Unable to persuade Horace otherwise, the Boston architects had relented, and the widow’s walk atop the Pruitt was still the tallest point in Cape Willington, affording a spectacular panoramic view of the town and the far- reaching sea for those privileged enough to see it.
The Pruitt had a third unique feature: In the late 1970s, when the aged Town Hall on Main Street had burned down due to faulty wiring, the town offices had been temporarily relocated to a series of rooms in the Pruitt’s basement. These rooms had once been rehearsal halls and storage rooms, but once properly renovated and lighted, they served their new purpose so well that the town never moved out. It had proved to be a mutually beneficial relationship, for the town had the entire building at its disposal for whatever purpose presented itself, and the Pruitt’s operating committee had a continual flow of income from the town that proved immensely useful with repairs and upkeep. So the Pruitt Opera House now served as not only the cultural and social center of the town but also its governmental center.
Over the years, the stage of the Pruitt had been graced by performers of nearly every ilk, some truly gifted, but for the past twenty years or so it had been taken over annually for one night a year in mid-summer by a different troupe of performers-the young contestants in the town’s Blueberry Queen Pageant.
This year, like every other in recent memory, a full house was expected for this greatly anticipated event, and the turnout did not disappoint. The place was packed to its gilded rafters. The main hall’s maximum capacity was posted at three hundred and fifty, but Candy could have sworn there were more people than that stuffed into the auditorium, its wide balcony, and its half dozen viewing boxes, making the fire marshal scowl nervously as he paced the side hallway at the outer edges of the crowd.
The noisy crowd assembled there was crackling with anticipation as the clock in the foyer pronounced six o’clock, and Bertha Grayfire, the town council’s chairwoman for nearly a decade, and tonight’s mistress of ceremonies, bounced up a set of well-worn wooden stairs and took the stage with a wave and a smile. She was dressed in a pale yellow flowered dress with a high collar and a low hemline, giving her an appearance that was at once festive yet conservative, which was appropriate, considering her station in town.
Bertha was well-known around town as a good listener and a friendly sort, witty, approachable, and socially savvy. But what the townspeople most admired about her was how she could be tough and focused when necessary-say, during the annual budget process-and light and personable at other times. So it was not unfitting that she was greeted by a warm round of applause as she strode to center stage.
“Good evening, everyone!” she said into the microphone, “and welcome to the Forty-First Annual Cape Willington Blueberry Queen Pageant!”
Applause erupted again, louder and more energetic this time, accompanied by a few whoops and whistles, which were quickly buffered and absorbed by the Pruitt’s excellent acoustics.
For those unable to snag a ticket to the event, the pageant was being broadcast live over community-access cable. Candy would have preferred to watch it on TV at home with Doc, her feet propped up and a glass of white wine in her hand, but a week ago Maggie had thrust a ticket at her and insisted she come.
“I need you there for moral support,” Maggie had told her. “Ed’s going to be traveling-another damned business trip that he says he can’t postpone-and I need someone there to hug if Amanda wins, and a shoulder to cry on if she doesn’t.”
So here she was, sitting in the middle of a row of padded seats halfway back the auditorium, wedged between Maggie on the right and an older, overweight gentleman with a bad cough on the left, trying to remember why she had come.
Maggie leaned in close. “Isn’t this exciting?” She had to practically shout into Candy’s ear to be heard over the applause.
“More fun than baking a blueberry pie,” Candy said with a sarcastic edge that was lost on her friend. She’d had a long day at the booth, spending nearly eight hours straight on her feet dealing with demanding customers, so it was not surprising that she was finding it hard to match Maggie’s enthusiasm.
Maggie gave her a nudge and pointed into the crowd. “Oh look, there’s Mrs. Pruitt!”
Candy craned her neck to peek around the heads in front of her. Sure enough, sitting in the front row was a dangerously thin older woman wearing an impeccably tailored mauve business suit with a lavender-colored scarf. Her steel gray hair was pulled up into a tight swirl; a string of large pearls adorned her thin neck.
“How’d she get such a good seat?” Candy wondered.
Maggie waved a hand and twitched nervously in her seat. “Connections. Everything’s about connections these days, especially in this town.”
“Looks like she’s got her brute with her.”
“Who? That butler or chauffeur or whatever she calls him? Looks like a pug dog, doesn’t he? She never goes anywhere without him.”
“I saw the Bentley parked in front of the drugstore the other day, and there he was in the driver’s seat, reading a comic book and waiting patiently for her while she ran her errands.”
“They’re probably lovers,” Maggie mused, but before Candy could scoff at the idea, Bertha Grayfire continued from the stage, her voice booming through the hall.
“We have an exciting show for you tonight, but before we get started, I would be remiss if I didn’t take a moment to thank Wendy Bassett for her wonderful set decoration and Ned Winetrop, Ray Hutchins, and their crew for set construction. We also should recognize the generous contributions of Zeke’s General Store and Gumm’s Hardware Store.”
The audience joined her in polite applause.
Bertha’s expression turned suddenly serious. “Of course,” she continued, her voice falling to a near hush, “I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the sudden and shocking departure of one of our town’s favorite sons, Jonathan ‘Jock’ Larson. We all knew Jock well, and we all loved him dearly. He was a great supporter not only of this pageant but also of this town and all its citizens. I’m sure you’ll all agree that he will be sorely missed.”
The hall had fallen into deep silence as Bertha reached for her reading glasses, which hung from a thin silver chain around her neck. She slipped them on, paused for an appropriate period of time, then raised a hand holding a sheaf of five-by-eight-inch index cards, which she waved excitedly in the air. “Now on with the show!”
EIGHT
“First, I’d like to introduce our esteemed judges, who will determine the winner of tonight’s competition…”
Bertha swept a hand toward the five pageant judges who sat at an angled cloth-draped table at the foot of the stage and to the audience’s right, directly in front of the first row of seats. As Bertha read their names, each judge stood briefly and acknowledged the crowd with a bow or a wave.
“Starting at the far end… Mrs. Jane Chapman, director of the Downeast Maine Summer Theater program. Next to her, Mr. Oliver LaForce, proprietor of the renowned Lightkeeper’s Inn, located right here in beautiful Cape Willington. Next, Ms. Sheila Watson, music director at Cape Willington High School. And, of course, Mr. Georg Wolfsburger, baker extraordinaire and owner of the world-famous Black Forest Bakery.” The applause was a bit louder for Herr Georg as Bertha added, “This is Herr Georg’s tenth year as a pageant judge!” The baker, wearing an elegant navy blue evening jacket and a crisply pressed striped shirt open at the collar, put on a strained smile and waved halfheartedly at the crowd.
Bertha waited until the applause died out before she continued. “Finally, I am very pleased to introduce our fifth judge. He graciously stepped in at the last moment to fill a vacant slot, and we couldn’t be happier to have him with us. He’s the author of numerous books of poetry, including The Bell of Chaos, for which he won the Pulitzer Prize, as well as Tap Dancing on the Volcano, In the Steps of Kings, and his latest,
The crowd responded enthusiastically as Sebastian rose and bowed elegantly, first to Bertha, then to the audience. He was dressed resplendently in a white shirt, checkered vest, dark gray slacks, burgundy sports jacket,
