Haley Pruitt was the granddaughter of Helen Ross Pruitt, the town’s wealthiest citizen and owner of Pruitt Manor, an English Tudor-style “summer cottage” that sat out on the point near Kimball Light.

Amanda seemed completely disinterested by the conversation. “No one told me. I just know. She always wins everything.”

Candy let out a breath of exasperation. “Amanda, she doesn’t win everything. You can’t think like that. You have as good a chance to win as anyone. Besides, you’re much prettier than Haley.”

Amanda looked up, her soft brown eyes hopeful. “You really think so?”

Candy smiled reassuringly. “I know so. You just have to go up there and do your…”

She was interrupted when Amanda’s serious demeanor suddenly brightened and her eyes flashed with excitement. “Oh, hi, Cameron!” Amanda said with more energy than she had mustered the entire morning.

Candy’s gaze shifted. A tall, shaggy-haired teenage boy with a lopsided grin and intelligent green eyes stood in front of the booth.

“Oh, hi, Cameron,” Candy echoed.

“Hi,” said Cameron, barely looking at her. Then, more shyly, he added, “Hi, Amanda.”

“Hi.”

There was an awkward silence in which both teens looked at each other and then looked over at Candy. When neither of them spoke, apparently tongue-tied, Candy asked, “Having a good time today, Cam?”

The boy shrugged. “Not really. Working,” he said in a voice surprisingly deep for someone his age.

“Oh, that’s right. How are things at Gumm’s?” Cameron worked at the town’s hardware store during the summer.

“Busy.” He paused. “How are things going here?”

“Just great,” said Candy cheerily. “Amanda’s helping out a lot. She’s doing a great job.”

“Hmm.” Cameron’s eyes flicked from Amanda to Candy and back as he fidgeted and chewed his lip. He seemed to want to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. Or maybe something-or someone-was preventing him from saying it. Candy guessed that “someone” was her. The kids probably wanted a few minutes by themselves, she realized. Young love and all that.

Leaning over, she dug a twenty-dollar bill out of the cash box. “Tell you what,” she said to Amanda. “Why don’t you and Cam run over to Duffy’s and get some lunch? And you can bring me back something.”

Amanda snatched the bill from Candy’s hand almost before the words were out of her mouth.” ’Kay. What do you want?”

Candy’s first thought was to ask for the usual-a salad and a Diet Coke-but what the hey, it was a festival day, right? Why not celebrate a little? “How about a cheeseburger, extra pickles and mustard, fries with lots of ketchup, and an extra thick chocolate shake,” she said quickly before she changed her mind.

“You got it!” Amanda dashed around the back of the booth, grabbed Cameron by the hand, and pulled him away with her. He flashed a silly grin at Candy before he turned and followed his girlfriend. “Back in twenty minutes,” Amanda called over her shoulder, waving.

Candy chuckled. “Yeah, right. Twenty minutes. Like that’ll happen.”

Turning her attention back to her booth, she started rearranging the items on the front counter. As she did, she noticed a large, bearded man standing to one side, surreptitiously watching her as he pretended to read the label on one of her pies. Catching her glance, he shot her a tight smile. “You’re pretty good with teenagers,” he observed.

Candy laughed. “I don’t know about that. But we get along pretty well together. They’re good kids.”

The bearded man squinted in thought as he turned to glance back over his shoulder. “She looks familiar. Do I know her?”

Candy gave him the once over. “Who wants to know?” she said protectively. She wasn’t about to discuss Amanda with a stranger.

He pointed a finger at his chest. “You want to know who I am?”

“That’s right.”

It wasn’t much of a clarification, but he seemed to get it. His mouth formed the tight smile again. Could be it was constricted by all that facial hair? “Oh, I see. I thought you knew.”

“Why would I know?”

“Well, it’s just that… my name’s been in the…” A bit flustered, he finally stuck out a hand. “Sebastian J. Quinn.”

“Oh. Hello.” She shook his hand, which dwarfed hers.

Now, as she took a closer look at him, she realized he did look vaguely familiar. His size was imposing. He was tall and a bit heavy, though not overweight. He wore dark gray slacks, a crisply pressed khaki shirt, and a shiny green and rose cravat, the likes of which had gone out of style thirty years ago. Okay, fifty. Truthfully, it had never been in style. He cradled a newspaper under one arm and held four or five small burgundy-colored books in his meaty left hand.

It took her a few moments, but it finally dawned on her. “I have seen you in the paper. You’re the poet, right?”

His smile genuinely widened. He bowed slightly. “The very same. I’m honored you’ve heard of me.”

“Well, just about everybody in town has heard of you, haven’t they? You’re here for the pageant, right? One of the judges?”

“Actually, I’m vacationing in the area. I must admit, I’m quite taken with your lovely little town. I’ve rented a cottage on the coast for a month. Acting as a judge for the pageant is a last-minute arrangement.”

“So I’ve heard.” It had been front-page news in the local paper. The organizers of the Blueberry Queen Pageant liked to have at least one celebrity judge every year, in addition to the regulars. The frenetic search for this year’s celebrity judge had been widely reported by Sapphire Vine in her column. According to her reports, Stephen King, who lived up in Bangor, had been asked (for the fifth year in a row) to be a judge but had graciously declined. Other offers had gone out, but none had been accepted. For a while the search had seemed destined to failure. Then, when someone found out Sebastian J. Quinn was vacationing in the area, he had been asked and had ultimately agreed to become this year’s celebrity judge.

“It’s quite an honor for us to have a poet of your stature as a judge,” Candy continued.

“Oh, well, that’s a very nice thing to say. Tell me, are you a fan of poetry?” Sebastian asked.

“I guess you could say that. I’ve read Robert Frost, Walt Whitman, that sort of thing.”

“Any of my works?”

Candy hesitated. She knew he was fishing for a compliment. “Of course.”

“Oh? Which ones?”

“One of the early ones.” She thought a moment, trying to recall the title. “Something about chaos,” was all she could remember.

“Mm. Yes, that one. The Bell of Chaos, it’s called.”

“That’s right! The Bell of Chaos. I enjoyed it a lot.”

“Yes, you and many others.” Sebastian looked quite unimpressed. “I won the Pulitzer for that, although I think my later works are much better.” He held out one of the burgundy-colored books he was carrying. “Here’s my latest. A Drop of Peace.”

“Oh.” Candy gingerly took the book that had been thrust at her and flipped through the pages. “It looks wonderful,” she said, closing the cover and handing it back. But Sebastian waved it away. “Keep it. My gift to you. Here, I’ll sign it for you, though I’m afraid I don’t know your first name.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I neglected to introduce myself. It’s Candy. Candy Holliday.”

He looked at her curiously, glanced up at the sign over the booth, then back at her. “Of course. Holliday’s Blueberry Acres. Candy, though? That name is quite… unique.”

“It’s sort of an inside joke. I was born on Halloween.” After a moment she added, “My parents had a warped sense of humor, I guess.”

That tight smile returned. He seemed to have practiced it a lot. “Hmm, yes, I see.” He scribbled something hastily on the book’s front page, signed his name, starting with a large swooping S, then slapped the cover closed and shoved the book toward her. “There you go. Do enjoy. Now, I must confess, I’ve heard you make the best blueberry pies in town. That’s why I came over, to check out your wares…”