Town in a Lobster Stew chm-2

by B. B. Haywood

  “Why, what’s up?”

  “It’s Mr. Sedley. I haven’t seen him in several days. I’ve tried calling him, but he doesn’t answer his phone. I think something must be wrong with him. Maybe he’s hurt or needs help.”

  “Should we call the police?” Candy asked.

  Wilma Mae shook her head. “I want you to help me check his house. I have a key.”

  Candy’s eyes were drawn to the neat, taupe-colored two-story home next to Wilma Mae’s. It was a fairly plainlooking place, with a small covered porch, a single small gabled window pushing out from the front of the lowsloped roof, and white shutters surrounding the four front symmetrical windows. Those windows looked dark now, even in the daylight.

  Candy blinked uncertainly. “Do you think that’s the right thing to do? Maybe he’s just visiting someone else, or maybe he’s just keeping to himself?”

  Wilma Mae gave Candy a distinctive harrumph. “His car is still in the garage behind the house — I checked. And he would answer if I called.” She nodded sharply, as if that settled that. “We need to check his house, and I don’t want to do it alone.”

  “I see.” Still, Candy hesitated, but by the look on Wilma Mae’s face, she knew there was no other option. “Okay, let’s check his house.”

  Wilma Mae nodded approvingly. “I’ll get the key.”

  Eleven

  Wilma Mae followed Candy around the side of the house to the small concrete porch at the rear. As Candy climbed the few steps, Wilma Mae handed her the key. But she didn’t need it.

  Candy knocked first and called Mr. Sedley’s name. When he didn’t respond, she turned the knob.

  The door opened freely. It was unlocked.

  “Maybe he’s just resting upstairs and didn’t hear me,” Candy said softly to Wilma Mae. She pushed the door open farther and stepped inside.

  She entered a dark hallway that led straight through to the front of the house. Candy took a couple of steps forward and nearly tripped over an antique brass umbrella stand that stood just inside the back door. She cursed as she held out her hand to steady the stand, which wobbled a little, its contents clattering. It held several old umbrellas as well as a couple of wood and metal walking canes.

  “Is everything okay in there?” Wilma Mae called out. She was still outside, standing on the grass beyond the porch, her hands clenched tightly in front of her, watching Candy intently.

  “Yup, fine, just fine,” Candy called back over her shoulder. “I just tripped over something.”

  “Be careful,” Wilma Mae urged.

  “I’ll try.” Candy took a few more steps and turned to look through an archway that led to the kitchen, but she saw no one there.

  “Mr. Sedley!” she called loudly. “Yoo-hoo! Anyone home?”

  The place was eerily quiet. Candy looked around. Washed dishes were still in a drying rack beside the sink, waiting to be put away. A stack of opened bills, flyers, and junk mail lay at the end of the counter near her. A folded up newspaper and half-empty cup of tea sat on the kitchen table.

  Candy stepped toward the table. Gingerly, she dipped the tip of her pinky into the cup, just breaking the liquid’s surface. The tea was cold. It had been here for a while.

  She looked around. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, she thought.

  She walked through another archway into the living room at the front of the house. The TV set was on, though the volume was turned down. The drapes were open. A reading lamp on a corner table was switched on. An open hardback book lay upside down on the sofa, its spine bent back.

  But no Mr. Sedley.

  Candy looked back into the kitchen, then surveyed the living room again. Something didn’t feel right. At first she didn’t know what it was, but after a few moments she figured it out.

  It was as if Mr. Sedley had left suddenly in the middle of whatever he was doing and hadn’t returned.

  Pondering what this might mean, she walked out of the living room and into the front hallway. “Mr. Sedley!” she called out again, louder this time. “It’s Candy Holliday. Are you here?”

  She turned right and almost walked right into Wilma Mae, who had come into the house and along the dark hallway. Candy let out a yelp of surprise, and Wilma Mae squeaked and backed away quickly, her hands flying up in front of her.

  Candy put her hand on the elderly woman’s shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here,” she said, her heart beating just a bit faster.

  “Have you found Mr. Sedley yet?” Wilma Mae asked in a loud whisper.

  “Not yet. It doesn’t look like he’s home.”

  Wilma Mae’s gaze shifted to the open staircase that led from the front hallway to the second floor. “You’d better check upstairs.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Just be careful.”

  Candy nodded and started up the stairs, calling out Mr. Sedley’s name. But again, there was no response. And once she checked the second floor, she knew why — no one was home. The place was vacant. “He must have gone somewhere,” Candy said to Wilma Mae as she came back down the stairs.

  “But his car is in the driveway. And he doesn’t walk so well these days. So where could he have gone?”

  Candy shook her head as she started along the hallway to another door. “I’d better check the basement, just to make sure.”

  She found the unfinished basement cold, damp, and full of spiderwebs. It was illuminated only by a single naked lightbulb hanging on a cord from the ceiling, but it was enough for her to see by. An old hot water boiler, which provided heat for the home, sat along one wall. An unused coal bin occupied a dark corner. A few items had been stored down here — an old Schwinn bike, some boxes filled with moldy books and magazines, rusted paint cans, discarded tools and appliances — nothing very valuable or interesting. Candy poked around a little, then switched off the light and climbed back up the stairs. “Nope, he’s not down there.”

  “Well, I’m worried,” Wilma Mae announced. She still stood in the hallway looking about her, as if expecting to see Mr. Sedley appear at any moment. “It’s just not like him. He’s never disappeared like this before.”

  “Maybe we should call the police.”

  Wilma Mae nodded in agreement. “Maybe we should.”

  “Let’s call from you place,” Candy suggested.

  They closed and locked the back door and crossed the yard to Wilma Mae’s house. Since Wilma Mae said she was too nervous to make the call, Candy took out her cell phone and dialed the Cape Willington Police Department. As the phone rang, she sniffed the air. Something smelled peculiar.

  “Cape Willington Police Department.”

  “Hi, I’d like to report a missing person.”

  Candy was connected to a police officer, who asked her several questions — the name and age of the missing individual, and whether the person had any chemical dependency or mental health issues. After also inquiring if there was a history of disappearing and reappearing, the police officer asked, “Are there any signs of foul play?”

  “What? No, I don’t think so.”

  “Is he suicidal?”

  To the best of her knowledge, Candy said, he was not.

  After explaining that Mr. Sedley was an adult who had the right to roam about as he pleased, the officer promised to keep an eye out for him, and asked Candy to check back with the department in forty-eight hours if Mr. Sedley was still missing.

  “Forty-eight hours?” Wilma Mae said when Candy had keyed off the phone. “But what if he needs us now? What if he’s hurt somewhere and needs our help?”

  Candy sighed. “There’s not much more we can do right now.” She sniffed the air again. That peculiar smell was back. “Do you smell something strange?” she asked, looking around the house.

  Wilma Mae seemed distracted. “No, dear.”

  “Did you leave the gas on?”

  “I don’t think so.” Wilma Mae checked the stove. “No, everything’s off. I just can’t figure out wh
at happened to Mr. Sedley.”

  “Well, he’ll probably turn up just fine. I wouldn’t worry too much about him.” Candy checked her watch again. “Wilma Mae, I have to run. Are you going to be okay?”

  The elderly woman looked very worried, but finally she nodded.

  “Why don’t you make yourself a nice cup of tea and relax for a while,” Candy suggested. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  Wilma Mae seemed to consider that. “Maybe you’re right,” she said after a few moments, then checked the clock on the wall. “ Judge Judy’s on in twenty minutes. Maybe I’ll watch a little TV.”

  “That’s a good idea. I have to run now, but you keep in touch, okay? Give me a call if Mr. Sedley turns up. And I’ll see you tomorrow at the cook-off, right?”

  Wilma Mae brightened. “Oh yes, I’ll be there!” But just as quickly her face twisted with concern. “I do hope Mr. Sedley’s there too. We’re supposed to be honorary judges together, you know. We’ve been looking forward to it for such a long time.”

  “I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Candy said reassuringly.

  “I just couldn’t imagine being there without Mr. Sedley,” Wilma Mae continued. “It wouldn’t be right. Oh, I do so hope he’s okay.”

  “I hope so too.”

  She’d planned to ask Wilma Mae about the carpenter who had made the repairs to the shelving unit upstairs, but the elderly woman seemed too flustered, too worried about Mr. Sedley, and Candy didn’t want to upset her any further. So she decided to leave the question for another day. But as she walked outside to the Jeep, she couldn’t help feeling that something was definitely amiss — and that she was overlooking important clues that would tell her exactly what it was.

  Twelve

  “Something’s going on in this town,” Candy said, sitting on the sofa with her legs curled up underneath her. “I know it. I can feel it.”

  Maggie removed the cork from a bottle of white wine, their second this evening, though it was still early. She sniffed its bouquet thoughtfully. “What, you mean with Ben?”

  “Ben? Why would you think something’s going on with Ben?”

  Maggie took her friend’s question in stride. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” she said lightly, indicating her living room as she freshened their glasses. “On a Friday night. When you’re supposed to be out on a romantic date with your boyfriend, sipping Chianti and nibbling antipasto at some fancy Italian restaurant up on Route 1. With real tablecloths. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here, but if it were me, I’d rather be out on a date.”

  “No offense, but me too.”

  “None taken.”

  They clinked glasses and sipped. A Michael Bublé CD played on the stereo, and Maggie had lit a couple of scented candles to create a relaxing atmosphere, which they both desperately needed, given the events of the past few days.

  “So,” Maggie pressed on, appraising her friend over the rim of her wine glass, “just how are things going with you and Ben?”

  Candy considered the question. “You know, you’re the second person who’s asked me about Ben today. Why all the sudden interest?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because we all care about you, honey, and want you to be happy. Or maybe we’re just nosy. Or maybe it’s a little bit of both. You know, there are all sorts of people around town who are interested in you two. They’re always asking about you.”

  “Really? Like who?”

  Maggie waved a hand. “Oh, like everybody. They’re always asking me, ‘So how are Candy and Ben doing? Are they dating? Has he proposed? Are they getting married?’ ”

  “Married?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it, honey. It’s just people talking.”

  Candy gave her friend a look of incomprehension. “But I don’t get it. Why would anyone care?”

  Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I think we’re all just looking for a little bit of romance in our lives, you know? Even if it’s vicarious. It makes us hopeful — and happy. And Lord knows, happiness is in short supply around our little town lately, in case you hadn’t noticed. Just look at what’s happened to me. Six weeks ago my husband tells me he wants a divorce. He needs to find himself, he says, although I have no idea what that means. Now my boss absconds with all the company’s loot. There’s a rumor he ran off to South America with some woman thirty years younger than he is. I don’t know what they put in the drinking water lately, but it’s making some of the men around here a little squirrelly. I’m just hoping we don’t have to put Ben in that category.”

  “You and me both,” Candy admitted, “but if you must know, he was very apologetic when he called to cancel. And he has a perfectly legitimate excuse. Some friend of his came up from Boston at the last minute. They’re old buddies. They just wanted to hang out together.”

  “So he canceled your date to spend time with his buddy? What’s that all about?”

  Candy gave her a look. “This is only the second time he’s canceled on me, missy. He’s been pretty good about keeping our dates. And we’ve had a good time.”

  “So you think he’s your Prince Charming?” Maggie asked boldly. She had no trepidation treading on delicate territory with her best friend.

  Candy took another sip of wine as she pondered the question. “Well, no, I’m not sure I’d call him that. He’s wonderful and all, but he’s certainly not the most romantic person I’ve ever gone out with. He’s usually too preoccupied with other things, especially the paper. He’s been a pretty good friend, though.”

  “Until some old buddy of his comes up from Boston for the weekend. Then you have to fend for yourself on a Friday night.”

  Candy raised her wineglass. “To Friday nights.”

  “To Friday nights.”

  They both drank, and Maggie continued, “If it’s any consolation, I’m happy he canceled on you. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. And Lord knows I need a friend tonight.”

  “Been a tough week, huh?”

  “That’s putting a mild spin on it. Honey, it’s been hell.”

  “Well, you seem to be holding up okay. You’ve been a trooper.”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Hey, you know, that’s not a bad idea,” she said with a lopsided grin. “I wonder if the state troopers are hiring?”

  “Yeah, that’s all we need. You with a gun and a badge.”

  “Hey, I resent that. I’m pretty good with a gun.”

  “I know. That’s what worries me.”

  They both laughed and sipped more wine. After a few moments, Candy said, “Amanda’s not around this weekend?”

  “She went off camping with the Zimmermans.”

  “So you’re all alone.”

  Maggie spread her arms wide. “Welcome to my world.”

  “Obviously mine too.”

  “Hey, at least you’re living with Doc. You’ve got someone to talk to. A couple of months ago this place was filled with a husband and a couple of teenagers with raging hormones. Now I’m queen of the castle, and the place is empty.”

  “You should get a cat.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about that. It’s been six months since I lost Mr. Biggles. A new kitty’s just what I need.”

  “Maybe a Siamese. Or a Maine coon cat. You know — someone who speaks the local language.”

  “Do Maine coon cats speak with a Maine accent?”

  “Ah-yuh,” Candy said, and they both laughed again.

  Maggie leaned way back in her chair and wiggled her toes. She was going barefoot tonight, and had freshly painted toenails. “So... you think something’s up?”

  “Huh?”

  “You just said something’s going on — like what?”

  Candy took a few moments to answer. “Just a bunch of weird things,” she said finally, still trying to work it all out. “Too many strange little events that don’t seem to be connected. But it’s too coincidental that they’re all happening at the same time.”

 
“Yeah, life can be strange like that. So tell me the details. Maybe I can help you figure it out.”

  “Well, there’s this whole thing with Wilma Mae’s missing recipe. And Wanda Boyle digging around in the archives at the historical society, supposedly looking for information on architects and historical homes. And I still haven’t found out anything about Wanda’s brother, the carpenter, who might have repaired the shelving unit in Wilma Mae’s upstairs bedroom and discovered the hidden document drawer. And then there’s Mr. Sedley’s disappearance, which could turn out to be nothing.” She paused. “Everything seems to be connected to the Lobster Stew Cook-off for some reason, which just about everyone around town has entered except you and me.”

  “Like who?”

  “Well, Wanda of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “And Melody from Melody’s Café. And Burt Ramsay from the Lobster Shack.”

  “That makes sense. He sounds like a ringer, though.”

  “Yup, he’s got a big following. There’s always a line stretching around the block to get into his place. You can’t go near there in the summer. Then, let’s see — Juanita from the diner has entered. And Bumpy Brigham.”

  “Doc’s buddy?”

  “Yup, it’s got the whole posse in a frenzy. Apparently Bumpy cooks a pretty mean stew. He’s some sort of quasigourmet chef or something or other.”

  “Hmm. I thought all he did was eat, drink, and polish his antique cars.”

  “Well there you go — you just never know. And then just a whole bunch of regular folks are entering, like Lyra Graveton, Anita Weller, Walter Gruthers, Delilah Daggerstone, and Tillie Shaw. There’s even a rumor Solomon Hatch is going to enter, though he’ll probably make his stew with nuts and berries. Oh yeah, and Charlotte Depew is on the list.”

  “Charlotte Depew? From the museum?”

  “That’s the one. I finally met her yesterday. Did I tell you that?”

  “No, but I figured you probably ran into her, since you said you went out to the museum.”

  “Yes, I did. I think I caught her at a bad time, though. She seemed pretty happy to hand me over to Wanda.”