Doc nodded his head. “Oliver. Good to see you again.”
“I’ve heard you’re writing a book about the history of Cape Willington.”
Doc crossed his arms and put on one of his best professorial looks. “Yes, that’s one of the projects I’m working on, though I’ve just started my research.”
“Well, I’m glad to help any way I can. You know, the inn has quite a history. It dates back to 1791, which was also the year the town was incorporated, though of course it was founded decades earlier. In those days there were only a few settlers in this area, along with a sawmill, a school, and a store. So the inn was one of the town’s original buildings.”
“That’s right,” Doc said, “until it burned down in 1811, after which it was rebuilt.”
“Actually, it was rebuilt three times,” Oliver corrected him. “The current building dates back to 1902.”
“That would’ve been when Elias Whitby took over the place,” Doc said without skipping a beat.
Oliver paused, studying Doc. He pursed his thin lips. “You’ve done your homework.”
“I’ve had lots of practice.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t been over to see me.”
“Strangely enough, you were next on my list.” Doc had a twinkle in his eye. Candy knew he loved exchanges like this. No one could ever get the better of him when he was on his game.
“Well.” Oliver drew out the word as he looked at Candy, then at Maggie, and finally at Finn before turning his gaze back to Doc. “I’ll look forward to exchanging notes. I hope you’ll call soon to set up a meeting. You know Alby Alcott, my right-hand man?”
“Sure. Hi, Alby.” Doc shook hands with the assistant innkeeper.
“Hello, Doc.”
Oliver turned to his other side. “And this is my assistant, Robbie Bridges.”
Doc nodded at Robbie, who hadn’t said a word. “We’ve met. Hi, Robbie.”
“Hi, Doc,” the teenager said softly.
“And, of course,” Doc said, indicating the others, “you know my friends — Finn Woodbury, Artie Groves, and our chef for today, Bumpy Brigham.”
“Of course.” Oliver glanced at the three of them. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
The three of them waved and said hello, nearly in unison.
“Well, good!” Oliver clapped his hands together a single time, studied them all for a few moments, and abruptly turned back to Candy. “I wonder if I might have a word with you. There’s something I’d like to discuss... privately.”
Candy had been sipping at her coffee. Caught off-guard, she swallowed quickly and lowered her cup. “Oh, well, um, sure, Oliver.” She glanced at Doc, Maggie, and the boys. “I guess I’ll... be right back.”
None of them said a word as they watched her walk away, but Candy thought she heard Maggie whisper to Doc, “I wonder what
Candy wondered the same thing herself.
Oliver led her a short distance away from the booths, to a small sitting area with wrought-iron furniture arranged around a circular grass-and-brick ground pattern beside a small grove of birch trees. There he stopped and turned toward her. “I apologize for being so mysterious, but I have a favor to ask of you.”
It seemed to Candy he was trying to be as pleasant as possible, though it was clear he was finding it difficult. She tilted her head, curious. “And what would that be, Oliver?”
“Well, it seems we’ve lost one of our judges.” He cleared his throat, and she thought she saw a flicker of embarrassment skitter across his eyes. “Well, two, actually, but we’ve been able to replace one. We don’t have a replacement for the second.”
“Who’s missing?” Candy asked, and almost immediately the answer came to her. “It’s Mr. Sedley, isn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, yes. We’ve called his house, but there’s no answer. And he hasn’t arrived here at the inn this morning. We’re forced to go on without him.”
Candy was suddenly very worried. “I called the police about it yesterday. Wilma Mae hasn’t seen him in several days. She’s worried about him.”
Oliver pursed his lips. “Yes, I understand that. I’ve called the police myself and filed a report. We’re all concerned about him. But the truth is, I have an event to run here, and I’m short a judge.”
Candy looked at him with a confused expression on her face. “What are you saying?”
Oliver took a breath. “You’re the community correspondent. You have some sort of status in town. I’d like you to serve as the third judge.”
“Me?”
“Yes, I’m hoping you’ll consider it. It would certainly solve a problem for us — in more ways than one, since Wilma Mae’s thinking of backing out of the judging without Mr. Sedley here, and quite frankly, I’m hoping you might be able to encourage her to remain part of the event.”
Candy thought about that a moment. “Is she here yet?”
“She’s on her way. She sounds very worried, though.”
Candy thought a little more. “What would I have to do? I’ve never been a judge before.”
“We’ll introduce you to the public, of course. You’ll sit down at a table with the stews in front of them. You taste them. It’s a blind test, so you won’t know whose stew you’re tasting. You confer with Wilma Mae and our other judge — his name is Roger Sykes, by the way.”
“Roger... Sykes?” Candy repeated. The name sounded familiar.
“He’s a restaurateur up from Boston. I met him at a hospitality industry convention a few years ago and we’ve kept in touch. Anyway, once you’ve finished the tastings, the three of you reach a consensus. I’ll announce third, second, and first places. I award the trophies and ribbons. We’re all done.”
Candy mulled it over. That didn’t sound too hard. “So what time would I have to be over at the judges’ table?”
“No later than eleven forty-five. You’ll be done in an hour or so.”
Candy shook her head. “I still don’t know. I don’t feel I’m qualified to judge something like this.”
Oliver looked at her without blinking. “You eat, right?”
Candy couldn’t help but smile. “Of course I eat.”
“Well, when you eat there are some foods you like and some you don’t. This is just like that. Pick the stew you like. It’s that simple. It’s just a taste test. Besides, you’ll be an honorary judge, which means you don’t need expert qualifications.”
“Really?”
Completely straight-faced, Oliver LaForce said, “I would not kid you, Candy.”
Candy watched him for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose you would. But isn’t there someone more qualified around? What about Herr Georg?”
“Wolfsburger?” Oliver snorted. “I called him. He’s too busy today with something he’s doing over at the Plant and Pastry event in Town Park. Besides, he says he’s given up the judging business.”
That wasn’t a surprise, after what happened at the Blueberry Queen Pageant the previous summer. “Well, what about someone else... like Ben Clayton?”
“I asked him. He recommended you.”
“Oh.” Candy had exhausted all her excuses. “Well, in that case, I guess I have no choice. I’ll do it.”
Oliver gave her the closest thing he could manage to a smile. It was a rather pitiful affair. “Splendid. I’ll take care of all the details. And I’ll let Wilma Mae know when she arrives that you’ll be standing in for Mr. Sedley.”
“Okay.” Candy let out a breath and checked her watch, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. “I have a few things to take care of first. I still have to conduct several interviews for the paper.”
Oliver made a face. “Yes, about that — I’d prefer if you conducted your official interviews after the awards ceremony, so we don’t confuse the contestants. We want them to think of you as a judge, not a reporter — for this morning, at least. That also was Ben’s suggestion, by the way, not mine, but I think it’s a good one. Before the judging begins, you can visit the contestants’ booths to watch their preparations and ask general questions, although we ask judges to refrain from inquiring about specific ingredients, so as not to influence your decisions. Let’s see, what else? I’ll send Robbie over with a judge’s badge. You should wear it prominently this morning. Don’t eat too much, since you’ll be tasting quite a number of stews at noon. If there’s anything else, just let me or Alby or
