Praise for the Soup Lover’s Mysteries
“Snow in Vermont, soup, and murder. What could be more cozy? . . . Charming.”
—Julie Hyzy, New York Times bestselling author of the White House Chef Mysteries
“[A] soup du jour of mystery that cozy lovers are sure to enjoy.”
—MyShelf.com
“An engaging amateur sleuth due to the troubled heroine and the delightful Vermont location.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Plenty of small-town New England charm.”
—The Mystery Reader
“A ‘souper’ idea for a cozy mystery series!”
—Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book
“The way cozies should be written. A small town with lovable characters and a plot that leaves you satisfied at the end.”
—Girl Lost in a Book
“A good read from beginning to end. The mystery kept me glued to the pages and the writing style had an easy flow that made it hard to put down . . . I can’t wait to see what happens next in this delightfully charming series.”
—Dru’s Book Musings
“An action-packed page-turner with memorable characters I look forward to revisiting again and again!”
—Melissa’s Mochas, Mysteries & Meows
“A great series based on one of my favorite things: soup. Connie Archer gives readers a likable heroine and a great mystery.”
—Debbie’s Book Bag
“If you already love this series, you’re not going to be disappointed. If you haven’t read this series, please do! You will fall in love with the characters, the location, and with author Connie Archer herself!”
—Lisa K’s Book Reviews
“I’m looking forward to reading more books in this series.”
—Cozy Mystery Book Reviews
“I adored the characters . . . I wanted the pages to keep going and not end. The series has taken hold of me and doesn’t want to let go.”
—Babs Book Bistro
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Connie Archer
A SPOONFUL OF MURDER
A BROTH OF BETRAYAL
A ROUX OF REVENGE
LADLE TO THE GRAVE
A CLUE IN THE STEW
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
A CLUE IN THE STEW
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2016 by Penguin Random House LLC.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
For more information, visit penguin.com.
eBook ISBN: 9780698148741
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / April 2016
Cover illustration by Cathy Gendron.
Cover art: Gingham Pattern © by Maria Dryfhout/Shutterstock; Soup Love logo © by Miguel Angel Salinas/Shutterstock.
Cover design by Diana Kolsky.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
Version_1
For my mother, who loved libraries
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to agent extraordinaire Paige Wheeler of Creative Media Agency, Inc., for her hard work, good advice and expertise; and to Katherine Pelz and copyeditor Joan Matthews for their invaluable insights and editorial suggestions. My thanks also to Danielle Dill for her enthusiasm and support of the Soup Lover’s Mysteries; and to everyone at Berkley Prime Crime who contributed their talent and energy in bringing this series to life.
Special thanks as well to the writers’ group—Cheryl Brughelli, Don Fedosiuk, R. B. Lodge and Marguerite Summers—for their criticism and encouragement. And an extra special thank-you to Paula Freedman, R.N., and Romeo Robles of the Los Angeles County Fire Department for their knowledge of emergency treatment.
An additional thank-you to Elise Varey, who can take credit for suggesting a last name for Meg! Meg Findly thanks you and says she is thrilled to be playing a much larger role in A Clue in the Stew.
Last, but certainly not least, thanks to my family and my wonderful husband for their tolerance in living with a woman who is constantly thinking about ways to kill people.
CONNIE ARCHER
CONNIEARCHERMYSTERIES.COM
FACEBOOK.COM/CONNIEARCHERMYSTERIES
TWITTER: @SNOWFLAKEVT
Contents
Praise for the Soup Lover’s Mysteries
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Connie Archer
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Author’s Note
Recipes
Chapter 1
“WHAT?” MARJORIE SHRIEKED. “You haven’t h
eard of her?”
Lucky continued to lay placemats along the countertop of the By the Spoonful Soup Shop. She smiled and shook her head. “Sorry, Marjorie. I haven’t. Who is she?”
“Well, Hilary Stone is just about the most famous mystery writer in the world right now. And you know how much I love murder mysteries.” Marjorie Winters shook out her copy of the Snowflake Gazette. “It’s all right here.” An advertisement covered the entire back page of the local newspaper. “This ad’s been running in several towns. Lincoln Falls, Bournmouth . . . everywhere in Vermont.” Marjorie shook her head. “I can’t believe you don’t know who she is!”
Marjorie’s sister, Cecily, sat next to her at the counter. Cecily, always the more excitable of the two sisters, was quiet today. Lucky caught Cecily rolling her eyes in response to Marjorie’s statement.
“You can’t imagine it, Lucky,” Cecily said, squeezing lemon juice into her tea. “There are piles of those horrid books all over our little house. It’s revolting. I suspect my sister knows more ways to kill people than Jack the Ripper.”
Marjorie sniffed. “Well, the really exciting thing is that she’s coming here . . . to Snowflake! Our little village. I’m just beside myself.”
Cecily sighed and remarked in a flat tone, “She can’t wait.”
Lucky smiled. She had to agree with Cecily. She had never seen Marjorie so voluble. Actually, now that she thought about it, she had never seen Marjorie excited about anything. The two sisters were polar opposites, in looks and in personality. Cecily’s dark hair was chopped in an adorable pixie cut. She was chatty and outgoing. Marjorie, every blonde hair of her bob in place, was the cool, calm and collected of the two.
“I really do love to read,” Lucky volunteered, “but I never seem to find the time these days, what with the restaurant and all.” Lucky turned to the hatch and picked up the sisters’ orders of croissants with butter and jam. “Here you go,” she said, placing their dishes on the counter.
“You need to expand your horizons,” Marjorie remarked severely.
“For once I agree with my sister,” Cecily piped up. “Tell that handsome doctor of yours you want him to fly you off to Paris . . . or . . . Fiji.” Cecily’s face took on a dreamy expression.
Lucky laughed outright. “Paris! That’s a good one. Elias would fall off his chair if I ever suggested that. I doubt I’ll ever see Paris in my life. Besides, I’ve forgotten most of my high school French.”
Marjorie was about to speak when the bell over the front door jingled. Lucky looked up as Barry Sanders entered. “Morning, Barry,” she called out.
Barry raised a hand in greeting.
Cecily spun on her stool, “Where’s your other half, Barry?” she called out as Barry took a seat at his usual corner table. Barry and his best friend, Hank, always arrived together.
Barry shrugged. “Said he wasn’t feeling well this morning. I called him but he thought he might have a touch of the flu.”
“Coffee, Barry?” Lucky asked.
“Yes. Please.”
“Never known him to be sick though.” Barry shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair.
“We were just talking about Hilary Stone before you arrived,” Marjorie said. “Did you know she’s coming to Snowflake?”
“Ah. Yes, I think I read that somewhere. I might buy her book. I heard it’s very good.”
Lucky shook her head. “I am totally out of the loop. Everybody seems to know who this woman is.”
“You are, dear. Out of it. Totally,” Marjorie added. “It says here . . .” she said, holding up her copy of the Gazette, “her book signing will be held in the meeting hall of the Congregational Church. I can just imagine the crowds that will show up for that.”
“That’s about the only place in town that can host a large group,” Lucky said. “Do you think lots of people will come?”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Marjorie replied. “You have no idea how famous she is. There’ll be people coming from all over the state, maybe beyond.” Marjorie reached down to gather her bundles. Cecily followed suit. “I’ll have to have a word with Pastor Wilson and find out more. I definitely want to be the first in line. Do you think she’d sign my book? I mean I’ve already bought one, so I can’t imagine she wouldn’t.”
“I’m sure she would,” Lucky agreed.
“Well, we need to be off. We’ll see you tomorrow, dear. We have a new shipment coming in today.” Marjorie glanced at Lucky’s outfit. “Why don’t you stop by and see the new things when you have a break?”
Lucky nodded. “I’d like that. Thanks for letting me know.” Lucky pushed up the sleeves of the light sweater she was wearing. Ruefully, she realized it had shrunk somewhat from too many washings. Marjorie must have noticed. That’s why she had suggested a visit. It certainly wouldn’t hurt her to buy a new one.
“Bye, Barry,” Cecily called out as the two sisters hurried through the front door with their bundles. “Tell Hank we hope he’s feeling better.”
“I will.” Barry nodded and waved.
Lucky carried a small tray with a mug of coffee and a pitcher of cream to Barry’s table. “Anything else this morning? Muffin? Croissant?”
“Nah. Thanks, Lucky. Don’t have much appetite. I am kinda worried about Hank though. It’s not like him not to get out in the morning. I think I’ll just have my coffee and check on him on my way back home.” He took a sip from his mug. “Where’s your grandfather today?”
“Jack’s here. He’s in the storeroom. He’ll be out in a minute.” As if speaking his name caused him to appear, Jack pushed through the swinging door from the corridor.
“Lucky, my girl,” Jack said breathlessly. “Pull that sign out of the window.”
“What?” Lucky looked up, surprised.
“The sign.” Jack was visibly excited. “Hide that damn sign. I spotted Flo Sullivan pulling into the back lot behind the restaurant.”
Lucky sighed. “Jack . . .”
“If you don’t,” he threatened, “I’m leaving and I won’t be back.”
Lucky hurried to the front window and grabbed the HELP WANTED sign. She rushed back to the counter and slipped the sign onto a narrow shelf underneath.
“What’s the matter, Jack?” Barry chuckled. “Afraid of a tiny little woman like that?”
Jack shook his head. “You don’t know the half of it,” he grumbled as he pushed through the swinging door to return to the storeroom.
The front door of the By the Spoonful Soup Shop flew open, the glass panes rattling in their frames as Flo Sullivan, her mop of neon orange hair glowing in the sunshine, entered. “Hi, Lucky. Where’s Jack?” she called gaily.
Chapter 2
A BREEZE RUFFLED the surface of the pond, creating a field of sparkling water. The early April day was cool and windy but the stand of trees nearby offered some protection from the chill air. Guy Bessette followed the trail to the edge of the pond. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Tommy was keeping pace with him. Guy carried two fishing rods, his well-used one and a smaller one he had purchased for the boy.
Guy smiled to himself and shook his head. Here he was, a single guy, didn’t even have a girlfriend, yet he was playing dad to Tommy Evans. When Tommy’s mother had fallen ill more than a year ago, Tommy had taken to hanging around Guy’s auto shop in the village. It’s funny, Guy thought, I’ve had more fun doing things with Tommy than I ever had when I was a kid myself.
“Hurry up, Tommy. You’ve got the bait, right?”
“Yup,” Tommy replied, his shorter legs moving fast to keep up with Guy’s stride.
“We couldn’t have picked a better day. It’s still cool. Best time of year to catch trout.”
Tommy looked at him dubiously. “You sure we’ll catch something?’
“Well . . .” Guy paused at the water’s edge. “I
can’t be sure, but this is perfect weather for brook trout. I’ve caught ’em here before. One time I even got a bass. This is probably our best chance before the water gets too warm.”
“Why’s that?” Tommy asked.
“’Cause brook trout like cold water, maybe around sixty degrees. They go deeper if the water gets too warm.” Guy dropped his backpack on the sandy soil. He had prepared sandwiches and iced tea for their lunch. Tommy’s mother, Karen, looked relieved when Guy had suggested he and Tommy spend Saturday fishing. She was back on her feet now, healthy and getting strong, but Guy suspected she didn’t yet have the energy to keep a young rambunctious boy entertained.
“Pass me that can of worms, will ya?” Guy asked.
“Sure.” Tommy giggled as he looked into the can of squirmy creatures.
“Now, here’s what we do. We put one of these little guys on the end of our hook, like this . . .”
“Can I do that?”
“Okay.” Guy held out the end of the line for Tommy. “It’s all yours. I’ll hold the hook and you can do the bait.”
Tommy reached in and grasped a slippery worm. He hesitated and looked up at Guy. “Does this hurt them?” he asked seriously.
“I never really thought about it.” Guy’s brow furrowed. “I guess it might.”
Tommy let the worm drop back into the can. “Maybe we can use something else?”
Guy sighed. “Well, I have some lures but I didn’t bring ’em today. I’ve always used worms ’cause they’re cheap and they work good.” Tommy still didn’t look convinced. “Tell you what. I understand how you feel. Next time we come out here, I’ll bring my best lures that the fish might like just as much as worms.”
“Okay,” Tommy replied regretfully. “I can do this.” Concentrating, he carefully pushed the hook into the worm. “There,” he grimaced, “I did it.”
“Okay. You did good. Now, we’ll weigh down this line and you stand back a little. You want to swing it out like this.” Guy demonstrated and then reeled in the fishing line. “Now you give it a try.”
Tommy swung his rod and watched as the weight plopped the line into the water. “I didn’t get it out as far as you.”
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