A Spoonful of Murder

by Connie Archer

  Frantically, she pushed the larger keys to the end of the ring. She guessed those might lock the front and back doors of the station, the cells and the door to the cell area. Her fingers quickly flipped through the smaller ones. They were too small—probably made for mailboxes or small lockers. Finally, she isolated six keys that looked as if one of them might possibly be the right one. She glanced quickly at the outer door again. Jack was intermittently revving his engine, causing the car to appear to move an inch or so and then slide back. He was doing an excellent job of being stuck. Bradley was at the left rear bumper, pushing with all his strength every time Jack gunned the engine. She hoped he didn’t throw his back out or develop a hernia—then she would feel guilty.

  She moved quickly to the side counter and, kneeling on the floor, tried the first key. Too large. Fumbling, she tried the next three keys, the last one almost jamming in the lock. Frustrated and panicking, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Bradley’s voice was louder; he was moving nearer to the outside door. She peeked up over the counter. Bradley had one hand on the door handle as if ready to come inside.

  Lucky swore under her breath and quickly stood by the telephone. Bradley pushed the door open and called out.

  “Anybody call, Lucky?”

  She quickly moved her arm, holding the key ring behind her. Her heart was beating rapidly. “No.” She managed to smile at Bradley. “Very quiet. How’s Jack’s car?”

  Bradley shook his head and returned to the street.

  Lucky wished there were time to visit with Sage, but she didn’t dare waste a moment. She moved back to the cabinet and knelt in front of the lock. Only two more keys to try. One of them had to fit. Her hands were shaking and she fumbled the keys. The second one fit the lock perfectly. She noted it had a small covering of orange rubber at the top. Why hadn’t she tried that one first?

  She tucked the keys in her pocket and hauled the box out halfway, resting it on the floor. There was no time to lift it onto the counter and have a more leisurely look. She raised the top. It was the kind of cardboard box made to hold records and didn’t contain very much at all. She rummaged through quickly. At the bottom was the laptop that had been missing from the computer case. Several plastic bags held different items. In one was a bottle of men’s aftershave. Either someone left this behind or Honeywell had bought it for her various guests. A sheaf of papers was bundled in a see-through plastic envelope. She pushed the packet of papers out of the way in hopes of finding a cell phone. There wasn’t one.

  She slipped open the top of the plastic envelope, pulled the papers out and quickly leafed through them. There was a rental agreement for the cabin on Bear Path Lane and several sheets of paper clipped together with records of car rental and insurance. At the very bottom of the stack was a stiff blue folder, the kind of thing schoolkids use to keep papers in, the flap fastened with a round paper hook and string. She quickly undid the string and slid out several pieces of bond paper. The top sheets were stapled together and represented an agreement of some sort between a limited liability company and a corporation called Snowflake Enterprises, Inc. Under that, on heavy bond paper, was a document entitled PROMISSORY NOTE. The language read, “FOR VALUE RECEIVED, I, the undersigned, promise to pay to the order of Commonwealth Equities, Inc., the sum of Five Million, One Hundred Thousand Dollars ($5,100,000.00) with interest on any unpaid balance…” Lucky skipped the rest of the legal language and scanned to the bottom. “The principal and any unpaid interest must be paid in full by March 8…” February 28…” There were two signatures at the bottom. One was Tom Reed, the other on behalf of Commonwealth Equities, Inc. She whistled softly to herself. Tom Reed owed someone an awful lot of money. Was it just coincidence that the due date of the promissory note was a couple of weeks after Patricia Honeywell’s death? Chance, at the Ski Shop, had felt Honeywell and Reed were discussing business when he saw them together. Perhaps he was correct. But what was the thread that connected Commonwealth Equities with Patricia Honeywell?

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. It was too quiet outside. Jack wasn’t revving his engine any longer. She had broken out in a cold sweat. With trembling fingers, she replaced the promissory note and agreement, slid it back into its stiff folder and refastened it with the small loop of string. She tossed it back in the box, shoved the box onto the lower shelf and slammed the cabinet door. She glanced at the outer door. Bradley held the bag of sand in his arms and was about to push the door open. She heard Jack call out to him and engage him in a short conversation. Bradley turned back toward Jack to respond. Lucky’s glance returned to the cabinet. The key was still in the lock. She turned the key and quickly pulled it out of the lock. She skated to the front counter, hanging the keys on the hook under the desk. She had just managed to plop into Bradley’s seat when he finally pushed the door open. A blast of cold air hit her face.

  “Any luck?” she asked.

  “No. Jack wants you to call a tow truck.”

  “Oh, too bad. I think the number’s in the glove box. I’ll be right back.” Lucky hurried to the front door and pushed it open. Jack was standing on the street by the driver’s door.

  “Hang on, Lucky,” he called. “I’m gonna give it one more try.” He winked at her and climbed back into the driver’s seat. Lucky waited. She heard the engine rev and saw Jack’s car jump forward a couple of feet. She smiled. He had done a great job of waylaying Bradley.

  She pushed the door to the station open and leaned inside. “Hey, Bradley. Jack finally did it. We won’t need that tow truck after all. Thanks for your help though.”

  Bradley was turning slowly around inside the counter as though looking for something. Lucky had a moment of doubt—had she inadvertently moved something? Was it something that would give her away? If Bradley figured out what she had been doing and told Nate, it could get very ugly. She hated to think of the ramifications.

  Bradley finally turned to her and waved. “Not a problem.” He looked at her more carefully. “You’re sure nobody called?”

  “Nope. Not one call, Bradley.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  Lucky rushed down the stairs and out to the street, climbing into the passenger seat. She flopped back and breathed a sigh of relief. Jack drove slowly down the street, finally turning to her. “Find anything?”

  “Sure did.” Lucky took a deeper breath. “A very good motive for murder. If I can connect the dots.”

  Chapter 27

  LUCKY PEERED OVER Elizabeth’s shoulder as Elizabeth deftly accessed the Vermont Secretary of State website.

  “When did you come across this company’s name? And how does this relate to the murder?”

  “I found the name about an hour ago. And I’m not really sure how it’s connected.”

  “Where did this information come from?”

  “It’s probably better if I don’t tell you. Just trust me,” Lucky replied.

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and turned back to her computer monitor. She typed “Commonwealth Equities” in the search area, and a moment later, the reply flashed on the screen: “No records found.”

  “Well!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Wherever this company is, it’s not in Vermont. Frankly, my first thought was Massachusetts—because of the Commonwealth name. Let’s try there.”

  Lucky held her breath until a list of companies popped up on the screen. “There it is,” she exclaimed. Elizabeth double clicked on the entry and read out loud, “Edmund Garson is the Agent for Service of Process, with a Boston address. Sometimes they list the corporate officers, but not always.” Elizabeth sighed. “This doesn’t tell us much.”

  “Did you say Garson?”

  “Yes. Why? Does that mean something to you?”

  “I’ve heard that name before. But where?” Lucky cast her mind back and suddenly remembered her conversation with Sage at the police station. “Sage…” she trailed off.

  “What about him?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, he…w
ell, he has a history with Patricia Honeywell. I’m not really free to talk about it, but I could swear he mentioned the name Garson. Yes. That’s it!” she exclaimed. “I’m sure that’s what he said. Her husband’s name was Garson.”

  “You know, I have a friend at this office in Massachusetts. Corporate officers have to be listed in their records, even if they don’t list them on the website. We could send an e-mail, but perhaps a phone call would be quicker.”

  “I really appreciate your doing this, Elizabeth.”

  “No trouble at all.” She checked the clock on her desk and flipped through her Rolodex, smiling when she found the listing she was searching for. She dialed the number and picked up the receiver as it rang. “Hi. Eloise? Yes, it’s me. How are you?” Elizabeth smiled and nodded as she listened to the response at the other end of the phone line. “I have a favor to ask, though. Hope you don’t mind. We have a situation here—I’ll explain more when we chat next time—but I’m wondering if you could give me the names of the corporate officers of a Massachusetts company.” Elizabeth nodded and paused. “Sure,” she replied.

  Elizabeth covered up the receiver and turned to Lucky. “She’s got me on hold. She’s checking.”

  “How nice to have a friend in high places.”

  “Yes, isn’t it? We met at a New England seminar a few years ago and we chat every now and then—we both love to crochet and we got to talking about patterns and then, well, just struck up a friendship.” Elizabeth took her hand off the receiver. “Yes, Eloise. I’m here. Yes, I have a pen.”

  Elizabeth cradled the phone to her ear and started writing on a pad of paper on the desk. “That’s great,” she said when she had finished. “I’ll explain more next time. Right now, I really can’t say much. Thanks again.” Elizabeth hung up the phone.

  She turned to Lucky with a wide smile. “Well, Edmund Garson is the President. And…Patricia Honeywell Garson is the Chief Financial Officer.”

  “So this Edmund Garson must be her ex-husband.”

  “Or she could be a widow. We don’t know, but obviously, she had a right to collect on that promissory note.”

  Lucky gathered her thoughts. “Elizabeth, that’s a direct link from Honeywell to Tom Reed.”

  “Correct. There’s a link. But we don’t really know the relationship. Let’s assume Tom Reed owed Garson and/or Honeywell that sum of money. For all we know, he’s perfectly capable of repaying that loan on time. We also don’t know their relationship—Tom Reed, for all we know, could be a close friend or a relative and that’s why her company made the loan to him. It doesn’t mean he murdered her because he couldn’t pay up on time. And even with her death, it doesn’t alleviate his obligation to her or this corporation. I’m just playing devil’s advocate here.”

  “But it would buy him time—maybe even several months.”

  “True. But what worries me is that if Reed is hiding something, and that’s an if, and it comes out at some later date, it would really hurt our party in the campaign. Perhaps I need to have a private chat with him, just to make sure there’s no future scandal that could blow up in all our faces. Depending on what he tells me, I probably won’t be able to share it with you.”

  “I understand, Elizabeth. I can’t thank you enough for at least listening to me.”

  “You’ve got my ear anytime you need it. But I worry about you, sticking your nose in all of this. Please be careful.”

  MEG HAD CALLED that morning to see if she was needed and Lucky reluctantly told her not to bother. She apologized for the lack of work and said she wished she could offer more, but Meg seemed to take it in stride. Lucky knew both girls had occasional work at the Resort, which assuaged her guilt somewhat. There was no point in paying an unnecessary employee, especially now that the bank account was on the verge of running into the red.

  Lucky flipped over the sign on the front door and lit up the neon sign in the window. Jack had recruited Remy to wash dishes and keep the kitchen clean, and surprisingly, he was doing quite a good job of it. Right now, he was on a ladder scrubbing down the higher storage shelves, something that hadn’t been done for a long time. Remy, still feeling guilty about turning up at the Spoonful three sheets to the wind and breaking the glass in the front door, had volunteered for the assignment, free of charge.

  She and Jack had put their heads together and decided to do their best to re-create their version of some of Sage’s recipes. Sage had never referred to a cookbook, and as far as Lucky could see, never wrote anything down. Was it possible he cooked every recipe from memory, even allowing for the occasional changes or embellishments?

  Jack had dug an old cookbook with a cover designed to look like a checkered tablecloth out of the bookshelf in the office. Since they really had no customers to speak of, Jack wanted to use the time to practice. What he didn’t say was that his attempts might be permanent if Sage was convicted.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  “For me?” Jack raised one eyebrow.

  “Close your eyes.” Lucky smiled.

  Jack looked surprised but did as he was told. Lucky reached under the counter and lifted up the CD player. She placed the disc of big band music on top of the player.

  “Okay. Open your eyes.”

  Jack stared at the player in front of him. “Whoa! Where did you get this?”

  “At Mom’s house. I forgot it was there, and I found the CD at the pharmacy. I thought it would come in handy here.”

  Jack picked up the disc and studied the song list. “I remember some of these. But you’ll have to show me how to use that thing.”

  “It’s really easy.” Lucky plugged the player in and ripped the covering off the CD case. “Just press this button right here. The top pops up, then press the disc down like this,” she said, illustrating. “Then close the top and hit the play button, right here.”

  Jack nodded. “I can do that. Although I may need my glasses to see the little symbols.” A second later, a saxophone solo swelled at the start of the first song and filled the restaurant with a mellow sound.

  “Beautiful,” Jack replied. His eyes took on a far-off look. “We should have had music playing here a long time ago. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before.”

  Remy called from the kitchen. “Wow. That sounds great—nice to have music while you work.”

  Lucky leaned on the counter, leafing through the pages of the cookbook. “What do you want to try first?”

  “You pick. I’m game for anything.”

  Lucky studied the recipes, trying to choose something she was in the mood for and also something for which they had the ingredients. “Here’s a recipe for potato leek soup with watercress. Do we have any watercress?”

  “Nope. But we can use parsley or maybe some chives on top.”

  “Come on in the kitchen. Let’s get started. I need to start the dishwasher too. Should have done it last night. But I’ll peel the potatoes and you can be the soup master for today.”

  Jack pulled a pot out from the cabinet and dribbled a few drops of walnut oil in the pan. “I think we should experiment. This might be too strong a flavor, but it might work.” He added the leeks and shallots that Lucky had chopped to the oil and let them soften. When Lucky had finished peeling and chopping the potatoes and a few sticks of celery, Jack added those to the pot with water and chicken stock.

  “No onions?” he asked. “Never heard of making soup without onions.”

  “Well, leeks and shallots are their first cousins, so I’m sure it’s fine,” she answered.

  “Here we go, my girl.” Jack stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon. A slight nutty fragrance assailed her nostrils as the broth simmered. Jack turned down the gas and covered the pot. “Smells good, so far. Sage would be proud of us.”

  “Maybe I can get him to write down some of his recipes when I see him next. That is, if he doesn’t consider them his intellectual property.”

  Jack laughed. “Tell him we won’t feed him until
he…” Jack stopped in midsentence. The dishwasher was making deep grinding noises.

  Lucky bit back her reply when she heard the noise. Jack dropped his spoon and moved closer to the dishwasher, cocking one ear to listen to the sound it was making. Suddenly the dishwasher came to a grinding halt and the kitchen was silent.

  Remy had stopped scrubbing and climbed down the ladder. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Lucky groaned. “We don’t need this now.” She heard the phone ringing in the office. “Hang on, Jack. I better grab this.” She hurried down the corridor to the office and caught the phone on the third ring. It was the Spoonful’s landlord, Norman Rank.

  “Hello, Lucky. I just wanted to remind you, it’s the first today. I hope you’ll be getting your check to me before the end of the day.”

  Lucky felt her face grow hot. She knew it was the first of the month, but with all that had happened, it had slipped her mind to stop by Mr. Rank’s house with her check. How could she forget? If she hadn’t been so busy sniffing around Patricia Honeywell’s life, she would have been taking better care of her own. She recovered quickly. “Of course, I’ll be there within the hour. I hadn’t forgotten.” She added, “I’m heading to the bank first to make deposits, and then I’ll come see you.”

  Norman Rank cleared his throat. “I heard about the trouble down there. I hope it hasn’t affected business.” Lucky could visualize his fussy demeanor without having to see the expression on his face. “You know, your parents always stopped by with their rent check before it was due.”

  She gritted her teeth at the judgmental remark rather than respond in anger. His implication being, of course, that she was unqualified or incompetent in some fashion to take over and run the business successfully.

  “Yes, I’m sure they did.” And since your rent check is due today, you’ll receive it right on time, she thought, but bit back the words. “See you very soon.”

  As soon as she hung up, she pulled the ledger out of the drawer. Their account was almost completely drained, and they were short of the rent by several hundred dollars. A feeling of exhaustion came over her. The only way she could pay the rent and all the rest of the bills this month would be to transfer the last of her earnings from her former job into the restaurant’s account. Had her parents had this much trouble? Her impression had always been that the restaurant was booming and her parents had no financial difficulties, even though she knew they worked very hard. It must have been tough for them nonetheless.