Lucky diligently opened each drawer and cabinet in the bathroom but found nothing other than a toothbrush, a box of tissues and some rolls of toilet paper. Had Patricia Honeywell not left a single clue as to who she was seeing, and who dined with her every Tuesday? Or had her killer returned here after the murder and methodically removed any evidence of his existence? Perhaps, she thought, the kitchen might yield something—a pad of paper with a phone number, anything. She stepped out of the bathroom and walked down the hallway. She glanced at the stairs leading to the downstairs bedrooms. As long as she had the key, she might as well leave no stone unturned. She felt for the light switch. The stairway was immediately illuminated with recessed lighting. She grasped the banister and took a step. Something hard pushed against her upper back. She gasped and tried to turn—too late—as she tumbled headlong down the stairs, landing on her side before everything went black.
Chapter 14
SOMEWHERE FAR AWAY someone was crying—a woman. Lucky was certain her eyes were open, but everything was coated in a gray mist with shifting shapes. She couldn’t remember where she was, and the woman’s crying was hurting her ears. Lights came into focus. It was a chandelier, but how strange it should be hanging like that on the wall. No, it wasn’t a wall, it was a ceiling. The light was hanging from the ceiling and she was on the floor. The house on Bear Path Lane. That’s where she was. At the foot of the stairs. But for heaven’s sake, if only that woman would stop her crying.
Her eyes were finally able to focus. Someone was moving her head and something cold was pressed against her temple. She shivered violently and tried to sit up but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. The crying stopped suddenly and a face appeared surrounded by a cloud of intensely orange hair like a psychedelic halo, inches away from her face. The face was familiar, but Lucky couldn’t place her right away.
“Oh, Lord, I thought you were dead,” the woman cried. “I never had such a fright in my life.”
Lucky tried to speak but only a croak came out. She recognized the voice—Flo. It was Flo Sullivan. “Flo? What happened?”
“Lord in heaven, Lucky, when I realized it was you—I thought somebody had killed you—just like that other poor woman. What are you doing here?”
Flo Sullivan had worked for her parents for several years, off and on, at the Spoonful. She had been widowed many years earlier, when Lucky was still in grade school. Lucky knew Flo sometimes did light cleaning at many of the winter rentals. Eleanor must have forgotten that Flo would be at the house today, or more likely, Flo made her own schedule and turned up when it suited her.
Lucky managed to speak. “I was just starting down the stairs when…” She hadn’t imagined that hand on her back, shoving her forward. She had turned, but whoever it was had crept silently behind her. She hadn’t seen a thing. “Somebody was here. Somebody pushed me.”
“Oh, Jaysus.” Flo quickly made the sign of the cross over her breast. “That’s it then. I quit. They can get somebody else to clean this place. I should have quit right away when I heard about that murder.”
Lucky sat up slowly. “How long…” She couldn’t form the words correctly. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. Had someone meant to kill her or only put her out of commission for a while? Someone must have been in the house when she arrived. Or perhaps they had entered with a key when she was busy searching the desk and the bedroom. “Flo, when did you get here?”
“Just a few minutes ago. I come by twice a week for the cleaning. The bedroom upstairs is a mess—it’s all torn up. I thought someone had broken in and I was that terrified, I was—especially after what happened to that Mrs. Honeywell. And I didn’t realize it was you till I took a good look.”
“Can you help me up?” Lucky winced as she struggled to her feet and a sharp pain flooded her head.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes it was you. I haven’t seen you for almost…what? Five years? Whatever are you doing in this house?”
“Snooping, I guess you’d call it.”
“Well, it’s wonderful to see you—even like this. I heard about your parents, dear. I’m real sorry. They were such nice people.”
“Flo, I didn’t really break in. Eleanor Jensen gave me the key. I just wanted to have a look around. But you can’t tell anyone. Please? I don’t want Eleanor to get in trouble with Nate.”
“I won’t, dear, if you don’t want me to. But let me make us some tea and we can sit and have a good chat and catch up. Just keep this ice on your head, now.”
Flo led Lucky slowly up the stairs. Lucky clung to the banister, trying to push the dizziness away. Flo led her to the sofa in front of the fireplace and made sure she was settled.
“You stay right here. I’m going through this entire house. I just want to make sure nobody’s lurking around. Then I’ll make us some tea.” Lucky listened to the clock ticking softly while Flo moved from room to room, checking under beds, opening and closing closet doors, checking the shower stall. Finally, she turned the lock on the front door and the kitchen door and a few minutes later returned with two cups of hot tea with honey.
Lucky reached for one of the cups. “Thank you, Flo. This is just what I needed.”
“Now, tell me. What are you looking for?”
“You’ve heard they arrested Sage?”
“No!” Flo gasped. “Never! That nice young man? Whatever for?”
“That’s just it. We—Jack and I—we just don’t know, and I don’t have any information from Nate. And when I went to the jail to see Sage, he wouldn’t tell me anything either.”
“And how is your grandfather these days, dear?” Flo asked neutrally.
“Oh, he’s fine.” Lucky recalled a time years before when Flo had set her cap at Jack and made numerous attempts to interest him. Jack was having none of it and was terribly relieved when Flo found other employment. He’d be anything but thrilled to hear that Flo was still asking for him.
“You’re sure your young man at the restaurant is innocent?”
“Just instinct, Flo, but I can’t imagine Sage—he’s shy and really gentle—I can’t imagine him hurting anyone, particularly a woman. I don’t believe he killed her. In fact, I’m sure he didn’t. But everyone’s staying away in droves, and we’ve lost a chef. I guess I was hoping that I’d find something here that would tell me who else was in Patricia Honeywell’s life. Who else might have had a motive to murder her.”
“Well.” Flo took a deep breath, gathering herself for a gossip fest. “She was the talk of the town. There were a few men buzzing around. A lot more than just buzzing, but I can’t tell you who. I wish I could, but I can’t. I only come in during the day, and that woman—Mrs. Honeywell—she was always out—skiing, I guess, or doing who knows what. But I can tell you this—she had a man in her bed most nights. Whether it was one or more than one, I can’t say. But I could tell. One skinny blonde woman couldn’t make such a mess of a bed as she did. She had company, believe me!”
“That seems to be the general consensus around town. But who? Who was she seeing? Somebody wanted her out of the picture and had to have a good reason.”
“I don’t know, dear. Whoever came here to spend the night with her—if they actually did spend the night—I never saw them. I come in late mornings and I’m gone in an hour or so, so I have no idea. There’s a landline here, but I doubt she ever used it. She had her cell phone.”
“Speaking of which—I’ve looked all over and I don’t see one. She must have had it on her when she was killed.”
“Between you and me, if I were the murderer, I’d make sure that cell phone was in tiny pieces and never found.”
Lucky nodded. “You’re right. But I’m afraid that if Nate’s convinced Sage is guilty, he won’t do a real investigation—find her cell number and examine the records. For whatever reason, he’s sure that Sage had the best motive of all. It’s not that I know him so well, because I don’t. But he’s worked for my parents for several years and they thought the world
of him.”
“Then he must be a good person. He couldn’t have pulled the wool over their eyes all this time.”
“Flo, if you can think of anything—anything at all that might lead to someone who did have a motive, please let me know.”
“There was something odd…” Flo took another sip of her tea and replaced her cup on the saucer. “Nothing definite, but she wasn’t quite the same these last few days. Something was making her very nervy.”
“Do you know what?”
“I don’t, I’m sorry to say, but I thought maybe somebody was threatening her. Several times when I was here the last couple of weeks, the phone rang. Normally, I wouldn’t pick it up, but I thought maybe it was the realty office trying to reach me.”
“Who was calling?”
“Have no idea. The first time, a man’s voice said, ‘Get out of town and don’t come back.’ Made me jump out of my skin, I’ll tell you.”
“What did you do?” Lucky asked.
“I yelled right back at him and said, ‘Whoever you are, you leave this house alone.’ I think the call was to scare her and whoever it was realized then that I wasn’t her at all. It happened a few more times, but there were no words. He just breathed heavy and hung up.” Flo folded her fingers around her teacup and leaned closer, almost whispering, “And she had a gun.”
“A gun? Whatever for?”
“I tell you, she was scared of somebody. I came here late in the day one time. It was already dark. She wasn’t expecting me that late. She was fine once she realized it was only me, but she was real jumpy nonetheless.”
“Did you tell her about the phone calls?”
“I most certainly did.” Flo sniffed.
“What was her reaction?”
“She looked a little strange, a little white around the lips if you know what I mean. At first she didn’t say anything, just stared at me real cold like the eyes of a dead fish, and then she laughed. Not a happy laugh neither, more like a ‘we’ll see about that’ kinda laugh, and she said something then.”
“Do you remember what it was?”
Flo shook her head and looked off in the distance, thinking for a moment. “I don’t remember exactly, but something like ‘We’ll see who gets out of town first, won’t we.’ Fair sent chills down my spine, something in her eyes.”
Lucky’s head was finally clearing. “Flo, what did you say earlier about the bedroom being torn up?”
“It’s a complete mess. I’ll have to straighten it all up, but I tell you I’m not coming back here—never! Come on, have a look.”
Lucky followed Flo down the hall and stopped in shocked silence when she saw the room. Every drawer, every item of clothing had been pulled out of the closet. Every box and its contents had been dumped on the floor. Diamond jewelry embedded in the carpeting glittered in the overhead light. The bedclothes had been pulled off the mattress, and the mattress and box spring were tipped on their sides.
“Flo, it looked nothing like this when I got here. I rummaged around, but I didn’t disturb a thing.”
“I believe you, dear. Somebody pushed you down the stairs and somebody was desperate to find something she had.”
Lucky shook her head in disbelief. “But what? There was nothing here except some expensive jewelry and clothing. Nate must have taken her laptop and any papers she might have had. Whatever they were searching for is probably at the police station.”
Lucky bent down and picked up the scattered pieces of jewelry before they were stepped on and crushed. “Here, Flo, I’ll give you a hand. This bedding is way too heavy for one person.” She moved to the other side of the bed and together they maneuvered the box spring back on the bed frame and finally the mattress.
“Just dump all those linens in the hallway. I’ll have to wash those and put them away for whenever they get the next tenant.”
“Okay. I’ll hang the clothes back up in the closet. I think Eleanor’s arranging for someone to pack up all this and ship it to her brother.”
“That’s fine, but it won’t be me. I’m taking all this to the Laundromat. I don’t want to be in this house one more minute than I have to.”
“You never saw any men up here with her?”
“Nope. Never saw anyone, even though I could tell they were here and had spent the night—if you know what I mean.”
Flo stood with bed linens piled high in her arms and gave Lucky a dark look. “You be careful, Lucky. For all you know this was a narrow escape. Whoever killed her wouldn’t hesitate at killing again.”
Chapter 15
WHEN LUCKY WOKE the next morning, the throbbing had stopped, but a small egg had formed on the back of her head. Wincing, she reached up and touched it gingerly. Her shoulder was bruised and stiff. She limped to the bathroom, downed two aspirin with water and made a cup of strong coffee. As soon as she felt the coffee take effect, she climbed into a hot shower and let the water run over her until her muscles loosened up.
With a towel wrapped around her, she opened the closet door and stared disconsolately at her wardrobe. It was so limited. She owned one good suit that she had worn for job interviews, a dressy black number that would never do for a casual dinner, a serviceable black wool skirt, a pair of slacks and slightly worn leather boots. The rest of her clothes were more suitable for a college frat party. She needed to get dressed for work soon, but she wanted to plan what she’d wear for her dinner that night with Elias. Was she being terribly vain to be worried about one outfit when everything around her was falling apart and a murdered woman had been found behind the Spoonful? The truth was, she was terribly nervous about spending time with him. She couldn’t ignore the fact that his presence, even after such a long absence, still had a powerful effect on her.
She slipped out of her robe and pinned her wet hair up. She pulled several items out of the closet and tried them on. She really did need to treat herself to something new. Marjorie and Cecily had suggested she stop in at the Off Broadway. No better excuse than wanting something a little nicer to wear for a dinner invitation. She hung her robe on a closet hook, pulled on a pair of socks, underpants, warm slacks and a sweater, then rehung all the clothes in the closet, folded up the rest and placed everything back in the drawers. She had much more pressing things to deal with than worrying about one dinner date.
She opened the hallway closet where she had stacked the boxes from her parents’ house. The first was full of books she had decided to keep, and since she didn’t have a bookcase as yet, they would have to wait. She lifted that box aside and opened the next. This one held framed family photos. She unwrapped them carefully and carried her two favorites to the bedroom, placing them on top of the bureau. One was a snapshot of her parents on ice skates on a pond in the woods. They were smiling widely at the camera, her father’s ankles buckling slightly on his skates. Even though his arm was draped protectively around her mother, she was sure it was her mother holding him steady on the ice. As hard as it was dealing with their death, it was easier than imagining one of them without the other. Her father would never have been able to cope with the loss of her mother. And even though her mother may have been the stronger of the two, the joy in her eyes would have faded. Lucky kissed the photo gently and placed it on the bureau. The other photo was of Lucky and her mother at her college graduation, their arms around each other. Lucky beamed at the camera—was she ever so young only six short years ago—while her mother leaned her head gently against Lucky’s cheek. A sob rose in her chest for all the years she had taken her parents for granted. She took a deep breath to quell the grief that threatened to rise up again.
She pulled her old CD player out of the next box. It was one she had used in her bedroom all through high school and still used when she had come home for visits. Tucked in next to it were several CDs she had cherished. They probably wouldn’t be Jack’s taste, but she wouldn’t mind hearing them again. She left the player and CDs on the floor in the hallway to take to the Spoonful later. It might be nice
to listen to music—with or without customers. If nothing else, it would lift their spirits a little. The next box held her mother’s sewing machine and yards and yards of fabric. She carried the sewing machine to the kitchen table. There must have been projects her mother had never gotten around to, but perhaps she could use this fabric to make curtains for the apartment. She smiled, hearing her mother’s words in her head. I just knew this would come in handy.
She lifted out the various folds of material and carried them to the bed. One was a white and blue plaid fabric, mostly white with a thin dark blue plaid pattern—perfect for curtains for the kitchen window. She measured it, stretching her arm out and holding an edge to her chest—about four yards, just right for café curtains. Another was a muted floral print in rose tones with a chinoiserie feel to it, as though copied from an oriental print. The bedroom, she thought. She quickly measured and refolded it—more than enough for bedroom drapes and even pillow covers. For the first time since she had returned home, she looked forward to creating something new that would help her feel she belonged. What could be better than using fabric her mother had chosen?
She quickly checked the clock. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to find something at the sisters’ shop and then get to work. She refolded all the fabric and carried it to the linen closet. Running her hands over the cloth, she held it to her face, relishing the aroma and imagining her mother’s hands caressing it as she picked it out.
THE SISTERS WERE sitting on stools behind the glass display case when she arrived. Cecily waved. “Oh, it’s Lucky! Come on in, dear. We were just talking about you.”
“I hope it was all good.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course it was,” Cecily replied, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry we haven’t been in lately.”
A Spoonful of Murder Page 8
