Lucky shuddered. “Horrible.”
“I agree. Murder always is,” Nate remarked.
“Any progress with your other case?” Jack asked.
Nate shook his head. “That bunch. Gives me a headache just thinkin’ about them. They all claim this lady, Hilary Stone, was fine when they said good night. Nobody admits going back into her room. Her assistant claims she heard an argument, a man’s voice, around nine forty-five, but the publicist, Audra, and a few people downstairs, heard an argument later, around ten. An argument with a man. They all assumed it was Derek and his wife going at it. That’s why they didn’t bother to go see what was happening. That wife is quite a harpy too. Ginny, the maid, also claims she heard raised voices later around ten thirty when she went up to get the tray. She listened at the doorway, but she couldn’t tell who Ms. Stone was arguing with. She couldn’t even identify for sure if it was a man or a woman.”
“So people heard an argument around nine forty-five or ten o’clock, but the maid heard one at ten thirty?”
“Yup.”
“Could someone have been with her that whole time and the argument just escalated? Or were there two different people in her room that night?”
“Good question. I’d tend to doubt the maid, but she’s adamant about the time because she was just waiting to go home at eleven. I’m still trying to pin everybody’s timeline down, assuming they’re not lying to me.” Nate looked across the table. “What do you think, Jack?”
“I think it’s a damn shame we’ve had another murder . . . two murders . . . in our village again.”
“And it’s way too much of a coincidence both these women were strangled, likely with the same device.” Nate took a last sip of his beer. “Susanna’s told me all about Murder Comes Calling . . .” He looked from Lucky to Nate. “Have either of you read it?”
“No, but Meg told me the murder weapon in Hilary’s book is a telephone cord,” Lucky said. “There must be a connection between these two women.”
Nate nodded. “Has to be. I just haven’t found it yet. I do plan to keep looking.” Nate rose from his chair. “Well, good night, you two. I’ll be on my way. Thanks again for the beer.” Nate walked to the front door, then turned back to them. “By the way, either of you seen Hank Northcross lately?”
“No, I haven’t, come to think of it.” Jack said.
Lucky shook her head negatively. “I know Barry hasn’t been able to find him.” She wondered why Nate was asking. Should she mention that Horace had seen Hank leaving the Drake House? Some instinct made her hesitate.
“If you do see him, would you let me know? I’ve been looking all over for him.” Nate held up a hand to say good night and closed the door behind him.
Jack looked at Lucky, “Why do you think Nate’s looking for Hank?”
“I don’t know. Barry’s been worried about him and maybe he’s been talking to Nate about it. But here’s the thing . . . Horace told me he saw Hank the night of the murder.”
“Where?”
“Leaving the Drake House.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “What would he be doing there?”
“That’s a good question.”
“You think Hank not being around has something to do with Nate’s investigation?” Jack asked.
“I certainly hope not,” Lucky answered, but she couldn’t escape the feeling that Hank’s disappearance was too much of a coincidence.
Chapter 27
AS SOON AS Jack left for home, Lucky turned off the neon sign in the front window and checked the kitchen to make sure the dishwasher had finished its cycle. She tied the sleeves of her sweater around her neck and slung her purse over her shoulder. She stepped out the back door, locked it and wiggled the handle to make sure the lock was secure.
A wave of loneliness swept over her. She wished Elias were home tonight. She could ask him to stop by, and they could make popcorn and watch a movie. But he was in Lincoln Falls for the night, checking a post-op patient, and had early rounds to do in the morning.
The night was still and clear, only a hint of the warmth to come. The smell of freshly tilled earth from the Victory Garden on the next block filled the air. She unlocked her car door and tossed her purse on the passenger seat. Something shifted in the atmosphere. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder.
“Lucky.”
She screamed involuntarily and spun around.
“Barry!” She breathed a sigh of relief. “You scared me half to death. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve just been out walking.” He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “Don’t know what to do with myself. I’m worried sick.”
“No word from Hank?”
“Nope.” Barry shook his head.
“And you’ve talked to Nate?” she asked.
“Yes. Of course. Nothing he can do. Hank’s car hasn’t been seen anywhere. No report of an accident. No hospital admissions.”
“I know you’re worried about him. But it sounds like you’ve done everything you possibly can.” She thought of Nate’s visit earlier that evening. “Nate did ask us if we had heard from Hank or seen him.”
“I’m sure he did. He wants to question Hank. He told me himself.”
“Question him? Why?”
“People saw him at the Drake House that night . . . the night of the murder.”
“Ah,” Lucky replied. No surprise there. Sooner or later the news would get to Nate. She was relieved she needn’t feel guilty about not mentioning the sighting to Nate. Probably more people than just Horace had seen Hank that evening.
“What I’m wondering, Lucky . . .” Barry trailed off. Lucky waited patiently. “I’m wondering if you’d help me. Help me find Hank.”
Lucky felt confused. “Barry . . . I’d be glad to help you, but I don’t know what I could possibly do.”
“I’ve asked Jack but he seems preoccupied lately. And I’m asking you because you’ve helped so many people. You saved Sage from a jail sentence and you rescued Janie from that criminal. I’ve given it some thought and I finally realized that you’re the best person to ask for help.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say, Barry. I don’t have any special skills. I’ll help you any way I can but I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“I have some ideas.” Lucky waited. “I wouldn’t suggest this normally, but I have an emergency key to Hank’s house. He gave it to me years ago. We gave each other keys to both our houses. I mean, we’re getting older, you never know when we might have a medical emergency or something, that’s why we did that. I’d never use it otherwise, but I guess I’m hoping there’s a letter or a call on the phone machine or something that could tell us where he’s gone or what’s going on with him.”
“I don’t know, Barry.” Lucky shook her head. “I hate the idea of prying into his personal life.”
“I do too, Lucky. But he’s my best buddy. After my wife died . . . well, we’ve been good friends since we both retired and ended up here in Snowflake. I know Hank. Nate doesn’t quite believe me, but I know Hank wouldn’t just take off without a word unless something was really wrong. And I certainly don’t believe he had anything to do with that woman’s murder at the Drake House.”
“I agree with you there. You want me to go with you?”
“Yes. I do. Maybe you’ll see something I wouldn’t. I don’t want to do this alone.”
“Okay. When?”
“How ’bout now?”
“Now?” Lucky squeaked. All she wanted to do was go home and put her feet up and relax.
Barry nodded.
“Okay,” she agreed. “No time like the present. Hop in,” she said, indicating the passenger door.
• • •
LUCKY SHIVERED IN the chill night air, waiting for Barry to
fiddle through a large key ring searching for the correct one. From the exterior, the house was completely dark, no light at the front, no light emanating from the interior. Finally, Barry uttered an exclamation and they heard the lock click. Barry entered first and held the door open for Lucky. She stepped inside. In the complete dark her nose twitched. The house had an abandoned feel, as if a thin layer of dust lay over everything, even though Hank had only been gone a few days. No odor of meals being recently cooked, a complete lack of warmth.
Barry reached over and flicked on the hallway lamp. Ghostly shadows played against the walls, fingers of light tickling the edges of the room.
“Where do we start?” Lucky asked, having an overwhelming sense of doing something she should definitely not be doing.
Barry, as if reading her mind, said, “Don’t feel bad. This is the reason Hank gave me a key. In case he was ever sick or in case anything ever happened to him. Otherwise, I’d never intrude in his house myself.” Barry moved forward into the living room, his shadow stretching and fading into the darkness. He found another lamp and turned it on.
Lucky stepped through the archway into the small front room of Hank’s cottage. The walls were lined with books, floor to ceiling. Two large comfortable-looking chairs upholstered in a plaid fabric stood next to the fireplace, an ottoman between them. A heavy oak credenza was against the opposite wall, with square drawers that looked as if they might be used to hold files. A wooden desk took up the corner of the room. Its top was completely neat, everything in place. A small wicker basket on top of the desk held recent mail. Hank’s living room was a comfortable masculine den. She could visualize him at night, sitting by a fire and reading. She turned in a circle, surveying the bookshelves. “This is amazing. Hank might have more books here than the Snowflake library.”
“I know. And he’s donated tons to the library too. Hank’s a very well-read guy. He’s smart, educated. Not like me. I’m just a retired electrician, never was much of a reader, but Hank’s loaned me lots of books, now that I have so much time on my hands.”
“I guess if he earned his living writing, he’d be a great reader. Until you told me about his prior life, I never knew what he did.”
“Well?” Barry looked at her earnestly. “Where should we start?”
Lucky dropped her purse on one of the large chairs and draped her sweater over it. “Why don’t you check the mailbox? I’ll see where Hank might be keeping recent correspondence and I’ll check the messages on his answering machine. Let’s start with the obvious.”
Barry hurried back to the front door. Lucky heard the metal clang of the mailbox. He returned carrying a stack of envelopes.
Lucky sat at the desk chair and took the stack of envelopes from Barry’s hands. Several flyers, some junk mail advertisements and two bills. “Nothing out of the ordinary here.” She reached across for the wicker basket and flipped through its contents. A dental bill to be paid, a flyer from Guy’s Auto Shop offering a discount for oil changes. That was all. She placed all the mail in the basket then methodically went through each drawer of the desk.
“What can I do, Lucky?” Barry asked.
“Maybe open that big credenza and see what’s inside. Looks like it might hold files.” She turned back to the desk. Every drawer was neatly organized—pens, notepads, paper clips, a box of staples, stationery in the bottom drawer. She rummaged through the contents of each drawer and returned every item neatly. Then she knelt on the floor and pulled one drawer after another out all the way, feeling underneath to see if anything might be hidden there.
“Barry?”
“Yup.” Barry was kneeling on the floor by the oak credenza.
“Does Hank have any family that you know of?”
“No. He had a sister but she died years ago. He mentioned once she was the last of his family.”
Lucky checked the back of the desk to make sure nothing was taped there. She sighed. Absolutely nothing to indicate what had been going on recently in Hank’s life. She closed all the drawers, lifted the desk blotter from its frame, checked underneath and then straightened the top items carefully. Hank would know someone had been here, but nothing would be disturbed.
The phone and answering machine sat at the far corner of the desk. She pressed the button. A disembodied voice announced five messages. Lucky listened to each one. Three were from Barry, one from Hank’s dental office and a third from a bookstore in Lincoln Falls to tell him his order had come in.
“Anything?” Barry asked. He was now sitting cross-legged on the floor flicking through a stack of files he had lifted from a file drawer.
“Absolutely nothing. Completely ordinary. I could take lessons in neatness from Hank though.” She stood and moved to the oak credenza. “I’ll give you a hand with this . . .” She hesitated.
Barry looked up. “What is it?”
“I . . .” Lucky took a step backward. “Something,” she said. “Over here. Something sparkled.” She moved to a darkened corner next to the fireplace, sure she had seen something.
Barry clambered to his feet and moved to the other side of the room. “This will give you some light.” He turned on a floor lamp on the other side of the desk.
“Look,” Lucky said, pointing to the floor. “It looks like a few tiny pieces of broken glass.”
“You’re right,” Barry said, peering down at the floor. “Something broke and Hank must have missed this when he cleaned up.”
“Let’s see if we can figure out what was broken.” She walked down the short hallway to the kitchen. She flicked on the overhead light and opened the doors to the cabinet under the sink, where a small plastic garbage can rested. Barry peered over her shoulder as she pulled it out. She grabbed a paper towel from a roll next to the sink and gingerly removed an empty milk container and a paper plate. She placed the discarded items in the sink and peered into the plastic bin.
“What’s that?” Barry asked.
With two fingers, Lucky pulled out a small wooden picture frame that had separated into two pieces. There was more broken glass at the bottom of the bin. She reached in and lifted out the largest piece of glass. Stuck to it was the soggy remnant of a photograph. “Take a look at this.” She gently pulled the photograph away from the glass shard and held it up.
Barry slipped on his glasses and took it from her hand. “It’s Hank!”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Much younger, but it’s him. It looks like . . .” He trailed off.
“A wedding picture,” Lucky finished.
Barry stared at the photograph in his hand for several moments. He barely seemed to breathe. He looked questioningly at Lucky. “Hank never told me he had been married . . . was married.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Maybe it was something he just didn’t want to talk about,” Lucky replied. “Can I see that for a second?”
Barry handed back the photograph. His expression was one of hurt. “That could be. But we are good friends, Lucky. Really, we are. I wouldn’t have pried. It just seemed strange that we’ve talked about our lives and the things we’ve done. You’d think he might have mentioned it at least once.”
Lucky stared at the photograph and a shiver went up her spine. “Do you recognize this woman?”
“You mean the woman in the picture?” Barry shook his head. “No one I know.”
“I’d bet my last dollar this is Hilary Stone.”
Chapter 28
BARRY SNATCHED THE photo from Lucky’s hand. “The mystery writer? The one who was just murdered at the Drake House?”
“Yes.” Lucky nodded. “I’m positive that’s her. She’s much younger in this photograph, but she still looks pretty much the same. You didn’t see her at the book signing?”
“No. I didn’t go. Not my thing,” he answered. “What do you know? Hank was married to a famous m
ystery writer!” He handed the photo back to Lucky.
“Well, I doubt she was famous then. This was taken a long time ago, judging by her hairstyle and Hank’s suit. She didn’t publish her book until late last year. And come to think of it, her publicist Audra mentioned that she’s married to the head of the publishing house.”
“She and Hank must be divorced then. Do you know anything else about her?”
“No. Just that she has a son . . . Derek.” Lucky hesitated, but finally replaced the photo in the trash along with the rest of the items from the kitchen sink.
“How old is he?” Barry asked.
“Hard to say. Not very old, but he’s a little overweight so I think he looks older than he is. Maybe he’s thirty-ish, early thirties.”
Barry’s face shifted. “You don’t think he could be Hank’s son, do you?”
Lucky shrugged. “I have no idea.” She thought a moment. “Hank’s in his late sixties. I guess it’s possible.”
“Well, that is really strange,” Barry remarked, “if he had a son and never mentioned it. Just goes to show you what you don’t know about people you think you know well.”
“This might be the reason Hank’s left town. It’s too much of a coincidence that these people show up and Hank takes off. Let’s keep searching though. He might have kept documents, maybe a photo album. How far did you get with those files in the credenza?”
“Not far. Let’s go through that stuff together. I’ll bet Hank saw the newspapers and realized his ex-wife was coming to town. Maybe he just wanted to avoid her. Maybe it freaked him out.”
Lucky followed Barry back to the living room. “I didn’t want to say anything before, but now that you know, Horace mentioned to me that he had seen Hank the night of the murder. Horace was out walking Cicero and saw Hank leaving the Drake House.”
A Clue in the Stew Page 11
