It was so close she could practically reach out and touch it. But she didn’t. Keeping her hands at her sides, feeling the tree bark reassuringly at her back, she returned the way she’d come, scooting along the curve of the trunk until she was just out of the animal’s line of sight.
That, she thought, might do the trick. Out of sight, out of mind, right? It would probably just head off in the opposite direction, sauntering away in search of the next low bush or outcropping of grass, and paying her no further attention.
She’d heard stories of moose charging humans and trampling them, especially when the big animals felt threatened or cornered. It had happened last fall, when a bow hunter up near Lincoln had shot at one. Startled and injured, the moose had planted its legs, lowered its antlers, and charged the man with surprising speed and agility, knocking him down onto his back, though he’d managed to escape un-harmed. She’d watched the video online a half dozen times, both fascinated and amused by the scene.
Moose were generally shy, quiet creatures, of course, who kept to themselves and usually preferred that humans do the same. When encountered in the wilderness, they were best left to their own.
And that’s exactly what Candy planned to do. No sense tempting fate and risking a run-in with a startled or aggressive moose.
So she waited, counting to thirty in a slow, controlled manner, before she permitted herself another peek around the side of the tree.
The moose was still there, head turned slightly, thick ears standing straight up.
It was watching her.
This animal didn’t act startled or spooked or even mildly upset. Instead, it looked… curious.
“Hi,” Candy said.
In response, the moose let out a quick blast of air through its large nostrils, creating billowing clouds of condensation as it exhaled into the cold afternoon.
“Oh!” Startled, Candy backed away, around the curve of the tree.
This time the moose followed her, circling the tree with slow, deliberate steps. When it had her in its line of sight again, it drew itself to a stop as nonchalantly as possible.
Candy stood rooted to the spot, thrilled and terrified to be so close to a wild animal of this size. It was a magnificent creature, standing more than six feet at the shoulder, with a wide front torso and a thick neck. The fur along its face was snowy white, which darkened to a cream color along its hump and back, and turned to light gray along its back legs.
“I won’t hurt you,” Candy squeaked, “if you don’t hurt me.”
The moose snorted and swung its head in the other direction.
“Okay, so… we have a deal, right?”
The white moose stood stoically, its large dark eye flicking back and forth, as if considering the matter. But it gave no indication that it intended to cause her any trouble. Instead, it seemed to be enjoying the temporary companionship with another living being.
Maybe it’s lost, Candy thought. Or lonely.
“Are you doing okay, fella?” she asked in a soft voice.
She sensed the animal was male, a bull, but once she thought about that, it seemed obvious, due to the animal’s size. Still, without the antlers, it was sometimes hard to tell.
Looking restless, the moose shook its head, making the fur-curved flap of skin under its chin, which Candy had heard was called a bell or dewlap, jump and shiver. The moose began to look about and then, as if it had suddenly forgotten she was there, sauntered over to a low branch with a few leaves left on it, tentatively sniffed at them, and began to nibble.
They both heard it at the same time, a crack that echoed through the trees.
Abruptly the moose lifted its head, sniffed at the wind, and swung its body about, starting off toward the shelter of the trees.
“Hey, where are you going?” Candy asked.
But it paid her no more attention and trotted off to her right, into a thick stand of trees.
A few moments later Ben called out for her, from the forest to her left. Relieved, she called back, and they soon found each other.
He gave her a hug. “Are you okay? I got worried when I couldn’t find you.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry. But yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I… I just thought I heard something, so I went to check it.”
“Find anything?” He looked out into the forest around her, and surreptitiously she glanced at the spot between the trees nearby where the moose had disappeared. There was no sign of it.
“It was… just a forest creature. A raccoon or something.”
For a moment she felt guilty at the little white lie. She didn’t really know why she wasn’t ready to tell him about the moose, but for the moment she wanted to keep her encounter with the animal to herself.
Ben nodded, apparently satisfied. He looked back at her and gave her a smile. “So how are you doing? Staying warm?”
At his gaze, she indeed felt a sudden warmth inside. She smiled back. “I’m doing fine.”
“So, do you want to press on? There’s a chance we can still pick up Solomon’s trail.”
She quickly shook her head. “It’s getting late, and we both need to get back to town. Besides, I’m not sure this was such a good idea. These woods… well, it’s a lot of ground to cover.”
Ben agreed. “Okay, but if you feel up to it tomorrow, we can try it again then.”
Candy nodded as she took his arm. “Thanks, but I think I’m good. Maybe the chief’s right—maybe we should leave the searching to the police.”
Ben tilted his head as he looked at her. “Good advice, but that doesn’t sound like the Candy Holliday I know. You’re not giving up yet, are you? You’re just getting started.”
“Okay, you’re probably right about that,” she said with a wry grin as she tugged him along, “but enough of the woods today. We’ve got a parade to catch, right?”
“Agreed, but I want you to know I’m with you on this,” he said earnestly. “Whatever happens and whatever you decide to do, I’ll back you up.”
She squeezed his arm tighter. “Thanks, partner, I appreciate that.”
“And don’t worry too much about Solomon,” Ben continued. “He’s gotten pretty good at taking care of himself. I have a feeling he’s just holed up somewhere in these woods, and if he’s out here, we’ll find him sooner or later.”
Back at Blueberry Acres, Candy made a quick dash inside to change her clothes. She put all her borrowed items into a plastic shopping bag for return to the dry cleaner’s and jotted down a brief note to Doc. Outside again, she walked over to Ben’s Range Rover. He sat in the driver’s seat with the engine running and the heater on full blast, but he had the window rolled down. “You headed to Town Park?” he asked.
Candy nodded. “I’m going to make a quick stop at the dry cleaner’s first, and after that I’ll check out the ice sculptures and see how much progress they’ve made. Want to come along?”
He sighed. “Unfortunately, I have to take a rain check. I need to finish up a few things in the office—write a few headlines, copyfit a few stories. But why don’t we meet up later and watch the parade together? Who knows, maybe I’ll even spring for a glass of wine afterward.”
“Hmm, that would be heavenly.”
“Shall we rendezvous at the inn then?”
She leaned in the window and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “It’s a date,” she said, “and thanks for helping me out today.” Then, as Ben wheeled around the Range Rover and headed back out the lane, she walked over to Maggie’s car, climbed inside, and cranked up the engine.
The streets leading into town were busier than usual, thanks to the influx of tourists for the weekend’s festivities. Most of the license plates that weren’t local were from the New England region, primarily Massachusetts and New Hampshire, although she spotted a few plates from New Jersey and New York. The crowd for this weekend’s festivities wouldn’t be nearly as large as those at summer events, but Candy knew they would be no less enthusiastic, and were no less important to the town’s proprietors and shopkeepers.
On the trip back to town, the snow started to fall heavily, and by the time she found a parking spot on Main Street, not too far from where she’d found the car, the town was already blanketed under a thin yet rapidly growing layer of fresh snow. She grabbed her tote and bag from the passenger seat, locked up, and hurried to the corner and then down along the busy sidewalk, aswarm with chattering tourists in colorful winter garb. Many of the shops she passed were crowded as well, with patrons slipping in and out of their front doors, and she smiled with a sense of relief and happiness. It would be a good weekend in Cape Willington, Maine.
Halfway down the block, she entered the dry cleaner’s, only to find the front room empty. She heard Maggie puttering around in the back, humming happily to herself.
“Hello in there,” Candy called out. “It’s me.”
“Oh, hey, there you are!” Maggie called excitedly as she emerged from the back room wearing a very stylish, and very expensive looking, embroidered Scandinavian sweater. “So how did it go? Did the costume work?”
“It did.”
“And did you talk to the Psychic Sisters?”
“I did. And I got to hang out a little with Ben in the woods.”
“That’s good, honey. I’m real happy for you. Hey, what do you think about my new sweater? Isn’t it a beaut?” She put her hands on her hips and turned back and forth, modeling it for Candy. “I’ve been getting all kinds of compliments on it. Everyone who comes in here loves it. So, how do I look in it?”
Candy studied the sweater with a calculating eye. “It fits you great. Is it yours?”
Maggie waved a dismissive hand. “I’m just borrowing it.”
“You’re not shopping the racks in the back, are you?”
“No…”
“Mags, we talked about this, remember?” Candy leaned in closer as she lowered her voice. “It’s not a good idea to wear clothes that other people bring into the store for cleaning, see? It’s not considered good manners, even though—”
Maggie was about to say something in her defense, but Candy beat her to it: “—even though, yes, I know they’re cleaned before you wear them, and yes, you send them back for cleaning again after you wear them. But it’s still not something normal people do.”
Maggie pursed her lips. “But no one really minds,” she said in an assuring tone, “and besides, it’s no different than wearing clothes that came from a thrift shop, when you think about it—although, yes, technically these have to go back to their owners.”
“So, in other words, you are completely sane, and you do understand what you’re doing.”
“You’re making it out to be a bigger deal than it really is.”
“That’s because it is a big deal,” Candy insisted.
“Well,” Maggie said with a touch of indignation in her tone, “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
“Maggie,” Candy said, coming around the counter and giving her friend a big hug, “I love you, but you can’t wear it anymore. You have to take it off.”
“But it’s been hanging around the racks for weeks, even months,” Maggie protested, “and the owner hasn’t come in to pick it up. I’ve called—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Candy said, cutting in for emphasis. “People get upset about things like this.”
“But it’s sooo pretty,” Maggie said, dragging out the word for dramatic emphasis, “and it’s been calling to me. Oh yes, I’ve heard it back there, whispering to me, telling me not to let it be forgotten. Clothes are made to be worn, Candy. That’s one thing I’ve learned since I started working here. Clothes must be worn regularly, and if they’re not, it makes them unhappy.” She tapped her friend lightly on the forearm. “Come on, admit it, you have some unhappy clothes in your closet, right? They’re begging to be worn, and you really, really would like to wear them, but something about them just doesn’t work—the color’s not quite right, or the fit’s off just a bit in the shoulder—but they’re such nice clothes, they’re like your family, and you can’t get rid of them. Right?”
She was beaming, as if she’d just made the game-winning point.
Candy’s gaze narrowed to a thin slit. “So… I was mistaken, then, right? You really, really are insane.”
Maggie looked at her expectantly. “Does that mean I can keep wearing it?”
“No!” Candy threw up her hands. “Haven’t you heard a single thing I’ve said?”
“Sure, I’ve been listening. So…?”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Look, just do me one favor, okay?”
“You got it.”
“Don’t ever wear anything from this shop again, ever. But if you do, please, please, please don’t tell me about it. Promise?”
Maggie beamed and held up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “I promise!”