“But Dad…”
“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be okay. Ray’ll build you a fine booth,” Doc said, and he winked and gave her a smile. “Besides, he’s got a thing for you, you know.”
“Dad! Don’t you dare…”
But Doc went on, sensing a way out of the doghouse. “Well, he does. Anyone can tell that. I realize he might not be the right fellow for you, but you can’t stay single forever, pumpkin. It’s been how long-three years-since the divorce? Time to get back into the scene.”
Candy glowered at him and lowered her voice to a threatening level. “It’s only been two and a half years, thank you very much. And I’ll decide when it’s time to get back into the scene, as you call it.” She gave him a solid harrumph. “And don’t call me pumpkin. You know how much I hate that name.”
A twinkle came to Doc’s eyes. “What else do you want me to call my favorite Halloween-born daughter?”
“Dad, I’m your only Halloween-born daughter. And my actual name would be nice for a change.”
He chuckled. “Sure thing, pumpkin,” he said, checking his watch. “Oops. Got to go. I should be home by dinner. I’ll bring something. Chinese okay?” He started for the door.
“What? Where are you going?”
But before Doc could answer, the phone rang. It was Maggie, calling to talk about Jock. “Candy! It’s me. Have you heard? It’s unbelievable, isn’t it? There are rumors flying around town like bats on Halloween night.”
“Hang on,” Candy told Maggie, putting her hand over the phone as she called after her father. “Dad!”
Doc paused at the door. His eyes looked contrite, but his body was ready to go. “Sorry, honey, but I promised the right reverend I’d help the church folks with some of the setup. They’re putting up three booths, you know. We’ll pack everything up when I get back, okay?” He gave her a wave, and then he was gone.
A few moments later, Candy heard the old Ford pickup truck sputter to life and watched out the window as her father drove down the dirt lane toward town.
“Ohh,” she muttered to herself as she lifted the phone back to her ear, “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Kill who?” Maggie said. “What did I miss? Tell me everything-and don’t leave out a single word.”
FOUR
Half an hour later Candy was out in the rickety old barn, cursing loudly as she struggled with a four-by-eight sheet of plywood, when she heard a truck in the driveway.
“Dad, you’re back!” she blurted as she poked her head out the barn door.
But it wasn’t her father.
“Oh, Ray, it’s you,” she said as the local handyman climbed out of his tan Toyota pickup, which was nearly as old and beat up as her father’s Ford.
“Howdy, Miss Candy.” Ray Hutchins greeted her with a tip of his well-worn Red Sox baseball cap, revealing a mop of uncombed dark hair that was starting to go gray. “Doc said I should stop by to help you out.” He pronounced it hep. “Says yer building somethin’. What are ya up to?”
Trying hard to hide her disappointment, Candy waved him into the barn. “It’s a new booth for the festival tomorrow. Might as well come on in, long as you’re here.”
Ray’s head bobbed happily. “Sure, Miss Candy, be glad to,” and he grabbed his toolbox from the back of the truck and ambled over to the barn with that odd gait of his. It was as if the bones in his shoulders and legs had been fitted together all wrong, making his body seem disjointed. The way he walked reminded Candy of a marionette.
Ray was about ten years older than she was, tall and lean, with an innocent smile and droopy eyes that seemed ready to slide off the sides of his face. Thirty years ago he would have been called something cruel and unfortunate, but these days when folks around town talked about Ray, they often referred to him as being “special” or “mentally challenged.” Even that was hardly accurate, though. Ray would never be considered an intellectual giant, true, but he’d finished high school, and he had more common sense and life knowledge than many gave him credit for. More important, he was a gentle, kind soul who made his living with his hands as a talented carpenter, capable plumber and electrician, and overall handyman.
Doc had him out to Blueberry Acres every few weeks or so, fixing one thing or another-building shelves in the den or putting in a few extra electrical outlets in the basement or repairing some of the outbuildings. Ray didn’t seem to have a problem doing any of those things when he was working for Doc. But when he got around Candy, all his carefully honed skills seemed to leach right out of him, and he often was reduced to the level of a shy, awkward schoolboy.
Which was one problem Candy didn’t need today.
“Have you heard about Jock?” Ray asked as he followed her into the barn.
Perhaps a bit too distractedly, she said, “I’ve heard. It’s a terrible tragedy, really.”
“Sure is. Terrible, terrible.” Ray pronounced it turrible.
He shook his head sadly. “Jock and me was related, you know.”
Candy stopped and looked at him curiously. “No, I didn’t know that. Were you two cousins?”
Ray blinked shyly and his face reddened just a bit. “Sort of. His mama’s husband was my mama’s second cousin.”
“Oh. I see.” Candy had to think about that a moment. “So he was, what, your second or third cousin-in-law?”
“Um, yeah, I guess.”
“So did you and Jock see each other much? You guys talk a lot?”
“Oh no. He was a real busy person, you know. Real famous. We didn’t get together much. But when we was younger we used to hang out sometimes at the diner. He tried to fix me up with a girl once.”
“I bet you’re going to miss him.”
“Yup. Yup I am. He was a real good man.”
“He sure was.” Candy fought an urge to glance at her watch. “So, you ready to get started?”
“Yup, sure am.”
Candy clapped her hands together. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got,” she said as she walked farther into the barn, pointing to a pile of wood near the back. “It’s a simple project-a three-sided booth with a wide counter in the front for displaying items for sale. I thought I’d hinge the sides so I can fold them in and load the whole thing into Doc’s truck.” She picked up the brass hinges that sat on a swaybacked bench along the back wall, then indicated a pile of raw wood nearby.
“Doc’s already got all the wood we need. There are extra two-by-fours to use as crossbeams across the top of the booth to stabilize it. And I’m working on the banner I’ll hang across the front.”
She pointed to the five-foot-long swath of canvas nearby, with the words HOLLIDAY’S BLUEBERRY ACRES, CAPE WILLINGTON, MAINE sketched out in pencil along its length.
“I’d also like to build some shelves into the back side of the front display section,” Candy continued, “and maybe we can put some hooks in the crossbeams so I can hang up a few of the gift baskets for show.”
Ray listened to her carefully, surveyed the materials and what she’d done so far, and set to work without a word. Doc had already cut some of the two-by-fours and marked the quarter-inch sheets of plywood for cutting. Ray walked back to his truck to get a cordless circular saw, and for the next half hour or so the summer air was filled with the smells of sawdust and the shriek of metal teeth cutting into raw wood, mixing in with the buzzing of honeybees, the chirps and trills of sparrows and terns, and the earthy smells coming off the blueberry barrens and surrounding woods.
For the most part Ray worked silently, his mouth drawn into a tight thoughtful line, his hands fumbling about a bit more than usual. Candy regularly caught him glancing her way. She was used to glances like that. She knew that, at thirty-six, she still looked pretty good in a pair of jeans-not because she exercised a lot (which she hated to do) but because she did lots of farmwork. (“Who needs a gym,” Doc often said, “when you’ve got a blueberry farm?”) The sun had added some color to her high, full cheekbones this summer and a touch of rosemary honey to the tips of her hair. It contrasted nicely with her eyes, which were a light shade of blue but bright-“the color of forget-me-nots in the spring,” her mother used to tell her. And that morning she’d slipped on a faded red T-shirt, which clung to her a little more than she would have liked on this hot, humid July afternoon.