Town in a Lobster Stew

through the sheets attached to the clipboard, her fingers moving quickly. The fourth one in was the one she sought.

As soon as she saw it, her brow furrowed.

Someone had used a felt-tip pen to draw a big black X across the page and written the words Do not use — fake list across the top.

The handwritten words were in a tight, neat script, different from Robbie’s more scribbled handwriting on the clipboard’s top page. That meant either Oliver or Alby had drawn the X across this page and written the words at the top.

Candy quickly flicked back through the other sheets on the clipboard, looking for another listing of contestants, but she couldn’t find one.

She returned to the sheet with the black X on it. The placards on the judges’ table, one in front of each group of stews, had had numbers on them. On the sheet in front of her, the contestants’ names were listed alphabetically, with handwritten black numerals prior to each name. She simply had to match a number to a name to find the information she needed.

The top stew on her list had been number nine. She traced down the column with her finger but didn’t have to look too far. The name she sought was the second one on the list, directly beneath Barnes, Melody and just above Brigham, William.

Next to the numeral nine was the name of Wanda Boyle.

Candy groaned. Her worst fears were confirmed.

Wanda had made the stew with the hint of cinnamon in it. That meant she must have had Mr. Sedley’s recipe. And she must have stolen it from Wilma Mae’s house. The elderly woman had been right.

But Candy hesitated. What about the black X? What about the words Do not use — fake list written at the top?

What did it all mean?

As she pondered this question, she started checking the list for some of the other names and their assigned numbers, but before she could focus in on it, she heard voices just outside the door.

One of them was Alby’s.

He was talking to someone in the hall.

Candy’s heart thumped. Moving quicker than she ever had in her life, she let the sheets on the clipboard fall back into place and darted into the reception area. She paused for a moment to look around nonchalantly, then started out, running into Alby as he was coming in.

“Oh! Hi!” she said to a surprised Alby. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you!”

Alby had stopped dead in his tracks and was staring at her with a confused look on his face. “Candy?”

She stuck out her hand. “I... um... I just wanted to say thank you for asking me to be a judge today. I was looking for Oliver to thank him as well, but he’s not in his office.”

“Um, no,” Alby said, still off balance as he glanced into Oliver’s empty office. “He’s outside, touring the booths.”

“Then I guess I’ll look for him out there. Thanks again, Alby!”

And before he could say another word, she dashed out the door and hurried along the hall. In a few moments she was out the door, onto the porch, and down the steps into the sunlight.

She didn’t stop until she was halfway across the lawn. Finally she slowed and looked back.

Alby was nowhere to be seen. He must have bought her explanation.

She rolled her eyes into her head, dropped her shoulders, and let out a long breath. “Whew, that was close.”

She was safely away, but she was uncertain of what she had found. The evidence was confusing. She stopped, raising her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the sunlight, and surveyed the booths arrayed around the edge of the lawn. “I guess I’ll just have to do this the hard way,” she said to herself and sighed.

There was only one logical place to start: Wanda Boyle’s booth. One taste of her stew and she’d know for sure whether it had been made using Mr. Sedley’s recipe.

“Okay, I guess you have to do it, just to make sure,” she said, encouraging herself.

She had just started off across the lawn, determination in every step, when her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and checked the front display screen.

It was Maggie.

She flipped open the phone and held it up to her ear. “Maggie? Where are you?”

“Candy?”

“Yes, what’s up? Did you take Wilma Mae home?”

A pause. Then, in a voice that gave Candy a chill, Maggie said, “You’d better get over here right away.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at Wilma Mae’s house. And something’s wrong. Something’s very, very wrong.”

Seventeen

Feeling a sense of urgency, Candy pulled the Jeep into the driveway at Wilma Mae’s house and slammed on the brakes. She slipped the transmission into park, unhooked her seat belt, flicked off the engine, and withdrew the key from the ignition, all in one fluid motion.

She jumped out and, in a dozen steps, was across the yard and up on the front porch. In a couple more steps she was at the front door, which stood wide open.

“Hello?” she called through the screen door. Without waiting for an answer, she opened it and walked inside.

She was halfway along the hallway when something particularly offensive, a smell like rotten eggs, assailed her nostrils. She made a face. “Mrs. Wendell? Maggie? What’s that smell?”

“We’re up here!” Maggie called from the second floor.

Candy retreated back along the hall and turned up the stairs, taking them two at a time. On the second floor she found the two of them in Wilma Mae’s back bedroom.

The elderly woman was stretched out on an antique fourposter bed, which had a white frilled coverlet on it. Her eyes were closed, and she was holding a cold cloth to her head. Maggie turned toward Candy as she walked in. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“Didn’t you smell it downstairs? You can’t breathe down there.”

“So what do you think it is?”

Maggie looked around at Wilma Mae, then took Candy’s arm and led her out into the hallway, well clear of Wilma Mae’s room. “I don’t know,” she said in a worried whisper, “and I’m not sure I want to find out.”

“You don’t think... ?” Candy let the sentence trail off, unable to finish it.

“I don’t know what to think,” Maggie said. “I just know that something’s wrong. That smell isn’t... normal, if you know what I mean. It smells... well, it smells like something died.”

Candy suddenly felt all cold inside. “I guess we have to check the house. I’ll do it — but you have to come with me.”

“Should we call the police?”

Candy thought about that. “Let’s find out what it is first. Maybe we’re just overreacting. Maybe it’s just a dead critter in the walls. Maybe a cat crawled in the basement window and couldn’t crawl out again.”

“Or maybe it’s something else.”

“Or maybe it’s something else,” Candy echoed. “That’s what we’ve got to find out. So... are you with me?”

Maggie looked doubtful. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I don’t know if I can either. But we have to find out what’s going on. And I can’t do it alone. I need your help. Okay?”