A Spoonful of Murder (20 page)

Lost in thought, Lucky trudged slowly up the street, heading back to the Spoonful. Her amusement at Bradley’s expense quickly evaporated as the reality of Sage’s position hit her. As she approached the corner of Chestnut Street she heard the clanging bells of St. Genesius, one of the two churches Snowflake boasted, and the only Anglican church for miles around. She looked up to see its stone façade. Lucky’s parents and most townspeople attended the old Congregational church, a square, white-steepled building erected in 1749. Plain and utilitarian, it had none of the trappings of the more elegant church. Lucky had attended services at St. Genesius twice—once for a wedding and once for a baptism. She remembered a small, quiet side chapel, open at all times. She wasn’t ready to return to the Spoonful just yet. She needed a place to sit quietly and think.

She pushed open the wrought iron gate. It creaked slightly on its hinges. The path to the heavy oak door had been shoveled clear. Inside, the chapel was hushed and empty. The bells had ceased to ring. Dust motes swam in the air, and the aroma of melted candle wax mingled with the musty smell of old prayer books. Splashes of color, deep reds and blues from the stained glass windows, played across the wooden pews. Flickering candles in small red glasses stood in a metal rack in a side aisle. She slipped a dollar into a small receptacle and lit a candle, then knelt and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, forcing a jumble of thoughts from her mind. She prayed first for her parents, then her grandfather, and finally for Sage. Whatever happened to the Spoonful, whether she could keep it running or not, Sage’s life was at stake. Once the victim of a callous woman, now, with her murder, he was twice victimized.

When she was very young, she imagined the words of her prayers would float heavenward, like butterflies in a universe
where prayers would always be granted. If only she had the faith of a child that things were that simple. Events of the past few days played out in her mind’s eye as she stared at the flickering candle flame. Something had to be done. Prayers were all well and good, but Sage could forfeit his life, the guilty party would go free and the Spoonful would be forced into bankruptcy. Both she and Jack would be lost. Not to mention what this would do to Sophie. It was very clear what she had to do. She had to find the murderer.

“W
HO ARE YOU
?” a sharp voice called out.

Lucky jumped involuntarily. A jolt of fear ran down her spine; she was so lost in thought, she hadn’t heard anyone approach.

“What are you doing here?”

Breathless, she came to her feet and turned to face a small, plump woman in a pale blue suit. In the dim light it was difficult to make out her features. Her face was framed in soft blonde curls. She held a heavy silver candelabra in one hand and a polishing cloth in the other. Abigail Starkfield, Dr. Starkfield’s wife—it was the woman she had seen at the Clinic.

“I…I just came in to…”

“How did you get in? The chapel is closed.” Lucky heard a note of fear in her voice.

“The door was open…unlocked, I mean.”

“I don’t think I know you. Are you a member of this congregation?” The woman relaxed a bit, stepping closer, and spoke in a friendlier tone.

“No…I…I just stopped in to sit quietly for a moment and…”

“Oh. I see. Well, I’m sorry to disturb you, dear, but we’re preparing for a baptism. People will be arriving shortly.”

“I didn’t realize.” Lucky buttoned her coat around her and picked up her purse from the floor.

Mrs. Starkfield glanced at Lucky’s jeans and boots. She hadn’t given a thought to her dress when she decided to enter the chapel. She had to admit she wasn’t properly dressed for a house of worship.

Mrs. Starkfield stepped closer and offered her hand. “I’m Abigail Starkfield, and you are…?”

Lucky returned the handshake. “I’m Lucky Jamieson. My family owns…my parents owned the By the Spoonful Soup Shop and I run it now.”

“Oh,” Abigail replied, as if remembering hearing about the deaths of Lucky’s parents. “Well, I am sorry, dear, and sorry I interrupted you. Normally we do these on Sundays after services, but the parents’ schedules didn’t permit. I hope you’ll come back again.”

“Yes, I will. Thank you. It’s a beautiful church.”

Abigail smiled in return. There was something about the shape of her face that reminded Lucky of her mother. It was gone in a flash and she pushed the thought away. “We’re very proud of it,” Abigail responded.

Lucky glanced down at the candelabra in Abigail’s hand. Abigail caught her look and laughed. “Just polishing…making sure everything’s ready.”

Lucky nodded. “I’ll be going then. It was very nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” Abigail said. “And I’m sorry if I gave you a fright.”

Lucky smiled. “That’s quite all right. No worries,” she said as she shut the door softly behind her.

Outside the chapel the wind whipped her hair and bent the icy branches of the trees. She pulled on her cap and wrapped her scarf tighter. A little divine intervention
wouldn’t hurt at all right now, but in the meantime, she had to do everything she possibly could to solve her problems. A lot of people wanted Patricia Honeywell dead, but only one person actually committed the crime. If Nate was determined to build a case against Sage, it fell upon her to find out who else wanted Honeywell dead.

Lucky took a shortcut through the alleyway that led to the Spoonful, finally cleared since the storm. She groaned when she spotted Nate’s cruiser in the tiny lot behind the restaurant. She quickened her steps, half afraid something dreadful might have happened once again, or terrified that Jack had had one of his spells. A man in coveralls with a trowel in his hand was on his knees by the Dumpster. He was carefully scraping away snow and ice from the area where Patricia Honeywell’s body had been found. At least they hadn’t parked in front of the restaurant, where everyone would see the cruiser. That was something. Their customers might not have returned, but the Spoonful didn’t need any further advertisement of the grisly find behind their building.

Nate, standing next to the technician, and doing his best to stay warm, turned as she approached.

“What’s going on, Nate?” Lucky asked.

“Got a tech on loan from the PD in Lincoln Falls. I just want to make sure there isn’t any evidence buried here. I don’t want any surprises when spring finally comes and the snow melts.” Nate stamped his feet to stay warm. “Heard you were visiting my prisoner.”

Bradley hadn’t wasted any time. Lucky nodded. “Yes. We’re also providing food for him.” She tried not to let a note of resentment creep into her voice over the fact that Nate had arrested the best chef Snowflake had ever seen. If she hoped to do anything to get Sage out of jail and the Spoonful back on track, it would be better not to make an adversary of Nate.

“Hey, how ’bout some coffee?” Lucky asked. “You must be freezing.”

The technician looked up hopefully at her suggestion,
and Nate blew on his hands to keep them warm. “Uh…thanks, Lucky. We’d really appreciate that.”

“I’ll be right back—unless you’d like to come inside?”

“Nah, we better keep going. We should be done soon.”

Lucky ducked through the back door of the Spoonful and headed for the kitchen. “Hi, Jack,” she called.

“Hi, yourself.” He smiled widely and approached the kitchen hatch.

“I just offered Nate and his guy some coffee. They look like they’re freezing out there.”

“Good idea.”

Lucky poured coffee into two heavy-duty paper cups, placed them in a cardboard tray with cream containers and sugar and headed out to the parking lot. She rested the container on the hood of the cruiser and watched Nate dump two sugars and cream into his cup. The technician continued to dig through ice around the Dumpster. Lucky stuck her hands in her pockets and casually asked, “Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

Nate grumbled. “Nope. Just covering my bases. We don’t want to miss anything.”

“Are you looking for her other earring?” Lucky hazarded.

“How do you…what makes you think that?” Nate shot her a look that would have made anyone cringe. Lucky would have shriveled up as well, except she realized this was the best chance she had to talk to Nate and hopefully get him to open up to her. She said a silent prayer that Nate never ever found out she had searched the house on Bear Path Lane.

“I remember seeing the body. There was one earring dangling from her…right ear, I think. But I didn’t see one on her other ear.”

“Lucky, you know I can’t talk to you about this. I don’t want my case blabbed all over town.”

“You think I would do that? Give me some credit, Nate.” If only Nate knew what a gossip Bradley was, she thought.

Nate sipped his coffee and watched the technician chipping away at the ice.

“Did you find a cell phone on her by any chance?” Lucky persisted.

“Lucky.” Nate turned to her, his eyes drilling holes into her head. “I’m not gonna repeat myself.”

“Okay, okay.” Lucky fell silent but finally couldn’t resist one more question.

“Have you found her rental car yet?”

Nate didn’t respond.

Exasperated, Lucky pushed on. “Come on, Nate. Give us a break…please.”

Nate heaved a sigh. “We found it. It was up the road that leads to Lexington Heights.”

Lucky’s ears went up. “So maybe the murderer dumped the body here and left the car someplace else?” she asked hopefully. If that were the case, then the Spoonful would be relieved of the distinction of being the scene of the crime.

Nate’s face was closed. He assumed what Lucky thought of as a cop’s inscrutable expression.

“Nate, what possible motive could Sage have had?”

“You’ll have to ask him. It’s not something I can talk about.”

She couldn’t know for sure but suspected Nate had arrested Sage on the basis of his past with Honeywell. She wasn’t about to tell him she already knew about that past. Discretion was the best course.

“Jack doesn’t believe Sage is guilty, by the way.” She knew she was annoying Nate, but hoped he carried a bit of guilt about the effect on their business and wouldn’t blow his top.

“That’s commendable. I have the greatest respect for your grandfather. I’ve always looked up to him. You know that. And I know Sage’s worked for your family for several years, but…”

“But what?”

“Nice guys commit murder too.”

“You’re not convinced she was killed here, are you?
And”—she indicated the technician—“this might confirm it.”

The man in the coveralls stood and turned to Nate but, spotting Lucky still standing there, was unsure if he should speak. He shook his head negatively at Nate. “Nothing.”

“Okay. Let’s pack it up, then.” He turned to Lucky. “We’ll be out of your way now.”

Lucky climbed the steps to the back door of the Spoonful. “Just for the record, Nate, I trust Jack’s opinion. I think you’re making a terrible mistake.”

Nate didn’t even honor her remark with a look. He got behind the wheel of the cruiser and waited while the technician packed his tools, stepped out of his coveralls and tossed them in the trunk. He grabbed the coffee that was probably cold by now and climbed into the passenger seat. As soon as his seat belt was fastened, Nate drove off without a backward look.

Lucky watched the police car until it turned out of the alley onto Broadway. Shivering, she hurried inside, hung her jacket in the closet and kicked off her snow boots. Something delicious was warming in the kitchen. She slipped on a pair of loafers and headed down the hall. She lifted the lid of the Crock-Pot and peeked at the contents. Jack had warmed a container of Sage’s pea and barley soup with bacon. A loaf of bakery bread was heating in the oven. Jack sat with Hank and Barry at a corner table, watching their chess game intently once again. He looked up when he heard her footsteps in the kitchen. He rose from the chair slowly and approached the hatch to the kitchen. Lucky could tell his back was hurting.

“You feeling okay, Jack?” she asked.

“I’m fine. It’s just these old bones. This sitting around isn’t good for me. Much better if I’m busy and moving around. How’s our boy doing?”

Lucky smiled ruefully. “Seems depressed—understandable. I brought him the food but he wasn’t very interested in eating.”

“Did he have anything to say?”

Lucky shook her head slightly, indicating Hank and Barry at their corner table. “Quite a lot, actually, but I’ll tell you later.” She whispered, “When we’re alone.”

Jack nodded. “I knew there was something. I could tell that day—the day Nate took him. He didn’t even put up an argument or look surprised.”

“You’d think he was guilty, wouldn’t you?”

“If you didn’t know him, yes. But we know him. Anybody that cares that much about food…well, I just don’t buy it. I just can’t figure why Nate was in such an all-fired hurry to arrest him.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

Jack shook his head. “Been too busy trying to learn chess. Thought I’d wait for you.”

“Why don’t I dish out some bowls for all of us?” She smiled. “Might as well offer some free soup to Hank and Barry—at least they’ve been loyal customers.”