Town in a Lobster Stew

Ten

Henry “Doc” Holliday snapped the morning edition of the Bangor Daily News and expertly folded it back on itself, so he could continue reading the front-page story, which ran over to the inside.

“It’s a mess, all right,” he said with a shake of his head. “It looks like old Milbury was pocketing all the money paid to his company by individuals and companies for their insurance premiums.” He paused, his eyes running down the columns of copy in the paper. “In some cases he even issued fake policies. It’s actually a pretty clever scheme. That’s how he bought himself that boat, I guess. And made that addition to his house. And paid for all those vacations to Africa and the South Pacific.” He paused again, still reading. “They’re saying it’s a federal crime.”

“Dad, that’s terrible.” Candy stood by the stove, waiting for the last batch of pies to finish baking. She’d been up since six that morning, making pies for Melody’s Café, as she’d been doing for the better part of a year, to make extra money. So far today she’d baked four — two cherry and two pecan. In a few months, when the crops started ripening in late summer, and the trees grew heavy with fruit in the fall, she’d switch to making fresh blueberry and apple pies.

“Looks like the state and federal attorney general offices are all over it,” Doc continued, his nose still buried in the paper. “Apparently, though, it was a local postal inspector who figured out what was going on.”

Candy shook her head in amazement. “How did he ever think he’d get away with it?”

Doc folded the paper back together, tossed it on the table, and took a sip of his coffee. He was looking a little better lately, Candy thought absently as she glanced at him. His face wasn’t so thin anymore, and his eyes seemed brighter than last summer. He’d been more active lately too. He even appeared to walk with a bit of a bounce in his step on some days, his limp almost completely disappearing.

It’s the spring... warmer weather, Candy thought, watching him. It lifts the spirits of everyone in town.

Well... just about everyone.

“That’s the thing about criminals,” Doc said, leaning back in his chair and interlocking his hands behind his head, as if he were some great pontificate offering sage wisdom for the masses. “They always think about the benefits but never the consequences. Milbury’s been living high on the hog for a lot of years. Now he’s got to pay for it. He’ll go to jail for a long time.”

“And what happens to Maggie?” Candy asked, genuinely worried.

Doc shrugged. “She’ll just have to look around for another job, I guess.”

Candy grabbed a couple of pot holders and opened the oven door. “It couldn’t come at a worse time for her. Amanda graduates in a couple of weeks, property taxes are due next month, and Ed... well, she’s having a rough time with Ed too. I’m worried about her, Dad.”

“Yeah, I know, me too,” Doc said with a sigh. “But we’ve all got our burdens to bear. At least she doesn’t have to worry about mummy berry destroying her crops and whether the bees will disappear overnight.” He rose and looked out the kitchen window at the blueberry fields behind the house. “It’s getting tough for all of us, pumpkin. There’s a lot to worry about these days.”

“You got that right,” Candy said as she started placing the pies on cooling racks she had set out on the counter. “But we’re making it okay, Dad, aren’t we?”

He shrugged. “For now. But this gentleman-farmer thing is a bit tougher than I originally anticipated — especially at my advanced age. It’s starting to wear me out.”

“What do you mean? I thought you loved the healthy lifestyle — being outdoors and all that.”

“Yeah, I do,” Doc admitted, “but I’m not getting any younger. We both know we can’t go on like this forever. Sooner or later we’ll have to move on.”

“Dad, I wish you’d stop talking like that.”

“No, I mean it,” Doc said firmly. “I’ve been thinking maybe I should retire to a condo somewhere in Florida, something like that, start taking it easy.”

Candy laughed. “Yeah, right. I can picture you down there in Florida, drinking cocktails with little umbrellas in them and playing shuffleboard with all the old geezers.”

She closed the oven door with a knee and tossed the pot holders on the counter. “You’d go stir-crazy down there and you know it. Besides, you love this place, don’t you? It’s what you always wanted. You’d miss it if you sold it, wouldn’t you?”

Doc turned toward her. “Sure I’d miss it. But I don’t know how much longer I can keep up with it.”

“Well, you’ve got help, don’t you?”

Doc gave her a fatherly look. “Of course I do, pumpkin, and you’ve been doing all you can around here. But you’ve also been kinda busy these days, what with the newspaper job and the pies and the bakery and everything else you’ve got going on. You’ve got a life of your own to live. You’ve got things to do. You don’t want to be stuck on this farm forever, do you?”

He gave her a serious look. “Do you?”

“Dad.” Candy let out a breath and put her hands on her hips. “We’ve had this conversation before, remember? Several times, in fact. You know how I feel about this place, and this town. I’m not going anywhere — at least not for a while. So we’ll just have to do the best we can. We got a good start with the vegetable gardens, and we’ll finish them up next week. And the fields are in pretty good shape. If we need more help, maybe we should hire someone.”

“Hire someone? Like who? And how would we pay for it?”

“I don’t know. I’m just saying. We have options. So if you’re worrying about the farm, we’ll talk about it and see what we can figure out. We’ll be fine. You’ll see. But right now,” she said, picking up her purse and car keys, which had been sitting on the kitchen table, “I have to go. I’ll be at the bakery ’til noon, then I gotta swing back by the house and pick up the pies so I can drop them off at Melody’s. After that, I’m going to stop by Maggie’s to check on her. And then I have to get ready for my date with Ben tonight.”

“How’s that going?” Doc asked as she headed for the door.

She paused halfway out. “With Ben? It’s going fine, Dad. Are you playing poker with the boys tonight?”

That made Doc brighten. “Sure am. Looking forward to it. Robbie’s sitting in with us again. That’s always fun.”

“The teenager?”

“He’s college age,” Doc corrected, “and he knows what he’s doing. He’s been playing in some high-stakes games up near Bangor but says he’s trying to hone his skills, so he sits in on our game with us old guys to see if he can pick up anything. And we’ve probably taught him a thing or two.”

“Well, you boys have fun. Try to go easy on the kid.” She headed out the door and walked to the Jeep.

Traffic on the Coastal Loop seemed heavier today as she drove into town. Tourists and seasonal folks were flooding in for the holiday weekend, which would be good for local businesses like Herr Georg’s Black Forest Bakery. Candy had been helping out periodically at the bakery for the past few years, but Herr Georg had recently hired her on as a regular part-time seasonal employee. She worked at the bakery Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, and usually helped out on Saturdays as well, though she’d taken off tomorrow so she could cover the Lobster Stew Cook-off at the Lightkeeper’s Inn.

As she drove, the conversation with Doc lingered in her mind. She had to admit, he was right. A lot had happened over the past year, and her life was becoming busy. And to be honest, she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She loved being a blueberry farmer, working in the fields and taking care of the gardens. And she loved living in Maine. But she had to admit there were times she felt she needed something else.

In her previous life, working for a successful marketing firm that served the top high-tech companies in Boston, she’d been constantly on the go — until everything had come crashing down around her. By retreating here to Blueberry Acres and Cape Willington in Downeast Maine, she’d been able to start putting the pieces of her life back together.

She’d been happy with her simple life as a farmer. But that all changed last summer, when two murders had rocked the town, and she’d found herself deeply involved in solving them.

At the same time, several opportunities had come her way, and now she seemed to be spending less and less time on the farm. That’s what had Doc worried, she knew. For the past few years, they had run the farm together. Though he had originally bought Blueberry Acres for himself, Doc had grown used to sharing the work with her. Now, most of the workload was once again falling on Doc’s shoulders — at a time when most men had retired and spent their days fishing and playing with their grandchildren...

Candy sighed.

She was still trying to figure it out as she pulled into the last open parking spot on Main Street, got out, and walked into Herr Georg’s bakery.

The German baker was thrilled to see her, as always. “Candy, meine liebchen!” he called out to her as she came through the door — and almost reeled as the redolent aromas of Herr Georg’s concoctions overwhelmed her senses.

“Herr Georg, it smells wonderful in here. What are you baking today?” she asked as she placed her purse and keys behind the counter and reached for an apron that hung on a nearby hook.

The German baker twitched his white moustache and raised a finger as his eyes glistened. “Ah! Today I am making bienenstich. Do you know what that is?”

“Um” — Candy thought a moment; they’d gone over this — “that’s bee sting cake, right? Filled with custard and topped with honey-glazed sliced almonds, I think. And if I remember correctly it has a very buttery dough, which is probably what I’m smelling right now.”

Herr Georg beamed, his white teeth shining out from beneath his moustache. “Very good! You are correct! And Candy, you will get to sample the first piece!”

The morning passed quickly, as hungry tourists and townspeople descended on the bakery to sample the German baker’s luscious pastries and other baked goods, sweets, and imported items. Two towering wedding cakes went out the door, their transport carefully monitored by Herr Georg in his white baker’s hat. Candy barely had time for a tea break as she continually bagged pastries and rang up sales on the old register.

By one in the afternoon she was back home, boxing up the pies, which she promptly dropped off at Melody’s Café. She was on her way to Maggie’s house when her cell phone rang.

Candy had to pull over and dig in her purse to find the phone, which by then had stopped ringing. But the readout told her the call had come from Wilma Mae. She keyed through the phone’s contact list and called Wilma Mae’s number.

The elderly woman answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Wilma Mae? It’s Candy. You called?”

“Oh, yes, Candy. Thank you for calling me back so quickly. I hope I’m not being too much of a bother but I need your help again. Could you possibly stop by the house this afternoon?”

Candy checked her watch. It was just after two. She was supposed to meet Ben at seven, she wanted to check in on Maggie, and she still had a few errands to run. But Wilma Mae sounded worried. Something must be up. “Sure, I can do that. Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. I’m worried about Mr. Sedley. There’s something... strange going on.”

“Strange? In what way?”

“Well, Mr. Sedley seems to have completely disappeared. When can you come over?”

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there shortly.”

Candy keyed off the phone and slid it back into her purse. If she hurried she could still run her errands, drop in briefly on Maggie, and make her date with Ben. She gunned the Jeep and headed toward Wilma Mae’s house on Rose Hip Lane.

Wilma Mae was standing on the front porch waiting to greet her as she drove into the driveway. The elderly woman hurried down the steps and across the lawn as Candy climbed out of the Jeep.

“Thank you for coming so quickly. I don’t know what to do.” Her face was drawn, and she was rubbing her hands rapidly together.

“Why, what’s up?”

“It’s Mr. Sedley. I haven’t seen him in several days. I’ve tried calling him, but he doesn’t answer his phone. I think something must be wrong with him. Maybe he’s hurt or needs help.”

“Should we call the police?” Candy asked.

Wilma Mae shook her head. “I want you to help me check his house. I have a key.”

Candy’s eyes were drawn to the neat, taupe-colored two-story home next to Wilma Mae’s. It was a fairly plainlooking place, with a small covered porch, a single small gabled window pushing out from the front of the lowsloped roof, and white shutters surrounding the four front symmetrical windows. Those windows looked dark now, even in the daylight.

Candy blinked uncertainly. “Do you think that’s the right thing to do? Maybe he’s just visiting someone else, or maybe he’s just keeping to himself?”

Wilma Mae gave Candy a distinctive harrumph. “His car is still in the garage behind the house — I checked. And he would answer if I called.” She nodded sharply, as if that settled that. “We need to check his house, and I don’t want to do it alone.”

“I see.” Still, Candy hesitated, but by the look on Wilma Mae’s face, she knew there was no other option. “Okay, let’s check his house.”

Wilma Mae nodded approvingly. “I’ll get the key.”