Candy Corn Murder (5 page)

She was down to the last bite, but she was full and decided to leave it, sort of as a promise to herself that there would be more lobster rolls next summer. She tossed it out onto the rocks that edged the cove, and a couple of seagulls swooped down to claim it. One succeeded, and the other followed it in flight, complaining loudly.

Well, she decided, standing up and wiping her hands on the little foil-wrapped towelette that came with her sandwich, Buck seemed to be quite the sophisticated, competent businessman, but she suspected that at bottom he wasn't very different from Patrick. They were both little boys whose orderly, secure worlds had suddenly been turned upside down. The difference was that Buck had lost his father for good, but Patrick would be reunited with his parents at Christmas.

Back in the car she headed over to town hall, where the Conservation Commission's monthly hearing would take place in the basement meeting room. She saw no sign of Sara's Civic in the parking lot, but there was a big pickup truck with a scuba bumper sticker, and Lucy guessed she had caught a ride with another club member. She had intended to sit with her daughter, to offer moral support, but when she entered the meeting room, she found Sara sitting with a very good-looking young man.
Better to give her free rein,
she decided, choosing a seat on the opposite side of the room.

Several of the commission members were already seated at the row of tables on the raised dais provided for town officials. She recognized Caleb Coffin and Tom Miller, as well as Millicent Hayes. Fred Witherspoon and Tony Marzetti were last to join the panel, strolling in together, engaged in conversation. The meeting, with only a few routine items on the agenda, hadn't drawn much of a crowd, and only a few retirees were in attendance, apart from Sara and the young man, and the commission's secretary, Lucille Whipple.

“I'm calling this meeting to order,” announced the chairman, Caleb Coffin, with a polite tap of his gavel. Caleb, a former bank president, was in his sixties, and he was dressed in the usual uniform of a prosperous Tinker's Cove retiree, a plaid flannel shirt and khaki pants. “As usual, I think we will dispense with the reading of the minutes?” He checked with the other members, receiving nods of agreement. “The minutes will be posted for anyone who is interested,” he continued, with a nod in Lucy's direction. Caleb was scrupulous about following the state's open meeting law and wanted to make sure Lucy knew there was no attempt to avoid public scrutiny.

She smiled in return, and he referred to his agenda. “First off, we have a request from the scuba club at Winchester College, which wants permission to use Jonah's Pond for an underwater pumpkin-carving contest.” Caleb glanced at the audience over his half-glasses, settling on Sara and her companion. “I presume you are here to represent the club?”

The young man stood up. “Yes. My name is Hank DeVries, and I am the president of the scuba club.” Lucy thought he was quite well spoken, and he was neatly dressed in clean jeans and a T-shirt with a dive club logo. “We want to take part in the Giant Pumpkin Fest, and the underwater pumpkin carving was a natural choice for us. These contests are quite popular. I have printouts describing contests held in other towns, such as Key West and, much closer to us here in Maine, Damariscotta.” He waved a sheaf of papers, offering it to the committee for examination.

Caleb accepted the printouts and passed them to the other committee members, who studied them carefully, leafing slowly through the pages.

“If you have any questions, I'm happy to answer them,” said Hank.

“Jonah's Pond is a pristine body of water, one of the few truly unspoiled ponds in the state,” said Millicent. “What will happen with the detritus, the stuff from the inside of the pumpkins?”

“Each contestant will be provided with a mesh bag for the innards,” said Hank, “but there will inevitably be some spillage. It's completely natural vegetable material, much like leaves and seeds that fall into the pond from surrounding trees, and I imagine some of it will be eaten by native fauna.”

Millicent nodded, apparently satisfied by his response, but Tom Miller was frowning over the papers. “How many people do you think this contest will attract?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

He was a pleasant-looking man, thought Lucy, noticing his tanned face, clear blue eyes, and the touch of gray at his temples. He and Glory certainly made a handsome couple, even if he did have the same weirdly long Miller fingers she'd noticed in the portrait of Old Sam. He was dressed rather more formally than the others, wearing a crisply starched white dress shirt with a tie, a blazer, and gray pants.

“We are planning on limiting the number of contestants to twelve,” said Hank, “so it's a relatively small number. There will be spectators, of course, but frankly, there isn't much to see, since the action takes place underwater. It's really all about giving divers a way to take part in the festival. We will have underwater cams, of course, but . . .”

“Cameras?” demanded Tom, seizing on the point.

“Yeah, to make sure there's no cheating. Nobody substituting an already carved pumpkin, for example.”

“How many cameras?”

“At least six, one for every two carving stations,” said Hank. “And there'll be monitors set up on the shore.” He paused, then added quickly, “No big screens or anything like that.”

“No JumboTron?” asked Tony with a grin.

“No, that's definitely not in the club budget,” said Hank, smiling.

“Will there be prizes?” asked Millicent.

“The Five Cents Savings Bank is providing the prizes. They're American Express cash cards. I don't know the exact . . .”

Sara stood up. “I have that information,” she said. “I'm Sara Stone, and I'm the club treasurer,” she said, introducing herself. “The cash cards are for twenty-five, fifty, and one hundred dollars.” Getting a dismissive nod from Caleb, she sat down.

“This seems like a nice event,” said Fred Witherspoon. “I used to dive myself, back when I was younger, and this is a good way to draw attention to the sport.”

“It will also draw attention to the pond, which very few people realize is town-owned conservation land, open to all for walking and bird-watching,” said Tony. He received nods of agreement from several board members.

But not, however, from Tom Miller, who was frowning. “At the best of times scuba diving is pretty dangerous, isn't it?” he asked. “Are you going to have medics on standby, in case there's an emergency?”

“Well, we weren't planning to,” said Hank. “The pond isn't very deep, and we'll do a safety check on everyone's equipment. I don't foresee any problems.”

“Well, that's how it is with accidents, isn't it?” demanded Tom, shooting his cuffs, which were fastened with gold cuff links shaped like little gold anchors. “You don't foresee them. And if something unfortunate were to happen, well, who would be liable? Would it be this committee? The town? I don't know if we're willing to assume that responsibility. We could be sued for half a million, a million dollars, even more, if somebody loses their life.”

“I don't think that's realistic,” said Hank, looking rather anxious. “There have been plenty of underwater pumpkin-carving contests, and I know of no problems related to them.”

“Well, as for me, I can't say I think this is a good idea,” said Tom.

“Let's call a vote,” said Caleb. “Is there further discussion?”

The committee members shook their heads, and Hank sat down nervously on the edge of his seat.

“All in favor?” asked Caleb, and Millicent, Tony, and Fred raised their hands.

“Opposed?”

Tom Miller was the lone opponent.

“As for me, I'm sorry Tom, but I'm in favor, too,” said Caleb. “You're outvoted this time.”

Tom shrugged. “Just to be on the safe side, I'm going to consult my lawyer about the committee's potential liability, and I'm going to check with the state's natural resources people.”

“Do what you have to do,” said Caleb in a resigned voice. “In the meantime, young man, you've got your permission. Good luck with the contest.”

“Thank you,” said Hank, gathering up his papers. As he turned to go, he took Sara by the arm.

Interesting,
thought Lucy, catching her daughter's eye as Hank took her heavy book bag and slung it over his shoulder, carrying it for her. Sara had never mentioned Hank, and Lucy wondered if a romantic relationship was in the works. Or maybe Hank was just a polite young man, she thought, then turned her attention to the next item under discussion, the replacement of a culvert under Main Street Extension.

The meeting dragged on, and when it finally ended, Lucy hurried home, eager to see what Bill and Patrick had gotten up to in her absence. She had no sooner pulled into the driveway and braked when a very loud siren began to wail. She clapped her hands over her ears, attempting to block the ear-piercing sound, and got out of the car. Looking toward the garden, she saw Ev, along with Bill, who was on his hands and knees, apparently attempting to cut off the siren. Patrick was jumping up and down in excitement, adding a few hops even after the noise stopped.

Bill stood up and was clapped on his back by Ev. “It worked, Billy boy! It worked!” he yelled. “It went off when she drove in. That used motion detector still works.”

“What was that awful noise?” asked Lucy, whose heart was thumping in her chest.

“Pumpkin alarm,” said Bill with a satisfied smile. “We just finished installing it.”

“I hope it's not going to do that every time I use the car,” said Lucy.

“This was just a test,” said Bill. “I'll set it only at night and when nobody's home.”

“But what about animals? Won't raccoons and deer set it off?”

“Yeah,” volunteered Ev. “And that's a good thing. Nobody and no thing is going to mess with this pumpkin. No way.”

“Not if they value their hearing,” muttered Lucy, climbing the porch steps.

“Can you do it again, Grandpa?” asked Patrick.

“Sure thing!” exclaimed Ev as the siren sounded once again.

Time to buy earplugs,
thought Lucy, wondering if she'd ever get a good night's sleep again.