“I am calm,” Candy said as she stopped a few feet in front of him, crossing her arms tightly in front of her for emphasis, “but I want to know what you’re up to. You’ve been following me around for two days now, writing things down in that little notebook of yours and making no effort to conceal yourself. Am I under investigation?”
The police officer pressed his lips together, but otherwise his face remained stoic. “No, ma’am.”
“Then why the shadow routine?”
“Ma’am?”
She let out a breath of frustration. “Why are you always standing there when I look around? Just tell me what this is all about.”
“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am.”
“You can call me Candy. Who
“That would be Chief Durr, ma’am, um, Ms. Holliday.”
“The chief?” Candy made a face. “But why would he tell you to…?
She caught herself as she suddenly realized the answer. “Does this have anything to do with that body in the woods?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that, ma’am, pending chief’s orders.”
“You’re trying to keep me out of trouble, aren’t you? You’re afraid I’m going to solve another mystery in this town and embarrass the police department, right?”
Officer McCroy remained silent. She knew she had struck a nerve. She pressed on.
“So, what? You’re following me because you think I’m investigating the mystery on my own and will stumble upon a few clues?”
“It’s possible Mr. Hatch might contact you again at some point,” Officer McCroy confirmed. “We want to be there if he does.”
“Ah, so that’s it. I’m sort of an accessory to an alleged murder?”
After a few moments, the officer said, “It’s for your own safety, ma’am.”
“Hmm.” Candy studied him for a few moments. “Have you found Solomon yet?”
No response.
“Are you conducting any more searches today, or have you called the whole thing off?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss police business with a civilian.”
“So,” Candy said, as if that proved her theory, “I’m right, aren’t I? This is Chief Durr’s way of keeping me in line.”
Officer McCroy’s gaze narrowed in on her, and as if he were echoing the chief’s words, he said, “If I can give you one piece of advice, ma’am, you should leave the detecting to the detectives.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Candy muttered under her breath as her cell phone buzzed, distracting her. She shook her head as she turned away and fished in a pocket for her phone. She didn’t recognize the number that flashed on the phone’s small front display screen, though it was a local area code. She flipped it open and held it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Is this Candy Holliday?”
She said that it was. “Who’s this?”
“My name is Annabel Foxwell. You may have heard of me. I live at Shipwreck Cove with my sisters.”
Candy had indeed heard of her. The Foxwell sisters—Annabel, Isabel, and Elizabeth—were local, middle-aged eccentrics who lived in a weathered, hundred-year-old saltbox on a seaside homestead not far from Blueberry Acres. They had quite a piece of land—somewhere in excess of ten acres, Candy remembered, some of it prime coastline—that had been handed down in their family far generations. People around town called them the Psychic Sisters and rarely disturbed them, an arrangement that seemed to be a silent agreement among all parties. Candy had caught fleeting images of them around town but had never met any of them personally.
To receive a phone call from one of them was a major coup.
“Yes, Ms. Foxwell, I’ve heard of you. It’s wonderful to hear from you. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
When she spoke, Annabel’s voice was rushed and whispery. “I don’t mean to alarm you, Candy, but my sisters and I have received a message, and we have some very important information we need to share with you.”
“What type of information?”
“It’s not something we can discuss over the phone. We’ll need to speak to you in person. As you probably know, we’re not used to entertaining guests. But we’ve decided to make an allowance just this once. Would you be able to come out to see us at Shipwreck Cove?”
Candy blinked several times. She was surprised by the invitation. “Well, yes, of course. When were you thinking?”
“Today,” Annabel said emphatically. “This morning if possible. When would be a good time?”
Candy thought quickly and glanced at her watch. It was just past nine. She still wanted to finish up some interviews here, and she’d thought about stopping in to see Doc and the boys at the diner to find out if they’d heard any news about Solomon, but that could wait until later. “About ten thirty?”
She heard discussion in the background. “That would be fine. Do you know how to get here?”
Candy said she did, and after saying good-bye, she keyed off the call.
She felt her heart beating just a bit faster. She seemed to finally be onto something, though what it might be, she had no idea. Still, she knew the clues were all around her, just as Judicious had said. She just had to follow them.
The game was on.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced over at Officer McCroy, who had taken a few steps away and was engaged in a conversation with one of the younger men in the crowd—a friend of some sort, Candy surmised.
If she was going to have any sort of freedom to begin her own investigation, she’d have to lose the Boy Scout.
After a few moments, she grinned to herself. “I think I have an idea.”
Twelve
She spent the next forty-five minutes darting around the ice sculptures, conducting quick, on-the-run interviews, trying to shoot a few decent pictures, and making sure she appeared as normal—and as unexciting—as possible. She spent an-other fifteen minutes or so mingling with the growing crowd, drinking coffee, and talking with Maggie on her cell phone as she bided her time, watching for her best opportunity.
At one point she shivered, looked up at the blue-gray sky, and took a dark wool cap from her tote bag. While she talked she absently pulled on the cap and lifted the collar of her coat, disguising most of her honey-colored hair.
When a few oohs and ahhs arose from the crowd, and a wave of warm applause and cheers swept through the park, Candy figured that was the best distraction she’d get and made her move—as casually and as discreetly as possible.
Keeping her head low so she’d blend in with the crowd, she began to drift along a broad, well-trodden pathway between the snowbanks, headed in the general direction of the inn across the street. She stayed close to groups of three or four people, using them to shield herself from any eyes that might be observing her.
In a few minutes she was out of the park. She crossed Ocean Avenue with the crowds at the red light, again mingling with chattering, excited tourists and townies headed in both directions.
On the far side of the street she continued straight ahead with eight or ten other people who were headed toward the Lightkeeper’s Inn. The hotel looked like a stately, snow-wrapped princess, pale and delicate, yet steadfast against the weather, and offering the promise of a cozy respite from the chilly temperatures.
Those who entered, including Candy, were not disappointed, for a great roaring fire in the lobby helped to thaw out the inn’s guests. But while the others loitered by the fire or headed for their rooms, Candy quickened her pace, threading her way through and around the guests, bags, and carts littering the lobby, and walking past the
