A Broth of Betrayal (21 page)

Lucky didn’t trust herself to speak. She quickly prepared the croissants with jam
and two cups of tea for the sisters.

Janie approached. “Lucky, have you seen my watch anywhere? I can’t find it.”

“Haven’t. Where was the last place you remember it?”

“The night we were at the church—at the meeting. I took if off to wash my hands, I
think. At least that’s the last place I remember seeing it.”

“Tell you what, when the lunch rush has finished, I’ll zip over there. I’ll see if
I can find it.”

“Would you?” Janie breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m lost without it.”

“No worries. I’m sure it’s still there.” What better excuse did she need to try to
talk to Pastor Wilson about Harry?

Chapter 32

W
HEN THE LAST
of their lunchtime customers had paid and gone, Lucky pulled off her apron and hung
it on a hook in the kitchen. “Sage, I’m taking a break. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

She headed up Broadway and cut across the Village Green, entering the front door of
the white-steepled church. Cutting across the pews, she headed for the large meeting
room and kitchen. She pushed open the swinging door and flicked on the light switch.
She checked all the counters and the windowsills. She opened drawers and peeked inside.
She was just about to give up the search for Janie’s watch when something on a tall
shelf above the sink caught her eye. There it was. She slipped the watch into the
pocket of her skirt, flicked off the light and closed the door to the kitchen. She
walked back along the corridor to the main part of the church. The door to Pastor
Wilson’s office was closed but she heard stirrings inside. She knocked on the door.

“Come in,” the familiar voice called out. Lucky opened the door and stepped into a
slightly messy but comfortable chamber. Bookshelves lined the walls and piles of papers
were littered across the desk. She breathed deeply, soaking up the residual aroma
of mothballs, a comforting, homey smell, even if only for her.

Pastor Wilson looked up. “Hello, Lucky. Good to see you. What can I do for you?”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all, just struggling with next Sunday’s sermon. I thought something along
the lines of guilt and the wages of sin might be appropriate, given all that’s been
going on in town.”

“I hope the right person hears it.”

“Please, sit down.” He waved a hand in the direction of one of the high-backed leather
wing chairs.

Lucky looked down. An unstable stack of books and folders was piled on the seat.

“Oh, so sorry, let me give you a hand.” Pastor Wilson rose from his chair and moved
around the side of his desk. “Sorry. I haven’t had a chance to straighten up for a
while.” He picked up the stack of files and books and turned in a circle, hunting
for a place to deposit them. He finally dropped them on the floor behind his chair.
“Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Harry Hodges.” Lucky knew she had never known Harry very well. Now, given all that
she had heard, she wondered if anyone in town did. In the years she had lived with
her parents, she had met Harry a few times. Each time she had been with her father
when he needed to discuss a car repair. It seemed that no matter how many years went
by, Harry never aged. He always appeared the same grumpy, grizzled man she remembered
when she was younger. What was strange about overhearing his conversation with Pastor
Wilson at the church was that Harry had never struck her as someone who doubted his
place in the world or someone tortured by uncertainty.

“Oh.” Pastor Wilson pushed his glasses up on his head. “Poor Harry. Yes. What about
him?”

“The day before the demonstration, you remember, Sophie and I were here unloading
drinks. I came down the hall to see you, just as Harry Hodges was leaving your office.”

“That’s right. Yes,” he replied slowly.

“I didn’t mean to, but as Harry was leaving . . . And I’m very sorry, I didn’t intend
to eavesdrop but I couldn’t help but hear you talking and it sounded as if Harry was
discussing something very serious.”

Pastor Wilson took off his glasses and polished them carefully before putting them
back on. “Well, I don’t know if it would be quite proper for me to talk about that.
It’s not as though we have confession in our religious practice, but all the same,
it would still be private.”

“Pastor.” Lucky leaned toward the desk. “Two people have been murdered. Elizabeth
Dove is missing.”

The Pastor cleared his throat. “Yes. Of course. My word. What’s happening here? This
is all too much.” Pastor Wilson heaved a deep sigh.

“That’s what I’d like to know. I’m asking you about this because Elizabeth disappeared
right around the same time Harry was murdered. I am frantic with worry. Something
has happened to her, and I’m terrified it might be connected with these two murders.”

Pastor Wilson scratched his head, disturbing the few sandy hairs he had combed over
his almost bald pate. “You really should talk to the police—to Nate Edgerton.”

“I talk to Nate almost every day. I’ve told him about the conversation I overheard
between you and Harry, and I’m sure he’s spoken to you about that by now. There’s
nothing anyone can do for Harry, or for Richard Rowland, but we have to do everything
possible to find Elizabeth.”

“I agree and I appreciate how you feel, but to be honest, Harry really didn’t say
very much.” He stared at the papers on his desk for a moment and finally heaved a
sigh. “I guess nothing I say can hurt Harry any longer.” Pastor Wilson leaned his
elbows on his desk and wove his fingers together, his index fingers pointing heavenward.
It reminded Lucky of the game children played with their hands.
Here’s the church and here’s the steeple
—then, opening their hands with fingers still entwined—
Open the doors and see all the people
.

“Harry came to me because he had made a decision. He told me he had kept a secret
and that secret had burdened him his entire life. But he didn’t tell me what it was.
He was simply asking my advice in a very general way. But . . . he said there was
something he needed to do first, someone who would be affected. Someone he needed
to talk to.” Pastor Wilson pulled his eyeglasses off his forehead and wiped them carefully
once more. “I’m sorry, Lucky. That’s all I know. I have spoken to Nate about this.
He had no idea what Harry could have been talking about, nor do I. I know it’s not
very enlightening, but that’s all I know.”

Lucky leaned back in the large armchair, listening closely. Nothing in Pastor Wilson’s
response indicated he had any knowledge of Harry’s failing health. He was either a
very good liar, which she doubted, or he really had no idea Harry was terminally ill.
“I’m grasping at straws, I guess. I just don’t know what else to do. Tell me, did
you feel it was something Harry had done or something he knew?”

“That’s a good question, but I couldn’t say.” Pastor Wilson shook his head. “I have
been praying for Elizabeth Dove’s safe return and I sincerely hope it has nothing
to do with this terrible business.”

“Thanks for your time.”

“Not at all.” Pastor Wilson rose from his chair and walked to the door of his office
with her. “I’m here anytime you’d like to come by.”

“Thank you.” Dejected, Lucky left the church and walked back across the Village Green.
The sun had disappeared behind murky cloud cover, the air heavy and stifling. She
mentally reviewed what she was certain of. Harry was dying. He had made a will leaving
everything to Guy Bessette. Pastor Wilson more than likely knew nothing of Harry’s
illness, but he did confirm that Harry had been burdened by a secret of some sort.
He had come to a decision, but that decision affected someone else. Who was that someone
else? And had that someone murdered Harry to prevent him from talking? Was Rowland
the person he needed to speak to? Or had he confided in Rowland? And now Rowland was
dead.

If both Harry and Rowland had been murdered, then someone else was involved—someone
who knew the secret Harry kept. Or had Rowland been killed only because his construction
was a hated project and it had nothing to do with Harry’s murder?

She turned and looked back at the church. The white steeple rose to the sky, startling
white against gathering black clouds. A cool wind blew at her skirt. This was the
very spot where she and Sophie had met Rowena, the day they delivered refreshments
to the church. Rowena had been excited, planning her interview with Rowland, and then
on the day of the dress rehearsal, furious and upset that Rowland had cut her short
and had her removed from the site.

A car horn tooted. Lucky looked across the Green to Broadway. Sophie was at the wheel
of her car, waving to her. Lucky waved back and hurried across the Green to meet her.

“I was just heading over to the Spoonful to see you. What are you doing here?” Sophie
looked at her more carefully. “You don’t look very good.”

“I know. Everyone keeps telling me that.”

“Hop in. We can talk a bit.” Sophie turned off the engine as Lucky walked around to
the passenger side and climbed in.

“I took a break to come over to look for Janie’s watch. She left it at the church
the other night, but really I wanted to see Pastor Wilson.” Lucky rubbed her temples.
“I had very strange, confused dreams last night, and all morning I’ve felt as if there’s
something nagging at me. Something I know but can’t quite remember. Something that’s
right in front of me but I can’t see it.”

“What did Reverend Mothballs have to say?”

Lucky smiled in spite of her mood. “Not much. Harry really didn’t tell him anything
definite. But it seems he did want to get something off his chest. He had come to
a decision but told the Pastor he had to talk to someone else first.”

“Like something bad Harry had done a long time ago?”

“Maybe. But whatever Harry knew affected another person. Something definitely haunted
him. And that was the impression I had when I overheard them in the church. There’s
another thing—but you must not mention it to anyone. Elias confided in me. Harry was
terminally ill. He had only a few months to live.”

“And somebody killed him.” Sophie shuddered. “How horrible.”

Lucky leaned over and rested her forehead on her knees. Sophie placed a hand on Lucky’s
back. “You’re completely stressed out.”

“I’m exhausted from frustration, even though I slept like the dead all night. When
you spotted me, I was thinking about Rowena and the day we met her here.”

Sophie wrinkled her nose. “
Thinking
and
Rowena
don’t belong in the same sentence.”

“Seriously, it was something she said that day. She was all excited . . .”

“She was full of herself, you mean.”

“That too. But she was planning an interview with Richard Rowland, remember? I recall
thinking that no one wanted to hear his side of the story. But then we ran into her
again the day of the dress rehearsal and she was very upset.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Oh. That’s right. I think you took off when you saw her heading over. Anyway, I’m
trying to remember what she said. She was upset because Rowland cut short the interview.
I guess she had pressed it and she was outraged that he had her thrown off the site.
She said it was going very well until she mentioned the pictures.”

“What pictures?” Sophie prompted.

“She told him the editor was planning to run old town pictures with the interview
and that’s when his mood changed. She said, ‘He couldn’t get me out of there fast
enough—as soon as I mentioned the pictures.’”

“Where are you going with this? Do you think Rowland’s murder is somehow connected
to Rowena’s interview?”

“Not with the interview. He was willing to be interviewed. It seems it was the mention
of running pictures that brought it to a screeching halt. And to answer your question,
I think it’s all connected, but I don’t see how.”

“I’m just trying to understand your train of thought.”

Lucky heaved a sigh. “That’s just it. There is no train of thought. Elizabeth goes
missing as these other things occur. Come on, Sophie. This is Snowflake. Nothing like
this ever happens here!”

“A year ago, I would have agreed. Until last winter when I almost lost Sage. But now
look where we are.” Sophie fell silent, tapping her fingernails on the steering wheel.
“I haven’t had any luck today either. I’ve driven up and down every road in town and
all around. I’ve followed dirt tracks into the woods, everything I can think of, but
I haven’t found anything unusual, much less Elizabeth’s car. I know I shouldn’t have
gone out alone, but I just had to do something.”

“I’m going over to the
Gazette.
It’s the only thing I haven’t had a chance to explore. Do you want to come with me?”

Sophie groaned. “Not if I have to talk to Rowena.”

Lucky shook her head. “I’ll do all the talking, okay?”