thought we’d eat some salty bar peanuts and open up a few cold ones.”
“Oh, it’s that new place up on Route 1, right? What’s it called? The Rocky Coast Alehouse?”
“That’s the one.” Roger paused, then asked slyly, “So, would you like to join us? I’m sure Ben would enjoy your company, and I know I certainly would.”
The question came so quickly that Candy wasn’t prepared for it. “Oh, no, thanks. Well, I’d like to, but I have too much to do this afternoon. I have to track down the winners and interview them, and at least say hello to the other contestants, and then do a few quick follow-ups. And I have to check on Wilma Mae and Maggie. Another time, okay?”
“Another time,” Roger said quietly as Ben finally reached them.
“Hello you two. What a beautiful day, huh?”
“It sure is,” Candy said, looking at him fondly.
He smiled at her. “Hey, you did a great job today.”
“Well, thanks. I had some help, though.” She indicated Roger, who stood silently beside her.
Ben continued. “I knew you’d be fine. And everyone’s buzzing about Juanita. She’s on cloud nine. What a great choice. She’ll make a great story for the paper.”
He checked his watch and looked over at Roger. “If we hurry we can catch the third inning.” He turned back to Candy. “Hey, you want to come along? I think Jesse’s coming with us. But we still have plenty of room, no waiting.” He raised an eyebrow in a boyish, almost irresistible way.
But Candy resisted — for now. She laughed and patted him on the shoulder, then pushed him gently away. “Thanks, but it sounds like a guys’ day out to me. Go ahead and have some fun. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“You sure? Okay.” He leaned forward and gave her a quick, unexpected kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call you and we can reschedule that date. Remember, Italian.”
Candy smiled. “Italian. And a bottle of Chianti.”
“You got it.”
They said their good-byes, and as Ben and Roger headed toward the parking lot, corralling Jesse as they went, Candy touched her cheek.
Ben was rarely so affectionate, especially in public, and especially at an event like this, where anyone could be watching.
“What was that all about?” she said to herself.
Finally she shook her head. “Men,” she muttered.
With a certain amount of effort, she pushed all thoughts of Ben and Roger from her mind. Right now, she had other things to do.
She was eager to relocate Robbie, who was no longer in view, and get a quick look at the cook-off contestant list on his clipboard. First, though, she wanted to find out what had happened to Wilma Mae.
She turned, crossed the tent, and walked up onto the porch, where some guests lounged in rocking chairs, sipping on glasses of iced tea or white wine. But just before she went inside, she stopped and looked out across the lawn one more time, wondering what had become of Wanda.
Most of the contestants had returned to their booths. It was time to start selling their stews to the public. But Candy saw only Wanda’s helpers in her booth.
From her elevated position on the porch, she scanned the crowd one more time and thought she saw Wanda in her red jacket stomping off toward the parking lot. But she couldn’t be sure.
Giving up, she entered the inn and turned into the side lounge, where she’d left Wilma Mae, Maggie, and the nurse a while earlier.
All three of them were gone.
Candy looked around, surprised, wondering what had become of them. She stepped back out of the room, looked both ways along the hall, and saw the nurse at the opposite end, near the main lobby. Candy started toward her, flagging her down.
“Hello!” she called as she approached the nurse. “Do you have any idea what happened to Wilma Mae — the elderly woman who fainted outside?”
“Yes,” the nurse answered, seeming preoccupied. “She said she wanted to go home, so your friend took her. She said she’d call you later.”
Candy gave her a wave. “Okay, thanks.”
As the nurse walked away, Candy checked her watch. She knew she had to get back outside to start her interviews, but first she wanted to find out who had made the stew at the top of her list. Of course, by visiting all of the booths outside and tasting every stew, she could eventually find out what she wanted to know. But that would take up a good part of the afternoon, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to identify all the stews exactly, now that she was away from the judges’ table. Besides, she wasn’t sure she could eat another spoonful of lobster stew right now. She’d had enough to last her for a while.
That left Robbie’s clipboard. It was the quickest way to find out who had made the cinnamon-flavored stew. In just a few seconds she’d have her answer. But first, she had to find Robbie.
So where was he?
She had just turned, planning to head back outside to search for him, when he magically appeared right in front of her, almost as if conjured from thin air. Clipboard in hand, he had entered the hall from the porch, and now walked quickly toward her with his head bowed low, studying the carpet, as if he had a million things on his mind. But halfway along the hall he jigged to his right, entered a doorway, and disappeared from view.
But she already knew the answer. She’d never have a better opportunity than right now to get a look at that clipboard.
As nonchalantly as possible, she strolled along the hall toward the office door Robbie had entered. She stopped once or twice to admire a painting hanging on the wall, pretending to be just another hotel guest. When she finally reached the door midway along the hall, she stuck her head around the corner.
It was a small suite of offices, with a receptionist’s desk in the main area and two more offices branching off on either side, both with their doors open.
Nobody was home.
She checked the nameplates on the main office door: OLIVER LAFORCE, INNKEEPER, read one sign, and beneath that, ALBEN ALCOTT, ASSISTANT INNKEEPER.
Lingering as casually as possible at the doorway, she quickly scanned the reception area, then looked through the open doors to the interior offices.
She thought she saw the clipboard on the desk in the office to the left.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she slipped in the door, crossed the receptionist’s area in a half dozen quick steps, and entered Oliver LaForce’s office, checking it carefully again to make sure it was empty.
It was nicely decorated with antique furniture and plush plum-colored carpeting. A handsome oak cupboard stood along one wall, a small white brick fireplace occupied another, and a large window looked out over the lawn.
She made a beeline for the desk.
Sure enough, Robbie had set down the clipboard right in the center of the leather-trimmed blotter pad. She scooted around the desk to get a better look at the documents attached to the clipboard.
The top sheet was a schedule, with Robbie’s scribbled notes all over it. The sheet she needed must be underneath it.
As she reached toward the clipboard, she heard voices in the hallway. Her heart jumped in her chest as she backed away from the desk, her eyes darting to the main doorway, ready to bolt if necessary. But it was just a couple walking past. They never peered into the offices.
She waited until they had moved on down the hall, took a quick, deep breath to steady herself, and stepped back toward the desk. “Do it now and get out of here,” she told herself.
She glanced up once more to make sure she was still alone, then reached down and began to page back
