Blueberry pies and T-shirts and garlands were everywhere. Peppy music drifted from loudspeakers attached to lampposts. Sounds of laughter could be heard up and down the street. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, yet there was an underlying melancholy that lay just beneath the surface, Candy noticed, though for the most part folks avoided talking about Jock’s passing. It was whispered about here and there, yes, but it was still too shocking, too unbelievable, to bring out into the open on such a sunny festival day.
Just after noon, Herr Georg stopped by to pay his respects and purchase one of Candy’s mini pies. Ray made an appearance and walked away with a dozen large muffins — probably eleven more than he’d originally intended to purchase. Candy gently tried to talk him out of buying that many — she knew he lived alone and couldn’t eat them all by himself — but he insisted, telling her they were his favorite.
Other townspeople passed by or stopped to say hello. One was Judicious F. P. Bosworth, a fortyish gentleman whose father and grandfather had both been judges, hence the lofty name. But rather than following in the family business, Judicious had skipped out on his senior year of high school and backpacked his way through Europe and Asia, winding up years later at a Buddhist monastery on a mountaintop in Tibet. He had been close to thirty when he had finally returned to Cape Willington a decade ago, firmly convinced he had mystical powers and could make himself invisible at will.
At first, when told of Judicious’s peculiarity, Candy had found it endlessly odd and amusing, but eventually she had warmed to the idea of having an invisible man about town, and accepted Judicious as just another townie. She had also rather easily fallen into the town-wide practice of inquiring about Judicious’s status whenever she encountered him around town. “Are you being seen this morning, Judicious?” she would ask him, or “Mr. Bosworth, are you here?” If he responded, then clearly he was visible and a conversation could ensue, during which Judicious usually revealed himself to be well informed and erudite. But if he declined to answer or simply walked away, then he was considered to be invisible, and Candy would think nothing more of it and go about her business. Following accepted practice around town, she would always inform others whom she encountered that day as to the visibility — or lack of it — of Judicious. And Sapphire Vine, the gossip columnist for the local paper, kept a running count of Judicious’s days of visibility and invisibility.
Today, Judicious waved and mouthed a pleasant “Good morning” to Candy as he passed by. Obviously he was being seen on this fine day.
Another visitor to the booth was Bertha Grayfire, the fifty-something chairwoman of the town council, who stopped by to say hello. Bertha was dressed nicely in a lime green frock and a large floppy hat — a distinctive change from the Dolly Parton outfit she liked to wear to Halloween parties or to amuse trick-or-treaters. The outfit had been a hit for years, and Bertha usually tried to one-up herself each time she wore it, coming up with ever more elaborate hairdos and overdone makeup. She had also been known to warble a few tunes made famous by her country-singer idol. Today, she chatted briefly with Candy before walking off with a couple of T-shirts for her grandchildren and a few bars of soap for herself.
All in all, it was turning out to be a very good day.
During one of the lulls in the action, while the pet parade was making its way down Ocean Street to the delight of the large crowd that had gathered, Candy had a few minutes to talk with Amanda. “So, are you all ready for the big night tonight?” she asked. Amanda was to be one of the contestants in the Blueberry Queen Pageant that evening.
But instead of being excited about it, Amanda shrugged and picked absently at a broken fingernail. “I guess so. I really don’t want to do it.”
That took Candy by surprise. “Why not? I thought you were looking forward to it. It sounds like a lot of fun.”
Amanda tilted her head a little but kept her gaze cast downward. “I just don’t want to, that’s all.”
“Well,” Candy said after a moment, “maybe you’re just a little nervous about it.”
Amanda shrugged. “Maybe. It doesn’t really make any difference if I’m there or not. Everyone knows Haley Pruitt is going to win.”
Candy tried to temper the flash of anger that shot through her. “No she’s not! Who told you that?”
Haley Pruitt was the granddaughter of Helen Ross Pruitt, the town’s wealthiest citizen and owner of Pruitt Manor, an English Tudor-style “summer cottage” that sat out on the point near Kimball Light.
Amanda seemed completely disinterested by the conversation. “No one told me. I just know. She always wins everything.”
Candy let out a breath of exasperation. “Amanda, she doesn’t win everything. You can’t think like that. You have as good a chance to win as anyone. Besides, you’re much prettier than Haley.”
Amanda looked up, her soft brown eyes hopeful. “You really think so?”
Candy smiled reassuringly. “I know so. You just have to go up there and do your...”
She was interrupted when Amanda’s serious demeanor suddenly brightened and her eyes flashed with excitement. “Oh, hi, Cameron!” Amanda said with more energy than she had mustered the entire morning.
Candy’s gaze shifted. A tall, shaggy-haired teenage boy with a lopsided grin and intelligent green eyes stood in front of the booth.
“Oh, hi, Cameron,” Candy echoed.
“Hi,” said Cameron, barely looking at her. Then, more shyly, he added, “Hi, Amanda.”
“Hi.”
There was an awkward silence in which both teens looked at each other and then looked over at Candy. When neither of them spoke, apparently tongue-tied, Candy asked, “Having a good time today, Cam?”
The boy shrugged. “Not really. Working,” he said in a voice surprisingly deep for someone his age.
“Oh, that’s right. How are things at Gumm’s?” Cameron worked at the town’s hardware store during the summer.
“Busy.” He paused. “How are things going here?”
“Just great,” said Candy cheerily. “Amanda’s helping out a lot. She’s doing a great job.”
“Hmm.” Cameron’s eyes flicked from Amanda to Candy and back as he fidgeted and chewed his lip. He seemed to want to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. Or maybe something — or someone — was preventing him from saying it. Candy guessed that “someone” was her. The kids probably wanted a few minutes by themselves, she realized. Young love and all that.
Leaning over, she dug a twenty-dollar bill out of the cash box. “Tell you what,” she said to Amanda. “Why don’t you and Cam run over to Duffy’s and get some lunch? And you can bring me back something.”
Amanda snatched the bill from Candy’s hand almost before the words were out of her mouth.” ’Kay. What do you want?”
Candy’s first thought was to ask for the usual — a salad and a Diet Coke — but what the hey, it was a festival day, right? Why not celebrate a little? “How about a cheeseburger, extra pickles and mustard, fries with lots of ketchup, and an extra thick chocolate shake,” she said quickly before she changed her mind.
“You got it!” Amanda dashed around the back of the booth, grabbed Cameron by the hand, and pulled him away with her. He flashed a silly grin at Candy before he turned and followed his girlfriend. “Back in twenty minutes,” Amanda called over her shoulder, waving.
Candy chuckled. “Yeah, right. Twenty minutes. Like that’ll happen.”
Turning her attention back to her booth, she started rearranging the items on the front counter. As she did, she noticed a large, bearded man standing to one side, surreptitiously watching her as he pretended to read the label on one of her pies. Catching her glance, he shot her a tight smile. “You’re pretty good with teenagers,” he observed.
Candy laughed. “I don’t know about that. But we get along pretty well together. They’re good kids.”
The bearded man squinted in thought as he turned to glance back over his shoulder. “She looks familiar. Do I know her?”
Candy gave him the once over. “Who wants to know?” she said protectively. She wasn’t about to discuss Amanda with a stranger.
He pointed a finger at his chest. “You want to know who I am?”
“That’s right.”
It wasn’t much of a clarification, but he seemed to get it. His mouth formed the tight smile again. Could be it was constricted by all that facial hair? “Oh, I see. I thought you knew.”
“Why would I know?”
