A Clue in the Stew

by Connie Archer

  “I just remembered.” Lucky caught Barry’s eye. “Hank mentioned he couldn’t find his glasses the other day. Remember?”

  “Did he?” Barry asked. “I don’t remember that.”

  “He did.”

  “So. That doesn’t mean a thing,” Sophie said. “It sounds more like he thinks he lost them. Wouldn’t he remember if they dropped in the middle of a heated argument with his ex-wife?”

  “Let’s not speculate,” Lucky said. “The bottom line is that Nate is getting upset about Hank’s disappearance. It’s so foolish that he won’t come home.” Lucky jumped involuntarily when she spotted a face at the front window. Meg’s face was pressed against the glass. She was staring at the group. Lucky rose and unlocked the door. “Forget something, Meg?”

  Meg stood with her arms crossed. “No,” she answered angrily. “I did not forget anything. I can see what’s going on here and I want in.”

  “What do you mean?” Lucky asked as Meg stormed past her.

  “I’m always kept out of all the excitement that goes on around town. Everybody just overlooks me, like I’m invisible, and I’m sick of it. I want to be part of the murder investigation, ’cause I can see that’s what you’re all doing.”

  Looks were exchanged around the table.

  “See? I know what you’re thinking. What could Meg possibly have to offer? You all think I’m just a dumb waitress.”

  “Nobody’s calling you dumb, Meg,” Sage answered. “You’re young, that’s all. We don’t want you to get in any trouble with the cops or anything.”

  “Really? Well, I happen to be the only one here who’s actually read Murder Comes Calling. Helloooo!” She stood with her hands on her hips. “In fact, I probably know more about detecting than all of you put together. And even I can see there’s a connection between these two murders.”

  Barry stood and pulled over another chair. “Welcome to the newly formed Murder Investigation Club, Meg.”

  Chapter 40

  “MEG’S RIGHT,” LUCKY said. “She’s every bit as smart as anyone at this table. More importantly, we need to focus and put our heads together and do what we can to help Hank.”

  Another knock came at the front door. Lucky groaned. “What now?” She looked up to see Horace with Cicero on a leash. She unlocked the door and let them in.

  He stared at the group at the table. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything. Just thought I’d stop by and chat.”

  “The more the merrier,” Sage said. “Welcome to the Murder Investigation Club, Horace, as Barry has so aptly dubbed it. We’ve decided to investigate on our own to try to prevent Nate from arresting Hank.” He stood. “Would you like a beer?”

  “Oh, yes, that would be nice. Thank you,” Horace replied. “Where is Hank, by the way? I’ve been hearing lots of rumors.” He unsnapped Cicero’s leash and pulled over another chair to join the group at the table.

  “Hank’s out of town and refuses to come back,” Barry explained, “but Nate’s threatening to issue a warrant for his arrest if he’s not back here in twenty-four hours.”

  “That sounds serious.”

  “Nate’s pretty ticked off, would be my guess,” Sage said. He turned to Lucky, “You should bring everyone up to speed.”

  Lucky glanced at Barry. “What do you think, Barry? Would we be breaking our promises to Hank?”

  Barry heaved a sigh. “I know he’s sensitive on the subject of his past, and I know he’d prefer not to have people know, but we didn’t actually promise that. We only promised not to tell Nate where he was. I vote that we share all information. It’s all gonna come out anyway, so it might as well be between people who really care about Hank.”

  When Horace and Meg heard the story of Hank’s past and his marriage to Hilary Stone and the daughter she had given up for adoption, Lucky relayed the information she and Sophie had gleaned that afternoon.

  “I can’t believe that!” Meg said. “Hank wrote that book? Our Hank?”

  Barry nodded in response. “Took me by surprise too.”

  Horace shook his head. “Plagiarism is a serious issue.” Cicero growled in his throat as though agreeing with his master.

  “I hope I’m not spoiling anything,” Meg said, “but in Murder Comes Calling, the guilty party is the estranged child.”

  “Is this a case of life imitating art?” Sophie asked.

  “Well, if that’s the case here, it’s as if Hank’s work predicted the future, isn’t it?” Horace said. “If he knew Hilary had a daughter that she had given up for adoption, perhaps that gave him the kernel of an idea for the story.”

  “Unless Hank were the murderer,” Barry offered, “which I don’t for a second believe. I won’t believe it.”

  “Meg”—Lucky turned to the girl—“I think it’s important that we know everything you know about Murder Comes Calling, but let’s all keep an open mind. It can’t be just a coincidence that Dr. Cranleigh and Hilary Stone were strangled with what may have been a similar weapon, but it could be someone copying the book.”

  “But that’s not all,” Meg said excitedly. “All the victims were women who worked in fields related to adoptions. A doctor, a social worker and a counselor. There was another victim who knew the crime was going to be committed but didn’t tell the police in time and that person had to die too.”

  “Do we know what these women were strangled with?” Horace asked. Cicero made yearning noises deep in his throat.

  “Oh, Cicero,” Lucky said. “I’m sorry, boy. I forgot your chicken.” She reached down to pat the dog’s head. “Hang on.” She jumped up and went to the kitchen, returning with a good-sized hunk of cooked chicken for him. He gobbled it instantly and licked Lucky’s hand.

  “We do know,” Lucky offered. “I hate to betray a confidence, but I happen to know both women were strangled with something thin and plastic, probably a telephone cord or something like it.”

  “Oh!” Meg gasped. “Just like the book.”

  “Can you tell us about it?” Sophie asked.

  “Yes,” Meg breathed, straightening her glasses. Her face was flushed. “See, the protagonist is a television reporter and journalist, a writer, like Hilary Stone. The reporter gets an anonymous phone call from a stranger who promises her a tip about the three murders where the victims were all strangled with a telephone cord. She goes to meet this unknown person in the subway, but instead of meeting her informant, she discovers another murder victim, dead and strangled on the subway rails. The last victim knew one of the crimes was about to be committed but didn’t tell the police in time and because she, the last victim, knew too much, she had to die too.” Meg paused for breath. “It’s very confusing because at first you’re sure it’s the ex-husband of the first murder victim, but the final twist comes at the end and it’s a shocker. The killer is the first victim’s estranged child, who’s targeting everyone who had a hand in putting her into foster homes. It’s so weird that Hilary Stone had an estranged child too!”

  “How many victims?” Sophie asked. “Please, let’s hope there are no more.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Lucky said, “but unless the real murderer is trying to copy the book, I don’t know if the novel is really relevant.” She shook her head. “When I heard about the daughter, I really wanted to locate her because . . . I don’t know, she had been given up so coldly, my heart just went out to her, but now I think we’ve got to consider the possibility that . . .” Lucky trailed off.

  “She’s the killer,” Sophie finished.

  “That could be,” Lucky agreed. “We just don’t know. But I think we should assume she’s here in Snowflake, and she’s one of the women who made sure she was close to Hilary Stone in some way. And if she did kill her own mother, the next question is, did she kill her psychiatrist because her doctor knew too much?” Lucky looked around the table. “I don’t know
about anyone else, but I’m convinced that one of these women who are here, on the scene right now, one of them is the daughter of Hilary. I wanted to find her because . . . well, as I said, I felt it was important someone tell her. But if she’s already here, and I’m starting to believe she is, we still have to identify her for the obvious reasons. We have to band together. If we combine forces, we should be able to figure out which one of them is Hilary Stone’s mysterious daughter.”

  “Who’s in?” Barry asked. “Raise your hand if you want to help Hank.” He looked around the table at their faces.

  One by one each person raised a hand. “We’ll do whatever we can to clear Hank’s name,” Sophie said. “I’m sure he had nothing to do with this.”

  “Well, we only have twenty-four hours. You heard Nate,” Sage said. “Once he issues a warrant, Hank is sure to be picked up. Wherever he’s staying, he must have to go out for food or fresh air. He could be easily spotted. Bournmouth’s not that big.”

  “Do you suppose the doctor thought the daughter was capable of murder?” Horace interjected.

  “That’s what I think,” Sophie said. “Dr. Cranleigh wanted to stop her before she lost control.”

  Lucky looked around the table at their little group. Barry’s spirits seemed to have lifted. “Are we jumping to a horrible conclusion? I’m not totally convinced that Hilary’s daughter is guilty of these murders.”

  Horace reached across the table and held Lucky’s hand. “I think you must seriously consider that possibility. You could be putting yourself in grave danger.”

  Lucky nodded. “I know, it’s occurred to me too, Horace.” Lucky sipped her wine. She had almost forgotten that Sophie had poured her a glass. “But this is what I think we should do. Each of us can take one person to target. Someone has to find out how long Derek Stone has known his wife. They married fairly recently. Audra, the publicist, told me she was hired for this job recently too, but she had her own company before that. Phoebe, well, I just don’t know how best to approach her.”

  “That’s too weird,” Sophie remarked. “That would mean that if Sylvia is really Georgina Ellers, then she knowingly married her half brother.”

  “That’s true,” Horace replied. “Could she be that diabolical . . . that’s if Sylvia really is the person we’re looking for.”

  “And Audra . . . it seems if she works for the publishing house, they might have just assigned her to Hilary for this trip,” Sage offered.

  “Yes, but how long has she worked for the publisher? What if we find out she’s only had her job for a couple of months?” Lucky took a deep breath. “What we do know is that Georgina Ellers, if that’s still her legal name, is approximately forty years old. That’s based on the fact that she was reported as being ten years old when the fire killed her adoptive parents. She’s entered her middle years, but she could still appear to be very young. Anybody have any thoughts on how old those three women are?”

  “That’s a tough one,” Sophie replied. “They all seem to be right around that age. Audra’s very sophisticated and Sylvia looks like nine miles of bad road, but they and Phoebe could all be around that age. That doesn’t help us a bit.”

  “Why don’t I call Barbara Drake,” Lucky said, “and let her know we’re available to deliver food if any of her second-floor guests would like that? It’ll give us a chance to spend more time over there without arousing suspicion. Besides, I think Barbara would appreciate the offer.”

  “Won’t she think it’s weird you’re willing to do that?” Sophie asked.

  “I don’t want to say anything about this to Barbara, not yet anyway. I’ll think of something to tell her. Exactly what, I don’t know right now, but I’ll come up with something. She wants to get to the bottom of this very badly too. And for one thing, we can trust her. We know who she is. Barbara grew up in Snowflake.”

  Horace cleared his throat. “I’ve spotted Derek walking around town early in the morning. I can strike up a conversation with him and try to find out about his wife.”

  “Meg and I can deliver food if Barbara’s open to that and talk to Audra and maybe Phoebe. Find out whatever we can,” Sophie offered.

  “I feel terrible not being honest with Nate,” Lucky said. “I’m just not sure he knows about Hilary’s daughter. And I’m sure he doesn’t know that Hilary stole Hank’s book.”

  “That’s all he’d need right now,” Barry said. “Hank’s motive for murder.”

  “True,” Sophie said, “but Nate has resources we don’t have. He may be on the same track we are because we know he talked to Dr. Cranleigh’s assistant in Bournmouth.”

  “And speaking of which . . .” Lucky looked around the table. “I almost forgot to mention this. Another thing that Fern, Dr. Cranleigh’s assistant, told us was there was someone else asking for information about Hilary’s daughter.”

  “Who?” Sage asked.

  “He identified himself as a private investigator working for an attorney, but wouldn’t say who hired the attorney. Fern claimed she didn’t tell him anything. She was very suspicious of him.”

  Horace shook his head. “Who would have hired an investigator? Certainly not Hilary Stone. She had no interest in the child, as far as we know. And it certainly wouldn’t be the doctor who was killed. That wouldn’t make any sense. She must have already known her patient’s story. Who else is left?”

  “Stone’s husband, the publisher?” Sophie asked.

  “That’s assuming he even knew Hilary had had a daughter,” Sage said, “and even if he knew, why would he have any interest?”

  “It might have nothing to do with Hilary Stone,” Meg offered. “What if it was a relative of the two people who died in the fire?”

  “Thirty years later?” Barry asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Meg looked crestfallen. Lucky reached across and patted her shoulder. “Don’t lose heart. You have some good ideas.”

  “What should we do next, Lucky?” Barry asked.

  “Are you good with cars, Barry?” Sage asked.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Well.” Sage smiled. “They have two rental cars. Maybe you can make sure they’re temporarily disabled. Nate’s restricted them to town, but they’ll be getting stir crazy. They’ll be easier to approach if they’re on foot.”

  “Good idea.” Barry slapped the table in glee. “I’ll take care of that tonight when they’re all asleep.”

  “I’ll see what I can learn from Audra tomorrow,” Lucky said. “I think we all have our assignments.” She looked around the table. “There’s someone else we should think about.” The others looked at her expectantly.

  “What’s that?” Sage asked.

  “Nanette.” She waited for their reaction.

  “Oh!” Sophie exclaimed. “Right. Just who is she? She arrived out of nowhere. Nobody knows anything about her. And didn’t you give her an ultimatum to produce some real identification?”

  Lucky groaned. “Yes. Yesterday. I’ve got to get on her case again.”

  “She’s the right age,” Horace added.

  “And her hair is definitely dyed,” Sophie added. “She’s recently arrived in town.”

  “True,” Horace offered, “but if so, why is she here instead of trying to get close to Hilary Stone? Did she have any interest in coming to the book signing?” he asked Lucky.

  “Never said anything about it,” Lucky replied. “And she didn’t come. Although it was very crowded, I’m sure I would have noticed her. But she definitely warrants more investigation.” She turned to Sophie. “I have an idea about that. I think it’s something we can take care of but we can talk about it later.”

  Sophie nodded in acknowledgment.

  Lucky turned to Meg. “What do you say we adjourn the first meeting of the . . .” she smiled, “the Murder Investigation Club. We’ll meet here tomorrow . .
.” Lucky remembered her plans with Elias for dinner. “Sorry, I can’t be here tomorrow night, but the night after. We’ll meet after closing and compare notes. Anybody second that?” Lucky said.

  “I’ll second,” Horace announced. Cicero barked to make it unanimous.

  Chapter 41

  MEG WALKED VERY quietly down the corridor. When she had first arrived at the Drake House, she peeked through the front window and saw Phoebe watching the news on the television in the front sitting room. Audra sat at the other end of the room, near a reading lamp, her feet propped up on an ottoman with a book in her hands. She wasn’t sure where Derek or Sylvia were, but she assumed they were in their bedroom. She grasped the doorknob to Phoebe’s room and, summoning her courage, turned it. She peeked inside, fearful someone else might be there, even though she was sure Phoebe was still downstairs. A suitcase rested on a folding hammock. The lid was propped against the wall. Meg quickly stepped inside the room and left the door ajar. In case anyone saw her, she could always claim she was checking for dishes to be picked up. She glanced around the room. Everything in it was neat and orderly, except the desk. Papers were strewn across the top. Meg hurried across the room and quickly leafed through the papers. Several large envelopes, all addressed to Phoebe Hollister or Lexington Avenue Publishing at the New York office, were stacked to the side. Meg riffled through the papers on the desktop. Everything seemed related to travel arrangements, car rentals, invoices and the group’s travel schedule. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. She opened each drawer and checked its contents. Nothing of note. She had just picked up the large envelope on top of the stack to check its contents when she heard a floorboard squeak. She dropped the envelope on the desk. It slid to the floor. Someone was coming. She picked the envelope up quickly, returning it to the stack on the desk and did her best to rearrange the loose papers. A small white business card caught her eye. She picked it up. CYNTHIA CRANLEIGH, M.D., SALISBURY RETREAT, with an address and telephone number. Her heart was beating fast and her hands were shaking. Why would Phoebe have the doctor’s card? She slipped the card into her pocket. She listened again, not daring to breathe, but heard nothing. She hurried out to the corridor and picked up her tray. She looked both ways. The corridor was empty. She was sure she had heard footsteps and the creak of a floorboard. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Maybe it was just her imagination.