Town in a Wild Moose Chase

by B. B. Haywood

  It was no use. The place was buttoned up tight and apparently vacant.

  She tried the doorknob. It was locked.

  There was no pad or slot for an electronic key card, she noticed. Instead, the doorknob had a simple well-used keyhole.

  She appeared to be in the right spot. Victor must have been here at some point over the past few days.

  What might he have left behind?

  She decided to try the office. Maybe she could figure out a way to get another key so she could inspect the room—maybe she would tell the person behind the counter that she was Victor’s sister or cousin or something like that.

  She was just coming around the corner of the building, heading into the main parking lot, when she saw a police car bearing the insignia of the Cape Willington Police Department pull into the driveway in front of the motel’s office.

  The vehicle came to a halt, and a few moments later, Officer Jody McCroy stepped out from the driver’s seat.

  THIRTY-TWO

  As quickly and as casually as possible, so as not to draw attention to herself, Candy turned around and slipped back around the corner of the building.

  Officer Jody? What the heck is he doing here?

  At first she felt a deep flash of paranoia, thinking he’d come for her, but a few moments later she worked out the most likely reason for his sudden appearance.

  They’d figured it out. The police had traced the hotel room key to the Shangri-La, just as she’d done. Chief Durr must have sent Officer McCroy to investigate.

  More than likely he had the key with him. He’d be able to show it to the person behind the check-in counter. Would they recognize it? Would they point him back to room twenty-three?

  And here she was, standing right next to what very well could be Victor Templeton’s car, and in front of a room he’d likely stayed in.

  She was trapped.

  She’d be in a heap of trouble if Officer McCroy discovered her here, especially after the repeated warnings she’d received from Chief Durr—and her own promise to stay out of the investigation.

  “Candy, what have you done?” she chided herself. She felt a moment of panic but forced herself to stay calm. “Just think. You can get out of this if you stay cool and figure it out.”

  After waiting for her rapidly beating heart to slow down, she edged up to the corner of the building and chanced a look around it.

  Officer McCroy was just walking into the office. His back was to her as he approached an older woman behind the counter and began to talk to her, gesturing back toward the motel rooms.

  His attention was focused in a different direction. If she was going to do something, now was the time, before he headed in her direction and completely cut off any avenue of escape.

  Before she had time to think about what she was doing, she made her move.

  She stayed close to the side of the building, turning right and right again along the four rooms that made up the short end of the building’s L shape, before angling left toward her teal-colored, easily identifiable Jeep. It was parked right in front of her, outside room number ten, near the center of the building. Fortunately, a beige-colored family van was parked a few spaces away on the other side, closer to the front of the motel. There was a good chance it had shielded the Jeep from Officer McCroy’s view as he’d stepped out of his vehicle and made his way to the office.

  Whether she could make it out of the lot without getting noticed, well, that was a different matter.

  She fished the keys out of her pocket and climbed inside, glancing anxiously toward the office as she started the engine. It sputtered to life.

  She put the transmission into reverse but kept her foot on the brake pedal. She knew she didn’t have much time. In a matter of minutes, or seconds, Officer McCroy would come walking out of the office and head straight up the slope toward her. There’d be no way to hide from him then, and she’d have some explaining to do. She hadn’t broken any laws—at least, she didn’t think so—but she’d have the book thrown at her nonetheless.

  It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Not in the least. So it was best to get out of Dodge while the getting was good.

  Still, she hesitated, waiting for the right moment. And as luck would have it, the right moment showed up sooner than she’d hoped.

  A large Ford SUV came down the road, slowed, and turned into the motel’s parking lot, where it crept along toward the office as the occupants of the vehicle peered about. It was a husband and wife, Candy could see, and they were trying to determine whether this was a good place to stop.

  Candy used their indecision to her advantage. Pulling on her seat belt and checking over her shoulder, she backed up, shifted gears, and drove toward the front of the motel, staying to the left side of the parking lot and the SUV. This put it between her and the office, blocking the view of anyone who might look out and see her as she drove past.

  She timed it as well as she could, passing by the office on the far side of the SUV. It might be enough, she hoped, to make a clean getaway.

  As she reached the street, she cast a quick glance over her right shoulder. Officer McCroy was still talking to the woman behind the counter, who was gesturing toward the rear of the building. He took a few steps to his side and peered out the office window, back toward room twenty-three and the spot where Candy had been sitting just a few moments earlier.

  At the bottom of the parking lot she braked, carefully double-checked in both directions, turned the steering wheel to the right, and accelerated down the road toward Cape Willington, apparently unseen.

  She was a good mile or two away when she finally let out her breath.

  “Candy Holliday,” she said with a shake of her head, “you’ve got to stop doing that to yourself.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  “There,” Doc said as he finally managed to secure the clasp behind her neck, after several noble yet frustrating attempts. He patted her shoulders affectionately, gave her a kiss on the side of her head, and stepped away. “Let’s see how that looks.”

  She gently let her hair back down and felt for the string of pearls around her neck before dropping her hands to her sides and turning to face him. “So, do I look fancy enough for the ball?” she asked her father, somewhat facetiously.

  Doc looked her up and down. She could see the pride in his eyes. “Sweetie, you look like a billion bucks. We’ve increased it, you know, due to inflation.”

  She beamed. “The dress does look good, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s beautiful on you. It fits perfectly.”

  “Almost like it was tailored for me.” It was expertly crafted, that was certain—a black, sleeveless Givenchy number with a form-fitting design that fell to just above her knees. She knew Maggie had good taste, but never guessed she or Amanda owned anything this nice. She must have picked it up at one of the outlets somewhere, Candy surmised, or maybe even at the Goodwill—though it must have been at a time when Candy hadn’t been with her, for she’d surely have remembered if Maggie had bought a dress like this.

  She’d managed to locate a fairly decent pair of black high heels at the back of her closet, and a dark gray wool business coat she’d kept from her earlier days. It felt a little loose around her but would work for tonight. She’d also pulled a silver clutch purse from the bottom drawer of an old bureau in the corner of her room, and found a black tote bag to carry her heels in. She had no intention of putting them on until she was at the ball. She’d wear her boots until then, high society be damned.

  She’d done her best with her hair, which she’d kept at shoulder length for most of the past year. She’d toyed with the idea of growing it out again but liked the simplicity of simply washing it out, combing it loosely, and letting it go au naturel around the farm. For tonight, however, she’d combed it out and arranged it neatly around her face, tucking one side behind her ear. This showed off her earrings and gave her an elegant yet not too formal look. She liked it.

  In fact, she liked t
he way she looked tonight. She’d even applied a little makeup, including red lipstick.

  She hadn’t dressed up this nice since she moved to Blueberry Acres, and she was pleased and a little surprised by the result. “You clean up real nice for a farmer,” she said into the mirror.

  Doc had his camera out and snapped a few pictures of her, and took a few more when Ben arrived, decked out in formal attire, his long hair combed back from his forehead, to take her to the ball.

  He told her she looked beautiful, helped her into her coat, and shook hands with Doc before escorting her out to his warmed-up Range Rover. “I have the heat on full blast,” he told her as he opened the passenger-side door. “I didn’t know what you’d be wearing so I wanted you to be comfortable.”

  She climbed inside, and he closed the door behind her, locking out the cold. As he ran around to the other side, skirting the front of the vehicle, she arranged her dress and coat carefully around her, settling in front of the hot air vent, and turned to admire Ben in his stylish attire as he climbed into the driver’s seat beside her.

  “You’re looking particularly dashing this evening,” she told him.

  He laughed as he put on his seat belt. “To be honest, I kind of feel dashing. I haven’t dressed up like this in a while.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Well,” he said, eyeing her one last time before he turned his attention to the road, “I’m glad we’re doing this together then. I think it’s long overdue for both of us.”

  The small yet elegant ballroom at the Lightkeeper’s Inn was attached to the back of the building, though to call it an add-on would be a gross understatement. Officially referred to as the Elias J. Pruitt Ballroom, it had been built in the 1920s to Elias’s precise specifications for the wedding-eve dinner of his beloved daughter, Eleanor, a debutante from Boston. The room was large enough to accommodate one hundred and sixty guests, though it seemed intimate, thanks to its design. It was decorated in sage greens, pale yellows, and muted browns, giving it a casual yet classic look, enhanced by a simply designed wainscotting of Maine pine. The multilevel ceiling, higher in the middle and lower on the sides, added a dramatic architectural element and served an important function during the day, letting in filtered light through windows high in the raised center section.

  Tables draped with crisp linen cloths were carefully arranged on either side of the room, some tucked under sconces or into alcoves, leaving the center of the room open for one of its most distinguishing features, a highly polished floor of imported exotic hardwood that Elias, an international merchant, had shipped in from Africa for precisely this purpose. He’d had all the tableware brought in from England, the silverware from China, and the linens from France. He’d ordered the creation of the delicate central crystal chandelier, called the Queen by the staff, handmade in Germany, and the furniture, designed and built by the finest New England craftsmen. He’d even brought in his own mason to create the magnificent floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, the room’s centerpiece, ablaze for the evening, its flames reflected by the polished dance floor that stretched out in front of it, leading all the way to the double French doors at the opposite side of the room.

  Candelabra on each of the tables were lit, giving off a soft glow, and in the corner, a string quartet played a Strauss waltz as Ben and Candy entered.

  Ben stopped just inside the French doors and looked down at the card in his hand, which they’d exchanged for their thirty-dollar tickets at a table in the hallway outside, right after Candy had switched out her boots for heels and stowed her outer gear at the hat check. “We’re at table seven,” he said, looking around the room, which was beginning to fill with guests. He pointed to the left of the fireplace. “I think we’re over that way.”

  Hand in hand, they started through the crowd, stopping first at the bar to pick up drinks—Champagne for Candy, a martini for Ben—and chatting along the way with those they knew. They ran into Lyra Graveton and her husband Llewellyn, Jane and Bill Chapman, Delilah Daggerstone and her ebullient husband Drew, new shop owners Ralph Henry and Malcolm Stevens Randolph decked out in their finest, town council chairman Mason Flint escorting the latest Mrs. Flint, and the Reverend James P. Daisy with his wife of nearly forty years, the delightfully regal Gabriella Daisy, who looked resplendent in a pale pink chiffon dress that showed off her straight frame and fashion-model shoulders.

  In fact, Candy thought, looking around the room as she sipped Champagne, her right arm slipped in through Ben’s, everyone looked amazing tonight. Somehow they’d all managed not only to find formal clothes—or clever facsimiles thereof—in the dead of winter, with half the shops in town closed down and a half-day trip at the very least to anything that could remotely pass as an actual department store, but they’d also survived the day’s uncertain weather, slushy streets, slippery sidewalks, and sanded pathways to arrive here looking resplendent.

  Candy suddenly felt very proud of her hearty little—and surprisingly stylish—town.

  They found their table and set down their glasses, but as the string quartet launched into a popular number, a classical take on a Billy Joel song, Ben pulled Candy out onto the dance floor and put his arm firmly around her waist. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I saw you in that dress,” he said as he pulled her close.

  She slipped into his arms, her right hand tightly clasping his left, her left arm curling around the back of his shoulder. “Really?”

  “It looks fantastic, like it was made for you. And you look fantastic in it.”

  She gave him an affectionate smile. “You say the sweetest things when you’re wearing a tux.”

  He laughed. “I thought you said you didn’t have anything to wear. Where did you find it?”

  “The dress?” She glanced down at it, then back up at him with an amused look. In an exaggerated whisper, she said, “Would you believe it’s a loaner?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “From who?”

  “I’ll give you three guesses.”

  “That’s too easy. And the pearls?”

  “Hmm.” She arched an eyebrow of her own. “You’re very inquisitive tonight, aren’t you?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “Can’t help it. It’s my job.”

  “But a woman can’t give away all her secrets,” Candy protested lightly.

  “True. That would ruin the mystery.”

  “And have I been so mysterious?” she said to him, only somewhat facetiously.

  “You? I’m not sure I’d call you mysterious. Certainly beautiful. Definitely dependable. Tenacious at times, when you have to be. Sometimes surprising. Usually unique…”

  “Usually?”

  “Well, almost always.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, her smile returning. “And what about you?”

  He was silent for a moment, with a look on his face she couldn’t quite read. “Hmm, yes,” he said finally, “what about me?”

  “Well you have to admit, you have been somewhat mysterious lately.”

  “Have I?”

  “A number of people have noticed it.”

  “And would that number include the same person who loaned you that dress?”

  She narrowed her gaze on him. “You’re smarter than you look.”

  “I’ve heard that before. And more charming too.”

  “Yes,” she said, leaning into him, “you are.”

  For a few moments they danced in silence, enjoying the opportunity to hold each other close after the unsettled nature of the last few days. Finally he said softly into her ear, “I don’t know why it took us so long to do this.”

  She smiled into his shoulder. “I don’t know either.”

  Several other couples had joined them on the dance floor, while the rest of the guests chattered in the room around them. Candles flickered, the music rose and fell, and the fire crackled, but for Candy it all seemed to recede into the background. She could feel Ben’s arm around her back, strong and assure
d, and she could smell his cologne. His left hand felt warm in hers.

  I could get used to this, she thought as she tightened her hold on him.

  The music stopped, the moment passed, and they stepped apart, applauded lightly, and looked at each other.

  An older woman, who had been dancing nearby with her husband, leaned over, laid a thin hand on Candy’s arm, and said to her, “You two dance beautifully together.”

  “Oh, well, thank you very much.”

  She felt Ben squeeze her hand and looked up. His eyes were making strange movements sideways. It took her a few moments to turn, survey the faces around them, and realize they’d somehow become the center of attention. Ben nodded his head in awkward acknowledgement as a few people applauded, and Candy looked a little embarrassed. She squeezed his hand back. “I think we’d better sit the next one out.”

  He nodded. “Good idea.”

  As the room continued to fill and the music swelled, they lingered by the fireplace for a while before taking two seats on the back side of their table, along the wall to the left of the fireplace, where they could have a little privacy, since the other couples were still milling about, gathered in duos and groups around the room.

  But several friends from work, including Betty Lynn Spar and Judy Crockett, soon wandered over to say hello, dragging along their better halves, and they all soon got to talking about the recent developments around town. They’d heard bits and pieces, and Ben listened to all the details with interest.

  But it was Jesse Kidder, the paper’s photographer and graphic artist, who had the juiciest piece of news. He’d stopped by the table to snap a few photos of the group for the paper’s society page, though they all knew Ben would never approve the use of his photo in a non-news-related item, so a few alternatives were snapped as well.

  Before Jesse wandered off to photograph the other guests, he told them, “The police are up at some motel just outside of town. Apparently they’ve found Victor Templeton’s car and the room he was staying in. They’re searching it now. The crime van’s headed over from Augusta.”