A Spoonful of Murder

by Connie Archer

  Nate approached the counter. “Hello, Lucky.”

  “Nate. Any news for us?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Is Sage here now?”

  “Sage? Yes, he’s in the kitchen.”

  “Lucky, I want you to know, I’m real sorry about this.” Nate turned away and headed toward the doorway to the kitchen with Bradley following behind him. Sage stopped his work at the counter and looked over at Nate looming in the doorway.

  Nate cleared his throat. “Mr. DuBois, you are under arrest for the murder of Patricia Honeywell. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. Anything you say can and will be used in evidence against you…”

  Lucky dropped the silverware she was holding. It clattered on the counter, half of it falling to the floor. She turned to Jack in astonishment, unable to believe her ears. Jack bolted out of his chair and rushed into the kitchen. “Nate, this can’t be right. You’re making a mistake.”

  Janie and Meg sat in shocked silence and watched. Meg’s face had turned a ghastly white. Janie jumped up and attempted to follow Jack. Lucky held up a hand to halt her and peeked through the hatch into the kitchen. Sage’s shoulders slumped. He dropped the utensil he was holding and stood, hands at his side, his expression blank. He made no protest. He didn’t even look surprised. Lucky had the strange impression he had been waiting for this. Silently, he turned and pulled his coat off the peg on the wall and slipped it on. Bradley led the way through the restaurant with Nate following after Sage. Sage kept his gaze lowered, never meeting anyone’s eyes.

  Jack stepped around them to block their path. “Nate, what’s this all about?”

  “Jack, I’m sorry. Please step aside. There’s just nothing I can tell you at this point.” With no word of explanation, the three men exited through the front door of the Spoonful. Once outside, Bradley held open the back door of the cruiser and waited while Sage climbed in. Nate returned to the passenger seat and Bradley climbed in behind the steering wheel.

  Janie and Meg pressed up against the frosty window watching as the cruiser drove away. Lucky reached for Jack’s hand. He squeezed it to acknowledge her. No one had spoken a word. The girls turned to Lucky as if she could explain what had just happened, but she was as stunned as they were.

  “Oh God, it’s all my fault,” Meg wailed and burst into tears.

  “What are you talking about?” Lucky asked. Jack stared at the young girl in complete confusion.

  “It’s all my fault!” Meg cried again.

  “Come sit down and tell me what you’re talking about.” Lucky caught Jack’s eye and made a slight gesture to indicate this would be girl talk and he should make himself invisible. Janie threw an arm around Meg and led her back to the counter. She pushed her gently down onto a stool and sat next to her. Jack returned to his newspaper at a corner table, discreetly feigning a lack of interest in their conversation.

  They had Lucky’s full attention. Janie spoke first. “The other night…we left with Sage.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Lucky replied.

  Janie reached out and put her hand protectively over Meg’s. Meg was trying hard to regain control. “…Sage said he had to come back to the Spoonful. He had forgotten his keys.”

  Meg took a deep breath and stifled another sob. “He doesn’t know it, but we followed him.” Lucky nodded sympathetically and waited for Meg to spill out the rest of her story. Meg looked up, her face stained with tears. “Lucky, he was lying, because he didn’t go back inside the Spoonful. He hung around outside, like he was waiting for someone.”

  “What night was this? The night of the storm?”

  “No. A few nights before. I’m not sure exactly. It was the night you were working in the office.”

  “Did you see him meet anyone?”

  “No. We waited as long as we could. We didn’t want him to know we had followed him, but nobody else turned up.”

  “That’s hardly incriminating. I’m sure Nate wouldn’t jump to any conclusions based on that.”

  “That’s not all,” Janie offered. “The night we closed early—the night of the storm—I usually give Meg a ride home—but instead we parked down the street and waited for Sage to leave.”

  Lucky marveled at the craftiness of young love. “Did you hope to talk to him and hang out?” Meg nodded sheepishly, her face bright red. “What happened then?”

  “We saw him come out to Broadway. He started walking away from us toward Maple,” Janie responded.

  “I’m sure he was just walking home. He only lives a few blocks away.”

  “Maybe he was, but then a red Jeep passed by and pulled up next to him. The driver must have called out to him, because Sage stopped and looked at the car. First, we thought somebody was asking him directions. But then Sage turned away and started walking faster.”

  Meg, more excited than upset now, said, “It was really weird. The red car started up, passed him and pulled over ahead of him. That woman jumped out. She left the car running in the street and got right in his face.”

  “You mean Patricia Honeywell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really!” Lucky wondered once again what the connection between Sage and the blonde woman could be. There had to be some history. “What did Sage do then?”

  “They were kinda far away by then. We started the car and drove real slow to catch up. We wanted to see what was going on, but we were trying not to be obvious. Sage said something to her—we couldn’t hear—and then it looked like her hand came up, like she was reaching for him. He backed away quick and held up his hands, like ‘Don’t touch me.’ Something like that—at least that’s what it looked like, and then he took off really fast.”

  “What happened after that?” Lucky asked.

  “Nothing. That woman got back in her car and drove away,” Janie said.

  Lucky shook her head. “Weird. I wonder what that was all about,” she said more to herself than to the girls. Where was Patricia Honeywell heading when she spotted Sage? And why had she felt it necessary to accost him like that in the street? Could there have been a later altercation that night? The night of her death? No—Lucky shook her head. Whatever was behind that confrontation, it sounded like Sage would have done anything to avoid running into the blonde woman.

  “There’s more, Lucky,” Meg spoke softly. “We saw him with the dead woman before—up at the Lodge. We help out there sometimes. She was at the bar with one of the ski instructors—I think it was Josh. It was so disgusting. He was mooning all over her…Josh I mean, but then she spotted Sage and she told Josh to get lost. She walked right over to Sage as if she knew him.”

  “What was Sage doing up at the Lodge?” Lucky asked.

  Janie dug through her purse and passed a wad of tissues to Meg. Meg took off her glasses and wiped them carefully. Her round face looked doughy and forlorn. “Don’t know. Maybe he was there to meet that Sophie—she’s such a cow! Or maybe he was meeting his brother. Remy sometimes does odd jobs up there.”

  “Janie…Meg…even if he knew this woman—Patricia Honeywell—even if there’s some story behind all this, it might not mean anything at all.” Lucky remembered Sage’s reaction at the restaurant when he saw the blonde woman at the counter. It certainly did appear as if they knew each other, or at least Sage recognized her, but she cautiously decided it was best not to offer any more information to the girls.

  Red blotches covered Meg’s face. “I shouldn’t have told the police any of that stuff. I got so scared when Nate started asking me questions, it just all came out. If I had just kept my mouth shut, they never would have arrested him.”

  Janie put an arm around Meg’s shoulder in an effort to console her. “Lucky, can Meg go home now? There’s nothing for her to do here anyway.”

  “Sure. Go ahead—both of you. We might as well close for the day. Again, no one’s turned up and now Sage is gone. There’s not much we can do for him right now, but I intend to find ou
t just why Nate’s arrested him.”

  Chapter 12

  LUCKY WAITED IMPATIENTLY at the counter, shifting from one foot to the other, as Bradley rummaged through file drawers.

  “I know that form is in one of these folders. I’ll find it in just a minute, Ms. Jamieson.”

  Lucky heaved a sigh. “Bradley, it’s me. Just call me Lucky, okay? You know me. Why do I need to fill out a form to visit a prisoner?”

  “It’s required, Ms. Jamieson…Lucky. It’s Department of Corrections Policy No. 327 and the Administrative Procedure Act, Rule No. 79.26, commonly known as the APA rules. ‘Each visitor shall, upon entry, register his name, address and relationship to the resident.’ I am entitled to ask you to submit to a search, but since it’s you, I won’t insist.”

  Lucky bit her tongue. “I appreciate that, Bradley.” If he dared to lay a hand on her, she’d slug him. “I just want a chance to talk to Sage. He works for me. I’m concerned about him.”

  “Found it.” Bradley triumphantly held up a one-page form, slightly wrinkled at the corners, and carried it to the long counter. “It’s just…well, we haven’t had a prisoner for a long time. Actually, I can’t remember when we last had one…except for old Arnie Hicks. He gets drunk and disorderly once a year on his birthday. But we just lock him up so he won’t hurt himself. He’s sober by the next morning.”

  Lucky reached for the form and pulled it from Bradley’s fingers. She thought he looked quite pleased that his jail cell was actually accommodating an alleged criminal.

  “Where do I sign?” Lucky scanned the form.

  “I’ll have to see some ID.” Bradley drew himself up to his full height of five feet seven inches. “All visitors must identify themselves and state their relationship to the prisoner.”

  “Bradley! That is ridiculous.”

  “Sorry, it’s just APA rule 79.26.”

  “I thought it was rule 327.”

  “No, 327 is Department of Corrections Policy. Rule 79.26 is APA.”

  Lucky blinked slowly, ready to reach across the counter and throttle the deputy, but thought better of it. Bradley might arrest her. She was sure there was a penal code to cover assault on a police officer, and sure that Bradley could quote it chapter and verse. She took a deep breath to control her impatience and calmly replied, “Will a driver’s license do?”

  “That would be fine. Please remove it from your wallet. I’ll have to make a copy.”

  “Okay.” Obviously, the quickest way to get past Bradley and actually speak to Sage was to comply with all aspects of the APA rules. She hurriedly filled out the one-page form and signed it, as Bradley returned her driver’s license to her.

  “Follow me, please.” Bradley opened a heavy door and led her down the hallway. “I have to ask, are you carrying any weapons?”

  “Not today, Bradley.” But next time I see you…She followed him down the short corridor and waited while he unlocked the security door. At the end of this area were two cells, each one equipped with a cot and a hard wooden bench. Sage sat on the bench, his eyes closed, leaning against the concrete block wall. Lucky spotted a row of stools and pulled one closer to the locked cell.

  “Ms. Jamieson…Lucky…please do not move any closer to the cell, and do not touch the prisoner or pass any items to him. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, thank you, Bradley. I only want to talk to Sage.” Lucky waited, but Bradley continued to stand next to her. She looked up at him. “In private, please.”

  Bradley sniffed and reluctantly retraced his steps to the front counter. Lucky waited until she heard the door close behind him. She watched Sage carefully, trying to gauge his mental state.

  His arms were crossed against his chest. He opened one eye and stared at her. “You shouldn’t have come here, boss.”

  “Don’t you start. I’ve had enough difficulty with Bradley.”

  “Don’t waste your time with me. There’s nothing you can do.” A muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched.

  “Why not?” Lucky’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you saying you’re guilty?”

  Sage shook his head negatively. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then talk to me. Maybe we can find a lawyer to help you. What was there between you and this Honeywell woman?”

  Sage leaned back against the concrete wall and closed his eyes once again. “Go away, boss. I’ve got nothing I want to say—especially to you,” he replied bitterly.

  Lucky felt as if she had been slapped across the face. His bitterness was directed at her, and she was at a loss as to why that would be, or how she could reach him. She patiently waited a few minutes more, willing Sage to talk, but he refused to look at her or offer any explanation.

  “Okay,” she finally spoke. “Have it your way—for now. But I’ll be back. You’ve gotta let somebody help you, Sage.” Lucky pushed the stool against the wall and returned to the front counter where Bradley was pretending to be absorbed in a clerical task. He looked up as she approached.

  “Bradley, is Nate around?”

  “No. He’s up at that house on…” Bradley clamped his mouth shut, suddenly aware he was about to say too much and he’d be in trouble with Nate. Lucky noticed that his high school acne had never quite cleared up. Blemishes stood out against the paleness of his skin, particularly when he was embarrassed.

  “The house on Bear Path Lane?”

  Bradley stood up straighter. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Never mind, Bradley,” Lucky replied sweetly. “I won’t tell Nate you told me.”

  Bradley sputtered, “I never did, Lucky, you know that.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” she replied neutrally, enjoying a delicious moment of needling him.

  Bradley quickly shuffled the papers in front of him into a neat pile while he regained his composure. He turned back to Lucky and asked blandly, “Did Sage have anything to say?” Lucky caught the hint of a crafty gleam in his eyes. Did he really think she was so naïve she would confide in him?

  “Not much. What has he told you?”

  “He won’t say a word to us,” Bradley blurted out quickly. “He…” Then he stopped himself in midsentence, realizing the tables had been turned and Lucky was attempting to extract information from him.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow to see him. But can you let Nate know I stopped by? I’d like to talk to him when he has a minute.”

  “I’ll tell him. By the way, we have to feed our prisoner until the arraignment. We’re not set up for that kind of thing. We can bring him breakfast in the morning, but we won’t be able to feed him lunch or dinner. If the Spoonful can take care of him, the County will reimburse you.”

  “Not a problem. You have a refrigerator and a microwave?”

  Bradley nodded. “Sure. In our lunchroom.”

  “We’ll take care of it then. Jack or I will be back later,” she called out as she pushed through the front door. She had kept up a front for Bradley, but her spirits were somewhere down around her boots. There was no way she would confide any of her fears to Bradley. Anything he learned would be all over town in no time flat. Try as she might to be compassionate, Bradley always seemed to bring out the worst in her. She had to make a conscious effort not to react. After all, it was so easy to puncture his pomposity, like sticking a pin in an overinflated balloon. She wasn’t sure if that qualified her as mean-spirited, but most of the time Bradley had it coming.

  WHEN LUCKY REACHED the Spoonful, the neon sign in the window was glowing, a beacon against the cold and the fear. The restaurant was empty. She entered through the front door, flung her jacket on one of the chairs and called out to Jack.

  “In here, my girl,” he answered.

  She slipped behind the counter and peeked through the hatch into the kitchen. Jack was heating one of Sage’s containers of soup on the stove. A baking dish of cornbread sat on the counter, with squares already sliced.

  “You hungry?” He looked up and smiled.

  “I’m st
arving. That smells wonderful.”

  “It’s the zucchini parmesan, and we can have some with cornbread. I’m not Sage, but I thought the least I could do is fix us some lunch. There are several more containers in the freezer—so we’ll be okay until Sage is released.”

  Lucky heaved a sigh. “I wish I could be as optimistic.” She did a slow turn, looking around the restaurant. She loved this room—the yellow-checked café curtains at the big window, the framed photos of historic Vermont sites and snapshots of skiers on the slopes and regular customers covering the upper walls. The wainscoting was dark polished wood and the floor was constructed of old wide pine boards. Everything here spoke of the presence of her parents. She could feel them as if they were just at the edge of her vision, still here, watching over her and Jack. If she could only turn quickly enough, she’d be able to see them again.

  She knew she was feeling sorry for herself, but she couldn’t help but remember times in her life when she had worked so hard and something out of her control dashed her plans. There was the spelling bee in junior high with a prize of a new cherry red two-wheeler. She stayed up studying for three nights only to wake with laryngitis, unable to speak the day of the event. Then there was the time she fell out of a tree and broke her ankle the day before the senior prom. Maybe she was the jinx—Jack should have named her “Unlucky.” She’d had her doubts about keeping the restaurant open. Now it looked as if that choice might be taken out of her hands. But all that aside, currently the important thing was to convince Nate that Sage wasn’t guilty and that the murder had nothing to do with the Spoonful.

  She gathered two place mats with silverware and napkins and laid them on a table by the window. Jack returned from the kitchen with the soup bowls and cornbread on a tray. “We’re sitting by the window?”