Town In a Lobster Stew (28 page)

“I don’t suppose you could,” Bob said with a frown.

Candy persisted. “I really need that notebook this weekend so I can write my column. Isn’t there any way I can get a quick look around inside?”

“ ’Fraid not. I don’t let anyone in there when Charlotte’s not around.”

“I don’t suppose you could give her a call? Tell her it’s urgent.”

“I have instructions to call Charlotte only in emergencies.”

“But this
is
an emergency,” Candy persisted.

But Bob would have none of it. He waved his arms at her, as if herding her out the door. “Whatever it is, it’ll wait until tomorrow or Tuesday. Right now, I gotta close up and get home. It’s Sunday, you know. On a holiday weekend,” he reminded her.

In the end, no amount of pleading could make him change his mind. Candy finally relented, stepping back outside into the late afternoon sunlight.

Bob stepped through after her. He pulled the door closed with a
click
and tested the doorknob to make sure it was locked.

As she turned to face Bob, Candy repositioned the strap of the black canvas bag on her shoulder. “Well, it was nice to finally meet you. Robbie seems like he’s doing pretty well at the inn.”

“Yup, he’s got a good deal going on over there,” Bob said, looking distracted. “I just hope he doesn’t screw things up.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

Bob waved a hand. “No, nothing like that. He’s basically a good kid. He just needs a little guidance now and then.”

“He’s young,” Candy said, giving Bob an understanding look. “He’ll learn.”

“That he will.” Bob stared out toward the ocean. “That he will.”

Candy was going to ask him another question when she heard her cell phone buzz. She’d set it on vibrate when she’d dropped it in the bag at home, so it wouldn’t ring when she was in the middle of her meeting with Cinnamon Girl, alias Wanda Boyle. Now it made a little whirring sound, like a bee buzzing nearby. She pulled the bag off her shoulder and fished in it for the phone.

She glanced at the front screen. It was Maggie.

She looked up to say her good-byes to Bob, but he was gone. She turned both ways and saw him walking off toward the maintenance shed with a determined gait, his arms swinging loosely as his sides. He hadn’t said another word to her. He’d just walked off.

Candy shook her head. “Men.” She flipped open the phone. “Hi, what’s up?”

“I hate to keep doing this to you,” Maggie said, sounding worried, “but you have to get over here right away.”

“Why, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m at my house,” Maggie said, “and Wilma Mae’s gone.”

Twelve minutes later she wheeled into the driveway at Maggie’s house and pulled the Jeep to a stop. Maggie was outside on the front steps waiting for her, dressed in stonewashed jeans and a persimmon-colored cardigan with a navy blue anchor appliqué over the lower left pocket. The air had cooled as the sun set, and the breeze off the ocean tousled her already windswept dark brown hair.

Candy jumped out of the Jeep, leaving the door open behind her. “What happened?” she asked as she and Maggie walked toward each other.

Maggie’s face was hard with concern. “She pulled a fast one on me. The old goat stole my keys right off the counter and took the car. She was all bundled up. She told me she was going for a walk.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I guess she needed to be somewhere.”

Candy looked around, up and down the street, as if hoping Wilma Mae would suddenly drive up. “Do you have any idea where she went?”

Maggie nodded. “I’ve got a couple of ideas. You?”

“Same.” She pointed toward the Jeep. “Hop in. We’ll find her.”

As Maggie climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door, Candy gave her a sideways look. “Where’ve you been? You look like you got caught in a hurricane.”

“I’ve been frantic, out looking for Wilma Mae. It’s getting windy out there.”

“And chilly too.”

As she backed out of the driveway and headed toward town, Candy checked the sky. Here in this part of Maine, at this time of year, so far east in the time zone, the sun rose early, at around five A.M., and set relatively early in the evening, at around eight fifteen P.M. They still had a few hours of light left until dusk, but a bank of thickening clouds coming in from the southeast was beginning to filter the sun’s warmth and light, cooling the air and stealing the brightness from the late afternoon. Candy had put on a long-sleeved shirt when she’d left the house to meet Cinnamon Girl, but her jacket was still on a hook by the back kitchen door. She shivered as she reached for the Jeep’s heater, turning the fan on low to warm them.

“How has she been?” Candy asked as she drove.

“Eerily peaceful. It’s as if she’s completely forgotten about Mr. Sedley’s murder. She’s been chatting all day about all sorts of inconsequential stuff but never mentions him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s completely forgotten about him.”

“She’s probably just having a hard time dealing with it.”

Maggie tried to arrange her hair, brushing it back and forth with her hand in an effort to tame it. “That’s my guess. I was getting worried about her. So when she said she was going for a walk, I thought it sounded like a good idea.”

“Guess it wasn’t all fun and games for you two, huh?”

Maggie sighed wistfully. “No. And I was
so
looking forward to our pillow fight tonight.”

They drove through the light at the Coastal Loop and soon turned right onto Rose Hip Lane. At the second house from the end on the right, she turned into the empty driveway at Wilma Mae’s house. Police tape still crisscrossed the front door, and the place looked dark inside.

They both climbed out as soon as Candy shut off the engine, and they walked into the front yard. They stood looking up at the house, studying the windows.

“You see anyone?” Candy asked after a few moments.

“No. My car’s not here either. Should we check inside?”

Candy shook her head. “I doubt she would’ve gone in. It’d be too traumatic for her. I’ll check the garage to see if your car’s there, but my guess is she’s not here.”

“Where then?”

“I don’t know. Let’s cruise down Ocean Avenue and then head out on the Loop and see if we spot her.”

Twenty minutes later, they still hadn’t found Wilma Mae, and Candy was beginning to worry. Then Maggie had a thought. “You know, tomorrow’s Memorial Day.”

Candy gave her a look. “Yeah? And?”

“Do you suppose Mr. Wendell was in the military?”

Candy gave her a smile. “Good idea, Watson. Let’s check it out. By the way, have I told you about Cinnamon Girl?”

Maggie twisted in her seat. “No. But do tell. I love a good story.”

“Then this one will blow your socks off.” As they drove out the Loop, Candy proceeded to tell her best friend about the meeting at the Pruitt Opera House with Wanda, and about her conversation with Ben.

She’d just about finished, and Maggie was listening rapturously, as they drove through the gate at Stone Hill Cemetery.

Suddenly they both grew quiet. Neither of them had been here since the previous summer, when they’d laid Susan Jane Vincent to rest. The memories of that day, and the harrowing week before it, came back to them both. But Maggie broke the spell fairly quickly as she pointed into the dimming light and said, “There’s my car.”

It was parked along one of the dirt roads that wound through the hilly cemetery, which occupied a windswept bluff overlooking the English River. Candy angled toward the car, creeping slowly ahead as they scanned the landscape for any sign of Wilma Mae.

They both spotted her at about the same time, standing at a grave site off to the left, in the shadows of a tall pine tree. “There she is,” Candy said.

She pulled the Jeep to a stop behind Maggie’s car, and they both climbed out. The wind was fiercer out here, on open land along the river, tossing their hair and pulling at their clothes. Candy wrapped her arms tightly around herself while Maggie lowered her head, and together they trudged up the slope toward Wilma Mae.

She must have heard them as they approached, for she turned her head slightly their direction. She held a small bouquet of flowers in her hands and stood silently as they walked up to her.

“Wilma Mae, here you are. We were worried about you,” Maggie said.

“We’ve been looking all over town,” Candy added. “We were afraid you’d gotten yourself lost.”

“Oh no, dear, I’m not lost,” said Wilma Mae softly. “I’ve been here the whole time. It’s Sunday afternoon. I always come out to visit my Milton on Sunday afternoons. It’s a tradition with us. He was expecting me.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Candy said. “We just wish you would have told us where you were going.”

“Oh, I know I should have,” said Wilma Mae with a soft clucking of her tongue, “and I
am
sorry for stealing your car, Maggie. I hope you’re not
too
mad at me. But I just wanted a few minutes alone with him.”

Maggie patted the elderly woman on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Wilma Mae, I’m not mad. I understand completely.”

“It’s just,” Wilma Mae continued, her chest welling, “well, things are changing, aren’t they? You see, even though Milton left me all those years ago, I’ve always had Mr. Sedley to keep me company. That made it easier for me, you know? Having someone like him around to talk to was, well, it was wonderful. Just wonderful. And I don’t know if I ever told him that—how special he was to me. And now that he’s gone too . . .” her voice trailed off. “Well, I feel so alone now.”

She leaned forward and placed the flowers on her husband’s grave. “Now I guess I’ll have two graves to visit on Sunday afternoons, won’t I?”

Candy and Maggie stood at her side as the wind calmed and Wilma Mae cried.

Wilma Mae was in better spirits the following morning when Candy stopped by Maggie’s house around ten o’clock. They had agreed to go together to the Memorial Day Parade, which started at one.

Cape Willington’s Memorial Day Parade was a town tradition dating back to the early 1940s, and had long been both a celebration of the beginning of the summer season as well as a solemn and patriotic event commemorating those who had served their country.

From nine until one, the police blocked off Ocean Avenue for a townwide flea market, sponsored by the local American Legion post. Over the past few years, Finn had become involved in organizing the event, and he relied on Doc and the boys, as well as Marti and the ladies of the Women’s Auxiliary, to help him with the details.

Candy had planned to make only a few brief appearances at the day’s events. She hoped to grab some quick quotes and jot down a few notes for her column, but her plan was to spend most of the afternoon at the farm, working on the gardens with Doc and writing her articles, which were due the following day. But he’d taken off early in the morning to help Finn with the flea market, telling Candy he’d catch up with her later in the day. Shortly after, Maggie had called to coax Candy into attending the parade with her and Wilma Mae.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Maggie told her over the phone. “Just us three girls, out for the afternoon. Who knows, maybe we can pick up a few cute sailors.”

Candy laughed. “Well, that does sound tempting. But in case you hadn’t noticed, most of the sailors around here are marching in the parade today and they’re pushing eighty.”

“Hey, those senior citizens can boogie. Have you seen them at the VFW hall on Saturday night? And they’ll be out in droves today. It’ll be easy pickin’s for us girls. Besides, we need to cheer up Wilma Mae. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Candy finally relented, and so just after ten in the morning, the three of them climbed into Candy’s Jeep and headed toward town.

Wilma Mae had dressed for the occasion. She wore a navy blue knee-length dress with a red, white, and blue scarf tied around her neck for an accent. A large American flag broach and sensible walking shoes completed her ensemble.