Free Town In a Lobster Stew by B.B. Haywood Page A

Charlotte motioned Candy toward a chair and took her own seat behind her tidy desk. “Have you been to our museum before?”
    “Oh, sure, a couple of times.” As she spoke, Candy reached into her purse for her reporter’s notebook and pen. Crossing her legs at the knee, she leaned forward attentively in her chair, brushing back her hair. “But it’s been a while, I must confess. Probably a year or two, if I remember correctly. That’s why I stopped by today. I’m always looking for stories for my column.”
    Although she had been the community columnist for the better part of a year now, she still loved saying those words. It always made her feel a little special, and it was a great way to start a conversation.
    But Charlotte didn’t seem particularly impressed or chatty. Instead, she gave Candy a look that showed annoyance more than anything else, but it quickly slipped away as she turned professional, launching into what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech. “Well, we do have several programs going on throughout the summer. We have a variety of museum workshops coming up for children, teens, and adults. For the third year, we’re offering an internship program here at the Keeper’s Quarters for our local high school seniors and college students. We’re very excited about that. We’ll host three weekend sessions in June and July for prospective volunteers. We’re currently sending out announcements for that. And the historical society is sponsoring an art and architecture camp this summer for middle schoolers, which is being spearheaded by Wanda Boyle.”
    “Ahh.” Candy’s eyes brightened as she tapped her bottom lip with the end of her pen. “Now that sounds very exciting. Can you tell me more about that particular program?”
    Charlotte checked her watch again and forced a smile intended to demonstrate her patience. “Of course. As you may know, we’ve had a number of famous architects design homes here in Cape Willington. John Calvin Stevens is probably the most well-known. He designed two homes in town and did some work out at Pruitt Manor. Charles Bulfinch, who designed the state capitol, also designed our original Town Hall, though that’s burned down, of course, but we still have many images of it in our historical archives. William Hatch Wharff, who was born up in Guilford but spent most of his time on the West Coast—he designed more than a hundred buildings in Berkeley and around San Francisco in the early part of the twentieth century—was involved in designing a couple of buildings along Ocean Avenue during the early part of his career. And, of course, several homes in town were designed by John Patrick Mulroy. So we have quite an architectural history here.”
    “Fascinating. Just fascinating.” Candy propped her elbow on her knee and planted her chin in the palm of her hand. “I’d love to hear more about that—perhaps something about Wanda’s involvement in putting the program together?”
    “Well, I can show you an outline of the program, and I’ll see if I can get Wanda’s input. I think I have that file right here.”
    As Charlotte reached toward a short stack of papers in a mahogany wood tray on a corner of her desk, she looked up and past Candy’s shoulder. “Oh, well, better yet, you can talk to her yourself. Here she is.”
    Charlotte rose and motioned to a woman standing in the office doorway.
    “Candy, you know Wanda Boyle, don’t you?”

EIGHT

    Candy felt a sudden knot in her stomach as she turned to face the woman behind her. This was the moment she’d been hoping to avoid for at least a while longer—well, forever, if truth be told. But this was a small town. It was next to impossible to avoid someone you wanted to avoid. Now she’d just have to make the best of it.
    Tentatively she rose. “Oh, hi.”
    She stood uneasily, not sure what to say or do next. She still held the notebook in one hand and the pen in the other, so she wiggled the pen rapidly