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

between her fingers and forced a smile.
    Wanda studied her with a disapproving expression pasted on her hard-edged face, as if she’d just discovered Candy doing something she shouldn’t. She was a tall woman, with broad shoulders and a big frame she carried fairly well. Her body flared around the bust, waist, and hips, but then narrowed to rather petite legs, which were ensconced in form-fitting dark gray slacks. She wore bright yellow pumps, open at the toes to show off her neatly clipped nails, painted bright red. They matched her flaming red shoulder-length hair, which was savagely tossed back, as if she had been swatting at it for hours. Her waist-length beige jacket, worn over a white blouse, looked somewhat rumpled, Candy noticed, with heavy creases at the elbows. The slacks were heavily creased around the upper thighs and knees as well. She must have been sitting all morning and afternoon, doing . . . something or other , Candy thought.
    Wanda held a sheaf of papers in one hand and had tucked a folder under an arm. On her chest, she wore a large, bright blue button that read CAPE WILLINGTON WELCOMING COMMITTEE and WANDA BOYLE, CHAIRWOMAN around the edges, circling a big, bold-lettered WELCOME TO CAPE! in the center.
    She looked very busy.
    For several long moments she stood silently in the doorway. Obviously she’d been unaware that Charlotte had a visitor, and she didn’t seem at all pleased when that visitor turned out to be Candy Holliday.
    Candy waited cautiously, letting out a breath, her gaze fixed on the other woman. She noticed that Wanda had a thin, barely visible scar on her upper lip. And puffy skin around her jowls. And big hands— like sides of beef , Candy thought.
    For an instant an image raced through her mind of another pair of thick hands wrapped around her neck, attempting to crush the life from her as the storm raged around them. But she pushed that disturbing thought aside, knowing that was in the past, and this was the present, and Wanda would never attack her like that.
    Would she?
    Finally Wanda spoke, her voice low and husky. “We’ve met. Haven’t we, Candy?” She sounded completely unemotional, as if she were ordering a hamburger and fries at a takeout window.
    “Yes, well, that’s true, we have.” Several times , Candy recollected, and most of them were not pleasant encounters.
    Their first meeting, at a school-related bake sale shortly after Candy had become the community correspondent, was cordial enough, though she’d overheard Wanda taking some verbal potshots at her even then. Candy was “from away,” Wanda had none-too-discreetly told one of the members of her close-knit group of friends, a woman named Carol McKaskie. Wanda had drawn a few other women into their conversation and chattered in low tones, often glancing Candy’s way and often stifling laughter, making her feel uncomfortable. Candy had heard other words drifting her way that day from Wanda’s group—words like unqualified and undeserving . She had even heard one of them call her a nobody.
    Candy had just been trying to do her job, to meet people in town and cover the event, and she had been hurt and confused until she told Maggie about it.
    “Oh, they’re just jealous old biddies,” Maggie said that evening when Candy had cried on her shoulder. “Don’t listen to them, honey. They’re just frustrated with their small, boring lives. They think they run this town, but most people just ignore them.”
    That had made Candy feel a little better, but the negative vibes from Wanda had not ceased. In the months since, they had run into each other a few more times, at public events around town, and the meetings had always been uncomfortable for Candy, as Wanda continued to throw evil looks and snarky comments her way.
    Candy had had no real explanation for Wanda’s hostile behavior, until Ben finally explained it to her.
    “She wanted your job,” he had told her just a few months ago, on a wintry day in