She found Maggie sitting in a tastefully decorated room tucked into the back corner of her two-story, green gabled house. It had once been a playroom for Amanda, Maggie’s daughter, but over the years it had morphed into a family room and an office, a place where Amanda did homework and Maggie sewed on quiet evenings. When Amanda left for college, Maggie transformed it again into a cozy work space and retreat for herself. Here, she kept her small collection of business and community awards and mementos, mostly from her days at the Stone & Milbury Insurance Agency, along with her burgeoning collection of salt and pepper shakers, a small library of mystery and romance novels, a variety of scented candles of all shapes and sizes, a few hand-painted miniatures of lighthouses, and plenty of photos of Amanda, Amanda’s boyfriend Cameron, and other family members and friends, including several of Maggie and Candy together, taken over the past few years.
Maggie had her nose pressed up against a computer screen. “The only way I can keep up with Amanda and Cameron is on Facebook,” she said with a touch of melancholy in her voice. “At least they friended me. I think that’s what they call it. Or is that tweeting? And what the heck is Skype? It sounds like a skin condition.” She swept a hand back through her hair. “All this technology stuff is moving too fast. How does anyone keep up with it anymore? What happened to the good old days when we used to talk to each other on the phone?”
“Or over the backyard fence,” Candy said, dropping into an upholstered chair, which had bare wood arms.
“Or on the front porch.” Maggie laughed. “Listen to us, a couple of modern girls reminiscing about the old times, when things were a lot simpler. Of course, back in those days, they also lacked microwaves, garage-door openers, and Scrubbing Bubbles.”
“And electronic locks,” Candy said, seeing an opening to steer the conversation to a more pressing topic. “Listen, I have a question for you.”
Maggie swiveled in her chair so she could give Candy her full attention. “Fire away.”
“Okay.” She took a quick breath and plunged right in. “Well, earlier today I found this brass hotel key, attached to one of those red plastic key tag thingies with room numbers on them. You know what I mean, right? Now, I know most hotels around here use electronic key cards, but there are probably a few places in the area that still use actual keys instead of plastic cards. Any idea which ones those might be?”
Maggie was silent for a moment, a haze of confusion clouding her face. Finally, she asked, “Is this a technical question?”
“Sort of, I suppose.”
“I just wondered because, you know, you’re asking me about keys. That’s not a common topic of discussion. So, of course, it makes me curious: Why the sudden interest in keys?”
Candy shrugged casually. “I just like keys. Keys are interesting things.”
“But you never cared about keys before.”
“I’ve gained a new appreciation of them, due to recent developments.”
“Hmm.” Maggie scrutinized her friend with a narrowed gaze. She glanced down at Candy’s pockets. “Do you have this mystery key with you?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Why is that not surprising?” Maggie tapped her pursed lips with an index finger. “You know what I think? I think you’ve been nosing around—without me, I might add—and you found a clue. And now you want my help in figuring it out. Is that about right?”
The corners of Candy’s mouth turned up into a conspiratorial smile. “You’re not totally incorrect. I’ve had a busy afternoon, yes.”
“You must have. I’ve barely seen you all day. What have you been up to?”
“Like you said—nosing around. Getting myself in trouble. And just for the record, I wasn’t intentionally doing it without you—nosing around, I mean.”
“I know that, honey. You can’t help yourself,” Maggie declared knowingly. “Just like Mr. Biggles, God rest his soul—always on the prowl. He was relentless. Nothing could stand in his way when he was on the trail of something.”
She paused, grinning cagily as she sharpened her gaze on her friend. “That’s how you get when there’s a mystery in town. I admit, it’s probably due to some sort of chemical imbalance in your brain or something like that, but it’s why we all love you.” She smiled warmly.
“Um, thanks—I think. Anyway, back to the key question.”
“Which is?”
“I’m looking for hotels that use real brass keys, like the one I saw. Any idea which ones those might be?”
“Oh, right. The key. It’s probably the key to this whole thing, right?” She chuckled, amused. “That’s pretty funny. The key is the key. How often does that happen? Not very often, I’d guess. Well, hmm, let me think.” She closed her eyes for a few moments as she pondered the issue. With her eyes still closed, she asked, “Did you get a good look at this key?”
“Well, yes and no. I saw it, but I didn’t pay that much attention to it. There were… distractions.”
Maggie opened one eye. “Such as?”
“I’d rather not say at the moment.”
Maggie opened the other eye and gave her friend a questioning look. “Withholding evidence? You’ve been warned about that, you know.”
“I know.”
“If I help you out, I could be considered an accomplice in whatever crime you’re about to commit—or have already committed.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“That’s true. Okay, so, sometimes those old keys have room numbers or the name of the hotel stamped on them. Did you notice anything like that, during the distracted time this particular key was in your presence?”
Candy ignored her friend’s humorous asides and stuck to the facts. “It looked like it had at one time, but it was so old that anything valuable had rubbed off.”
“Okay, we’ll just have to figure it out. Which hotels still use keys like that?” Maggie asked herself rhetorically as she tapped at her chin. “A few maintenance men from those places used to come into the hardware store when I worked there. One was from Hidden Valley Motel and Cabins, that place up on Route 1. And then there’s the Shangri-La, that little place just outside of town. It’s a little dingy, if you ask me. Probably hasn’t been renovated since the sixties. One of those room-by-the-hour places, if you know what I mean. Of course, I’ve never been in a place like that myself. But I’ve heard rumors.…”
Maggie’s eyes suddenly lit up, as if something had just clicked inside her brain. She raised a finger. “Hey, you know what, I just read something strange about that place when I was online this morning before I went to work. Now, where was it?”
She swiveled back to her computer, grabbed the mouse, and began navigating her way around the screen. After scrolling down through the browser’s history and clicking the back button numerous times on the half dozen tabs she had open, she finally found the page she was looking for.
It was a bright, busy design, with flashy typefaces and bright lime green and fluorescent purple colors.
Candy had seen it before. It was Wanda Boyle’s blog, The Cape Crusader.
Maggie looked a little embarrassed. “Oh yeah, that’s right. I remember now where I saw it.”
Candy waved it off. “That’s okay. I’ve been checking Wanda’s blog a lot lately myself. I hate to admit this, because if she gets any inkling it came from me, I’ll never hear the end of it, but she’s actually been doing some pretty good reporting, for someone just starting out.”
“She’s got the inside scoop on a lot of things, that’s for sure.” Maggie pointed at the screen. “Here’s the item that caught my attention.”
It was a four- or five-paragraph blog posting titled Police Log.
Candy leaned in for a closer look. Ben ran a similar thing in the paper, compiled by one of the volunteers. The only problem was, the paper published only twice a month in the winter, so it lost its timeliness. They’d transferred some sections online but usually updated it only once or twice a week. Wanda was posting daily, and often multiple times. The police log was one of several postings she’d made the previous evening.
“See, right here,” Maggie said, pointing, and she read,” ‘A guest staying at the Shangri-La Motel on North U.S. 192 reported a missing toboggan on Thursday, January 27. The guest had left the toboggan leaning against an outside wall of the motel. A brief search turned up no sign of the item. The owner later reported finding the toboggan in the woods behind the motel. Police surmised someone had taken the item and later returned it.’ That’s all it says. Not much, really.”
Candy was silent for a long time as she pondered the implications. Finally, she said softly, “It could be nothing… or it could be everything.”