Town in a Wild Moose Chase Read Free Page B

field?
    Candy instantly realized something was wrong.
    She watched in growing shock and fascination as the figure—a man, it looked like—staggered forward, moving awkwardly on the surface of snow and ice, weaving uncertainly around gray-black boulders left behind eons ago by retreating glaciers. As he walked, he repeatedly looked back over his shoulder. He’d taken perhaps a dozen steps when he lost his footing and dropped first to his knees, then to the ground.
    He lay there, unmoving.
    Before she could think about what she was doing, Candy dashed toward the door, her tea and catalogs forgotten. She paused only briefly to pull on a pair of boots and grab her jacket, and then dashed outside, along the porch, and aroundthe side of the building toward the blueberry fields behind the house.
    As she ran she kept her eyes on the fallen figure, but he didn’t move. The day was clear and crisp, still chilly despite the warmer air, and almost immediately she felt her nose and the tips of her ears getting cold as she ran. Her breaths started coming quicker. She moved carefully over the snowpack, avoiding the treacherous icy patches. She didn’t want to wind up on her backside or, heaven forbid, injure herself with an awkward fall.
    It took her a few minutes to reach the man, and as she approached she could hear him give out a low groan. She slowed as she moved in closer, cautious.
    “Are you hurt?” she called out, taking in everything with a sweep of her gaze. “Do you need help?”
    He groaned again, and a leg moved, kicking out in discomfort. He was wearing dark brown pants tucked into calf-high boots, a ratty navy blue vest, and a nondescript flannel shirt. He was bareheaded. As she approached, his head turned toward her, his eyes gazing up worriedly. She saw his salt-and-pepper beard, the thin blade of a nose, the unkempt hair. He had a red gash in his forehead. A thin, jagged trickle of blood inched down to his right eyebrow.
    She gasped, recognizing the face. “Solomon Hatch!”
    She took the final few steps toward him as he struggled to sit up, but his elbows slid out from underneath him and he fell back, groaning again. As she reached him, she dropped to one knee, brushing the hair back from her face as she scanned his body for any other signs of injury. “Solomon, what’s wrong? It’s me, Candy Holliday. Do you need help?”
    She’d met him only once or twice, but she’d heard talk of him dozens of times. He was the town hermit, a shabby, bearded recluse who lived in a primitive, isolated cabin somewhere in the woods north of Cape Willington. He was a man who kept to himself, coming into town only on rareoccasions to replenish his stocks of sugar, coffee, flour, and propane.
    But what was he doing here at Blueberry Acres? And what had he been doing in the woods? “Solomon, what’s wrong?” Candy asked again, uncertain of what do to. “Do you need help? Should I call the police… or an ambulance?”
    He looked at her wildly, like a cornered animal. His mouth worked, as if he was trying to speak, but no words came out. He looked terrified as he glanced again at the woods. It was almost as if he expected to see someone—or something—come crashing out from the trees, chasing him.
    Candy looked toward the woods too, and when she looked back, she saw Solomon reaching out to her with a shaky arm, but she didn’t back away. His fingers grasped desperately at a fold in her fleece jacket near her right shoulder. Latching on, he pulled her close, raising his head toward her as he spoke.
    “Body… in the woods,” he breathed, the words rattling in his chest. He fell back then, groaning as his eyes closed.
    “What? There’s a body? Where?” Candy turned again toward the dark line of trees at the top of the slope.
    Body
.
In the woods.
    Candy was torn. She’d been in those woods dozens of times and knew them well. Should she investigate? Should she go look for a body?
    Should she stay with Solomon?
    Or should