But several friends from work, including Betty Lynn Spar and Judy Crockett, soon wandered over to say hello, dragging along their better halves, and they all soon got to talking about the recent developments around town. They’d heard bits and pieces, and Ben listened to all the details with interest.
But it was Jesse Kidder, the paper’s photographer and graphic artist, who had the juiciest piece of news. He’d stopped by the table to snap a few photos of the group for the paper’s society page, though they all knew Ben would never approve the use of his photo in a non-news-related item, so a few alternatives were snapped as well.
Before Jesse wandered off to photograph the other guests, he told them, “The police are up at some motel just outside of town. Apparently they’ve found Victor Templeton’s car and the room he was staying in. They’re searching it now. The crime van’s headed over from Augusta.”
Instinctively Ben checked his watch. Candy noticed the gesture. She knew what he was thinking.
He glanced up and caught her looking at him. He gave her a knowing smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t disappear on you. At least not right at this moment.”
She was suddenly serious. “It’s an important story. If you need to cover it…”
He shook his head as Jesse turned back toward them. “Oh yeah, there was one more thing,” he said. “The word is, they’ve found evidence that other people were present in that motel room with him.”
Ben’s brow fell, and Candy was suddenly suspicious. “Jesse, where’d you hear that?”
He shrugged. “I just read it on the Web a little while ago,” he said, indicating his smart phone, and walked away.
She wanted to ask him which site, or perhaps even grab his phone and find out for herself, but he was already snapping away at the next table, and she knew she’d never get him back, not when he had his eye behind the lens of a camera.
Why did she seem so plugged in all of a sudden? A few weeks ago she was covering doggie birthday parties and the latest selection of the local book club. Now here she was at the center of a developing news story—a murder mystery no less. How had the level of her reporting changed so quickly? Where was she getting her information? Did she have a source inside the police department? Candy wondered—maybe the same person Finn Woodbury talked to? But that didn’t make any sense. Finn would never betray his source to anyone. It was possible Wanda could have connected to the person in a different way, but Candy thought it unlikely that Wanda and Finn moved in the same circles or talked to the same people.
But then who was tipping her off? If everything Jesse said was true, Wanda was getting some pretty big scoops. How was she doing it?
Candy heard a slight disturbance by the French doors and turned to see what was going on. She heard the voice then, a penetrating tone that somehow seemed to drill right into her skin, a voice both smooth yet cackling at the same time.
“…as most of you might know, my husband, Bart, broke his leg over the holidays while skiing at Sunday River and won’t be joining us tonight, so rather than come alone, I thought I’d bring the man of the hour, the sponsorship award winner himself,” said the person who was just entering the room through the French doors in a triumphant tone.
Candy let out an involuntary breath.
It was Wanda Boyle. She stopped just inside the doors, and with a flourish of her arm, announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, you all know my escort, Mr. Liam Yates!”
Candy was somewhat surprised. The woman had apparently just written and posted a breaking news story, and now here she was, decked out in a shivery blue number, looking like an overripe blueberry. Beside her, Liam wore a white dinner jacket with black pants and a black silk scarf draped around his neck. His blond, wavy hair was stylishly un-combed and still thick, despite the fact that he was probably pushing fifty. And his lined face was still tanned and handsome, with defined features. He artfully feigned mild interest in the evening’s proceedings, Candy noticed.
As Wanda greeted her friends and followers, she surreptitiously scanned the room, scoping out the location of the town’s important people, as if they were targets to intercept. When her gaze alighted on Candy, it paused only for an instant before moving on, without any sort of greeting or acknowledgement.
Wanda was soon deeply engrossed in her little circle of friends, crowing and launching into several loud stories. She obviously felt like the belle of the ball, due in part to her escort.
Liam stood nearby, checking the chandelier, his fingernails, the bottom of his shoe. He looked at his watch several times with exaggerated gestures and brushed absently at his clothes as he tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn.
He seemed to sense her watching him, and shifted his gaze toward her. He nodded slightly and gave her a smile before glancing at Ben and then away toward the French doors, as something suddenly drew his attention.
Candy turned to look as well. There was a shout. Murmurings.
A moment later Duncan Leggmeyer burst into the room. He paused only briefly, until he spotted Liam Yates nearby, crossed quickly to him, and slugged him firmly on his aristocratic jaw, sending Liam to the floor in a heap, unconscious.
Thirty-Four
Wanda shrieked, her friends cried out, and the assembled group of guests gasped collectively. Several people rushed into the room, several people rushed out of the room, and Jesse Kidder turned toward the action, camera clicking as he documented the entire scene.
“Oh my God!” Candy said, her hand going to her face.
“What did I miss?”
She glanced back. Ben had been deep in a conversation with Judy Crockett’s husband and had been facing the other direction during the confrontation.
“Duncan Leggmeyer just hit Liam Yates,” she told him.
“Really?” Ben curiously studied the activity on the other side of the room. “Anyone hurt?”
“Looks like Liam was knocked out cold.”
“Do you have any idea what provoked it?”
Candy didn’t, but she wondered if it had something to do with the hatchet. In fact, she was surprised to see Duncan here at all. She’d told the police about Duncan’s connection to the weapon, and she suspected they’d called him into the office for questioning. But what did any of that have to do with Liam?
Duncan was having harsh words with several guests, and a few moments later a security guard arrived. “He set me up!” Duncan shouted, pointing down at Liam’s inert body. “The bloody bastard set me up!”
The security guard approached Duncan, held out the flat end of his hand, and spoke to him in a low, controlled manner. Duncan said something back, and the security guard’s gaze turned steely. Finally Duncan backed away, bowed his head, and walked from the room without another word, the security guard close behind.
Meanwhile, a crowd of concerned people had gathered around Liam, checking him out to see if he was okay. But an even bigger group enveloped Wanda Boyle, who had had to sit down. Her closest friends fussed about her as if she were a diva who had fallen off a stage. They seemed upset at what had just occurred, obviously worried about Wanda’s well-being—as well as her reputation.
“That’s what happens when you get involved with out-of-towners,” Candy heard one woman, who stood nearby, whisper to her tight-jawed elderly friend.
The string quartet had stopped playing at the disruption, but they started up again, launching into Vivaldi, and the hushed room soon filled with murmuring voices.
