to Blueberry Acres and Cape Willington in Downeast Maine, she’d been able to start putting the pieces of her life back together.
She’d been happy with her simple life as a farmer. But that all changed last summer, when two murders had rocked the town, and she’d found herself deeply involved in solving them.
At the same time, several opportunities had come her way, and now she seemed to be spending less and less time on the farm. That’s what had Doc worried, she knew. For the past few years, they had run the farm together. Though he had originally bought Blueberry Acres for himself, Doc had grown used to sharing the work with her. Now, most of the workload was once again falling on Doc’s shoulders — at a time when most men had retired and spent their days fishing and playing with their grandchildren...
Candy sighed.
She was still trying to figure it out as she pulled into the last open parking spot on Main Street, got out, and walked into Herr Georg’s bakery.
The German baker was thrilled to see her, as always. “Candy,
“Herr Georg, it smells wonderful in here. What are you baking today?” she asked as she placed her purse and keys behind the counter and reached for an apron that hung on a nearby hook.
The German baker twitched his white moustache and raised a finger as his eyes glistened. “Ah! Today I am making
“Um” — Candy thought a moment; they’d gone over this — “that’s bee sting cake, right? Filled with custard and topped with honey-glazed sliced almonds, I think. And if I remember correctly it has a very buttery dough, which is probably what I’m smelling right now.”
Herr Georg beamed, his white teeth shining out from beneath his moustache. “Very good! You are correct! And Candy, you will get to sample the first piece!”
The morning passed quickly, as hungry tourists and townspeople descended on the bakery to sample the German baker’s luscious pastries and other baked goods, sweets, and imported items. Two towering wedding cakes went out the door, their transport carefully monitored by Herr Georg in his white baker’s hat. Candy barely had time for a tea break as she continually bagged pastries and rang up sales on the old register.
By one in the afternoon she was back home, boxing up the pies, which she promptly dropped off at Melody’s Café. She was on her way to Maggie’s house when her cell phone rang.
Candy had to pull over and dig in her purse to find the phone, which by then had stopped ringing. But the readout told her the call had come from Wilma Mae. She keyed through the phone’s contact list and called Wilma Mae’s number.
The elderly woman answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?”
“Wilma Mae? It’s Candy. You called?”
“Oh, yes, Candy. Thank you for calling me back so quickly. I hope I’m not being too much of a bother but I need your help again. Could you possibly stop by the house this afternoon?”
Candy checked her watch. It was just after two. She was supposed to meet Ben at seven, she wanted to check in on Maggie, and she still had a few errands to run. But Wilma Mae sounded worried. Something must be up. “Sure, I can do that. Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m worried about Mr. Sedley. There’s something... strange going on.”
“Strange? In what way?”
“Well, Mr. Sedley seems to have completely disappeared. When can you come over?”
“I’m on my way. I’ll be there shortly.”
Candy keyed off the phone and slid it back into her purse. If she hurried she could still run her errands, drop in briefly on Maggie, and make her date with Ben. She gunned the Jeep and headed toward Wilma Mae’s house on Rose Hip Lane.
Wilma Mae was standing on the front porch waiting to greet her as she drove into the driveway. The elderly woman hurried down the steps and across the lawn as Candy climbed out of the Jeep.
“Thank you for coming so quickly. I don’t know what to do.” Her face was drawn, and she was rubbing her hands rapidly together.
“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.
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
