Town in a Pumpkin Bash (36 page)

And what if someone else was involved—someone she hadn’t counted on? Like someone
from the Sykes family?

Was she in danger? Were the Pruitts in danger? Was Olivia March really in danger—or
was it all just a ruse?

She didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. So until she did, she decided
to tell Tristan none of these things. Better to wait until she had all the facts before
she started pointing fingers.

She’d figured out part of the puzzle, yes—or, at least, she thought she had. But the
person behind it all, and that person’s motivations, were still a mystery to her—though
she could make a few educated guesses. But until she knew the whole story, she was
hesitant to discuss her discoveries—and her secrets—with anyone.

Maggie knew a lot of it, but she had promised to keep quiet until after the evening’s
events played out—though, naturally, she was worried about her best friend.

“Just don’t go getting yourself killed on your birthday,” she’d said before they’d
parted earlier in the day. “That would be a real bummer. And try to have a great time!”

Candy would, she decided, do exactly that—it was, after all, her birthday. And she’d
also try to avoid getting herself—or anyone else—killed. But she knew she might need
help in that particular area, so just in case, she’d made a last-minute phone call.
Then she pushed aside her doubts and
concerns, and mentally prepared herself for the evening ahead.

So at eight o’clock on the night of her fortieth birthday, dressed as a Blueberry
Queen, wearing an altered prom dress, sparkly blue shoes, and a silver tiara with
fake blueberries hot-glued onto it, and carrying a sequin- and feather-decorated mask
attached to a ribbon-swirled stick—some
fantastique
-style fashion accessory Maggie had picked up at a flea market a few years back—Candy
locked the farmhouse door behind her and walked down off the porch toward the Jaguar.
She was wrapped in a white cashmere shawl against the chilly night air, and carried
in one hand a nondescript silver clutch purse, one just large enough to hold a slim
diary, as well as a few other things she thought she might need.

Tristan held the car door open for her. “Good evening, and happy birthday,” he said
as he glanced up and down at her. “You look absolutely amazing.”

“You think so?” she asked, spinning for him in the driveway, showing off her costume.

He crossed his arms appraisingly across his chest. “Yes. Blue is definitely your color.”

“You look pretty amazing yourself,” she said, letting out a bit of a laugh as she
studied his outfit. He was dressed in white breeches, knee-high boots, a blue waist-length,
gold-buttoned jacket with epaulets and braids, and a tricorn hat with a feather. “Very
dashing. You’re a sea captain, right?” She gathered her dress around her and slid
past him into the front passenger seat—again, luxuriously heated. It was, she thought,
just about the best car accessory ever invented.

“Something like that,” he said easily as he closed her door, quickly rounded the car,
and tossed his hat into the back before dropping into the driver’s seat beside her.
He pulled the gear shift into drive and they started off toward town. “To tell you
the truth, I was instructed by Aunt Helen
to dress as a commodore, but this was the closest thing I could come up with.”

Candy laughed again. “Why a commodore?”

“Excellent question. First, you’d have to understand my aunt. And second, it was sort
of a nickname of mine when I was growing up around here during the summers. The family
owns a couple of boats, including one we keep here in Cape Willington. When I was
around fourteen or fifteen, I had this brilliant idea one summer that I was going
to start my own ferry service, just like Cornelius Vanderbilt did—and that’s what
they used to call him, you know. The Commodore. So when I took the boats out, I insisted
that everyone call me that, and it stuck for a summer or two.”

Candy found all this quite amusing. “But why commodore instead of captain?”

“Well, in my way of thinking as a fifteen-year-old, it was a more accurate description
of my rank.”

“And how’s that?”

He flicked his gaze toward her and grinned. “Commodore’s a higher rank, you see, although
it’s not used much anymore. Essentially a captain is in charge of a ship, but a commodore
is in charge of a squadron or a wing or a task force—that sort of thing.”

“Or a fleet?”

He nodded. “And since the Pruitts owned a fleet of exactly two boats, technically
I was a commodore. Anyway, it must have stuck in my aunt’s mind, because when she
heard I was coming to her party this year, she insisted I dress this way.”

“Well, it seems fitting then,” Candy agreed. “In fact, it suits you.”

Tristan took the compliment with a shrug. “It’s not like I have much of a choice.
It’s a required obligation for family members when we’re in town. That’s why most
of us usually stay away.”

“So why did you come up at this time of year?” Candy asked mischievously. “Certainly
not because you wanted to dress as a commodore?”

“Certainly not. But I had some business I needed to attend to. And I wanted to meet
you. So here we are.”

“Here we are,” Candy agreed.

They’d made a left onto the Coastal Loop and were already approaching Pruitt Manor.
He pointed ahead, out the windshield. “We’re a little early. Do you mind if we make
a brief side trip?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. What do you have in mind?”

“A quick walk through the park?”

Traffic grew heavier as they drove down the Coastal Loop past the Lobster Shack, which
sat alongside the ocean on their right. By the time they reached the downtown area
and the turnoff on the left for Main Street, they’d slowed to a crawl. The village’s
business area was blocked off to traffic for the festival, but they could see along
the street, and all the jack-o’-lanterns that had been carved and lit for the evening—hundreds
and hundreds of them on display.

“It looks beautiful,” Candy said as they drove by.

“It sure does. Let’s have a look.”

A little farther on, Tristan flicked on the turn signal and swung into the parking
lot behind the Lightkeeper’s Inn. He pulled into a spot marked
PRIVATE
.

Candy indicated the sign. “Let me guess. You know the owners?”

He grinned. “Like I said, being a Pruitt has its benefits.” He shut off the engine.
“Hang on, I’ll get your door.”

Once he’d locked the car, he led her up the steps onto the inn’s wraparound porch,
festively decorated for the holiday. “Just a brief stop,” he said, bouncing his keys
in his hand, “for a quick celebration.”

He had a table waiting for them in the lounge, with red roses as a centerpiece and
a bottle of Dom Pérignon on ice.
“A little prelude to our evening,” he told her as they were seated, “and to celebrate
your birthday in proper fashion, as befitting a Blueberry Queen and her escort, the
Commodore.”

The sommelier poured for them, and Tristan raised his glass. “To the queen of the
evening, the birthday girl—and the most beautiful woman in town. Happy birthday, Candy
Holliday.”

She blushed, and they drank together.

Both the head innkeeper, Oliver LaForce, and the assistant innkeeper, Alby Alcott,
stopped by their table to say hello and wish Candy a happy birthday. Several waiters,
waitresses, and bartenders, many of whom both Candy and Tristan knew by name, stopped
by as well to give Candy their best wishes and say hello to the “commodore.” And Colin
Trevor Jones, the inn’s young French Canadian executive chef, popped out of the kitchen
personally to deliver a selection of hors d’oeuvres he’d prepared especially for them.

After they’d had a glass or two of champagne and sampled the hors d’oeuvres, they
headed outside to take in the sights and sounds of the Pumpkin Bash. Ghosts, vampires,
and witches ruled the night, though superheroes, robots, and princesses were also
well represented. Entire families were dressed up, moving from booth to booth and
display to display, pointing out their favorite jack-o’-lanterns and stopping by the
storefronts, where costumed employees handed out candy and prizes to the kids.

Candy and Tristan wandered up one side of Ocean Avenue and down the other, pausing
to admire the various pumpkin displays, including a particularly impressive one in
front of the Pruitt Opera House. At the bottom of the street, they angled into Town
Park, and managed to catch an impromptu reading of “The Raven” by local thespian Elliot
Whitby, dressed in period garb.

Nine months ago, at the center of this very park, an ice sculpting exhibition had
taken place, and Candy had found a clue buried in the ice. Tonight, in the spot where
the ice sculptures had once stood, rose the tallest of the pumpkin displays, a pyramid-shaped
affair with the high point nearly twenty feet above the ground. There were hundreds
of pumpkins lined up on this display alone, all lit, giving the night a spooky orange
glow.

They lingered for a while in the park, enjoying the crisp autumn air and the festive
atmosphere, full of laughter and excitement, until Tristan glanced at his watch and
said, “It’s time to go.”

He put his arm around her, and she couldn’t help leaning against him as they headed
back to the Jaguar and drove out to Pruitt Manor.

The mansion looked particularly spooky tonight. It, too, was decorated with jack-o’-lanterns
as well as Halloween displays of ghosts, tombstones, and witches, along with several
large autumnal-themed arrangements. As they drove into the courtyard, they saw that
guests were still arriving for the ball. Several cars were lined up near the entrance,
their passengers awaiting to alight for the evening’s high-society affair. They idled
in line for a few minutes until the other cars cleared out, and Tristan pulled the
Jaguar up in front of the manor. It had barely come to a stop when he jumped out and
tossed the keys to a waiting valet, while another valet, dressed as a zombie, opened
the door on Candy’s side.

“Ma’am,” the young valet said as he took her hand and helped her out of the car.

As she stepped out, Candy looked up at the manor’s facade. Its English Tudor–style
exterior was brightly lit with colored spotlights, though most of the upstairs windows
were dark. She could hear voices coming from inside, and music, mixed with the sound
of the ocean breaking on the rocky shore behind the house.

“You know, there should be a pretty interesting crowd here tonight,” Tristan said
as he came around the car and held out his arm for her, so he could escort her inside.
“Aunt Helen’s parties always draw a lot of movers and shakers from the area. There’s
usually a senator or two, a couple of mayors, a few famous writers and TV personalities.
Of course,” he said as they passed through the front door into the foyer, “everyone’s
in costume, so technically we’re not supposed to know who anyone is. But I’ll point
them out to you when I see them.”

He’d put on a black mask and his hat as well. The voices and music grew louder, and
Candy raised her mask to her face, too, as they traversed the foyer and entered the
room on their right.

It had been a large sitting room, Candy recalled, but now it was transformed. Colorfully
dressed partygoers were everywhere, all wearing masks and costumes, some quite elaborate.
The place had been festively decorated for Halloween, and a three-piece band played
in one corner. As Candy and Tristan entered, several people around them applauded
and welcomed them, and a waiter swept past carrying a tray with flutes of champagne.
Tristan expertly plucked off two and held one toward Candy, then nodded at the crowd.
“Shall we mingle?”

One of the first people they ran into was Helen Ross Pruitt herself, dressed regally
in purple silk and chiffon, with a high white wig and a mole on her cheek, reminding
Candy of someone who might have been right at home in the Sun King’s court at Versailles.

“You look stunning, as always,” Tristan said as he greeted
his aunt with a kiss on her cheek. “Marie Antoinette would be jealous.”

“Let’s only hope I don’t meet her fate,” Mrs. Pruitt said dryly.

“A good turnout, I see,” Tristan pressed on, looking around the room.

Mrs. Pruitt jutted out her chin. “Of course it is. I know how to throw a party.” She
reached out then and took Candy’s arm. “You look lovely tonight, dear. The color blue
suits you.”

They chitchatted for a few minutes, and Mrs. Pruitt pointed out a few prominent personalities
in the crowd, before she went off to greet several of them herself, and Candy and
Tristan continued to make the rounds as well.

All the while, Candy kept an eye on the discreet silver-banded wristwatch she wore,
right next to the blueberry bracelet Doc had given her that morning. The nine o’clock
hour was approaching, and she nervously scanned the crowd, wondering when, and if,
she should head upstairs for her rendezvous with Olivia March’s kidnapper.