Town in a Lobster Stew

here.”

“Is that you?”

No response.

Hesitantly, Candy took a few steps toward the shadows of the left wing, where the voice had come from. As she drew closer, the voice spoke again. “Back here.”

This time, she decided it definitely sounded like a woman’s voice.

She let out a breath. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it in.

Candy reached the wing and peered deeper into the shadows, but she could see nothing. “Where are you?”

“Back here.”

The voice, low and muffled, had come from her right. She thought of flicking on the flashlight she still held but hesitated. She didn’t want to spook Cinnamon Girl, so for the moment she left it off. But she tightened her grip on it, her thumb resting on the switch, ready to flick it on at the first sign of trouble.

But she didn’t need it. The other light flicked on at that moment, shining at her feet. “This way,” the voice said, drawing her on.

Candy took a step or two forward. “Who are you? What information do you have?”

“Closer.” The voice sounded mysterious but not menacing.

So Candy moved closer. The light still shone on the floor at her feet, creating a path for her, guiding her along. She stepped around a few pieces of scenery, a pile of stacked chairs, a wooden table behind the rear curtain.

She could make out the shape of the person now, standing about twelve feet in front of her, though she could see no distinct features. The tall, thick stage curtains on either side of them muffled most sounds, but she thought she could hear the other person breathing.

As she approached, the flashlight’s beam swung away and then flicked off. The two of them stood silently for a moment, facing each other in semidarkness.

Candy squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She cleared her throat. “Okay, so here I am. What did you want to tell me?”

“It’s simple,” the shadow said. “There’s something fishy going on in this town, and it has nothing to do with lobster stew.”

Candy considered that. “So what do you think is going on?”

“I think,” the shadowy figure said in a low voice, “that one of the cooks yesterday was using a recipe stolen from Wilma Mae Wendell.”

“What makes you say that?” Candy asked, immediately suspicious. She had told only a few people about the stolen recipe, though it was possible Wilma Mae herself had let her guard down and mentioned it to someone at the cook-off. Still, Candy didn’t want to give anything away — at least not yet.

The shadow was silent for a few moments. Then the voice said gruffly, “She asked you to find it for her, didn’t she?”

“Find what?”

A sound of exasperation leaked out of the shadow. “The lobster stew recipe. The one Mr. Sedley used to win the cook-off all those years. He gave it to Wilma Mae, and she’s been keeping it for him. But someone stole it from her place — sometime this week, is my guess. So now she’s got you looking for it, right?”

Candy took a small step forward, her thumb still resting on the flashlight’s switch. “How do you know all this?”

“Ha!” the shadow said, ignoring Candy’s question. “I knew it! I was right!” After a moment of gloating, the shadow continued. “There’s something else. Yesterday, at the cook-off, someone interfered with the judging.”

That gave Candy a jolt. She felt her uneasiness return as she recalled a similar episode that had occurred ten months earlier — an episode that ended in murder.

“So who interfered?” she asked.

“Me,” the shadow answered.

Candy crept forward another step, her senses sharpening. “What’s going on? Is this some sort of joke?”

“It’s no joke. It’s deadly serious.”

Considering what she had discovered yesterday, Candy couldn’t disagree. She took another step forward. “How do you know so much?”

“Because I was there yesterday, at the cook-off. I saw what went on. But it turned out all wrong. That’s the problem. And now Mr. Sedley’s dead. That’s an even bigger problem. And I’ve been trying to figure out the connection between the two. I’ve unraveled some of it, but I can’t do it all on my own. You have the answers I need. That’s why I contacted you.”

Candy’s curiosity surged. She inched forward another step as she squinted into the darkness, trying to get a better look at Cinnamon Girl’s face. She thought she could dimly make out some of the features. “Who are you?” she asked again, this time drawing out the words.

When the figure didn’t answer, Candy decided she’d had enough. In a quick, precise movement, she raised her flashlight, flicked on the switch, and aimed the beam directly in Cinnamon Girl’s face.

It looked oddly grotesque in the harsh light, all sharp angles and unflattering lines. But there was no mistaking the identity of the person standing in the shadows backstage at the Pruitt Opera House.

Just as she’d suspected. “Wanda Boyle.”

Twenty-Three

 “Who were you expecting? Elmer Fudd?” Wanda made a smug sound in the back of her throat. “Surprised?”

Candy had to admit she was, even though she’d started to figure it out when she first heard the shadow’s low voice. “Yes, actually, I am.”

“Well good. I didn’t think you’d be so easy to fool, not with your reputation as a hotshot detective.” She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the flashlight’s beam. “Now could you get that light out of my eyes before you give me a headache?”

Candy did as the other woman asked, turning the beam down toward the heavily varnished floor. The shadowy grays returned, engulfing them. It was eerily quiet backstage, where the curtains muffled most sounds, and Candy let her voice grow a little louder. “What kind of game are you playing, Wanda?”

“Is that what you think? This is a game?” Wanda’s tone became defensive, and her words turned hard-edged. “Well it’s not. I’m sitting on some hot information, and I think it could be tied to Mr. Sedley’s death.”

Candy’s annoyance at Wanda quickly fell away. “What kind of information?”

“First, I have to know a few things. Consider it a little information sharing. You tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know. But you have to go first. That day you came to the museum. Were you there to see Charlotte... or me?”

When Candy hesitated to answer, Wanda went on. “Let me guess. You were there because you were looking for me, right?”

Candy considered her answer but could see no point in acting coy any longer. “Yes.”

“I thought so. I knew something was up when you came snooping around that day. So let’s figure this out. The recipe was stolen from Wilma Mae. She asked you to find it for her. And you must have come right out to the museum. So what can we deduce from that?”

“I don’t know,” Candy said with a slight smile. “What can we deduce?”

Wanda leveled a finger at her. “I’ll tell you what. You came out to the museum because you thought I was the one who stole the recipe. Isn’t that right?”

Candy pursed her lips. “I suppose that could be true.”

“You suppose?”

“Okay, Wanda, what do you want me to say? Yes, if you must know, I thought you could be involved. And