Town in a Wild Moose Chase chm-3

by B. B. Haywood

  She’s trying to escape, but it won’t let her go, Candy thought, and she knows it.

  It was not the most elegant piece in the park, and had some crude elements to it. And it looked unfinished. Gina hadn’t shown up today to complete her creation. But enough of it was there, evidence of Gina as an emerging artist. Perhaps, in some subconscious way, the ice princess expressed Gina’s own inner feelings.

  Is she trying to break free of something too?

  Leaving the question unanswered, Candy pointed. “I think that’s the one we’re looking for.”

  “The ice princess.” Maggie let out a shivery breath as she gazed upon it.

  “Let’s check it out.”

  They circled it several times, studying it from all angles. Its ruggedness appealed to Candy, and she decided she liked it. Gina might still be developing as an artist, but she had a style all her own.

  But was it hiding a clue?

  Check at the foot of the Ice Princess. Your destiny awaits.

  She stepped up close to the sculpture and looked at the ice down toward the bottom, near the snow-covered ground. It looked smooth and unblemished. She searched along the foundation on the second side, and the third. She ran her gloved hand over the ice, studying it in the bright light and shadows cast by the spotlights. Maggie searched as well.

  They found what they were looking for on the sculpture’s back side, directly beneath the woman’s right ear, at the bottom near the ground.

  There was something embedded in the ice.

  Candy bent, and Maggie leaned forward with her hands on her knees. “What is it, and how the heck did it get in there?”

  “Someone must have put it there for us to find.”

  “It’s a bottle,” Maggie said, after studying it from several angles.

  She was right, Candy realized.

  It looked like a small plastic water bottle. Its transparent skin had made it difficult to identify at first.

  “And I think there’s some sort of note inside,” Maggie added after further inspection.

  Intrigued, Candy reached out a gloved hand toward it but came up against the hardened ice.

  She brushed her hand over the ice several times, studying it and the bottle inside.

  It finally dawned on her what she was looking at.

  Maggie let out a little gasp as Candy pulled back her arm, folded her fingers into a fist, and jabbed quickly at the ice.

  It cracked.

  “It’s just a thin covering.”

  The bottle wasn’t embedded in the ice; it was sitting in some kind of pocket. Candy jabbed at the thin covering a couple more times, finally breaking the ice. She cleared away the shards, reached in, and withdrew the bottle.

  It had once held local spring water, she saw, but now, as Maggie had said, it contained a folded sheet of paper with writing upon it.

  A message in a bottle.

  Maggie gazed at it, trying to decipher the writing on the note. “What do you think it says?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  The cap had frozen in place, but Candy finally managed to untwist it. She tipped the bottle upside down. The note was thin and tightly folded, making it easy to slip into the bottle’s small round hole. Still, she had some difficulty getting it back out, since it had unfolded during the time it had been inside. She slapped the bottom of the bottle several times, trying to get the note to pop down through the opening, but finally she had to slide her pinky far enough inside so she could compress the note down, coax it out, and snag its leading edge with her fingernails.

  “Got it,” she said finally.

  It was a three-by-five-inch piece of paper, folded lengthwise, and a color other than white, either blue or purple. Or possibly gray. She couldn’t quite tell in this light.

  The message was short, written in a shaky, erratic hand, as if someone was purposely trying to disguise their handwriting style.

  Hidden Valley, Cabin 9, it read.

  “What’s it say?” Maggie asked, looking over Candy’s shoulder.

  Candy read it to her.

  “Hidden Valley? That’s that motel up on Route 1.”

  “That’s right,” Candy said, thinking. She stooped and took another look at the pocket in the ice in which the bottle had been hidden. It looked neatly done, a hollowed-out area with smooth sides that had been professionally cut with an electric saw of some sort, not dug out from the ice with a hand pick or hatchet.

  Candy studied it. Preston could have carved it out of there anytime over the past day or two. Gina hadn’t been in the park that day, so she wouldn’t have noticed the strange item embedded in her sculpture. And anyone who might have seen Preston creating the hollowed-out space would probably just have taken him for another sculptor. It would have been an easy task to accomplish.

  But why the elaborate ruse?

  Candy had the sudden, strange feeling that she was an unaware vole trying to hide under the snow, being pursued by a cunning, hungry fox.

  She looked at the note in her hand again, reading the note’s terse wording. Finally, shaking her head, she looked up at her friend.

  “I know it’s getting late, but are you up for a road trip?”

  Thirty-Nine

  Despite the recent snows, the road was well cleared, salted, and sanded. They took Maggie’s car, a ten-year-old Subaru wagon with all-wheel drive—the official car of Maine, as many people called it—and headed out of Cape Willington, north to Route 1. The night had cleared and the stars shone brightly, and with the heat blasting out of the wagon’s interior vents, they were warm enough.

  They’d made a quick stop at the dry cleaner’s to change. Candy pulled on some of the clothes she’d worn to disguise herself the previous day. They didn’t fit her perfectly, but they were better than a fancy dress for what they were planning on doing. Reluctantly, she left the dress on a hanger on the unclaimed rack, right where it belonged. Maggie had managed to scrounge up a pair of jeans and sweater—her own, as it turned out. They dressed quickly, pulled their boots, wool coats, and hats back on, and off they went.

  They talked little on the way. Maggie turned the radio to a news channel, and they listened for any information about Liam Yates, Duncan Leggmeyer, or Victor Templeton, but instead they got an evening call-in show with periodic weather updates and a little national news.

  Traffic was light at this time of the night, and they made good time. Just before nine thirty they reached Route 1. A half mile east of its intersection with Route 192, they saw the neon sign for the Hidden Valley Motel and Cabins, with the NO VACANCY light turned on.

  Maggie flicked on her turn signal, checked her mirrors, and drove into the motel’s parking lot. The car crept along slowly as she headed along the long row of rooms, toward the one- and two-bedroom cabins at the rear of the property, which backed up against a stream and dense, frozen woods.

  “Cabin number nine’s over that way,” Candy said, indicating a small sign that pointed to the left. Maggie turned the car in that direction, but Candy put a hand on her shoulder. “Back up and park over there,” she said softly, “just in case. I’ll walk over and check it out.”

  Maggie backed the car between a Ford F150 pickup truck and a van, where she’d be fairly well hidden, and switched off the engine. For a few moments they sat inside, keeping warm, gazing out the windshield in the direction of the cabin.

  “So what do we do now?” Maggie finally asked, her voice betraying her nervousness.

  Candy let out a breath and turned toward her. “I’m going to have a look in one of those windows. You stay here.”

  “But what if—”

  “Just stay here. I’ll be right back.” And before she could change her mind, Candy opened the door and stepped out of the car.

  The air was crisp, but the wind had died down, so it wasn’t biting. In fact, in some ways, she found it invigorating, and perhaps even mildly pleasant. Again, she thought, it would have been a wonderful night for a stro
ll with Ben, and wondered what he’d found out at the police station. She decided to call him as soon as she could.

  Cabin number nine sat in the midst of a copse of trees, tucked at the end of a little spur of a road that hooked off the main parking lot. Candy hurried along as quietly as she could, though her boots crunched on the frozen surface. The night was surprisingly quiet, everything silenced by the cold blanket of snow. In the stillness, the sound of her boots on the icepack sounded like firearms going off, like an army was approaching the cabin.

  But as she got closer, she doubted anyone would hear her, since there was no one around to notice. The cabin’s windows were dark. The lights were out. There were no cars parked out front. The place looked deserted.

  She stopped twenty feet away, hands tucked into her coat pockets as she debated what to do next. Should she knock? Peek into the windows? Turn around and go home?

  She was still trying to decide when she heard a car approaching through the parking lot behind her. Turning, she saw headlights stabbing through the darkness. The vehicle was headed in her direction.

  At first she thought it might be Maggie’s car, until she realized it wasn’t a wagon. Instead, it was a sleek late-model crossover vehicle with a dark exterior.

  The vehicle came steadily on, passing by Maggie’s car without slowing. As it approached, Candy stepped back among the trees that lined the short driveway to the cabin. The vehicle angled left and came directly toward her. Candy surreptitiously slipped behind a tree trunk as it drove past her. The rear LED brake lights came on, illuminating the night with an eerie red glow, as the vehicle stopped in front of cabin number nine.

  The engine continued to run, but the taillights flicked out, and a few moments later the headlights went out too, leaving the area in semidarkness.

  The driver’s-side door opened, and Felicia Gaspar stepped out.

  Forty

  She was alone, Candy saw. There was no one else in the vehicle with her.

  Leaving the car door open, Felicia walked briskly to the cabin. She was dressed in a black hooded cloak with jeans and calf-high boots—the same outfit she’d had on earlier in the day when Candy had caught sight of her lurking among the trees in Town Park. She’d draped a gray scarf loosely around her throat and wore expensive leather gloves.

  As she walked to the cabin door, she quickly looked around, but she failed to notice Candy hidden in the shadows among the trees. Felicia knocked softly, waiting only a few moments before she pushed at the cabin door, entered, and closed the door firmly behind her.

  Candy saw a light flicker on inside. Cautiously she emerged from her hiding place, taking a few tentative steps toward the cabin. She was ready to dive for cover again should Felicia suddenly appear, but instead, after a few moments, she heard voices inside.

  Voices? Who else was in there with her?

  Curious, Candy took a few steps closer.

  She could hear the voices raised in anger now. Candy listened, trying to make out the words, but they were too indistinct. Still, the second voice sounded familiar. Candy was sure she’d heard it before.

  Then it dawned on her.

  The more she listened, the more she was certain of it.

  The argument inside had fallen into softer tones, but Candy still sensed an air of strain and desperation from the two people inside.

  Again, she debated what to do. But even as she considered her options, she knew she had to take an aggressive approach. There would never be another chance. It had to be now.

  With her stomach tightening in apprehension, and her throat suddenly dry in the cold, still air, she took the final few steps forward, stopped in front of the cabin door, slipped off her right-hand glove, and knocked decisively several times.

  Instantly the voices inside fell into a hush, and the lights went out. Abruptly, they were all cloaked again in darkness.

  Candy heard a quick toot of a horn behind her. She turned.

  Maggie had been watching and was wondering if everything was okay. Candy could see her waving inside the car. Candy waved back, then turned and knocked again. “Hello, is anyone in there?” she called out. “It’s Candy Holliday.”

  After a few moments she heard low whispers from inside. It took a while, but a latch flicked. The knob turned and the door opened a few inches. A face hovered in the shadows.

  “What do you want?” a female voice asked from inside.

  “I want to talk to Gina.”

  The face disappeared. The door closed.

  Candy knocked again. “I have a friend nearby. She has the police on speed dial. You have ten seconds or I’m going to tell her to call them.”

  She had learned a little bit about bluffing from Doc, who played poker just about every Friday night with his buddies. She had fudged the truth, but it worked.

  The door opened again.

  Felicia had one hand hidden behind her cloak. She looked very unhappy. “Since you insist, you might as well come in.”

  Candy took a deep breath, nodded, and stepped inside after kicking the snow off her boots.

  It was a neat one-bedroom cabin, decorated in rose, sea green, and cream colors. The front room had a small sitting area with a TV and sofa, and a dining area and kitchen on the other side. Doors from the main room led into what Candy guessed were a bathroom and bedroom. The bedroom door was closed.

  There was no sign of Gina.

  “How did you find this place?” Felicia asked, standing nervously near the kitchen counter. But a moment later she answered her own question. “It was Preston Smith, wasn’t it? I knew he was up to something sneaky. He tipped you off, right?”

  Candy ignored the question as she scanned the room. “Where is she?”

  Felicia forced a smile. “Where is who?”

  “Gina. I heard her voice. I know she’s here.”

  “You’re mistaken.”

  “There are two of you in here.”

  “I’m here by myself. And you’re not welcome here. Now get out.”

  Candy hesitated. She’d checked the place out. She’d done all she could. Now it was time to leave.

  She was turning toward the door when she heard a thump from the bedroom. Her gaze shifted. “Someone’s in there. It’s Gina, isn’t it?”

  Felicia threw up her arms and gave Candy an exasperated look. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She let out an exaggerated breath as she crossed to the bedroom door and swung it wide open. “You might as well come on out,” she said to the person inside. “She knows you’re here.”

  Inside, Gina Templeton was seated on the bed, hands folded in her lap. When she saw Candy, she nodded, rose, and walked out of the bedroom into the living room. Her hair was uncombed, her clothes were rumpled, and she had bags under her eyes. She looked like she had just woken up. She still wore her scarf tightly around her neck.

  “Gina, what are you doing here? What’s going on?” Candy asked, shooting a glance at Felicia. “Is everything okay?”

  “No, everything is not okay,” Gina pronounced firmly, her voice raspy with sleep.

  “Why? What’s happening?

  “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” Gina said with tired eyes and a drawn face, “but you have to promise me one thing.”

  “And what’s that?” Candy asked.

  Gina rubbed her nose and sniffled. “No police.”

  Forty-One

  “Gina, I can’t promise you that,” Candy said honestly, “but I promise I’ll hear you out.”

  Felicia took a few steps toward her. In a tense voice, she said, “We don’t have to tell you anything.” To Gina, she added, “Just remember that.”

  Gina Templeton folded her hands and nodded. She looked tired, frail. Her eyes had taken on a haunted look. “It’s okay,” she said to Felicia. “We have to talk to someone. We have to let them know what happened before.…”

  Her voice trailed off as her gaze shifted. Candy turned to look as well. Sitting beside the door were several bags of luggage. />
  It took Candy a few moments to fully grasp what it meant. “You’re leaving?”

  “I can’t stay,” Gina said fretfully. “Too much has happened. I have to leave. I have to figure out what to do.”

  “Have you talked to the police?” Candy asked.

  “Yes, but…” She paused, again glancing toward Felicia. “I can’t go back there. I have nothing else to say to them.”

  “Gina, you have to talk to the police about Victor, especially if you know how he died.”

  At that, Gina seemed to shrink away. With all the energy she had left, she lowered herself into an upholstered armchair next to a small maple desk. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said weakly, putting a hand to her forehead.

  Candy was silent for a moment. She looked from Gina to Felicia and back again. “Gina,” Candy said as gently as she could, “someone murdered your husband. You have to go back to the police and tell them everything you know—whatever it might be.”

  “I can’t,” Gina said, trying to hold back her emotions.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s complicated,” Gina said, “and it involves our friends.”

  “Yes, but…” Candy stopped and thought about it. Maybe it was time to take a different approach. “The hatchet belonged to Duncan, didn’t it?” When again she received no reply, she explained, “I found Solomon Hatch in the woods today. He had taken all Victor’s belongings, plus the hatchet, off Victor’s body before he moved it out to the road. The police have the hatchet now, and they know it’s the murder weapon.”

  A defiant look crept into Gina’s eyes. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “I checked it online. Duncan won that contest. They gave him the hatchet as an award.”

  “The website is wrong,” Gina said, her voice cracking. “It wasn’t Duncan’s.”

  “Then whose was it?”

  Felicia finally spoke up. “It was Liam’s. That’s what she’s trying to tell you. That’s what the police must have found out, and that’s why they arrested him.”