The Missing Ingredient

by Diane Noble

  “This chair would be too heavy to move easily,” she said. “It would take something incredibly strong to even move it a few inches. And you said it moved several feet?”

  “From the center of the foyer to the staircase on the right.”

  “Did it remain on the floor, or did it levitate a bit?”

  “It remained on the floor. Why?”

  Kate looked up at Sybil. “Because I would come closer to believing that a ghost moved it if it floated across the room. But this floor is polished wood, a very nice slick surface for sliding furniture, I would think.”

  Sybil’s expression changed. “True,” she said and knelt beside Kate. “But it would have to have been pulled by something invisible.”

  Kate played the beam of the penlight up and down all four legs of the chair. “I see some deep cuts on two legs, as if someone notched the wood to keep a tie or pulley of some sort from sliding off. They’re fresh cuts, not something that might have happened when the chair was made.”

  “I see them,” Sybil breathed. “But what could be strong enough, and yet invisible, to move something this heavy.”

  “I’m guessing a filament of some sort. Something similar to fishing line.”

  A slow smile dawned on Sybil’s face. “You’re good.”

  Kate grinned. “Thanks, but we haven’t proven anything yet.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a roll of fishing line. “Let’s try it out.”

  A few minutes later, Kate knelt behind the reception desk and slowly reeled in the filament they had just tied to the chair.

  “But I can see the fishing line,” Sybil called to her as the chair moved across the floor.

  “That’s because you were looking for it.” Kate stood and untied the line. “What else was going on when the chair moved?”

  “The lights had just flickered and gone out.”

  “Aha! A sleight of hand. Everyone was distracted by the power failure, saw the chair moving on its own, and jumped to conclusions.”

  “What about the cold wind? How could that be faked?”

  “Did you feel the wind?”

  She nodded. “And I saw the drapes move, yet no one was near them.”

  Kate walked over to the nearest large window and lifted the drape. “There’s nothing here now, but it would be easy to place fans behind each one and set them on a timer to go off at exactly the same time.”

  Sybil’s smile was even wider. “And the wind? Did we imagine it because of the fans?”

  “Partially,” Kate said. “But someone could have turned on the AC at precisely the right moment. Added a chill to an already cold fall day. Dry ice and fans might also cause the same phenomenon.”

  “The AC theory is possible, I suppose, but I’m the only one with a key to the heating-and-cooling systems.”

  “Maintenance doesn’t have access?”

  “They come to me for the key.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen your key?”

  “It’s in my desk. I see it every d—” Then she blinked. “Come to think of it...” Without finishing, she turned and hurried back down the hall to her office.

  Kate followed along after her, reaching the office at the same time Sybil pulled open her desk drawer.

  She rummaged around in the drawer for a moment, then looked up at Kate. “The key is gone,” she said.

  Without another word, she reached for the resignation letter on her desk, tore it in half, and dropped it in the wastebasket.

  “It’s time to declare war,” she said, grinning. “It’s about time I took charge of my own hotel again.”

  Kate chuckled. “Count me among your soldiers.”

  “I believe you’re the general in this war,” Sybil said with a mock salute. Both women laughed.

  KATE SWUNG BY RENEE’S on her way home from the hotel.

  “How is Kisses?” Kate asked when a haggard-looking Caroline opened the door.

  “More importantly, how am I?” Caroline said. “And I’m exhausted, thank you. We struggled for a half hour to get him into his tote. That ghost had him barking and growling to beat the band. Finally had to ask one of the Jenner boys down the street to come over and help.” She shook her head. “Renee took Little Umpkins”—she rolled her eyes at the nickname—“to the vet’s, though I don’t know what good it will do.”

  “I’m sorry it’s been such a trial, Caroline. Will you tell Renee I stopped by? I’ll check in later to see what the vet said.”

  “I don’t hold much hope that the vet can do anything. I’ve already called Father Lucas at St. Lucy’s to set up a prayer meeting. Left the message on his answering machine, but he hasn’t returned the call.”

  Kate stifled a smile as she imagined Lucas Gregory’s reaction. She wondered if he’d ever had such a request before. “Well, let me know what he says.”

  “You can come if you’d like.”

  “To the prayer meeting?” She coughed to cover her mouth, and the giggle that threatened to spill out. “Okay, well, let me know...” she finally managed.

  Five minutes later, Kate turned down her street. Then, puzzled, she slowed the Honda as she neared the parsonage.

  The sheriff’s black-and-white SUV was parked across the street, and two other unmarked cars were parked on either side of Susannah’s star coach. She suspected the unmarked cars belonged to FBI agents.

  She pulled behind the SUV and parked. Heart racing, she went up to the coach. She had just started up the stairs when the door whooshed opened and Sheriff Roberts stepped out. Behind him was a teary-eyed Susannah, in handcuffs. Following on her heels was her attorney and two FBI agents. Last to come down the steps was Skip Spencer, looking very grave.

  “Susannah!” Kate tried to move closer to her friend, but the agents blocked her way.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded of anyone who would answer. No one did.

  They led Susannah to the sheriff’s vehicle and, opening the back door, deposited her inside.

  “Oh, Sheriff Roberts, this is a terrible mistake,” Kate said. “Please, don’t arrest her.”

  The sheriff gestured for Kate to follow him to one side.

  “I know she’s your friend and you want to protect her. But a witness has come forward who saw her with Newt Keller at the place where his vehicle was discovered.”

  Kate felt as if she’d been socked in the stomach. “A witness?” she whispered. Then she frowned. “That’s still circumstantial.”

  His expression was kind when he said, “There’s more. And it isn’t circumstantial.”

  Kate’s heart threatened to stop beating. “More?” The word came out in a whisper.

  “We received the reports back from the blood sample on the seat. It matches blood found on a hand towel in the trunk of her sports car.”

  Kate’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no!”

  “I’ve probably said too much, but as I said before, I know you’re her friend.”

  Kate went over to the SUV and looked at her friend, who was sitting in the back.

  “Is it true, Susannah?”

  Susannah nodded, and as tears slid down her cheeks, she turned her gaze away from Kate’s.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  There had been another time, long ago, when Susannah had been driven away in a car. She had cried that day too. The girls were high-school juniors, with the promise of the best year of their friendship ahead.

  Susannah had just auditioned—and landed—the lead role in Our Town, to be put on by their high school for the whole San Antonio community. Kate had also tried out but didn’t make the cut. She ended up as production manager, a role she realized she was better suited for even though she’d initially been disappointed that she hadn’t landed a part in the play.

  Her friend had come a long way from the shy little girl who had moved into the house across the street from Kate.

  Susannah was an only child whose parents believed that children should be seen, not heard. They thought of
themselves as intellectual. Her father was a biology professor at a small private college, and her mother was a homemaker whose greatest pastime was reading the classics. They both wanted Susannah to fit into their mold of likes and dislikes. Television wasn’t allowed in her family. Neither was any music, except classical.

  But Susannah wasn’t anything like her parents. The first day she visited the Blume family, she gaped in wide-eyed wonder.

  Games and projects were scattered in every nook and cranny, from jigsaw puzzles to Tinkertoy towns to games like Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders. Against one wall stood an old upright piano with an uncovered keyboard that welcomed anyone to sit down and play.

  Margaret Blume, Kate’s mother, taught piano lessons, sang in the church choir, and led the local Brownie troop. She was completely devoted to letting Kate fall in love with all the good things life had to offer. Even as Kate thought back on those years, she pictured her mom as a gently clucking hen who gathered Kate, and any others that came along, holding them close and teaching them about unconditional love through actions, not words.

  Scott Blume, Kate’s father, was a big man, quieter than her mother but just as expressive in his love for his family and for God.

  Kate’s mother loved to cook, and there was always enough food to feed anyone Kate might bring to the dinner table.

  Kate still remembered the day her mother noticed a shy little Susannah watching her with big eyes as she fixed the sauce for a pot of spaghetti. She pulled up a chair for Kate to watch, then grabbed a kitchen chair, stood Susannah on the top, and put a wooden spoon in her hand. “You’ll just need to stir so it doesn’t stick,” she said.

  “That’s too hard.” The seven-year-old frowned with worry. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Cooking is easy if you just follow directions. Just one step at a time, just one ingredient at a time. When the meat is a nice golden brown, we’ll add some salt and pepper.” She then let a grinning Susannah sprinkle the shakers over the mixture.

  Kate’s mother took a little spoonful out and placed it in a small dish with a spoon. “Now taste this and see if it needs anything.” It was obvious Susannah had never been assigned such a task before. She blinked, looking uncertain. Margaret laughed. “Like more salt maybe?”

  Susannah scrunched her face as she put a spoonful of the crumbled hamburger into her mouth. Then she closed her eyes, taking Margaret’s directions very seriously. “Mmm,” she finally said. “It’s good.”

  “No more salt then?”

  “No.” Susannah blinked as if she couldn’t believe someone actually accepted her opinion.

  “How about pepper?”

  Susannah tasted again. “Yes,” she said, obviously getting into the spirit of what needed to be done. “It needs more pepper.”

  “All right, now,” Kate’s mother said seriously. “Next you’ll need to make the sauce.”

  “Me? By myself?”

  “Of course. I’ll open the cans of tomato sauce, and you can pour them into the pan when you think the hamburger is golden brown.”

  Susannah did as instructed, every once in a while sneaking a peek at Kate to see if she was watching. Next, Margaret put some little red and white tins on the counter by the stove.

  “Have you ever heard of oregano?”

  Susannah shook her head.

  “Smell this. It’s something you’ll use a lot when you’re cooking, especially Italian food.” She placed measuring spoons on the counter within reach of the child standing on the chair in front of the stove.

  “This is Italian food?” Susannah’s eyes widened. “Real Italian food?” She took a whiff of the oregano and laughed. “It smells good.”

  “Yes, it is, though real Italians could probably show us an even better way to make it.”

  “I don’t think it could ever be better than this,” Susannah said, her eyes shining.

  “And now some thyme,” Margaret said, handing the tin to Susannah to sniff. “And rosemary...and sweet basil...and a bay leaf, crumbled just so.”

  Susannah’s reaction was the same with each new ingredient. Her hand shook with excitement as she carefully measured a spoonful of each ingredient and sprinkled it into the meat mixture. It was as if Margaret was opening a brand-new world to the child, a world Susannah had no idea existed until she stepped inside the Blume house.

  As Kate thought back on that day, watching her mother gather the lonely little girl from the sterile house across the street into her arms, she remembered the fragrance of the kitchen as Susannah put all the ingredients together to make her first pasta sauce. She remembered hearing somewhere that smells can bring back memories faster than any other sense.

  But as she remembered the wonderful aroma of spices and herbs, of tomatoes and onions and garlic, it seemed to her that it was also the fragrance of love.

  Susannah practically lived at their house from that day on. She confided in Margaret through the awkward growing-up years, even though Kate’s mother tried to help Susannah and her mother build better communication skills.

  Then, abruptly, ten years later, on a rainy autumn day, Susannah ran across the street to the Blumes’. She fell into Margaret’s arms, crying.

  “We have to move,” she said. “To Atlanta.”

  Kate started to cry with her. “You can’t go!”

  Susannah pulled back, sniffling. “My dad just got a new teaching job at a university in Atlanta. He and Mom say they’ve been waiting for a long time for an opportunity like this. They say it will change our lives.” She shook her head and reached for the hankie Margaret handed her. “But they never told me.” She looked first at Kate’s mother, then at Kate. “Why didn’t they tell me this could happen? All my plans, the lead role in the play...and it means nothing to them. It’s like...I don’t matter.”

  “Maybe you can stay with us,” Kate suggested.

  Her mother nodded. “If your parents would allow it, you’d be welcome to live with us so you can finish out the year—or at least finish the semester so you can be in the play.”

  But Susannah’s parents said no. They thanked the Blumes for offering, but her mother explained that she and Susannah’s father felt the move would be a growing experience for their daughter. “Hardships can do much to toughen the spirit,” she had said.

  Looking back on it, Kate wondered if there had also been some jealousy involved. Maybe Susannah’s mother simply wanted her daughter back.

  Just three weeks later, the moving van parked in front of the house, and when the furniture was loaded, Susannah crossed the street one last time. She hugged everyone in the Blume family, saving Kate till last.

  “Best friends forever,” she whispered.

  Kate tried hard to be brave for Susannah’s sake. She blinked back the sting in her eyes and, clutching Susannah’s hand, whispered, “Best friends forever and ever.”

  Susannah’s dad backed out of the garage and beeped his horn.

  Susannah crawled into the backseat, and looking at Kate, a tear slid down her cheek, just as it had as she sat in back of the sheriff’s SUV.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A half hour after Susannah was taken away, the doorbell rang, and Kate hurried from her studio to answer it.

  Joe Tucker stood on the porch, his shoulders slumped, his expression full of sorrow. He held an old hat in his hands and played with the brim as he spoke.

  “Is Paul here?”

  “He’s in Chattanooga, Joe. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  He shook his head. “I know Miz Applebaum is your friend, and I held off saying anything to the sheriff as long as I could. But I saw what I saw, and I had to get it off my chest.”

  “Oh, Joe, you’re the witness they told me about?”

  He nodded. “I was on my way home from the taping that day when I saw this silver sports car headin’ up Smith Street toward the creek. It’s unusual to see a tiny vehicle like that on a rough road, and I’d remembered seein’ the same car the night befor
e, when the Taste Network folks got here. Saw Miz Applebaum get out of it, so I knew it was hers. Anyway, when I saw the car, I followed it just in case it bottomed out or something, and she needed help. That’s when I saw Miz Applebaum get out and lay into the owner of the Hummer. They were arguin’ to beat the band. I figured it was none of my business, so I hightailed it out of there as fast as I could.”

  Kate let the information soak in, feeling her spirits spiral downward. Why hadn’t Susannah told her she was with Newt Keller that day? There could only be one reason: she had something to hide.

  “You did what you had to do, Joe. Please don’t think I’ll hold it against you. It was the right thing to do.”

  He looked relieved. “I hope it all turns out okay.”

  She touched his arm. “It will.”

  She waited until he was gone before she cried.

  A STORM MOVED INTO Copper Mill that afternoon. The wind whistled through the trees, and blasts of frigid air rattled branches against the windows. It reminded Kate of the storm that took the life of Precious McFie. She attempted to get back to the stained-glass votive she was making for Susannah, but her thoughts were anywhere but on her work.

  Finally, she gave up and called Livvy to see if she would like to join her for coffee and pie at the diner.

  “I was just getting ready to call you, Kate. We’ve seen too little of each other lately,” Livvy said. “It’ll be good to catch up.”

  By the time Kate backed out of the garage, the rain had started, large drops at first, then it came faster and harder, strong winds driving it at a slant against the windshield.

  When she got out of the car at the diner, the street was already slick with sleet.

  “And it’s not even winter yet,” LuAnne said when Kate stepped inside.

  Livvy waved from a booth by the window, and Kate made her way toward her across the nearly full diner. Several tables were filled with Taste Network cast and crew, who apparently had the day off because of the power outage at the hotel. A few recognized Kate and called out their greetings.

  In the back of the diner, Birdie Birge was holding court with Daryl Gallagher and Armand Platt, who, judging from his animated conversation, seemed delighted to have the afternoon off from his chef’s duties. Kate wondered if he would be out of a job soon. How quickly circumstances had changed since he jokingly offered Susannah a job at the Bristol.