Town In a Lobster Stew (27 page)

“Ohh.” Candy smiled. “So
you’re
the one who made that lemony stew.”

“That was mine.”

“It actually wasn’t half bad. I kind of liked it.”

“Well, thanks.” Wanda seemed gratified, and the beginnings of a smile worked across her lips.

“But Roger didn’t,” Candy continued, as the smile dropped away quickly from Wanda’s face. “He thought it was too citrusy, and he nixed it right off the list.”

Wanda frowned.

A thought crossed Candy’s mind. “But it still doesn’t make any sense. If you made the stew with the lemon, and Charlotte made the one with cinnamon, how come your name matched up with the cinnamon-flavored stew?”

Wanda’s sly smile returned. “It was simple. I swapped the lists.”

“What do you mean, you swapped the lists?”

“Just what I said. Robbie wasn’t the only one there yesterday with a list of the contestants, you know. There were a few other lists floating around the event. I had one. Alby had one somewhere. I think Oliver kept one in his office. That morning, before the whole thing began, I got a look at Robbie’s list. I remembered my number, and Charlotte’s. So when I figured out what Charlotte was doing, I created a new list of names and numbers, using the one I had with me. I handwrote the numbers so they matched the originals. I just switched the numbers for myself and Charlotte.”

“Clever,” Candy said. She had to admire Wanda’s plan. “It also means you cheated.”

Wanda shrugged her broad shoulders. “Maybe. But so did Charlotte. I figured I was just righting a wrong. But Oliver must have figured out what happened.”

“So
that’s
why he put an
X
across the sheet on Robbie’s clipboard.”

“Looks that way,” Wanda said. “He must have also had a talk with Roger and told him what was going on. Or maybe something else happened. I don’t know.”

“And as it turned out,” Candy said thoughtfully, “neither of you won.”

“Sure surprised the heck out of both of us,” Wanda agreed. “I was shocked when Juanita won. But so was Charlotte. I saw her stomp across the lawn toward the parking lot, so I followed her. I thought she was leaving. But she came back and said something to Oliver. What, I don’t know. He just gave her the brush-off. He told her the judges’ decision was final—or something like that. I couldn’t hear everything they said.”

Wanda gave her an odd look then. “So tell me—how did Juanita win anyway? I know she had a pretty good stew, but it wasn’t the best one there, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Candy admitted.

“Then what happened?”

“Roger happened,” Candy said. “He made the final decision. I had Juanita’s stew highly rated, and so did he, so we reached a consensus. He didn’t seem to like your stew—or Charlotte’s—or Mr. Sedley’s, I guess.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. He kept saying everything was too gimmicky. I’m not sure what he meant by that.”

Wanda rubbed her chin with her fingers and looked over at Candy. “So what do we do now? Do we go to the police?”

Candy thought for a long time, her mind working furiously. But there was only one good option she could see. She sighed. “I think I have to talk to Charlotte.”

As she climbed back into the Jeep, Candy heard snoring. She turned around and saw Finn stretched out on the backseat, asleep.

She reached around, grabbed his ankle, and gave it a good shake. “Hey, partner. Wake up. I thought you were watching my back.”

Finn gave a snort and woke with a sputtering jolt. His head jerked up, and he twisted it back and forth, obviously completely clueless about where he was or what he was doing there. Then he saw Candy. “Oh! Hi.”

“Hi yourself. Have a good nap?”

His face immediately turned red. “Um, yeah.” He looked around again, then sat up with a grunt and looked out the passenger-side window. “Guess I fell asleep.”

“Guess you did.”

He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

Candy checked her watch. “It’s about four thirty-five. You gotta be somewhere?”

“Marti’s due back at the house any minute. We’re headed out to dinner at the Legion. It’s taco night.”

“Mmm,” Candy said as she started the engine. “I guess we’d better get you home then.”

He looked over sheepishly. “Hey, sorry about falling asleep. I know I was supposed to be there for you. How’d the meeting go with Cinnamon Girl? Any problems?”

Candy checked her rearview mirror, put the transmission into reverse, and looked back over her shoulder. “Depends on your definition of
problems
. But basically no, everything went okay.”

“So who was it?”

Candy tilted her head at the listening device still stuck in his ear. “Couldn’t you hear us?”

“Oh, this?” Finn reached up and plucked the device out of his ear. “Damn thing isn’t worth a lick. I couldn’t hear a word. Just static from the time you entered the building.”

“Static? But we tested it at your place. It worked fine.”

Finn shrugged. “There must be some sort of interference around here. I was planning to check out the building and make sure you were okay, but I thought I’d give you a few more minutes and see what happened.”

Candy’s eyes shifted toward him. “And then you fell asleep.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He sounded contrite. “It was just so warm in here, and I didn’t sleep well last night. Might have been that chili I had for dinner. I think Marti put too much pepper in it.”

“Well,” Candy said with a slight smile, “that’ll do it. You’ve got to watch for stuff like that. Doc avoids onions like they were radioactive.”

“They don’t agree with me either.” Finn patted his stomach. “So, what’s the next step in the investigation?”

“The next step,” Candy said, “is to return your spy gear to you and drop you off at home so you have time to make it to taco night with Marti. Then I’m headed out to the lighthouse. I have a little business to take care of with Charlotte Depew.”

“Charlotte Depew? Does she have anything to do with Cinnamon Girl?”

“That’s what I’m going to try to find out.”

Finn shifted in his seat. “Hey, who is Cinnamon Girl anyway? You never did say.”

“Nope,” Candy answered, focusing her gaze on the road in front of her, “I never did.”

By the time she dropped Finn off at his home, Candy had told him a little bit of the story, but she kept a lot back, including the identity of Wanda Boyle. She still wasn’t completely sure who was guilty and who was innocent, and had to think it through herself before she could begin to explain to others exactly what was going on.

She was still mentally sorting through all the pieces as she pulled into the public parking area at the English Point Lighthouse.

The place was nearly full, packed with tourists and seasonal people in town for the long Memorial Day weekend. They were out in droves on Waterfront Walk and the pathways leading to the lighthouse.

After circling the parking lot several times, Candy finally managed to snag a spot. A Mercury sedan with an older couple from New Jersey was just backing out. Candy whipped the Jeep into the spot, just to make sure another car lingering nearby didn’t get it before she did. She switched off the engine, grabbed her black canvas bag, and jumped out. Throwing the bag over her shoulder, she slammed the door shut and headed off toward the lighthouse at a brisk pace.

The ocean was choppy in a stiff onshore breeze, and the waves crashed loudly with the incoming tide, but she barely noticed today. She checked her watch again as she walked. It was closing in on five o’clock, and she wasn’t sure how late the museum stayed open. It was listed in the paper every week, but she rarely paid attention to the dates and times. She wasn’t even sure Charlotte worked on Sundays.
Come to think of it, probably not
, she guessed. But she didn’t know where Charlotte lived, so this was her best bet if she wanted to talk to the woman before Tuesday morning.

As she came over the rise, she saw a crowd milling around the base of the tower and the door to the Keeper’s Quarters. She hurried down the path, taking the time to glance up at the lighthouse. It seemed to gleam today in the sunlight, tall and majestic. It never ceased to impress her.

Coming down off the slope, she angled to her right, toward the museum, and weaved her way through the meandering tourists—singles and couples and families huddled together, staring up the exterior face of the lighthouse. Soon she was climbing the gray-painted wooden steps and pushing her way through the glass door into the museum.

She saw no one behind the long desk to her left, but a few visitors lingered in the main room, gazing at the exhibits. She looked around quickly and started toward Charlotte’s office, but a voice from her left, on the other side of the counter, stopped her.

“Sorry, museum’s closed,” a male’s voice said gruffly.

She’d seen no one there a moment ago, but now she looked farther behind the counter, to the dark hallway beyond, which led to the tower door. The same burly man she’d seen before, with sandy-colored hair, wearing a dark green shirt and jeans, was standing near the door at the end of the hallway, checking the knob to make sure it was locked. Satisfied, he walked toward her, emerging from the shadows of the hall. He bounced a set of keys in one hand.

“I was just looking for Charlotte Depew,” Candy said, glancing toward the door to Charlotte’s office. It was closed.

“She’s gone,” the man in the green shirt informed her. “She usually doesn’t work on Sundays, but she came in for a couple of hours to help out today. She left a while ago.”

“Do you where she went? Where she lives?”

“Sorry, can’t divulge that information.” The man dropped the keys in a desk drawer behind the counter and walked around into the room, motioning to a group of guests on his left. “Folks, we’re closed. We’re open tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. You’re welcome to stop by then.”

As he herded the rest of the visitors out the door, Candy stood rooted to a spot on the floor, trying to figure out a way to have a quick look around up in the archives, and perhaps even in Charlotte’s office.

That’s when she noticed the name tag attached to the man’s green shirt: B. BRIDGES.

She looked up at his face and smiled. “Hey, I think I saw you yesterday at the cook-off, talking to Robbie Bridges. Any relation?”

He looked at her skeptically. “I’m his father.”

“Oh, well, you must be very proud. He’s a fine young man.” And before he could say anything, she held out her hand. “I’m Candy Holliday. I write a column for the
Cape Crier
.”

“Yup, I know who you are.” He shook her hand somewhat reluctantly.

“So . . . you’re Robbie’s dad.”

“That’s right. Name’s Bob.” He said the words slowly, as if hesitant to engage her in conversation.

“Well, Bob . . . listen, I have a little favor to ask you. I was out here last Thursday—actually, I think I saw you working in your maintenance shed—and guess what? I left my notebook here by mistake. Silly me! I don’t suppose you’ve seen it? It’s long and thin, with a spiral wire at the top, and it’s got a green cover. Sound familiar?”

Bob thought a long moment, watching her skeptically, and finally shook his head. “Don’t think I’ve seen anything like that. But you can check the lost and found. It’s that cardboard box behind the counter.” He pointed.

Candy’s head swiveled toward the counter. “Okay, I’ll do that. Thanks, Bob.”

She headed toward the counter as the maintenance man started off in the opposite direction, toward the front exhibit rooms. A few moments later, she heard him climbing the wooden stairs to the second floor. The aged steps creaked as he made his way upward.

She lingered by the counter, waiting until she heard him moving around upstairs. She took one glance around, to make sure she was alone, then dashed across the room toward the door to Charlotte’s office. When she reached it, she tried the doorknob. It was locked.

She swore under her breath. She wanted to get a look inside to see if she could find Mr. Sedley’s ledger. Wanda had seen Charlotte slip it into her top desk drawer. Candy knew it was a long shot, but she had to try.

Then she remembered the keys Bob had tossed into a desk drawer behind the counter.

She hurried back across the room. She was just opening the desk drawer when she heard Bob coming down the stairs.

“Dang,” she said under her breath.

Softly she closed the drawer and took a few steps sideways. Looking around, she spotted a battered cardboard box on the floor behind the counter. She dipped toward it, pretending to dig through the odd assortment of mittens, scarves, toys, hats, handkerchiefs, paperback books, and other items.

Bob called to her as he came through an archway. “Find it?”

Candy straightened. “No. Come to think of it, I might have left it in Charlotte’s office. I don’t suppose I could have a look around in there.”