Town in a Wild Moose Chase Read Online Free Page A

beforedropping 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 recognizethe 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 forthe 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