“Oh, well, you must be very proud. He’s a fine young man.” And before he could say anything, she held out her hand. “I’m Candy Holliday. I write a column for the
“Yup, I know who you are.” He shook her hand somewhat reluctantly.
“So... you’re Robbie’s dad.”
“That’s right. Name’s Bob.” He said the words slowly, as if hesitant to engage her in conversation.
“Well, Bob... listen, I have a little favor to ask you. I was out here last Thursday — actually, I think I saw you working in your maintenance shed — and guess what? I left my notebook here by mistake. Silly me! I don’t suppose you’ve seen it? It’s long and thin, with a spiral wire at the top, and it’s got a green cover. Sound familiar?”
Bob thought a long moment, watching her skeptically, and finally shook his head. “Don’t think I’ve seen anything like that. But you can check the lost and found. It’s that cardboard box behind the counter.” He pointed.
Candy’s head swiveled toward the counter. “Okay, I’ll do that. Thanks, Bob.”
She headed toward the counter as the maintenance man started off in the opposite direction, toward the front exhibit rooms. A few moments later, she heard him climbing the wooden stairs to the second floor. The aged steps creaked as he made his way upward.
She lingered by the counter, waiting until she heard him moving around upstairs. She took one glance around, to make sure she was alone, then dashed across the room toward the door to Charlotte’s office. When she reached it, she tried the doorknob. It was locked.
She swore under her breath. She wanted to get a look inside to see if she could find Mr. Sedley’s ledger. Wanda had seen Charlotte slip it into her top desk drawer. Candy knew it was a long shot, but she had to try.
Then she remembered the keys Bob had tossed into a desk drawer behind the counter.
She hurried back across the room. She was just opening the desk drawer when she heard Bob coming down the stairs.
“Dang,” she said under her breath.
Softly she closed the drawer and took a few steps sideways. Looking around, she spotted a battered cardboard box on the floor behind the counter. She dipped toward it, pretending to dig through the odd assortment of mittens, scarves, toys, hats, handkerchiefs, paperback books, and other items.
Bob called to her as he came through an archway. “Find it?”
Candy straightened. “No. Come to think of it, I might have left it in Charlotte’s office. I don’t suppose I could have a look around in there.”
“I don’t suppose you could,” Bob said with a frown.
Candy persisted. “I really need that notebook this weekend so I can write my column. Isn’t there any way I can get a quick look around inside?”
“ ’Fraid not. I don’t let anyone in there when Charlotte’s not around.”
“I don’t suppose you could give her a call? Tell her it’s urgent.”
“I have instructions to call Charlotte only in emergencies.”
“But this
But Bob would have none of it. He waved his arms at her, as if herding her out the door. “Whatever it is, it’ll wait until tomorrow or Tuesday. Right now, I gotta close up and get home. It’s Sunday, you know. On a holiday weekend,” he reminded her.
In the end, no amount of pleading could make him change his mind. Candy finally relented, stepping back outside into the late afternoon sunlight.
Bob stepped through after her. He pulled the door closed with a
As she turned to face Bob, Candy repositioned the strap of the black canvas bag on her shoulder. “Well, it was nice to finally meet you. Robbie seems like he’s doing pretty well at the inn.”
“Yup, he’s got a good deal going on over there,” Bob said, looking distracted. “I just hope he doesn’t screw things up.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
Bob waved a hand. “No, nothing like that. He’s basically a good kid. He just needs a little guidance now and then.”
“He’s young,” Candy said, giving Bob an understanding look. “He’ll learn.”
“That he will.” Bob stared out toward the ocean. “That he will.”
Candy was going to ask him another question when she heard her cell phone buzz. She’d set it on vibrate when she’d dropped it in the bag at home, so it wouldn’t ring when she was in the middle of her meeting with Cinnamon Girl, alias Wanda Boyle. Now it made a little whirring sound, like a bee buzzing nearby. She pulled the bag off her shoulder and fished in it for the phone.
She glanced at the front screen. It was Maggie.
She looked up to say her good-byes to Bob, but he was gone. She turned both ways and saw him walking off toward the maintenance shed with a determined gait, his arms swinging loosely as his sides. He hadn’t said another word to her. He’d just walked off.
Candy shook her head. “Men.” She flipped open the phone. “Hi, what’s up?”
“I hate to keep doing this to you,” Maggie said, sounding worried, “but you have to get over here right away.”
“Why, what’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I’m at my house,” Maggie said, “and Wilma Mae’s gone.”
Twenty-Six
Twelve minutes later she wheeled into the driveway at Maggie’s house and pulled the Jeep to a stop. Maggie was outside on the front steps waiting for her, dressed in stonewashed jeans and a persimmon-colored cardigan with a navy blue anchor appliqué over the lower left pocket. The air had cooled as the sun set, and the breeze off the ocean tousled her already windswept dark brown hair.
Candy jumped out of the Jeep, leaving the door open behind her. “What happened?” she asked as she and Maggie walked toward each other.
Maggie’s face was hard with concern. “She pulled a fast one on me. The old goat stole my keys right off the counter and took the car. She was all bundled up. She told me she was going for a walk.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I guess she needed to be somewhere.”
Candy looked around, up and down the street, as if hoping Wilma Mae would suddenly drive up. “Do you have any idea where she went?”
Maggie nodded. “I’ve got a couple of ideas. You?”
“Same.” She pointed toward the Jeep. “Hop in. We’ll find her.”
As Maggie climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door, Candy gave her a sideways look. “Where’ve you been? You look like you got caught in a hurricane.”
“I’ve been frantic, out looking for Wilma Mae. It’s getting windy out there.”
“And chilly too.”
As she backed out of the driveway and headed toward town, Candy checked the sky. Here in this part of Maine, at this time of year, so far east in the time zone, the sun rose early, at around five A.M., and set relatively early in the evening, at around eight fifteen P.M. They still had a few hours of light left until dusk, but a bank of thickening clouds coming in from the southeast was beginning to filter the sun’s warmth and light, cooling the air and stealing the brightness from the late afternoon. Candy had put on a long-sleeved shirt when she’d left the house to meet Cinnamon Girl, but her jacket was still on a hook by the back kitchen door. She shivered as she reached for the Jeep’s heater, turning the fan on low to warm them.
“How has she been?” Candy asked as she drove.
“Eerily peaceful. It’s as if she’s completely forgotten about Mr. Sedley’s murder. She’s been chatting all day
