Town in a Wild Moose Chase by B. B. Haywood Page B

whirring and beeping as they lifted and placed the big blocks of ice. Many were set down in freestanding positions, while others were stacked and fused together to form two platforms,which would serve as the foundations for the large multiblock sculptures. Once that part of the operation was complete, the carving could begin.
    “I’d heard early rumors they might work through the night,” Ben told her, “but I think they’ve decided to relax tonight instead and start at first light.”
    “Will they finish in time for the parade?”
    He gave her one of his editor’s looks. “I don’t know, but I know where you can find the answer.” With a movement of his hand he indicated the crowd.
    She took the hint. “You’re a tough taskmaster, Ben Clayton, but I guess you’re right. It’s time to get to work, isn’t it?” She reached into her tote bag, withdrew a notebook, pen, and digital recorder, and flung the bag back over her shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she said, and flashing him a smile, she started off.
    She began with a hollow-cheeked, pale-skinned, raven-haired woman who introduced herself as Felicia Gaspar, from upstate New York. A professional chef turned ice sculptor, Felicia was dressed in dark blue cargo pants tucked into knee-high, fleece-lined boots, and a navy blue down vest over a thick, sand-colored fisherman’s sweater. She wore padded mittens and had pulled back her long, straight hair into a thick braid to keep it out of her way.
    “I was born to do this,” she told Candy. “When I’m working with the ice, I’m one with it. I can see the harmonics in it—the precise places to chip away the outer layers to reveal what lies beneath. And I can wield a pretty mean chain saw too,” she added. “When it comes to cutting into the ice, I’ll give any one of these guys around here a run for his money. I may look delicate, but I can be pretty physical.”
    Candy didn’t doubt it. Felicia had a sinewy toughness to her, like a mother snow leopard. “I still cook as much as I can,” she said, “but ice carving is my passion now. And my profession as well.”
    “What will you be carving this weekend?” Candy asked,holding out her digital recorder so she could catch Felicia’s response.
    “I’ll be working on the animals in the large display—deer and moose are a specialty of mine. But my favorites are horses. I won’t be doing any of those this weekend, which is a pity. They turn out so majestic in the ice. I once carved an entire team of horses pulling a wagon, for a beer company. That was one of my most challenging works. I won an award for it, you know. I won’t be re-creating the entire sculpture this weekend, but I’m going to carve a life-sized sleigh, in honor of the Sleigh and Sled Parade. You’ll actually be able to climb up on it. I’ll also carve a few smaller pieces. I do a beautiful curling snail with a textured shell and little antennae, for instance.”
    “How long does all that take?” Candy asked.
    “It goes pretty fast. A few hours per piece, I suppose. The larger sculptures will take longer, of course. We’ll work in teams, which will help, but we’ll be at it all day Friday and Friday night, and into Saturday morning.”
    She also talked about an international competition she’d recently attended in Alaska and an upcoming one at the Winter Carnival in Quebec. “That’s my favorite event. You’ve been to the carnival, haven’t you? No? Oh, you really should go. There’s a whole circuit the ice carvers travel, you know. Some even head Down Under in the summer—a perpetual-winter sort of thing. It brings in a few extra dollars. I’ve been once or twice. Every little bit helps, you know? Hey, who is that guy? Is he with you?”
    Caught off-guard, Candy turned to look back over her shoulder. “Who?”
    “That guy there. The one with the shaggy brown hair.”
    Candy focused in the direction she was pointing, and felt a jolt of surprise.