Chapter 8
ELIZABETH STOOD AT the kitchen counter, carefully wrapping the pottery dishware in stiff paper and stacking each piece in a box. Lucky was busy going through the bookcases and bureaus for personal items she intended to box and store for now.
The Jamiesons’ home was a modest farmhouse, a mile out of town. No one was very sure how old the building was, but originally it had been a barn, later converted to a home. Its clapboard siding was painted deep red, and a large peaked dormer dominated the center of the structure, part of the original barn. A pine wreath still hung on the front door, its needles and pinecones frosted with ice. Martha Jamieson loved decorating for the holidays, and Lucky imagined her mother struggling to get the wreath placed just so.
“What did the Realtor say?” Elizabeth called out.
Eleanor Jensen was the only Realtor in Snowflake. She had no competition in town but was savvy about the marketplace and knew what property was worth to the last dollar. Lucky halted in her task and rose from the floor. “Haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet. She’s going to stop by today. I’ve given her a key in case I’m not here. She’ll give me an idea what the market will bear right now.”
Elizabeth turned to her. “Are you sure you want to do this? You might really regret selling your parents’ home—your home—someday.”
“I don’t know what else to do. I don’t have time to take care of a house, nor the money. There’s a second mortgage, by the way. I suspect my parents borrowed against the house to keep the business afloat.”
“They surely had life insurance policies?” Elizabeth questioned.
“I still have more papers to go through, and to answer your question, yes, they did. But it’s not a lot in today’s dollars. It really would be a relief for me not to be worrying about the house on top of everything else.”
“I understand, dear, but let me know if you change your mind, or if a loan would help you out. I can help you. The Spoonful will do fine, I’m sure.”
Lucky wasn’t so sure about Elizabeth’s confidence in her. She had moments when she thought that maybe the best thing would be to sell everything—the furniture, the house, the business—and pick up and start fresh somewhere else. But where? And there was Jack to consider. There was so much to do and so many things to take care of, every day felt like a long list of chores, with no end in sight.
Lucky finished with the bookshelves and moved on to the bedroom. She pulled open the top bureau drawer and took out her mother’s small collection of jewelry, piece by piece—none of it valuable, but treasured because they were gifts from the people her mother loved most in the world. She had even kept the purple plastic earrings in the shape of pansies that Lucky, at age ten, had given her as a birthday gift. She came to realize as she grew older that her parents had expected their little girl to be feminine, all ruffles and frills, certainly not the tomboy she grew into. Her mother bought her dolls and sewed tiny handmade outfits, while Lucky came home with a broken arm and a jar full of spiders. She hoped her mother would think the pansy earrings the most beautiful things in the world. And as far as her mother was concerned, they were priceless—treasured because of her love for her daughter. Lucky smiled, remembering her mother’s reaction at the time to the peculiar pansy earrings. She wrapped each piece of jewelry in tissue and laid them in a small box.
Lucky opened the second drawer in the bureau and gasped. It was full of letters and cards bound with pink ribbon. Her mother had saved everything Lucky had sent to her during all the years she had been away. She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. She sat at the foot of the bed and wept quietly, hoping Elizabeth wouldn’t hear her from the kitchen. When her tears subsided, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She placed all the letters and cards in a second box. This cleaning out project was much harder than she had anticipated.
Elizabeth hesitated at the door of the bedroom. She could tell immediately that Lucky had been crying. “I’m so sorry, honey. Maybe it’s too soon for you to have to deal with all this—a lifetime of memories.”
“I knew it would be, but it’s got to be done somehow.”
“That’s true, but it’s too much to do in one day. Just chip away, a little at a time. Let me know what heavy pieces you don’t want to keep, and I’ll have my handyman come by. We can donate them to a charity or a thrift shop—whatever you’d like to do.”
The doorbell rang once and a woman’s voice called out, “Hallooo.” Lucky wiped her nose. “There’s Eleanor now.”
Elizabeth leaned over and gave her a quick hug. “I’ll be on my way. Oh, one more thing. Don’t forget to leave a faucet dripping—might keep the pipes from freezing. I’ll leave you to Eleanor’s clutches.”
Lucky heard Elizabeth greet Eleanor and then felt the front door slam as Elizabeth left. Lucky returned to the kitchen just as Eleanor entered with a clipboard tucked under her arm.
“I’m glad I caught you. You have time to go over things with me?” Eleanor asked.
“Sure,” Lucky replied. Eleanor reminded Lucky of a small, furry mammal, always bustling, always rushing. She had an unruly mop of curly brown hair and walked at a slightly forward tilt.
With Lucky following in her wake, Eleanor progressed quickly through each room, jotting down notes. “I’d say the square footage is probably, what, eighteen hundred?”
“I don’t know for sure. My Dad would have known.”
“How old is the roof, do you know?”
“I remember my parents talking about it. I think they replaced it about five years ago.”
“That’s good news. And do you know anything about the plumbing?”
Lucky shook her head. “Sorry, no.”
“That’s all right, dear. We’ll have an inspection set up to go over everything before we set a price. Now, that’s something I have to talk to you about. The market is down right now, as I’m sure you know. It’s the economy in general, but also the plant closure and the layoffs, and even the second-home market is a disaster. Your house isn’t going to appeal to the ski crowd, too far from the Resort. So…given that we’re in the worst time of year to sell, I don’t think you’d get very much, that’s assuming it would even move at all. Do you know how much is left on the mortgage?”
“Not exactly. I have to go through some papers. I do know there’s a second to be paid off.”
“Oh. Well, then. Maybe you might want to reconsider trying to sell right now.”
One more stone in her path, she thought. Maybe she’d be forced to live here and hope to make enough money to pay the mortgages. She felt a deep connection to this house, but to live here now, so soon after her parents’ death, wouldn’t be the best thing for her spirits.
“I’ll look at the comps and get back to you with an asking price. Do you want me to schedule an inspector to come and check things out?”
“Let’s talk again before you do that, okay? In the meantime, I’ll talk to my Dad’s accountant and find out exactly what it’ll take to keep this house up and running.”
“Good plan. I’ll call you in a day or two, or stop by my office whenever you have a chance.”
“I will. I need to get back to the Spoonful right now and relieve Jack, but I’ll keep chipping away at clearing the house out.”
Eleanor turned at the front door and took one last look around. “I have to say, it’s very, very charming. I love the built-in bookshelves and the stone fireplace. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe someone will come along and fall in love with it. You never know,” she said in a tone that didn’t sound very encouraging. Eleanor banged through the front door and hurried to her car without further comment.
Lucky checked through the house one more time, making sure the kitchen faucet was dripping slowly and all the lights were off. She slipped on her jacket and hauled several boxes to her car—a second car of Elizabeth’s that she had loaned to Lucky. She said a quick prayer of thanks for Elizabeth’s presence and generosity. She had no idea how she’d have been able to dea
l with everything otherwise.
Lucky turned on the car heater as soon as the engine fired. She could smell the change in the air—a heavy wetness. She knew from her years in New England this wouldn’t be a gentle snowfall. When Arctic air rushed down from the north, it was brutal, if not deadly. Thankfully, the stove in her kitchen apartment was gas. Even if the town lost electric power she’d be able to stay warm.
By the time she reached the Spoonful, the sun had dipped behind the mountains, its last rays blotted out by roiling black clouds. A few customers still lingered, one lone man and a couple. All of the locals and most of the tourists had hunkered down. Only die-hard skiers would be happy about this storm.
“Jack. Let’s close up early if you have no objection.”
“None whatsoever, my girl. Time to batten down the hatches.”
“I’ll send Janie and Meg home. I don’t like the idea of their being on the road if the storm hits early.” Lucky flashed on the image of her parents dead by the side of the road in a similar storm not that long ago.
“I can swab the deck tomorrow morning. No reason it has to be done tonight.” Lucky smiled at Jack’s vocabulary. The floor was always the deck and the walls were the bulkhead.
She stuck her head through the hatch. “Hey, Sage. We’re gonna close. I’ll lock up as soon as these people leave.”
“Okay,” he called back. “Not much point in staying open tonight. I’ll put everything away.”
Janie and Meg were obviously relieved to be let off early. “You girls go ahead. I know your families will be worried if you’re not in early tonight.”
“Thanks, Lucky.” They smiled with relief. “We can stay and help you clean up if you need us.”
“No worries. You go ahead. Jack and I can handle it. We can run the dishwasher in the morning.” Without another word, the two girls pushed through the swinging door into the corridor and headed for the coat closet.
Ten minutes later, Sage had cleaned up the kitchen and stacked the dishes in the washer. “I’m finished now. I’ll be on my way.”
“’Night,” Lucky called after him.
The couple at the far table settled their bill and left. The lone man rose from his chair and paid his bill at the cash register. “Good night. Drive safe,” Jack called after him.
Lucky locked the front door and turned off the neon light. “Jack, before you go, I’d like to talk to you about something.” Lucky grabbed a stool at the counter as Jack sat next to her.
“What is it, Lucky? You look worried.”
“It’s just…everything right now, but I’m wondering if you have any idea about all the people who haven’t been paying their bills here.”
Jack nodded. “Yes, I know about that.”
“You knew? You haven’t said anything! Jack—we’re talking about a lot of money. There isn’t much in the savings account—not enough to cover any kind of emergency.”
“Lucky, your Mom and Dad…how can I put this…they cared more about their neighbors and friends who were down on their luck than they did about their profits. People here have lost their jobs, their homes, some can’t even afford to feed their families. Your parents told them they were welcome here anytime, and if they couldn’t pay, well then they could settle up later when they had a new job or some money coming in.”
“Jack, those receipts—there must be several thousand dollars.”
“I know. But what can any of us do about it?”
“We should ask them to pay, don’t you think?”
“We could ask, but most, if not all of them, wouldn’t be able to. And then they wouldn’t feel free to come here anymore. And, mark my words, in the long run, that generosity shown in a hard time will always reap rewards in the future.”
“That’s great, Jack, and I don’t really disagree in theory, but if we don’t manage to stay in business, we won’t be feeding anybody—ourselves or anyone else.” Lucky realized with a shock she had spoken as if she had already made the decision to keep the business.
“Lucky, I love you with all my heart, but I am not going to ask any of these people for money. We know every single one of them, and I can guarantee you that they will eventually settle up. I can’t stop you, but if you take my advice, you won’t be sorry.” Jack rose from the stool and shrugged into his jacket. “Why don’t you stay at my place tonight. If this storm wipes out the power, we can light a fire.”
Lucky looked up. “Thanks. I appreciate that, but I’ll be fine. Anyway, I’ve got some boxes in the car I have to bring home.”
“I’ll give you a hand.” True to his word, Jack followed Lucky to her apartment and parked his truck in front of her building. Together, they lugged all the boxes up the stairs and stacked them in the hallway closet.
Jack enveloped her in a bear hug. “Don’t worry, my girl. Everything will work out fine, you’ll see.” Lucky managed a grin in response, hoping against hope he was right.
Once Jack had gone, she shed her jacket, boots and gloves and, carrying the box she had marked with a K, headed for the kitchen. Inside were her mother’s dishes that Elizabeth had packed so carefully that very afternoon. Lucky lifted the plates out of the box and unwrapped them. She stacked them on the kitchen counter. She loved the handmade pottery her mother had used for years, their hues set off beautifully against the pumpkin-colored walls of the kitchen. All that was needed here were curtains. When she was young, her mother had insisted she learn how to sew. It was the one domestic skill she urged Lucky to learn, reminding her how valuable it was to not have to rely on what the stores had in stock. She could search for just the right fabric and create the curtains herself on her mother’s sewing machine. They would be something unique that would make this apartment her own.
She turned off the kitchen light and stripped off her clothes in the bedroom, pulling on her warmest pair of flannel pajamas. The wind buffeted the building, rattling the windows in their frames and shrieking as the storm grew in intensity. She lit a candle next to the bed and snuggled under the covers as the storm began in earnest.
Chapter 9
REMY DUBOIS SLOUCHED in his chair at the corner table normally occupied by Hank Northcross and Barry Sanders. The two regulars had yet to arrive. Lucky was sure they’d be busy all morning shoveling fresh snowfall from their cars and walkways. Remy, coffee at his elbow, was doing his best to hold court. His boots jutted into Janie’s path as she moved from table to table, arranging tablecloths, napkins and salt and pepper shakers. Remy had tried several times to strike up a conversation, but Janie, for her part, merely nodded occasionally without much effort to be polite. Lucky overheard Remy extolling his exploits on the slopes, and in hopes of impressing Janie, offered to show her some moves. Sage caught the drift of the conversation and, through the kitchen hatch, shot his brother a disgusted look. Janie, unimpressed, returned to the counter and began to fold fresh napkins.
The first customers finally arrived, winter visitors, brave souls who had managed to navigate through the as yet unplowed streets and sidewalks. Janie placed their orders on the clip at the kitchen hatch while Lucky manned the counter and the cash register. Jack sat at a table by the window catching up with last Sunday’s newspaper. It was a slow morning.
Sage called out, “Boss, I’ll be right back. This trash needs to go.”
Lucky heard the back door slam as Sage headed for the Dumpster. The first customers paid for their food and left, as two more came through the door. The special today was a new tomato-based soup with carrots and spinach served over jumbo pasta shells and flavored with basil, oregano and grated cheese. Their new customers were eager to try it. Remy slouched out of his chair and returned his coffee cup and saucer to the front counter, hoping to catch Janie’s eye.
“Bye,” he said. “Catch you later.”
“Thanks, Remy.” Lucky dumped the used dishware in a plastic container under the counter. “See you later.”
He shot a sideways glance at Janie, who was too busy contemplating her n
ew green nail polish to reply.
Meg took another order from one of the new customers and clipped it above the kitchen hatch. She hesitated and turned back, rising on 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. piled next to it. 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.
Chapter 10
LUCKY LOOKED UP to see Jack standing in the doorway. “What’s wrong?” he called, joining them. They stared at him wordlessly, unable to speak. Finally, Lucky pointed to the frozen head rising from the snow.
“Jack, please call the police,” Lucky asked. Jack nodded once and rushed away.
Lucky shivered violently, not sure whether from fear or cold. Had the storm lasted longer, the body might have been completely buried. It could have been days or weeks before it was discovered. “Sage, can you grab my jacket? I’ll stay here till the police arrive.”
A Spoonful of Murder Page 4
