track.”
“You’re right about that,” Candy said, finishing up the last few bites of toast and wiping her hands with a paper napkin as she glanced at the clock again.
Doc knew his time was running out, but he refused to be hurried. “And then life took some hard turns, for both you and me. I want you to know,” he said, reaching across the table to rest his hand on one of hers, “that having you move in here with me was one of the best things to happen to me in a long time. I’ve loved having you around again. But I can’t help wondering...” He paused, hesitant to go on, then said finally, “Well, I can’t help wondering if you’re here more for me than for yourself.”
Candy started to protest, but Doc went on, quickly now. “You need more in your life than just me, sweetie. But it’s more than that,” he said before she could get anything out. “I have to ask — or I think you have to ask — what do you want to do with your life?”
Candy almost laughed, though she held back because she knew her father was serious. She thought a moment, then rose, placed her coffee cup in the sink, and returned to the table. She kissed her father on the forehead and held up his chin as she looked into his eyes. “Dad, I think it’s really sweet you’re concerned about my life, but don’t worry so much. I’m just fine.”
Doc smiled up at her. “I just want you to be happy, pumpkin.”
“I know. Me too.” Candy kissed him again, then grabbed her purse and a manila envelope from the table by the back door. “I hate to run, but Herr Georg’s waiting for me. We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Okay.” After a brief pause he added, “Just take care of yourself.”
“I will.” And with that she was out the door. She jumped into the Jeep, headed down the dirt road toward town, and a few minutes before nine, she walked into the Black Forest Bakery on Main Street.
Herr Georg was in the back kitchen, wearing a long white apron and a chef’s hat, his hands covered with flour. When he saw her, a wide smile broke out on his face beneath the curling white moustache.
“Ahh, Candy, there you are, just in time,” he greeted her as she dropped her purse and the manila envelope onto a cane chair in a corner.
She said hello, and as she grabbed an apron and tied it about her waist, she added hesitantly, “I have something I need to talk to you about when we have a break.”
“Yes, yes, of course. We’ll have some time later. Have you had breakfast?”
“Just a cup of coffee and a piece of toast.”
He clucked at her with his tongue. “Candy, Candy, that is not enough for you! You are a grown woman! You dash about here and there! You need something to help you keep your energy level up. Here, try one of these. I just took them from the oven.” He handed her a raspberry cheese croissant oozing warm filling and giving off that luscious, just-baked smell, so powerful and redolent it almost made her dizzy.
Light, flaky, and golden brown, it practically melted in her mouth. “Hmm, hmm, hmm. It’s a good thing I don’t work here regularly,” she told him as she licked her lips and savored each bite, “or I wouldn’t be able to fit through your shop’s front door, that’s for sure. Besides, I’d probably eat through all your profits!”
He laughed heartily, his eyes twinkling, just as the bell over the front door tinkled. Candy quickly finished the croissant and wiped her hands on her apron. “The first customer of the day,” she announced as she darted out to the front counter.
A flood of customers, as it turned out, came through the door, one after another, keeping her quite busy for the next few hours, and the morning passed in a rush. At times it reminded her of a feeding frenzy of great white sharks, and she was the chum. The smells coming out of the kitchen were heavenly, spurring on the near-rabid customers, who kept Candy hustling as she filled dozens and dozens of white bakery bags with Herr Georg’s delicacies and rang up sales on the old register. While the customers browsed and sampled the pastries, they sipped tea and coffee and chatted about family, friends, and work. In amongst the talk about the weather, the summer traffic, vacation plans, and the score of the latest Red Sox game, there were worried glances and whispers about Sapphire Vine, Ray Hutchins, and Jock Larson. Murder was still a topic that occupied the minds of many Capers, but few seemed willing to discuss the terrible events of the past week out in the open, preferring to talk in the far corners of the room, in lowered tones, so as not to disturb the more sensitive among Herr Georg’s patrons.
As noon approached, the steady onslaught of customers slowed, and by one o’clock thinned to a trickle. Herr Georg picked up the phone, called Duffy’s, and ordered deli sandwiches and salads for lunch. Then, the morning’s baking done, he wandered out into the front room to check on Candy and the day’s sales.
“We’ve had a busy morning,” she said, showing him the sales register receipts.
“Hmm, yes, that’s very good. It’s all the tourists, you know. They’re always hungry.”
Fifteen minutes later, a delivery boy dropped off their sandwiches and salads. Herr Georg suggested they eat at a small table in the back room.
As they sat, Candy decided that the time to confront him had finally come.
“Herr Georg,” she began, “I have something to talk to you about — something that’s been bothering me.”
“Yes?” He looked at her inquisitively as he took a bite of his smoked turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich, piled high with lettuce and tomato.
Candy hesitated. “Well, it’s about Sapphire Vine.”
That seemed to suck the life right out of him. The energy and optimism he had exhibited all morning disappeared in a flash, and his expression became solemn. He set his sandwich down on its wrapper. He seemed to have suddenly lost his appetite. “What about her?”
Candy took a deep breath, then plunged on, explaining how she had been hired to write a column for the
His face went white. He seemed to know in an instant what they were. He took them from her as if they contained his death warrant, and read over them silently for some time, his lips tight, his eyes dark and hollow. “So,” he said finally, letting out a long breath as he set the documents down on the table, “it is true then. I hoped it was all a bluff.”
“What’s true? What’s going on?” She felt a chill go through her. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Sapphire’s death, does it?”
He looked up at her, horror-stricken. “Oh no, of course not! Nothing like that!”
“Then what?” Candy’s tone was sympathetic. She reached out and put her hand on top of his. She couldn’t help noticing that, despite the warmth of the day, his hand was cold. “I’m not sure what this is about, but if there’s any way I can help...”
He held her gaze for the longest time, as if considering what to tell her. Finally he nodded once, as if he had made a decision. He rose. “Come, we must talk.”
Twenty-Six
Leaving their half-eaten sandwiches and the yellowed German documents behind, Herr Georg took her by the hand and walked to the front door. He flipped the OPEN sign that hung in the door window around so it read CLOSED, walked outside with Candy, and locked the door behind them.
“You’re closing in the middle of the day?” she asked him curiously.
“I must be outside, away from here, to talk about these things,” Herr Georg told her with a hesitant shrug. “This is more important than a few extra dollars, and it’s such a nice day. Let’s walk.”
Sensing the import of what he was about to tell her, she let him lead the way. “Okay, let’s walk.”
With an expressionless face, he started off. Saying barely a word to each other, they crossed Main Street and angled toward Ocean Avenue, which was busy with pedestrians window-shopping and scurrying about. It was a warm day with clouds building overhead. The humidity was on the rise, and the air was sharp with the unmistakable
