Mystified, Candy raced back into the fields, up the rising slope. “Solomon!” she called as she ran, an uneasiness in her voice. “Solomon, where are you? What’s going on?”
She scanned the field ahead before shifting her gaze to the woods on her right as she searched desperately for the old hermit. But she saw no sign of him. In fact, she didn’t see much of anything, except for the strewn-about rocks and frozen vegetation buried beneath the cover of winter. The trees at the ridgeline stood in sharp contrast to the surrounding white landscape, like tall dark toothpicks, their bare, twisted branches tangling with one another in a dark brush of muted colors. She looked for movement among the trees but, again, saw nothing.
She hurried ahead, breathing in light huffs now.
As she approached the spot where Solomon Hatch had fallen, she slowed and stopped. She could see his tracks in the snow, the spot where he’d dropped to his knees before slumping to the ground. She also saw a new set of footprints, angling off in a different direction, away from her, before circling around to the right. She studied them with something bordering on disbelief. He must have climbed to his feet as she’d run for help and staggered up the slope, toward the trees at the edge of the barrens.
He’d gone back into the woods.
She was dumbfounded. Why would he do something like that, especially if he’d been injured? Or in danger? He’d seemed frightened, as if something in the woods was coming after him. So why go back in there? Why not follow her to the farmhouse, where he’d be safe?
She chided herself for leaving him but knew she’d had no choice. Besides, he couldn’t be that far away. At most he had a few minutes on her. She might be able to catch up to him.
Moving cautiously, she started up the slope toward the tree line. At the top of the ridge she stood for several moments, staring into the woods. She heard all the typical sounds—the birds, the creak of branches, the brush of the wind. But no footsteps, no sound of someone moving or breathing. She saw no evidence of another person nearby.
Except for the footprints.
She thrust her hands deeper into the pockets of her fleece jacket and started into the woods, following Solomon’s tracks. She studied them as she walked. The left foot appeared to be dragging across the snow a little, perhaps due to an injury. Or did Solomon have a limp? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t know him that well. She had no idea what to expect if she found him. Should she take him back to the farm? Would he be difficult to deal with? Her mind spun out a dozen different scenarios as she contemplated the wisdom of her actions. But no matter what happened, she couldn’t abandon the old hermit. She had to find out what had happened to him.
After a few dozen yards the woods closed behind her, obscuring the farm and fields. The land rose to a crest before dropping to a hammocklike spot, where she spotted deer droppings among the low brush. The animals tended to linger near the fields whenever possible, hoping for a few nips of exposed vegetation. But she saw no deer today. She walked on, periodically calling out Solomon’s name. The woods hushed, and her ears seemed to ring with the blanketing silence.
Abruptly she lost track of the footprints. Solomon had wandered into a shadowed area between a tight group of trees, and there the footprints had been brushed away, disappearing in midstride. She walked around the trees on either side and studied the area around her, expecting to see the continuation of the footprints farther on. But Solomon had swept his tracks clean.
Again, she was mystified. It was as if he had purposely prevented anyone from following him.
What was he up to?
She turned three-hundred-sixty degrees, searching the woods again. But the old hermit was gone.
For several tense moments she debated what to do. She was hesitant to go any farther. Solomon’s footprints, and hers, provided her with a trail back home. If she moved ahead, out of view of the footprints, she might get lost and become a problem to herself and others. She knew these woods fairly well, but everything looked different when encased in snow and ice. She quickly decided to do the smart thing. She turned around, walked back to the farmhouse, and called the police.
They arrived in less than fifteen minutes. Two squad cars rushed up the plowed driveway, followed by Candy’s father in his old pickup truck. “What’s going on?” Doc asked worriedly as he climbed out of the well-heated cab, slamming the door shut behind him. “Anyone hurt?”
“I don’t know, Dad,” Candy said, walking up to him. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
She turned toward the police cars. She didn’t recognize the young, tall police officer who climbed out of the first car, but she certainly knew the middle-aged man who stepped out of the second one. It was Darryl Durr, Cape Willington’s chief of police.
He nodded his head at her as he came around the front of the car. He was a rugged-looking man, with a weathered face, pale blue eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair that curled at the neck. “Good to see you again, Ms. Holliday,” he said in a professional manner, with a slight nod of his head. “How’s everything been going today?”
“Well, to be honest, Chief, it started out fine but then took a strange turn.”
“You been having a little trouble out here?”
“You could say that.”
He gave her an odd smile. “Funny, isn’t it, how trouble seems to keep following you around?”
Candy folded her arms. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
She and the chief had talked several times before, though usually under less than pleasant circumstances, and their conversations often involved some sort of lecture from the chief, warning her to stay out of trouble and to stop trying to solve murder mysteries around town.
“Well, why don’t we go inside,” Doc said, stepping forward briskly to shake the police chief’s hand. “We can all talk where it’s warm.”
“Good idea,” Chief Durr said with a nod, and he tilted his head toward Candy. “Hopefully we caught up with you on your baking day, Ms. Holliday. Your pies are the talk of the town.”
He smiled again, more genuine this time, and Candy, realizing she’d tensed up, allowed herself to relax a little. It was true. She’d developed something of a reputation for her baked goods, especially her pies, which she sold to Melody Barnes, who ran a small cafe on River Road. She also worked part-time at the Black Forest Bakery, which Herr Georg, the German baker who ran the place, had closed for the season. But over the past year he’d taught her a lot about baking, and she had been preparing for the shop’s reopening in mid-April by practicing her craft as much as possible. In fact, she’d whipped up a German apple cake the day before.
She gave him a weak smile. “I’m sure I can find something to put out. Come on in and I’ll warm up the coffee.”
As they walked toward the house, Chief Durr indicated the tall, dark-haired officer who accompanied him. The young policeman wore a spotless, sharply creased uniform and brown utility coat. His shoes were shined to a high gloss, so they looked like black mirrors.
“This young fellow here is Officer Jody McCroy,” the chief said. “He’s new with the force, fresh out of the Maine State Police Academy in Augusta. Graduated near the top of his class. Thought I’d bring him out here to meet you in person.”
Candy gave the chief a curious look, wondering what he meant by that, but he had already turned away to talk to Doc. When she looked around, she saw Officer Jody McCroy holding the door open for her.
“After you, ma’am,” he said in an official-sounding tone.
She was surprised by how young he looked. She hesitated only for a moment, then gave him a nod and walked inside.
After she’d cut slices of cake and Doc had poured the coffee, they sat around the kitchen table. She noticed Officer McCroy had a notepad and pen set out in front of him. His hands were folded on the table. The young man looked prepared.
“So, could you tell us what happened?” he asked as Chief Durr sipped at his coffee, quietly watching her.
“Sure,” and she told them, pointing out the window as she explained how she’d seen Solomon Hatch emerge from the woods behind the house, how he’d appeared injured, and how he’d told her about a body in the woods. After she’d finished her story, they all walked out to inspect the spot where the old hermit had fallen. Hands casually in his pockets, Chief Durr squinted back up at the trees at the edge of the field. “And you say you followed his footprints?”
“Yes, but he must have erased them at some point. I lost track of him.”
“And he didn’t say anything else about this body he thinks he found?”
Candy said that he had not.
Chief Durr turned slightly and nodded at Officer McCroy. Without a word, the young man headed back toward his car at a brisk trot.
The chief turned back to Candy. “Okay, we’ll check it out. Officer McCroy’s going to search the woods and see what he can find. He’s just getting into his winter gear first. And I’ll also send someone around to visit Solomon’s camp. Most likely it’s nothing,” the chief said, looking Candy in the eye, “but one way or the other, we’ll get to the bottom of it. If you see or hear anything else from him, you get in contact with us right away, okay?”
She nodded.
“We’ll let you know if we find out anything. In the meantime—”
“I know,” Candy said, interrupting him. “Whatever it is, stay out of it.”
The chief smiled broadly. “You took the words right out of my mouth, Ms. Holliday. Thanks for the cake and coffee. Doc, good to see you again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork sitting on my desk desperately awaiting my signature.”