bright yellow boots (definitely borrowed from her daughter, Amanda), while for Candy she’d selected a bright pink down jacket, a red and white striped scarf, a purple knit cap, and mauve fur-lined boots.
“Now you sort of look like a stick of bubblegum, which is exactly how someone named Candy should look,” Maggie announced proudly as she studied the fruits of her labor. On an impulse, she gave her friend a quick hug. “This is going to be so much fun. Are you sure you don’t mind if I tag along tonight?”
“Maggie, I insist.”
“But won’t I intrude on your little thing with Ben?”
“Of course not. We haven’t planned much anyway. Well, he did offer to buy me a glass of wine afterward…”
Maggie’s expression turned suddenly serious. “If you two need some time alone tonight, just give me the signal and I’ll quietly slip away,” she promised. “The last thing I want to do is get in the way of true love.”
Candy laughed. “I don’t know if it’s progressed quite that far, but this strange little mystery out in the woods does seem to have brought us closer together.”
“Then we should have more strange little mysteries around here!” Maggie announced brightly.
Candy gave her a dubious look. “Maybe, but let’s solve this one first.”
“Have you found any clues yet?”
“A few,” Candy confirmed, “although I still don’t know how they all fit together. But my instincts tell me I’m on the right trail.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” Maggie said, her voice suddenly turning serious. “The only question is, where does the trail lead?”
On that ominous observation, they locked the door behind them and started down the street toward the Lightkeeper’s Inn. Ahead of them, out over the ocean, the sky was near dark, while remains of the sunset still lightened the western sky behind them. All the voices and other sounds around town had taken on hushed, expectant tones as the onlookers who had gathered on the sidewalks awaited the arrival of the winter parade. Vendors were walking along the edge of the street, selling lighted necklaces and glow sticks. A group of individuals off to one side was singing “Sleigh Ride” in three-part harmony. True to Ben’s prediction, a few snowballs flew back and forth across the street, causing the targeted teens, dressed in dark colors and doing their best to appear cool, to dodge adeptly side to side and bark with laughter or feigned annoyance.
As Candy and Maggie neared the inn, the crowd thickened, but with a little bit of patience they managed to negotiate their way through the pressing bodies and reach the inn’s porch just as the jingling of bells and the first clip-clops of horse hooves echoed down from Main Street.
“Here they come!” Maggie said excitedly, clapping her hands together.
Ben had staked out a primo spot on the porch with excellent views up Ocean Avenue and across to Town Park, so they wouldn’t miss a thing. And he had a treat for them. “Freshly made hot chocolate with homemade whipped cream, courtesy of Chef Colin,” he said as he pointed to a small silver serving tray on a table nearby, with a large steaming pot and several heavy mugs set out. “Ladies, can I interest you in cup of cocoa?”
Warming their hands around the mugs and basking in the mellow aromas coming off the hot chocolate, they sipped away in deep pleasure as the first sleighs turned down Ocean Avenue.
Almost immediately Candy made a face. When she spoke, her tone was edged with uncharacteristic coolness. “I should have figured.”
“What?” Maggie followed her friend’s gaze, craning her neck to see. When she finally realized what Candy meant, she made a face as well. “Oh, it’s
At the front of the procession of sleighs and sleds was a magnificent restoration of an antique Hudson Valley sleigh, with a family of five passengers in two rows, tucked under warm blankets and waving to the crowds. The sleigh was lit only by a discreet string of white lights edging the upper rim of the body of the sleigh. It was pulled by a single black draft horse and sat high on its framework of metal runners with thick tubing from front to rear. A wreath of entwined blueberry sprigs was hung from the front of the sleigh’s body, and garlands of pine branches swooped along its recently repainted sides.
And planted firmly in the front row, wedged comfortably between the driver and right-side passenger, was Wanda Boyle.
She was dressed like a big snowflake, Candy thought, in a fluffy white, high-collared coat, white knit cap, white earmuffs, and white scarf. As the sleigh came down the street, greeted by the cheering crowds, Wanda alternatively waved pleasantly to the crowds and snapped photos with her digital camera.
Behind them came another dozen sleighs, including two-row bobsleds, half-roofed doctors’ sleighs, Albany- style open sleighs with their oval-shaped bodies, and two-passenger Portland cutters with black runners and tufted upholstery. One crowd-pleaser was a small, black single-passenger child’s sleigh, driven by Lyra Graveton and pulled along by a small, brown-furred pony with a long blonde mane.
The sleighs were lighted in unique ways. Some had electric lights powered by batteries, while others opted for glow sticks, and several had charming dual lanterns hung from hooks on poles along the sides of the sleighs. Many of the passengers tossed out candies and beads to those lining the street, sending children and their excited parents scampering.
As the front sleigh passed the inn, Wanda scanned the assembled crowd, looking for someone to impress. Her gaze alighted briefly on Candy but just as quickly flitted away without a hint of recognition. Instead, she waved to Oliver LaForce, the inn’s proprietor, and blew a kiss to Colin, the chef, before snapping his photo for her blog.
Behind the sleighs came neighborhood kids and families, pulling sleds and toboggans filled with siblings, friends, family members, and pets.
Up the street, however, Candy heard a sudden hush fall over the crowd, and then what sounded like a collective “Awwww!” moved through the assembled throng like a wave. A smattering of applause rippled down the street as well.
“What is it?” Maggie asked, leaning out over the porch railing to catch a glimpse of whatever might be coming down Main Street toward the Ocean Avenue intersection.
At first all Candy saw was a swarm of kids, teens, and their sleds, skimming over the ice, usually pulled by an older sibling, or a parent in some cases. But they scattered when they saw what was coming behind them, heading for the curb and any shelter they could find along the sides of the street.
Thus giving the white moose a clear path as it ambled down Ocean Avenue toward the inn and the sea.
Eighteen
The moose sauntered down the street as if it hadn’t a care in the world and came to a stop directly in front of Candy.
Once again a hush fell upon the crowd, as voices dropped to whispers, and even those pulling sleds and driving carriages paused and looked around to see what was happening. For the space of a few heartbeats, the entire town came to a standstill. Moose weren’t necessarily rare around these parts of Maine, but still, when one walked through the center of your village, it was worth at least a few raised eyebrows.
But the moment soon passed, as children giggled and teenagers called out to the creature, and couples started talking excitedly to one another about the majesty of the animal standing in their midst, so close they could reach out and touch it.
For the moose’s part, if it had any opinions about the momentous nature of its presence here in Cape Willington, it wasn’t giving anything away. It stood nonchalantly, barely acknowledging the surrounding crowd. It was angled sideways, almost parallel to the porch upon which Candy stood, perhaps twelve feet away, with its right side toward her and its head pointed down the street toward the ocean. It flick-ed its thick ears, sniffed the air, let out a frosty breath through its big nostrils, and almost imperceptibly turned its head in Candy’s direction, its right eye not quite making contact with her.
Candy was flabbergasted. “Are you
