A Spoonful of Murder (12 page)

She opened the hallway closet where she had stacked the boxes from her parents’ house. The first was full of books she had decided to keep, and since she didn’t have a bookcase as yet, they would have to wait. She lifted that box aside and opened the next. This one held framed family photos. She unwrapped them carefully and carried her two favorites to the bedroom, placing them on top of the bureau. One was a snapshot of her parents on ice skates on a pond in the woods. They were smiling widely at the camera, her father’s ankles buckling slightly on his skates. Even though his arm was draped protectively around her mother, she was sure it was her mother holding him steady on the ice. As hard as it was dealing with their death, it was easier than imagining one of them without the other. Her father would never have been able to cope with the loss of her mother. And even though her mother may have been the stronger of the two, the joy in her eyes would have faded. Lucky kissed the photo gently and placed it on the bureau. The other photo was of Lucky and her mother at her college graduation, their arms around each other. Lucky beamed at the camera—was she ever so young only six short years ago—while her mother leaned her head gently against Lucky’s cheek. A sob rose in her chest for all the years she had taken her parents for granted.
She took a deep breath to quell the grief that threatened to rise up again.

She pulled her old CD player out of the next box. It was one she had used in her bedroom all through high school and still used when she had come home for visits. Tucked in next to it were several CDs she had cherished. They probably wouldn’t be Jack’s taste, but she wouldn’t mind hearing them again. She left the player and CDs on the floor in the hallway to take to the Spoonful later. It might be nice to listen to music—with or without customers. If nothing else, it would lift their spirits a little. The next box held her mother’s sewing machine and yards and yards of fabric. She carried the sewing machine to the kitchen table. There must have been projects her mother had never gotten around to, but perhaps she could use this fabric to make curtains for the apartment. She smiled, hearing her mother’s words in her head.
I just knew this would come in handy.

She lifted out the various folds of material and carried them to the bed. One was a white and blue plaid fabric, mostly white with a thin dark blue plaid pattern—perfect for curtains for the kitchen window. She measured it, stretching her arm out and holding an edge to her chest—about four yards, just right for café curtains. Another was a muted floral print in rose tones with a chinoiserie feel to it, as though copied from an oriental print. The bedroom, she thought. She quickly measured and refolded it—more than enough for bedroom drapes and even pillow covers. For the first time since she had returned home, she looked forward to creating something new that would help her feel she belonged. What could be better than using fabric her mother had chosen?

She quickly checked the clock. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to find something at the sisters’ shop and then get to work. She refolded all the fabric and carried it to the linen closet. Running her hands over the cloth, she held it to her face, relishing the aroma and imagining her mother’s hands caressing it as she picked it out.

T
HE SISTERS WERE
sitting on stools behind the glass display case when she arrived. Cecily waved. “Oh, it’s Lucky! Come on in, dear. We were just talking about you.”

“I hope it was all good.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course it was,” Cecily replied, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry we haven’t been in lately.”

“I noticed. I was hoping you’d come back and break the evil spell. We’ve opened every day since the murder, but no one seems to want to come near us. And of course, now with Sage…”

“Ooooh, we heard. That’s just terrible. Do you think…?”

Lucky was sure what the unspoken question was, and she stated emphatically, “No. I do
not
think Sage is guilty. Quite the opposite, and I’m going to try to do everything possible to get him out of this situation and back to the Spoonful. We’d fall apart without him.”

Marjorie looked at Lucky over the rim of her glasses. “You seem very sure.”

“I am. I really am. I think Nate jumped the gun. And I think the murderer is still out there somewhere.”

“Well, dear, I certainly hope you’re right—about his innocence, that is.” Marjorie’s words held a dubious tone. “But I don’t like the idea of a murderer being among us. Even if Sage is innocent, who do you think killed that awful woman?”

“Everyone around seems to have taken a great interest in her. Janie and Meg said they’ve seen her with one of the ski instructors up at the Lodge.”

“Oh yes,” Cecily said. The sisters nodded in unison. “I’m sure that’s true. And I don’t think she was ungenerous with her favors, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s just it. Who else was she seeing?”

“Well,” Cecily said breathlessly, “we all know about the double order on Tuesdays.”

“What’s the significance of Tuesday, do you think?”

“Someone who could only get away one night a week?
Someone who had to make excuses. Perhaps a married man?” Marjorie sniffed.

Cecily replied, “What a scandal that would be if it came out.”

Marjorie cast a withering look at her sister. “Enough of that dreadful subject. That’s all anyone can talk about, it seems.” She rearranged her face and smiled at Lucky. “We’re so glad you came by. Let me get some of those sweaters from the back—I think you might really like one or two.” She slipped behind the curtain separating the shop from the storage room.

Once she was out of earshot, Cecily leaned over the counter and whispered, “I am sorry we haven’t stopped in. I think Marjorie’s afraid.”

Lucky leaned closer. “Afraid of what?”

“Of being associated with a murder—afraid it might hurt our business. But frankly, I’m going to have a word with her. This just isn’t right, not supporting your friends.” She reached across the counter and squeezed Lucky’s hand. The gesture brought tears to Lucky’s eyes.

“Thank you, Cecily. I mean that—from the bottom of my heart. I’m really worried about Sage, about Jack, about the restaurant. If the real killer isn’t found, and something happens to Sage, we could go under. It’s bad enough tourists are staying away, but we need our regular customers to support us too.”

“I know, dear. If Marjorie wants to be standoffish, that’s fine, but I’ll be there every morning from now on for my tea and croissant.”

Marjorie pushed her way through the curtain and laid a pile of neatly folded sweaters on top of the display case. One in particular caught Lucky’s eye. It was a soft periwinkle blue with a scoop neck and long sleeves. She placed her carryall containing the CD player on the floor and picked up the sweater. She moved to a full-length mirror and held it under her chin.

“It’s your size. It’ll be beautiful—bring out your eyes.”

Cecily smiled. “Are you looking for something for your date with Elias?”

Lucky felt her cheeks grow warm. “Oh no. Not really. And it’s not a date,” she declared emphatically.

The sisters nodded knowingly in unison. “Of course it’s not, dear.”

Cecily was right. The color accentuated the deep blue of her eyes. “I think I’ll take this.”

“Good choice. I’ll wrap it up, and we’ll knock off twenty percent—very reasonable. And I’m sure that nice doctor will appreciate it too.”

Lucky bit her tongue, tired of having to convince people that her interest in Elias was merely platonic, afraid to reveal her feelings if Elias’s interest in her was only platonic. She just smiled and said, “Thank you.”

“Don’t you want to look through the rest of our new things?”

“I’d love to, but I have to get to the Spoonful. Jack’s alone. We might not have any customers, but I feel I should be there.”

Marjorie nodded. “Of course. Come back soon, though.”

“And I’ll see you tomorrow for my tea and croissant,” Cecily chimed in, shooting a meaningful look at her sister.

“Great—see you then.” Lucky smiled and pushed through the door, heading up Broadway toward the Spoonful. Her thoughts were focused on the upcoming dinner with Elias, and she realized her stash of cosmetics and toiletries was woefully thin. She needed shampoo and some moisturizer, and a little clear nail polish wouldn’t hurt. She pulled off her gloves and studied her hands—red and raw, with nails that needed help.

Being “feminine” had never come naturally to her. Was the ability to wear makeup and play with dolls a genetic trait? If so, she had been left behind the door when those gifts were given out. Her college roommate had taken pity on her, teaching her to apply makeup and experimenting with updos for her hair. She insisted that Lucky go shopping with her and bored her to tears with fashion magazines. She
now knew the difference between a pencil skirt and a dolman sleeve—for all the good that would ever do her. Flagg’s Pharmacy was on the way, and there was no time like the present to get her life as organized as it could be for now.

She waved to Jerold Flagg as she entered. He was standing behind the glass partition above the pharmacy counter. He smiled and nodded at her in return. She picked up a plastic basket and wandered down the aisle devoted to hair and skin care. She dropped a small container of moisturizer and a bottle of shampoo in her basket, adding a tube of lip balm to keep her lips from chapping in the winter air. At the end of the aisle was a revolving rack of CDs. One caught her eye—she knew Jack would love it—a compilation of famous bands from the forties. She dropped the CD in her basket.

Nail polish was on the other side of the pharmacy along the wall. Two women were chatting as she approached. She maneuvered around them and found a display case of products that claimed to guarantee an end to split nails—
if only,
she thought. The two women didn’t appear to be tourists, but neither did she recognize them as locals. She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but she was so close it was impossible not to overhear.

“I can hardly believe it—that something like this could happen here…”

“Isn’t it just awful?” the second woman exclaimed. “We left the city because of things like this and now here we are. It’s as though the crime spree has followed us.”

Lucky had no doubt they were discussing Patricia Honeywell’s murder.

“And that restaurant…” The words were said in a tone of complete disgust. “Why, we almost ate there one night.”

The other woman snickered. “Good thing you didn’t, with a murdering chef.”

Lucky’s face was on fire. Hot anger swelled in her chest. Who were these women that they could speak so disparagingly of the Spoonful and of Sage? They knew nothing, but had already made up their minds. There it was—in a nutshell—the reason everyone was staying away.

Before she could stop herself, she turned, her face bright red. “Excuse me.”

The two women stopped in midsentence and turned to her, smiling.

“I couldn’t help but overhear.” They continued to smile as though meeting a stranger who’d agree with their opinion.

“I’d like you both to know that the restaurant you speak so judgmentally of happens to be
my
restaurant. And in case you don’t already know, it’s really an excellent place that my family has spent years building. More importantly, our chef, contrary to some opinions, is
not
a murderer.” Lucky sensed rather than saw Jerold’s attention focused in their direction. He likely couldn’t hear their conversation but was definitely aware something in the atmosphere had shifted.

“So”—Lucky took a deep breath to calm herself—“I, for one, would appreciate your being a bit more circumspect with your comments and your gossip.”

“Well…” one woman breathed. They weren’t smiling now.

“Well, nothing,” Lucky replied. “Please remember that no one has been convicted of a crime—least of all our restaurant, and your casual speech could actually hurt people.” She turned on her heel and headed to the counter where Jerold was waiting. She plopped her basket down and reached for her wallet. She was sure her face was flaming. Jerold said nothing as he rang up her purchases. Lucky handed him a few bills and said, “I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t scared away your customers, but I’m sick and tired of wagging tongues.”

“That’s quite all right, Lucky. If anyone deserves to speak her mind, it’s you.” He smiled and winked. Lucky turned and headed straight for the door without another look at the two women who stood speechless, watching her.