Town in a Lobster Stew

Epilogue

Because she had to drive several hours north, Candy limited herself to one margarita, although Maggie allowed herself a second one. And they both had a bowl of clam chowder, which tasted delicious — perhaps not quite as good as Mr. Sedley’s lobster stew, but still very good.

The afternoon passed by all too quickly, and as the sun slid toward the western sky, they decided it was time to head back up north to Cape Willington.

They had parked the Jeep in a garage up on Fore Street, so they headed across Commercial Street and angled up Market. As they turned a corner onto Fore Street, headed toward the parking garage, they passed a newsstand, and something caught Candy’s eye. She took several steps along the sidewalk, stopped suddenly, and doubled back. “Hey, hold up a minute,” she called to Maggie.

Her friend slowed and turned around. “Why, what’s up?”

Candy didn’t answer. She stood staring at the headline of the Portland paper, displayed on the newsstand for all to see: Wealthy financier distances himself from brother, the headline read. And underneath that, in smaller type, Porter Sykes unveils plans for Portland waterfront redesign .

Candy picked up a copy of the paper, rummaged in her purse for change to pay for it, and read the first few lines of the story:

Porter Sykes, a Boston financier and real estate magnate, as well as a member of the wealthy Sykes family of Marblehead, Mass., has announced plans for a major building and renovation project on Portland’s waterfront. A fifty-four-room luxury hotel and convention complex will serve as an anchor for the project, said Sykes, of the investment firm Sykes and Dubois. Friday’s unveiling event, however, was marred by the recent arrest in Cape Willington, Maine, of Mr. Sykes’s younger brother, Roger, who is charged with the murder of the town’s museum director.

Candy read the paragraph again, her eyes hovering over two words: Marblehead, Mass.

She felt a chill go through her. She’d heard something about Marblehead just a few days ago, hadn’t she? What was it?

Standing on the sidewalk along Fore Street, with crowds of people passing around her, she searched her memories and, after a moment, remembered. It was something Bob Bridges had told her last Monday afternoon as they stood in the maintenance shed at the English Point Lighthouse:

Robbie said they brought in some ringer, backed by this moneyman... some rich guy out of Boston — Marblehead, I think he said. The guy’s name was Paul or Pete or something like that. Old-money type of thing.

Marblehead. Old money.

And there was something else, wasn’t there? Something strange Roger had said, when he’d been standing in the maintenance shed with a gun pointed at them:

Charlotte was the one who brought it to our attention.

Our attention.

Roger and Porter Sykes. Brothers.

Porter Sykes.

Why did that name seem so familiar to her?

And then it came to her in a flash: Porter Sykes! PS!

Candy felt her legs go weak. They threatened to give way beneath her right there on the sidewalk.

“Honey, are you all right?” Maggie said, concern in her voice as she took Candy’s arm to steady her. “What’s wrong. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

But again, Candy didn’t answer. Her mind was working too quickly.

Porter Sykes.

PS.

An image of the inscription written in the upper left corner of the blueprints, laid out on the table in Doc’s office, jumped into her mind.

The inscription on the blueprints had read, Here are the plans. PS Make sure no one else sees this.

PS. It didn’t mean postscript, as she had thought. They were initials!

Porter Sykes’s initials!

He must have written that note to Charlotte, signed his initials, and then added the last line: Make sure no one else sees this.

So Porter Sykes had given the plans to Charlotte!

But how had they known each other?

Candy had a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach as she read down the columns of newsprint. Toward the end of the article, she found what she was looking for:

An art and history aficionado, Porter Sykes sits on the boards of a number of museums throughout New England, including...

She read the last few words as the blood pounded in her ears. In disbelief, she looked over at Maggie. “Oh no,” was all she could say.

“Honey, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” Maggie asked, a worried expression on her face.

Candy shook her head, feeling as if she were in shock. The hairs were standing out on her arms. A feeling of dread washed over her.

“I don’t know for sure,” she said uneasily, “but I don’t think we’ve heard the last from the Sykes brothers.”