the house to pick up her dress for the Moose Fest Ball that evening.
Needing a moment to collect her thoughts, she flipped the phone closed and looked up at the sky. It was still overcast, though the flurries had stopped. The clouds sunk low, seeming to practically graze the tops of the trees in some places. They’d have more snow this evening. She could sense it in the air, which had a raw, almost sensual feel. Perfect weather for a winter ball.
But her mind couldn’t help wandering in other directions. She turned her head slightly, letting her gaze drift down from the sky, to her left, falling to the tree line on the ridge at the far side of the blueberry field behind the house.
The chief had sent more officers into the woods this afternoon, she’d heard, but she doubted they’d find anything. Solomon was probably long gone by now. They’d recovered the body and knew there was only one, that of Victor Templeton. They had the murder weapon. Any incriminating footprints or tracks around the murder scene had been covered up by… someone or something, according to Solomon. Candy guessed the old hermit had also covered his own tracks on the way out of town, to avoid detection and to ensure no one could follow him, wherever he’d gone. The items taken from the body had been retrieved and delivered to the proper authorities. Both she and Solomon had done their parts.
And yet, she couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t over yet—at least, not for her.
She thought back over the items Solomon had laid out on the table in front of her. A wallet. Car keys. A cell phone. A brass hotel room key…
Almost immediately she thought of someone who might know.
Maggie had worked at Gumm’s Hardware Store on Main Street all last summer and fall, until she’d switched jobs and taken the counter position at the dry cleaner’s, which paid her an extra fifty cents an hour. She’d loved working for Mr. Gumm but had needed the extra few dollars a day. She’d even cried on his shoulder when she left. He threw her a party. Maggie had loved it.
She might know something about hotel room keys.
It was worth a try, Candy thought. She needed to head over there anyway to pick up the dress for the ball. So she told Doc she was running out on a quick errand, jumped into the Jeep, and drove over to Maggie’s place at Fowler’s Corner.
Thirty
She found Maggie sitting in a tastefully decorated room tucked into the back corner of her two-story, green gabled house. It had once been a playroom for Amanda, Maggie’s daughter, but over the years it had morphed into a family room and an office, a place where Amanda did homework and Maggie sewed on quiet evenings. When Amanda left for college, Maggie transformed it again into a cozy work space and retreat for herself. Here, she kept her small collection of business and community awards and mementos, mostly from her days at the Stone & Milbury Insurance Agency, along with her burgeoning collection of salt and pepper shakers, a small library of mystery and romance novels, a variety of scented candles of all shapes and sizes, a few hand-painted miniatures of lighthouses, and plenty of photos of Amanda, Amanda’s boyfriend Cameron, and other family members and friends, including several of Maggie and Candy together, taken over the past few years.
Maggie had her nose pressed up against a computer screen. “The only way I can keep up with Amanda and Cameron is on Facebook,” she said with a touch of melancholy in her voice. “At least they friended me. I think that’s what they call it. Or is that tweeting? And what the heck is Skype? It sounds like a skin condition.” She swept a hand back through her hair. “All this technology stuff is moving too fast. How does anyone keep up with it anymore? What happened to the good old days when we used to talk to each other on the phone?”
“Or over the backyard fence,” Candy said, dropping into an upholstered chair, which had bare wood arms.
“Or on the front porch.” Maggie laughed. “Listen to us, a couple of modern girls reminiscing about the old times, when things were a lot simpler. Of course, back in those days, they also lacked microwaves, garage-door openers, and Scrubbing Bubbles.”
“And electronic locks,” Candy said, seeing an opening to steer the conversation to a more pressing topic. “Listen, I have a question for you.”
Maggie swiveled in her chair so she could give Candy her full attention. “Fire away.”
“Okay.” She took a quick breath and plunged right in. “Well, earlier today I found this brass hotel key, attached to one of those red plastic key tag thingies with room numbers on them. You know what I mean, right? Now, I know most hotels around here use electronic key cards, but there are probably a few places in the area that still use actual keys instead of plastic cards. Any idea which ones those might be?”
Maggie was silent for a moment, a haze of confusion clouding her face. Finally, she asked, “Is this a technical question?”
“Sort of, I suppose.”
“I just wondered because, you know, you’re asking me about keys. That’s not a common topic of discussion. So, of course, it makes me curious: Why the sudden interest in keys?”
Candy shrugged casually. “I just like keys. Keys are interesting things.”
“But you never cared about keys before.”
“I’ve gained a new appreciation of them, due to recent developments.”
“Hmm.” Maggie scrutinized her friend with a narrowed gaze. She glanced down at Candy’s pockets. “Do you have this mystery key with you?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Why is that not surprising?” Maggie tapped her pursed lips with an index finger. “You know what I think? I think you’ve been nosing around—without me, I might add—and you found a clue. And now you want my help in figuring it out. Is that about right?”
The corners of Candy’s mouth turned up into a conspiratorial smile. “You’re not totally incorrect. I’ve had a busy afternoon, yes.”
“You must have. I’ve barely seen you all day. What have you been up to?”
“Like you said—nosing around. Getting myself in trouble. And just for the record, I wasn’t intentionally doing it without you—nosing around, I mean.”
“I know that, honey. You can’t help yourself,” Maggie declared knowingly. “Just like Mr. Biggles, God rest his soul—always on the prowl. He was relentless. Nothing could stand in his way when he was on the trail of something.”
She paused, grinning cagily as she sharpened her gaze on her friend. “That’s how
“Um, thanks—I think. Anyway, back to the key question.”
“Which is?”
“I’m looking for hotels that use real brass keys, like the one I saw. Any idea which ones those might be?”
“Oh, right. The key. It’s probably the key to this whole thing, right?” She chuckled, amused. “That’s pretty funny. The key is the key. How often does that happen? Not very often, I’d guess. Well, hmm, let me think.” She closed her eyes for a few moments as she pondered the issue. With her eyes still closed, she asked, “Did you get a good look at this key?”
“Well, yes and no. I saw it, but I didn’t pay that much attention to it. There were… distractions.”
Maggie opened one eye. “Such as?”
“I’d rather not say at the moment.”
Maggie opened the other eye and gave her friend a questioning look. “Withholding evidence? You’ve been warned about that, you know.”
“I know.”
