Town in a Blueberrry Jam (25 page)

“Is that when you decided to kill her?” Cameron asked, his voice simmering.

Sebastian sighed. “For the thousandth time—I
didn’t
kill her. I wasn’t even in town the night she was killed.”

That caught Candy by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said—I wasn’t even around this nutty town. I was in Bangor.”

“I don’t believe you,” Cameron said.

“You have to, because it’s the truth. I can prove it.”

“What were you doing in Bangor?” Maggie asked.

Sebastian gave her a tired smile. “Untie me and I’ll show you.”

Maggie shook her head. “No way, mister. That ain’t happening until you tell us everything.”

“I’ve already told you everything,” Sebastian said with a deep sigh. “Sapphire was blackmailing me, yes. But I had nothing to do with her death. Look, this is all a huge misunderstanding. Untie me now and I won’t press charges—we’ll just let the whole thing go.”

“What were you doing up in Bangor?” Maggie repeated.

Finally Sebastian relented. “If you must know, I was seeing a lady friend—an admirer of mine. And before you say you don’t believe me again, check the dresser in the bedroom.” He nodded up the stairs. “On the top of the dresser you’ll find all the receipts, for everything.”

Maggie shot Candy a look, and Candy nodded. She moved quickly, across the room and up the narrow stairs to the second floor. She was gone for a few moments, as everyone waited anxiously. Finally she bounded back down the stairs, holding several small receipts in her hand. “Let him go,” she said softly. “He’s telling the truth.”

THIRTY-FOUR

Bones cracked in protest as Sebastian J. Quinn rose uneasily, rubbing at his sore arms and shoulders and knees, which had stiffened during the time he had been kept prisoner in the chair. Candy had found a knife in a kitchen drawer and cut him loose, causing not a small amount of pain and discomfort as she and Maggie had pulled the duct tape off him. But he sat patiently during the process, wincing only occasionally, and now remained standing near the chair as Candy moved to the dining room table, where she had laid out all the receipts in a neat line.

“This is the hotel receipt—and here’s the date.”

“Monday,” Maggie noticed, with a glance at Sebastian, “just like he said.”

“He could have checked in and then driven back to my mom’s house,” Cameron observed.

Candy nodded. “He could have—it’s not that long of a drive—but he didn’t.” She pointed to the next receipt. “This one’s for dinner, that same night. Check the time on the receipt—nine forty-five. You figure an hour or so for dinner—that means they sat down at around eight thirty.”

“We had an eight-fifteen reservation,” Sebastian confirmed, “and drinks at the bar before that.”

Maggie’s eyes widened when she noticed the total amount of the check. She whistled. “Three hundred thirty-five dollars. Must have been some dinner.”

“Two bottles of wine—and expensive wine at that,” Candy said, pointing to the receipt with her pinky.

“It was a special occasion,” Sebastian explained, sounding annoyed at the scrutiny.

Maggie studied him with newfound interest. “She must be one lucky lady. Anyone I know?”

Sebastian squared his shoulders and clasped his hands behind him. “An old admirer, as I said. I cannot reveal her name, of course. I’ve given her my assurances of complete discretion.”

“She’s probably married,” Maggie muttered under her breath to Candy.

“Looks like they hit a club after that,” Candy said, pointing to a third receipt.

“Kicking up the light fantastic?” Maggie asked of Sebastian.

“Something like that.”

“And he’s got an alibi for later that night too,” Candy continued, pointing to the hotel receipt again. “See here—they ordered room service at twelve thirty. Expensive too.”

“Champagne, if you must know.” Sebastian sniffed.

“Wined and dined her, huh?” Maggie said with a sly smile.

“And they ordered room service again, for breakfast at eight A.M.,” Candy pointed out. “Looks like they spent the night together.”

Sebastian cleared his throat, trying his hardest to maintain his dignity. “As I’ve said, I have promised the utmost in discretion, and I hope I can count on the same from you. I’ve shown these receipts to you only as a last resort, as evidence that I wasn’t in town on the night Ms. Vine was killed. But they are not for public knowledge. Besides yourselves, no one else knows of this . . . rendezvous . . . other than the police, of course.”

“The police have questioned you?” Candy asked in surprise.

“Naturally. I believe they questioned everyone connected with the pageant. They assured me it was just a part of a routine investigation. They were completely satisfied as to my innocence in this unfortunate matter. I hope you are the same.” He paused, looking at each of them in turn. “I believe I’ve kept to my word and proved that what I’ve said is true. I may be a scoundrel . . . perhaps even a thief. But I am not a murderer.” He rubbed at his wrists. “That should put an end to this matter, once and for all. Now . . . will you be requiring anything else of me, or may I enjoy what remains of this unmemorable evening in some sort of relative peace, with what small bit of honor and dignity is left to me?”

Cameron glowered at him, some part of him still refusing to believe, but Candy knew they had pushed their luck—and Sebastian’s patience—as far as they dared. She gathered the receipts together and handed them back to Sebastian. “I think we’ve taken enough of your time.”

“Indeed you have. It has been . . . interesting, to be sure. At least you came to the right decision,” Sebastian said, taking the receipts. “So we have an agreement?”

Candy glanced at Maggie and Cameron, then nodded. “We’ll keep quiet about all this, if you agree not to press charges against Cameron.”

“You have my word as a gentleman,” Sebastian said with a slight bow.

But Cameron shook his head. “This isn’t right. What about my dad’s poetry? None of this changes the fact that you stole his writings and published them as your own.”

Candy and Maggie looked warily at Sebastian, who pursed his lips together. “Hmm. You’re right. But my guess is that everything will work itself out in your favor soon enough, young man. You’ll be getting an inheritance, you know.”

That caught Cameron unaware. He was silent a moment as confusion edged into his anger. “What?”

“Your mother’s house, of course. She’ll have left it to you, since you’re her only kin. You should have heard from her attorney by now. Have you been contacted by a lawyer?”

“He’s right!” Maggie said excitedly, turning to Cameron. “Have you received any phone calls this week? Or letters?”

Cameron’s face twisted in thought as he shook his head. “I . . . I don’t know. I haven’t been home much. I guess I haven’t paid much attention to that sort of thing.”

“Of course not,” Sebastian said knowingly. “You’ve had a lot on your mind. But my guess is there’s a letter waiting for you, or a phone message, if you check when you get home. The reading of the will should take place any day now.”

“The will?”

“Oh yes, I’m certain your mother had a will. And if I know her, she’s left you not only the house but a sizeable bank account. Rest assured, most of that is your father’s money. What your mother took from me, from residuals from your father’s work, she put into the house, and probably socked the rest of it away. So you see, it’s all coming back to you after all.”

Cameron’s expression brightened. “It is?”

“Oh yes.” Sebastian raised a finger in sudden realization. “Oh, and I have something else for you.” He turned and disappeared up the stairs, returning a few moments later with a large manila envelope, stuffed full. He walked to Cameron and held it out to the teenager.

Cameron eyed the package suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“Take a look. I think you might be pleasantly surprised.”

Cameron hesitated, but upon playful prodding and a whisper of encouragement from Amanda, he took the envelope. He studied it in his hands, then looked up at Sebastian with questioning eyes. For a moment Candy thought he might hand the envelope back to the poet, but his curiosity finally got the best of him. He tugged at the envelope’s end flap and peered inside.

He seemed to sense then what the envelope held, and reached inside cautiously with thumb and forefinger, withdrawing a sheet of paper, one among many. He unfolded it carefully, wincing slightly as it crackled with age, and gazed at the page, his eyes shifting back and forth as he puzzled over the tight handwriting he found on the sheet. His brows came together. “Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s what’s left of your father’s poetry,” Sebastian said. “I brought it up here with me, intending to hand it back to your mother once this whole business with her—the blackmailing, that is—was finished. But when she went back on her deal, I decided to keep it a while longer. Your father passed that envelope to me nearly twenty years ago. He valued my opinion back then, I suppose. I meant to read it and pass it back to him, but, well, I never had the chance. Some of it has been published—in my first book—but much of it remains unpublished. You see, I’m not a complete thief—I didn’t steal everything of his. I’m not sure what I planned to do with it, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s yours.”

Cameron read the words on the page again, then carefully folded the sheet and placed it back into the envelope, which he now held tightly, close to his chest, as if it were a great treasure, and in truth, for him at that moment, no treasure could have held more value. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it quickly, as if uncertain what to say. Finally he said the only thing he could think of.

“Thanks.”

“You know,” Sebastian continued, “I’m sure there’s more than one agent who would be thrilled to get his or her hands on what you’ve got in that envelope there. If you were so inclined, you could gather your father’s poetry together and publish a new book—posthumously, under his name this time.” He paused. “Should you require assistance, I would be glad to provide what expertise I could—completely free of charge, of course.” He smiled, then added sincerely, “Your father was a good poet, Cameron. The world should be able to read the rest of his work.”

For the first time that night—for the first time in several days, perhaps even weeks—Cameron looked hopeful. “You really think I could get these published?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Well, then, yeah, I’d like to do that.”

“Excellent!” Sebastian said. “Before I leave town next week, you and I can sit down and we’ll get started.”

“Well, I guess that settles it then,” Maggie said with a wide smile, clapping her hands together.

But Candy had a difficult time sharing her friend’s enthusiasm. “Not quite. Don’t forget about Ray. He’s still in jail.”

Maggie’s smile faltered. “Oh yeah. I guess it slipped my mind.”

“And there’s one big question that still hasn’t been answered—who killed Sapphire Vine?”

“Yes. Yes, I see, you’re right,” Sebastian said thoughtfully, his fingers stroking his beard. He looked up quickly then, around at the others. “Well, obviously, it wasn’t me, was it?” he reiterated, just in case anyone had forgotten. “But who else could it have been then?” He considered the problem for a moment, then an eyebrow rose as a thought struck him. “Perhaps one of the other judges?”

“What?” Candy’s ears perked up. “What makes you say that?”

Sebastian tilted his head and his gaze narrowed. “Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Consider the facts: Sapphire blackmailed me into voting for her, but my votes alone probably were not enough to throw the pageant her way. Perhaps she was blackmailing another.”

“Perhaps,” Candy agreed, still unwilling to tell him of Herr Georg’s part in Sapphire’s pageant scheme.

But what if there had been a third judge involved?
Candy mused.

“Furthermore,” Sebastian continued, “she was killed just two days after the pageant. Very suspicious, I would say—it suggests there must have been some connection. And then, of course, there’s the matter of Jock Larson.”

“Jock?” Candy said, surprised.

“Jock?” Maggie echoed, sounding equally surprised.

“Yes, Jock. His death and the death of Ms. Vine were both suspicious, were they not? Granted, there’s no proof that Jock Larson was murdered—but what if he had been? What if there’s some connection between the two?”

“What if . . . ?” Candy said softly, her mind working.

“Well,” Sebastian said, throwing up a hand, “I doubt we’ll solve the problem tonight. Perhaps it would be best to let the police handle this matter from here on.”

Candy nodded, deep in thought. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Well,” Maggie cut in, “I think that’s our cue to leave.” She gathered up Cameron and Amanda and steered them toward the door. “Time to go home, kids.” As she made her way outside, she waved back at Sebastian. “It’s been fun. Really. Let’s do it again sometime. Candy, you coming?”

Outside, the storm had eased a bit. The sea was still in a fury, but the driving rain had let up. The lane that led back to the main road was a soggy, puddle-laden mess but proved no problem for Cameron’s truck and Candy’s Jeep. Maggie sat in silence as they drove through the darkness back toward home, following Cameron’s taillights. Candy was silent also, deep in thought. She had the radio on, and the announcer was talking about a severe weather watch and possible flooding throughout the region, but even that barely registered. She felt a buzzing in her chest, the rattling of an idea that was building inside her, layering outward, forming itself into a full-fledged thought that still needed a few moments to mature. But she pushed it forward anxiously, until it threatened to burst from her.

“The judges,” she said finally, cutting into the silence, after they had driven a few miles.

“I’m sorry? What?”