A Spoonful of Murder
Page 1
A Chilling Discovery…
Meg took another order from one of the new customers and clipped it above the kitchen hatch. She hesitated and turned back, rising on her tiptoes to look for Sage. He hadn’t returned. “Hey, Lucky, where’d Sage go?”
Lucky looked through the hatch. “He’s still out back. I’ll fill those.” She headed into the kitchen and, quickly slicing bread, put the new orders together on a tray and carried them out to Meg. She checked the kitchen again. What was taking him so long? She waved to Janie to stay by the cash register, and headed down the corridor. Sage was squatting by the door, his back to the wall, taking deep breaths.
“Sage!” Lucky rushed to his side. “Are you sick?”
Sage shook his head. He pointed wordlessly to the back door.
“What is it?”
He rose and took Lucky’s hand, leading her out the door to the Dumpster behind the building. He pointed to a mound of snow and ice. Lucky stared, unsure what she was supposed to see. A tuft of blonde hair stuck incongruously out of the snow. A chill ran through her. She was staring at a death mask—a death mask of ice. It was the face of their customer, the tall, elegant blonde woman. Dark clotted blood had frozen on the side of her head. A single jeweled earring dangling from one ear flashed in the thin winter light. The rest of her was buried under three feet of snow…
A Spoonful of Murder
Connie Archer
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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.
A SPOONFUL OF MURDER
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / August 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Excerpt from A Broth of Betrayal by Connie Archer copyright © 2012 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Cover illustration by Cathy Gendron.
Cover design by Diana Kolsky.
Interior text design by Kristin del Rosario.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-58121-6
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
To cast in order of appearance:
Jennifer, Stephanie, and Tom
Acknowledgments
With thanks and appreciation to Paige Wheeler of Folio Literary Management for her hard work, good advice, and expertise and to Emily Beth Rapoport of Berkley Prime Crime for her enthusiasm and support for the Soup Lover’s Mysteries.
Thank you to Marianne Grace for her copyediting skills in making this book the best it could be; and to everyone at Berkley Prime Crime who had a hand in bringing this book to life.
Many thanks as well to the writers’ group: Cheryl Brughelli, Don Fedosiuk, Paula Freedman, R. B. Lodge, and Marguerite Summers for their criticism and encouragement.
www.conniearchermysteries.com
Table of Contents
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
Recipes
A Broth of Betrayal
Chapter 1
“I KNOW YOU worry about me, Mom, but you don’t have to. And I know you’d love my new apartment. Elizabeth is renting it to me, for a while at least, till I figure things out.”
Lucky sighed. “I know what you’re going to say, but the shop is a big responsibility. And I’m really struggling—struggling with everything right now.” Shivering in her down jacket, she blew on her hands to keep them warm. Lingering rays of winter light cast long shadows over the snow.
“The apartment’s small, but the back windows overlook a garden. It’s not in bloom now, of course, but it will be in the spring. It feels peaceful, and I think I’ll be able to sleep well there. I haven’t slept very much since…since I got the call about you and Dad.”
Lucky looked down at the freshly turned earth, large, dark scars against the snow, covered now with only a light dusting. In a short time, the earth would sink, snow would cover the mounds and eventually grass would grow. Her parents would rest in peace.
“I wish I could tell you how sorry I am that I haven’t been
here—that I stayed away all these years and didn’t come home after college. I wanted to do something special—live for something other than tourist season, but I never accomplished very much at all. If I could do over the last few years, I’d have come back and hugged you and Dad every single day of your lives.”
Lucky didn’t know how she would ever recover from the guilt that washed over her every day. She remembered how hard her parents had worked and how she had rejected that life for herself. Now she was completely alone. Alone even at the gravesite. No one could hear the one-sided conversation she was having with her parents, the only conversation she could have with them now. Death was so final, and there was nothing in her life that had prepared her for the shock of her parents’ fatal car crash.
“I’ve brought these for you. They’re just evergreens and two roses, one for you and one for Dad.” Lucky knelt and, dividing her bouquet in two, placed the greens and a rose in each of the containers at the headstone. She stepped back and stood for a few more moments, remembering her mother’s smile and the scent of her cologne, until she shivered again in the icy wind, her tears already frozen on her cheeks.
BY THE TIME she reached Snowflake’s main street, Lucky’s face was numb with cold. She pulled her woolen scarf up to her nose, hoping to reach By the Spoonful, her parents’ soup shop, without running into any more old friends and acquaintances. Everyone had been so kind, but whenever condolences were offered, she felt as if she would burst into sobs. She missed her parents terribly. They had always been there for her. She had never considered the day when that would not be true.
The streetlights had already blinked on in the darkening evening, and lights in the shape of large snowflakes hung at each pole all the way down Broadway. Local shops had closed, but the windows of By the Spoonful Soup Shop were brightly lit and fogged from the warmth inside. Lucky stood across the street as if seeing the restaurant for the first time. The old blue and yellow neon sign her Dad had been so proud of still hung in the front window. For a moment, she imagined her parents, Martha and Louis Jamieson, would be inside. She could rush into the warmth and throw her arms around them, as she did when she was very young.
Her grandfather Jack stood at the cash register now. It was dinnertime, and the simple restaurant was filled to capacity with tourists and locals alike. The menu was a rotating variety of soups, stews and sandwiches, depending on the time of year. Hearty meat-filled soups or thick lentils for winter, lighter ones for the summer. Each soup was served with a generous hunk of crusty bakery bread or ladled into a bread bowl. Tonight’s special was an original created by Sage, the Spoonful’s talented chef.
Her parents had hired Sage DuBois while Lucky was at college, and his expertise kept the menu delicious and unique. His special tonight was a soup based on yams, potatoes, carrots and red peppers in a creamy broth with white pepper. Lucky had worked up an appetite walking all the way from the cemetery and looked forward to a large bowl of the new soup as soon as she could take a break.
She hadn’t intended to stay away from the restaurant so long. Her grandfather was sometimes overwhelmed by the rush of customers and became confused. She couldn’t imagine herself taking over the business her parents had left to her, but she also couldn’t imagine the end of By the Spoonful either. Her grandfather Jack had made it clear he was only holding on, running the shop until she was ready to take over—if that was what she wanted to do. He had been very patient and hadn’t pressured her, but Lucky knew he was waiting for a definite answer. She wondered how much longer she could delay.
Taking a deep breath, she crossed the street and pushed through the glass front door. A bell tinkled overhead, barely noticeable in the clatter and conversation of customers. Almost every table was full, and, as usual, Hank Northcross and Barry Sanders, two of the Spoonful’s very regular regulars, sat at a corner table playing a game of Connect Four, large mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream nearby. Hank’s bellow could be heard above the din of the restaurant as he lost another round of the game. Barry, smiling and victorious, leaned back in his chair clasping his hands over his protruding belly and took a sip of hot chocolate.
Jack looked up from counting bills. “Lucky, my girl. I’ve been worrying about you. It’s just gone three bells.” Jack was a World War II veteran who had served in the Navy. Lucky had listened to sea lingo her entire life and could even tell time Navy style.
Lucky grinned in response. “I’m fine.” She stepped behind the cash register and gave her grandfather a bear hug, even though he stood a good seven inches taller. She kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Jack.” She had never called her grandfather by any other name. He had always insisted that to her, his only grandchild, he was Jack. He wanted no titles. Those were for old men, and he was never going to be one of those.
Jack held her at arm’s length and gave her a careful look. “Sure you’re all right?”
Lucky nodded. “I am. It’s just…every second with a loved one counts.”
A sadness passed over Jack’s lined face. “One of life’s tougher lessons, my girl. But your parents did a great job. You’ll be fine. I’m not really worried about you.”
The truth was, Lucky was starting to become a little worried about Jack. She had noticed a few things since she’d returned home—moments of confusion and gaps in reality. At first, she had taken some of his remarks as jokes or flights of fancy, but later she realized he had spoken seriously. She determined to keep a much closer eye on him from now on. He was the only family she had, and she was the only one who could really watch out for him.
Lucky pushed through the swinging door and headed down the hall, hanging her coat and winter gear in the closet. She kicked off her snow boots and slipped on a pair of loafers. She pulled a fresh apron off the shelf—her mother had designed these, bright yellow with an outline of a steaming bowl of soup. On her way back to the front, she peeked into the kitchen. Sage was stirring one of the large vats, a mound of chopped vegetables piled on his work table.
“Hey, Sage. How’s it going?”
He looked up and smiled, muscles bulging in his arms as he returned to chopping. “Under control, boss.”
Lucky nodded. “Let me know if you need any help back here. We’ve got two waitresses out front tonight.”
“Keep them out of my kitchen. Please!” he called out in response.
Lucky smiled. Sage was a maestro in his domain. A highly trained and creative chef, her parents were thrilled to find him. They had been able to hire him at a salary he could have doubled at one of the ski resorts. Frankly, she wasn’t sure why he had stayed on as long as he had. His skills would have been welcomed anywhere. She just hoped he wasn’t thinking of looking elsewhere for work now that her parents were gone.
Lucky had once suggested a recipe for a new soup and asked his opinion about adding salad choices in the summertime. She had felt a definite resistance. Nothing overt, just a stiffening of his posture, but there was something unspoken there. Perhaps he thought she was criticizing his abilities, which was far from the truth. Or maybe he didn’t like having to take orders from a woman so close in age. Lucky had asked him a few times to call her by her name, but so far he avoided using it, preferring to address her as “boss.” Then again, maybe he was standoffish because he wasn’t sure if she would run the business as her parents had done. In all fairness to Sage, she hadn’t definitely decided if she would continue on with the restaurant.
If Sage chose greener pastures, Lucky didn’t know how she would ever find another chef as skilled. It wouldn’t be possible to maintain the same standard of food if Sage were to leave. She brushed the worry aside. Time will tell, time will tell. She repeated it to herself like a mantra as she headed back to the cash register to relieve Jack.
The next few hours flew by. At eight o’clock, Lucky sent Jack home, and an hour later, the last diners had gone. Janie and Meg, two local girls who waitressed for them, had cleared the tables and were slipping on their coats. Lucky
could hear Sage banging around in the back as he cleaned up his work area. She grabbed the key under the cash register to lock up, but before she reached the door, it flew open, ushering in a frosty blast of air. Sophie Colgan stepped inside, slamming the door behind her.
Lucky’s heart sank. Sophie was probably the last person in town she wanted to see.
Chapter 2
FRIENDS SINCE CHILDHOOD, they had drifted apart in high school. Lucky excelled as a student, while Sophie pursued her love of athletics, particularly skiing. Sophie was now a top ski instructor at the Snowflake Resort. Tonight, she was still dressed in her ski gear.
In retrospect, the final blow to their friendship had come when Lucky made the decision to attend college in Wisconsin. During their last year of high school, Sophie became distant and cold, indulging in cutting remarks at Lucky’s expense, pretending they had never been close. Lucky made several attempts to bridge the gap and rekindle the friendship, only to be rebuffed. Sophie carried a huge chip on her shoulder about being a “townie” and deeply resented Lucky’s ambition to escape from their small Vermont hometown. Lucky suspected Sophie now took out her aggression on the slopes. She was momentarily confused, wondering why Sophie would come to the Spoonful at this hour. Surely she knew the restaurant would be closing.
“Well!” Sophie flashed a smile. “I heard you were back but I could hardly believe it. What a surprise—Madison not to your liking anymore?” Lucky detected the thinly veiled sarcasm in her tone.
“It’s not that…I…”
Sophie cut her off. “Sorry about your parents.”
“Thanks.”
“That must be tough.”
Lucky didn’t respond, too afraid any sympathy would bring on tears. She did her best to smile. “You look great, Sophie.”
“Thanks. I stay in shape. So do you.” Sophie’s glance raked over Lucky’s slacks and sweater. “You look well cared for.” Lucky translated that to mean Sophie considered her pampered and spoiled—someone who thought herself too good for the little town of Snowflake.