“I noticed. I was hoping you’d come back and break the evil spell. We’ve opened every day since the murder, but no one seems to want to come near us. And of course, now with Sage…”
“Ooooh, we heard. That’s just terrible. Do you think…?”
Lucky was sure what the unspoken question was, and she stated emphatically, “No. I do not think Sage is guilty. Quite the opposite, and I’m going to try to do everything possible to get him out of this situation and back to the Spoonful. We’d fall apart without him.”
Marjorie looked at Lucky over the rim of her glasses. “You seem very sure.”
“I am. I really am. I think Nate jumped the gun. And I think the murderer is still out there somewhere.”
“Well, dear, I certainly hope you’re right—about his innocence, that is.” Marjorie’s words held a dubious tone. “But I don’t like the idea of a murderer being among us. Even if Sage is innocent, who do you think killed that awful woman?”
“Everyone around seems to have taken a great interest in her. Janie and Meg said they’ve seen her with one of the ski instructors up at the Lodge.”
“Oh yes,” Cecily said. The sisters nodded in unison. “I’m sure that’s true. And I don’t think she was ungenerous with her favors, if you know what I mean.”
“That’s just it. Who else was she seeing?”
“Well,” Cecily said breathlessly, “we all know about the double order on Tuesdays.”
“What’s the significance of Tuesday, do you think?”
“Someone who could only get away one night a week? Someone who had to make excuses. Perhaps a married man?” Marjorie sniffed.
Cecily replied, “What a scandal that would be if it came out.”
Marjorie cast a withering look at her sister. “Enough of that dreadful subject. That’s all anyone can talk about, it seems.” She rearranged her face and smiled at Lucky. “We’re so glad you came by. Let me get some of those sweaters from the back—I think you might really like one or two.” She slipped behind the curtain separating the shop from the storage room.
Once she was out of earshot, Cecily leaned over the counter and whispered, “I am sorry we haven’t stopped in. I think Marjorie’s afraid.”
Lucky leaned closer. “Afraid of what?”
“Of being associated with a murder—afraid it might hurt our business. But frankly, I’m going to have a word with her. This just isn’t right, not supporting your friends.” She reached across the counter and squeezed Lucky’s hand. The gesture brought tears to Lucky’s eyes.
“Thank you, Cecily. I mean that—from the bottom of my heart. I’m really worried about Sage, about Jack, about the restaurant. If the real killer isn’t found, and something happens to Sage, we could go under. It’s bad enough tourists are staying away, but we need our regular customers to support us too.”
“I know, dear. If Marjorie wants to be standoffish, that’s fine, but I’ll be there every morning from now on for my tea and croissant.”
Marjorie pushed her way through the curtain and laid a pile of neatly folded sweaters on top of the display case. One in particular caught Lucky’s eye. It was a soft periwinkle blue with a scoop neck and long sleeves. She placed her carryall containing the CD player on the floor and picked up the sweater. She moved to a full-length mirror and held it under her chin.
“It’s your size. It’ll be beautiful—bring out your eyes.”
Cecily smiled. “Are you looking for something for your date with Elias?”
Lucky felt her cheeks grow warm. “Oh no. Not really. And it’s not a date,” she declared emphatically.
The sisters nodded knowingly in unison. “Of course it’s not, dear.”
Cecily was right. The color accentuated the deep blue of her eyes. “I think I’ll take this.”
“Good choice. I’ll wrap it up, and we’ll knock off twenty percent—very reasonable. And I’m sure that nice doctor will appreciate it too.”
Lucky bit her tongue, tired of having to convince people that her interest in Elias was merely platonic, afraid to reveal her feelings if Elias’s interest in her was only platonic. She just smiled and said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t you want to look through the rest of our new things?”
“I’d love to, but I have to get to the Spoonful. Jack’s alone. We might not have any customers, but I feel I should be there.”
Marjorie nodded. “Of course. Come back soon, though.”
“And I’ll see you tomorrow for my tea and croissant,” Cecily chimed in, shooting a meaningful look at her sister.
“Great—see you then.” Lucky smiled and pushed through the door, heading up Broadway toward the Spoonful. Her thoughts were focused on the upcoming dinner with Elias, and she realized her stash of cosmetics and toiletries was woefully thin. She needed shampoo and some moisturizer, and a little clear nail polish wouldn’t hurt. She pulled off her gloves and studied her hands—red and raw, with nails that needed help.
Being “feminine” had never come naturally to her. Was the ability to wear makeup and play with dolls a genetic trait? If so, she had been left behind the door when those gifts were given out. Her college roommate had taken pity on her, teaching her to apply makeup and experimenting with updos for her hair. She insisted that Lucky go shopping with her and bored her to tears with fashion magazines. She now knew the difference between a pencil skirt and a dolman sleeve—for all the good that would ever do her. Flagg’s Pharmacy was on the way, and there was no time like the present to get her life as organized as it could be for now.
She waved to Jerold Flagg as she entered. He was standing behind the glass partition above the pharmacy counter. He smiled and nodded at her in return. She picked up a plastic basket and wandered down the aisle devoted to hair and skin care. She dropped a small container of moisturizer and a bottle of shampoo in her basket, adding a tube of lip balm to keep her lips from chapping in the winter air. At the end of the aisle was a revolving rack of CDs. One caught her eye—she knew Jack would love it—a compilation of famous bands from the forties. She dropped the CD in her basket.
Nail polish was on the other side of the pharmacy along the wall. Two women were chatting as she approached. She maneuvered around them and found a display case of products that claimed to guarantee an end to split nails—if only, she thought. The two women didn’t appear to be tourists, but neither did she recognize them as locals. She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but she was so close it was impossible not to overhear.
“I can hardly believe it—that something like this could happen here…”
“Isn’t it just awful?” the second woman exclaimed. “We left the city because of things like this and now here we are. It’s as though the crime spree has followed us.”
Lucky had no doubt they were discussing Patricia Honeywell’s murder.
“And that restaurant…” The words were said in a tone of complete disgust. “Why, we almost ate there one night.”
The other woman snickered. “Good thing you didn’t, with a murdering chef.”
Lucky’s face was on fire. Hot anger swelled in her chest. Who were these women that they could speak so disparagingly of the Spoonful and of Sage? They knew nothing, but had already made up their minds. There it was—in a nutshell—the reason everyone was staying away.
Before she could stop herself, she turned, her face bright red. “Excuse me.”
The two women stopped in midsentence and turned to her, smiling.
“I couldn’t help but overhear.” They continued to smile as though meeting a stranger who’d agree with their opinion.
“I’d like you both to know that the restaurant you speak so judgmentally of happens to be my restaurant. And in case you don’t already know, it’s really an excellent place that my family has spent years building. More importantly, our chef, contrary to some opinions, is not a murderer.” Lucky sensed rather than saw Jerold’s attention focused in their direction. He likely couldn’t hear their conversatio
n but was definitely aware something in the atmosphere had shifted.
“So”—Lucky took a deep breath to calm herself—“I, for one, would appreciate your being a bit more circumspect with your comments and your gossip.”
“Well…” one woman breathed. They weren’t smiling now.
“Well, nothing,” Lucky replied. “Please remember that no one has been convicted of a crime—least of all our restaurant, and your casual speech could actually hurt people.” She turned on her heel and headed to the counter where Jerold was waiting. She plopped her basket down and reached for her wallet. She was sure her face was flaming. Jerold said nothing as he rang up her purchases. Lucky handed him a few bills and said, “I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t scared away your customers, but I’m sick and tired of wagging tongues.”
“That’s quite all right, Lucky. If anyone deserves to speak her mind, it’s you.” He smiled and winked. Lucky turned and headed straight for the door without another look at the two women who stood speechless, watching her.
Chapter 16
LUCKY BRUSHED OUT her hair and let it flow over her shoulders, adding a touch of lipstick and a little blush. She was worrying far too much about this dinner. She needed to keep things in perspective. No matter what Elias said, he was being kind and trying to be a friend, maybe the only friend she had in town other than Elizabeth and Jack. And she sorely needed friends.
For all she knew, Elias could already have someone in his life. She was sure he must have dated many women in the past several years—women who were undoubtedly far more sophisticated than she. If so, he had been discreet, since she hadn’t heard a word of gossip about him since she’d been back in town.
She slipped on a long winter coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. His house was only a few blocks away. It was silly to take the car. She grabbed her purse and headed down the stairs to the sidewalk. Outside, the temperature had dropped and the air was dry and crackling. She tucked her scarf closer to her neck and turned north toward Hampstead Street, her boots crunching in the freezing snow.
When she reached the house Elias had described, the one she remembered, she stood for a moment admiring it. An old brick path, cleared of snow, curved up to the front door. Lilac bushes, her favorite, lined the side of the property, now blanketed with mounds of snow like melted marshmallow. Their bare branches poked out from under and glittered with encrusted ice in the moonlight. She imagined them in May, their heady scent filling the air and bursting with voluptuous purple blooms.
The house itself was white, its doors and shutters painted a soft grayish lavender. She wondered if the color had been chosen to match the lilacs in bloom. The house was three stories tall and topped with a peaked roof. Narrow front double doors held long panes of etched glass. Each window was rectangular except the one window at the top just under the eaves. It was curved in a half-moon shape, and below that on the second floor was a rounded window of stained glass that probably overlooked the staircase. The side porch had been enclosed at some point in time with large windows in keeping with the architecture of the house. All in all, it was lovely, more beautiful than she had remembered.
Lucky hurried up the path toward the front door and ducked into the vestibule, protected from the cold night air, and rang the bell. A figure approached, outlined against the etched glass of the inner doors. Elias opened one side, a broad smile on his face.
“You made it. I was feeling very ungentlemanly for not picking you up.”
Delicious cooking smells filled the hallway. Lucky smiled. Why, oh why, did he engender such warm feelings in her? “That’s quite all right. I’m a big girl.” She almost said, It’s better that you didn’t. It would have been the talk of the town and I wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face.
“Come right in. Here, let me take your coat.” He slipped it off her shoulders and hung it on a mirrored coatrack by the front door. Lucky looked around the entryway. To the right was an old-fashioned parlor, a formal dining room to the left. “Let’s get back to the kitchen before I burn everything or we’ll have to go back to the Spoonful for food.”
She followed Elias through the swinging door into the kitchen and stared in awe. “This kitchen is huge. It must be the largest room in the house.”
“Now you see why I need company. It’s too big for just one person. I had it partially remodeled to bring it up to date, but kept the original oak cabinets and as many fixtures as I could.”
“I really like what you’ve done.”
“Let me get you some wine.” Elias reached into the refrigerator and uncorked a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio, pouring a small amount into a crystal wineglass.
“Tonight, mademoiselle, we’re having wild salmon with grilled red potatoes and an arugula salad. I hope you like all of this.”
“It sounds divine. I can’t remember when I last had a complete home-cooked meal.”
“Just happy to have a free night. My on-call schedule varies from week to week, but I’m off the hook tonight.” Elias separated the salmon onto two plates already warmed in the oven. He carried the dishes to the kitchen table. The salad was dressed and chilled and the potatoes were hot in their serving bowl. “Please have a seat.”
“You work Monday through Friday?”
“And half a day on Saturday—it varies. We’re closed on Sunday, but we switch days off. Friday’s my day off this coming week. But that’s a lot easier than your schedule. I’ll bet there are no days off in the restaurant business.”
Lucky laughed. “Absolutely right.” She sat at the round kitchen table and spread a linen napkin over her lap. Elias turned off the overhead light and struck a match, lighting two candles that stood in holders on the table.
“Elias, this is absolutely wonderful. I had no idea you were so talented.”
“You should see what I can do in the lab! But then again, you might lose your appetite.”
Lucky smiled at the witticism and dove into her meal, embarrassed that she was so hungry.
“There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”
Lucky, surprised, looked up. “What’s that?”
“Your real name. What’s Lucky the nickname for?”
Lucky suppressed an embarrassed laugh. “It’s not a nickname. Jack named me. It’s my real name.”
“You’re lying. Tell me.”
Lucky burst out laughing, almost spilling a potato on her lap. “No!” She had no intention of telling Elias how her name came to be.
“Why? It can’t be that bad!”
Lucky shook her head.
“Come on. What is it? I promise not to laugh.”
“Not a chance.” Lucky flashed on a memory of Jimmy Pratt from grade school, a bully who terrorized every kid he could. For a solid year, he taunted her mercilessly about her real name, following her all the way home from school, laughing and hollering out her name, just to annoy her. One day a crowd followed them and the rest of the kids joined in on the joke. Her given name was old-fashioned, but it wasn’t so horrible that Jimmy Pratt should make her the butt of a joke.
She had spent months ignoring him, but on that day, something inside her snapped. She turned and decked him with a terrific right hook. Blood spurted from his nose and poured over his shirt. The crowd fell silent. She hit him again for good measure and heard a sickening sound. She had broken his nose. Jimmy’s nose never healed right. It stayed lopsided, and Jimmy never teased her again. In fact, he never spoke to her again, which was just fine with her. Her parents were horrified, but when Jack heard the story, he gave her a thumbs-up and said the kid deserved what he got. He would honor her by calling her Lucky, after a Navy boxer he admired. She had no intention of recounting the real story to Elias. No way.
“Okay. Okay. Truce. I promise not to hound you.” Lucky thought for a moment that it might be quite nice to be hounded by Elias.
His expression became more serious. “How are you adjusting?” He watched her carefully.
Lucky’s smi
le faded. She thought for a moment before answering. “It’s as if everything is exactly the same, and yet nothing is the same. I feel like Dorothy, swept up by a tornado and deposited in a very strange country. The hardest part is dealing with the loss of my parents. I still…I have to struggle with that every day. It’s just so unfair for them to end like that. Unfair for them and unfair to me.”
“That’s a pretty normal reaction.”
“I look around and sometimes feel as if my life in Madison was something I imagined and sometimes being here feels like the dream. I suppose it will get better, at least that’s what I keep telling myself.”
“It will. The old adage is true. My personal belief—when the tornadoes hit, whatever may have caused them, they put you down on the path that you’re supposed to be on.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.” She chewed thoughtfully on a grilled potato. “You sound like you’ve had a few tornadoes yourself.”
Elias smiled. Lucky did her best not to stare at the dimples in his chin. “I suppose you could say that. I certainly could have ended up in some specialty practice at Tufts or one of the bigger institutions in New England.”
“Didn’t appeal?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. That was my original plan, but I realized I wanted the type of practice that would give me more of a connection to a community. And when I first saw Snowflake, I fell in love with the place. It was just luck that the opportunity fell in my lap when Dr. Stevens retired. And then the practice grew, so we added Jon.
“I know I’ve never met him. How long has he been here?”
“Let’s see, when Dr. Stevens retired—you remember him, I’m sure—that was eight years ago, so Jon moved up about a year and a half later.”
“Where from?”
“His practice was in Boston—family medicine. I think he and Abigail, his wife, both felt they needed a change of pace, and they loved it up here, so when he heard about the position, he was eager to take it. Frankly, I’ve been afraid he might become bored, but he seems very happy with his work.”
A Spoonful of Murder Page 9
