Town in a Blueberrry Jam (28 page)

“The roof?” The words practically exploded from Maggie. “Oh my God! I wish I still had my umbrella!”

The stairs led up to the control booth, a small, dingy workspace with sliding windows along the entire interior wall, overlooking the auditorium and stage below. A trio of ancient arc spotlights, sitting atop their three-legged stands, were spaced evenly across the room. Centered in front of the window were light and sound boards, and sitting on a table nearby was a fairly new laptop computer. Folding chairs, empty coffee cups and soda cans, abandoned jackets, and even a moldy old pair of sneakers were scattered about the room. A bank of lockers had been pushed up against one wall, and narrow shelves, overloaded with assorted equipment, hung from another.

Candy looked up. In the ceiling she saw a hatch, and leading up to it, a black-runged steel ladder, set into the back wall. “That’s where we’re going,” Candy said, dashing to the rungs and taking them quickly.

Maggie stood in the center of the room with a confused look on her face. “Where?”

“The widow’s walk.”

“But . . .”

Candy gave her a fierce look. “No buts. Bertha will be here any minute. Now come on!”

So Maggie went. It took Candy a few moments to figure out how to unlatch the hatch, but finally she threw it open, letting in wind and rain. Tilting her head down and squinting her eyes against the storm, she pushed up through the opening.

THIRTY-SEVEN

The widow’s walk of the Pruitt Opera House was a small, octagonal space, about six or eight feet across. Candy emerged into the middle of it and was immediately assailed by the raging wind, which carried with it the remnants of the storm that, for the most part, had passed over them. Though the dome over their heads sheltered them from the worst of the rain, the raw wind tore at her as she bent to help up Maggie, who complained the entire time. “I can’t believe you brought us up here,” she huffed as she planted her feet beneath her and stood unsteadily. “When I said I wanted to escape, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Candy barely heard her. She turned completely around, looking down over the waist-high stone walls of the widow’s walk, down at the sloping slate roof, slick with rain, and down over the side of the building to the ground far below. “Whoa. I didn’t realize we’d be up so high.”

“How are we going to get down?” Maggie whined, looking out over the roof. “I don’t see a ladder or anything.”

Candy felt her stomach tighten. “I don’t know but . . .”

That’s when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye . . . and turned to see Bertha emerging from the hatch behind them.

In one hand Bertha held the gun, wielding it like a spatula at a church social dinner. With the other hand she pulled herself up into the widow’s walk, grunting just a bit, all the while keeping a wary eye on Candy and Maggie.

For one wild moment Candy was tempted to dash forward to try to kick the gun from Bertha’s hand, as she had seen done so often in the movies and on TV. But this wasn’t a movie, she quickly reminded herself, and she knew she couldn’t move faster than a bullet. So she and Maggie backed away, to the far side of the widow’s walk, as Bertha stood on shaky legs.

She was huffing heavily. It was clear the chase through the opera house had winded her. But she looked no less angry. If anything, she looked more furious than before. She was seething, literally shaking with fury.

“That was a stupid,
stupid
thing to do,” she spat as she backed to the opposite side of the widow’s walk, keeping the gun pointed steadily at Candy and Maggie. “I’ve got better things to do than chase you two through a building. I should have shot you in the basement when I had the chance. But you won’t get away again. It’s time to end this . . . now.”

Candy and Maggie both yelped and shut their eyes as Bertha pushed the gun toward them, about to fire, but she was distracted by a shout.

“Hey! You there, up on the roof!”

The words were carried oddly by the wind, and for a moment none of them knew from which direction the shout had come. Candy opened her eyes and looked around desperately. It took her a few moments, but she finally spotted a figure on the street below. It was a man, dressed in black, standing under a street lamp. He was waving his hands frantically, as if to catch their attention, and shouted again. “What’s going on up there? Is everyone okay?”

Candy knew instantly who it was—Judicious F. P. Bosworth, the town’s sometimes-invisible mystic, who obviously was being seen on this stormy night. She waved back at him, leaning into the side railing and shouting at the top her lungs: “Judicious! Help us!”

“Shut up!” Bertha yelled, turning the gun first toward Judicious, then back to Candy and Maggie. “Shut up!”

“Are you all right?” Judicious called up to them.

Candy jumped up and down frantically. “No! Get help!”

Caught out in the open, and apparently thinking it would be better to get rid of any witnesses first, Bertha swerved, took aim at Judicious, and fired once, twice, just as a car came up Ocean Avenue, its headlights cutting into the darkness. Just before the car reached Judicious, it swerved and bounded up on the sidewalk, its horn blaring . . . and that’s when Candy saw something she would never forget for the rest of her life.

Maggie, crouched over like a football player, lunged forward with her shoulders lowered. She covered the space between them and Bertha in an instant, tackling Bertha around the waist. They slammed back against the railing on the far side, both of them grunting. The impact knocked the gun from Bertha’s hand. It flew over the side of the widow’s walk and clattered down the roof, falling over the edge into darkness.

Bertha was stunned momentarily but quickly regained her senses. She wrapped her arms around Maggie’s head and squeezed tight. The two of them fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, kicking and punching.

For a moment Candy was stunned. Maggie? Tackling Bertha? She was sure that hadn’t just happened. She turned to look back down at the street. Judicious had disappeared, but the car door opened and Ben spilled out, looking up at her on the widow’s walk. She waved to him, screamed for help, then looked back at Maggie and Bertha.

They were still fighting, and she realized with a jolt that her friend needed her. She crossed the space in a near dive, landed on her knees beside Bertha, and wrapped her hands around the chairwoman’s thick arms. But rather than being big and flabby, they were strong and muscular. She hadn’t known Bertha had been working out, and was impressed as well as surprised. It was like wrestling with a python, she thought vaguely as she tried to pull Bertha off her friend.

They struggled for a few moments until, temporarily able to free herself, Maggie pulled away. Her hair was a terrible fright, her face red and distorted. Bertha kicked out at her while pushing herself back against Candy, and twisting, she turned her attention from one of her attackers to the other. Her eyes were red with fury as she reached out with thick fingers, wrapping them around Candy’s throat. She hooked her legs around Candy’s, then pushed her back and rolled onto her, pinning her to the floor.

Candy felt the panic rise inside her as Bertha leaned close, breathing into her face. “I waited too long to do this,” she snarled, tightening her fingers. “You’ve meddled in my life for the last time.”

Candy clawed at Bertha’s fingers, trying to break their grasp on her neck, but it seemed an impossible task. She saw spots in her eyes, felt rain pelting her face and fire in her lungs. Panicking, she tried to kick up with her knees, to push Bertha off, but it was like trying to free herself from the grasp of a bear. She felt her air being cut off and let out a raspy breath, her eyes rolling back into her head.

And then she saw another arm move across her face and tighten around Bertha’s neck. Suddenly Bertha was pulled back, off her. Candy sucked in a deep breath. She rolled to her side, rubbing at her throat, trying to get her wind back.

She took several more gulps of air before she looked to see where Bertha had gone. It was Maggie who had saved her, pulling the chairwoman off her. They were involved in a life-and-death struggle now, and Bertha was winning. She was like a cornered creature, inhuman, fighting for its life, trying to lash out at all costs, inflicting what damage it could. The chairwoman punched out with clenched fists, striking Maggie about the face and shoulders, and Maggie, trying to protect herself, could only cover her face with her hands as she curled in on herself and backed up against the wall.

Knowing she had the upper hand, feeling victorious, Bertha rose unsteadily to her feet. She stood glaring down at the two of them. “You’re both pathetic,” she snarled between gasps of breath, her face twisted so that she was nearly unrecognizable. “To think I was worried about you. You have to put up a better fight than that if you want to beat me.”

She looked around for her weapon, apparently unaware that it had gone over the side. When she found it nowhere, she pushed the wet hair back from her forehead, then rubbed her hands together. “Okay, I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.” She looked from one to the other, then settled on Maggie. “You’re first.”

She stepped quickly to Maggie and lifted her, apparently in an effort to throw her over the side of the building. But Maggie would not go easily. She kicked out at Bertha and flailed at her with her arms, landing a few good punches, which forced Bertha back for a moment. But Bertha would not be denied. She backed away a few steps, then charged at Maggie in an effort to overwhelm her with power and fury.

As Bertha came at her again, Maggie screamed and ducked, her right leg going wide. Bertha stepped on it and lost her balance, just as Maggie came up, trying to throw Bertha off her. Bertha tumbled in the air, her momentum sending her up and over. . . .

Her legs went over the far side of the railing first in an arc as her body dropped heavily. But her arm swung out and she managed to hook the top of the railing with her armpit. She pulled herself back in toward the widow’s walk and bounced, her chin slamming into the railing’s hard stone surface. She almost lost control then and fell back, but her hands flailed about, grabbing two of the rails. She dropped further down as she struggled to hold on. But her fingers were too raw, too cold, and gravity pulled at her. She acted instinctively, self-preservation driving her as she flailed about with one of her hands, reaching through the rails to grab hold of Maggie. She kicked frantically, trying to find a foothold on the slippery roof below her. But the weight of her body was too much for her. Her grip loosened.

Eyes wide and mouth open, she slipped soundlessly over the side. Candy and Maggie heard the thump as her upper body hit the rain-slicked slate roof, then a scraping sound as she slid downward and finally over the edge into the wet, dark night.

THIRTY-EIGHT

The storm blew northeastward overnight, spiraling into the Canadian Maritimes. By ten o’clock Friday morning, when Sapphire Vine was scheduled to be buried at Stone Hill Cemetery, the sun was beginning to break through thin, ragged clouds that reminded Candy of drawn-out balls of raw cotton—all that remained of the fierce storm of the night before.

The ground was still damp, though, squelching under the feet of those who had gathered in this place to pay their last respects. Glassy, shallow puddles that lay scattered across the uneven landscape had to be assiduously avoided unless one wanted well-soaked shoes. More annoying were the few stray drops of cold rainwater that fell without warning on uncovered heads from the glistening summer leaves of maples, elms, and red oaks that inhabited the cemetery grounds.

Standing beside Maggie toward the rear of the crowd, Candy wore a short-sleeve black knit dress and dark gray Birkenstock clogs, which she had thought might be too casual for the occasion but then decided were better than sneakers or her muddy rubber boots. She also had brought along a navy blue raincoat, which she held draped over her folded arms. The day was warming and the worst of the weather was over, so she had decided against wearing it.

Trying not to seem too obvious about it, she glanced first in one direction, then the other, scanning the crowd huddled solemnly at the graveside.

It’s a pretty good turnout
, she thought as the Reverend James P. Daisy delivered a last few words, and Cameron Zimmerman, looking thin and bone weary in an ill-fitting dark brown suit, threw a balsam garland laced with ribbons and blueberries onto the descending black coffin.

So ends the shortest and strangest reign of a Blueberry Queen in all of Cape Willington’s history
, Candy reflected with a mixture of melancholy and resignation.
Still, Sapphire would be proud. She’s had a good sending-off.

Maggie must have sensed her thoughts. “The Queen is dead,” she murmured, looking uncharacteristically tearful. “Long live the Queen.”

“Here, here.”

Maggie dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Oh, Sapphire, Sapphire, we hardly knew ye! Why, oh why, did you have to be such an obnoxious flake? We could have been such good friends, you and I, if only you had been just a little bit normal!”

“Normality is in short supply around this place, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Candy mused with another furtive glance around at the crowd. “Besides, it’s like you said—her strange behavior wasn’t really her fault. She never fully recovered from the shock of losing both David and Cameron in such a short period of time. She’d been living in some sort of dreamworld of her own making ever since. I guess she really was crazy.”

“Done in by someone who was even crazier than she was.” Maggie shook her head. “It’s so sad. Just so damn sad.” Her voice trembled a bit as she spoke.

Candy took Maggie’s elbow empathetically. “Well, at least Sapphire’s left behind something good—a wonderful legacy, of which she had every reason to be proud.” She nodded toward Cameron and Amanda, who were approaching them.

In a blubber of tears and sobs, Maggie ran forward and hugged Cameron tightly. He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then leaned into her, put his arms around her, and hugged her back.

“It’s done,” he said softly. “She’s finally at peace. Now she and my father can be together.”

“Oh, Cameron,” Maggie said tearfully.

With the appropriate words spoken, the ceremony ended. Reverend Daisy came over to shake their hands and offer some words of condolence before he turned away to talk to others.

As the crowd began to disperse, starting off toward a line of cars nearby, Cameron, Amanda, Maggie, and Candy stood arm in arm, heads bowed, paying their final, silent respects to the former Susan Jane Vincent, alias Sapphire Vine.

“Rest in peace,” Candy said softly.

Maggie squeezed her hand. “She can, thanks to you. You’re the one who solved this murder case. If it wasn’t for you . . . well, a terrible injustice would have remained, um, unjustified.”

Candy smiled. “I had help—the best partner anyone could ask for.”

“We
are
a good team, aren’t we?” Maggie asked, brightening a little.

“You never did tell us everything that happened last night,” Amanda said, looking over at the two of them. “When are we going to get the full story?”

Candy pondered that for a moment. She had just come from the police station, where she had spent an hour recounting the events of the night before. After that, she had received a stern warning from Chief Durr, who told her, once again, to never, ever do this again. But then he grudgingly shook her hand. “If you ever need a job,” he told her sincerely, “I might be able to find a spot for you in the Department.”

“It was nothing really,” Candy finally said to Amanda. “Just a little scuffle with Bertha Grayfire.”

“A little scuffle?” Maggie said, aghast. “We were fighting for our lives! We’re lucky to be here!”

“How’d you beat her?” Cameron asked, intrigued. “I heard she had a gun.”

Candy took Maggie’s arm. “This is the real hero,” she told Amanda. “Your mother was amazing last night. She saved us both.”

Maggie glowed in the praise but was quick to return it. “And what about you? I watched you all week. You were like Sherlock Holmes on the trail of Professor Moriarty. You knew Ray was innocent, so you flushed out the real killer. It was genius, pure genius!”

Candy snorted. “I got lucky, that’s all. Heck, I almost got us both killed. I wouldn’t call that genius.”

“No, Maggie’s right,” Cameron said to Candy. “You’re the only one who was smart enough to start snooping around. If it wasn’t for you, who knows what would have happened? You deserve a medal or something.”

Candy’s eyes flashed with sudden humor. “I’d settle for someone to help me fix that broken window in my back door.”

Suddenly put on the spot, Cameron stammered a bit, uncertain how to reply, but Maggie and Amanda laughed. “Oh, I’m sure Ray will be over first thing in the morning to help you with that,” Maggie said, coming to his rescue. “Maybe Cameron can come up with a better reward for you, once he comes into his inheritance.”

“Um, yeah, I’ll think of something,” the teenager mumbled.

Candy laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be silly, Cam. You don’t owe me a thing. I’m just glad we’re all safe, and that Bertha Grayfire is in custody, where she belongs.”

“Is she going to live?” Cameron asked.

Candy nodded. “I think so. The police told me this morning that she has a broken collarbone, a broken hip, and two broken legs. But she’s going to survive to stand trial.” As she spoke, her gaze shifted toward a figure walking from the graveside. “Excuse me a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Leaving her friends, she hurried down the slope at an angle, so she could intercept the lone figure as he headed toward his car. “Herr Georg!” she called after him.

Hearing his name, the baker paused and looked back. His expression brightened as he gave her a muted wave. “Hello, Candy.”

She smiled and waved back. When she caught up with him, he continued, “It was a lovely ceremony, yes?”

She took his arm as they continued down the slope toward the cars. “It was lovely, yes. Sapphire would have been very pleased.” She paused a moment before she continued, her tone becoming more serious. “Herr Georg, there’s something I must say to you.”

He turned to look at her expectantly. “Yes?”

“Well, I . . . I wanted to apologize to you for what happened yesterday—about our conversation in the park. I didn’t mean to pry into your private affairs like that, and I hope you didn’t think I was accusing you of having anything to do with Sapphire’s death. I know I probably jumped to conclusions, but I should have realized you were . . .”

She broke off as Herr Georg waggled his finger in the air. “Candy, Candy,
meine liebchen.
You of all people owe me no apologies. You have been a better friend than I could have ever asked for. It is I who should apologize to you, for not being truthful with you from the start. If I hadn’t been so protective of my past, all of this might have turned out differently.”

Candy squeezed his arm. “You shouldn’t blame yourself about anything that happened at the pageant. You weren’t the only one being blackmailed, you know—and you weren’t the only one who adjusted those scores.”

“I wasn’t?” This took Herr Georg by surprise. His eyes grew wide. “But who else could have . . .?” But he stopped himself and smiled again. “Ah, but that is in the past, isn’t it? And it is over.”

Candy nodded emphatically. “It’s over.”

He patted her hand, noticeably relieved. “Well, that is good to know.”

She took him by the hand then. “Come, I have something for you.”

She led him to her Jeep, which was parked not too far away. Opening the passenger-side door, she withdrew a thick manila envelope, stuffed with papers, photos, and documents.

“These are yours,” she said, passing the envelope to him. “It’s the rest of the documents Sapphire collected about you. I’ll let you decide what to do with it, though I’d recommend having a nice bonfire in your backyard some night very soon.”

Herr Georg took the envelope appreciatively, his expression solemn. “Candy, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. As far as I’m concerned, this whole issue is closed.”

She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He blushed deeply, making his hair and handlebar moustache seem all the whiter.

At that moment a voice cleared behind them, and someone else spoke. “Miss Holliday?”

Candy turned.

Helen Ross Pruitt stood behind her, looking quite sophisticated in a stylish black suit, a lavender silk scarf that added a bit of color, and a wide-brimmed black hat with a matching lavender band. Candy’s gaze flicked to the right. Standing just there, off to one side, hands folded formally in front of him as he waited patiently, was Hobbins the butler.

With the height of dignity and compassion, Mrs. Pruitt extended a thin-boned hand to Candy. “I have spoken to Cameron and the others,” she said, “but I wanted to express my utmost condolences to you personally on the passing of your friend. I can’t say I knew Ms. Vine well, but I do know that she had a wonderful spirit and energy. She certainly will be missed in this town.”

Candy shook hands with her. “Thank you for your kind words.”

Mrs. Pruitt then turned her gaze to Herr Georg. “Might I borrow Ms. Holliday for a moment,” she asked politely, “so we could have a private word?”

Expertly taking his cue, Herr Georg first kissed Candy’s hand, then bowed deeply to them both. “Of course. I must get back to work. Candy, I will have a little surprise for you early next week. Something special I’m baking. I’ll bring it by the farm.”

She smiled at him warmly. “I can’t wait.”

He nodded to Candy, then to Mrs. Pruitt. “Ladies,” he said gallantly and took his leave.

Candy turned back to Mrs. Pruitt. She noticed that Hobbins the butler had stepped away to a discreet distance, far enough so he was out of earshot, yet not too far away should Mrs. Pruitt have need of him.

It was just the two of them now, standing beside the Jeep, under the clearing sky.

“I would simply like to tell you,” Mrs. Pruitt began, leaning in toward Candy and speaking in low tones, “that I am aware of what you have been up to this week. I wanted you to know that I am greatly impressed by your valiant efforts and congratulate you on your success. I’m not sure you’re aware of it, but the whole town is talking about your sleuthing skills.”

Candy tried not to appear as surprised as she felt. “I . . . wasn’t aware I had those skills. But thank you very much anyway, Mrs. Pruitt. That’s very kind of you to say so.”

“Risking your own safety as you did, and capturing that horrid woman. It’s quite amazing, really.”

“I had help,” Candy said magnanimously.

“So I understand. But you were the catalyst. Your conviction and tenacity were admirable.”

“Thank you,” Candy repeated awkwardly.

“As you know,” Mrs. Pruitt went on, “Haley is scheduled to be crowned as the new Blueberry Queen on Sunday afternoon.”