Town in a Pumpkin Bash (20 page)

“It’s not a date. It’s a business dinner.”

“A what?” he asked in mock horror.

Candy smiled at his reaction. “Well, maybe not quite as serious as that. But you and
your aunt asked me to find Abigail’s missing diary, so I thought we could talk about
your family a little more. And Hobbins.”

“Hobbins?” Tristan made a face. “Why would you want to talk about him? It’ll spoil
our appetites for sure.”

Candy laughed. “I promise that won’t happen. Do we have a deal?”

Tristan sighed and rolled his eyes in a completely charming way, before a warm smile
crept across his face. “You drive a hard bargain, Candy Holliday. What time should
I pick you up?”

He arrived at Blueberry Acres promptly at eight, driving a classic forest green Jaguar
with well-worn leather seats and burl walnut trim on the dash, doors, and center console.

Doc walked out to greet him, admiring the car and shaking hands with Tristan, while
Candy threw on a cocoa-colored wool shawl she’d bought the previous spring at a clearance
sale at Macy’s up in Bangor. She wore it over tan slacks and a draping cream-colored,
midsleeve blouse with a silver belt. Turquoise earrings and a silver-and-turquoise
necklace added some color. She’d fixed up her hair as best she could, and put on some
lipstick and makeup.

It had taken her a while to decide on the toned-down outfit, and she still wasn’t
sure she’d made the right choice. She’d spent the better part of an hour on the phone
with Maggie trying to figure out what to wear. She’d tried on four or five dresses,
including a low-cut red number and a less revealing black dress, but none looked right
for the occasion. She wanted to make sure she emphasized the point that this
was a
business
dinner, and not a
date
. So she’d finally opted for the slacks and shawl, which she thought were more casual
yet appropriate for dinner at the inn.

Doc was telling Tristan about his latest writing project when Candy came down off
the porch and climbed into the Jaguar’s passenger seat. The leather felt warm underneath
her. “Heated seats?” she asked of Tristan.

He nodded. He was wearing a starched white shirt, open-collared, and a dark gray jacket.
With gold cuff links. Which had diamond studs. And he was wearing aftershave. Something
that smelled earthy and expensive.

She eased down into the warm seat. “Perfect for a cool autumn evening.”

Doc was just finishing up, and Candy waved to him out the driver’s side window, leaning
across Tristan. “Would you check the chickens for me? I didn’t get a chance to look
in on them this evening.”

“Sure thing, pumpkin.” Doc slapped the roof of the car and backed away, thrusting
his hands into his pockets. “Okay, you two have a good time…doing whatever you’re
doing,” he said.

“It’s a business dinner, Dad!”

“That’s right, I keep forgetting,” he said with a grin, and waved as they drove off.

The Lightkeeper’s Inn was crowded and the parking lot was full, but Tristan dropped
off the car with a valet, and they were promptly seated at one of the best tables
in the dining room, in a softly lit alcove with a bay window overlooking the front
of the inn toward the sea.

It was a beautiful night, cool and crisp. The sky had cleared and the stars were bright.
The moon was just rising above the horizon out over the ocean.

As they’d come down Ocean Avenue, they’d seen some volunteers who were just finishing
up their work in Town Park, setting up display stands for the Pumpkin Bash festival
taking place on Wednesday. And tonight, the inn was
completely decorated for Halloween, with carved and lighted pumpkins on display outside
and in, autumnal wall and floor arrangements with cornstalks and sheaves of multicolored
leaves, and a general spiderweb and bat motif weaving through the banisters, chandeliers,
and lounge area.

A waitress came by, took their drink orders, and chatted briefly with Tristan, smiling
widely the entire time, before heading off toward the bar. Tristan waved a friendly
greeting to the bartender as well, and both Oliver LaForce, the head innkeeper, and
Alben “Alby” Alcott, the assistant innkeeper, stopped by to say a quick hello. Mason
Flint, the chairman of the town council, also paid his respects.

“My,” Candy said as she sipped from a chilled glass of white wine, “you’re certainly
a popular person tonight. When I agreed to have dinner with you, I didn’t know I’d
be sitting at a table with a celebrity.”

“It is a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?” Tristan said sheepishly, as a half smile slipped
out of the corner of his mouth. “It’s just that I’ve known some of these folks for
the better part of my life. I spent most of my summers here when I was a kid. We used
to eat here at the inn way back when the place was owned by the Whitby family. They
eventually sold out to Oliver, whom I’ve known for almost twenty years. And I’ve known
Alby since he started here eight years ago or so.” He pointed toward the bar. “I’ve
known Hank since I was in high school—I dated his daughter one summer when we were
both teenagers—and I played pool with Ted Frank, whose dad owned Zeke’s back in those
days. We had insurance through Stone and Milbury, until they closed down. I’ve been
to Town Hall and met with the town council a number of times over the years on the
family’s behalf. I’ve worked with some of the local charities, we support local arts
through the opera house, and of course I know most of the business leaders in town.”

“Of course,” Candy said, lazily twirling her finger around the rim of the wineglass.

“Well, you probably do too,” Tristan said, motioning toward her, “with your job as
the community columnist.”

“True. And at the bakery as well,” Candy added. “And, yes, I’ve gotten to know many
of the people around town. If I haven’t interviewed someone for the newspaper, then
I’ve seen them at Herr Georg’s place.” Herr Georg Wolfsburger ran the Black Forest
Bakery, where Candy worked during the spring and summer. But the place had closed
for the season a few weeks earlier, and as far as Candy knew, Herr Georg had already
left town, heading south to warmer climes.

Their drinks arrived, with an appetizer—courtesy of Oliver LaForce. It was one of
Chef Colin’s seasonal creations—lobster dumplings with goat cheese, accompanied by
a spicy apple dipping sauce, and on another warmed plate, roasted butternut-squash
bruschetta sprinkled with olive oil and aromatic herb seasoning. They were also treated
to glasses of authentic Colonial cider, prepared especially for Chef Colin’s kitchen.

As they dipped, munched, and drank, Candy felt herself loosening up, and finally decided
to segue into the questions that were burning in her mind, using a tactful approach.

“So…tell me a bit more about Pruitt Manor,” she said, starting broadly.

Tristan tilted his head. “What do you want to know?”

She played coy, at least for the moment. “Well, what was it like visiting there in
the summers—you know, hanging out with your family, and the help, like Cook and Hobbins,
and all those folks?”

He made a face. “Why would you want to know about them?”

Candy’s gave him an enigmatic smile. “Humor me.”

He studied her for a few moments, until the waitress came and took their dinner orders.
He watched Candy the entire time as she chose blackened tilapia with rice pilaf and
a fall vegetable medley, and then she watched with interest as
he scanned the menu, flipped it closed, and crisply handed it back to the waitress.
“I’ll have the usual.”

“And what’s that?” Candy asked curiously.

He shrugged. “Their prime rib here is excellent. Chef Colin uses this amazing bourbon
glaze.”

“What, you’re not ordering a cigar too?” she asked, amused.

“That comes later.”

After the waitress left, he dropped his eyes into a half squint as his gaze narrowed
in on Candy. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?” he asked.

She batted her eyes, feigning puzzlement. “Whatever do you mean?”

“There’s something going on, isn’t there?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, the way you’re fishing for information. The way you’re dressed…”

She leaned back. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?” she asked, looking down
at her carefully selected wardrobe.

“The ensemble looks quite beautiful on you, I’ll admit, but it does seem like you’re
attending a business meeting,” he said simply, gesturing with his hand. “I thought
you were joking about that, but apparently you weren’t. Honestly, it’s not what a
woman wears to a dinner engagement unless she’s trying to deliver a message. And I’m
reading yours loud and clear.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “So, Miss Detective,
what can I help you with?”

Candy’s heart sped up just a bit at the way he’d seen through her charade so easily.
This one is not easily fooled,
she thought, and vowed to be wary of that during future encounters with him.

At the same time, she found herself liking this right-to-the-point Tristan Pruitt,
and she gave him a quick smile, before it faded. “Okay, here goes: How long has Hobbins
been employed out at Pruitt Manor?”

Tristan frowned, looked down at the table, and played with his fork. “Hobbins again.”
He sighed and considered his answer carefully before speaking. “The Hobbins family
has served the Pruitts for decades—I believe since the time of Cornelius, my grandfather.
Possibly back even further. I’d have to check on it, really. It’s all detailed in
our family history, but I confess I haven’t read all those dusty volumes, so I suppose
I don’t really know the answer to your question—not precisely, at least.” He paused.
“Aunt Helen would though.” He paused again as his gaze rose to her. “Why?”

Now it was Candy’s turn to take several moments to formulate an answer.
What should I tell him?
she wondered.
Do I want him to know what I know?

She looked back over one shoulder, then the other, and leaning across the table, she
finally said in a low voice, “I think Hobbins—or someone from Pruitt Manor—might have
been involved in a death that took place out at the pumpkin patch twenty years ago.”

A little more than an hour and a half later, they walked out to the Jaguar and drove
to Pruitt Manor.

It was just past ten in the evening, and the bar and lounge at the inn were still
fairly active—for a Sunday night. But outside, the streets of Cape Willington were
deserted, strafed only by the fallen leaves that tumbled down the dark pavement toward
the sea. A light fog had rolled in, and might have been a problem if they were traveling
far, but Pruitt Manor stood nearby, on the rocky point just a short drive down the
Coastal Loop. Tristan barely had time to warm up the Jaguar’s cabin before they were
pulling into the manor’s cobblestoned courtyard.

“I think Hobbins is off tonight,” he said, motioning to one of the empty stalls in
the garage. “His Explorer’s missing.”

“Does he ever drive the Bentley when he’s out alone—on errands or that sort of thing?”
Candy asked.

“Not that I’m aware of. He usually takes his own vehicle.
The only time he drives the Bentley is when he’s chauffeuring Aunt Helen around. Come
on, let’s go inside. Most likely she’s gone to bed, but we can still dig around in
the library a little, if we do it quietly.”

Over dinner, Candy had explained what she’d heard earlier in the day—that a Bentley
had allegedly been seen in the vicinity of the pumpkin patch twenty years ago, around
the time the body of an unidentified female was found there. Of course, the Bentley
could have belonged to someone other than the Pruitts. But how many Bentleys were
there in Down East Maine? She knew of only one. And if it
had
belonged to the Pruitts, then its appearance on that particular road on that long-ago
night could simply have been a coincidence—and most likely that’s exactly what it
was, she and Tristan had concluded together after talking it through. But as they’d
considered other alternatives, the implications became trickier. For instance, could
someone in the Bentley have
dropped off
the body in the pumpkin patch—dumped it there and then driven away with the headlights
out, so as not to be seen?