Town in a Lobster Stew

deaths of two people.

. . . he was mostly just tired of all the commotion that always seems to follow him and that silly recipe of his around.

That was it.

Candy felt cold. That silly recipe was indeed causing all sorts of commotion.

Oliver must have told Roger about the switched numbers, she’d realized after much consideration. That’s why Roger avoided the stews cooked by Wanda and Charlotte, calling them gimmicky. Somehow he must have known which stews were theirs, and he’d refused to consider either of them for the top three. So, in a way, the results had been tainted. The stew that should have won had not.

She turned back to Oliver, not realizing she’d turned away. Her musings had overtaken her for a few moments. He appeared to have spoken, but she had missed it. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Again, Oliver gave her an annoyed look. “I said, why would you say something like that?”

Candy looked at him, and this time there was nothing but honesty on her face. “Because Charlotte’s recipe should have won.”

Oliver sighed impatiently as he straightened in his chair, as if ready to rise, bringing the meeting to a halt. He checked his watch. “Candy, I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for games. If you have something to ask me, then ask. Otherwise, I have an inn full of guests and an overworked staff to deal with.”

He gave Candy a hard look as she bit her lip. Her mind raced. There was something else. What was she missing?

Suddenly she remembered. She sat forward and returned his look. “Okay, Oliver, one last question and then I’ll get out of your hair. What did Charlotte say to you when she approached you after the contest?”

“After the contest?”

“That’s right. She came up to you on the lawn, didn’t she? She had something to say to you.”

Oliver stiffened as he recalled the incident. “Oh yes. I know what you’re referring to. Yes, she did approach me, in a very angered state. I thought she was just upset because she’d lost the contest. I said a few words to try to calm her down, but she obviously wasn’t listening to me. I told her I’d be happy to discuss the situation with her at a later date...” His voice trailed off for a moment as the memory of the episode took full shape in his mind. “And then... and then she said something very strange to me.”

He was silent as he considered the words, his gaze distant. Then his eyes darted back and met Candy’s. “She said, He promised, he promised. She repeated it several times, with great conviction. It was, to be honest, somewhat... disturbing.”

“What do you think she meant by that?” Candy asked, intrigued.

Oliver shook his head. “I honestly have no idea.”

“Did she say anything else?”

He thought about it but quickly shook his head. “Not that I can recall.” He stopped, his eyes darting again, his lips working. “There was... one other thing, though.”

She watched him, enthralled. “And what would that be, Oliver?”

“Well, it was something else I noticed that day — something very strange. Right before Wilma Mae fainted.”

“Yes?” Candy said, coaxing him on.

“Well, I was quite cautious with the samples that day. I supervised Robbie, Alby, and the other staff members as they collected the bowls of stew from the contestants, and I double- and triple-checked with Robbie to make sure each sample was correctly positioned next to the proper placard. I didn’t want any mix-ups, and everything was correct the final time I checked. And then” — he blinked several times — “and then I looked over, and I saw one of the bowls of stew sitting right in front of Mrs. Wendell.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it was the oddest thing. Someone had moved one of the bowls of stew — and placed it directly in front of her.”

Candy’s eyes turned away, and she felt her heart quicken as she considered the ramifications of that. Had someone placed Charlotte’s bowl of stew in front of Wilma Mae on purpose, knowing she would recognize it as Mr. Sedley’s recipe? And if so, why?

It also meant...

Her gaze snapped back to Oliver. “It means someone else was trying to sabotage the results.”

He sighed wearily and checked his watch again. “Honestly, I don’t know what it means. But I don’t have time to figure it out right now.” He stood. “Candy, this has been enlightening, but I hope we don’t have to talk about it again. And I hope you’re discreet about what you’ve learned. Juanita Perez cooked a great stew. She deserved to win. As I’ve said, I’m confident in our judges’ final decision. I’d like to leave it at that, if it’s all the same to you.”

Thirty-One

Her cell phone rang the moment she walked out of the inn. She fished it out of her pocket as she trotted down the stairs. Stepping onto the lawn, she angled to her left, back toward Ocean Avenue, moving at a quick pace. “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Hey, Mags. Sorry, I got delayed. I had to make another stop.”

“Everything go okay? You find that person you were looking for?”

“I did. Nice work getting me out of there.”

Maggie laughed softly. “Hey, it was a cinch, thanks to that disgusting old bottle of ketchup. And it was actually kind of fun. They never even noticed you were gone.”

“Were they upset?”

“Naw, they’re fine. Juanita got them some soda water and we got most of the stains out. It livened up the place for a few minutes, and then they got to talking about some golf trip they’re planning and disappeared into that little world of theirs.”

“Are they still there?”

“No, they headed out to see the parade.”

“They left you alone?”

“We told them to go ahead.”

“You and Wilma Mae didn’t go along?”

Maggie lowered her voice over the phone. “We talked about it. Wilma Mae wanted to watch the ceremony out at the cemetery. But we’re getting a little... tired. I’m thinking maybe we should take her home.”

Candy put a hand to her forehead. She’d been so busy, she hadn’t considered how Wilma Mae must be feeling, what with all that had happened in her life lately. “You’re right. The poor thing’s been through a lot. Okay, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

She keyed off the phone and was just about to close it when she noticed an alert telling her she had a new text message. Curious, she thumbed through the menus and read the subject line on the top message.

It was from an unidentified number.

She pressed the middle button, displaying the message:

Hi there cinnamon girl again we have to talk your place two thirty be there you want to see this.

Candy’s mouth tightened.

Cinnamon Girl. Wanda.

Candy read the message again, her eyes lingering on the last few words: you want to see this.