Town in a Wild Moose Chase (38 page)

She twisted around. “Ben?”

“Ben seems to be occupied at the moment,” another voice said. “Which is just as well. You and I, we need to have a little talk.”

Candy froze. She knew the voice. She’d heard it before.

Preston Smith stepped out of the shadows near her. “Hello, Ms. Holliday. We meet again.”

“You!” Candy said in an accusatory tone. “What are you doing here? Where did you come from?”

Preston gave her a broad grin and waved an expansive hand. “Why, I’ve been here all along.”

“But we searched the house.”

“You missed a few spots. It’s a big house. It’s easy to do if you’re not familiar with it.”

That made Candy pause. She looked at him with scrutinizing eyes. “What kind of game are you playing, Preston?”

“Hmm. Interesting choice of words.” He took a few steps toward her, and she backed away.

“Come any closer and I’ll scream,” she warned.

But the smile did not leave Preston’s face. “Well. We wouldn’t want that, would we? With Ben so nearby, just outside?”

He held up a small, thin metallic object in his hand. It was a black key.

“Unfortunately, you see, I’ve locked the servants’ door,”
Preston said. “But there’s no need to panic, Ms. Holliday. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just here to talk.”

Candy backed away a few more steps, casting a glance out one of the nearby windows, hoping to catch sight of Ben. But she saw no sign of him.

“The outbuildings are quite extensive,” Preston said by way of explanation. “It’ll take him a while to search them all. And as I recall, Ben Clayton is a very thorough individual. I’d say we have ten or twelve minutes, at least. That should be enough.”

“For what?” Candy asked warily.

“As I said. For us to talk.”

“And what do we have to talk about?”

“Well, a misplaced hatchet, for one thing. A hermit who encountered some sort of mysterious creature in the woods, which appeared to chase him and appropriately scared him. A mysterious donor who funded most of the ice-sculpting exhibition and lured all the participants here with visions of wealth and grandeur. An informant who’s been feeding inside information to that wonderful Ms. Boyle for her popular blog. An unsubstantiated rumor about a sponsorship award program promoted by a certain dubious international ice-carving organization. And, oh yes, an anonymous blog poster and instant messenger who pointed certain key individuals in certain key directions—including you, I might add. And you followed the clues impeccably—just as I knew you would. Your growing reputation is well founded, you know. You have definitely lived up to the hype, and it’s been a great joy watching you work this weekend.”

He had said all of this in a casual, lighthearted sort of way, but Candy knew there was nothing innocent about what he was telling her. She glared at him. “So
you’re
the one who’s behind all this.”

“Why, yes, I am,” Preston said proudly, “although that’s one mystery you haven’t been able to quite figure out yet. So if I were to grade you for this weekend, I’m afraid I’d
have to give you a B minus. Not quite award-winning territory yet, but you’ll get there. You just need a little help every once in a while. So here’s another clue for you: not everything is as it appears.”

Something in the way he said it—a slight change in tone, a flicker in the eye, a word pronounced in a marginally different manner—made her look at him again, and this time she saw behind the persona, behind the public man who had been meandering not so aimlessly around town for the past few days. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Why, Ms. Holliday,” he said, his voice dropping and changing noticeably now, “you’ve finally found me out.”

He reached up and tugged at the corners of his moustache. They came away with some effort. She heard a slight tearing sound as he whisked the moustache off. The glasses next. And a prosthetic nose. The wig was the last to come off.

“You know,” he said as he dramatically removed his disguise, “I had Charlotte Depew make this little getup for me. A couple of years ago, I think it was. She was skilled at that sort of thing. I used it for a masquerade party once.”

He removed his fake teeth. “I went as Mark Twain to that particular event. I modified the costume a little for this weekend’s impersonation. Do you think it worked?”

When his disguise was fully removed, she saw a man in his early forties, with thick brown hair, an aristocratic nose, a rugged face, and piercing blue eyes. He gave her a devious smile. “It’s good to finally meet you for real, Candy. My name is Porter Sykes.”

“We don’t have much time,” he said, “but I wanted to let you know what was going on before I left town.”

“Left town?” Candy gave him a hard look. “They’re going to arrest you and throw you in prison. If you’re lucky, maybe you can arrange for a family reunion.”

The man formerly known as Preston Smith, but now revealed to be Porter Sykes, chuckled as he pulled a large plastic storage bag from a coat pocket, slipped the wig and other components of his disguise inside, zipped it closed, and slid it away again. “I’m afraid that won’t be the case.”

“And why not? What’s to prevent me from yelling for Ben right now and calling the police?”

“Frankly, nothing at all. But I don’t think you will.”

“And why not?” Candy asked.

“Because right now you’re too curious to hear what I have to say. You’re wondering what my angle is—what I want. And you’re trying to figure out why I would go to all this trouble.”

Candy had to admit, he was right. The extent of all he’d
done was impressive. She had to think it through for a few moments, until she finally looked at him with grudging respect. “It was all a lie, wasn’t it? There is no I.C.I.C.L.E., is there?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Porter said.

“No sponsorship program, no spokesperson, no international event that would have put our town on the map, no huge economic windfall from this wonderful ice-carving competition of yours.”

He shook his head.

“But why?” Candy asked, astounded by the scope of it all. “Why go to these lengths?”

At the question, Porter Sykes shrugged. “I have my reasons. But for now, let’s just say I wanted to stir things up—to get to know some of the people around town without them knowing who I was, and to see how they behaved under pressure.”

A shadow crossed Candy’s face. “This isn’t a game. People have died.”

“Yes, well, that sort of thing happens when you’re playing the big game. It was unexpected, I’ll admit, but I was able to take advantage of it. And it worked out quite well. You see, Victor was starting to get suspicious of me. I’d tried the Preston Smith act on some of the sculptors—Victor and Gina, especially. Felicia’s too perceptive—I knew she’d see through the disguise quickly enough, so I tended to avoid her, as well as Ben. I’m sure you can understand why. As for Liam, he’s a liar and a cheat. I have to admit, it was somewhat satisfying to see him in cuffs, even if it was just for a short while. And as for Duncan, well, he’ll gain some notoriety out of it, which might give his career a boost.”

Candy crossed her arms, reluctantly impressed by the way he’d set things up. And there was more, she suspected. She was beginning to see all the links. “You’re the one who sent that text message to Gina, telling her where to find Victor and Felicia.”

“She was oblivious about what was going on,” Porter said. “She needed a nudge.”

“And,” Candy said, “you were the one who put that hatchet in Victor’s back.”

Porter let out a sigh. “I picked that motel strictly for its reputation. I didn’t figure any of the ice carvers would stay there. So I was surprised to see Victor and Felicia driving by one night, headed for one of the back rooms. I texted Gina, and kept an eye on them. But once Gina arrived, no one left—until dawn. That’s when they took the body out. I followed, of course, and when I saw where they dumped it, I sensed an opportunity. Liam’s worked for me a few times down in Boston. He kept showing off that hatchet of his, and I got so tired of hearing about it that I took it from him at an event we both happened to attend.”

“You stole it,” Candy corrected.

“I had every intention of just getting rid of it, but I couldn’t help thinking that there might be a better purpose for it. So I brought it along with me when I came to Maine. And wouldn’t you know…”

“So you went back out to the body, taking Liam’s hatchet, and plunged it into Victor’s body.”

Porter’s face grew still. “He was already cold, and stiffening. I cleaned up my tracks—and Gina’s and Felicia’s. I’m not really sure what I planned to do about the body. Leave it there and let someone discover it in the spring? Perhaps it would never have been found—but it worked out for the best, didn’t it?”

“And now you’ll go to prison.”

Porter laughed and shook his head again. “You’re not seeing the reality here, Candy. I certainly won’t be going to prison. And you won’t tell anyone about what you’ve learned here today.”

Candy felt a cold shiver deep inside her. “And why not, Porter?”

“Because I haven’t done anything. Because I was never here—Preston was, but he’s a ghost. And because if you tell anyone about me, no one will believe you.”

Candy’s anger flared. “You were involved in at least two murders that I know of, including Victor Templeton’s,” she said, “and I can prove that.”

Porter Sykes sighed. “You could try, but you’d lose. I won’t go into the details here. There’s just not enough time. But trust me—I’ve taken great care to cover all my tracks. None of the clues can be traced to me, and all of the online evidence has already been erased. You’ll find only residual references to Whitefield or I.C.I.C.L.E., and those will be only ghosts. Just so you know, I’ve technically been in Boston all weekend. I attended a fundraiser this morning and will be at another tomorrow. There’s no trace of me up here. And besides, I’m sure you’re aware that I own your newspaper. It’s part of my family’s holdings. As such, both you and Ben work for me. You wouldn’t want me to shut down your own paper, would you? You wouldn’t want Wanda Boyle to become the sole news reporter in town? You wouldn’t want Ben to leave town for another job, and lose that extra income for yourself and Doc?”

Candy was stunned. “What are you saying?”

Porter’s tone suddenly turned very serious. “Here’s what I’m saying. I’m putting Cape Willington on notice. It’s time for all of you to pay up for past transgressions. So I’m letting you and a few others know. Call it a simple courtesy, but do not be mistaken. For too long my family has been disgraced by the people of this town. Those days are over. And I just wanted you to know it so you could have a front-row seat as you watch it happen.” He gave her a dark grin.

“But why?

He turned and looked out the window then, and checked his watch. “Our time is up. You should leave the building now. It’s not safe here.”

He tossed the black key to her, then turned and started to walk away, but Candy called after him: “What did your brother take from the journal that night at the lighthouse?”

She was referring to an incident that had occurred the last time she’d encountered a member of the Sykes family. And that one had been strangely similar to this.

Porter stopped and turned back to her. “It’s what we’re all looking for,” he said enigmatically. “Even Ben. Why don’t you ask him about it?”

And with that, Porter Sykes disappeared into the shadows of the house.