Town in a Blueberrry Jam (10 page)

“It’s got to be Haley Pruitt,” Candy hissed, leaning close to Maggie’s ear.

Maggie gripped her arm. “Pray to God you’re right. I hate to think what will happen if the Blueberry Blob wins.”

“The first runner-up will receive a five-hundred-dollar scholarship award, as well as a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate and a gift basket,” Bertha said. “The Blueberry Queen will receive a one-thousand-dollar scholarship award, as well as a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate and a gift basket.”

Bertha paused and looked out over the audience. “There’s nothing more to say, except to announce the winners. And so, without further adieu, the first runner-up is . . . Haley Pruitt!”

A wave of shock and gasps swept through the audience, and Mrs. Pruitt appeared to faint, as Bertha Grayfire announced over the tumult, “That means this year’s Blueberry Queen is Sapphire Vine!”

NINE

So Sapphire Vine is the Blueberry Queen.

Candy shook her head. She still couldn’t believe it.

Hell has definitely frozen over—and has become a skating rink for the Sapphire Vines of the world.

It was Monday morning, two days after the festival and the pageant that had ended so dramatically. Candy was in her ten-year-old teal Jeep Cherokee, headed into town to run a few errands. She had a lot to do before she met Maggie at noon for lunch. But for some reason she just couldn’t get Sapphire Vine out of her mind.

Twice yesterday, the video of the Blueberry Queen Pageant had been rebroadcast on the local cable-access channel. Candy watched it both times, from start to finish, with a mixture of horror, fascination, and outright glee.

There were so many parts of it she loved, like when Sapphire came prancing out on stage in her cowgirl outfit, or when she recited that wacky poem of hers while dressed as a giant ripe blueberry. But Candy also liked watching Amanda go through her athletic routine, and she especially enjoyed hearing Haley Pruitt play the Rachmaninoff piece.

Her favorite part, though, was what had happened
after
Sapphire Vine had been crowned the Blueberry Queen. Whenever that part came on the TV, Candy leaned forward, rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms, and scrutinized every delicious moment.

As Bertha Grayfire announced the winner, Sapphire Vine had overreacted wildly, squealing like a teenager at a sixties Beatles concert. She had bounced up and down shouting “Oh! Oh! Oh!” and flailed her arms about so wildly she actually came close to pummeling the other contestants on stage.

At the same moment, Helen Ross Pruitt, Haley’s sour-faced grandmother, rose quickly to her feet, much to the surprise of her butler Hopkins (or whatever his name was). He reached out to perhaps comfort Mrs. Pruitt, or perhaps to restrain her, but she forcefully shoved him aside and charged the judges’ table like a bull on the streets of Pamplona, her long bony finger leveled at them as she spat out her displeasure, her face dark with rage.

The judges had risen uneasily to their feet in defense, and the shouting had begun. Wild accusations and vehement denials had flown back and forth. Mrs. Pruitt actually came close to blows with one of the judges, Oliver LaForce, who ran the Lightkeeper’s Inn. He had vehemently denied any wrongdoing and accused her of overreacting and, worse, bad sportsmanship. Candy had watched as Mrs. Pruitt flourished her tightly clenched fists in rage. She looked ready to swing out but had finally been restrained by her long-suffering butler.

It was a surrealistic moment straight out of the movies but something rarely seen in real life.

Candy loved every moment of it.

The entire hall erupted then as the camera lens swung erratically about, trying to record the ensuing chaos for posterity. The audience members were on their feet; some clapped politely, but most just stood in shock, and a few—perhaps supporters of Haley Pruitt and some of the other contestants—stormed from the hall in disbelief or disgust.

And though she stood in the middle of the firestorm, Sapphire Vine had been strangely oblivious to what was going on around her. Instead, she acted every bit the Blueberry Queen—probably because, Candy suspected, Sapphire had been anticipating and practicing that moment for weeks, more than likely in front of a mirror. It was almost as if she had known she was going to win—or at the very least, thought it her destiny.

With great dignity she accepted the bouquet and sash from the two little girls and bent forward regally so Bertha Grayfire could place a crown on the queen’s head. Sapphire then responded to the muted congratulations of the other contestants by pulling each of them to her in tight, glorious hugs.

At this point, Candy had squinted closely at the TV to watch the barely controlled expressions of distaste on the faces of the other girls. Amanda stiffened as she allowed Sapphire to give her a hug, but she did a good job of forcing a smile. The other girls reacted similarly, trying to be good sports in a difficult situation. Still, the shock they felt was as plain on their faces, as it was on most of those in the audience.

As for Haley Pruitt, she had not waited around to congratulate the winner. In tears, she dashed off the stage to be with her grandmother, who finally allowed herself to be escorted away from the judges’ table by Hopkins the butler. It was clear from his grim expression that he knew he was on shaky ground even touching his mistress, but she finally turned to him and gave him a hard nod. At that point, he released her, and with Haley in tow, the three of them had stormed from the building.

Meanwhile, Sapphire Vine stepped to the front of the stage, where she flashed a radiant, obviously well-practiced smile and waved out at the audience, tears of joy streaming down her face. (Whether those tears were real or carefully and purposefully leaked was yet to be determined, Candy decided.)

But Sapphire hadn’t stopped there. Caught up in the grandeur of the moment, she stepped down from the stage and marched out into the audience, hugging anyone and everyone she came to—grandmothers and schoolteachers and bankers and burly lobstermen and little girls, whom she lifted off the ground and twirled happily about.

She’s really into this
, Candy had thought as she watched the rebroadcast for the second time on Sunday.
She must have been really desperate to win this . . . but why? Has her life been that empty? Did she need this positive affirmation that badly?

Eventually the images on the TV had faded, to be followed by rebroadcasts of the previous week’s town council meeting or committee meeting or some such thing, and Candy had reluctantly flicked off the set.

She thought that, if it were broadcast again, she would tape the pageant so she and Maggie could watch it whenever they wanted, perhaps accompanied by a pitcher of blueberry daiquiris (a specialty of Candy’s, made with fresh blueberries, natch, plus blueberry schnapps and white rum). She knew that taping the pageant for perennial mocking might be crass, but hey, when you lived on a blueberry farm on the outskirts of a sleepy seaside village in Maine, you had to get your pleasures where you could.

In fact, Candy thought as she turned off the Coastal Loop onto Main Street and looked around for a place to park, she could hardly wait for lunchtime so she could talk more with Maggie about it. They’d already had three or four phone conversations that had descended rapidly into tear-filled bouts of uncontrollable laughter, but there was no doubt they would be talking about the Blueberry Queen Pageant, and the new Blueberry Queen herself, for months, perhaps years, to come.

Life, as they say, was good.

But it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

TEN

Candy’s first stop was the Black Forest Bakery. She had promised Herr Georg she would drop off a few pounds of blueberries she’d raked the day before. The larger harvest would take place in the next couple of weeks, but in the meantime she was harvesting small batches for herself and a few others like Herr Georg, who loved to bake with fresh blueberries.

She and Doc were pleased with their crop this year and were expecting a good yield, though they would harvest only about seven acres—half their fields—this season. As was common when growing wild blueberries, the fields were harvested in two-year cycles. Half of the fields were in the sprout year. The plants would produce bud sets by the fall, and the following spring those bud sets would flower and produce blueberries in July and August. The other half was ready for harvesting this year.

The system worked well, producing an abundance of long, unbranched shoots that made for easy harvesting of the fruit. It also helped control pests and diseases, since after the field was fully harvested, it was burned, or sometimes mowed, to take the plants back to their roots, and the two-year cycle began again.

In a single day, working by herself and using a short-handled metal rake, Candy could harvest several hundred pounds of blueberries, though that was admittedly back-breaking work. So far she had gone easy and was delivering only about sixty pounds to Herr Georg today.

He was thrilled with what he saw. “Oh, they are beautiful!” he enthused as he grasped one of the eight-quart buckets in his hands and shook it gently. He leaned forward and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the ripe succulent berries. “I can do wonderful things with these!

“Ah, Candy,” he continued as they settled into chairs at one of the small round tables near his shop’s front window, “this is my favorite time of year. I love it so! Surrounded by all this freshness, all this goodness and healthiness! Blueberries straight from the fields, delivered right to my door just hours after harvest by a beautiful woman! It is like giving new paints to an artist or a new instrument to a musician. How could a baker ask for more?”

“Well, you know me—I love to keep my customers happy. Just let me know when you need more.” Candy paused and leaned forward a little. “By the way,” she continued conspiratorially, her voice dropping just a notch in volume, “I’m dying to ask you about the pageant on Saturday night. You must have been stunned when Mrs. Pruitt charged the judges like that and started yelling at you.”

At this sudden change in subject, Herr Georg’s expression became guarded, and he drew back in his chair. His gaze shifted back and forth. “Oh, that? Well, yes, yes, it was a very strange night, wasn’t it?” Absently he licked his lips. “I mean, that Vine woman winning? How odd that was. It surprised us all, I think. Very shocking.”

“Yes, it
was
, wasn’t it?” Suddenly enthralled, Candy shifted her chair a bit closer to him. “So tell me
everything
. What did you think about that cowgirl outfit of hers? Wasn’t that
odd
? And that poem? It certainly was creative, yes, but you couldn’t have given her very high marks for that dreadful performance, could you? So how did she win anyway?”

Herr Georg looked at her nervously. “Candy,
meine liebchen
, you should know I can’t talk about those things. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Just a hint. A little tidbit. Please? For your old friend Candy.” She made goo-goo eyes at him, egging him on.

Herr Georg hesitated for the longest time, glancing this way and that, then allowed himself a small smile as he leaned in close. “Well,” he said quietly, obviously unable to resist Candy’s charms, “I suppose it won’t hurt to talk about this just between the two of us. As long as the conversation goes no further than this table.”

Candy made a gesture of locking her lips with a key and tossing the key away.

Herr Georg laughed, then continued in a tone barely above a whisper. “Just as you say, I was horrified, simply horrified, when Mrs. Pruitt charged us like that! It was so unexpected and so
frightening
! Such fury from such a small, thin woman! I thought she was going to slay each of us right there!”

“I know! Wasn’t she
wretched
?”

“Shocking. Quite shocking—and most inappropriate,” Herr Georg agreed.

“I can’t believe she just flew off the handle like that. I mean, I was as surprised as anyone that Haley didn’t win. But I guess you were surprised about that too.”

“I, um, yes, ah, yes, yes, as I said before, of course I was.”

“And who can believe Sapphire Vine actually won? I was thinking about it this morning, and the only reason I can come up with—the only way she could have won—is if one of the judges marked the scoring form wrong, or something like that. You know, got the contestants mixed up and put the wrong scores in the wrong place. But that’s crazy, isn’t it? I mean, I can’t imagine that sort of thing happening. But it seems like the only explanation.”

“Hmm,” mused Herr Georg. “Do you really think so? It doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

“Well, no, I suppose not. I mean, these things
are
carefully monitored, right? It wouldn’t be possible for a judge to screw up like that, would it?”

“Oh no, of course not, of course not!” Herr Georg replied emphatically.

“And if one of the judges made a huge mistake like that and threw the vote to Sapphire, the rest of you would know about it, wouldn’t you?”

“Hmm.” Herr Georg shifted uneasily in his seat and tugged at the end of his white moustache. Clearly he was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Well, not necessarily,” he said cautiously. “I mean, we scored the contestants independently, and we didn’t review each other’s scores, so
theoretically
it’s possible, I suppose, that one of the judges could have been a little, um, mixed up, as you say. But it doesn’t seem likely, does it? Perhaps, as strange as it may sound, Ms. Vine really did win, fair and square. It
is
possible, I suppose. Don’t you think? Would you like some tea?”

“I’d love some but I can’t. I have to stop at the bank and post office, and then I’m off to meet Maggie for lunch.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose I must press on as well. Ray is due by at any moment. I should get ready for him.”

“Ray’s coming?” Candy rose and looked around. “Are you remodeling?”

“Putting in some shelves along the wall here.” The baker pointed to the far side of the room. “Expanding my offerings. I’ve decided to import German-made candies and cookies and sell them here in the store. Here, I’ll show you.”

He darted behind the counter and pulled a package from a large cardboard box. “You must try these. They are called Waffeletten. Wafer rolls dipped in chocolate. Straight from Germany. Absolutely delicious!”

He opened the bag and held it out to her. “Here, take one.”

“Herr Georg, I just can’t.” Candy patted her stomach. “I ate way too much this weekend. I’m going to be on a diet for the next month, at least.”

Georg nodded, closed up the bag, and passed it to her. “Take them with you then. Doc will enjoy them. Ah, here comes Ray now . . .”

Candy grabbed the bag from him, mumbled a quick “thank you,” and headed out the back door so she wouldn’t have to spend the next fifteen minutes making small talk with Ray.

The morning raced by, and before she knew it she was pulling up in front of the Stone & Milbury Insurance Agency, where Maggie worked as an office manager.

“We have to hurry,” Maggie said, grabbing her purse and dragging Candy out the front door with her. “I have to be back by one sharp.”

“Where are we going?”

“There’s that new café that just opened up on River Road.”

“Oh yeah. Melody’s, right?”

“I’ve heard good things about it. Let’s check it out.”

Melody’s Café was a soup, salad, and sandwich bistro with only eight or ten tables crammed into a small wood-floored space, but it was cool inside and tastefully decorated and smelled wonderful. And it was almost full. Candy and Maggie managed to snag the last open table in the back corner and settled gratefully into their cane chairs. Crisp white linen covered the tabletop, fresh flowers added an elegant touch, and fine china and fresh-baked rolls were placed in front of them the moment they sat down.

“Yummy,” Candy said as she and Maggie tore into the bread like wolves into a fresh kill. Their waitress was a pleasant young woman named Stephanie. Maggie ordered a teriyaki chicken salad, and though it seemed a bit decadent and she was seriously trying to cut back on her food intake, Candy opted for the lobster roll and chips. Both ordered a glass of Chateau Ste. Michelle Chardonnay from Washington State, which was recommended by Stephanie.

“So,” Maggie said as she sipped her wine and nibbled at a fresh-baked roll oozing butter, “before we get distracted, you never told me how you did at the festival. Did you make out okay?”

“I had an
amazing
day. Made almost twelve hundred dollars.”

“Wow! I’m impressed.” Maggie patted her friend’s hand. “I’m so proud of you! You’re so resourceful.”

Candy sighed. “I need every penny. I just had to pay a killer property tax bill and make a quarterly payment to the IRS. It looks like Doc’s going to need some dental work. Registration on the Jeep is due next month—I just hope to God it doesn’t need any work to pass inspection. And I have to pay the harvest help. With all these bills I feel like I got the sword of Damocles hanging over my head.”

Maggie’s mouth twisted in thought. “Hmm. Damocles? He’s not that good-looking UPS driver, is he?”

They both had a good laugh as their food arrived. Candy nibbled at her lobster roll while Maggie speared a forkful of salad.

“So tell me,” Candy said between mouthfuls, “how is Amanda doing after her big night onstage?”

Maggie shrugged. “You know teenage girls. One minute she’s bouncing off the ceiling because she won second runner-up, and the next she’s down in the dumps because she lost to Sapphire Vine. It’s all hormones. An emotional roller-coaster. And having Cameron around so much doesn’t help.” She rolled her eyes.

“I talked to Herr Georg. You know, that thing we talked about.”

“You mean the judging?”

Candy nodded.

“Ooh, tell me. What did he say? Someone screwed up royally, right? Or maybe Sapphire just got her hooks into one of the judges—you know, bribery?”

Candy frowned and shook her head. “He wouldn’t admit to anything. But I know it has to be something like that. There’s no
way
she could have won that pageant without help from someone.”

“Right. It goes against the laws of the universe.”

“Something’s definitely rotten in Denmark.”

“Who gives a crap about Denmark? Something’s rotten right here in good ol’ Cape Willington.”

They talked on for some time as they finished their food and were still gabbing away when they heard another voice nearby. “Hello, excuse me.”

Candy and Maggie looked up. A curly-haired woman with a dark complexion, dark brown eyes, and a bright smile stood beside them.

“My name is Melody . . . Melody Barnes,” the woman said, introducing herself. “I’m the proprietor of this little establishment. I just wanted to come by and introduce myself. You’re Candy Holliday, right?”

“That’s right.” Candy held out her hand as she nodded toward Maggie. “And this is my friend Maggie Tremont. It’s nice to meet you, Melody.”

There were smiles and handshakes all around, after which Melody continued. “So how’s the food? Are you enjoying it?”

“Excellent,” said Maggie.

“The lobster roll is wonderful,” added Candy. “These chunks of lobster are huge.”

Melody seemed pleased. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. That’s a specialty of the house. My grandmother’s recipe. It’s all in the spices, you know. Listen, I must tell you, there’s a reason I wanted to meet you. I bought one of your blueberry pies on Saturday.”

“Oh yes, I remember,” Candy said pleasantly. “Did you like it?”