She couldn’t imagine Sophie had stopped in just to say hello. “Look, we’re closing right…”
“Oh, I didn’t stop in for the menu.” Sophie had cultivated the habit of speaking aggressively, cutting off Lucky before she could complete her thought. Sophie looked beyond her and flashed a dazzling smile. Lucky turned to follow her gaze. Sage, dressed for the cold in his peacoat, came through the swinging door. He returned Sophie’s smile and joined her.
“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t know you two…” Lucky trailed off.
“’Night, boss,” Sage said, holding the door open for Sophie.
Sophie turned and, with an impish smile directed at Lucky, waved her hand in the air. “See you around sometime.” Sage shut the door behind them. Lucky moved closer to the window and watched as they walked away, Sage’s arm thrown over Sophie’s shoulder.
“Good night,” Lucky said to an empty room. She stood for a long moment at the window, doubting whether she had made the right decision to return. Had it been the shock of her parents’ death that had caused her to change course so quickly? After their funeral, she had returned to Madison and packed up her life. Now, had she burned all her bridges? There was no turning back. Was it really the right thing to do? Time will tell, she told herself once again. She locked the door and moved slowly around the room, turning off the lamps, all too aware of her own loneliness.
Chapter 3
“WHAT DO YOU call that color? It’s so yummy, it looks like something I’d want to eat.” Elizabeth leaned closer to the paint can. She had stopped by for an early morning visit to make sure Lucky was settling into her new apartment.
Lucky laughed. “Pumpkin.”
“I knew it.” She smiled. “That’s why I liked it.”
Lucky replaced the lid on the gallon can carefully, pressing it down until it was tightly sealed. She wiped her hands on a paper towel and, carrying a cup of coffee, joined Elizabeth at the kitchen table.
“Thanks for the furniture too.”
“It’s nothing. I keep odds and ends in storage in case one of my tenants needs something. It’s become quite a collection over the years.”
Elizabeth Dove, Lucky’s landlady, was an old friend of her parents and had recently been elected Mayor of Snowflake, Vermont, population 953. That figure was more accurate in summer months. But in winter months, with nearby ski slopes and winter cabins, their tiny hamlet tripled its population. Elizabeth’s hair, now that she was in her late fifties, had turned a glistening silvery white. She wore it in a short, youthful style and refused to color it.
Lucky hesitated. “You’d be honest with me, wouldn’t you? I wouldn’t want to paint the kitchen anything you wouldn’t approve of.”
“I’m very serious. I love it, and I’m just happy you’re willing to do all this work. Saves me having to hire someone. And this room could definitely use some freshening up. I feel a little guilty having you do all this on top of everything else you have to deal with at the Spoonful.”
“It’s good therapy for me. With my schedule, it’ll probably take me a few days to finish, but I’ll get it done.” Lucky was heartened by the thought of making this space her own. There was something about surrounding herself with her own warm choice of color that would make it feel that much more like a real home.
“I’ll start on it tonight. When I get back.”
“That reminds me.” Elizabeth smiled. “I’ve brought you a little present.”
“Oh no! You’ve done so much already,” Lucky cried. It was true. Elizabeth was there to greet her at the train station the day she returned permanently from Madison. Elizabeth believed it was important for Lucky to see a familiar face waiting for her. She knew very well how keenly Lucky would miss her mother. Although she couldn’t possibly fill that role, Elizabeth was determined to be the next best thing. It didn’t matter that Lucky was all grown up now and six years out of college. Elizabeth had known her since the day she was born, and had loved her parents dearly. She had never had children of her own, so Lucky was the closest thing she would ever have to a daughter.
Elizabeth rummaged in her large shopping bag and pulled out a long rectangular box. “Open it.”
Lucky smiled in response and opened the top lid. Inside she saw a fold of black flannel. “What is it?” She looked at Elizabeth questioningly.
“You’ll see.”
Lucky carefully pulled and wriggled the contents out of the box. The face was carved wood—a folk art piece—with a black hat and cloak and a long skirt of dried grass. She carried a broom of straw.
“She’s a genuine New England kitchen witch.”
Lucky laughed. “She’s fabulous.”
“And she’ll bring you good luck.”
“Thank you. I love her! I’ll hang her right by the kitchen door.”
“I’ve got to get going, but I’ll give you a call in a day or so to see if you need anything. And you call me if there’s anything—anything at all—you need. I have a good shoulder for crying on.” She touched the top of Lucky’s head and leaned down to kiss her cheek.
Lucky hugged Elizabeth at the door of the apartment and stood at the railing watching her as she descended the stairs. When the front door shut, Lucky hurried back to the kitchen to check the clock. She was running late. The restaurant would open in half an hour. Jack would already be there, warming up the large vats of soup that Sage had prepared the night before. Sage would arrive soon too. This was one of his mornings to pick up fresh breads and rolls from Bettie’s Bakery. She hurried to the bedroom and stripped off her jeans. She pulled on a pair of warm slacks and a sweater, then brushed her honey blonde hair back into a ponytail, not stopping to put on lipstick or makeup.
At the front door, she tugged on her boots and slipped into her jacket and scarf, zipping up as she rushed down the stairs. The front steps of the small apartment building and the narrow sidewalk had been cleared of snow. Lucky hurried, anxious to get to the Spoonful as early as possible before opening time. She didn’t notice the slick ice that had formed overnight. Before she knew what was happening, her legs flew out beneath her. She fell backward, landing on her rear and hitting her head. She slid gracelessly several feet before coming to a stop outside the front door of the Snowflake Medical Clinic, next door to her apartment building. As she lay on her back seeing stars and trying to catch her breath, the Clinic’s door opened. Elias Scott was staring down at her.
“Lucky! Are you all right?” He reached out a hand to help her up.
Lucky’s face turned beet red. Of all the people. What a clod I am, she thought. “Yes. I’m fine.”
Lucky grasped his hand and, with his help, managed to get to her feet, painfully aware of her disheveled state and lack of makeup.
“Are you sure? It looked like you hit your head.”
Lucky reached behind and felt the back of her head. “I think my ponytail saved me.”
Elias stood there smiling. Lucky was too embarrassed to return his smile, even though he was several years older, had been her secret love from middle school all through high school. He first came to Vermont as an intern at a large hospital in a nearby town just as she was starting middle school. He spent as much time as his schedule allowed in Snowflake, often eating at By the Spoonful.
By the time she graduated from high school, he was already in practice at the Snowflake Clinic. Lucky took a good look at him. His hair was still dark, and his deep blue eyes hadn’t changed. His dimples showed when he smiled. Her knees had always grown weak when he came into a room, and she forever prayed that no one would find out he was her secret crush. She would have been teased mercilessly. He was as handsome as ever. She felt, as she always had, like a gauche schoolgirl around him. He still had the same effect on her as he had had years before. Each stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to say next.
Elias spoke first. “I’m very sorry about your parents. They were wonderful people. And I heard you had moved back for good. Is that true?”
“Ye
s. It was rather sudden. After my parents…well, I felt I wasn’t doing anything very important in Madison.”
“Where are you living now?”
“Right here,” Lucky responded, pointing to the apartment building next door to the Clinic.
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. Elizabeth Dove owns it. She’s renting me one of her apartments till I decide what to do about By the Spoonful.”
“You’re planning to keep it going, I hope?”
“I…I haven’t decided for sure yet.”
“Well, if it means anything, I hope you do. I eat there often. Great place. And speaking of eating, perhaps you’d join me for dinner some night?”
Lucky was flabbergasted. He was treating her like an adult. “Oh. Well. Yes, I’d love to. Do you mean stopping in at the Spoonful?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized her gaffe.
“Not at all. Come by my place and I’ll cook for you. I bought the old white Victorian over on Hampstead Street, the one at the corner with the tall pine tree in the back.”
“That’s wonderful. It’s a beautiful house.”
“It’s even more beautiful inside. And I promise to give you the grand tour. I’ll stop by the restaurant soon. You pick the night. I’d love to catch up and hear all about the University and your adventures in Madison.”
Lucky was too stunned to think of anything to say. She stood on the sidewalk with her mouth open as Elias waved and reentered the Clinic.
Chapter 4
TODAY’S SPECIAL WAS a vegetable broth soup with tiny meatballs, mushrooms and parsley. Several other choices were already steaming in the large pots on the stove. Lucky popped into the kitchen. Sage was wrapping rolls and breads in foil for warming later. “Is Jack here yet?”
Sage looked up. “He was out front a minute ago.”
“I’ll find him.” Lucky walked the length of the corridor and opened the back door to the restaurant. Jack was standing in the small parking lot, looking anxiously up and down the access alley.
She called out to him. “Jack, what are you doing out here? Where’s your coat?”
“Waiting for my wife. She should have been here by now. I told you that,” he replied testily.
Lucky froze. Jack’s wife, her grandmother, had died twenty years before. She walked closer and touched his arm gently. “Jack.”
He ignored her. She tried again. “Jack, come inside. It’s too cold to be out here.”
“She won’t be able to find me,” he insisted plaintively.
“Yes. She will,” Lucky lied. Her heart sank as she realized the implications. Jack was losing touch with reality. Was it Alzheimer’s—the dreaded disease? Jack would have gone to the Clinic if he felt he had a problem. But then, maybe he didn’t realize there was a problem.
“Come inside where it’s warm. Have you had any breakfast?”
Jack looked in her eyes. He was finally back. “Lucky…”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“What…?”
She took Jack gently by the arm and guided him inside to the restaurant. “Sit down right here.” She pulled a chair out for him at one of the corner tables. “I’ll be right back. I want you to eat something.”
She rushed into the kitchen. “Sage, could you fry up a couple of eggs for Jack? I’ll make him some toast.”
“He okay?”
Lucky didn’t feel comfortable confiding her worries to Sage. “He’ll be fine.” She plopped two pieces of bread into the toaster and hurried back to Jack with a cup of coffee.
“Drink this. It’ll warm you up.”
“Lucky, my girl, I’m fine. No need to baby me.”
“I know, but I don’t like to see you not eating—especially in the morning.”
Another wave of guilt swept over her. Here she was dragging her feet about taking over the Spoonful, and Jack had been handling it all by himself for weeks. She was so caught up in her own concerns, she hadn’t really considered he could be having serious problems.
THE RUSH OF customers kept her busy throughout the morning. She didn’t have a moment to worry about Jack. She glanced over at him often as he stood at the cash register, while she manned the counter. He seemed to be doing fine in spite of her concerns.
As soon as the heaviest of the morning rush was over, the restaurant quieted down. Most of their early customers were townspeople, and Lucky knew them all, some better than others. Hank and Barry occupied their usual table in the corner to play another game. Marjorie and Cecily—two sisters in their fifties who ran the Off Broadway ladies’ clothing store—always stopped in later for brunch before heading down the street to start their day. For sisters, they were nothing alike. Cecily was petite and chatty with jet-black hair cropped in a flattering pixie cut. Marjorie, on the other hand, was reserved and rather intimidating. She had chosen to color her hair blonde and wore it in a severe bob. They lingered over their cups of tea at the counter.
“Dear, it’s so good to see you again. All grown up too. Your mother would’ve been so happy to know you’ve come back.” Cecily’s statement was made in good conscience, but it reminded Lucky that she had missed out on those years that she could have been closer to her parents. Marjorie smiled and nodded in agreement.
Before Lucky could respond, the bell over the front door rang. A tall, very attractive blonde woman stepped inside and closed the door, cutting off the blast of cold air. She stood for a moment, looking around at the few remaining customers. At the very same moment, Sage came out of the kitchen behind the counter.
“Hey, boss, I’ll need some more clean bowls before lunchtime, I…” He froze in place, staring at the blonde woman. Then he turned quickly, not completing his request, and retreated to the kitchen.
The noise level in the restaurant dropped, and a few people surreptitiously turned to watch the blonde as she approached the counter. Lucky could tell her outfit was very expensive. She took a stool a few seats away from the sisters.
Lucky pulled an order pad out of her pocket and approached her. “What can I get you? Coffee to start?”
“No, thanks. Just a container of tomato soup and half a grilled cheese sandwich to go, please.” Her voice was a rich vibrato with a hint of smokiness, without arrogance, but with an authoritative quality—someone whose requests were granted without question.
“Coming right up.” Lucky jotted down the order and placed it on the opening to the kitchen. Sage’s hand grabbed the slip of paper and disappeared. Hank and Barry had stopped their game and were staring openly at the new arrival. Who was this woman who aroused such interest?
Lucky returned to her conversation with Marjorie and Cecily. “You’ll have to stop by and see us when you can take a break. We have some new things in. I think you’ll like them—good for the young crowd,” Cecily said.
“I’d love that. I gave a lot of things away before I moved, and I could use some new clothes.”
“We’ll give you a discount, dear,” Marjorie offered. “Stop by later if you like.”
Lucky noticed the new order was ready in record time. She picked up the bag and carried it to the cash register where the blonde woman paid with a few bills pulled from a soft leather wallet. Hank and Barry had finally lost interest in the new customer and turned their attention back to their game. Jack handed the woman her change, and she left the restaurant without another word.
Lucky stacked the dishes from the counter while Marjorie and Cecily gathered up their things. Lucky leaned closer to them. “Do you know who that woman is?”
The sisters glanced at each other, their lips pursed. Marjorie finally leaned over the counter and whispered conspiratorially, “That’s Patricia Honeywell. She’s rented the cabin up at Bear Path Lane for the winter. She skis every day, I’ve heard.”
“That’s not all she does every day,” Cecily chimed in.
Lucky looked from one to the other and waited, but no further gossip was forthcoming. It was impossible to live in a town so small and
not have everyone know every iota of your business.
“And what’s that?” Lucky finally prompted.
“Well, dear, let’s just say she certainly has a way with men—lots of them. Every Tuesday she picks up two orders to go, but nobody knows who she’s dining with.”
“Maybe she has a big appetite.”
Marjorie smiled wickedly. “She sure does. But it’s not for food.”
Chapter 5
LUCKY STRETCHED HER neck and rubbed her temples again. Numbers swam in front of her eyes. She had spent the last two hours this evening poring over the Spoonful’s business records. Her Dad’s method was old-fashioned and handwritten. The records were well organized, but something wasn’t making sense. Enough money had been coming in from the business to pay all the expenses—rent, insurances, food licensures, taxes and salaries, but there should have been much more profit. Perhaps her parents had reinvested in the business? The interior hadn’t been renovated, Lucky knew that much, but maybe they had purchased equipment she wasn’t aware of.
She reached for another thick accordion file and pulled it out of the cabinet, patiently riffling through receipts for the past two years. She found no large expenditures—no new freezer units, stoves or dishwashers. The restaurant equipment wasn’t the latest design, but it was practical and serviceable. The Jamiesons had no vices and certainly didn’t indulge in any luxuries. They had always been hardworking, thrifty people. They counted their pennies, Lucky knew, remembering how hard they had worked to help her through college. So why didn’t the numbers jibe?
She took another sip of tea from the mug on the desk and pulled a thick envelope from the back of the drawer. This was full of cash register receipts bundled by date. On the reverse side of each was a scribbled name. She groaned and leaned back in the chair. She finally understood what she was looking at. These were IOUs and they were uncollected. If these had been paid, Lucky was sure her Mom or Dad would have returned the receipts to their customers or at the very least, made a check mark over the name when a customer finally paid. Lucky flipped through the slips of paper, recognizing quite a few of the scrawled signatures—all local people and all longtime customers. Her parents had been carrying them for the last couple of years, too compassionate to demand payment, and wanting to allow them their pride. Her Mom and Dad had undoubtedly told them they could pay when things eased up.
A Spoonful of Murder Page 2
