work would come later.
With the ice sculptors occupied for at least a while, Candy knew she’d have to be content with another approach, so she interviewed a few of the onlookers for local flavor. After that, she cornered Oliver LaForce and pried a few decent quotes out of him about the effect of the Moose Fest on the local economy. The inn would be full over the weekend, and the local establishments along Ocean Avenue and Main Street, not to mention those all the way up along Route 192 to Route 1, would get a sizable dose of much-needed revenue. The midwinter jolt in the economic arm would beenough to hold most of them over until the spring thaw and tourist season arrived.
As far as the interviews went, it was all fairly mediocre stuff—not the hard-hitting copy she was looking for—but it was the best she could do for the moment.
She looked around and realized Wanda had disappeared.
She’s probably somewhere warm, uploading photos and posting to her blog
, Candy thought grimly.
She always seems to be one step ahead of me lately.
To make herself feel better, Candy lingered near Colin Trevor Jones for a bit, watching his graceful, precise movements as he shaved away at the ice, until he finally stepped back to take a break. When he turned her way, she gave him a quick wave. He grinned back and, ruddy-faced and en-crusted in ice crystals, walked over to talk to her. Before long he was describing the exhilaration of cutting into ice and pulling out the shapes within. It was just the type of stuff she was looking for, plus it gave her an excuse to hang around Colin awhile, though she realized he was probably a little too young for her.
Of course, it never hurt to enjoy the view.
When she asked him for his opinions of the other ice sculptors, he was quick and witty in his assessments, calling Liam “focused and aggressive yet nimble” and saying of Felicia, “She has the delicate touch of a painter, even when she’s holding a chain saw in her mitts.”
They talked a little longer, but finally he went back to work, and she stepped back to assess the progress the ice sculptors had made so far. The shapes hidden within the ice were still indistinct, though she could see a general framework beginning to emerge. Still, it was clear there was much work left to be done. This was confirmed for her by Preston Smith, who appeared suddenly at her side, two cups of coffee in hand.
“Ah, Ms. Holliday, you’re looking very chilly out here this morning,” he said pleasantly. “Perhaps I could interestyou in a warm beverage.” He held out one of the foam cups to her.
Candy took it gratefully. “That’s very nice of you, Preston, and yes, thanks, I’ll gladly accept.”
“No cream, one pack of sugar substitute, just the way you like it,” he said with a broad smile as he passed her the cup.
Candy gave him a curious look. “Well, that’s… that’s very sweet of you. But how do you know how I like my coffee, if I may ask?”
Preston was sipping from his cup and so couldn’t answer immediately, but instead pointed up the street with a gloved finger. “The waitress at the diner. She told me,” he said after he’d swallowed. “Such friendly people! What a wonderful town you have here! I’m confident I’ve chosen the right place for our new event.” He paused as his expression turned to one of concern. “Unfortunately, this issue with the dead body in the woods could make us reconsider our decision—if it’s true, of course. What’s the status of the case? Have the police found out anything?”
Candy shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of, but I think they’re still looking.”
“And what about you? I’ve heard you’re something of a detective around here. Are you conducting your own investigation?”
A brief smile crossed Candy’s face. “I’m not really a detective,” she said simply.
“But you’ve apparently had some success solving a few local mysteries. One of the waitresses over at
With the ice sculptors occupied for at least a while, Candy knew she’d have to be content with another approach, so she interviewed a few of the onlookers for local flavor. After that, she cornered Oliver LaForce and pried a few decent quotes out of him about the effect of the Moose Fest on the local economy. The inn would be full over the weekend, and the local establishments along Ocean Avenue and Main Street, not to mention those all the way up along Route 192 to Route 1, would get a sizable dose of much-needed revenue. The midwinter jolt in the economic arm would beenough to hold most of them over until the spring thaw and tourist season arrived.
As far as the interviews went, it was all fairly mediocre stuff—not the hard-hitting copy she was looking for—but it was the best she could do for the moment.
She looked around and realized Wanda had disappeared.
She’s probably somewhere warm, uploading photos and posting to her blog
, Candy thought grimly.
She always seems to be one step ahead of me lately.
To make herself feel better, Candy lingered near Colin Trevor Jones for a bit, watching his graceful, precise movements as he shaved away at the ice, until he finally stepped back to take a break. When he turned her way, she gave him a quick wave. He grinned back and, ruddy-faced and en-crusted in ice crystals, walked over to talk to her. Before long he was describing the exhilaration of cutting into ice and pulling out the shapes within. It was just the type of stuff she was looking for, plus it gave her an excuse to hang around Colin awhile, though she realized he was probably a little too young for her.
Of course, it never hurt to enjoy the view.
When she asked him for his opinions of the other ice sculptors, he was quick and witty in his assessments, calling Liam “focused and aggressive yet nimble” and saying of Felicia, “She has the delicate touch of a painter, even when she’s holding a chain saw in her mitts.”
They talked a little longer, but finally he went back to work, and she stepped back to assess the progress the ice sculptors had made so far. The shapes hidden within the ice were still indistinct, though she could see a general framework beginning to emerge. Still, it was clear there was much work left to be done. This was confirmed for her by Preston Smith, who appeared suddenly at her side, two cups of coffee in hand.
“Ah, Ms. Holliday, you’re looking very chilly out here this morning,” he said pleasantly. “Perhaps I could interestyou in a warm beverage.” He held out one of the foam cups to her.
Candy took it gratefully. “That’s very nice of you, Preston, and yes, thanks, I’ll gladly accept.”
“No cream, one pack of sugar substitute, just the way you like it,” he said with a broad smile as he passed her the cup.
Candy gave him a curious look. “Well, that’s… that’s very sweet of you. But how do you know how I like my coffee, if I may ask?”
Preston was sipping from his cup and so couldn’t answer immediately, but instead pointed up the street with a gloved finger. “The waitress at the diner. She told me,” he said after he’d swallowed. “Such friendly people! What a wonderful town you have here! I’m confident I’ve chosen the right place for our new event.” He paused as his expression turned to one of concern. “Unfortunately, this issue with the dead body in the woods could make us reconsider our decision—if it’s true, of course. What’s the status of the case? Have the police found out anything?”
Candy shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of, but I think they’re still looking.”
“And what about you? I’ve heard you’re something of a detective around here. Are you conducting your own investigation?”
A brief smile crossed Candy’s face. “I’m not really a detective,” she said simply.
“But you’ve apparently had some success solving a few local mysteries. One of the waitresses over at
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