“Well, sure. On behalf of the newspaper, I mean.”
She sat up straighter in her chair. “But, Ben, I’m not a news reporter. I’m the community correspondent.”
“You’ve just been promoted,” Ben told her. “I’m putting you in charge of this story.”
“You’re putting me in charge?” she said in disbelief.
“Sure, you’re the best person to write this story. Think about it, Candy. You’re already inside — you’ve been talking to Wilma Mae, and you discovered the body. You’ve practically got a front-row seat for this whole deal.”
He actually sounded excited about this idea, she realized, as she felt her heart suddenly tighten in her chest.
“I think you’re ready for something meatier than the typical community story,” he told her.
“Meatier?”
“Candy,” Ben said, his voice controlled yet burgeoning, “people have won Pulitzers for this type of reporting.”
“Pulitzers?” The word came out as a sort of croak. Candy had momentarily lost her voice.
“This could be big. And it’s fallen right into your lap.”
“But... but I’m not a crime reporter,” Candy repeated, finding her voice again. “I don’t know... the jargon or the writing style or how any of those crime things work. I certainly don’t know all the people over at the police station.”
“You know the chief, right? You’ve talked to some of the officers. Besides, there’s not a lot of heavy lifting involved. You make a few phone calls, talk to the chief, maybe interview a few people. Who knows what you’ll come across.”
Candy blinked several times.
“Think about it,” Ben coaxed.
So Candy thought about it. She wanted to hate the idea. She wanted to hate the idea that he wanted her to do it. And she wanted to hate the fact that, right now, it sounded like he wanted a story a lot more than he wanted her.
But strange as it sounded, and much to her surprise, she realized she actually agreed with him.
She was sitting on a pretty big story. So why not make the best of it?
She cleared her throat. “Well... I suppose I could do that — make a few phone calls, see what I can find out.”
“Super. I know you’ll do a great job. By the way, I need the story by Tuesday afternoon.”
“Tuesday?” She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.
Ben must have noticed her concern. “If it helps, I’ll give you an extra day for your community column. You can turn it in on Wednesday. But no later than noon. I need to get this issue on the street by Friday, okay? This is a big one for us.”
Candy blew out a breath. It sounded like a lot of work, but something in her didn’t want to let Ben down. She knew this was important to him. And she still cared about the guy. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Great. Oh, there’s one other thing. I received a really strange e-mail this morning. It came into the office’s account, but it was addressed to you. Something like, ‘For Candy Holliday’s eyes only.’ It just looks like another complaint — something about the cook-off probably — but I forwarded it to your home account. Did you get it?”
Candy looked down at the laptop’s screen. She used the touchpad to move the cursor to her e-mail account’s icon. “I haven’t opened it yet, but I’m doing it now.” She waited a few moments while the program launched, then checked her new e-mails. She saw the one forwarded by Ben. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Okay. Just let me know if you need anything else. Are you going to the parade tomorrow?”
“I think so.”
“Good. At least one of us will be there.”
“You’re not going?”
“I’m not sure yet. Roger and I are talking about going fishing. But we’ll see.”
“Did you guys have fun yesterday? I heard the Red Sox won.”
“Yeah, it was okay.”
“By the way,” Candy said, her mind already working ahead, “you wouldn’t happen to have Roger’s phone number, would you?”
“Roger? Sure. Why?”
“Just in case I have any questions for him about the cook-off.” As he gave it to her, she wrote it down in her notebook, so she could key it into her cell phone’s contact list. “How long is he going to be in town?” she asked, setting the notebook aside.
“He’s here for the rest of this coming week. We’re supposed to have dinner together tomorrow night. Want to come along?”
Candy thought about that. “I don’t know yet. I have a lot of work to do. I have this tough editor who just called me out of the blue, put me on a criminal case, assigned a news story, and told me he needs it in two days. I mean, the
Ben laughed. “Yeah, you’ve got to watch out for guys like that. Let me know, okay?”
“I will.” She hit the end button and quickly keyed Roger’s number into her cell phone’s contact list.
Maybe it was time to give him a call to see what he remembered about the stews he had sampled yesterday.
It was a good idea, she thought, and she planned to do just that — as soon as she read the presumably nasty e-mail Ben had forwarded to her. She might as well get the bad news out of the way first.
Twenty
The subject line at the top of the e-mail read,
Just as Ben had said.
She’d seen these types of e-mails before. Usually they were complaints. But it didn’t look like Wanda’s handiwork this time. She usually wanted anyone and everyone to read her letters and e-mails — as many people as possible. Never before had she labeled one of her messages this way.
Candy took a few moments to mentally prepare herself. When she felt she was ready for whatever she might read, she positioned the mouse and tapped the laptop’s touchpad. The e-mail opened. She dropped her gaze to the text in the lower pane.
It was short and to the point:
It was signed
Candy felt goose bumps rise on her arm as a cool breeze blew down from the blueberry fields and across the porch. She rubbed at her arms and leaned back.
The wrong person won the cook-off? At first glance, she’d say Ben was right — it did sound like a complaint, at least on its surface.
But it was the sign-off that gave her pause.
Was that a coincidence? Or was someone trying to tell her something? Was there a hidden meaning in the name?
There was only one way to find out.
Still, she hesitated, knowing she should think carefully before taking a step deeper into the mystery.
