Today, it appeared, he was not being seen.
On the way over, Candy had explained her reason for the visit to Herr Georg, who was driving his Volvo wagon, with Candy in the passenger seat. “We’re going to stop by and see Judicious Bosworth first,” she told the baker. “I want to see what we can find out about this brother of his.”
“Right. Marshall Bosworth,” Herr Georg commented.
Candy held up a finger. “Marshall L. Bosworth,” she said, emphasizing the middle initial.
The baker glanced over at her. “Is that significant?”
“It could be.” And briefly she described the list Owen had discovered the previous night, with the initials L. B. written on it.
“You think those initials could refer to Marshall?” the baker asked.
“That’s what we’re going to try to find out. Maybe he’s linked to this whole thing somehow.”
Judicious lived on the outskirts of town in an isolated log cabin on family-owned property along the river. Candy had visited the place a few times before but had never been inside. She’d heard it had a comfy décor, with easy chairs, a large stone fireplace, and bookshelves everywhere, housing a fairly extensive library favoring nature, religious, and New Age titles, as well as books on law, politics, and government. Though he rarely engaged in legal or political matters himself, and tended to stay on the periphery of the gatherings he attended, he kept a close eye on community events, like its festivals, cook-offs, bashes, and fairs. He also had a knack for showing up at opportune moments, especially when Candy was in a tight spot and sorely in need of a diversion or helping hand.
The sun was falling toward the tops of the trees to the west as Herr Georg made the turnoff onto a single-lane dirt road that led down to the river. It was a tight fit, through low trees and dense shrubs, which pressed in from either side. The canopy of branches and leaves overhead was beginning to fill out, shading them in a ladderlike strobe effect as they followed the road’s twists and turns. It bottomed out at one place and became rougher and more pockmarked, but soon it was rising again. Up ahead, through the dark tree trunks and blossoming foliage, a small log cabin came into view.
Judicious had no car, so the parking spot in front of his place was empty; he walked wherever he needed to go, or hitched a ride when he could. He also had a bike, which was now propped up against the side of the house, next to the fishing poles, ladder, tree trimmer, and a variety of shovels, hoes, and other garden equipment.
The old rocker on the porch was empty too. The front door was closed. The windows were dark. No sign of Judicious anywhere.
After Herr Georg stopped the car, Candy climbed out, stepped up onto the porch, and knocked on the cabin’s door, but wasn’t surprised when no one answered. She stepped down off the porch and walked around the side to see if he was behind the house, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“His bike’s still here,” she told Herr Georg as she climbed back into the Volvo. “He could still be around here somewhere, in the woods or down by the river, or he could have walked into town—or he really could be just about anywhere, I suppose.”
“So what should we do?”
“I think,” Candy said, her gaze shifting back and forth to the woods on either side, “we should wait a few minutes and see what happens. I have a feeling he just might turn up.”
And he did. Fewer than five minutes later he came walking along one of the paths that wound back through the trees behind the house, materializing bit by bit like an apparition emerging from a mist, so that at first they weren’t certain it was actually him, until he stepped out onto the narrow dirt lane and approached the car.
He was wearing a great floppy hat and hefted a walking stick in one hand, taller than he was. For some strange reason, he reminded her of Gandalf, though he had only short stubble on his jaws instead of a full beard. His dark hair had grown out and was as long and lanky as he was, slipping from under the hat and puddling at his shoulders.
Candy waved at him and leaned out the window. “Hi, Judicious. Hope we’re not disturbing you.”
He shook his head. “No, not disturbing. Not disturbing. I’ve been expecting you,” he said as he approached. His mouth was working a little, as if he were chewing over the words. “I heard what happened to Julius Seabury. Very sad. I suppose that’s what this is about.”
“It is,” Candy confirmed. It was best to be straightforward with Judicious.
He stopped a few feet from the car and planted the bottom end of the walking stick into the dirt. “And I’ve heard my brother is in town,” he continued, addressing them both through the open driver’s side window without leaning down to look at them. “I’m guessing one of you has run into him.”
“Yes, I have,” said Herr Georg, leaning over so he could look up at the newcomer. “Out at the Whitby place this morning.”
That actually got a reaction out of Judicious, a slight movement of his typically stoic features, and in the brief silence that followed, Candy added, “We didn’t know you had a brother, Judicious. So we wanted to talk to you about him, too, if that’s okay.”
He gave the slightest nod of his head. His eyes were thin, dark slits, recessing into his head, as if he were deep in thought. “You want to talk about the family, then, and how we’re tied into the Sykes clan.”
“You’re reading my mind,” Candy said with a reassuring smile. “I wasn’t aware your family had ties to the Sykeses. But, yes, that could be important.”
“Then you’re trying to find out who killed Julius—and why.”
Candy’s response was brief. “Yes.”
Again, silence, as the wind rattled tree branches and leaves. “Well, you’d better come in then. I’ll put on the tea. We have a lot to talk about, and we don’t have much time.”
“Why not?” Candy asked, uncertain about his last few words.
“Because if I’m guessing correctly, I’d say the situation surrounding Julius’s death is still fluid. The murderer still wants something, and hasn’t achieved it yet. And that means someone else in town could die—possibly sooner rather than later.”
TWENTY-NINE
Once they were inside, Judicious disappeared, though not in a supernatural sense. He ducked into a back room, and when he emerged, he’d changed into black shorts and a black T-shirt. The hat was gone, the walking stick left by the side of the front door. He made a quick stop in the kitchen to put on a kettle, and finally returned to the cluttered living room. He was barefoot as he sat down, tucking his feet up underneath him, assuming a sort of lotus sitting position. It took him a few moments to get settled, and to start talking, but when he did, he told them what they wanted to know. As he spoke, his eyes darted around, rarely alighting on his guests, and he frequently gestured with his hands.
“This all goes back generations,” he said when all the preambles were out of the way, “to the turn of the twentieth century, when the Sykes family still had a number of principal holdings in the area, including their mansion. They also owned a few businesses along Ocean Avenue, and a good share of the warehouses along the river, and were heavily invested in a small line of steamboats that took passengers up the English, Penobscot, and Kennebec rivers. Back then, they were wealthy and successful—until their fortunes began to fail. They suffered from a series of setbacks over a period of a few decades.”
“Why, what happened?” asked Herr Georg, intrigued.
Judicious shrugged, bony shoulders showing through his T-shirt. “Bad decisions, in part, and some back luck. Railroads came along and took a large part of their transport business, and then the advent of the automobile made river steamboats obsolete. But they also encountered resistance and opposition from the more powerful Pruitts.”
“Ah, yes, the local family feud,” Candy said. “Our version of the Hatfields and McCoys.”
Judicious gave her an enigmatic smile. “Th
at’s a pretty good analogy. The disagreements and clashes between the two families went on for decades, and their animosity for each other could turn quite vicious at times.” He paused and pointed toward his bookshelves. “Some local writers have speculated that many of our current troubles stem in part from those old, lingering hatreds between the two families, with the rest of us caught in between.”
“You’re talking about all these murders we’ve had over the past seven years or so,” Candy said, making it more of a statement than a question. “Is that what Julius thought?”
Judicious twisted his head toward her oddly, like a baby bird. His gaze was suddenly piercing. “Him, and others. Don’t you feel the same way?”
Candy hesitated before she responded, but she had to admit he was right. “It does seem like there’s something larger going on around here, yes. So what did you mean when you said someone else is about to die?”
“I don’t have any hard evidence,” he admitted. “It’s more of a feeling, or perhaps more accurately, a speculation. I believe Julius wasn’t killed because of who he was, or what he was doing, but because of what he knew.”
Candy nodded her agreement. She felt the same way.
“He discovered something during his research,” Judicious continued. “And someone else found out what he’d learned. That someone—the murderer—had to stop him from doing whatever he was planning. Maybe Julius found something in one of those old books he was using for his research, or possibly he overheard a private conversation when he was upstairs at the museum. Maybe he got in someone’s way, or refused to give up the information he knew. And that means there’s something else going on, something larger—and another target.”
“But who?” Herr Georg asked, his eyes wide.
“I don’t know that yet.”
“Someone at the museum?” Candy prompted. “Someone in town?”
When Judicious responded with a shake of his head, she tried a different angle. “So how did your brother get involved with Porter Sykes? Marshall told Herr Georg he’s representing the Sykes family, which is news to me. Why them instead of the Pruitts?”
Judicious’s expression darkened. “Ah, Marshall.” The word came out in the most ferocious tone Candy had ever heard from Judicious, who typically displayed a more genial manner. “I don’t agree with everything my family does, I should make that clear. It’s why I left, why I went to Europe and Asia. It’s why it took me so long to come back, why I’m in Cape Willington instead of Bangor or Portland. It’s why I’m not in the family business. It’s why I live here, like this, a hermit of sorts. You could say I’m the black sheep of the family, the one who went in a different direction, much to my father’s dismay. But I don’t see it that way.”
The kettle whistle blew, and he rose then, walking to the kitchen. They could hear him clinking around in there. He returned a few minutes later with mugs of a good strong tea for all of them, which he handed around. As he settled back into his seat, legs crossed, his expression was lighter. He absently dunked his tea bag into the mug of hot water as he continued.
“To answer your question, our family represented both the Sykes and Pruitt families for a while, generations ago, until we were forced to make a choice between the two—or, rather, my great-grandfather, Stanton Harlan Hay Bosworth, was. We in the family often refer to him simply as ‘H. H.’ He’s the one who set the tone for the generations that followed. He had a falling-out with Horace Roberts Pruitt at one point over something to do with the Sykeses—though it was a clash of egos more than anything else, really, and had been building for a while—and was given an ultimatum by Horace: them or us. Unfortunately, H. H. didn’t respond well to veiled threats, no matter who they came from. He abruptly terminated the family’s association with the Pruitts. This was just after the turn of the twentieth century. The head of the Sykes clan at the time, a rather sour man by the name of Thaddeus Montgomery Sykes, tapped H. H. as the family’s primary attorney, confidant, consigliere, and executor of the family’s estate and assets the very next day. We’ve been in league with them ever since.”
“In league?” Candy thought it was an odd choice of words.
Judicious moved uncomfortably in his chair. “Some of the endeavors of the Sykes family have been, should we say, in gray areas—though they don’t see it that way, of course, and neither do the other members of my family.”
“Were there repercussions from the Pruitts?” Herr Georg wondered.
“Over the years, yes, numerous times. But we survived, in part by being canny, and in part by remembering that money motivates all business decisions.”
“And now your brother carries on the tradition with the Sykeses,” Candy observed.
“He does,” Judicious said simply. “He’s their gofer, to be blunt about it. But a very well-paid one.”
“That’s what he was doing this morning when I met him,” Herr Georg said. “Checking out the Whitby place before Porter Sykes arrives tomorrow.”
Judicious nodded knowingly, as if already aware of this information. “I’d heard Marshall was in town—or Lex, as we used to call him when we were younger. But I didn’t know why. I suppose it all makes sense now.”
Candy’s ears perked up. “Lex?”
“His middle name: Marshall Lex Bosworth. Lex, as you might know, is the Latin word for ‘law.’ It’s a tradition among my family to use some type of legal term or the name of a prominent attorney or judge somewhere in our names. That was his, in part. He’s named after John Marshall, who was the secretary of state under John Adams and the fourth chief justice of the Supreme Court. Stanton, Harlon, Hay, Rutledge—they’re all taken from noteworthy lawyers, many of whom sat on the Supreme Court.”
“So your brother was commonly known as Lex Bosworth?” Candy pressed.
“For most of his life and to his close friends, yes, though professionally he uses his first name these days.”
“What kind of connection did he have with Julius?”
“Julius?” That seemed to stump Judicious. “I’m not sure they had much of a connection at all. I’m not sure they even knew each other.”
Candy decided to reveal a key bit of information. “I believe Julius wrote a note before he died, perhaps containing a number of clues, including the initials L. B. I’m wondering if it might be a reference to your brother.”
“In what context was this?” Judicious asked.
“It was associated with a list of names of the town’s founding families—your family, plus the Ethinghams, Whitbys, and Rainsfords, as well as the Palfrey and Sykes families. Could there be any significance in those names, other than their ties to the cape?”
“Sure,” said Judicious almost at once. “My family has represented all those families at one time or another—and still does, some of them, I believe.”
Candy turned to Herr Georg, her eyes twinkling with excitement at this new discovery. “That’s the link then. Marshall Bosworth. L. B.”
“Do you think he has something to do with Julius’s death?” the baker asked.
For an answer, Candy turned back to Judicious. “What do you think? Could Marshall do something like that? Is it possible?”
If Judicious was offended by the suggestion that a member of his family might be associated with a murder, he didn’t show it. “I don’t think he’s that brave—or that crazy. Or that stupid, for that matter.”
“Do you two plan to get together while he’s in town?” Herr Georg asked.
“No.”
Judicious didn’t elaborate, and neither Candy nor Herr Georg pressed further. “I have just a few more questions,” Candy said after taking another sip of tea, “and then we’ll get out of your hair and let you get back to . . . whatever you were doing.”
Judicious nodded as he glanced out the window to gauge the light. He seemed anxious to move on, to head back outside, so she quickl
y asked her questions. “Have you ever heard of a place called Foul Mouth?”
He turned back to her and thought a few moments before he answered, “No.”
Candy nodded at his response. She hadn’t expected much. She tried again. “You mentioned local historians earlier. Have you ever heard of a woman named Lucinda Dowling?” She held up her index finger and thumb, about half an inch apart. “She wrote these thin histories of some of the town’s founding families, including those I mentioned earlier.”
Here, his response was more positive. “I have. She also wrote a two-volume history about the Pruitts, and books on others, like the Kimballs, the Libbys, the Trembles, and the Frosts.”
“Really? I didn’t see all those on the shelves up in the archives.”
“Oh, they’re there somewhere,” Judicious said. “I have copies of some of them here, if you’d like to see them.”
Candy set down her mug of tea and flashed him a smile. “Actually, I would . . . if it’s not too much trouble.”
Judicious seemed mildly surprised by her response, but he didn’t seem to mind complying. “No trouble at all.”
He pushed himself up out of his chair. Candy rose as well, and the baker followed suit, though hesitantly.
Judicious motioned with a hand. “This way.”
It was a small cabin but efficiently laid out and furnished. He took them through the kitchen and then into his bedroom in the back, which doubled as a study. Two tall windows looked out at the woods behind the house. A single bed covered with a multicolored quilt was pushed into one corner and flanked by two low wood dressers. In the opposite corner, two worktables pushed together and arranged in an L shape were filled with stacks of books, which overflowed onto the floor and surrounding floor-to-ceiling shelves. In addition, the shelves were filled with mementos and knickknacks, magazines and photographs. Candy wanted to take a closer look but held herself back. She didn’t want to appear as if she was snooping.
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