Town In a Lobster Stew

by B. B. Haywood

  “You can’t pin this on me, Sykes,” Bob said.

  “Oh, but I can. And I will. It took me a while to figure it out myself, but there’s a perfect way to do it.” He pointed toward the fishing line. “The evidence is right there. And it’s in your shed, Bob. The police will surmise you took the fishing line from Ben, or maybe not. I’m sure you have other rolls of fishing line around here. It doesn’t matter. The point is, you had every reason to kill Charlotte—and James Sedley. You had a motive to do what Charlotte wanted, and then you put her out of her misery. Or, at least, that’s what the police will think. You did it because of the money and your son’s gambling debts. Didn’t you, Bob?”

  The maintenance man could barely contain his anger. “You know I didn’t.”

  “It’s only fitting, you know,” Roger continued, “since if you had just done your job the way you were supposed to and stolen that recipe yourself, Old Man Sedley and Charlotte might both still be alive. But somehow she screwed up the theft—veered from the plan, entered on the wrong side of the building or something stupid like that. And she got caught. And . . . well, we all know the rest, don’t we?”

  “You can’t blame this on anyone but yourself,” Candy said.

  Roger turned back to look at her. “It doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? What’s done is done. Now it’s just a matter of cleaning up some loose ends.”

  “Like us?” Bob asked.

  “Like you,” Roger confirmed. “It’s fairly simple from here.” He looked back out over his shoulder. “We’re headed to the tower, Bob. You’ve got the keys, right?”

  FORTY

  What happened next was so surreal Candy found herself barely believing it. After a quick look around the area to make sure they were alone, Roger marched them to the Keeper’s Quarters, but first he told Bob to lock up the maintenance shed. “We don’t want anyone getting suspicious about doors that are open when they shouldn’t be, right, Bob?”

  He held the gun on them as Bob unlocked the door to the Keeper’s Quarters and relocked it once they were inside. “We don’t want any interruptions, do we?” Roger said mockingly.

  The museum’s main display area was dimly lit, and Candy thought if they had any chance of rushing Roger, it would be now. She tried to catch Bob’s eye, but he looked too stunned to be of any help. Candy twisted her head, ready to spring—but Roger was watching her, with the gun aimed toward her.

  “Keep moving,” he said, making sure he stayed several paces behind them. “That way.” He pointed with the gun toward the hallway behind the wooden counter, and the locked door that led to the tower. “We’ll need your keys one more time,” Roger said.

  Bob looked at him, a worried expression on his face. “We shouldn’t be going up there. Visibility’s not very good and—”

  “We’re not going up there to sightsee, Bob. Open the door.”

  For a few moments, Candy thought Bob might make a move. But this was no Bruce Willis movie. They weren’t heroes or movie stars. They were just a couple of folks from a small town in Maine, trying to stay alive.

  Bob opened the door.

  “Hold on just a moment,” Roger said from behind them. When Candy turned, she saw Roger standing by the long counter. He had the ledger open and was flipping back through it, his eyes searching. He soon found what he was looking for, tore out several pages, and read through them, scanning the lines James Sedley had written decades ago. When he had finished, he folded the pages over and tucked them into a jacket pocket.

  He tossed the ledger onto the counter. “Okay, let’s get going.”

  Candy had never been in the tower before, and it was thrilling in more ways than one. It was dark and silent inside, a great echoing cone looming above them. Underneath her feet was a black and white tile floor, worn with age but well kept. A glass-enclosed sign attached to a gray-painted wall informed her that nearly a million bricks had been used to build the tower. On her left were the first steps of an iron staircase, painted black and ornately decorated, twisting upward.

  Her head craned back. It was like looking at the inside of a spiraling seashell, only this was one she could stand in.

  “Up,” Roger instructed.

  “But it’s dark up there. We’ll trip on the steps.”

  “Up!” Roger ordered again, this time in a threatening tone.

  Bob held up a hand. “Wait.” He crossed the tower’s circular floor to the opposite wall and moved toward a panel hidden under the staircase. Roger called out to him, brandishing the gun, but Bob just pointed toward the panel. “Lights,” he said.

  Roger seemed to finally understand. He nodded curtly. Bob opened up the panel cover and flipped several switches.

  The tower’s inside was suddenly illuminated, glowing with a soft yellow color, looking much as it must have a hundred years earlier, when the lightkeepers in their dark blue wool uniforms climbed these steps with gas lanterns in their hands.

  As Bob came around the foot of the steps, he let out a long breath. “There are one hundred and seventy-four steps to the top, just so you know. Six landings—twenty-nine steps in each section.” And he started up.

  Candy followed.

  She held tightly to the railing as she climbed the thick metal stairs, which were bolted to a winding frame. They reached the first landing and continued on, moving steadily upward. As she climbed, Candy found herself growing a little dizzy, and her thighs started to feel the stress. I bet those old lightkeepers never needed to head to the gym, she thought idly. This was enough of a workout to keep anyone in shape.

  At the third landing, they saw a small alcove, where a tall, narrow window looked out over the ocean. On a clear day, she imagined, the view from here would be magnificent. But today she stared out at a patchy seascape of mostly gray colors, although spots of blues and whites peeked through.

  “Keep moving,” Roger said, standing several steps behind her.

  She nodded and started up again.

  She could hear Bob wheezing above her now, and even Roger was breathing heavily. Candy tried as best she could to control her own breathing. She didn’t want to become too winded or light-headed. She might need her wits once they reached the top.

  On the fifth landing, Bob stopped to catch his breath, and Candy came up behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  He glanced back at her and nodded. “I climb this tower a dozen times a month. I’m used to it.”

  “Enough talking,” Roger said, coming up behind them. “Get going.”

  At the sixth landing, Candy saw several old waist-high wooden cabinets with locks on them. “This is the service landing,” Bob told her. “This is where the old lightkeepers used to keep their log books, as well as tools and mineral oil when the light was still an actual flame. They used to haul up the five-gallon cans of oil using a pulley system.” He pointed at the ceiling, where Candy saw a large iron hook. “The light’s right above our heads,” Bob said, nodding at the ceiling. With his head he indicated a nearby hatch in the circular wall. “And that’s the way out onto the watch deck.”

  Roger climbed the last few steps behind them and motioned toward the hatch. “That’s where we’re going.”

  “Outside?” Candy asked, incredulous. “But . . .”

  Roger pushed on the hatch’s handle, but the door didn’t open. He swung the gun toward Bob. “Unlock it.”

  Bob stood motionless for a few moments. It was clear he was again running various scenarios through his head. But it was also obvious he had no plan for escape. He shrugged and walked to the hatch, pulling out his keys once more. He unlocked the hatch, pushed on the handle, and opened the door.

  “Out,” Roger ordered.

  With a last look at Candy, Bob stepped out onto the iron walkway that encircled the top of the tower, just underneath the light.

  Roger turned toward Candy. “You too.”

  Candy gulped. She had a deep dread of where this was all headed. “What are you plannin
g to do, Roger?”

  “I told you. I have to tie up some loose ends. Now move.”

  Candy hesitated as Bob had, but then she too stepped toward the hatch, and passed through to the outside.

  FORTY-ONE

  The first thing she noticed was the wind. It had been relatively calm at ground level, but here, nearly a hundred feet up in the air, the wind was surprisingly brisk. A wave of panic surged through her as she felt herself being pushed sideways by a particularly strong gust, and she reached for the iron railing that surrounded the watch deck.

  The fog had broken apart briefly, separating around the tower. Its rounded side fell away beneath her, and she could see all the way to the ground far below. Only the crisscross matrix of the iron deck separated her from certain death.

  She gasped as she looked down. From somewhere underneath her, the foghorn sounded its long, low blast.

  Bob was standing nearby, clutching at the iron railing, looking ill. Candy joined him. They both turned to watch Roger emerge from the hatch.

  He pulled up the collar of his jacket against the wind and turned to face them. “So, here we are,” he said, his voice rising to be heard above the rush of the wind and the thunder of the ocean. “Unfortunately, we’ve reached the end of our little climb. Now there’s only one way down for the two of you.”

  “Roger, what are you doing?” Candy asked, nearly frantic.

  “You both know what’s next. I can’t leave the two of you alive.”

  “But no one will believe we jumped off the tower,” Candy shouted, trying to convince him to change his mind.

  Roger flashed an eerie smile, showing off those white teeth, framed by the black goatee. “Of course they will. It all makes sense. Bob killed Sedley and Charlotte. And you found out he did it. He brought you up here, and you two struggled. Unfortunately, you both went over the side. See, I said it was simple. And very clean. All the loose ends are tied up in a neat package.” He lowered the gun at them. “So, there we are. No more need for conversation. You both just need to do what you have to do.”

  “There’s no way!” Bob shouted. “We’re not doing it.”

  “Oh, but I think you are,” Roger said, and he tightened his finger on the trigger.

  But before he could pull it, a musical note sounded from his jacket pocket.

  It was his cell phone, Candy realized. Roger looked down, distracted. And in that moment Bob rushed him.

  Roger caved under the impact as Bob slammed him back against the tower’s exterior wall. Bob went for the gun, and they struggled for it briefly as it fired into the air. Candy ducked, covering her head with her arms. She backed away, around the curved side of the tower, as Roger threw Bob back toward her. She grabbed the maintenance man’s arm and pulled him with her, around the tower and out of Roger’s line of sight.

  “Are you okay?” she shouted at Bob as they stumbled together.

  He nodded and pointed back over her shoulder. “That way.”

  His plan was clear. If they could get back around the tower and approach the hatchway from the other side, they might be able to escape down the stairs.

  But Roger had the same idea. As they cautiously rounded the tower to the far side, they saw him peering out at them, guarding the hatch.

  “The other way!” Candy shouted, and they hurried back the way they had come. But again, as they rounded three quarters of the tower, Roger blocked their path to freedom, his gun aimed in their direction. He fired again, missing them as they ducked back around the curved tower.

  “We’re trapped!” Bob shouted.

  “We need to find a way to distract him so we can get to the hatch!”

  “But how?” Bob asked.

  It came to Candy in a flash. “The cell phone!” She pulled it out of her pocket, flipped it open, and brought up the contact list. Ben had given her Roger’s number the day before, she remembered, and she had keyed it into her phone.

  Clutching the small black plastic device in both her hands, she frantically tried to find his number, scrolling through the menus as her heart pounded in her chest.

  “Hurry!” Bob cried, watching both directions for any sign of Roger.

  Candy finally found Roger’s number, brought it up, and pressed the send button.

  A few moments later, they heard a musical note from their left, just around the curve of the tower.

  “He’s over there!” Bob yelled, and they both darted off in the opposite direction.

  They could hear Roger laughing somewhere behind them. “Good call!” he shouted, his voice echoing out from the tower.

  Candy and Bob moved forward slowly, rounding the tower, crouched low. Candy led, but Bob was right behind her. She kept her eyes sharpened ahead, around the vertical horizon of the tower’s curve, while Bob watched back over his right shoulder in case Roger came up on them from behind.

  But there was no sign of him. For the last quarter section of the tower’s circumference, Candy crept forward slowly, her left shoulder hugging the tower, almost scooting along its surface.

  The hatch finally came into view, and still no Roger. “Hurry!” Candy called to Bob, looking briefly back over her shoulder at him. She rushed forward, turning into the hatchway.

  But Roger was waiting for them on the landing inside, his gun held up. Candy skidded to a halt in front of him.

  “Well, there you are,” he said. “I wondered what was taking you so long. Okay, you’ve had your fun. Now it’s time to get to business.” He motioned toward the hatch with his gun. “Back outside. Let’s get this over with. And keep your hands up where I can see them. No more tricks with cell phones, shall we?”

  He lifted the gun’s muzzle to point it at her forehead. Candy’s eyes widened as she backed away quickly, pushing Bob out behind her. “Don’t shoot! We’ll do anything you say!”

  “That’s better,” Roger said as he walked out the hatch, following her. They all turned left, toward the town and the Keeper’s Quarters. “I’ll give you a choice of where you want to jump,” Roger said, his white teeth flashing again. “This way”—he pointed down toward the left—“you’ll hit concrete. That way”—he pointed off in the other direction, toward the ocean—“you’ll hit rocks. Either way you won’t know what hit you. It’ll be fast and painless. I promise. Now, over you go.”

  “It won’t do any good, Roger,” Candy said earnestly, trying to buy time, still backing away. “They’ll know it was you.”

  “No chance. They have no reason to suspect me. The fishing line’s in Bob’s shed. And everyone in town knows you’ve been after that recipe all week. When they find the ledger downstairs, they’ll put two and two together, and figure you accused Bob of the murders, and he brought you up here to toss you off, and you both fell together.” He shrugged. “It happens all the time. Now jump!”

  As he said the last word, a small section of the tower’s exterior, just behind his head, broke off and splattered on his shoulder. Candy and Bob backed away, startled. Roger shifted to see what had happened behind him, his body turning. A split second later they heard a soft whirring sound, then another, and suddenly Roger was on the ground, clutching his left shoulder. The gun had slid out of his grasp, across the watch deck. Candy dashed forward and kicked it over the side, then grabbed Bob by the shoulder, jumped over the prone and writhing Roger, and headed through the hatch and down the spiraling staircase.

  She moved as swiftly as she dared without tripping, taking the steps quickly but carefully. The landings seemed to rise up to meet her, and she counted them—one, two, three—as they spiraled downward, her hand playing loosely along the cold iron railing. “What happened up there?” Bob called out behind her as she heard sirens in the distance.

  “I don’t know. Keep moving! He might still be behind us.”

  But she heard nothing to indicate that he was coming down the stairs after them. For the moment, at least, he seemed to be incapacitated.

  Before she knew it, they were at the bottom. She he
ard voices somewhere nearby, through the door that led into the museum, and suddenly Maggie was there, carrying a flashlight and moving quickly toward her. “I got your message. Are you all right?” Maggie asked, looking frantic.

  “No time to talk. We have to get out of here. Roger’s gone mad! He killed Charlotte!”

  “I called the police!” Maggie said as she spun on a dime and headed back the way she had come, running alongside Candy. “They’re on their way. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Candy nodded as she ran past the counter and spotted the ledger, right where Roger had left it. She paused only a moment to snatch it up, holding it tightly with both hands as she followed Maggie and Bob out the door and onto the porch. In a tight group they hurried down the steps and ran off toward the parking lot.

  “Halt! Who goes there!”

  Candy yelped in surprise as half a dozen figures, partially obscured by the trailing fog and all carrying rifles, emerged from the bushes that surrounded the open area in front of the Keeper’s Quarters and the lighthouse.

  “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! They’re with me!” Maggie shouted, throwing her arms up into the air.

  All three of them came to a stop, watching as the men slowly gathered around them, lowering their weapons.

  “Who are you?” Candy asked, as a familiar-looking figure materialized out of the fog.

  “I called them right before I called the police,” Maggie told her. “Just like you said.”

  It was Captain Mike. He smiled at her and winked as he chewed on a toothpick. Candy wanted to hug him.

  “See,” he told her as he tipped his battered old cap at her, “I told you we had your back!”

  FORTY-TWO

  The following day, under an overcast sky, Candy drove northward along the Coastal Loop. She passed by the Lobster Shack, where she saw the typical long lines and packed picnic benches, and, farther on, Pruitt Manor, where she saw few signs of activity. Off to her right, the seas were choppy beyond the buildings and rocks. Ahead of her, out the windshield, dark clouds of varying shades drifted northeastward, driven up along the coast by a warm, steady wind.