Town in a Lobster Stew chm-2

by B. B. Haywood

  “Because I have to talk to you.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Sensing something was up, Maggie moved over to make room for her friend. “So who was that on the phone?”

  “Someone I need to talk to — in person,” Candy said softly, turning her head aside and casually hiding her mouth behind a hand, so she could speak unnoticed.

  “Part of the investigation?”

  “I think so, yeah.”

  “So... I take it you need my help with something.”

  Candy smiled. “You must be reading my mind.”

  “I’m getting pretty good at that, aren’t I? So, what do you need?”

  “I have to get out of here right now, without Doc and the boys noticing. I don’t want them asking lots of questions. And I don’t want them following me. Can you provide a little distraction so I can slip away?”

  Maggie shifted her head slightly, glanced surreptitiously around at the boys, and then looked back at Candy with a mischievous smile on her face. “You got it, honey.”

  Immediately she reached across the table, stretching out her hand. “Hey, Doc, would you give me that bottle of ketchup over there? That one right there?” She jabbed her finger toward it to get his attention.

  Interrupted in midsentence, Doc turned toward her. “What?”

  “The ketchup? Please?”

  He gave her an odd look. “Ketchup? But you haven’t ordered anything yet.”

  “I know, but Wilma Mae wants to see it. She collects ketchup bottles. We were talking about it the other day. She just loves them — don’t you, Wilma Mae?”

  The elderly woman gave her a confused look. “I do?” She clutched the purse in her lap just a bit tighter.

  Maggie wiggled her fingers impatiently at Doc. “Come on, let’s have a look at it.”

  Doc studied her for another few moments, then raised his eyebrows in resignation. “Well... okay.” He reached for the well-used red plastic bottle of restaurant ketchup, which sat in front of him in a black wire rack, and held it out to her. “Here you go.”

  Maggie grabbed it out of his hand and angled the bottle toward Wilma Mae, as if she were showing off a fine chardonnay. “Here, have a look, Wilma Mae. It’s a nice bottle, don’t you think? It’s a little beat-up, and it’s probably got germs all over it — influenza or something like that — but it’s not so bad, is it? And it has a nice red color to it.”

  “But I... I...” Wilma Mae stammered, unsure of how to respond.

  Doc watched the both of them for a moment, then shook his head and turned back to Finn. Bumpy and Artie were deep in a conversation about the pitching rotation for the Red Sox. Wilma Mae sat perfectly still, giving Maggie a look of total bewilderment. “I don’t know what to say, dear.”

  “Well, that’s okay, I just thought...”

  Before anyone knew what was happening, Maggie fumbled the bottle, which fell to the table and rolled. She reached out and snatched it up, squeezing the bottle as she did so. A thin stream of red ketchup shot out and covered the front of Artie’s blue shirt.

  “Hey, what the... !” He jumped up in his seat as Maggie fumbled the bottle again, turning it toward Bumpy, who howled in surprise and laughter as the thin red stream of ketchup squirted out toward him, up his shirt to his chin. “Watch out with that thing!”

  “Duck!” Artie shouted. “She’s got a loose weapon!”

  Several folks in nearby booths looked up in alarm but were laughing a few moments later as Maggie’s fingers slipped again and the bottle bounced. When she grabbed it a third time Doc held out his napkin as a matador would hold a cape for a bull, yelling at her, “Don’t point that at me!”

  Finn had slipped out of the booth and was laughing heartily, darting out of range, and even Wilma Mae was chuckling as Artie and Bumpy sputtered and wiped napkins down the fronts of their shirts, trying to remove some of the ketchup, which only made the stains worse.

  Maggie turned toward Candy. “Quick! We need some paper towels.”

  “Right! You got it! Keep an eye on my purse!”

  Candy jumped out of her seat and hurried toward the counter, where Juanita was already reaching for a thick roll of paper towels. She held it out toward Candy, who pointed toward the corner table. “Would you mind helping them out, Juanita? As a favor to me? I’ll be right back.”

  Juanita nodded enthusiastically. “You got it, Candy!”

  And before anyone noticed what she was doing, she had managed to slip out the door and was headed down the sidewalk, walking briskly, threading her way through the spectators lined up for the Memorial Day Parade.

  The Rusty Moose was literally just around the corner from the diner, but Candy headed in the opposite direction, knowing she couldn’t walk in front of the diner’s large corner window, where she’d be easily spotted by the boys in the corner booth. Instead, she headed down Main Street toward the Black Forest Bakery. But before she reached it, she turned into a narrow alley just past the coffee shop. From there, she worked her way across the back parking lots, now crammed with cars, toward the Rusty Moose’s rear door.

  The usual tavern detritus greeted her as she approached the building — empty liquor boxes, bundles of trash awaiting transport to the Dumpster, an abandoned ice machine, coffee cans filled with coagulated grease. Barely noticing the junk, Candy hurried past, pulled at the old screen door, and entered a dark hallway that led past the restrooms before depositing her in the tavern’s main public room.

  It was a typical coastal bar, dimly lit, smelling of stale beer, sweat, and the sea, since it was located right across the street from the docks and warehouses along the English River. Candy had to pause a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the light. She noticed a few grizzled heads swiveling in her direction, but most of the tavern’s inhabitants seemed to know who she was — Doc and the boys hung out here often — and turned back to their drinks and conversations with brief nods or a tip of an index finger. Candy nodded a brief acknowledgment to them and, looking around quickly, spotted Captain Mike in the dark booth on her left.

  She slid into the booth across from him. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hello there, young lady.” Captain Mike reached up to touch the brim of his battered cap. “You got here pretty fast.”

  “I was in the neighborhood. It was a cinch. So, what’s this all about?”

  “Well, like I said on the phone, I got something to tell ya.”

  “About what?”

  Captain Mike pointed with his chin out toward the English River, and it was clear he was indicating upriver. “About that whole business.”

  Candy knew instantly what he meant. She leaned over the table toward him, dropping her voice into a low whisper. “Charlotte?”

  He lifted his beer mug and took a long pull. He set it back down on the table with a thud before he replied. “That’s right. Charlotte.”

  “What do you know about her? Did you overhear something when you were working at the museum?”

  “Well now, you’re pretty quick, aren’t you?” Captain Mike scratched at the side of his beard, up near his ear. “I might have. I just might have.” He leaned forward a little, lowering his voice to a gravely growl. “The police came to see me a little while ago, down on my boat.”

  “What did they want?”

  Captain Mike’s left shoulder nudged upward in the barest of movements. Candy supposed it was a maritimer’s attempt at a nonchalant shrug. “Guess they wanted to find out if I knew anything. Guess they’re talking to everyone who’s seen Charlotte over the past few days. That includes me — and you.” He gave her a squinty look, probably well practiced over the years with his crew.

  “But I haven’t heard anything from them lately.”

  “You will, missy, you will. They’ll be coming around soon enough, asking lots of questions about Charlotte’s whereabouts over the past few days, and what she was doing with herself — and who was visitin’ her. You and me, we got some answers, don’t we? But you and me, we gotta stick togeth
er.”

  Candy wasn’t sure what he meant. “Why?”

  “Because we know things, don’t we?”

  “Well, maybe.” She paused. “What kinds of things are we talking about exactly?”

  “Well, Wanda, for instance.”

  “Wanda?” Candy’s voice rose, and she immediately looked around. No one in the tavern seemed to be paying them any attention. Still, Candy felt as if ears were listening. She lowered her voice again. “Is this a good place for us to talk about this?”

  “It’s the best place in town to talk about this,” Captain Mike told her, and he lifted a finger to point around the room. “These men know how to keep secrets. And if you need them, they’ll be there to watch your back.”

  Candy wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not, and she flinched slightly as she felt a strange tingle dance up her spine, as if someone had just drawn a fingernail along it. “Well, that’s... reassuring to know.”

  “Yup, those policemen came by and asked me all sorts of questions,” Captain Mike continued, unaware of her reaction. “I told them what I know — but I didn’t tell them everything I know.”

  “You mean about Wanda?”

  “Yessir. That’s why I called you.” He was about to say more, but a redheaded waitress in jeans and a black T-shirt approached the table. “Hey there, Captain Mike. How’re you doing with that beer of yours?”

  In response, he picked it up, drained it in one gulp, and slapped it back down on the table. “I could use another, Rosie. And bring one for my pretty friend here.”

  “You got it.” Rosie smiled at Candy. “You want anything else, honey?”

  “No, that’s it, thanks.”

  After the waitress had gone, Candy said, “I don’t really drink beer that much.”

  Captain Mike waved a hand. “Ahh, it’ll be good for you. Put some hair on your chest. Now, what was I saying? Oh yeah, that’s right. Now, I don’t really know what that woman was up to, but she definitely had it in for Charlotte.”

  “You mean Wanda?”

  “What?”

  “Wanda — she had it in for Charlotte?”

  Captain Mike made a face at her. “Well, that’s what I said, wasn’t it? Anyways, this Wanda, I found out she’s been complaining to the folks on the museum board about Charlotte. She sent them a letter, so I heard. Told them she didn’t think Charlotte was doing a very good job. Wanted her fired. Well, Charlotte finds out and she’s angry as a wasp. She was like that for three, four days, buzzing around the place. Couldn’t even talk to her — she’d bite your head right off.”

  Candy folded her arms on the table, suddenly very interested. “When did all this happen?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Captain Mike scratched at his beard again. “Sometime in the past few weeks. Two, maybe three weeks ago. Something like that. So anyway, after that, Charlotte started being real sweet to Wanda on the surface, but behind her back she was watching Wanda like a hawk. Charlotte was trying to find out what she was doing up there in the archives.”

  “And you think this has something to do with Charlotte’s death?”

  Captain Mike shook his head emphatically. “I didn’t say that. Nope, I didn’t say that at all.” He leaned in even closer, just inches from her. “I heard what happened to her. They’re keeping it all hush-hush, but I got my sources. She was strangled, you know. They said she had fishing line wrapped around her neck so many times they couldn’t count the strands. Cut right through her windpipe. I bet it wasn’t a pretty scene.”

  At this new bit of information, Candy had to hold back a gasp as Rosie returned with two mugs of beer, which she set down on the tabletop with graceful ease, so not a drop was lost.

  “Thank ye kindly, my dear.” Captain Mike grinned widely at the redheaded waitress as he took one of the mugs by the handle and raised it to his lips. He drank deeply and smacked his lips. “Good as always.”

  She gave him a warm smile. “Let me know if you two need anything else.”

  After Rosie had walked off again, Captain Mike turned his eagle eyes on Candy. “Someone done her in real good, that’s for sure. Why, I don’t know. Maybe someone was just trying to keep her quiet. But I’m not saying it was Wanda. Nope, I don’t know nothing ’bout that. I’m just telling you what I’ve heard. Charlotte’s dead, and Wanda was up to something, that’s for sure.”

  Candy thought through what he’d said. In some ways it fit with everything else she’d learned so far. Wanda had been trying to get Charlotte fired, so Charlotte was fighting back. Was that why she’d entered the cook-off? To keep Wanda from winning? And did it mean Charlotte had stolen the recipe, as Wanda claimed?

  But it still didn’t answer the critical question: who had murdered two people in town?

  Candy thought about Charlotte with fishing line wrapped around her neck. What was she doing up at that landing in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere?

  Who had she been there to meet?

  She looked back at Captain Mike. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  He gave her that almost nonexistent maritimer’s shrug again. “Well, because you’re a detective, ain’t you? And you’re trying to figure out what’s going on in this town. So I’m just trying to help you out.”

  “But I’m not a detective!” Candy insisted.

  Captain Mike grinned. “Well of course you are. You’re our detective. And we’re glad to have you.” He took a swig of his beer. “I’ve read your column, you know. Yup, I’ve read it.”

  Thirty

  A short while later, Candy was back outside. She’d found a couple of dollars in her pocket, which she left on the table to help Captain Mike with the tab, and after thanking him for the information, she headed past the tavern’s denizens to the front door. She exited onto Coastal Loop road, which was thick with people waiting for the parade to arrive.

  Even though she’d taken only a few sips of beer, leaving the rest in the mug, she felt a little light-headed. Was it the beer, or was it what Captain Mike had told her about Charlotte’s death? She wasn’t sure, but she figured it wasn’t a good thing either way.

  Still, she knew she was making some progress. She’d learned another valuable piece of information, which she added to all the other pieces she’d gathered. She wished she had her pen and notebook with her, so she could make a list. But as she started down the crowded sidewalk, headed toward Main Street, she tried to organize all the random bits of information into some sort of pattern in her head, hoping to see where it all led.

  This much she knew:

  Someone had stolen Mr. Sedley’s lobster stew recipe from a hidden drawer in Wilma Mae’s house — presumably Charlotte Depew. She had used it to make a stew at the cook-off on Saturday, and should have won, because she used an award-winning recipe. But she had lost.

  Now she was dead. She’d been found upriver at a secluded picnic area with a boat dock frequented by fishermen. She had fishing line wrapped around her neck, strangling her.

  She’d been battling Wanda Boyle, who wanted her fired. Wanda had been searching the historical society’s archives for information about Mr. Sedley’s recipe. And Charlotte had been very curious to find out what Wanda was doing up there. The mutual distrust between the two of them, and possibly even growing hatred, seemed evident.

  Mr. Sedley was dead too, apparently beaten and wrapped up in a tarpaulin in Wilma Mae’s basement. According to Finn, he’d been killed elsewhere in the house and dragged there. And, apparently, the tarp didn’t belong to Wilma Mae. Someone — most likely the murderer — had brought it from somewhere else.

  And then there was the strange issue of the cook-off contestants’ list with the black X across it, and the equally strange admonition from Judicious to watch everything going on that day at the cook-off. She’d done her best to do as he’d suggested. But she still thought she was missing something. What was it?

  As her mind worked over myriad unanswered questions, she could hear, in t
he distance at the opposite end of Main Street, sirens and a band playing. The parade was on its way. The crowd was becoming tense with anticipation. Children craned their necks excitedly down the street, waiting for the parade’s arrival.

  Someone hurried past, jostling her, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts were focused on the fishing line around Charlotte’s neck.

  Fishing line.

  No doubt the police were following up on that clue at this very moment. That’s probably why they’d talked to Captain Mike — no doubt he was an avid angler and probably kept fishing line in his boat. But the same could be said for lots of people around town. Finn and the boys fished all the time. Doc went out with them often. Finn had said he frequented that picnic area upriver. They all probably did. And they all probably had fishing line in their garages or toolsheds.

  Even Ben fished.

  Ben.

  He was out fishing right now, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that what he’d told her yesterday when he called? He was going fishing today with Roger?

  She thought about calling Ben to compare notes. He could probably give her some insight into the mystery. He might have even heard something she hadn’t.

  She had other calls to make as well. She needed to contact the police department. And she wanted to call Maggie to see how things were going at the diner.

  Jostled again, she looked up. Lost in her thoughts, she’d wandered all the way down the Coastal Loop road, past the Unitarian church and the cemetery, to Town Park, which was aswarm with people waiting for the parade’s arrival. It had reached the top of Ocean Avenue now and was headed down toward the sea, led by three police squad cars with sirens blaring.

  Candy’s head turned. Directly across from her stood the Lightkeeper’s Inn.

  As she studied the inn’s facade and lawn, she realized there were too many pieces of this puzzle that still weren’t fitting together, too many loose ends. And it was time to start tying up some of those loose ends. It was time to talk to Oliver LaForce.

  Heading off again, she cut a path through the crowd and crossed Ocean Avenue, hurrying her pace just ahead of the squad cars. All around her onlookers were angling for better views of the oncoming parade. A police officer blew his whistle at her, motioning for her to clear off the street, so she quickened her pace to a trot, with the Lightkeeper’s Inn squarely in her sights.