lost a daughter, Miranda, and a son, Ferdinand. But both survived, unbeknownst to him. Thinking he’d lost everything, Josiah reportedly went mad.…”
Candy’s cell phone buzzed again.
She scowled. Who kept disturbing her in the middle of Doc’s speech?
Again she fished out her phone and checked the screen.
It was another text message from the same unknown sender. She flipped open the phone and read the message.
Candy sat up in her chair.
It must be from Preston Smith.
She quickly texted back, asking for more information and an interview, but whether it made its way to the unknown sender, she didn’t know.
She held her cell phone in her hand as she waited for an answer. Doc had moved on.
“The Pruitts came to the area in the 1730s, when they built the first mill on the cape, under a contract with the Massachusetts Bay Company. Pruitts from Maine fought in both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars, and steadily acquired land in the region between those two conflicts.…”
The phone in her hand buzzed again.
“The ancestors of our current Pruitts,” Doc continued, “who still have sizable landholdings in and around Cape Willington, invested heavily in the region, especially in timber, and by the mid-eighteen hundreds had joined the ranks of the wealthiest families in New England.…”
Candy checked her watch. Five minutes to twelve.
“That should give you a brief idea about some of Cape Willington’s earliest families,” Doc said, wrapping up. “I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have individually, and I can recommend several books if you’d like to learn more about this fascinating material. Please see me after the presentation. Thanks very much for coming, and enjoy the day.”
As a smattering of applause and chattering voices rose around her, Candy jumped up out of her chair, gave another quick wave and a thumbs-up to her father, and headed out of the inn. She thought that Preston might make his an-nouncement along with Oliver LaForce in Town Park. But a few minutes later, as she walked down toward the ice sculptures, she saw only the innkeeper and Chef Colin, standing in front of a microphone stand and small speaker. Oliver was reading a bunch of names off a list and offering his heartfelt congratulations. Chef Colin was handing out certificates of achievement and small awards. Moms and dads applauded their talented little sculptors. The crowd was in a generally jovial mood.
But no Preston Smith.
Or Gina Templeton, Candy noticed as she scanned the crowd. Or Liam Yates. Or Felicia Gaspar.
Only Duncan Leggmeyer and Baxter Bryant were sculpting at the moment, giving demonstrations to the curious onlookers.
Her cell phone buzzed again. She flipped open her phone and read a new message.
She checked her watch and waited. It was twelve noon on the dot.
A final buzz.
There was a final message a few seconds later.
Candy looked at the message in disbelief. What the heck did that mean?
Her phone buzzed again, vibrating in her hand, and at first she thought it was another text message. But she realized she was getting a phone call.
It was from Finn Woodbury.
“I tried calling Doc,” he told her, “but he’s not answering his cell phone.”
“He probably has it turned off,” Candy said. “He’s just finishing up his presentation.”
“Oh! How was it?” Finn asked.
“Informative,” Candy answered.
“Tell him I’m sorry I missed it. But it’s seventy-nine degrees in Florida today. Light breeze out of the northwest. Not a cloud in the sky.”
“Don’t rub it in, Finn, or I’ll have to come down there and give you a piece of my mind.”
He chuckled. “You’re welcome anytime, Candy. It’d be a nice break for you and Doc. Think about it. Anyway, I have some details for you about that body they found. They finally ID’d it. Are you ready for this?”
“I’m ready.”
“Well, it was this ice sculptor guy who disappeared a few days ago. His name was Victor Templeton.”
Twenty-Two
Candy had to admit she wasn’t surprised. It just confirmed what she’d already suspected.
But it also opened up a whole new set of questions, adding to the ones she already had.
Was the body found by the road, now officially identified as Victor Templeton, the same one Solomon Hatch had allegedly seen in the woods? If so, how did it get from the woods to the road, where Francis Robichaud found it? Bodies didn’t walk. It was a proven scientific fact—unless you read one of those zombie novels she’d seen at Pine Cone Books in town. So if it
And where, she still wondered, was Solomon himself?
And what about Gina Templeton? Victor’s death explained why the Templetons had been absent at the ice- sculpting exhibition that morning. But did Gina know more than she was telling about her husband’s absence over the past few days? She had seemed distracted yesterday when Candy had talked to her. Was she hiding something?
Candy let out a breath as she folded up her phone and slipped it into her coat pocket. But it rang again almost at once.
“I should just have the darn thing implanted in my head,” she grumbled as she fished it out of her pocket and checked the number on the readout.
This time she recognized it. She’d seen it yesterday. It was Annabel Foxwell.
The Psychic Sisters were paging her.
She flipped open the phone. “Hello, this is Candy Holliday.”
“Miss Holliday, it’s Annabel Foxwell.”
After they’d exchanged brief pleasantries, Candy asked, “How can I help you, Miss Foxwell?”
“Well,” Annabel said, her voice sounding a little shaky, “it’s Elizabeth. She’s had another one of her premonitions. This time she says she has a message for you.”
“What kind of message?”
“We don’t know. She’ll have to tell you that herself. I know it sounds rather odd, but she insists on seeing you in person. I wonder if you would be available to stop by the house for a visit sometime today?”
“Well, yes, I suppose I could do that.”
“Wonderful. What time would you be able to come by? If it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
“Not at all. I’m actually free at the moment. I could stop by in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“That would be perfect. I’ll let Elizabeth know you’re coming. We’ll see you shortly then,” Annabel said, and hung up the phone.
