large tarpaulin, perhaps eight feet square, and it took her several seconds to unroll it fully, as Maggie watched in silent, horrified fascination.
And when Candy was done, when she had fully unrolled the tarpaulin, the dead, stiff body of James Sedley rolled out across the cold cement floor of Wilma Mae Wendell’s basement.
Eighteen
The flashing lights of four squad cars and an ambulance danced across Candy’s eyes, making her blink rapidly before she turned away. The sun was sinking toward the western horizon, casting long slants of yellow sunlight along Wilma Mae’s tidy front yard. Blackbirds chattered noisily in the high branches of a tall, sparsely limbed pine tree, angry about something. Candy looked up at them, wondering what had got them so upset and thinking how wonderful it would be to become a bird right now, and just fly away into that sun-paled blue sky, out over the trees into the far distance, to disappear forever....
She was still dazed and disturbed by what she and Maggie had discovered in the basement. Her breathing had returned to normal, but her chest still felt empty, like someone had plucked out her heart.
When an officer led her out here to sit on the front porch steps, she had felt ill, probably from the smell, which still clung to her. But as she sat here in the sun and breathed deeply of the cool Maine air, she began to feel better, and the nausea receded.
Still, she didn’t want to risk standing at the moment, afraid her legs might be too weak to hold her, or the nausea might return, or her head might start spinning. So she sat — though she stayed well off to one side of the steps to avoid getting tramped on by the police officers and EMTs, who were moving rapidly but carefully in and out of the house.
Daryl Durr, Cape Willington’s chief of police, had showed up half an hour ago, shortly after she had called the station and reported the finding of Mr. Sedley. He had talked to her briefly before he headed down into the basement, sending her outside to recover. “Stay close, though,” he told her gruffly. “I want to talk to you.”
And so Candy sat on the porch as the afternoon light died, trying to keep the scene in her head from playing over and over.
When Mr. Sedley’s body had rolled out onto the basement floor, Candy and Maggie had both screamed. It had been a surreal, terrifying moment, though in their hearts they both had known what was coming. But that hadn’t lessened the shock of seeing poor Mr. Sedley so absolutely, completely, unbelievably dead.
Once past the initial shock, Candy had reluctantly taken a step toward the body to check for a pulse but decided there was no need. The body had started to bloat and the eyes bulged. The sickening smell permeated everything. There was no doubt Mr. Sedley had been dead several days.
Ignoring Maggie’s stifled sobs, Candy had quickly scanned the body. The hair was slicked and matted, as if he’d been bleeding from a head wound, though the blood had congealed into a misshapen reddish black mass. Candy had also noticed dark bruising on his forehead and neck. She’d seen no evidence, though, of a more violent death — no blood on his clothes, nothing that looked like a stab or bullet wound.
He wore a light gray sweater, rumpled brown pants, and black shoes.
She’d considered wrapping the body back up in the tarpaulin but decided against it almost immediately. She’d already contaminated a crime scene, and she thought it best to leave the rest for the experts.
They hadn’t lingered any longer. Back upstairs, Maggie leaned against a wall, held a hand to her chest, and coughed uncontrollably, trying to get the smell out of her nose and the images out of mind. Candy was coughing as well and her eyes were watering, though whether from the air in the basement or for other reasons, she didn’t know.
“Who did that to him?” Maggie asked as she waved a hand rapidly in front of her face, trying to clear the air. “Who would wrap him up like that? Did he suffocate? Was it an accident?”
“It was no accident,” Candy assured her, though she had no other answers.
“How long do you think he’s been down there?”
“I don’t know,” Candy said thoughtfully. “But we can’t worry about him anymore. We have someone else to worry about.”
“Who?”
“Wilma Mae. What are we going to tell her?”
As it turned out, neither had the heart to say anything to her right away, so while Candy hovered in the living room, waiting for the police to arrive, Maggie agreed to go up and sit with Wilma Mae while she slept.
Now a half dozen police officers quietly but diligently searched the house, while a photographer took pictures down in the basement and the EMTs waited to remove the body. Most of them wore face masks because of the smell, and they talked in low voices.
Sitting on the porch, Candy could hear them speaking to each other inside, though their words were indistinct. But she didn’t have to hear them clearly to know what they were talking about. Despite what had happened the previous summer, murder was rare in Cape Willington, as it was in most of Maine’s rural villages and towns. Any time it happened, it caused shock and surprise.
That, Candy thought, was probably the best description of how she felt, and more. She was devastated. She hadn’t known Mr. Sedley, except through what Wilma Mae had told her, but she felt as if she had lost a close friend. She couldn’t even begin to grasp what Wilma Mae must be feeling.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned to look back at the house. Maggie walked out onto the porch and sat down beside her.
“How’s Wilma Mae?” Candy asked, propping up one side of her head with the palm of her hand, to steady herself while she talked.
Maggie shrugged. “She took it surprisingly well. I expected tears. I got denial.”
“Did Chief Durr explain everything to her?”
Maggie nodded. “He did. He was very professional and very personable.”
“Does she understand?”
Maggie considered that a few moments, then nodded again. “I think so. She heard him. She’s just not ready to acknowledge it yet.”
Candy nodded. “That makes sense, I guess. We all have to handle things in our own way.”
Maggie shrugged. “I guess. She’s dealing with it as best she can. But right now I think she’d rather just not talk about it. She’s worried about one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“She doesn’t know where she’s going to sleep tonight. She doesn’t want to stay in her house anymore.”
“Yeah, that would be kinda tough to do. Does she have any friends around town? Relatives?”
“I think she has a sister out in California. And maybe a nephew or something like that up in Machias.”
Candy said, “Hmm,” and stared out at the lawn for a few long moments. Finally she looked back at her friend. “She can always stay with me and Doc. We’ve got plenty of room out at the farm. She might like hanging around Blueberry Acres for a few days.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Maggie said, her eyes twinkling, “but I have a better idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, she can stay with me.”
“With you?”
“Sure! I’ve got plenty of room, and I’m not busy right now. Amanda’s away camping with Cameron and the Zimmermans, and Ed’s — well, Ed’s gone, isn’t he? The house has been kind of lonely lately. It wouldn’t be so bad to have someone around for a few days. And I think it’d be good for Wilma Mae too. I can help keep her mind off things. We’ll drink a few cups of tea, or maybe a few glasses of wine. Watch some TV. Make some popcorn. You know, normal stuff.”
Candy nodded her approval. “That might be just the thing she needs.”
