Town in a Blueberrry Jam by B. B. Haywood

flashlight.”
    “Ha! I knew it!” Doc announced proudly, pounding a fist into an open hand.
    “They found it on the rocks below,” Finn went on, sounding not unlike Joe Friday in Dragnet . “It’s got someone’s initials on it.” He lowered his voice to a gruff whisper as he leaned in closer. “Not Jock’s, though.”
    Doc’s eyes narrowed. “Whose?”
    Finn leaned back, hitched up his trousers, and shook his head. “Haven’t found that out yet. I’m on it, though.”
    “You headed to the diner?”
    The boys nodded. For a strange moment they reminded Candy of the Three Stooges, especially Bumpy, who with his crew cut and generous proportions bore more than a passing resemblance to Curly. And now that she thought about it, Artie Groves, with his straight black hair, could pass for a much taller Moe. She almost expected them to start slapping each other around. Doc rubbed at his hip before he turned to her, looking like a little boy about to ask if he could go outside and play. “Leg’s starting to bother me a little. Mind if I take a break?”
    Candy gave him a gentle push, letting him know he wasn’t fooling anyone. She was surprised he had lasted as long as he did. “Go ahead, get off your feet for a while. I’ve got help coming.”
    He gave her a grateful smile. “I’ll be right across the street if you need me,” he said, and off he went with his crew.
    Fortunately, Candy had arranged for Maggie’s daughter to stop by to help out in the booth. Tall, dark haired, and serious, Amanda Tremont was soon to be a senior at Cape Willington High School, with dreams of becoming an architect. Candy knew she was always looking to make a little extra cash, so it hadn’t been difficult to persuade her to help out at the booth for a couple of hours.
    With Amanda working beside her, Candy was able to handle all her customers during the busiest part of the day—mid to late morning—and the battered gray cash box behind the front counter began to fill up with tens and twenties, and even a few fifties and hundreds.
    As midday approached, Candy found that, rather than feeling tired or stressed, she was energized and actually enjoying herself. Main Street, lined with colorful booths and banners, and crowded with chattering tourists, families with little children, elderly couples strolling along, and groups of excited teens huddled together like seagulls against the wind, had taken on a festive atmosphere.
    Blueberry pies and T-shirts and garlands were everywhere. Peppy music drifted from loudspeakers attached to lampposts. Sounds of laughter could be heard up and down the street. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, yet there was an underlying melancholy that lay just beneath the surface, Candy noticed, though for the most part folks avoided talking about Jock’s passing. It was whispered about here and there, yes, but it was still too shocking, too unbelievable, to bring out into the open on such a sunny festival day.
    Just after noon, Herr Georg stopped by to pay his respects and purchase one of Candy’s mini pies. Ray made an appearance and walked away with a dozen large muffins—probably eleven more than he’d originally intended to purchase. Candy gently tried to talk him out of buying that many—she knew he lived alone and couldn’t eat them all by himself—but he insisted, telling her they were his favorite.
    Other townspeople passed by or stopped to say hello. One was Judicious F. P. Bosworth, a fortyish gentleman whose father and grandfather had both been judges, hence the lofty name. But rather than following in the family business, Judicious had skipped out on his senior year of high school and backpacked his way through Europe and Asia, winding up years later at a Buddhist monastery on a mountaintop in Tibet. He had been close to thirty when he had finally returned to Cape Willington a decade ago, firmly convinced he had mystical powers and could make himself invisible at will.
    At first, when