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.And she wondered what Mrs.Pruitt would think about everything that had happened in town over the past week, and what she’d think if she knew it all had started more than sixty years ago with a single bottle of ketchup, improperly handled.And that Mrs.Pruitt’s own father, Cornelius, had used that bottle to set in motion a string of events that had led to the deaths of two people and the arrest of a murderer.For Roger Sykes was indeed under lock and key.He’d still been sitting up on the watch deck, his back against the tower wall, clutching his arm, when the police found him.He’d been wounded in the shoulder—serious but not critical—and he’d lost some blood.But he’d live to stand trial.Amidst all the chaos that had enveloped her last night on the lighthouse grounds, after she safely descended from the tower with Bob, Candy had eventually found out that it was one of Captain Mike’s friends, Francis Robichaud, who had fired the critical shot.An excellent marksman, he’d aimed to wound Roger only, to remove the threat.Still, it had been a tricky shot, Captain Mike assured her.“The fog, you know,” he had told her.“We had to wait for a break.”The first shot, behind Roger’s head, had been a miss on purpose, to reposition Roger and separate him from the other two.Only after Candy and Bob had backed away toward the railing, and he had a clear shot of the villain, had Francis fired again, this time hitting his mark.Everyone in Captain Mike’s entourage had been armed last night, though their weapons had conveniently disappeared before the police arrived.Candy had thanked them all personally.She’d recognized several of the faces and recalled that some of them were snowplow drivers who worked for the town—Tom Farmington and Payne Webster and Pete Barkely, in addition to Francis Robichaud.They’d all been in the Rusty Moose Tavern yesterday when she met with Captain Mike in the back booth.And they’d probably be there again today when she stopped in.She was still fretting about what she had to do, but she could think of no alternative.All night she’d tossed and turned, her mind running over the clues and events again and again, trying to see some other resolution.But she could think of none.So here she was, circling downtown Cape Willington, as she’d been doing for the better part of an hour, driving around the Coastal Loop, cutting across on Main Street or River Road, and back around the Loop again.This was the seventh time she’d passed Pruitt Manor.Out on the point, beyond the mansion, she could see the top of Kimball Light, one of the two lighthouses in Cape Willington.It had a different design than the English Point Lighthouse.It was a little more elegant, with a sleeker shape and a taller, more rounded glass-enclosed top.It must have been built a few decades after English Point, she surmised, probably sometime in the early nineteen hundreds.It was privately owned now, so she’d never been inside.But she thought it might be fun to take a tour of it someday, perhaps even climb to the top.Someday.But not for a while.She stopped at the red light at Ocean Avenue, glancing over at the lawn of the Lightkeeper’s Inn on her left.A little farther up the street, on the right-hand side, was the dark storefront of the Stone & Milbury Insurance Agency.The place was shut down—there’d be no more business transacted there, at least not in the near future.When the light turned green, she continued up along the Loop, past Town Park and the cemetery, past the Unitarian church on the left and, on the opposite side of the road, the entrance to the parking lot for the English Point Lighthouse and Museum.Not so strangely, she had no desire to stop in there today.She’d found out everything she’d needed to know last night.Now, like Roger, she just had to wrap up a few loose ends.She drove farther on up the Loop, past the docks on her right and the Rusty Moose Tavern on her left.She slowed, switching on her turn signal.This time, she pulled the Jeep into a parking space in front of the tavern, turned off the engine, and sat with her hands on the steering wheel as she peered up through the windshield at the wooden building’s dark brown facade and its weather-beaten sign, which swayed gently in the wind.“Well, Candy,” she said to herself, “are you going to do this or not?”She knew the answer.She was going to do it—whether she wanted to or not.With a determined expression on her face, she tugged on the door handle, climbed out of the Jeep, and locked the doors, leaving her purse on the floor in front of the passenger seat.She didn’t expect to be staying long, and she didn’t plan on buying anything inside.She just had to put the last piece of the puzzle into place.She’d expected the joint to be busy, but at this time of day, in the early afternoon, the tavern was sparsely populated.A few stalwart denizens clung precariously to their bar stools.Rosie, the waitress, gave her a bored wave.Most of the tables and booths were empty.But as Candy suspected, she saw one patron seated in his favorite spot.Captain Mike occupied the back booth, sitting alone, nursing a half-full mug of beer.He was reading a battered old copy of a mystery novel by John D.MacDonald, squinting at it in the dim barroom light.As she approached the booth he looked up, his eyes glinting.“Ah, here you are.I was wondering if I’d see you today [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]