“Tell them anything. Tell them Charlotte left the plans up in the archives and you discovered them up there by accident, or say you saw them sitting behind the front desk and picked them up. Or yes, just tell them the truth — you were snooping around Charlotte’s office after she was killed and found them.”
For an instance, a look of fear crossed Wanda’s eyes. “I can’t tell them that. They’ll throw me in jail.”
“Probably not. Yes, they’ll be pretty mad at you — at both of us. But that doesn’t change the situation.”
“There is no situation. We’re done here,
And with that, Wanda Boyle marched out of the house, with James Patrick Mulroy’s blueprints clutched tightly in her large fist.
Thirty-Three
Candy walked onto the porch just in time to see Wanda’s SUV disappearing down the dirt lane in a cloud of dust, headed back toward town.
Maggie wandered out of the kitchen and stood beside her, holding a brownie square she’d rummaged in the kitchen. She nodded at the dust cloud left by Wanda, as casually as a sea captain might acknowledge a whale off the starboard beam. “Thar she goes.” She took a bite of the brownie. “So what was that all about?”
“Oh, just Wanda in one of her moods.”
Maggie turned toward her, eyes wide, head nodding, obviously impressed. “Hey, way to go! Sounds like you’re finally beginning to get a handle on Wanda. Took you long enough.”
Candy crossed her arms thoughtfully. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. She’s a hard one to figure out.”
“You’re telling me.”
“The problem is,” Candy continued, “you just don’t know where you stand with her. Is she helping or hurting? Is she your friend or your enemy? Sometimes it seems like she’s both at the same time. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could toss a moose.”
Maggie had to hold back a snort. “I’m guessing that’s not very far.”
Candy smiled. “No, I guess it’s not, is it? But then again, I haven’t had much time to practice my moose- tossing skills lately. They’re getting a little rusty.”
“Well, sure, that’ll happen,” Maggie said without skipping a beat. “You know, I saw a moose once when I went hiking. He was really tall, with skinny legs, and he had this long face with a big nose. He kind of reminded me of my aunt Lucy.”
Candy laughed. “You had an aunt Lucy?”
“Oh, yeah. She was pretty popular back in her day. They used to call her Lucy the Moosey.”
“Was that a compliment or an insult?”
“You know, I’m not really sure.”
Candy looked at her skeptically. “You’re making this up, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not, cross my heart. Hey, I was wondering — if I found a moose at the humane society and decided to adopt it, do you think Mr. Antlers would be a good name for it?”
“Mr. Antlers? It’s kinda catchy I guess.”
“Yeah, I thought so too. I like Bullwinkle also, but I think that one’s taken.”
Candy laughed again and put her arm around her friend. “I guess it is. Come on, let’s round up Wilma Mae and take you home so you can see your kids. Then I have a date with the police.”
Five minutes later, with Wilma Mae settled in the backseat of the Jeep, Candy locked up the house, and they headed across the narrow peninsula toward Fowler’s Corner. Post-parade traffic had thinned in the last half hour or so, but traffic was still heavy due to the holiday weekend. The day was starting to warm as the sun fell into the west and the winds shifted, while out toward the east Candy saw a bank of low, hazy clouds building over the ocean. “Looks like the fog’s coming in,” she said to no one in particular as they drove through a thickly settled area toward Maggie’s home.
Quite abruptly, Wilma Mae leaned forward and tapped Candy on the shoulder. “By the way, dear,” she said sweetly, “have you found my ledger yet?”
Candy glanced back over her shoulder at the elderly woman. “No, Wilma Mae, I’m sorry, I haven’t. But I’ve been looking for it.”
“I know you have, dear,” Wilma Mae said, settling back into her seat, “and you’ve been doing a wonderful job. I’ve been watching and listening to you. You’ve talked to so many people, and it seems to me you’re getting close. I think it’s right under your nose.”
“It is?”
“Oh yes. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find it any day now.” Wilma Mae paused. “I overheard you talking to that horrid woman at the house. So I take it Charlotte Depew had Mulroy’s blueprints, which showed her how to find the secret document drawer in my house.”
Candy exchanged glances with Maggie, who sat beside her in the passenger seat. “You
“Wanda’s voice does tend to carry,” Maggie whispered back.
“Why are you whispering?” Wilma Mae asked.
“Um, no reason.” Candy looked up at the rearview mirror, so she could see the elderly woman in the backseat. “Yes, well, it does seem that Charlotte had the blueprints to your shelving unit. And, yes, it does sound like she’s the one who took Mr. Sedley’s recipe.”
Wilma Mae looked pleased with this revelation. “Well, it’s about time we made some progress. It should be simple to find the ledger now, shouldn’t it? It’s either at her house or somewhere out at the museum, where she works. Don’t you think?”
Candy nodded as she made a right-hand turn onto Maggie’s road. “Yes, that’s probably right.”
“So Charlotte’s the one who made Mr. Sedley’s stew at the cook-off, isn’t she?”
“Yes, that’s what we think happened.”
Wilma Mae was silent for a moment, considering the matter. As always, she held her purse in her lap, tightly clutching the handle with two hands. “Well, I don’t know how it happened, but I’m glad she didn’t win,” Wilma Mae said finally. “It just wouldn’t have been right — winning the cook-off with a stolen recipe, would it?”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Candy admitted.
Wilma Mae said nothing else the rest of the way. A few minutes later they pulled into Maggie’s driveway and parked behind a shiny new Chevy pickup truck with a crew cab and a long bed. Cameron Zimmerman, the boyfriend of Amanda Tremont, Maggie’s daughter, had bought the truck with money he’d inherited from his deceased mother.
As soon as Candy pulled the Jeep to a stop, Maggie jumped out and raced into the house, anxious to see her daughter. Candy was about to climb out too when Wilma Mae spoke up from the backseat again, stopping her.
“He’s her grandson, you know.”
“What?” Candy put her arm on the back of the passenger seat and shifted her body so she could turn halfway around to face Wilma Mae. “He’s whose grandson? And who’s
“Roger. He’s Daisy’s grandson.”
“Roger Sykes?” Candy had to think about that a minute, remembering the conversation she’d had with Wilma Mae in her kitchen a few days ago. “You mean he’s the grandson of Daisy Porter-Sykes? I wondered if those two were related, but I kept forgetting to ask you about it,” Candy said, referring to the mistress of Cornelius Roberts Pruitt, who had stopped the business end of a ketchup bottle with her morning dress at Moosehead Lake Lodge so many years ago.
“Oh, it’s true.” Wilma Mae perked up. “I became suspicious when I saw his face at the cook-off on Saturday. He has the same high cheekbones as her, and the same profile. And his hair is nearly the same shade as hers. But it’s his eyes. I wasn’t completely positive at first, but then he looked me in the eyes for just a moment, and I knew right then and there. I practically went into a tizzy. It was about the time I was eating that delicious stew.”
“So it was a double whammy, huh?” Candy said sympathetically. “And that’s what made you faint?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure that was it. I’m very healthy for a woman my age, you know.”
