A Spoonful of Murder (22 page)

The dazzling smile returned. “Sure will. Here, jot down your number.” He strode to the counter and returned with a pad of paper. She scribbled her full name and gave him the number of the Spoonful. “It’ll either be me who answers or my grandfather Jack.”

Chance looked at the number she had written down. “Much rather talk to you than your grandfather.” He smiled once again, his eyes casually raking over her. She pulled her collar up and headed for the door. He couldn’t know, but she was immune to his charms. Way too slick—not the kind of guy that would interest her.

“Thanks, Chance.” At the door, she turned back. “I mean that. I appreciate your talking to me.”

He held up a hand, silently, as she stepped out into the cold.

“Y
OU COULD HAVE
been really hurt and lain there for days before anyone found you. And how do you know it wasn’t the murderer in that house—whoever pushed you down the stairs?” Jack shoved his sandwich away and rubbed his forehead
as if to remove the image of his granddaughter tumbling down a flight of stairs. Lucky had made sure they were settled in with some food before she told Jack of her adventure in the house on Bear Path Lane.

“What did Nate have to say?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Has he had second thoughts?”

Jack’s lips tightened. “He spoke to me in confidence.”

Lucky wailed, “Jack, please!”

“Lucky, my girl. I promised him I wouldn’t repeat anything. I just can’t. Let’s just say the investigation isn’t over but he’s still convinced he’s got the right man.”

“Oh.” Lucky groaned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Outside, the wind had picked up, blowing dry snow like fairy dust across the windows of the restaurant. The weather reports promised a warming trend that hadn’t materialized as yet. The neon sign glowed bravely in the frost-covered window. The Spoonful was open for business even if no one came.

“You’re trying to distract me. And it won’t work,” Jack grumbled. “I hate to think who was in that house. I should have been with you. I know I’m failing in a lot of ways, but I’m still strong. If you’re gonna do things like that, promise me you’ll let me know and I’ll come with you.”

He had given her the opening she was waiting for. “Actually, there is something you can help me with.”

“Say the word. I’m ready.”

“Whoever was in that house was desperately searching for something. When I first went into the bedroom, it was a little messy, the bed wasn’t made and a few things were lying around. But when Flo and I came upstairs…”

“Who did you say? Flo? Flo Sullivan was there?” Jack had a panicked look on his face.

“I forgot to tell you that part. Flo found me. She’s been working for Eleanor Jensen, cleaning the rental houses. When I came to, she was kneeling over me and she helped me upstairs.”

“Oh,” Jack grumbled. “Well…in that case.”

“She asked for you too,” Lucky offered with a straight face, doing her best to gauge Jack’s reaction.

“I hope you told her I died three weeks ago!”

She smiled sweetly at her grandfather and struggled not to burst out laughing. “She asked me if you were still as handsome as ever.”

“Oh, dear Lord, keep that woman away from me. When she worked here, I could barely get away from her. She kept trying to corner me in the storage closet. I know what she’s doing—she’s husband hunting, but I am
not
available. I told her that. I…”

“Jack. It’s all right. Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s moved on by now.” Jack was working himself up into a snit.

“Hmph. I doubt it. But anyway…I’m sorry I interrupted. Finish your story.”

“Well, when we came back upstairs and looked in the bedroom, it was completely torn up. Jewelry on the floor, drawers pulled out and turned upside down, even the mattress and the box spring had been pulled off the bed. Stuff dumped all over the place. Somebody was in a big hurry to find something they believed was still there.”

Frown lines settled on Jack’s face. “You think he was already in the house and you might have interrupted him?”

“Possibly. Or he had a key or got in through a window and I didn’t hear anything. The house is pretty big. Doesn’t look it from the outside, but it has bedrooms on the lower level too. Maybe he didn’t know the police had already been there. Or maybe he was just so desperate, he had to take that chance. It’s possible that whatever it was he was searching for, he had reason to hope the police hadn’t found it.”

“Lucky, we don’t know anything other than it was someone who knew her, or knew who she was, but not necessarily someone who was familiar with the house and what was in it.”

“True. There’s a whole range of possibilities. But my bet would be someone was already there when I arrived.” She shuddered suddenly at the thought that someone could
have been watching her, dogging her footsteps as she rummaged through the bedroom, lying in wait until they had a chance to put her out of commission. She remembered the impulse she had had to call out when she first opened the door. Was there something in the atmosphere that was telling her she wasn’t alone? Her senses should have been more alert.

“There were things that should have been there and weren’t, like her laptop and cell phone. Eleanor told me Nate had already been to the house, so he probably took them. Or maybe they were in her car. By the way, Nate’s found the car but he’s not gonna tell me what he found in it.”

“I’d like to get my hands on whoever it was who did that to you. And you”—Jack pointed a finger at her—“you were very reckless to go there alone. For all you know, you walked right into the path of a murderer. And we may never know what they were looking for.” Jack pulled his plate closer and, wrapping his big hands around the roast beef sandwich, took a large bite.

“That’s just it. That’s what I want your help for. When I was at the police station, I saw a cardboard storage box with the name ‘Honeywell’ written on it. I’m sure whatever is in that box is what Nate took from the house the first time he went through it. He left her clothing and cosmetics and things there to be packed up later. But he must have been looking for some clue about her history, her current life…something…to figure out who killed her. I want to look through that box.”

“Terrific, my girl. Just how do you plan to do that? Ask Nate nicely and smile pretty? And then he’ll just let you rummage through to satisfy your curiosity?” Jack replied with a smile.

“Very funny. No, that’s not exactly what I was thinking.”

“Okay, I’m all ears.”

Lucky took a deep breath, marshalling her thoughts. “What if…what if Nate is out somewhere in town, which he is a lot, and Bradley’s on his own down at the station.
What if we figured out some way to lure Bradley out of the station just for five or ten minutes? That’s all the time I would need, I think.”

“And what if the box isn’t there anymore? What if that evidence tech has taken it, or…you can’t find it? And that’s assuming we could get Bradley out of the station.”

“I saw Bradley shove the box into a big cabinet under the counter. He locked the cabinet door with a key.”

“And where are the keys kept?”

“On a key ring on a hook under the front desk.”

“Hmmm.” Jack stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I don’t like the thought of interfering with Nate like that.”

“If we can pull it off, he’ll never know. What harm can it do? The techs have already looked at everything. I’m not going to remove anything. I just want to see what’s in that box.”

Finally Jack looked up with a glint in his eye. “All right. I like it. But you have to promise you won’t remove anything—that’s evidence after all, Lucky. I guess you could be charged with evidence tampering, or obstructing an investigation—something like that. I don’t know…” Jack trailed off, thinking about the prospect some more.

“Any evidence that a lab would look at would have to be in a container of some sort. I don’t know what I could find. I don’t know that I’d find anything at all, but we have to do something before Sage gets railroaded. Maybe her cell phone is there. I could check her most recent calls. It might lead to someone in Snowflake that we don’t know about yet.”

“Well”—Jack wiped his mouth with a napkin—“I have an idea that might work. It would only give you maybe ten minutes. Do you think that’s enough time?”

Lucky nodded. “It’ll have to be.”

Jack chuckled. “Reminds me of that time in Okinawa when we had to break into the supply room. Did I ever tell you about that time?”

“Yes, Jack, you did,” Lucky replied patiently.

“Well, there I go, just like an old geezer. Telling the same stories over and over. Let’s head out then. It’s just gone two bells—there’s no time like the present. I’ll call the station and ask for Nate. If he’s not there, we’ll head down in my car. You just follow my lead.”

J
ACK DROVE TO
the other end of town and then headed up Green Street as though driving back to the Spoonful. This street was almost as wide as Broadway, two lanes with room for parking on either side and lined with high snowbanks. Directly in front of the police station, a path had been shoveled from the sidewalk to the street. This was their second pass down Green. Lucky wasn’t sure why Jack was circling this second time, but she knew him well enough not to ask.

“Seat belt on, my girl?” he asked.

Lucky nodded.

“Just hold on now.” Jack slowed to a crawl. He checked in the rearview mirror. There were no cars behind them. He pulled up just past the cleared path that led through the snowbank and came to a full stop. He glanced over at Lucky to double-check that her seat belt was fastened, then put the car in reverse and revved the engine, slamming backward into the snowbank in front of the station.

Lucky’s eyes widened. She glanced over at Jack, just to make sure he had intended to do what he just did.

Jack smiled and turned to her. “Uh-oh. Now look what
I’ve done. I believe we’re stuck.” He gave her a broad wink. He put the car in drive and, keeping his foot on the brake, revved the engine. He shook his head. “I guess we’re stuck, my girl. Do you think Bradley’s inside and could give us a hand?”

Lucky smiled broadly. “Well, Jack, I’m sure he is. I’ll just go inside and ask.” She unhooked her seat belt and climbed out, clambering over the icy snowbank. She rushed up the stairs and pushed open the front door. Bradley was at the counter, engaged in another whispered telephone conversation. She eyed him suspiciously. It reinforced her belief that Bradley was responsible for the television crew turning up on their doorstep so soon after the murder. When he saw Lucky, he cleared his throat, and in an overly officious tone, said, “We can’t give any comment on that. I’ll let the Chief know you’ve called.” He replaced the receiver hurriedly.

Lucky adopted her most anxious expression. “Bradley, my grandfather’s outside. Do you think you could give him a hand? His foot slipped on the pedal and we’re stuck in the snowbank.”

Bradley pursed his lips. “I’m sorry. I can’t leave the desk. Nate’s not here.”

“He just needs your help for a minute. Just a little push and I’m sure he can get the car unstuck. He’s late for a doctor’s appointment,” Lucky added for extra measure. Then she whispered conspiratorially, “I had a hard enough time getting him to agree to see the doctor and I don’t want him to miss it.”

“What if someone calls?”

“Tell you what, I’ll stay right here and grab the phone if it rings.”

“What if Nate calls. I’ll never hear the end of it if he thinks I left the station.”

“You’re not leaving the station unattended. You’re just outside the glass doors. If anything happens, I’ll come get you.”

Bradley turned over the possibilities in his mind, trying to imagine the consequences of Nate catching him absent
without leave. Lucky watched the mental struggle flit across his face.

She waited a moment, and then finally said, “Please, Bradley.” Outside, the gunning of Jack’s engine was becoming louder and more insistent as he pretended to try to extricate his car from the snowbank.

“All right,” Bradley finally said. “I’ve got a bag of sand somewhere in the back; that might help.”

“You’re a doll!” Lucky exclaimed. “I’ll be right here. Don’t worry.”

Bradley lifted up the hatch separating the counter from the main room and headed down the corridor to the storage closet. He returned a few moments later, grunting as he carried the bag of sand out the front door to Jack’s car. Lucky watched him awkwardly climb the snowbank, struggling to hold on to the bag and deposit it on the street.

Lucky walked closer to the glass doors and watched them carefully. Jack pantomimed getting into the driver’s seat and indicated that Bradley should give him a push. A thrill ran up her spine. There was very little time. She rushed behind the counter and retrieved the key ring from the hook. Dismayed, she stared at the key ring. There had to be at least twenty keys, but which one opened the large cabinet? She searched her memory for the one Bradley had used when he locked the cabinet, but nothing came to mind.

Frantically, she pushed the larger keys to the end of the ring. She guessed those might lock the front and back doors of the station, the cells and the door to the cell area. Her fingers quickly flipped through the smaller ones. They were too small—probably made for mailboxes or small lockers. Finally, she isolated six keys that looked as if one of them might possibly be the right one. She glanced quickly at the outer door again. Jack was intermittently revving his engine, causing the car to appear to move an inch or so and then slide back. He was doing an excellent job of being stuck. Bradley was at the left rear bumper, pushing with all his strength every time Jack gunned the engine. She hoped he
didn’t throw his back out or develop a hernia—then she would feel guilty.