A Spoonful of Murder

by Connie Archer

  “I wasn’t aware of a lost earring, nor was I privy to that woman’s private life.”

  Lucky felt her heart racing. But what other choice did she have? Sage had already been arraigned with no hope of bail. Soon the whole matter would be ancient history and the jail cell door would clang shut for good. It was urgent to push hard and see if anything broke loose. She had to dive in with both feet. “Dr. Starkfield—were you involved with Patricia Honeywell?”

  Starkfield’s face turned a shade of gray. He took two steps away from her, his keys dangling in his hand. “Certainly not. How dare you accuse me of having anything to do with that woman? And I certainly hope you’re not accusing me of being involved in her murder!”

  “Where were you that night? The night of the storm?”

  “Young lady, this is highly insulting. In fact, it’s ridiculous. Be careful what you say, because this is nothing less than slanderous. In fact, it would be ludicrous if it weren’t so horrifying. Abigail and I were at home all evening—snowbound—as was everyone else in town. Now, I’m late for an appointment. If you’ll please step away from the car.”

  Lucky thought if her questions were so ludicrous, he certainly didn’t look like laughing. She backed up several steps and watched him climb into his car. He shot her one last angry look and started his engine, peeling out of the parking lot at too fast a speed to be safe.

  Lucky felt she’d collapse like a spent balloon. She sat down on the back steps of the Clinic and rested her head on her knees. She shivered from the cold. The warming trend was over, and increasingly heavier clouds had gathered, blotting out the weak winter sun. She had been so sure she was on the right track. Now what did she have? Sage was still in jail, the restaurant was failing, Honeywell’s murderer was still on the loose and Elias, and now Jon Starkfield, wasn’t speaking to her. She sighed and stood up. She should head for the Spoonful and get to work. What she really wanted to do was to go home and crawl under the covers. In the distance, she heard the bells of St. Genesius carried by the wind. What was it Starkfield had said? Abigail and I were at home all evening. Why did he mention Abigail? Lucky gasped. St. Genesius—that’s where Starkfield was heading in such a hurry, and now she knew why.

  She rushed back into the Clinic and flew down the corridor, pushing through the door to the waiting area. Elias was nowhere to be seen, but Rosemary was at the front desk.

  “Rosemary, call Nate at the police station. Tell him to meet me at St. Genesius. It’s urgent.”

  Rosemary looked at her blankly, trying to understand why an emergency would involve a call to the police and not the hospital.

  “Please. Just do it right away. Tell him to meet me at the church.”

  Rosemary nodded and picked up the telephone. Lucky didn’t wait to listen. Instead she ran out the front door and took off for the church. She turned the corner, past the Spoonful and then Marjorie and Cecily’s shop. Four more blocks to go. If she ran and didn’t slip on any ice, she could make it in a few minutes. She couldn’t have explained it, but somehow she knew in her heart it was urgent to get to the church as quickly as possible. Starkfield had had a head start.

  Her car was behind the Spoonful, but she could get to St. Genesius quicker on foot. She raced down sidewalks cleared of the last snow and across two intersections. She reached the end of a cleared path and ran into the street. A driver leaned on his horn, coming quickly to a stop. She didn’t slow down. Several people stared after her, her scarf flying behind her. By the time she reached the front gates of the church she was out of breath. She leaned over, her hands on her knees, to give her muscles a chance to relax. She took a deep breath and pushed open the creaking wrought iron gate. Hurrying to the front door, she stepped inside the entryway. She stood still for a moment, straining her ears. Low murmurings came from inside the nave. She took a deep breath to stay calm and slow her heart rate. Then she pulled open the door and stepped quickly into the aisle. Two heads turned to stare at her. Jon Starkfield placed his arm protectively around Abigail’s shoulder.

  “What do you want?” he demanded, his voice echoing off the rafters.

  A chill ran down her spine. Her legs were shaking but her voice was firm. She glared at Jon Starkfield. “You knew. You knew all along.”

  Abigail’s face crumpled. She tried to take a step toward Lucky, but Jon’s arm held her back. “I didn’t…” Her voice broke on a sob. “I never meant it. I only wanted to talk to her. To tell her to stay away…”

  Jon’s face was flushed with anger. “Leave us alone. You have no right!”

  “She can’t live with this. It’s no good.” She held out her hands toward Abigail. “Come with me.” Lucky felt tears fill her eyes.

  Abigail looked up at her husband and said softly, “I’m so sorry.”

  Jon grasped Abigail’s hands. “Shhhh.” He looked at her tenderly. “Don’t say another word. We’ll fix everything, darling.”

  Abigail’s body shook with sobs. “It’s too late. I’m so sorry, Jon.” She pulled away from him and ran toward a small wooden door inside the archway of the side chapel.

  “Abigail!” Jon cried out.

  The door from the front entry swung open. Nate stood in the doorway, his gaze moving from Lucky to Jon Starkfield. “What’s going on here?”

  “Nate. Stay with him. Please. I can talk to her.” Lucky ran past Starkfield, who stood helpless, a dazed look on his face. She pulled open the small wooden door and climbed the narrow twisting stairs, steps worn from years of bell ringers traversing them.

  She heard Abigail’s sobs above her. The stairway was completely dark, with just a small hint of light filtering down from above. Lucky hurried up the stairs, holding on to the narrow railing. “Abigail, wait!” Lucky continued to climb, then halted, listening. The footsteps had stopped. She continued up as quietly as possible. As the narrow stairway turned, she looked up and saw Abigail.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Come back, Abigail. We can talk about this,” Lucky pleaded. “Please don’t do this. Think about Jon.”

  “Jon…” Abigail spoke the name devoid of emotion, as though recalling someone she once knew from long ago. “He swore it was over—years ago, when we were in Boston. But she would never leave him alone. Phone calls, notes in the mail. She didn’t care if I knew. She wanted me to know. She didn’t care about the wreckage in her wake. She didn’t care who she hurt. That’s why we came here—to get away from the past. Jon swore it was a new beginning and then…” Abigail sobbed. “The nightmare started all over again. I found out she was here in Snowflake and then I discovered Jon was seeing her again. His meetings on Tuesdays at the hospital…I was such a fool! I found out he was never there. There were no meetings. He was with her. Maybe he was with her every chance he could get. I couldn’t live with that humiliation anymore. I thought I could talk to her…crazy, it was crazy to think that, but I was desperate.” Abigail’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You can’t imagine…believe me or not, I never meant to kill her. Something…something else took over.”

  Lucky spoke softly. “People will understand.”

  Abigail shook her head. She turned quickly and began to run up the staircase. Lucky followed as fast as she could. She counted three curves in the spiral stairway and finally reached the top, entering a small chamber where heavy ropes hung from openings in the wooden ceiling. The room was empty. Where was Abigail? She scanned the chamber and spotted the wooden ladder, fastened to the wall. It led to a hatch in the ceiling. She grasped a rung of the ladder and started to climb. Near the top, she pushed up against the small wooden hatch. It gave with a creak. She continued up the ladder through the sound chamber, cold air blowing against her face as she rose higher. She reached the top and climbed out into the belfry. Wind whipped through the openings, caressing the surfaces of the ominous bells. She felt rather than heard their low vibration in the wind as though they spoke a language too deep for the human ear. Abigail stood in an arch just large enough t
o contain her. Several louvers were missing, and the few that remained were pitted with rot. Her face was twisted and stained with tears, her dress scored with black dirt. “Go back. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “That’s not true. We can turn around and go down. It will be very easy. Take my hand.”

  “It’s too late,” Abigail cried. The wind pulled her words away. “I only wanted to talk to her. I never meant to hurt her.”

  “I believe you. You’ll have a chance to explain.”

  “She laughed at me. Can you believe that? She laughed at me. And then she told me…” Abigail’s eyes took on a faraway look. Lucky could barely hear her words. “…she was carrying Jon’s baby. You see, I couldn’t ever…” Abigail took a deep breath and held her hands out toward Lucky plaintively. “I couldn’t have a child.”

  “Please. Give me your hands.” Lucky took a few tentative steps toward Abigail, trying not to look down. She reached out one hand, stepping carefully around the ledge toward Abigail. Footsteps sounded from below. Nate had followed them. She heard the creaking of the ladder as he climbed to the belfry. Lucky prayed he would stay below and give her time to reason with Abigail.

  She crept sideways and finally reached Abigail. She gently grasped Abigail’s hands, careful not to frighten her. At the same moment the hatch flew up and Nate heaved himself through the opening, Abigail wrenched her hands away. Terrified, Lucky caught her breath and struggled to maintain her balance. Abigail tumbled backward through the opening, the wooden slats cracking from the weight of her body.

  Lucky felt as if her heart had stopped. She heard a soft thud from below and then only the wind through the open belfry. She gripped the edge of the arch, too frightened to look down.

  IT WAS A long time before she could stop shaking. With a hand from Nate she managed to climb down to the ringing chamber and descend the spiral staircase. Jon sat in a pew at the front, his head in his hands, moaning. Outside, a distant siren wailed. Lucky walked down the aisle past Jon Starkfield and outside to the freezing air. Nate had covered Abigail’s broken body with a blanket from the trunk of the cruiser.

  Nate turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Are you all right?”

  Lucky nodded, wiping tears from her face. “She fooled me. She let me take her hands and then she just…”

  Nate nodded. “Why don’t you wait inside?”

  “I can’t go back in there.”

  An ambulance pulled up and turned off its siren. “They made good time—for all the good it will do.” He turned to her. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t…at first. Starkfield told me that he and Abigail were home all that evening, but the choral group had been rehearsing here that night. They cut short their rehearsal because of the storm. He said, ‘Abigail and I were both home.’ He didn’t say, ‘I was home all evening. My wife can vouch for me.’ It was odd—the first name he mentioned was Abigail. Why? Then it hit me like a thunderbolt. He wasn’t concerned about covering for himself, it was Abigail he needed to protect.”

  Lucky watched as two men in uniforms climbed out of the ambulance. Bradley had arrived and was on the sidewalk directing the onlookers to stay back.

  “If you can wait a bit, I’ll drive you home or back to the Spoonful.” This was probably the closest Nate would ever come to saying he should have listened sooner.

  Lucky shook her head. “You have enough to deal with. I’ll walk.”

  Nate reached out and grasped her arm. “I hope you know—it wasn’t your fault. Nothing you could have done.”

  She nodded. “You know where to find me.”

  Lucky walked down the path and pushed through the iron gate, avoiding the stares of the curious. A few people called out to her, but she continued walking with her head down, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes or answer questions. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. Another cold front was coming in. She could smell the dampness in the air. Snow would soon cover the town again.

  Chapter 38

  “OKAY EVERYONE, ARMS around one another and big smiles.” Jerold Flagg from the pharmacy had offered to take a group picture of everyone at the Spoonful for a full-page ad in the Snowflake Gazette announcing the grand revival of the By the Spoonful Soup Shop. Sage stood in the center, surrounded by Jack, Lucky, Janie and Meg and even Remy. The restaurant was overflowing with well-wishers, all of their regulars and most of the town.

  Jerold called out. “That’s great. Let’s do a few more just to be sure.” They waited quietly and smiled on cue.

  “Perfect.” Jerold checked the view on his camera and gave them a thumbs-up. Everyone in the restaurant broke out in cheers. Sage smiled shyly, and Sophie jumped up and ran to his side, giving him an enormous hug.

  “Lucky, I’ll e-mail this over to the Gazette to run with your ad.”

  “Great. And send one to me too. I’m having some flyers printed up to pass around at the Resort.” Now she was sure their business would be back on track—perhaps even busier.

  “And I’ll put some music on to get this party started,” Jack shouted to her above the noise. “That’s what we always needed, my girl. Gives our little place some atmosphere.”

  Lucky smiled back at him. “We always had atmosphere, Jack. This just makes it official.”

  When word got around that Sage had been released and a party was planned, their neighbors arrived with casseroles, cakes, breads and all kinds of goodies to stage an impromptu welcome home for Sage. Janie and Meg along with Lucky were busy lining up plates and silverware, creating a buffet at the long counter.

  Sage kept attempting to help out, but everyone pushed him away, telling him this party was in his honor and he wasn’t allowed to work. Somehow he managed to slip behind the counter and approached Lucky.

  She turned to him, laughing. “Hey, go away, you’re not allowed back here. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

  “Boss…Lucky, I can’t ever repay you…If it hadn’t been for you…” Tears flooded his eyes.

  “Sage—we knew you weren’t guilty and we just wanted you back.”

  “It’s okay about…my past? That doesn’t bother you?”

  “Not at all. You got a bad break that you didn’t deserve.”

  Sage reached out awkwardly and grabbed her in a bear hug. He whispered in her ear, “Thank you.” Then he turned, his face flushed, and went back to sit next to Sophie. Lucky looked at them and smiled. They seemed so happy. Sophie’s face lit up and she blew a kiss in Lucky’s direction. She envied them their happiness. If only…if only she hadn’t managed to drive Elias away.

  The tables and chairs had been pushed against the walls, and an elderly couple was dancing in the center of the room. Flo Sullivan was there, her flaming orange head bobbing through the crowd. She was scouting the room looking for Jack, who kept moving from group to group in hopes of avoiding her flirtations.

  The noise level had reached the point where Lucky couldn’t hear the conversations around her. The door opened and Eleanor stepped in followed by a portly gentleman with an unruly mane of white hair. She stood on her tiptoes and waved at Lucky. Then she took the gentleman’s hand and led him to the counter.

  “Lucky,” she shouted, “I’d like you to meet…”

  Lucky laughed. “Wait,” she shouted back. “Come down to the office.” She waved them over to the swinging door while Eleanor and her companion maneuvered through the crowd to reach her.

  “Come down here. We can at least hear ourselves think.” Lucky opened the door to her office and indicated the two chairs by the desk.

  “Whew! This is quite a party.” Eleanor collapsed into one of the chairs. “Lucky, I’d like you to meet Professor Horace Winthorpe.”

  Lucky was momentarily confused, not sure who this man was or why Eleanor would bring him to the Spoonful to introduce him.

  “Retired professor, my dear. A pleasure to meet you.” He reached across the desk to shake her hand.

  “Horace has absolutely fallen
in love with your house and would like to rent it long-term, if you approve.”

  “Approve? I’m thrilled.” Lucky felt an instant liking for this elderly man. “You’re retired?”

  “Yes. And I love this town. I need a quiet place to work for a few years. I’m writing a book, you see. I taught history my whole life. My field is the Revolutionary War years in New England. I hope you approve of me as a tenant, and I hope you haven’t changed your mind about your home—your parents’ home, I understand from Eleanor.”

  “Not at all. I think it will be a perfect fit. Welcome to Snowflake.” Lucky smiled.

  “Thank you, my dear. And I know I’ll be a regular customer here as well. Delightful restaurant, and I understand your chef is back in the kitchen now?”

  “He certainly is.”

  “Lucky, would it be all right if we stayed for a while?” Eleanor asked. “I’d like to introduce Horace to people, so he’ll get to feel at home.”

  “Absolutely. Please do. Everyone’s welcome.”

  “We’ll just rejoin the party then. Horace plans to move in next month.”

  “I hope you’ll be very happy here, Horace.”

  “Thank you. I’m excited about living here. So close to Bennington and that famous battle.”

  BY TEN O’CLOCK the crowd had thinned. Lucky was scraping casserole dishes and stacking them on the kitchen hatch. Remy, on the other side, was rinsing and loading the dishwasher.

  Lucky saw Nate sitting at a corner table with Jack sipping a beer. She called to Remy that she was taking a break and joined them.

  Nate smiled at her as she pulled up a chair. “I was just telling Jack that I wish I had listened to the two of you sooner.” He shook his head. “I just hope that poor guy”—Nate indicated Sage with a nod of his head—“doesn’t hold a grudge.”