a plate that held the layered torte pastry.
“It looks delicious,” Candy said. “What’s in it?”
“Three thin layers of spicy dough made with ground almonds, hazelnuts, cinnamon, and lemon zest. There’s a delightful buttercream between each layer. And on top, a layer of almond paste, followed by a layer of fresh blueberries, topped with a crosshatch of dough, all delicately baked to a crispy brown. In Germany, raspberries, apricots, or cranberries are usually used for the fruit topping, but of course blueberries are a must here.”
“Of course.” Candy nudged the still-warm, golden brown crosshatching with her pinky. “Herr Georg, no one makes pastries as flaky as yours.”
He grinned at the compliment, showing off the gap between his two front teeth. “Would you like a bite?”
“More than one, I hope. I’ll put on the tea.”
Herr Georg’s
The baker carefully surveyed Candy’s preparations for the festival, pronouncing her pies and scones among the best looking he had ever seen. Then, late in the warm afternoon, she walked him out to his car.
“I’ve made several batches of
“Guess I’d better bring along my checkbook then.”
“Ah, Candy,
After he drove off, Candy walked back into the kitchen and began to pack up the baked goods and gifts for the festival in the morning.
Doc called just before dinnertime. “Sorry I’m late, pumpkin, but I got sidetracked. I stopped in at the diner to check the news about Jock, and it looks like something’s up. Rumor is they’ve found some incriminating evidence at the scene, but we don’t know what yet. Finn’s checking it out now, so I thought I’d hang around in case he needs any backup. I probably won’t be home for dinner. You want to join me here?”
She was tempted but, in the end, decided she still had too much to do. “What about the festival and the booth? We still have to load up the truck.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it when I get back. We’ll do Chinese another night, okay?”
Candy couldn’t help feeling disappointed as she hung up. “Another Friday night alone,” she muttered to herself as she dropped into a chair, surrounded by silence.
On an impulse she called Maggie, just to find someone to talk to, but all she got was an answering machine.
She hung up without leaving a message.
In a moment of weakness she thought of calling Ray but quickly decided that was crazy.
“Well, guess it’s time to get back to work,” she said as she rose. And then she spotted Herr Georg’s
She finished off the whole thing right then and there, washed down with half a bottle of white wine.
Doc would just have to find his own damned dessert.
SIX
By seven thirty the following morning Candy and Doc had set up their booth on Cape Willington ’s Main Street, which was blocked off to traffic for the festival. They had a prime spot-at the northeast end of the street in front of McGuire’s Travel Agency, just across from Duffy’s Main Street Diner-so they’d get plenty of foot traffic all day.
By eight o’clock Candy had set out her items for sale, all arranged neatly on the booth’s display counter, which she’d covered with a blueberry tablecloth she’d bought at the L.L.Bean store in Freeport.
She attached the banner she’d made to the tops of the front posts and wove blue and white crepe paper streamers around the posts to add some color. Finally, she hung gift baskets from hooks in the crossbeams above her head. The baskets swayed gently in the sea breeze that always seemed to be coming in from the ocean.
When she was done, she stepped out into the street to have a look at it all. She was pleased with what she saw. This was her third year selling homemade items at the festival but her first time with a booth; the last two years she had gone the novice route, setting up a card table near the park. This year she’d decided to put a professional spin on the blueberry-selling business, purchasing booth space along Main Street and significantly increasing the variety of items she offered.
Now all she had to do was sell it all, and she’d provide a much-needed boost to the Holliday household finances.
By eight thirty the crowds began to arrive, and by nine the streets of Cape Willington were swarming with festival-goers. Events had kicked off at seven thirty that morning with a pancake breakfast at the American Legion Hall. The Fun Run at eight thirty was followed by 5K and 15K races. The flea market at the First Congregational Church was about to open, a pet parade was scheduled for noon, a local folk band would start playing in Town Park at one, a blueberry pie-eating contest would take place at three, and other events would follow throughout the afternoon.
Things would really get rolling with the Blueberry Festival Parade at five. Featuring the Blueberry Queen contestants, it would wind its way around the Coastal Loop and end up at the Pruitt Opera House, where the Blueberry Queen would be crowned after a pageant that started at six. The day would culminate with a dance at the Cape Willington Community Center at eight, presided over by the Blueberry Queen and her court.
There was no doubt about it-it was going to be a long but fun, and most certainly fruitful, day.
The weather cooperated nicely. A bright late July sun rose through a nearly cloudless sky. The heat and humidity of the previous day had broken overnight. Today was cooler and crisper, a perfect festival day.
Still, by midmorning the temperature had risen into the seventies and threatened to approach eighty. Main Street was well shaded, so Candy didn’t have to worry too much about her chocolate-covered blueberries melting in the heat, although she did keep the bulk of them in coolers she had brought along to prevent just that. With any luck, she’d have them all sold by noon.
The large pies went quickly (at twelve dollars apiece), and she sold the T-shirts, soap, and cookies at a good clip, as she knew she would.
Doc helped out in the booth for a while, until the boys showed up. They were in an anxious mood. Bumpy’s wide ruddy face was ruddier than usual as he finished off a doughnut, brushing crumbs down the front of his wrinkled Hawaiian shirt, which he always dragged out of the closet on holidays and special events like the festival. Artie, looking disheveled as he pushed horn-rim glasses up his blade-thin nose, carried a clipboard, on which he jotted notes about the items he had purchased that day and planned to resell on eBay. Finn wore an exquisitely serious expression on his bearded face and, despite the heat, was dressed in an ever-present tweed jacket, patched at the elbows and fraying at the ends of the sleeves. “Got more news,” he announced to Doc as they approached the booth.
Doc was instantly drawn in. “About Jock?”
Finn nodded. “That evidence they found? It’s a flashlight.”
“Ha! I knew it!” Doc announced proudly, pounding a fist into an open hand.
“They found it on the rocks below,” Finn went on, sounding not unlike Joe Friday in Dragnet. “It’s got someone’s initials on it.” He lowered his voice to a gruff whisper as he leaned in closer. “Not Jock’s, though.”
Doc’s eyes narrowed. “Whose?”
Finn leaned back, hitched up his trousers, and shook his head. “Haven’t found that out yet. I’m on it, though.”
“You headed to the diner?”
The boys nodded. For a strange moment they reminded Candy of the Three Stooges, especially Bumpy, who with his crew cut and generous proportions bore more than a passing resemblance to Curly. And now that she thought about it, Artie Groves, with his straight black hair, could pass for a much taller Moe. She almost expected them to start slapping each other around. Doc rubbed at his hip before he turned to her, looking like a little boy
