Town in a Pumpkin Bash (18 page)

Doc told her as much. “You and Maggie did a great job with this place,” he said, pulling
off his ball cap and wiping his brow with the sleeve of his flannel shirt. “You both
should be proud of yourselves.”

Candy gave him a smile and put a hand on his shoulder. “We had lots of help. Thanks
for coming out today and bringing the boys.”

“Ahh, we figured you’d need some backup, after everything that’s happened. Speaking
of which—I’ve talked it over with the guys, and we all agree that we should give you
and Maggie the rest of the day off. You two deserve it. We’ll keep an eye on the place
for you. So, you know, plop yourselves down somewhere, have a glass of wine, and take
a breather.”

She leaned forward suddenly and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Dad. That would be wonderful.”

He nodded happily and pointed out to the field. “You’ve sure sold a lot of pumpkins
today. It should be a great Pumpkin Bash this year.”

“It certainly should,” Candy said. “I imagine it’s going to be memorable in more ways
than one.”

She managed to catch Julius Seabury at the Cape Willington Historical Society, which
was located in the Keeper’s Quarters out at English Point Lighthouse. She’d remembered
that he often gave impromptu tours of the historical society’s museum on Sunday afternoons,
and used the opportunity to sell some of his books, which he signed with a flourish
and a wink of the eye.

Candy caught him between tours as he was explaining a diorama of the lighthouse property
to a young boy, who watched and listened, mesmerized, as Julius explained how the
property had changed over the years from a small wooden outpost with a whale oil light
to the present-day complex, which included several buildings and a prized Fresnel
lens atop the nearly ninety-foot tower.

When he’d finished, sending the excited young boy off with his parents, Candy approached
Julius with a wave and a smile.

“Mr. Seabury,” she said, holding out her hand. “It’s
Candy Holliday, from the
Cape Crier
. Good to see you again.”

“Why, Candy, hello, this is a pleasure!” Julius said, taking her hand in both of his
and giving it a warm shake. He was in his late seventies, with thinning white hair
and a grandfatherly face. He wore a pressed shirt under a gray cardigan with forest
green corduroys. “Nice to see you again too. How’s Doc doing?”

“Great, thanks. I just left him.”

“Well, give him my best when you see him. Is he still working on his book?”

“Still working on it. I think he enjoys the research more than the writing though.”

Julius laughed. “Ahh, I can certainly understand that!” he said, eyes twinkling.

“And to be honest,” Candy continued, “he hasn’t had much time to devote to his writing
projects lately, with all the work we’ve had out at the farm and at the pumpkin patch.
He’s out there this afternoon, at the patch, helping out and giving me a breather.”

Julius’s expression turned solemn. “Yes, I heard what happened out there yesterday.
It’s truly a dreadful occurrence. Truly dreadful. I’m sorry it happened, and that
you had to find the body that way. I hope it wasn’t too traumatic for you.”

“No, we’ve…we’ve been able to manage it okay. But that’s the main reason I came out
here to see you today. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay? And maybe
show you an old photograph and see if you recognize it?”

“Why, certainly. I’d be glad to help any way I can.” Julius looked around. “Why don’t
we sit over here,” he said, indicating two padded chairs angled together off to one
side of the main exhibit room, “so I can take a load off my feet and give you my undivided
attention.”

Once they were seated, she showed him the black-and-white photograph of Emma’s gravestone
first, placing it
carefully into his hands. “I wonder if you would take a look at this and tell me if
you’ve seen it before, as you’ve conducted the research for your books.” She indicated
the engraving on the tombstone. “As you can see, there’s no last name for the deceased—and
no dates of her birth or death, which I think is rather peculiar, isn’t it?”

“Hmm. Yes, I would think it is. Is that what it says?” He squinted at the photograph
for a few moments before fishing a pair of reading glasses out of his shirt pocket.
He perched them carefully on his nose, tilted his head a little, and studied the photograph
again. After a few moments, he indicated the lower areas of the tombstone with a swirl
of his finger. “There’s more writing down here but I can’t make it out,” he observed.

“That’s right. It’s too blurred.”

“Hmm,” Julius said again. He tapped a finger on his chin, then rose and crossed the
room to the long wooden counter that served as the museum’s information hub. He sidestepped
around it and opened a drawer on the back side. Briefly he searched through it before
pulling out a magnifying glass, which he used to study the photograph again. But finally
he shook his head. “I can’t make out the smaller engravings, I’m afraid,” he said
apologetically.

“Does the tombstone look familiar?” Candy asked. “Have you seen it anywhere around
town, in one of the cemeteries, maybe a private cemetery somewhere?”

Julius gave her questions some thought, but in the end he had to admit he didn’t recognize
it. “It does look as if it’s located in a private cemetery, but none of the ones I’ve
visited in the area has that specific type of stone wall surrounding it.”

“Would you be able to tell me where some of the private cemeteries around town are
located, so I can check them?”

“Of course,” Julius said. “I’ll draw you a map. In fact, there’s a good one in one
of my books. I can mark the spots on that for you.”

He sidled to the far side of the counter and pulled a narrow,
trade-sized paperback book from a display stand. He licked his index finger before
flipping open the book to the page he sought, then placed it on the counter, leaned
over it, and started marking down several sites on a map with a red pen. When he was
done, he closed the book, crossed back over to her, and placed it in her hand. “If
I may ask, why the interest in these cemeteries and this old photograph of a tombstone?
Does it have anything to do with the murder?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Candy said, and as he eased back down into the chair opposite
her, she leaned in a little closer to him, her voice dropping to a low tone, so only
he could hear her. “But I am following up on a number of clues, which brings me to
the other reason I came to see you. I wanted to ask you about a story you wrote for
one of your books, concerning a young woman who died in Gumm’s Pumpkin Patch about
twenty years ago or so. It was a mysterious death—apparently they were never able
to identify the body. You’ve written about that death in one of your books, right?
Do you remember it?”

“I remember it well,” Julius said. “It’s in that book you’re holding in your hands.”

Candy glanced down at the book’s title.
Cape Willington Ghost Stories and Mysteries
, it read.

“Tourists love it,” Julius said. “Can’t get enough of those Maine ghost stories, can
they? I’ve gone back to press with it a dozen times.”

Candy smiled warmly. “That’s wonderful to hear. I can’t wait to read it. So, the story
about the dead body in the pumpkin patch…”

Julius nodded and continued. “I was living here in town when it happened. I was in
insurance in those days, and a member of the Rotary and the chamber, so I used to
pay attention to the local news, especially when it affected the town’s reputation.
But that story pretty much baffled us all—this young woman who just showed up dead
in that pumpkin patch one morning.”

“Do they know how she died?”

Julius shook his head. “Not specifically. Exposure, possibly. Or natural causes. Something
like that.”

“I’ve heard they labeled the death ‘suspicious.’”

“They did initially, but to the best of my knowledge there was no indication of foul
play.”

“Do you remember what time of year it was—when she was found?” Candy asked.

“Well, it was right around this time, I seem to recall, in the fall, though it might
have been a little earlier in the season. I remember that, in the photographs I saw,
the trees still had their leaves on them. So maybe late September or early October.”

For some reason that gave Candy a chill. “And they were never able to figure out who
she was?”

“Never figured it out, at least that I heard.”

“During your research, did you learn anything special about her—the color of her hair,
or what she was wearing, or where she was from?”

“Well, they didn’t release much information, I can tell you that,” Julius said. “I
know, because I looked. I went back and read over all the old newspaper clippings
I could find about that incident, but there wasn’t much to tell. The authorities put
out the word that they’d found the body and were looking for her next of kin, but
as far as I know, no one ever stepped forward to claim her.”

“So what happened to the body?”

Julius shrugged. “I was never able to find out. It just seemed to…disappear.”

“Disappear?”

“A few weeks after it happened, we’d all pretty much forgotten about it. I think there
are probably some police records about the incident, but I haven’t been able to get
my hands on them—but this was a good while ago when I checked. I wrote that book more
than ten years ago. Those records might not even exist now. I’ve never gone back to
look for them again. So everything I know about the incident is written down in that
book.”

Candy offered to pay him for it but he refused. “Doc’s bought more than his fair share,
so consider that one on the house. Sort of a buy-one, get-one-free sale.”

“Thank you for all the information, Mr. Seabury,” Candy said, but as she started to
rise from her chair, he put a hand on her arm. Under its gentle weight, she settled
back down, perching on the edge of the seat. “Yes? Is there something else?”

His brow had pulled together and he looked puzzled, as if he’d just remembered something
troubling from long ago. “There
was
one peculiar tidbit I heard about that incident with the poor dead woman,” he said.
“Due to the nature of the…information, I decided not to publish it. But I might as
well tell you now, given what happened out in that field yesterday. I got this story
from a farmer who lives out that way—Tom Wharton. You might remember him, he…but,
no, he passed away a while ago, didn’t he? Not many people around here probably remember
him anymore. I don’t even think it’s called the Wharton place anymore. Not sure who
owns it now.”

“So what did he tell you?” Candy asked, prompting the elderly gentleman.

“Well, he told me he was up late the night before they found that woman’s body. Couldn’t
sleep, he said. Indigestion. His wife’s meat loaf, he told me. Too many onions. Anyway,
he was gazing out the bedroom window at the moon, which was almost full. And he said
he thought he saw, by the light of that almost-f moon, a Bentley driving down the
road past his house, with its lights out. Don’t know if he told that to the police,
but that’s what I heard.”

Her conversation with Julius Seabury buzzed in her brain as she set off to search
the town’s cemeteries.

A Bentley. With its headlights out.

Could it have been the same Bentley that belonged to the Pruitts?
she wondered.
Had Hobbins been behind the wheel?
Could he have had something to do with the dead woman found in the pumpkin patch
twenty years ago?

Or what about Mrs. Pruitt?

And if so, what was the link? What tied everything together?

Had Hobbins even been working for the Pruitts two decades ago?

She had plenty of questions, but for the time being there were no answers. Still,
she thought, trying to stay positive, maybe she’d find some today.

She started at Town Cemetery, which was adjacent to Town Park, just a few hundred
yards up the Coastal Loop from the lighthouse’s parking lot.