Town in a Strawberry Swirl (Candy Holliday Mystery) (27 page)

Mrs. Fairweather’s house was darker than the last time Candy had been there, a couple of hours ago. It was close to seven thirty on one of the longest days of the year, but the lowering sky had pressed down upon them, squeezing out most of the day’s light. Some of the streetlights had come on, and a few of the homes along Shady Lane glowed warmly from within. The rain had tapered off, but the evening had a gloomy feel to it.

Candy parked the Jeep where she had before, in the gravel driveway. She switched off the engine and sat in the cabin for a few moments, staring out at the house. There was no light inside. The blinds and curtains were all shut. There was no movement that she could see, no sign of life. The place looked deserted.

She finally climbed out of the Jeep and walked toward the house, keeping her eyes on the front windows. But no curtain moved or blind angled up to indicate someone inside might be watching her.

She climbed the steps to the porch and knocked on the door.

“Mrs. Fairweather,” she called in a controlled tone. “It’s Candy Holliday again.” She paused, then added, “I know you’re in there. Are you okay? I need to talk to you.”

She waited. Nothing.

She knocked again, louder this time. “Mrs. Fairweather?”

She put her ear close to the front door and listened.

After a few moments she heard a click, as if someone had unlocked the door from the inside. But the door remained shut. Candy rapped tentatively at it with her knuckles. “Mrs. Fairweather?”

This time, when she received no reply, she reached down and jiggled the door handle. To her surprise, it turned easily.

The door slid open a crack, with a low creak.

Candy peeked in hesitantly. “Mrs. Fairweather?”

She placed her hand on the wooden door and pushed it open a little farther, giving her a view of the dim hallway beyond. “Hello?”

The place still looked empty. But a light suddenly popped on in the kitchen at the far end of the hall. “Back here, dear,” came a faint voice.

Candy’s eyes flicked around, glancing at the dark rooms on either side of the hall. “Um, okay.”

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, moving cautiously. She didn’t want a repeat of what she’d just encountered in the barn out at Crawford’s Berry Farm.

She started along the hallway, slipping quickly past a couple of dark doorways on the left and right. As she approached the kitchen at the rear, she surveyed it suspiciously, wondering if she was walking into an ambush.

But she needn’t have worried. There was no attack this time.

Mrs. Fairweather sat quietly at the kitchen table. Her hands were folded primly in front of her. She wore a dark blue dress with a white frill collar that looked like it might have been reserved for church and special occasions. Her hair was neatly done, though she looked pale, and her eyes were watery as she watched Candy enter the kitchen.

“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Fairweather said softly. “Please, have a seat. We have a lot to talk about, and we don’t have much time.”

“Why not?” Candy asked as she approached the table. Still moving cautiously, she pulled out a chair opposite the elderly woman and settled uneasily on it.

Mrs. Fairweather shrugged rather daintily. She looked over at Candy with a placid expression. “I understand you’ve had a very busy day. You’ve been made an honorary member of the Heritage Protection League.”

“That’s right,” Candy said. “It was a surprise, that’s for sure. I understand you were aware of the whole thing—though I didn’t see you there.”

Mrs. Fairweather let out a sigh. “No, I’m afraid I wasn’t up to a public appearance today.”

“Why not?”

The elderly woman tilted her head. “I had other concerns.” She paused. “I suppose you have lots of questions for me.”

“I do,” Candy said.

“About my family?”

Candy nodded. “Among other things.”

“Of course. What would you like to know?”

“Tell me about Morgan. You called her your niece.”

Mrs. Fairweather smiled enigmatically, and cast her eyes downward as she considered her response. “Yes, I like to think of her that way sometimes,” she mused, “though of course we’re distantly related.”

“How so?” Candy asked.

“Well, let’s see. Gideon Sykes was my cousin. Have you heard of him?”

“I have,” Candy said. “He was the patriarch of the Sykes family, based out of Marblehead, Massachusetts, until he apparently took his own life at the Sykes mansion not too far from here.”

“Yes, that was back in the eighties,” Mrs. Fairweather said with a nod. “A tragic time. His death sent the whole family into disarray.”

“It occurred at the same mansion that burned down a few years ago,” Candy added.

Mrs. Fairweather gave her a vague look. “Yes, that place had been abandoned for years. The family eventually sold the property.”

Candy continued, “Gideon was the husband of Daisy Porter-Sykes, who, I believe, is still alive—although she must be in her nineties by now.”

“She’ll be ninety-four in a few months,” Mrs. Fairweather confirmed, “and still as tough as a New England winter.”

“So I’ve heard.” Candy paused a moment. “I know that Daisy has a couple of grandsons who have made appearances here in Cape Willington. I don’t suppose Morgan is related to them?”

“They’re siblings, of course,” Mrs. Fairweather said.

“Of course.”

“They can be nice people when they want to be. Unfortunately, they’ve been a little . . . misled by their grandmother.”

“But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” Candy said, leaning forward in her chair. “They’re after something, aren’t they—something here in Cape Willington? Morgan works for a New York firm that was trying to secretly buy the berry farm—because, I believe, she and her brothers wanted access to the woods out there, so they could search for the buried treasure of Silas Sykes.”

“Ah, yes!” Mrs. Fairweather’s eyes lit up briefly. “Buried treasure! How exciting!” But the light died quickly in her eyes. “Funny how those old legends can sometimes come true, isn’t it?”

“So you knew about it—about the treasure?”

“I knew it was rumored to be buried around here somewhere,” Mrs. Fairweather said, nodding. “But I didn’t know it was out at the berry farm, until I saw that old foundation and graveyard with my own two eyes.”

“How’d you find it?”

“Well, Miles showed it to me, of course. He stumbled upon it a while back, but I think he only began to guess its significance fairly recently. Strangely enough, he was the one who contacted me. He said he’d found something back in the woods at his farm. He knew I had some knowledge of the history of the village, since I’ve lived here for so long, so he asked me to take a look at it.”

“When was this?”

Mrs. Fairweather pursed her lips, thinking. “A while ago. A year or two, maybe a little more. Time becomes a funny thing when you get older, you know.”

“Did you know what it was when you saw it?”

Mrs. Fairweather shook her head. “Not at first. Not until I saw that name engraved into the cornerstone. But then I knew, yes. It was the remains of an old cabin that had once belonged to Silas Sykes.”

“And how did Miles know that this legendary treasure was supposedly buried nearby?”

“Well, I told him, of course.”

“Of course,” Candy said, not quite seeing the connections, “but—”

Mrs. Fairweather interrupted her. “Would you do us a favor, dear?”

Candy stopped abruptly.

“Would you make us both a nice cup of tea?” Mrs. Fairweather continued, without waiting for a response. “And I made some lovely bean soup yesterday. It’s there on the stove. Soups are always better on the second day, don’t you agree? The flavors have more time to mix. You really must try some—and I’ll have a little more, too, if you don’t mind fixing two bowls for us.” She pointed Candy toward the cupboards that contained the cups and bowls. A large simmering pot on the stove held the bean soup.

Candy did as the elderly woman asked, rising and walking to the counter. She dug into the cupboard for two teacups and looked around for the tea bags.

Mrs. Fairweather noticed her searching, and pointed helpfully. “They’re in the basket there on the counter.”

Candy looked where the elderly woman had indicated, and saw it then. It was a small white wicker basket with a handle and small pale flowers painted on the sides. It looked quite old and worn, an antique. Woven into the wicker on the front were three capital letters, faintly green:

M.R.S.

Candy pulled her head back as if she’d just been slapped.

“Mrs. Fairweather,” she said, wheeling around to face her host. “This basket . . . these initials.
M.R.S.
What do they stand for?”

The elderly woman shifted in her seat, so she could glance over her shoulder. “Oh, that’s me, dear,” Mrs. Fairweather said cheerily. “I have several baskets like that. They were given to me when I was still a young girl. It’s my maiden name, you see. Sykes. Before I married Mr. Fairweather, I was Mary Rachel Sykes.”

“You’re a
Sykes
?” The words came out of Candy in a long shocked breath. “But of course! Gideon was your cousin. Morgan is your relative. It just never occurred to me that . . .” She paused, her mind racing. “But that’s it then, isn’t it? Your baskets were found in the hoophouse near Miles’s body. You were out there yesterday, weren’t you? With Della when she . . .”

Candy let her voice trail off as Mrs. Fairweather looked at her sadly.

“Yes, dear, I’m afraid it’s true,” the elderly woman said, sounding contrite, “and I’m so sorry about what happened to Mr. Crawford. It was never my intention that any harm should come to him. He was a nice man. We just wanted to save the berry farm but, well, things got out of hand.”

In a hushed voice, Candy asked, “Did you kill him?”

Mrs. Fairweather held a hand to her chest and looked offended, as if someone had just cursed in her presence. “Me? Goodness gracious, no. I could never do anything like that. I’m not strong enough to swing a shovel like that, for one thing. Of course, I admit it was very foolish of me to leave my baskets there. I’ve had them so long! But I panicked, I suppose, and left too swiftly—once I knew Mr. Crawford wasn’t going to wake up, of course. Now I’ll never get them back.”

Candy read the meaning between the words. “So . . . he wasn’t supposed to die? It was an accident?”

Mrs. Fairweather was silent for several moments, as if thinking back over the events of the previous day. “I don’t know, really. It certainly was never my plan for him to die like that. But I’m afraid I may have been the cause of the whole thing.”

“And why is that?” Candy asked.

Mrs. Fairweather took in the deepest breath she could, her chest heaving out. She had a melancholy look on her face. “Because I’m the one who told him that old cabin had once belonged to Silas Sykes. And I told him the treasure might be around there somewhere. That’s what caused all this trouble.”

“How so?”

The elderly woman looked longingly at the stove. “I don’t suppose we could have tea first? And a bit of soup? I’m feeling a bit—tired.”

So Candy complied. She heated the water, placed two tea bags in the cups, and ladled warm bean soup into two bowls, which she placed on the table. She found spoons in a drawer, and laid those out as well. And finally she poured boiling water into the teacups, which she also brought to the table. Then she settled back onto her chair, sipping her tea as she studied the elderly woman.

“Should I call a doctor?” Candy asked, watching her carefully. “Or the police?”

Mrs. Fairweather waved a casual hand. “There’s no time for that now. We should continue.”

Candy hesitated, and then nodded once. “Okay. So you told Miles about the treasure—and then what?”

“Well, others found out about it, too, of course. That’s when things began to get out of hand.”

Candy thought about that for a moment. “Morgan,” she said finally. “You told Morgan about it also, didn’t you?”

Mrs. Fairweather nodded gravely. “I had to. It was my obligation. The family has been searching for that place for years—decades. Generations. It’s an old family legend, part of our history. We’d heard it might be around there somewhere but we never knew for sure—until Mr. Crawford showed me that old foundation and graveyard. I suspected it might have been what we’d been looking for all those years, so I did some research at the historical society, and found a few old sources that confirmed my suspicions. When I told Morgan about it during one of her visits, she went back to the city and began making offers on the place. Of course, Mr. Crawford refused to sell. And it made him suspicious of all of us.”

“When did he realize you and Morgan were related?”

Mrs. Fairweather shook her head. “Not at first. Not until he started digging into the archives himself. I realized what he was doing. He was researching the place, trying to find out its history, and looking for information about where the treasure might be buried, so he could dig it up for himself. But I’d already taken measures to prevent that from happening.”

She picked up her spoon and dipped it into the bowl of bean soup. She blew on it to cool it, raised it to her lips, and savored the flavor for a few moments. “This is wonderful,” she said. “It’s from an old family recipe. You should try it.”

“I will, in a moment,” Candy said, not wanting to get distracted. “So what kind of measures did you take?”

In response, the elderly woman pointed with her spoon to an antique credenza pushed up against the wall behind Candy. “You can look over there,” she said.

Candy turned and studied the credenza. The upper shelves held fine china and pottery, as well as keepsakes and photos. There were several drawers in the lower half. She rose from her chair, walked over to it, and pulled open the top drawer.

“Next one, dear,” Mrs. Fairweather said helpfully.

In the second drawer Candy found a faded manila folder, worn at the corners and held together by a thinly stretched brown rubber band. It appeared to contain a number of old, faded documents. “What’s this?” she asked, pulling out the folder.

At first she thought they might be the missing deeds, but when she removed the rubber band and opened the folder, she saw they were pages torn from old historical books and records.

“I’ll leave those with you,” Mrs. Fairweather said. “They should be returned to the archives at the historical society. I apologize for the damage to the books, but at the time I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Candy realized what they were—the missing folios Doc had mentioned. Pages ripped or snipped from books and historical records her father had checked.

“Why?” Candy asked, looking over at the elderly woman.

Mrs. Fairweather tilted her head again as she gave the question some thought. “Family loyalty, I suppose. I was trying to keep information about the treasure—and that property—a secret. But I must have missed something somewhere. I only knew later on, when I saw that treasure chest anonymously donated to the museum, that Mr. Crawford had actually found it—the treasure that had once belonged to Silas Sykes.” She paused to eat another spoonful of the soup. “I think he did that on purpose, by the way, to send us a message—to let us know he’d found the treasure himself. But it was a foolish thing to do.”

Candy closed the folder. “What was in the chest?” she asked.

“No one really knew for sure,” Mrs. Fairweather said. “Gold, jewels, that sort of thing. The family could only speculate until we actually found it.”

“But there was something else inside, wasn’t there? Deeds?”

“Oh yes, those famous deeds. Those are part of the legend as well.”

“Deeds to what?” Candy asked.

“Property. Here in Cape Willington.”

“What properties?”

Mrs. Fairweather straightened in her chair and waved her arm around her. “All of them.”

“
All
of them?”

Candy remembered now, something Della Swain had said to her in the barn at the berry farm a little while ago:

They were in that big leather pouch in the chest . . . deeds to properties all over Cape Willington. . . .

Candy felt a jolt go through her. “That’s what they’ve been looking for all along, isn’t it? The Sykes family? They didn’t care about the gold. They wanted the deeds!”

“Apparently they’re quite valuable,” Mrs. Fairweather said. “I don’t know the whole story, or the legalities of it all, but I’ve heard they could supersede all existing deeds for properties in the village and throughout the Cape.”

Candy was stunned. “But that means whoever has those deeds—”

“Could reclaim all of Cape Willington for themselves,” Mrs. Fairweather said. Her demeanor lightened, and she smiled mischievously. “Think about it. All the businesses, all the properties—including Blueberry Acres and Pruitt Manor. All this land belonging to someone else.” She chuckled softly to herself. “Of course, that would cause quite an uproar around here.”

“Yes, I’m sure it would,” Candy said, still trying to digest all she’d just heard. “And Miles had them?”

The amusement died in Mrs. Fairweather’s eyes, and she shook her head. “We don’t know. It’s certainly possible. But he knew about them. That’s what he was doing up in the archives—researching them. Of course, since he was suspicious of me, I couldn’t spy on him myself. So I asked Elvira to monitor his activities when he was out at the museum. I told her it was for the good of the league, and for the community. Naturally, she willingly agreed, since she was sweet on him.”

“Does she know about any of this?”

“Oh no.” Mrs. Fairweather shook her head. “None of the ladies were aware of what was going on. Only myself . . . and Della.” This last word she said rather harshly.

Candy caught the nuance. “She said something to me out at the barn . . . something about a deal.” Candy paused, thinking it through a little more. “She’s the one who did it, right? She killed Miles? Hit him over the head with that shovel—just like she did to Neil a little while ago, and like she tried to do to me.”

Mrs. Fairweather didn’t appear surprised by this revelation, but it seemed to sadden her. “Unfortunately I misjudged that woman. I didn’t realize the level of her . . . desperation. She’s fled, of course, but she wanted the money first—the treasure. That’s why she went out to the Crawford place this afternoon. She wanted to search it before she left town. She thought she might encounter someone out there, but she also knew we were out of time. The police interviewed both of us today, and you and your father were out here yesterday as well, asking about that old shovel of yours. We both knew it was only a matter of time before the authorities closed in on us. That put her in a bit of a tizzy.”

“That was her motivation—the treasure?”

Mrs. Fairweather nodded. “Greed can be an awful thing, can’t it?” The elderly woman paused, and swallowed hard. “We had a general agreement—she could have the money, since I didn’t care about it, and I would get the deeds.” Mrs. Fairweather pushed away her bowl of soup. She suddenly looked exhausted. “Everything escalated when that wooden box showed up at the museum. Elvira told us about it, and Della began to put all the pieces together. She did her own research and realized what was going on. She found out about my involvement, so she came to me with a plan. She wanted to search the house out at the berry farm herself, and talked me into going along. We decided to pretend like we were picking berries. That’s why I took my baskets along. Of course, as I said, I now realize how foolish that was.”

“And you took our old shovel too,” Candy said.

“Yes, and it almost worked. It was all part of Della’s plan. She knew Miles would be furious if someone took the treasure from him, so she wanted to pin the whole thing on someone else—to cause a diversion. That’s why she lured Lydia out there. Her plan was to hit him over the head with the shovel, knocking him out, and then leave the shovel there. We both thought they’d trace it back to Lydia—or to you. Either way, it would point the finger at someone else. But it all went wrong. Mr. Crawford showed up too early and surprised us. He knew what we were looking for. Della panicked—”

“And hit Miles too hard.”

Mrs. Fairweather nodded. Her chin was low to her chest now. “As I said, I misjudged her. She was too strong. And when she saw what she’d done, she decided to finish the job. It was . . . quite awful to witness. But when it was done . . . well, there was nothing we could do to bring him back, was there?”

“How did you get the shovel?” Candy asked.

A small breath escaped from Mrs. Fairweather, but she pressed on. “I saw it in the backseat of Lydia’s car a while ago, when I had a late appointment at the beauty parlor. I noticed the initials on it, and remembered seeing Doc with it when he came out to knock the icicles off my house. I couldn’t figure out why Lydia had it. To be honest, I thought she was trying to steal it from you, and I wanted to make sure it got back to Blueberry Acres. So I took it from her car and put it in mine.”

She managed to raise her head, looking up at Candy. “I want you to know that I had every intention of returning it to you. But I forgot about it, until Della started putting together her plan.” She sighed deeply. “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I? But I’m trying to make things right now.”

Candy had only a few more questions for her. “What about Morgan’s role in this?” she asked. “Did she know about your plan?”

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Fairweather said. “She tried to get me to do the opposite. She told me to stay out of it. She said she and her brother would take care of everything. But Miles was about to sell the place to someone else. Who knew what would happen then? So we decided to act while we could.”

“And what about Della? Do you know where she’s at now?”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll turn up soon enough,” Mrs. Fairweather said vaguely.

Candy nodded. “I think that explains just about everything,” she said, “but I have one final question. Last night, when I saw Lydia out at Blueberry Acres, she said she had one more stop to make before she left town. She didn’t happen to stop by your house, did she?”

For the longest time Mrs. Fairweather studied Candy with her tired eyes. “You’re very perceptive,” she said finally. “It’s no wonder you have a reputation around town as a great detective. Della and I should have known better.”