Town in a Wild Moose Chase

“Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser,” Candy said to herself as she returned the cell phone to her pocket.

Before she left Town Park, she scanned the crowd one last time, looking for someone who could answer a few questions for her about Victor and Gina. Finally her eyebrows lifted. She’d spotted someone who might be able to help.

Felicia Gaspar stood off to her left, perhaps twenty-five feet away, wrapped in a long hooded cape, with the top of the hood pulled so far down over her head it almost covered her eyes. Her long, straight black hair was tucked inside, although a few strands tumbled out, partially obscuring her face. Her dark eyes, half hidden beneath the hood, swept the crowd repeatedly, as if she were in a state of constant vigilance.

Candy rubbed her hands together to warm them and, as casually as possible, started toward the dark-haired woman, moving in a wide, indirect arc around the crowd, staying on the outskirts of the activities.

She did her best not to draw attention to herself, but Felicia must have noticed the movement out of the corners of her eyes, because she spotted Candy almost instantly. She instinctively shrank back several steps, between the dark trunks of pine trees, as if attempting to hide herself.

Candy remained undeterred, pressing on and waving in as nonthreatening a manner as possible. “Felicia! Hi!” she called out in an easy tone. “I thought that was you I saw standing over here. I don’t suppose I could get a few minutes of your time?”

Felicia gave no answer. Instead, she turned on her boot heels and fled back up through the park, dodging tourists as she pulled her cape and hood tighter around her in an effort to disguise herself.

Candy watched her go, mystified. “Well, what was that all about?” she said to herself, letting out a quick breath of frustration. “The plot thickens.”

She was tempted to follow, to see if she could track Felicia down and ask her about her strange behavior, like she’d seen detectives do in the movies, but she decided against it. She was no Humphrey Bogart, or even Miss Marple.

Better to go with a known quantity—or, rather, three of them.

The Psychic Sisters awaited her, and they, at least, wanted to talk to her.

She headed out of Town Park to her Jeep.

The day had turned out cold but bright, a definite improvement over the long string of overcast days they’d had recently. For some reason she felt upbeat, which surprised her. Maybe it was just the bright sun, or the incredible landscape unfolding before her, or maybe it was something else. Maybe she felt like she was finally moving in the right direction—whatever that direction might be. She still didn’t know what had happened to Solomon, or to Victor Templeton, but she was determined to find out. As she drove out of town along the southern leg of the Coastal Loop, past the small coastal cabins and the Lobster Shack, all closed up tight for the season, she gazed left, out over the ocean, which stretched away to the curve of the horizon. She never tired of seeing it. There was something special about the coast of New England, and Maine in particular. It was a place unlike anywhere else in the world. The sea here was quixotic and passionate, beautiful yet dangerous, ever changing yet forever unchanged. Somehow it made her relax, and she took a deep breath. She even rolled down the driver’s-side window, just a little, so she could get some of that salt smell in her nostrils. It made her breathe a little easier and helped to clear her head. She took several quick breaths before she raised the window again. It was, after all, winter in New England. And it was cold out.

In the afternoon light, the house at Shipwreck Cove looked snug and still, its windows frosted and flower boxes stacked high with snow. But birds were at the feeders, squirrels scampered in the snowy yard after peanuts that had been thrown out for them, and a column of smoke rose from the chimney, promising warmth within.

Not only warmth, she found out as she entered the house, but more tea and treats—lemon squares this time, fresh out of the oven and dusted on top with powdered sugar. Candy had to admit, they were delicious.

“Maggie would devour them,” she told the sisters, allowing herself a second one after she quickly (yet as daintily as possible) finished off the first. She suddenly realized that, with all the excitement that morning, she’d forgotten to eat lunch. No wonder I’m famished, she thought as she took another bite, savoring it. She turned to Isabel. “So is this from a family recipe?”

“Oh no, my dear. It came from a recipe book put out by The Old Farmer’s Almanac. We found it at a garage sale, must have been, oh, ten or twelve years ago, wasn’t it?” she asked her sisters. “It’s a treasure. We’ve found a number of wonderful New England potluck recipes in it.”

“Things like Boston baked beans, johnnycakes, and brown bread,” Annabel clarified.

“Well, these are wonderful,” Candy said, finishing the lemon square. She resisted taking a third. Instead, she sipped at her tea.

They talked for a while about recipes, New England dishes, local seafood, the cost of firewood, and the charm and challenges of living in an old house. While the other women chatted, Elizabeth sat quietly by the fire in a padded wicker rocker chair, her legs tucked up underneath her. She had pulled her long gray hair into a ponytail, which spilled over her right shoulder, and was wrapped tightly in a plum-colored shawl over a long white dress.

During a lull in the conversation, she finally spoke up. “Annabel has told you about my premonition.”

The room grew suddenly still. Candy took the opportunity to shift her body so she could give Elizabeth her full attention. “Yes, she has. She said you had something you wanted to tell me. That’s why I came over so quickly.”

Elizabeth nodded. In a soft yet determined voice, she said, “I know how it must sound, me telling you all this. I don’t know why it happens, or what it means. Some might consider it a curse, but I don’t see it that way.” She paused and gazed into the fire. “I have received two messages, and I believe I’m to direct them to you.”

“Why me?”

“As I’ve said before, you seem to be at the center of all this.”

Candy still didn’t know if she believed any of this, but the sisters all seemed so sincere that she decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. “What are the messages?”

“They came to me in a dream vision,” Elizabeth clarified. “I’ve had the same dream for several nights now. And it’s always the same.”

“What do you see in your dream?” Candy asked, almost in a whisper.

“Many things. Clouds. Fields. Rocks. Trees. Woods,” Elizabeth said as a log in the fireplace cracked, sending out sparks, and the sea broke on the shore.

“And what’s in the woods?” Annabel asked quietly, prompting her sister.

Elizabeth had a distant look in her eyes. “It’s changed,” she said after a few moments. “Something is different. A presence is no more. But the darkness remains.” She turned to look at Candy. “And the light.”

Candy leaned in a little closer. “Is that the message?”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “The first message is, Follow the light.”

Still not totally believing what she was hearing, Candy asked, “Follow it where?”

Elizabeth shook her head but gave no other answer.

All were silent. Finally Candy spoke again. “Okay. I’m to follow the light. Was there something else?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth’s eyes were growing hazy. “A number.” She paused, then with some effort said, “It’s the number twenty-three.”

Candy scrunched up her face in puzzlement. “Do you know what it refers to?”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and put the back of a hand to her forehead. “That’s all I can tell you for now.” She opened her eyes and looked back at the fire. “I’m sorry. All of this has made me a little… tired. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll lie down for a while.”

While Isabel helped her sister to the bedroom, Annabel rose and turned to Candy. “These things always exhaust her,” she said by way of explanation. She held out her hand. “Thank you so much for coming today. Before you go, let me make you a small package of those lemon squares to take back to your friends.”

Quicker than she knew what was happening, Candy was whisked out of the house—not impolitely, for that was not the way of the Foxwell sisters. But it was clear the audience was over. The messages had been delivered. Her purpose for being here had been fulfilled. That was all there was to it.

Back out in the Jeep, she started the engine but sat with both hands on the steering wheel for a few moments, shivering in the cold cab as she stared out at the sea.

What the heck does it all mean?

Again, more riddles without answers. In this particular case, esoteric pronouncements from a questionable