Meanwhile, Sapphire Vine stepped to the front of the stage, where she flashed a radiant, obviously well-practiced smile and waved out at the audience, tears of joy streaming down her face. (Whether those tears were real or carefully and purposefully leaked was yet to be determined, Candy decided.)

But Sapphire hadn’t stopped there. Caught up in the grandeur of the moment, she stepped down from the stage and marched out into the audience, hugging anyone and everyone she came to-grandmothers and schoolteachers and bankers and burly lobstermen and little girls, whom she lifted off the ground and twirled happily about.

She’s really into this, Candy had thought as she watched the rebroadcast for the second time on Sunday. She must have been really desperate to win this… but why? Has her life been that empty? Did she need this positive affirmation that badly?

Eventually the images on the TV had faded, to be followed by rebroadcasts of the previous week’s town council meeting or committee meeting or some such thing, and Candy had reluctantly flicked off the set.

She thought that, if it were broadcast again, she would tape the pageant so she and Maggie could watch it whenever they wanted, perhaps accompanied by a pitcher of blueberry daiquiris (a specialty of Candy’s, made with fresh blueberries, natch, plus blueberry schnapps and white rum). She knew that taping the pageant for perennial mocking might be crass, but hey, when you lived on a blueberry farm on the outskirts of a sleepy seaside village in Maine, you had to get your pleasures where you could.

In fact, Candy thought as she turned off the Coastal Loop onto Main Street and looked around for a place to park, she could hardly wait for lunchtime so she could talk more with Maggie about it. They’d already had three or four phone conversations that had descended rapidly into tear-filled bouts of uncontrollable laughter, but there was no doubt they would be talking about the Blueberry Queen Pageant, and the new Blueberry Queen herself, for months, perhaps years, to come.

Life, as they say, was good.

But it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

TEN

Candy’s first stop was the Black Forest Bakery. She had promised Herr Georg she would drop off a few pounds of blueberries she’d raked the day before. The larger harvest would take place in the next couple of weeks, but in the meantime she was harvesting small batches for herself and a few others like Herr Georg, who loved to bake with fresh blueberries.

She and Doc were pleased with their crop this year and were expecting a good yield, though they would harvest only about seven acres-half their fields-this season. As was common when growing wild blueberries, the fields were harvested in two-year cycles. Half of the fields were in the sprout year. The plants would produce bud sets by the fall, and the following spring those bud sets would flower and produce blueberries in July and August. The other half was ready for harvesting this year.

The system worked well, producing an abundance of long, unbranched shoots that made for easy harvesting of the fruit. It also helped control pests and diseases, since after the field was fully harvested, it was burned, or sometimes mowed, to take the plants back to their roots, and the two-year cycle began again.

In a single day, working by herself and using a short-handled metal rake, Candy could harvest several hundred pounds of blueberries, though that was admittedly back-breaking work. So far she had gone easy and was delivering only about sixty pounds to Herr Georg today.

He was thrilled with what he saw. “Oh, they are beautiful!” he enthused as he grasped one of the eight-quart buckets in his hands and shook it gently. He leaned forward and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the ripe succulent berries. “I can do wonderful things with these!

“Ah, Candy,” he continued as they settled into chairs at one of the small round tables near his shop’s front window, “this is my favorite time of year. I love it so! Surrounded by all this freshness, all this goodness and healthiness! Blueberries straight from the fields, delivered right to my door just hours after harvest by a beautiful woman! It is like giving new paints to an artist or a new instrument to a musician. How could a baker ask for more?”

“Well, you know me-I love to keep my customers happy. Just let me know when you need more.” Candy paused and leaned forward a little. “By the way,” she continued conspiratorially, her voice dropping just a notch in volume, “I’m dying to ask you about the pageant on Saturday night. You must have been stunned when Mrs. Pruitt charged the judges like that and started yelling at you.”

At this sudden change in subject, Herr Georg’s expression became guarded, and he drew back in his chair. His gaze shifted back and forth. “Oh, that? Well, yes, yes, it was a very strange night, wasn’t it?” Absently he licked his lips. “I mean, that Vine woman winning? How odd that was. It surprised us all, I think. Very shocking.”

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” Suddenly enthralled, Candy shifted her chair a bit closer to him. “So tell me everything. What did you think about that cowgirl outfit of hers? Wasn’t that odd? And that poem? It certainly was creative, yes, but you couldn’t have given her very high marks for that dreadful performance, could you? So how did she win anyway?”

Herr Georg looked at her nervously. “Candy, meine liebchen, you should know I can’t talk about those things. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Just a hint. A little tidbit. Please? For your old friend Candy.” She made goo-goo eyes at him, egging him on.

Herr Georg hesitated for the longest time, glancing this way and that, then allowed himself a small smile as he leaned in close. “Well,” he said quietly, obviously unable to resist Candy’s charms, “I suppose it won’t hurt to talk about this just between the two of us. As long as the conversation goes no further than this table.”

Candy made a gesture of locking her lips with a key and tossing the key away.

Herr Georg laughed, then continued in a tone barely above a whisper. “Just as you say, I was horrified, simply horrified, when Mrs. Pruitt charged us like that! It was so unexpected and so frightening! Such fury from such a small, thin woman! I thought she was going to slay each of us right there!”

“I know! Wasn’t she wretched?”

“Shocking. Quite shocking-and most inappropriate,” Herr Georg agreed.

“I can’t believe she just flew off the handle like that. I mean, I was as surprised as anyone that Haley didn’t win. But I guess you were surprised about that too.”

“I, um, yes, ah, yes, yes, as I said before, of course I was.”

“And who can believe Sapphire Vine actually won? I was thinking about it this morning, and the only reason I can come up with-the only way she could have won-is if one of the judges marked the scoring form wrong, or something like that. You know, got the contestants mixed up and put the wrong scores in the wrong place. But that’s crazy, isn’t it? I mean, I can’t imagine that sort of thing happening. But it seems like the only explanation.”

“Hmm,” mused Herr Georg. “Do you really think so? It doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

“Well, no, I suppose not. I mean, these things are carefully monitored, right? It wouldn’t be possible for a judge to screw up like that, would it?”

“Oh no, of course not, of course not!” Herr Georg replied emphatically.

“And if one of the judges made a huge mistake like that and threw the vote to Sapphire, the rest of you would know about it, wouldn’t you?”

“Hmm.” Herr Georg shifted uneasily in his seat and tugged at the end of his white moustache. Clearly he was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Well, not necessarily,” he said cautiously. “I mean, we scored the contestants independently, and we didn’t review each other’s scores, so theoretically it’s possible, I suppose, that one of the judges could have been a little, um, mixed up, as you say. But it doesn’t seem likely, does it? Perhaps, as strange as it may sound, Ms. Vine really did win, fair and square. It is possible, I suppose. Don’t you think? Would you like some tea?”