of ketchup over there? That one right there?” She jabbed her finger toward it to get his attention.
Interrupted in midsentence, Doc turned toward her. “What?”
“The ketchup? Please?”
He gave her an odd look. “Ketchup? But you haven’t ordered anything yet.”
“I know, but Wilma Mae wants to see it. She collects ketchup bottles. We were talking about it the other day. She just loves them — don’t you, Wilma Mae?”
The elderly woman gave her a confused look. “I do?” She clutched the purse in her lap just a bit tighter.
Maggie wiggled her fingers impatiently at Doc. “Come on, let’s have a look at it.”
Doc studied her for another few moments, then raised his eyebrows in resignation. “Well... okay.” He reached for the well-used red plastic bottle of restaurant ketchup, which sat in front of him in a black wire rack, and held it out to her. “Here you go.”
Maggie grabbed it out of his hand and angled the bottle toward Wilma Mae, as if she were showing off a fine chardonnay. “Here, have a look, Wilma Mae. It’s a nice bottle, don’t you think? It’s a little beat-up, and it’s probably got germs all over it — influenza or something like that — but it’s not so bad, is it? And it has a nice red color to it.”
“But I... I...” Wilma Mae stammered, unsure of how to respond.
Doc watched the both of them for a moment, then shook his head and turned back to Finn. Bumpy and Artie were deep in a conversation about the pitching rotation for the Red Sox. Wilma Mae sat perfectly still, giving Maggie a look of total bewilderment. “I don’t know what to say, dear.”
“Well, that’s okay, I just thought...”
Before anyone knew what was happening, Maggie fumbled the bottle, which fell to the table and rolled. She reached out and snatched it up, squeezing the bottle as she did so. A thin stream of red ketchup shot out and covered the front of Artie’s blue shirt.
“Hey, what the... !” He jumped up in his seat as Maggie fumbled the bottle again, turning it toward Bumpy, who howled in surprise and laughter as the thin red stream of ketchup squirted out toward him, up his shirt to his chin. “Watch out with that thing!”
“Duck!” Artie shouted. “She’s got a loose weapon!”
Several folks in nearby booths looked up in alarm but were laughing a few moments later as Maggie’s fingers slipped again and the bottle bounced. When she grabbed it a third time Doc held out his napkin as a matador would hold a cape for a bull, yelling at her, “Don’t point that at me!”
Finn had slipped out of the booth and was laughing heartily, darting out of range, and even Wilma Mae was chuckling as Artie and Bumpy sputtered and wiped napkins down the fronts of their shirts, trying to remove some of the ketchup, which only made the stains worse.
Maggie turned toward Candy. “Quick! We need some paper towels.”
“Right! You got it! Keep an eye on my purse!”
Candy jumped out of her seat and hurried toward the counter, where Juanita was already reaching for a thick roll of paper towels. She held it out toward Candy, who pointed toward the corner table. “Would you mind helping them out, Juanita? As a favor to me? I’ll be right back.”
Juanita nodded enthusiastically. “You got it, Candy!”
And before anyone noticed what she was doing, she had managed to slip out the door and was headed down the sidewalk, walking briskly, threading her way through the spectators lined up for the Memorial Day Parade.
The Rusty Moose was literally just around the corner from the diner, but Candy headed in the opposite direction, knowing she couldn’t walk in front of the diner’s large corner window, where she’d be easily spotted by the boys in the corner booth. Instead, she headed down Main Street toward the Black Forest Bakery. But before she reached it, she turned into a narrow alley just past the coffee shop. From there, she worked her way across the back parking lots, now crammed with cars, toward the Rusty Moose’s rear door.
The usual tavern detritus greeted her as she approached the building — empty liquor boxes, bundles of trash awaiting transport to the Dumpster, an abandoned ice machine, coffee cans filled with coagulated grease. Barely noticing the junk, Candy hurried past, pulled at the old screen door, and entered a dark hallway that led past the restrooms before depositing her in the tavern’s main public room.
It was a typical coastal bar, dimly lit, smelling of stale beer, sweat, and the sea, since it was located right across the street from the docks and warehouses along the English River. Candy had to pause a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the light. She noticed a few grizzled heads swiveling in her direction, but most of the tavern’s inhabitants seemed to know who she was — Doc and the boys hung out here often — and turned back to their drinks and conversations with brief nods or a tip of an index finger. Candy nodded a brief acknowledgment to them and, looking around quickly, spotted Captain Mike in the dark booth on her left.
She slid into the booth across from him. “Hi,” she said.
“Hello there, young lady.” Captain Mike reached up to touch the brim of his battered cap. “You got here pretty fast.”
“I was in the neighborhood. It was a cinch. So, what’s this all about?”
“Well, like I said on the phone, I got something to tell ya.”
“About what?”
Captain Mike pointed with his chin out toward the English River, and it was clear he was indicating upriver. “About that whole business.”
Candy knew instantly what he meant. She leaned over the table toward him, dropping her voice into a low whisper. “Charlotte?”
He lifted his beer mug and took a long pull. He set it back down on the table with a thud before he replied. “That’s right. Charlotte.”
“What do you know about her? Did you overhear something when you were working at the museum?”
“Well now, you’re pretty quick, aren’t you?” Captain Mike scratched at the side of his beard, up near his ear. “I might have. I just might have.” He leaned forward a little, lowering his voice to a gravely growl. “The police came to see me a little while ago, down on my boat.”
“What did they want?”
Captain Mike’s left shoulder nudged upward in the barest of movements. Candy supposed it was a maritimer’s attempt at a nonchalant shrug. “Guess they wanted to find out if I knew anything. Guess they’re talking to everyone who’s seen Charlotte over the past few days. That includes me — and you.” He gave her a squinty look, probably well practiced over the years with his crew.
“But I haven’t heard anything from them lately.”
“You will, missy, you will. They’ll be coming around soon enough, asking lots of questions about Charlotte’s whereabouts over the past few days, and what she was doing with herself — and who was visitin’ her. You and me, we got some answers, don’t we? But you and me, we gotta stick together.”
Candy wasn’t sure what he meant. “Why?”
“Because we know things, don’t we?”
“Well, maybe.” She paused. “What kinds of things are we talking about exactly?”
“Well, Wanda, for instance.”
“Wanda?” Candy’s voice rose, and she immediately looked around. No one in the tavern seemed to be paying them any attention. Still, Candy felt as if ears were listening. She lowered her voice again. “Is this a good place for us to talk about this?”
“It’s the best place in town to talk about this,” Captain Mike told her, and he lifted a finger to point around the room. “These men know how to keep secrets. And if you need them, they’ll be there to watch your back.”
Candy wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not, and she flinched slightly as she felt a strange tingle dance up her spine, as if someone had just drawn a fingernail along it. “Well, that’s... reassuring to know.”
“Yup, those policemen came by and asked me all sorts of questions,” Captain Mike continued, unaware of her reaction. “I told them what I know — but I didn’t tell them
“You mean about Wanda?”
“Yessir. That’s why I called you.” He was about to say more, but a redheaded waitress in jeans and a black T-shirt approached the table. “Hey there, Captain Mike. How’re you doing with that beer of yours?”
In response, he picked it up, drained it in one gulp, and slapped it back down on the table. “I could use another, Rosie. And bring one for my pretty friend here.”
