Town in a Blueberry Jam

As Candy reached the Jeep Cherokee, she was torn as to what to do next. She toyed briefly with the idea of walking to the Cape Crier office to drop in on Ben and find out if he had heard anything new about the investigation into Sapphire’s murder, but she decided against it. She hadn’t started working on her column yet, which was due to Ben on Monday. She hadn’t given much thought to it at all. She knew he would ask about it, and it probably wasn’t the best idea to tell Ben she had made no progress whatsoever. He had enough to worry about; she didn’t want to add to his concerns.

So that was out.

She thought of walking over to Duffy’s or stopping in to see Maggie, but decided against both of those also. She realized that conversation was not what she sought at the moment-what she needed was to be alone, to think, to sort out all the details of Sapphire’s death, to mull over all she had learned during the past few days.

So she pulled her keys out of her purse, hopped in the Jeep, and drove down Ocean Avenue to Waterfront Walk, a public park area with a half mile gravel pathway that meandered along the salt-sprayed shoreline. The path was lined with teaberry bushes and thick stands of rosehips, fragrant with summer blossoms, and benches were located at strategic places all along the walk, affording magnificent views of the coastline and the sea beyond.

She parked in the lot and, climbing out of the Jeep, was immediately assaulted by a stiff sea breeze thick with the smell of fish and salt. She walked a short distance, hands pushed deep into the pockets of her jeans, finally settling onto a lonely bench that looked out over the churning waves.

Mentally she began to form a list of all she had learned so far. Her thoughts went something like this:

• Sapphire had been killed by someone using a red-handled hammer bought at Gumm’s Hardware Store. In all, three of the suspect hammers had been sold-one to Ray, one to Ned Winetrop, and one to Hobbins the butler up at Pruitt Manor. Ray’s hammer was allegedly found at the scene of the crime. Ned lost his hammer on Saturday while he was at Town Hall working on the pageant set. Hobbins still had his hammer and was using it around Pruitt Manor.

• Ray was at Sapphire’s house the night she was killed-he didn’t deny that. Neighbors saw his truck there and heard Sapphire yelling at him.

• Ray had a big-time-and expensive-lawyer from Bangor who was being paid by Mrs. Pruitt. The lawyer was associated with the firm that handled Mrs. Pruitt’s business affairs.

• Sapphire kept secret files on everyone in town, including Jock, Mrs. Pruitt, Amanda, Cameron, Herr Georg, Ben, Sebastian J. Quinn, all of the pageant contestants and judges, even on Candy herself. Sapphire hid the files in a secret attic room that was known only to her and, apparently, to Cameron.

• Sapphire used the information she had collected to blackmail Herr Georg into altering his scores so she could win the pageant, though Herr Georg seemed to think his scores alone could not have affected the eventual outcome.

• Cameron had been shocked to hear about Sapphire’s death. And he had been staying in her attic, apparently sleeping there on occasion. He worked at Gumm’s and had sold two of the red-handled hammers to customers. He had access to all of the new hammers.

• At the bottom of one of the papers in Cameron’s file, Sapphire had written the words He’s the one.

• Sapphire’s real name was Susan Jane Vincent. She changed it at some point in her life, evidently before she had moved to Cape Willington. One reason she may have had for changing her name was to escape some past indiscretion, or perhaps even criminal activity.

• Mrs. Pruitt strongly believed that somehow, some way, Sapphire rigged the pageant-bribed or blackmailed one or more of the judges. She had been right about that, of course, though she knew nothing about Herr Georg and his past.

That was a pretty accurate list, Candy thought. But there was something else-something Doc had said to her. What was it?

She wracked her brain, trying to remember.

And then it struck her. A fort! What had Doc told her? That’s right, she remembered now: They’ve been interrogating Ray, Doc had said, and apparently he keeps repeating the same thing over and over. Says he didn’t do it and says it’s up at the fort.

What had Ray meant by that? What exactly was up at the fort? And what fort was he talking about?

Doc hadn’t known. The police hadn’t known. Candy had suggested Fort O’Brien, located up the coast near Machias, the county seat. Fort O’Brien dated back to the Revolutionary War days and was now just old ruins, but it was a popular historic site, with picnic tables, a few trails, and magnificent views of Machias Bay.

But what could those old ruins possibly have to do with Ray?

As far as Candy knew, he rarely left town. Why would he have gone up to an old fort? And if he had, what would he have hidden up there?

Candy rubbed her cheeks absently as she thought and stared out to the sea. There had to be an explanation, had to be an answer to this puzzle. But she just couldn’t figure it out.

Maybe, she thought, she should drive up to Fort O’Brien and have a look around, to see what she could find.

But she shook her head. She sensed that would be a worthless trip-a wild-goose chase. Her instincts told her that the answers she sought were right here, in Cape Willington. She just had to find them.

All of the questions that charged around her mind led back to one person-Ray Hutchins. He was the person at the center of this whole mess. He was the one who allegedly owned the hammer that killed Sapphire Vine. He had been at her house the night of her murder. He was the one sitting in the county jail, charged with her murder.

Ray, she decided, was the key. And she had to follow that key wherever it led.

Suddenly she knew what she had to do. Rising purposefully from the bench, she walked briskly to the Jeep, climbed in, started it up, and drove back out onto the Loop. She headed south. The road curved around southwestward, taking her past Pruitt Manor, and then angled northwestward, past the Lobster Shack, past a thin strip of sand that was the town beach, and back up the Cape. She drove out of town, and kept going.

Ten minutes later she turned off the main road onto a dusty lane that led back to an old two-bedroom shack, which sat on a deserted piece of land framed by stands of old pines and low bushes.

Ray’s home.

He had lived here with his mother when she had been alive, and by himself for the past three or four years. It was a sad, lonely looking place, without much character. The little house did have a fresh coat of dull gray paint on it and a porch swing that looked like something Andy Griffith might have sat on in the evenings with Aunt Bee. A rusty old pickup, much older than Doc’s, sat up on blocks, its tires missing. In front of the house and off to one side was a small, weathered barn with a roof so swaybacked that it seemed it would collapse at any moment.

Candy pulled up in front of the house and shut off the engine. She sat for a moment looking around, feeling strangely out of place. She had been here a few times before, but always with Doc, and always when Ray was around. Being here now, alone, with Ray in jail and the place empty and ghostlike made her feel like a trespasser.

But no, it was nothing like that, she reminded herself. She was here to help Ray, not to foreclose on his property or tear it down. She was here to investigate.

So investigate she would.

Cautiously she climbed out of the Jeep. Birds sang in the high trees. The barn door’s rusted hinges creaked slightly in the breeze. Sounds of cars passing by on the Loop were faintly audible.

Candy slammed shut the car door and walked around to one side of Ray’s old house, squinting up at it, studying it as if she were a prospective buyer considering its aesthetic value. It looked smaller than she remembered. There couldn’t have been more than eight hundred or a thousand square feet inside. The front porch was a newer addition. In the back there was only a cement stoop with an old metal garden chair on it, its faded pink paint rusting in spots. A few dead flowers in pots had been set out back.

Candy tried to peek into a few of the windows, but they were locked tight with the shades pulled down, so she couldn’t see much.

In fact, there wasn’t much at all to see. She walked to the barn, peered in the door, but except for old shovels and rakes, a few bales of moldy hay, and some long-abandoned farm equipment, it was empty. The flooring