by Maddie Day
Thinking of Italian cheese reminded me of when I’d visited my father in Pisa. He’d made a delicious but really simple thick soup called Sullo Scio. I had all the ingredients already. I was hungry and I wanted to shake up the Pans ’N Pancakes lunch menu a bit to keep my customers coming back until spring rolled around. If I could do a good job of reproducing his dish, I’d serve it starting on Wednesday and see what South Lick thought about a taste of north-central Italy. I brought out garlic from the walk-in, snipped rosemary from my topiary plant in the front window, and opened a can of Roma tomatoes in basil.
As I peeled and minced garlic, I thought of the 1913 newspaper ad for the South Lick General Store. Maybe I should copy what people did on Facebook and throw a Throwback Thursday party in the store, except instead of photos from a few years or decades ago I could stage the store from a hundred years earlier. People could come dressed in fashions from that era, and I could figure out period-appropriate party food to serve. The store was certainly thriving back then, based on that ad in the newspaper.
The store decor hadn’t changed that much, if you didn’t look closely at my iPad with its Square reader next to the cash register. The electric outlets and the modern dishwasher under the counter were tucked into unobtrusive spots. I’d left the stamped tin ceilings and the antique shelving, and had restored the graceful wood trim after I’d redone the outer walls. Everybody got more than a little stir crazy in March. The weather hadn’t really warmed up, but most of the snow and ice had gone, leaving mud in its wake. A throwback party might be just the ticket.
After I minced the rosemary, I warmed olive oil and butter in a saucepan and gently sautéed the garlic for less than a minute. Then I rough-chopped the tomatoes in the can, and added them with their juice to the pan, followed by the rosemary, and threw in a can of drained chickpeas, too. Babbo hadn’t used them in his version, but we’d eaten chick peas in other dishes typical of the Pisa area, and the little leguminous nuggets would add protein. I added a quart of chicken stock and brought it all to a boil. After locating a package of tagliatelle, I broke the long flat ribbons of the pasta into smaller pieces before adding it. Of course, if the soup came out not only edible but delectable, I’d have to multiply the recipe. Since I was pretty much a pro at doing that even with baking, quadrupling a soup would be a snap. I inhaled. The smell would convert the most ardent of soup haters.
I left the mix to simmer and went to look at the snow again. My California upbringing had not included the simple mesmerizing joy of watching white stuff fall from the sky. Whether a steady straight-down storm like this one or a howling blizzard, I never tired of gazing at it. And I’d seen all forms in my four years in Indiana. I put on the outside lights so the flakes glistened in the illumination like fairies dancing. A gust of wind made them twirl and swirl before returning to their steady descent.
A noise made me cock my head. It wasn’t the purr of the pot simmering on the industrial cooktop. It wasn’t Birdy, whom I’d left snoozing on the couch in my apartment. It wasn’t a car driving by—the road was justifiably deserted. What was that sound? It was distant, muffled, and seemed like it was coming from the upstairs corner of the ceiling—where the stairs led to the second floor. I frowned at that corner. Nobody could be up there. The only access was from right here in the restaurant, and all the doors and windows were locked tight. The building inspector had said, when I pulled the permit for the upstairs renovation, that I needed to add another egress if I was going to house the public up there. I’d promised to add an outdoor set of steps, but I planned to do that later in the spring when the weather was nice.
I switched off the outside lights and wove through my cookware shelves to the stairs. I ran up, my feet clattering on the old wood, and pulled open the door at the top. After I switched on the lights, I looked around but all seemed as I’d left it this afternoon. The building included an attic space above the second-floor ceiling. The noise could be from squirrels, or even mice coming in from the cold. I decided not to worry about it and headed back downstairs.
What I needed to do was call Lou, and it was the perfect time. After I stirred the soup, I took my wine to the easy chair next to my desk in the corner of the store and pressed her number.
After I greeted her, I said, “How’s my favorite suspect doing?”
She groaned. “Now that those heels are off I’m feeling a lot better. There’s more than one downside to not being prepared for class.”
“Were the students suitably impressed?”
“Of course.” Lou laughed. “But you should have heard the grief I got in the department office. Zen wondered if I was going to a job interview.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She didn’t really say. I told you, she keeps her feelings and private life very private.”
“Heard anything else from the police?”
“I don’t think so. I really just walked in and haven’t looked at my messages,” she said. “I try to stay away from my phone on teaching days. Can you hang on a second and I’ll check?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll call you back if we get disconnected.”
I stroked the old brocade upholstery on the arm of the chair as I waited. When the sound on the phone changed, I looked at it. Sure enough, the call was no longer connected. I checked the soup, which was almost ready, and cleaned up the cutting board, washing and carefully drying my favorite Wusthof knife. I sampled a piece of pasta. It was just before al dente, so I turned off the heat and covered the pot. The pasta would continue to cook.
Whatever Lou was doing was taking a while, but if I dished up the soup, she’d call at that exact moment. There must be a law of probability about that, something like Murphy’s Law. Except this one would be: If an interruption is expected, it is most likely to occur as soon as you have served yourself a portion of delicious hot Italian soup and you are very, very hungry.
I didn’t test Jordan’s Law, instead straightening a vintage cake pan here, lining up nested aluminum measuring cups there. I hurried over to the phone when it finally rang.
“Robbie, I’m in big trouble,” Lou said in a voice so low I could hardly hear her.
“Why? What happened?”
“My lawyer, the one my dad arranged, said the police want me back in there. That they have an eyewitness who puts me at the scene of the crime at around the time Charles died.”
My heart sank like a lead plumb-bob. “That’s absurd. Whoever it is, is lying. Right?”
She didn’t speak.
“Lou, talk to me. You’re going to be fine. You did not kill Charles.”
“But I was out there, Robbie. On the lake that morning. By myself. I did a loop on the lake. But I didn’t see Charles! I wasn’t even on that section. I went down from the parking lot.”
“Somebody is clearly lying. Your lawyer will protect you, won’t he?”
“She. It’s a woman. I hope so. But she said I have to go back in. They wanted me tonight, but she convinced them to wait until tomorrow because of the snow.”
“Lou, I’m so sorry. You know I’m here if you need me.”
In a voice weak and distant, she said she needed to go, then disconnected. She didn’t believe me about being fine. I wasn’t sure I believed me. Simply because a jerk of an ice fisherman saw her on the ice didn’t mean she was a murderer. Lou’s lawyer was going to have to convince Octavia of that. The lawyer had better be good. Octavia could be a formidable opponent.
Chapter 20
I couldn’t sleep in the next morning. I’d gotten so used to having only one day off I became restless on the second day. I’d rather have been up and laying bacon on the grill with a house full of hungry locals seated in my restaurant. I reminded myself that I would switch back to the former schedule in April or whenever the weather warmed up. In the meantime, I had a two-day weekend like most normal people, except mine was on Monday and Tuesday instead of Saturday and Sunday.
I’d eaten the soup after the call
with Lou last evening, and it had been good, although I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t heard her unsettling news. The soup was definitely tasty enough to serve tomorrow.
After my quick morning routine—sit-ups, dressing, coffee brewing, cat feeding, toast eating—I took my second cup of coffee into the store to make sure I ordered whatever I didn’t have on hand so I could serve hearty portions of Sullo Scio the rest of the week. My supplier listed giant cans of chick peas and plum tomatoes, and I ordered up a few gallons of stock, too. Rosemary, garlic, and olive oil I was all set with. I inventoried the walk-in and ordered more breakfast supplies like orange juice, sausages, and syrup. I added onions, lettuce, and tomatoes for the burger crowd at lunch, and threw in a few pounds of mushrooms so I could add a mushroom burger special.
The snow had stopped overnight and the world was a beautiful pristine sight when I pulled open the front door of the store. Of course, the view across the street was a slice of heaven in any season. Today the woods were coated with a couple of inches of new white, as were the hills rising up behind them. I waved as a town snowplow crunched by pushing the snow off the road into an ever rising berm on the far side. I’d have to check, but I thought we might be getting a record snowfall this winter, or certainly more than in recent years. Being this far south and with climate change, some winters it didn’t snow at all.
I locked up again and sat down to catch up on the Internet for a few minutes. It was still only seven o’clock, but Abe had sent me a text saying he missed me and what about dinner tonight. I responded yes, but that it would have to be an early one, and asked if he was cooking. Nothing from Lou, but I shot her a quick text saying I was thinking about her and to contact me with news.
Speaking of news, I checked the online Brown County Democrat. The only bit related to the murder was that the lake was open to the public again. I was surprised there wasn’t a notice of a funeral or memorial service or even an obituary for Charles. Maybe the authorities hadn’t released his body yet.
A few minutes later, I tied a clean kerchief over my hair and headed upstairs to work. I needed to shovel out my steps and walkways, but that could wait until it warmed up outdoors. I was still enough of a Californian that I’d just as soon avoid cold hands and feet if I could.
First order of business up there was that shape in the wall. I grabbed the pry bar and worked the flat end into the vertical line on the left side of the rectangle. Whatever was underneath budged, but not by much. I worked my way all the way around the top and down the right side. It finally gave way as it swung open like a miniature door, with hinges inside on the left side.
What had I found? A hidden cupboard? I peered into the dark cavity. “Yo,” I called out. The sound wasn’t dead, as it would have been in an enclosed space. Instead it kept going. So maybe this was a laundry chute, or a dumbwaiter shaft. Cool. I hurried over to my tools tarp and grabbed the big flashlight. I shone it into the darkness. And stared.
On the wall opposite, fastened into the wall only a couple of feet from my face, hung a metal ladder with thick rungs like iron dowels. I trained the light on the ladder and followed it down until I couldn’t see anymore. What in the world? I stepped back with narrowed eyes. To the right of the opening was the door leading to the stairs I’d trod coming up. They led onto a landing, and then the stairs went down along the right outside wall of the building to the store area. I’d never thought about the space from the top of the stairs to the back corner. Of course there would be an unused area there, since the interior wall up there didn’t butt back out toward the outside. Huh.
Looking into the secret passageway again—that was what I was already calling it—I felt a bit like Nancy Drew, or Encyclopedia Brown. I pointed the light up and saw Spanish mosslike cobwebs festooning the corners and a century of dust on the studs holding up the eaves. Then I looked at the ladder again. Why weren’t the rungs dusty? Glancing at the door, I spied a handle I hadn’t seen when the door had swung open without warning. The handle, a smooth metal thing like a drawer pull, was screwed into the door. But it wasn’t dirty, either.
My heart rate sped up to an alarmingly fast thudding. A person had been on that ladder in recent years. I hoped it was last year when I bought the building. But the building inspector hadn’t found this door, this passageway. Jo hadn’t told me about it. I certainly hadn’t been up or down the ladder. Who had? And when? And where did the passageway end up, anyway?
Last night I’d heard a noise coming from up here. My scalp prickled. Icy fingers of dread crept over me. I stepped away from the door and felt for my phone in my pocket, then cursed. I must have left it downstairs. My puzzle mind wanted to climb down the ladder and at least find out where it ended up. My inner child’s mind said no way was I going into a scary dark cramped space and my claustrophobic’s mind agreed wholeheartedly. My logic mind, the one fully aware that a murderer was freely walking around somewhere, told me that under no conditions was I exploring that dark cavity alone.
I was happy to dismiss the first mind and pay attention to the rest.
Chapter 21
Downstairs twenty minutes later, I jabbed the END button on my phone in frustration, paced to the front door of the store, and stared at the snow. Which apparently wasn’t too deep for people to get to work. I’d been unsuccessful at finding a single soul able to come over on a Tuesday morning and go exploring with me. I trudged back up the stairs to the second floor and stared at the passageway. Nancy Drew would have climbed right down there, the heck with being alone, hang the danger. But I wasn’t a fictional teenage sleuth. I was a twenty-seven-year-old adult in possession of an appropriate portion of common sense. And, in my past, a really bad experience with cramped spaces.
I laughed and shook my head. It was likely only a utility shaft. Or a second egress. Maybe whoever built the store was terrified of fires and wanted to make sure he provided another way out. I still wasn’t exploring it by myself. I had demolition tasks to do and they were going to get done. Instead of tearing out the wall around the shaft, though, I moved to the front wall. I wanted to be able to close that little door again. I also realized I hadn’t thought through the process of tearing out the wall next to where the stairs went down. When I started ripping it out, plenty of dust and debris would fall into the stairwell and then filter into the store. I needed to save that task for the minute I closed the store next Sunday. I could hang a tarp to keep some of the dust out, and then I’d have a full two days to clean up before reopening again on Wednesday.
Have pry bar, will demolish. I worked steadily on the front wall for two hours, standing on the six-foot ladder for the top sections, and kneeling for the lowest. I studiously ignored the door in the wall. I really didn’t expect anyone to come creeping up through the passageway when my back was turned and hurl a knife into my back. Still, I’d closed the door and hauled my table saw over in front of it. Just in case.
I was taking a break and stretching my back when I saw a South Lick police cruiser pull up in front of the store. Uh-oh. I ripped off my gloves, dropped the tool, and clattered down the stairs. I opened the door to see Buck shuffling up the steps through the snow.
“Sorry, I haven’t shoveled yet,” I said.
“Not a problem, Robbie.” He removed his uniform hat and peered down at me. “What in heck you been up to, all covered with dust like a creature from the chalk mines?”
“I’m working on the upstairs. Thought you knew that. I plan to open a few bed and breakfast rooms up there. You know I’m closed on Tuesdays this winter, right?” Maybe he had hopes of breakfast. Maybe his visit wasn’t murder related.
He bobbed his head with a dejected look on his face. “I know, and I’d be a lying son of a cooncat if I pretended I wadn’t disappointed.” He brightened. “Don’t suppose you need a coffee break right about now?”
I shook my head with a laugh. “Come on in. Sure, I can use both coffee and a break. Actually, I could use your help with a small project.” I could ba
rgain with the best of them.
Ten minutes later, after I’d washed my face and hands and brewed a pot, I was on my way back to Buck when I glanced out the front window. A big black SUV rolled by on the street in front almost like it was going to turn into a parking spot, too. I hoped people knew what CLOSED meant.
Once the vehicle got by the store, it sped up and disappeared.
I sat at the table and poured our mugs of coffee. “So what brought you by, other than wanting a cup of coffee?”
“Little bit of this, little bit of that.”
“What’s new in the murder investigation?” Couldn’t hurt to ask.
He sipped his coffee then wrapped his fingers around his mug, fingers so long they looked like they could have gone around twice. “Welp, you know I ain’t sposta talk with you about none of that.”
“My friend Lou said someone accused her of being on the lake that morning right where we found the body. She was around there but says she didn’t go anywhere near that spot. Who’s been telling lies like that?”
“Hmm.” He tapped the table. “Far’s I know, they ain’t arrested her or nothing. She and her fancy lawyer did show up this morning, but they left near as soon as they got there.”
“Good.” Great, really. I hoped Lou wasn’t too shaken by this whole experience. I knew all too well how disturbing it was to be suspected of a crime.
“I will tell you one small little thing,” Buck said. “Stilton didn’t die of no drowning. Autopsy showed there wadn’t no water in his lungs. He was dead before he was stuffed down that hole like an old piece of garbage.” Buck’s nostrils flared and I saw a rare swerve away from the sharp but easygoing, slow-talking officer I’d gotten to know over the course of the fall and winter.
“You’re in this business to see justice done,” I murmured.
