Town in a Wild Moose Chase

by B. B. Haywood

  “My guess is, Preston Smith and this Whitefield person are one and the same,” Maggie said, doing her best to contain the glee she felt at her discovery. “That’s why he told me to you give that message. He was sending you a clue.”

  “And he’s been posting on Wanda’s blog,” Candy said, impressed with her friend’s astuteness.

  “Indeed he has.” Maggie studied the screen. “There’s actually been quite a few comments from him over the past few weeks.”

  “He’s been spying on us anonymously,” Candy noted, “and stirring up trouble.”

  “That’s right. And look at this. He posted his latest comment just about an hour ago. And I think it’s personal.” She leaned back and wiggled her finger, signaling that Candy should have a look.

  “What does it say?”

  When Maggie didn’t answer, Candy leaned in closer so she could read the comment:

  For the Town Crier: Check at the foot of the Ice Princess. Your destiny awaits.

  “Short and sweet,” Candy observed, leaning back after she’d read the message.

  “Do you have any idea what it means,” Maggie asked, “other than the fact that you’re obviously the Town Crier. That’s what he called you when you two first met, re-member?”

  “I do,” Candy said. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms as she thought, but she knew almost at once what they had to do. “We need to get our coats,” she said.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I think the answer to at least one of our questions is at Town Park, hidden in the ice.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Outside, the temperature had fallen into the teens, on its way to single digits. The two women had switched out their heels for boots and pulled on their wool coats, hats, and gloves, but still braced themselves as they ventured into the cold air. Their hands tightened on their scarves and collars, pulling them a little snugger, and they blew out their breaths, which misted around them as they hurried along. They crossed the street at the light and turned into Town Park, walking carefully on the salted yet still-slippery surfaces.

  Despite the chilly weather, or perhaps because of it, the place looked as festive as Candy had ever seen it. She craned her head up and around, her eyes following the strings of lights, which curved around tree trunks and swooped from tree to light post to tree.

  It would have been a magical night for a stroll here with Ben, she thought absently as they walked briskly along. But in the next moment she told herself that she couldn’t think about that right now. She had other concerns. Ben was at the police station, running down the story on Liam, and she was here, searching for something hidden in the ice.

  “What are we searching for?” Maggie asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  Candy pointed out in front of them, where spotlights attached to posts and trees illuminated the icy works of art, perfectly preserved in the bracing air. “An ice princess.”

  “You think Preston left a clue for us?”

  “That’s what it sounds like, doesn’t it? At the foot of the Ice Princess. That sounds like a definite invitation, and why would he invite us to look if he hadn’t put something there?”

  “But why would he do that? Why not just call us or text us or tell us over coffee and Danish?”

  “Because I think Preston’s playing a game with us,” Candy said, her face turning more angular as her jaw tightened, both against the cold and what might lie ahead. “Something’s been off about that guy from the beginning. It just didn’t stick out that much, since there are quite a few people around here who are a little quirky. So someone like Preston fit right in.”

  “What do you think’s going on?” Maggie asked, an edge of concern slipping into her voice.

  Candy let out a deep, tight breath. “That’s what we’re here to find out.” She nodded up ahead. “When I was out here yesterday afternoon, some of the sculptures were still unfinished. But if I remember correctly, Gina was working on something that might fit the bill.”

  She angled off toward the large ice sculpture of the Maine wilderness, which depicted stately Mount Katahdin and the surrounding pine- and spruce-covered slopes, reflected in a mirror lake. Separate from the main display were individual sculptures of Maine animals, as well as specialties of the ice carvers.

  As they walked along, Candy scanned the area. To their left, up the slope a ways, several teens were playfully throwing handfuls of snow at each other, shouting and laughing. Couples and groups strolled along the lighted pathways and lingered around the ice sculptures, impressed with the artistry on display. A few families with smaller children, tired yet excited, roamed the park as well, hand in hand.

  She shifted her gaze right and focused on the single-block ice sculptures, carved for demonstrations earlier in the day: a mountain lion, an eagle with wings spread, a pair of seals, a bear and her cubs, caribou and coyote.

  Beyond that, curving around the back of the main sculpture, were the specialties of the ice carvers—their more personal works. Each sculptor had carved one or two single-block pieces, on display here. It was a diverse collection that included a curling snail adorned with a realistic textured shell and eerily probing antennae, a Sphinx with a face that resembled a national politician, an elaborate depiction of a giant shoe turned into a home for anthropomorphic woodland creatures, a surprisingly detailed tall ship, and a windblown woman who appeared to emerge from the block of ice itself.

  Candy could link up most of the sculptures with their creators. Liam had obviously done the tall ship. She’d seen his detail work, and she had to admit it was impeccable. Baxter had created the giant shoe with all the critters. He’d even added little Snowball, the family dog, to the icy tableau. She could attach Duncan to the politically oriented Sphinx, and Felicia to the exquisite rendering of the snail.

  The final piece was Gina’s work.

  It was just the woman’s head and torso; the rest of her body remained submerged in the ice. But it was her windblown hair that was most intriguing. It streamed out behind her in several thick, swirling strands of ice, only to merge again with the block itself.

  It had a melancholy feeling about it. The way the face seemed to pull away from the ice gave it an element of action, yet her expression was one of both resolve and resignation, as if the woman was trying to break free from the ice but was being held back by some invisible force.

  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 i
s 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 stroll 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.