barn door. “Come on in and take a look,” he said. “Prepare to be amazed.”

  And she was.

  The barn had been transformed. It was like something out of a design magazine, a magical place of light and scents and things of beauty.

  The moment she walked in, her gaze was drawn upward. Around the dark wood rafters above, they’d strung long, twirling strands of white Christmas lights, which made the whole place glow warmly. From one rafter near the back of the barn hung an elaborate vintage-style chandelier, positioned so it illuminated the spot upon which Maggie and Herr Georg would exchange their vows. That spot had a raised platform covered in white velvet, and was framed by long, thin white drapes that reached from the bottom of the chandelier to the side and back walls, creating a sort of illuminated tent under which the bride and groom would stand.

  White drapes had also been hung from the side walls, helping to lighten the barn’s dark interior. Arranged around the raised platform and along the sides, large pots of plants added some greenery. She also noticed there were pots with small cinnamon trees in them, the plants no higher than a foot or two. They’d put out the cut flowers, including pale cinnamon iris, white hyacinth, and tulips, on the morning of the wedding, she knew, which would add even more color.

  Baby blue and cinnamon-colored accents were everywhere, in small twists of dried flowers and ribbons, as well as candles on intricate stands in the corners and along the sides. The chairs set up in front of the raised platform were decorated with cinnamon-colored ribbons for the bride and blue for the groom. On the floor down the center ran a long white runner, and back where the runner started, at the opposite end from the raised platform, was a decorative portal through which the bride and groom would enter. It was handmade from carefully selected and cut tree limbs, intertwined and joined together to form a tall arch. It, too, was festooned with white, blue, and cinnamon-colored dried flowers and ribbons, as well as vines that twisted around it, and it was topped with sprigs of blossoming blueberry flowers.

  “It’s breathtaking,” Candy said in awe, taking it all in. She looked over at her father, whose eyes sparkled with reflected light as he watched her, and then turned toward Herr Georg. “Maggie will be beyond thrilled! She’ll be ecstatic! You’ve all done an amazing job.”

  “Oh, we just
helped out,” the baker said. “Malcolm and Ralph are the real geniuses behind this. They’re the ones who designed everything.”

  Candy looked around but didn’t see the two wedding planners. “Where are they?”

  Doc pointed out the far side of the barn. “In the reception tent, finishing up in there.”

  “Well, then, I have to go tell them personally how impressed I am with everything they’ve done.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Herr Georg said. “I’d like to thank them again myself.”

  They spotted Malcolm first. He was a tall man, slight of build, with a mop of unruly strawberry blond hair and dove-gray eyes. He was positioning some of the potted plants, arranging them with practiced hands.

  “Malcolm,” Candy said as she approached him. As he turned toward her, she gave him a tight hug. He responded with an easy smile. “The barn looks amazing,” she told him. “Better than I ever could have imagined. Maggie will love it.”

  “I love it as well,” said Herr Georg, standing behind her, beaming.

  Malcolm took the compliments easily. “Thank you, all of you!” He turned to Herr Georg and shook the baker’s hand. “And thank you, Georg, for putting your trust in us, since we’re neophytes at this sort of thing.”

  “You’re far beyond that,” the baker said. “You’re masters at this! I will heartily recommend both of you in all your future endeavors.”

  “Your recommendation would mean everything to us,” Malcolm said earnestly. “We’re still trying to get this second business off the ground, as a side project of the store.”

  “I’ll definitely do all I can to help you become established,” the baker said. “Of course, since I make wedding cakes, I have quite an extensive array of contacts I can send your way. There’s a great need for planners with your talents, especially in this area of the coast.”

  They found Ralph at the back of the tent, straightening tables and arranging chairs. He was a bit more reserved when he received his hug from Candy, but still seemed pleased with the recognition. Shorter than Malcolm, and darker, he had a neatly trimmed beard, green eyes, and a strong, angular jaw. The others thanked him as well. Malcolm walked over to join them, and for a few minutes they discussed the remaining tasks and itinerary for the following two days.

  “We’ll be back out here tomorrow, putting the finishing touches on everything before the walk-through,” said Malcolm, “and, of course, we’ll be at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Melody’s Cafe,” Candy reminded them. “Seven P.M. sharp.”

  “And we’ll be back out here bright and early Saturday morning,” added Ralph, “and we’ll stay until the last guest leaves, to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  “You two are the best,” Candy said. “I’m so glad you’re doing this.”

  “As am I,” the baker added. “Best decision I ever made, hiring the both of you—other than asking Maggie to marry me, of course!”

  They laughed, shook hands all around, and then left the two wedding planners to finish up their tasks.

  As Herr Georg fell into a conversation with Cameron, and Finn, Artie, and Bumpy went off to make a final tour of the property to see if anything else needed to be done, Candy took her father by the arm and led him aside.

  “Maggie’s off picking up the groom’s gift for Herr Georg,” she told him in low tones, “and I actually have to leave as well to, um, run a few errands. Maggie should be back around seven, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Will you be okay with everything around here until I get back?”

  She noticed some wariness behind her father’s eyes as he responded. “Well, I’m sure I’ll be just fine, pumpkin. There’s not much left to do today. I was about to break out some beers for everyone. But what about these ‘errands’ of yours? Would they have anything to do with Julius?”

  She gave him a reassuring smile. “They might, Dad, but I promise I’ll be careful.”

  He didn’t appear convinced. “You know I worry about you.”

  “I know, Dad. And I appreciate it. There are just a few people I have to talk to. It’s really nothing more than that. I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble.”

  That seemed to reassure him just a little, and his expression softened. “Trouble does seem to follow you around, doesn’t it?” he said with a chuckle. “Guess it always has, ever since you were a little girl.”

  She gave him a sideways smirk. “I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

  “No, not really, but you were always adventurous. You had this need to know what was going on, and why. You hated being left out of things. I think you got some of that from your mother, God rest her soul. There were a few adventurers on her side of the family, you know.”

  Candy nodded. She’d heard the stories when she was little, and she had a flash of her father as a much younger man, full of vigor and the quest for knowledge. On an impulse, she leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Are you okay? Are you comfortable stepping into the best man’s shoes at the last minute like this?”

  “Oh, sure, it’s a big responsibility and an incredible honor. I’m sorry Julius can’t be here, but I’ll do my best to carry on the tradition.”

  “I’m certain he’d be happy to know you’re standing in for him. Well, I have to get going.” She gave him a wave. “I’ll be back later.”

  He nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out for you. Call if you need anything.”

  Before she left, she remembered to dash behind the barn to check on her chickens, and she fell into a brief conversation with Finn, who’d heard from his secret source at the Cape Willington Police Department but had nothing new to report. “They’re following up on a bunch of leads but haven’t closed in on the murderer yet,” he told her.

  “What about fingerprints on the bottle of champagne? Did they find anything there?”

  “The jury’s still out on that one. Last I heard, they’re already checking it out in the crime lab.”

  She thanked him for the information and was just climbing into her Jeep when she heard footsteps hurrying across the driveway after her, and she shifted around to see Herr Georg approaching.

  “Candy!” he said, holding up a finger when he caught her eye. “A moment, please!”

  She waited for him to cross the rest of the distance to her, watching him expectantly. “Herr Georg, did I forget something?”

  “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” the baker said, waving a hand. “I understand you’re heading off to do some sleuthing.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but yes, I need to talk to a few people.”

  “Good,” the baker said with a firm nod of his head. “I’m going with you.”

  “You are?” She pulled her head back at this sudden announcement.

  “Absolutely. Your father just said something to me about it and, well, I think it’s important that I accompany you.”

  “But I’ll be fine. And you have too many things to do here, and at the shop, don’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. There’s a murderer on the loose, and I’m not going to let you face any possible dangers alone, as you’ve done in the past. Besides, I’m just as involved in this thing as you are. So it’s only proper that I see it through to the end.”

  “I appreciate that, but I’m not sure how long it will take, or when I’ll get back. I’m not even totally sure where I’m going.”

  “Then we’ll figure it out together. Besides, to answer your questions, they’re just about finished up here, and I’m not ready to start baking yet. I have too much on my mind to fully enjoy the creative process, and I refuse to compromise on something I’ve been planning and anticipating for years. I must help finish this other business first, and clear both our names. Then I can focus on other things. Plus, I haven’t heard back from Maggie yet. So, for the moment, I’m a free man.”

&
nbsp; “Hopefully not for too much longer, if we solve this murder, and everything else goes as planned,” Candy said, trying to add a bit of levity. “To be honest, I’d appreciate your company. And you’re right—I don’t really know for certain what I’ll run into.”

  “Should we bring a weapon?” he asked, leaning in to whisper, his eyes wide.

  “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. We’ll make do. But before I agree to let you come along, I have one condition.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You drive. Your car’s more comfortable than mine.”

  The baker chuckled, and his mustache fluttered like a caterpillar in the wind as he spoke. “Agreed. So which way are we headed first?”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Judicious F. P. Bosworth was a man of mystery to many around town. The son and grandson of judges, heir to a family fortune and legacy, groomed with lofty ambitions for an illustrious career in the legal field, he’d eschewed all of that, throwing it away, in the eyes of some, and headed off to discover himself and find his place in the world. Over a period of years, his journey of exploration and illumination had led him across Europe and Asia to a mountaintop in Tibet, where he’d settled in at a Buddhist monastery, seeking inner peace. When he’d finally returned to Cape Willington many years later, he’d been firmly convinced of his mystical powers, including his ability to make himself invisible at will.

  Though few villagers believed he could actually do such a thing, they tended to humor him, often commenting to each other about it, saying things like, “Is Judicious being seen today?” or “I haven’t talked to Judicious in a while. When is he going to make himself visible again?” He’d even garnered some minor fame locally, thanks to a regular feature in the Crier, which kept track of his visible and invisible days. Numerous folks around town contributed to the report, sending texts and e-mails to the paper when they spotted him, and noting when he was absent from the sidewalks, shops, and events. Typically, his invisible days outnumbered his visible ones, though many attributed it to the fact that he was simply a bit of a recluse, and could deal with crowds and social occasions only in limited amounts.