Town in a Strawberry Swirl (Candy Holliday Mystery) (14 page)

Lydia lowered the flashlight, but rather than pointing it at the ground, she aimed it toward the car, moving it with a quick jerk of her hand. “Get in,” she said. “We have to talk.”

“About what?”

“You know what. Something very, very wrong is going on around here, and I need you to help me figure out what it is.”

Candy held the hoe across her body and stayed right where she was at. “Lydia, what’s this all about? The police are looking for you. You need to go to the station right now and turn yourself in.”

“I can’t,” Lydia said.

“Why not?”

Again, Lydia flicked the flashlight toward the car. “I won’t take much of your time, but you need to hear my side of the story. That’s all I ask. Then I’ll be on my way.”

Still, Candy hesitated. She wasn’t quite ready to get into a car with a possible murderer. “Did you kill Miles?” she asked pointedly.

Lydia’s reaction was quick and sharp. “Of course not. It’s a ridiculous question. That’s why we need to talk.” After a few moments, she added, “I had no reason to kill him. I’m being set up. Why, or by whom, I don’t know. But I need your help figuring it out, so I can clear my name.”

“The best way to do that is to go to the police right now,” Candy said again, “and let them help you.”

But Lydia would not be swayed. For a third time, she swung the flashlight toward the sports car. Candy could see its black leather seats and dark walnut interior trim.

She also spotted the tip of a black rubber boot lying on the floor behind the driver’s seat.

Her gaze shifted back to Lydia. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere. I just don’t want to talk out here in the open. I’m being a little cautious right now—and maybe a little paranoid, as you can probably imagine. I’ll feel safer if we talk in the car.”

Candy still hesitated, but when she caught a glimpse of the ragged look on Lydia’s thin face, and noticed the woman’s tense stance, she finally complied. “Doc’s right up at the house,” she said. “All I have to do is yell and he’ll come running with the shotgun.” She refrained from telling Lydia that nothing short of an earthquake could wake Doc when he fell asleep in front of the TV set—and she wasn’t sure even that would work.

She walked around the front of the car, leaned the hoe up against the side of the vehicle, opened the door on the passenger side, and climbed inside.

Lydia followed on the driver’s side. They both pulled their doors closed.

The convertible top was up and the windows were closed. The plush cabin enclosed them. The car smelled of leather and wood and expensive perfume, though now that they were inside with the doors closed, Candy couldn’t see much more, since the dome lights had gone out. Again, they were left only with the muted light from the house and barn.

Lydia sat stiffly for a few moments, eyes straight ahead, hands absently gripping the steering wheel, as if she wasn’t quite sure where to begin. But finally she said in a voice so soft Candy could barely hear, “I didn’t kill him.”

The words hung in the air between them for a few moments. Finally Candy said, “You were there, though, weren’t you? I saw you leaving the farm. You almost ran me off the road.”

Lydia’s head swiveled toward her, though her face was lost in shadows. Only her eyes were visible, reflecting pinpricks of light. “I didn’t know it was you at first. I only realized it later, when I regained my senses and thought about what had happened. I had to hide out for a while on one of the back lanes at the farm until the coast was clear. I sat there for nearly half an hour, waiting for the right time. I thought I could make a clean escape, until I ran into you.”

“Did you see the body?”

Lydia was about to respond but then clamped shut her mouth and shook her head. It appeared she wasn’t ready to answer that question, at least not yet, so Candy asked another. “Where have you been all day? I called your office.”

When Lydia spoke again, she sounded dazed. “I don’t know, really. Driving around. Hiding out on back roads and a few spots I know out in the woods. Trying to figure out who’s attempting to frame me, and why.” She let out a warbling breath, as if she was working very hard to control her emotions. “I can’t tell you what an awful day it’s been. If I had known what was going to happen out at that berry farm this morning, I would’ve stayed home. Better yet, I would’ve stayed in bed and shut off the phone.”

“What
did
happen this morning?” Candy prompted. She kept her voice low and nonaccusatory. She wasn’t interested in laying blame just yet. She only wanted to learn the facts.

“
Not
what you think,” Lydia said defensively. “I was lured out there.”

“
Lured?
To the berry farm?” Candy couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice.

“I was framed,” Lydia clarified. “Set up.”

“How? By who?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I want you to find out for me.”

Candy had to think this over. After a few moments she said, “Why don’t you tell me what you
do
know, and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay.” Lydia nodded and let out a few deep breaths, gathering her thoughts. “It all started this morning around eight, when I received an e-mail from Miles Crawford. He asked me to come out to his place. He said he wanted me to meet him in the hoophouse out at the berry farm at ten. He said it was urgent business. And he told me not to respond to the e-mail message he’d sent, after I’d read it, but to delete it instead, which I thought was very strange. But I complied with his requests. I deleted it and then drove out to the farm a little early. I got there about nine forty-five.”

“Did he say why he wanted to meet with you?” Candy asked. “Do you have any idea what he wanted?”

“Not specifically, but I figured it was because”—here Lydia hesitated a few moments before continuing—“because Miles and I had been working on a business deal together. We’d already met a few times—though never in a hoophouse, which I also thought was a little strange. But Miles could be eccentric. I thought he wanted to talk business.”

“Ahh,” Candy said, “so all those rumors flying around town about a secret real estate deal really
were
true.”

Lydia noticeably grimaced. “Yes, but not in the way you think. I’ve heard what people are saying, and most of them are wrong.”

“Okay . . . so what’s the truth?”

“Well, for one thing, no one wants to buy that old berry farm and turn it into some fancy resort—at least, not that I’m aware of. I have no idea how that story got started. And for the record, I wasn’t twisting Miles’s arm, trying to get him to sell the place, as some of the rumors claimed. From what I’ve heard, they’re portraying me as some sort of interloper who puts money over people, which just isn’t true. I’ve been a stalwart citizen of this community for more than twenty-five years. And just to be clear, I’m not working for some rich mysterious out-of-town client who wants to come in here and destroy the village’s atmosphere, like all these ladies are saying. That’s just ridiculous. I would never do something like that.”

“Then who
are
you working for?” Candy asked.

“Well, that’s what is so ironic,” Lydia said, “and the most frustrating part of this whole thing. Because I wasn’t working for someone else, trying to get Miles to sell his place. It was the other way around.
I
was working for
him
.”

“Working for who?” Candy asked.

“Miles,” Lydia said, and she looked over at Candy, the pinpricks of light in her eyes turning hard-edged. “
Miles Crawford
was my client,” she said. “
He
hired
me
.”

“Hired you?” Candy tilted her head, surprised by this revelation. “To do what?”

“To help him sell his place,” Lydia said.

“So he really
was
selling the berry farm?”

“Yes, but—well, I don’t know the whole story. Only bits and pieces of it.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

“All right,” Lydia said, glancing nervously down at her watch, which was faintly luminescent in the dark, before looking up and out the vehicle, turning her head in both directions. “I can’t stay much longer,” she added, “so I’ll be quick.” She returned her attention to Candy. “A few weeks ago, out of the clear blue sky, Miles calls me and asks me to come out to his place ‘after hours,’ was how he put it. Naturally, I was suspicious about that request, not knowing his intent. But I needn’t have worried. He said he simply wanted to meet when no one else was around, since he didn’t want rumors to get started around town. Of course, the rumors got started anyway, but that’s a different part of the story. That first night we met, Miles was all business, right from the start. He told me he wanted to hire me, as I’ve said. And I can tell you, no one was more shocked than I. He’s been out at that farm for as long as I’ve been a real estate agent. You don’t think I haven’t tried to get him to sell it a few times over the years? You don’t think I made a trek out there every time a viable client—one with a hefty bank account, that is—sought an incredibly desirable rural property with some of the most stunning ocean views in the world? Of
course
I approached him with the idea of selling, numerous times,” Lydia said, the exasperation she felt, even at the mere memories, coming through in her voice. “I told him he was sitting on a gold mine. I told him he could retire for the rest of his life. But he adamantly refused to consider the idea. He told me he wasn’t ready to sell, no matter the money—which struck me as odd, because we’d never discussed a price. And he said a few other things that made me suspicious.”

“About what?”

“I began to suspect that I wasn’t the only one inquiring about the place. To be honest, I got the feeling he was getting other offers. I discreetly asked around, to find out if any other agents from around here were talking to him, but I came up empty. However,
something
else was going on in the background, I’m sure of it,” Lydia said. “I just never found out what it was.”

“So,” Candy said, as she tried to make sense out of what Lydia was telling her, “if Miles was so adamant against selling the farm, why all of a sudden would he hire you to help him sell it?”

“That,” Lydia said, “is the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to figure that one out for weeks, ever since this whole thing started. That first time we met out at the farm, he told me he’d changed his mind. He wanted me to help him find a buyer for the place—but the
right
buyer, he said. Someone who would respect the property, keep it as it was, as a berry farm. He wasn’t interested in selling to a speculator or developer, no matter how much money they offered. He told me he wanted to find a nice family who would take over the farm and continue what he’d been doing for thirty years. But,” Lydia added, holding up a thin finger, “he wanted me to do all this off the record. No advertising, no MLS listings, no public release of information or acknowledgement whatsoever about the sale. He told me he wanted to keep it private, a secret—just between him and me for now.”

“But why?” Candy asked.

Lydia shrugged her bony shoulders. “He had his reasons—though he never shared them with me.”

“So you were looking around for a buyer?”

“I was,” Lydia said. “Miles was my client, so I did as he asked. I did some searching and was in the process of identifying a few prospects. As I’ve said, whoever I found had to meet certain criteria. I sent him a report every week or two, bringing him up to date. But I didn’t hear back from him until this morning. I thought that’s why he wanted to meet—to talk about my progress, to see where we were at. Of course, all the secrecy—the e-mail message, the request to delete it—struck me as odd, as I’ve said. But I thought Miles was just being cautious, given all the rumors that have sprung up.”

“Which brings us back to the hoophouse,” Candy said.

“Yes, the hoophouse.” Lydia swallowed and rubbed at her forehead. “I can’t believe what happened,” she said after a few moments. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I can still see him there, lying facedown on the ground, his body all twisted around and crumbled randomly, with his limbs at odd angles, as if he’d just dropped where he’d stood. For a split second, when I first spotted him, I thought he might be looking for something or trying to make some sort of repair or something like that. But when I got closer, I knew right away he was dead. At first I thought he might have had a heart attack. But then, well, I saw his head.”

Her voice dropped off, and her hands fell into her lap. A silence built inside the car. Hesitant to interrupt, Candy waited until the other woman started again. “I never touched him,” Lydia said softly. “I just backed away as soon as I realized what had happened. I left him right where he was.”

“So you didn’t approach the body?” Candy asked. “Check for a pulse or—”

Lydia shook her head quickly. “No, no, I . . . I couldn’t go near him. I couldn’t even move. If there was any way to help him, I would have. But I knew he was dead right away. That was plain to see from . . . the body.”

Candy nodded. She’d been inside that hoophouse too.

“It all happened in a flash,” Lydia said, her voice starting to sound tired. “At a moment like that, when you realize what you’re looking at, your heart tells you it can’t be true but your mind tells you it is.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?” Candy asked. “If what you’re saying is true, and you found him already dead, then you’re innocent. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“But that’s just it,” Lydia said. “I can’t
prove
I did—or didn’t do—anything. And I knew right away, as soon as I walked into that hoophouse and saw that dead body, that I was being framed somehow. I didn’t know how or why at first. It took me a little while to figure it out. But eventually it hit me.”

“The shovel,” Candy said softly.

Lydia nodded. “When I saw it lying there next to the body, I knew something about it was familiar, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Only later, when I was driving around, running through everything in my head, did I remember where I’d seen it before.”

“Judicious gave it to you,” Candy said.

Even in the shadows, the shock on Lydia’s face was evident. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Because Doc and I tracked down its whereabouts today,” Candy said, and she explained how she and her father had traced the shovel from Sally Ann to Ray Hutchins to Judicious F. P. Bosworth, “who says he gave it to you,” Candy finished.

“That’s right, he did.” Lydia’s head nodded absently as her memories took her back to previous events. “This was . . . well, I guess maybe six or seven weeks ago, maybe two months, something like that. Since Judicious doesn’t have a car and has to walk everywhere he goes, I told him I’d return the shovel to Blueberry Acres for him. And that’s exactly what I planned to do. But I had to make a stop first, at the beauty shop in town. It was one of the first warm days of the year, and I remember I had the top down on the car, so I just tossed the shovel on the floor behind the front seats. I didn’t bother putting the top up because I wasn’t inside the hairdresser’s that long. And I parked right out in front of the shop, where I could look out and see the car whenever I wanted to. It wasn’t as if I’d parked in some dark alley or in downtown Boston. Besides, there wasn’t anything valuable inside to steal. I keep all my important stuff, like boxes of brochures and signs, locked up in the trunk. Who’s going to steal a worthless old shovel, right? But when I came out, it was gone.”

“You’re saying someone took the shovel out of your car while you were inside the hairdresser’s?”

Lydia made a sound of frustration in the back of her throat. “I know how it sounds—like I made all this up. But it’s true. That’s the only place someone could have taken it out of the car. Why, I don’t know. I didn’t think about it much, really. I thought someone had just borrowed it again, or maybe you or Doc had seen it and took it, since you work right around the corner, and the bakery shop is just a few doors down. I meant to call you and tell you about it, but to be honest, I got busy with other things and it slipped my mind. Only today did I realize that someone stole that shovel right out from underneath my nose, used it to kill Miles Crawford, and then
left
the shovel there on purpose, knowing it would probably lead back to me—which is exactly what happened, of course.”

She paused a moment as she looked down at her hands in the darkness, before she continued. “With all those rumors swirling round town, saying I was trying to get Miles to sell his farm—well, that just provides motivation, doesn’t it? It makes me the perfect villain. I heard the police stopped by my office this afternoon, and at my home. Of course, I wasn’t at either place. But it just proved that I was being set up to take the fall for Miles’s murder. And that’s why I’m here. I need you to figure out who stole that shovel from my car. Help me find the person behind this, so I can clear my name. I’ll pay you—I’ll do whatever it takes. But as I’ve said, I can’t go to the police, because I have no proof and they won’t understand. They’ll just throw me in jail. I need someone on my side. So will you do it? Will you help me?”

Candy thought about Lydia’s request for several long moments, then held out her left hand. “Can I borrow your flashlight?”

It took Lydia a few moments to react, but finally she nodded and relinquished the flashlight.

Candy opened the passenger side door, climbed out, reached around the seat, and found the latch that flipped it forward. She shined the light behind the seats. “Have you cleaned the car since you had the shovel back here?” she asked.

Lydia craned her thin neck around so she could look at the floor. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Candy reached down, running her hand over the thick carpeting, her fingers searching.

“What are you looking for?” Lydia asked curiously.

“Something like this.” Candy held up a small clump of dried dirt, about half the size of her little fingernail. “It could be dirt from the shovel. It could be something else. Mind if I look at your boots?”

“My boots?” Lydia echoed, shifting around even more.

“It’ll just take a second.” Candy lifted one of the black rubber boots she’d seen on the floor behind the driver’s seat and shined the light at the heel. “Did you wear these boots this morning out at the berry farm?”

“Well, I, ah . . .”

Candy checked the bottoms of both, just to be sure. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It’s not the pattern I’m looking for.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing.” Her search complete, Candy returned the seat back to its regular position. Then she climbed back inside, closing the door. She turned back to Lydia and handed over the flashlight. “The truth is, I’m not sure how much I can help you. But I’ll do what I can. However, I highly suggest you go see the police first thing in the morning.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that,” Lydia said. “I’m headed out of town tonight. I’m going to make one more stop and then lay low until this whole thing blows over.”

“Where are you going?” Candy asked.

But Lydia shook her head. “I won’t say, but it’s a safe place. I have just one more stop to make tonight before I’m gone.”

“How will I contact you if I find out anything?”

“You won’t. I’ll contact you. I’ll give you a call tomorrow evening, and we’ll go from there. It won’t be from my regular number, so be sure to answer your phone if you see an unfamiliar number.”

She reached over and placed a bony hand on Candy’s forearm. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. You’re the only friend I have at the moment. I want you to know I appreciate your help.”

A few minutes later, she was gone.

The next morning, she was dead.