Текст книги "Shadows on a Cape Cod Wedding"

Автор книги: Lea Wait

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter 18

Mazeppa No. 1, Boston, Massachusetts. Built by Hinckley and Drury, the Mazeppa was the first steam fire engine built at the Boston Locomotive Works in 1858. The model was named the New Era; it was designed by J.M. Stone, and featured a tubular thirty-six-inch boiler, and two hundred and forty-one brass smoke tubes. The double-acting pump and the steam cylinder were placed horizontally on a wooden frame designed to be pulled by horses, or in an emergency, by men. It weighed about 10,000 pounds. This engraving is from a book published in 1886 that chronicled the history of fire engines. Why this engine was labeled the Mazeppa No.1 is a mystery. The only town in the United States named Mazeppa is in Minnesota and it didn’t have a fire department until 1886. Perhaps Stone just liked the name. 4.5 x 7 inches. Price: $35.

At first Maggie thought the ringing was in her dream. But when it wouldn’t stop she reached out, finally connecting with her cell phone where she’d left it, on the carton next to her bed. “Hello?”

“Maggie! This is Diana.”

“Diana?”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s early.”

Maggie looked at the time on the phone. Five-ten. “What’s happening?”

“Someone tried to burn our house down.”

“Are you all right?” Maggie sat up straight. “What about Cordelia?”

“We’re both fine. The house is all right.”

“What happened?”

“I was asleep. Luckily, Cordelia doesn’t sleep well. She gets up early and works on her dolls. She went downstairs to make coffee and surprised someone. Whoever it was poured some liquid, maybe gasoline, on the back porch, but when Cordelia turned on the overhead light they got scared and ran.”

“Did you call the police?”

“She has a TDD machine to call for help. She did that and then woke me up. By the time I got downstairs the police and a fire truck were both here.”

“Did she see who the person was?”

“No. They wore dark clothes and a hoodie.” Diana paused. “I’m scared, Maggie. Really scared.”

“What did the police do?”

“They said they’re going to watch the house. But I’m scared anyway. I think Cordelia is, too. We’re both just sitting here.”

“Did you tell her you were calling me?”

“Yes. She nodded. I don’t think she knows what to do. She keeps walking around the house, looking at everything.”

“Try to stay calm. I’ll talk to Gussie and Jim, and then I’ll come over. I promise.”

“All right.”

“Be brave. If anything else happens, call me again. Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Maggie.”

Maggie got up and threw on her clothes. This was not exactly the way she and Gussie had planned to start the day, but she couldn’t leave two frightened women alone. At least not without making sure everything possible was being done to make sure they were safe.

“Gussie?” she said outside Gussie’s door.

“I’m awake,” Gussie answered. “Come in. I heard the telephone. What’s happening?”

“Someone tried to set fire to Cordelia’s house. She scared them away, but she and Diana are still nervous. The police and fire department have been there, and the police say they’ll be keeping an eye on the place, but from what Diana said it doesn’t sound as though she and Cordelia are handling it well.”

“Why would anyone want to hurt one of them?” said Gussie.

“I don’t know. But we don’t know why anyone wanted to kill Diana’s father, either,” said Maggie. “And we don’t know what the police investigation has found, if anything.”

“Let me guess. You told Diana you’d go over there.”

“I can talk to Cordelia. And Diana told me a little. Cordelia didn’t want to talk to Jim the other day.”

“Jim should be involved. He can talk to the police with some authority.”

“I agree. You call Jim, and see if he can stop by. But give me an hour or so to see what I can find out first.”

“Maggie, are you sure you want to get this involved?”

“I already am this involved,” said Maggie. “I want Diana and Cordelia to be safe. Someone dangerous is out there, and I want him stopped. Maybe I can help. Maybe I can’t. But at least I can let those two women know someone cares about them. I haven’t seen this town doing much so far besides sending over cookies.”

“I’ll call Jim,” said Gussie. “But remember not to let them depend on you too much. That will just make it harder for them when you have to leave.”

“I know,” said Maggie. “I keep thinking about that.”

“Don’t forget it. Sometimes it’s better not to get involved than to make promises you can’t keep,” warned Gussie.

Maggie drove by the bakery and was pleased to see it had opened at 5:30. She was in time to pick up a box of assorted Danish, and not knowing what Diana or Cordelia would want, decided to go for comfort food, and ordered three large hot chocolates with whipped cream. Even she would forego a Diet Pepsi for a hot chocolate on a damp and chilly October morning.

The sky was dark, and the dew was heavy. Wet orange and yellow leaves were pasted onto the sidewalk and street in the center of downtown and stuck under Maggie’s windshield wipers. Luckily she didn’t have far to drive.

Before she got out of her van the door of the house opened. Diana’d been waiting for her.

“Here,” said Maggie, thrusting the box of drinks at Diana, “something to warm you up this dank morning. And I brought other goodies.” She followed the young woman into the house, where Cordelia sat at the kitchen table. They both looked pale and tense.

“I’m so glad you came,” said Diana. “I couldn’t stand the silence any longer.” She held up the goodies so Cordelia could see them.

“I brought hot chocolate and…sweet things,” Maggie signed, unsure of how to sign “Danish” except by spelling it. Cordelia smiled at her hesitation.

“Thank you,” she signed back.

The three women sat at the kitchen table and opened their cups of chocolate capped generously with whipped cream. Some moments called for chocolate and sugar. This morning seemed to qualify.

A few minutes later Maggie wiped off her fingers and signed, “You have no idea who was on the porch earlier this morning?”

Cordelia shook her head. “It was too dark to see. I only saw the beam from a flashlight, and turned on the porch light. Then I saw liquid thrown out of the darkness onto the porch. At first I didn’t dare open the door. Then I did, and smelled gasoline, or kerosene, and called the fire department.”

Diana asked, “Is she sure she couldn’t recognize the person again?”

Maggie checked. Cordelia was adamant. “I don’t even know if I saw a man or a woman. Or how tall the person was. It was all so fast, and so dark.”

“Maybe the police will find some clues,” Maggie said. “Maybe the person left footprints. And whoever it was will certainly smell of gasoline or kerosene.”

“Anyone who works on the water or in a garage could smell of gasoline,” signed Cordelia. “And a shower could take the smell away.”

“But not off all his or her clothes,” Maggie pointed out. “Not immediately. We can hope.”

“Why would someone want to burn the house?” asked Diana.

“That’s what I would like to know,” said Maggie. “Cordelia, can you think of any reason someone would want to destroy this house, or anything in it?”

The woman shook her head slowly, looking puzzled. “My things are here. Nothing anyone else would be interested in.”

“What about Diana’s father? Is there anything he left that anyone would want to destroy?”

Cordelia stopped for a moment, thinking. “His things are in the bedroom he used. I never went in there. There was no reason.”

“Diana, have you gone through what your father left in his room?”

Diana looked down. “Yes. When he didn’t come home I wanted to find out why. I tried to find something that would give me a hint of where he’d gone.”

“Did you find anything someone might want to destroy?”

Diana shook her head. “Just a few clothes. He must have had his telephone with him. There weren’t any papers. No pictures, and no computer. Nothing.”

Maggie translated for Cordelia.

Cordelia looked at Diana. “I knew who he really was. But even with a new name, he was afraid of being tracked. He didn’t have credit cards. He didn’t have a driver’s license or a car. He kept saying he would pay someone to get new papers, but I don’t think he’d done that. He only worked for cash.”

“What kind of work did he do?”

“At first he tried working on fishing boats, like many men here, but he had a weak stomach.” Cordelia smiled. “He got seasick easily. No one wanted him on their boat. Sometimes he worked for Rocky Costa down at the Lazy Lobster, tending bar and waiting tables, when Rocky needed extra help. He mowed lawns and trimmed trees for people during the summer.”

Maggie summarized for Diana, who seemed to know most of that. “He told me he volunteered with a baseball league for teenagers. I thought that was cool because he’d been a Little League coach in Colorado,” she added.

“He worked with boys here?” asked Maggie.

“He didn’t coach. He was in charge of equipment or schedules, ” said Diana. “He told me that was one of his favorite things to do, but he didn’t get paid to do it.”

Interesting, Maggie thought. He was suspected of selling drugs to young people in town, but this was the first she’d heard he’d had a reason to be near young people.

“Was Dan helping with the baseball team this summer?” she asked Cordelia.

“No. He did that a year ago,” Cordelia answered. “Last spring he started working with the team again, but there were problems.” She hesitated. “He was blamed for the death of a boy who took too many pills. Someone even threw rocks and broke two of our windows.” She shook her head. “It was bad. Rocky told Dan he couldn’t come to practices anymore. People were too upset.”

“Rocky told him that?”

“He was Dan’s boss at the Lazy Lobster, and he coached the team. That’s how Dan got the job helping out.”

Rocky Costa. The bartender at the Lazy Lobster. Funny, he hadn’t happened to mention that connection when she was there the other day.

“How did Dan feel about being fired from a volunteer job?”

“At first he was angry. Then he was sad. It wasn’t easy for him here. Working with the boys was one of the things he enjoyed. But he understood why he couldn’t do it anymore.”

“It was kind of you to let him live here for the past two years. That’s a long time to open your home to a distant relative.”

Cordelia looked up at Maggie in surprise.

“This house belonged to him until three years ago. I was the one who was grateful he’d paid the taxes and let me live here all those years. He had a right to be here.”

Chapter 19

Raid on a Sand-Swallow Colony, “How Many Eggs?”Winslow Homer wood engraving of four boys climbing up sand dunes and stealing eggs from the nests of the swallows nesting there. Printed in Harper’s Weekly, June 13, 1874, one of the last of Homer’s engravings to be printed in Harper’s, and one of his finest. It was done at Gloucester, Massachusetts, and is therefore sometimes considered one of his “Gloucester Series,” although it doesn’t quite match the four other beach scenes he did there because it’s a vertical engraving; the other four are horizontal. 13.75 x 9.25 inches. Price: $450.

“This house belonged to Diana’s father? Not just twenty years ago when he lived here, but until three years ago?” asked Maggie.

“Yes. I thought everyone knew,” signed Cordelia. “When he and his wife moved west I needed a place to stay. They told me I could live here for the rest of my life if I wanted to. Roger sent money to pay the taxes and keep the house painted and the roof from leaking. I paid for the utilities and my food, of course. Then three years ago, for some reason, he signed the deed over to me.”

“I see,” signed Maggie. She glanced over at Diana, who was finishing her second Danish and ignoring their signing. “Does Diana know this?”

“I haven’t told her,” said Cordelia. “I don’t know if her father did.”

Maggie suspected he hadn’t. He hadn’t told Diana much about her family. How had she gotten so involved with these two women? But how could she not care about what happened to them? “Cordelia, why would anyone want to hurt you or Diana?”

“I have no idea.”

A very bright light on the wall between the kitchen and living room started blinking.

“Someone’s at the door. I’ll get it,” said Diana.

Of course. In the home of someone who was hearing impaired a light would signal that someone was at the door; a doorbell wouldn’t be heard. Maggie had read about signals connected to TDD machines and doorbells, but this was the first time she’d seen one operating.

Chief Ike Irons came back with Diana. “Good morning, ladies. Maggie Summer. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I came to keep Diana and Cordelia company. They’ve had a difficult morning.”

“And you speak the hand talk, don’t you? I remember your saying that. Well, then it’s good you’re here. You can translate for Ms. West. I wanted them both to know we looked in their yard, and down to the beach from their porch, this morning, but we didn’t find any footprints. Of course, the wind has blown considerable, and wet leaves are over everything. But we couldn’t find a trace of whoever was here.”

“Did you check on the beach? Down by the tide line? Maybe whoever was here was picked up by a boat,” Maggie interrupted.

“Doubt it. If there were someone there he probably walked through the water so the tide washed away any footprints.”

“Well, he wouldn’t walk in that frigid water forever! Wouldn’t you see where he walked out?”

“Theoretically, yes, Dr. Summer. But we didn’t find anything. For whatever reason. The beach isn’t even, and the tide comes up pretty high about now. Maybe whoever it was hopped on a unicorn. In any case, we didn’t find anything. But we haven’t given up. We’re checking marinas and gas stations to see if anyone remembers seeing someone pump gasoline into a container in the past day or so. But that’s not unusual around here, you know. And we’re going to keep an eye on this house, both from the road and the water, for the next few days.”

Chief Irons nodded to Diana and to Cordelia. “Miss Hopkins and Ms West can be assured they’re under the personal protection of the Winslow Police Department.”

While Maggie translated the message for Cordelia, Diana asked, “Have you figured out who killed my father yet, Chief Irons?”

“That investigation is underway.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. “Who are you investigating?”

“We don’t have any specific suspects yet,” Chief Irons replied, “but we’re working on developing a timeline: trying to find out where your father was during the last few days of his life, and who he saw then. Once we know that, we’ll be in a better position to start interviewing persons of interest.”

“What do you know so far?” asked Diana.

“We know he was here on Tuesday morning with you for breakfast, and he was seen in town later that morning.”

“Yes?”

“Well, so far, that’s it.”

“Where was he in town? With whom?”

Maggie listened as Chief Irons tried to avoid admitting he didn’t have too many answers. “He was walking down Main Street, near the statue of the whaling master. He was alone, heading toward the library.”

“That’s it? That’s all you know?”

“We’ve only had a couple of days to work on the investigation, you know. These things take time. This isn’t ‘CSI’ or ‘Law and Order.’ This is the real world, young lady.”

“And in the meantime someone just walks up to our house and tries to burn it down, with Cordelia and me inside!”

“We’re investigating that, too, I assure you. These sorts of things do not normally happen here in Winslow.”

“Well, they’re happening now! And they’re happening to my family! And I want them to stop!” Diana burst into tears, and turned to Cordelia, who reached out to hold her.

“These women are very upset, Chief. Isn’t there anything more that can be done for them?” Maggie asked.

“They could go and stay somewhere else, I suppose, but then whoever wanted to burn down their house could do that more easily.”

“If they went to stay at one of the B and Bs in town for a few days, very quietly, could someone on your staff stay here to protect their property?”

“Dr. Summer, do you have any idea how much that sort of protection would cost? I have one detective and three regular cops on my force. You think I could spare someone to hang out in an empty house on the chance some stupid kid came back to try to burn it? I’m sending over someone to clean off the gasoline that’s there now. I think between Miss West and our guys we scared off whoever was there this morning. I don’t think anyone’s coming back. Winslow’s a small town, Dr. Summer. If you don’t like it, you can go back to New Jersey.”

With that Chief Irons stomped off, heading for the front door. For once Maggie was glad Cordelia was hearing impaired. She couldn’t hear the door slam.

Or the light knock a few minutes later. But Maggie did. Diana was still sobbing, so she went to the door. It was probably too much to hope that Chief Irons had come back to apologize.

Yes, it was.

“Morning, Maggie. Gussie said Diana and Cordelia had a scare here this morning.”

“Exactly. Did you pass your friend Ike on your way here?”

Jim nodded. “His car went by mine.”

“Probably over the speed limit. He couldn’t wait to get out of here. He says he’s providing protection for them and for the house, but I don’t see it. They’re really upset, Jim. And, truthfully, so am I. Attempting to burn a house down is a pretty nasty game.”

“You’re right. Do either of them have any idea who would have done this?”

“No clues. Cordelia didn’t see anything helpful, and Diana was upstairs asleep. Neither of them can think of anything in the house someone might want to destroy, or a reason anyone might want to hurt them.”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t have a magic solution, Maggie. I’ll be moving out of my house in a couple of days, and I could have them both come and stay there, but that would leave this house unprotected. I don’t think they’d want that, either.”

“I suggested something like that to Ike. He didn’t seem impressed.”

Diana and Cordelia looked up as Maggie and Jim walked into the kitchen. From the look that passed between them, Maggie wondered what they’d been doing—or communicating. Did they look guilty?

Chapter 20

Harvard College.Cover of Appleton’s Journal of Literature, Science and Art for Saturday, March 5, 1870, and following seven pages, which are devoted to a history and current view of Harvard, including wood engravings of Harvard Square (which shows men driving cows away from the area), Harvard Church, the Library Building, Appleton Chapel, the Divinity School, Law School, Lawrence Scientific School, The Observatory, and the Class Tree. Special treasure for any Harvard graduate. Page size 7.5 x 11 inches. $75.

Maggie left Jim with Diana and Cordelia, hoping perhaps his advice and male calm could provide a different sort of comfort than her hot chocolate and Danish had.

Although the hot chocolate had certainly not been refused.

She headed toward the new Aunt Augusta’s Attic. If the schedule was on target, Gussie should be there, and the painters and carpenters should be finished. This morning they’d planned to unpack before, if she remembered correctly, a last-minute wedding cake check at the bakery.

Gussie’s van was the only vehicle in back of the new shop; there were no painting or construction trucks there. That seemed a positive sign. Maybe the work was complete.

Maggie walked up the ramp to the back door, knocked, and went in.

“There you are!” Gussie called from the front room. “How are Diana and Cordelia?”

“Physically, fine. But scared and confused. They have no idea who would try to set their house on fire.”

“I can’t imagine too many things more frightening than fire,” said Gussie. “Jim and I’ve put ramps at three entrances to our house, and fire alarms everywhere we could think of.”

Getting out of a burning house would be so much more complicated for Gussie than for someone who wasn’t disabled, Maggie realized. She hadn’t ever thought of that. And now that she had, the pictures in her mind were horrific.

“If Cordelia hadn’t happened to be downstairs in the kitchen so early in the morning, who knows what might have happened,” Maggie said. “She wouldn’t have heard anything. But thank goodness she saw a light. Whoever it was had a flashlight.”

“She probably has visual fire alarms connected to her heat and smoke detectors, but depending on how well she sleeps, she might not have noticed them.” Gussie shuddered. “I’m just glad they’re both safe.”

“Jim’s at the house with them now,” Maggie added.

“Good,” said Gussie. “And, before I forget or die of curiosity—as that movie said, ‘You’ve Got Mail!’”

“What?” said Maggie.

“When I got here there was an envelope on the floor near the front door. It must have been pushed through the mail slot. At first I thought the carpenter had dropped off a bill, but it’s for you. Over on the counter.”

Maggie picked up the envelope. It was addressed in penciled block letters to MAGGIE FROM NEW JERSEY.

“Who’d be sending you mash notes here?” Gussie asked, only half in jest.

Maggie started opening the envelope. “Yesterday, while you were resting, I stopped and had a beer at the tavern where Jim’d said Dan Jeffrey drank. The Lazy Lobster. I thought someone there would have an idea of what happened to him.”

“Maggie! That’s not exactly a social high spot in Winslow. If you felt you had to go, why didn’t you ask Jim to take you?”

“Because he wouldn’t have. And, besides, no one would have said anything if he’d been with me. I wanted to go on my own.” She ripped open the envelope. “I told the men there that if anyone had something to tell me about Dan they could leave a note here. I figured the shop would be a neutral place.” She read what was on the sheet of paper inside.

“So? What does it say?”

“‘Stay away from bars and balls. Let sand cover sin.’” Maggie shivered. “That’s hideously poetic.”

“Not poetic to me. Scary, and downright weird!” said Gussie. “Sounds like you made a real fan in that bar. Which someone is definitely telling you to stay away from.” She reached inside a carton and pulled out the ringmaster for a Schoenhut Humpty Dumpty Circus, a popular set of toys made in the early twentieth century.

“‘Bars and balls. And sand,’” mused Maggie as she paced the front of the shop. “Did you know Dan Jeffrey was involved with a baseball team here in town?”

“Where did you hear that?” Gussie arranged a wooden clown and a glass-eyed lion next to the mustached ringmaster on the shelf.

“From Diana. He’d told her. Cordelia confirmed it. He didn’t coach. He kept track of equipment. But his working with the team might connect him to the boy who died last spring.”

“Tony Silva. Bob Silva’s son. Bob’s a widower. He thought the world of that boy. Went to pieces after he died,” said Gussie. “Horrible situation. Jim said everyone knew there were drugs in the school. Ike’d been looking for the dealer for months. Thought someone was picking drugs up in Boston and selling them locally. But none of the kids would talk. You know kids. And after Tony died, they closed down even more. Bob accused anyone who had contact with the kids.”

“I heard he’d blamed Dan Jeffrey.”

“Could be. I didn’t hear that, but then, I don’t have a child in the school, so I don’t have a pipeline into those circles. But it makes sense. Dan was a ‘wash-ashore,’ someone relatively new in town, and as far as anyone knew he was a bachelor. Parents these days are nervous about single men being around their children.” Gussie paused. “Winslow’s an old town, Maggie. Most of us year ’round people have known each other since we were kids. My family’s been here a couple of hundred years. There are still divisions. Families that were Portuguese fishermen a couple of generations back may still be fishing, but now they’re just as likely to own restaurants, or run tour boats for summer people, or be professionals. A few who summered here as children have found a way, with telecommuting and all, to live here full time today. Times change. But a lot of the same families are still here. Jim’s one of the few newcomers. He went to Harvard Law and decided to move to the Cape and practice here instead of going into a big firm, or returning South.”

“What about Cordelia West?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s from Martha’s Vineyard, which is considered ‘in the neighborhood.’ There used to be a deaf community on the Vineyard, back, oh, a couple of hundred years ago.”

Maggie smiled. “I read a study about it once. People there didn’t think of deafness as a disability; it was just a characteristic some people were born with, like red hair. Everyone, deaf or not, learned sign language, so not being able to hear wasn’t a handicap. Fascinating.”

“That’s right. But as the world changed, people traveled more, and intermarried, and by the middle of the twentieth century that sign language was gone. If there are any deaf people on the Vineyard today they’re not part of that genetic cluster, as they now call it.”

“And she’s Dan Jeffrey’s—or Roger Hopkins’s—cousin.”

“So everyone says. Hopkins is a good old Cape Cod name, of course. There was a Hopkins on the Mayflower. Although I don’t know if there’s any connection to these Hopkins! Around here, everyone wants to claim a Mayflower connection.”

“Diana says her parents lived in that house when she was a baby.”

A lady Schoenhut acrobat with a bisque head fell over, and Gussie stopped to lean her against the larger of the two elephants in the circus parade she was setting up. “That would have been twenty years or so ago. I don’t remember. Maybe Ellen would. Ben would have been a baby then, too. New mothers remember other new mothers.”

“This morning Cordelia told me the house wasn’t hers until three years ago. It belonged to Roger Hopkins.”

“Three years ago? That would have been before he ‘died’ in Colorado,” Gussie said. “Did he give it to her or did she buy it?”

“From the way she put it, I assumed he’d given it to her,” Maggie said.

“I never had the feeling Cordelia had much money,” said Gussie. “Ellen would know more, but that little house of hers must be worth a small fortune. It has beach front. I’d guess its value is over half a million. Maybe closer to a million. Her property taxes must be incredible. A lot of local families have had to sell their homes because they can’t afford the taxes in the current market. I wonder how Cordelia has been paying hers? Those dolls she makes don’t sell that well.”

“She told me that until she owned the house three years ago her cousin sent her money for taxes and maintenance,” said Maggie.

“Interesting,” said Gussie. “He must have had a very good job at that bank in Colorado. Or she must have another source of income.” She looked at her watch. “We have to get going. We’re meeting Jim at the bakery. A wedding cake tasting awaits us.”

Josie’s Bakery, home of the delectable morning pastries, employed a pastry chef who specialized in creating spectacular wedding cakes. Luigi Ferrante greeted Gussie at the door and whisked them away to a private room.

“Ah, it is the bride! I have made samples of three cakes, just as you and your handsome groom requested! Come in, come in!” He moved a small table and several chairs so the table was in front of Gussie, and the chairs were arranged around it. “And where is the groom? We do not want to start without him!”

“Here he is,” said Jim, slightly out of breath, as he pushed through the heavy door, and kissed Gussie. “What a morning. But I made it! I see you haven’t started yet.”

“We would not begin without the groom,” said Mr. Ferrante, hovering around the three of them. “Now, let me remind you what cake you have selected.”

He opened a loose-leaf notebook filled with photographs of elaborately decorated cakes and flipped to the page he’d marked: a four-layer cake with white trim, topped by white roses made of frosting and a cascade of roses curving down the side.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” said Maggie. “Very elegant.”

“Now, I need you to make very certain this is the one you want.”

Gussie and Jim looked at each other. Gussie nodded. “We’re positive. It’s exactly what we want. You know we considered a lot of options. But we liked the flowers best. We almost went with real flowers, Maggie, but we decided the ones Mr. Ferrante made were so lovely we would go with one of his special creations.”

“Very good,” Mr. Ferrante beamed.

“And we want a four-layer lemon cake with chocolate filling between two layers and raspberry for the other one,” Jim added.

“Ah, yes! That will be perfect!” agreed Mr. Ferrante. “The flavors of chocolate and raspberry are certainly very…romantic, wouldn’t you say? Almost an aphrodisiac! For a wedding night, very appropriate.”

Maggie almost choked.

Jim kept smiling. “Shall we taste those cake samples now, Mr. Ferrante? We’re looking forward to deciding which of your delicious lemon cakes we’ll choose. ”

“Of course, of course!”

And as Maggie tasted the samples, all of which were delicious as far as she was concerned, she couldn’t help thinking about the note someone from the Lazy Lobster had left for her.

She needed to talk with someone connected with that baseball team.