A sharp rap at the door caused him to jump. He rose from his chair slowly and approached the door. There was no turning back now. He took a deep breath to steel himself and turned the lock. A solitary streetlight cast a jaundiced glow over the visitor standing on the sidewalk. His face was in darkness but that didn’t matter. Harry would have known him anywhere. Leopards didn’t change their spots, and the years hadn’t changed this man one bit.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Come into the office and grab a seat,” Harry answered.
“I don’t have time for this. Get to the point,” the man spat.
Harry turned away without responding and walked back into the office. A heavy oak desk and two large filing cabinets dominated the small space. A metal gooseneck lamp shone a harsh light over the stacks of paper and order forms. The smell of motor oil hung heavy in the room. Harry took a deep breath. Now that he had made his decision, he felt years younger. An enormous weight had lifted from his shoulders. He turned to his guest. “I’m not keeping it any longer.”
“What the hell does that mean?” The man had followed him into the small room.
“You heard me. I can’t carry it anymore. It’s ruined my life. It’s gonna hurt a lot of people, you most of all, but I don’t care.”
His visitor stood silently, a slow rage building inside him. A vein in his forehead throbbed. “What are you thinking?” He hissed. “Don’t you know what they’ll do to you?”
“I don’t care anymore. I told you—I made my decision. I just wanted to give you fair warning.” Harry sighed and turned away. There was nothing more he could say. He’d done his best. He was tired, so tired, but relieved he had come to this point. He reached across the desk to grab his keys. The blow came so quickly, he barely felt it. He was dead before he hit the floor.
* * *
ARNIE HICKS GRABBED on to the lamppost to steady the street. It moved like an undulating river of concrete. He wasn’t sure where he was exactly—somewhere near the Village Green. He knew he had had too much to drink, but he didn’t care. Today was his birthday—August 9—and he deserved to celebrate. He didn’t want to think how many years had passed since he was born, but he was still above ground—which was more than a lot of his cronies could say. He giggled at the thought of his dead friends talking. “Arnie,” they’d say, “can’t believe you’re still kickin’ around. Thought for sure you’d be the first to go.”
Arnie launched himself away from the lamppost and stumbled across Broadway. He tripped over the curb and fell facedown on grass of the Village Green. Lifting himself on one elbow, he rolled over and took another swig from his bottle of whiskey. Some of the liquid dribbled down his shirt. He coughed and sat up and began to sing off-key at the top of his lungs. “She wheeled her wheelbarrow . . . through streets broad and narrow . . .” He stopped. Couldn’t remember the rest of the words. Oh yes, it was coming back to him now. He took another swig, the last one. He squinted at the bottle. Empty. He flung it at the statue of the Revolutionary War soldier, hitting the pedestal. The bottle shattered loudly in the quiet night. “. . . crying cockles and mussels aliiive alive-o-o-o.”
A car turned the corner on the far side of the Green. The police cruiser. Arnie knew it well. They were looking for him. Couldn’t let him have a little fun, not even on this one night, could they? But this year was going to be different, he promised himself. They weren’t gonna catch him and lock him up where he’d wake with a colossal hangover in a jail cell, lying on a hard wooden bench. Oh no, not this year. This year was special—it was the big seven-oh. He was determined to outwit Nate Edgerton, Snowflake’s Chief of Police, and have a little fun.
He crawled on all fours, giggling and hiccupping, and ducked behind the statue. Nate was peering out the window of the cruiser trying to spot him. Arnie slowly dragged himself to a kneeling position and peeked out from behind the granite pedestal. Nate’s cruiser continued on. Once Arnie was sure it was gone, he took up his song again, stumbling to the other side of the Green.
“Alive alive-o-o, alive aliiive-o-o, crying cockles and mussels . . .” He wobbled across Water Street and reached the construction site. They were building something here, but he couldn’t remember right now what it was. Something the town was up in arms about. He crashed into the chain-link fence and, kneeling down, crawled through an opening where the fence had torn away from its post. He stumbled across the dirt lot, doing his best to stay upright, but the world was spinning around him. Heavy earthmoving equipment loomed in the night like prehistoric beasts waiting to maul unsuspecting humans. His feet were mired in soft dirt. Losing his balance, he fell back into an earthen depression. He struggled to sit up, but he was so tired and the dirt so soft, he might just as well lie down and have a little rest.
Chapter 5
NATE EDGERTON, SNOWFLAKE’S Chief of Police, turned on his siren as he pulled up to the curb—an action he generally had no need for, but now the crowd had grown and several people were shouting at one another from opposite sides of the fence. One man was beating on a drum while the rest of the protesters were chanting, “Car Wash—Hog Wash,” over and over. Many of them carried large placards that read, “Go away—wash your car another day.” A few people had crawled through the torn chain-link fence and were attempting to block some of the workers with their signs. Jack Jamieson and Barry Sanders had managed to crawl through the fence before one of the workmen manned the opening. The worker stood, a large hammer in hand, discouraging anyone else from slipping through.
Richard Rowland slammed shut the door of the construction trailer and picked his way across the muddy site. He wore an expensively tailored suit and highly polished shoes. Reaching a bulldozer that had come to a stop, he shouted at the driver, ordering him to resume earth removal. The worker shook his head, crossed his arms and ignored Rowland’s orders, unwilling to rev up his equipment with civilians on-site.
A woman in the crowd screamed at the developer, “Get out of town or you’ll regret it! You’ll be sorry you ever came to Snowflake!”
Rowland turned to stare at her, then awkwardly slogged his way through mud and dirt toward the fence. He grasped the links of the fence with both hands and shouted, his voice rising in pitch, “Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?” Spittle ran down his chin.
The woman jumped away from the fence. “You’re a mad dog. You know that?” she declared contemptuously. A few of the protestors overheard the exchange and picked up the phrase, chanting, “Mad Dog . . . Mad Dog,” while others moved closer to the fence, barking and howling at Rowland.
Nate Edgerton climbed out of his cruiser and approached the group by the fence. “All right everyone,” he shouted. “Just back off. You have a right to demonstrate. You do not have the right to trespass or create obstructions.” The crowd booed him.
Edward Embry, the lone councilman who had voted against the construction proposal, called out, “Nate, whose side are you on?”
“I’m on the side of law and order, Ed. This vote’s gone through and there’s nothing I can do about it. But I am gonna make sure nobody gets hurt.”
“We’re not leaving, Nate. We’ll be here every day,” Rod Thibeault hollered, glaring at the developer. Rod was a young lawyer from Lincoln Falls, frustrated that his attempted injunction to halt the construction had failed.
The drums and chanting ceased. The crowd had hushed to listen to the exchange between Embry and Nate. In that moment of relative quiet, a shout rang out from the construction site. The urgency in the worker’s voice grabbed the crowd’s attention. The workman stood next to the bulldozer pointing at something a few yards away, an alarmed look on his face. The demonstrators drew closer to the fence. A pile of old clothing lay in the dirt. As they watched, the clothing moved and morphed into human form. Arnie Hicks sat up and struggled to his feet.
Nate made a disgusted sound. “Arnie. What the hell . . . I looked for you last night. You woke up half the town.”
Ar
nie, now on his feet, wobbling but upright, smiled at Nate and the demonstrators.
“You get out of there, Arnie. You coulda been hurt.” Nate looked around for a way through the chain-link fence.
“I’m comin’ out, Nate. No need to get testy. I fooled ya last night, didn’t I?” Arnie laughed and raised his hand. He clutched something long and dark.
Nate narrowed his eyes. “What have you got there?”
Confused, Arnie looked at the object in his hand.
Nate’s face blanched. “Damn it, Arnie. That’s a bone!”
Somewhere in the crowd a woman cried out, “Is it human?”
* * *
THE BELL OVER the door rang and Meg rushed into the Spoonful. “Hi, Lucky. I’m late. Sorry. My Mom is picketing and I wanted to watch for a bit.”
“How’s it going up there?”
“Getting really noisy. Everyone’s angry, but not as angry as that creepy developer guy.”
Janie, taking an order from a table of lunchtime customers, looked up and raised her hand in greeting. Meg stuck her purse under the counter and tied an apron on. She slipped her glasses into a pocket and stood on tiptoe to peer through the hatch into the kitchen. “Hi, Sage.” She smiled hopefully. Meg had nursed a crush on Sage for several months to no avail. Besides the fact that Meg was ten years too young for Sage, Sage was committed to his relationship with Sophie.
Lucky smiled, thinking about her schoolgirl crush on Dr. Elias Scott. She had never dared hope he would take an interest in her, but amazingly, now that she was several years out of college, and the difference in their ages wasn’t such an overwhelming gap, they were actually dating. After several months, they were considered a couple by the town, and Lucky, as private as she was, could finally admit that, yes, they “liked” each other. Her schoolgirl fantasies had grown into a real relationship. All the same, her knees still became weak when Elias walked into a room. She was the last person on earth to judge Meg.
“Hi, Meg,” Sage called in return. Meg waited for more of a response and when it wasn’t forthcoming, heaved a sigh, put her glasses back on and started to arrange napkins and silverware behind the counter.
Janie stuck her order slip at the kitchen hatch and Sage grabbed it immediately. She turned to Lucky. “We’re not exactly slow, but nowhere near what you’d expect this time of day.”
“I think everyone’s busy picketing at the construction site.”
“After lunchtime, when it slows down, why don’t I check with Sophie at the church and see if she needs help?”
“Oh, would you? That would be great. I’ll pop over later to give you a break.” Sophie’s help had been invaluable this summer. Lucky had offered to pay her, explaining it wouldn’t be a large sum, although she certainly deserved it. Sophie refused, adamant that she couldn’t accept money. She had part-time work in the summer season and, in any event, couldn’t commit to being an employee. She’d help out wherever she could, particularly where Sage was concerned, but mostly she was enjoying her time at the Spoonful and was happy to be hanging out with everyone.
The bell rang again and Lucky looked up. Marjorie and Cecily, the two sisters who ran the Off Broadway ladies’ clothing store, came through the door. Cecily waved and headed for her regular stool at the counter. “My, it’s quiet in here today.” Cecily was outgoing and ebullient, her dark hair chopped in a pixie cut. Her sister, Marjorie, her polar opposite, was reserved and cool, her blonde hair always perfectly in place. She followed gracefully in Cecily’s wake.
“Where is everyone?” she asked. “Are they all up at the demonstration?”
“Yes,” Lucky replied. “Jack’s up there with Hank and Barry and Horace. They expect this to go on most of the day.”
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they have some success in shutting it down? Although I don’t hold out much hope,” Marjorie replied.
Cecily pursed her lips and shook her head. “Try to be positive, dear. Just once.”
“Why, what do you mean? I’m always positive.”
Cecily shot a meaningful look at Lucky and remained silent.
“The usual?” Lucky asked. The sisters nodded in assent. Lucky quickly prepared two plates with croissants and jam, the sisters’ favorite, and two cups of herbal tea. As she placed the dishes in front of them, she heard the phone ringing in the office.
“I’ll be right back,” she called to Janie and hurried down the corridor. She grabbed the phone on the third ring.
“Is Jack with you now?” It was Elizabeth Dove, her parents’ oldest and dearest friend.
“No. He’s at the demonstration.”
“Oh.” Lucky knew that Elizabeth loved her and worried about her. She was truly a surrogate mother since the death of Lucky’s own mother, but it was strange to think Elizabeth included Jack on her worry list, especially now that she had been elected Mayor of Snowflake, with all the duties that office entailed.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“I just got a call. A couple of fights have broken out and Nate’s threatening arrests. And a skeleton’s been discovered. How’s that for news?”
“Did you say a skeleton?” Lucky cried. “I better take a walk up there and make sure Jack’s not in trouble.”
“I’m on my way too. I’ll see you there.” Elizabeth hung up without further ado.
Lucky pulled off her apron and placed it on a hook by the door. Sage, Janie and Meg would be fine on their own for a while. Now that Meg was on duty, Janie could man the cash register and Meg could handle the few customers. If Lucky had to take a break, there couldn’t be a better time. She brushed off her skirt, returned to the front of the restaurant and pulled Janie aside. “Can you handle things for a bit? I’m going up to the Green to make sure Jack’s okay.”
“Sure, no worries. We can manage.” Janie looked concerned. “Has something happened up there?”
Lucky leaned closer to her and whispered, not wanting the few nearby customers to hear. “Elizabeth just called. They’ve discovered a skeleton.”
“Whaaat?” Janie inhaled deeply.
“Shhhh.” Lucky glanced around to make certain no one in the restaurant had heard. Whatever had happened, everyone would know about it soon enough. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She rushed out the front door and hurried to the corner of Main and across the Village Green to the construction site. She pushed through the crowd as far as she could go and stood on her toes, straining to locate Jack in the crowd. Several people called out to her but she didn’t bother to respond. She pushed farther in until she reached the chain-link fence. Her grandfather was inside the site with Barry Sanders, talking to Nate. She breathed a sigh of relief that Jack wasn’t hurt or under arrest. Hank Northcross and a few other men were nearby. They were staring down at a shallow hole in the dirt. A young man and woman standing next to her peered through the fence. They looked like college students and were definitely summer tourists.
The woman said, “Wow. This is exciting.”
The young man replied, “And you thought you’d be bored. See? Told you it’d be interesting.” He chuckled.
Lucky felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Horace. “Horace, what’s all the excitement?”
“Apparently Arnie Hicks spent the night right there. As your grandfather would say, he was three sheets to the wind, and probably still is.” He pointed to the earthen depression that Nate and the other men were studying. “When he woke up, he was holding what looked like a femur in his hand.”
Lucky’s eyes widened. “A human femur?”
Horace nodded. “I doubt they know for sure yet, but it shocked everyone, I can tell you. I’m going to try to get a closer look.” He moved away and maneuvered carefully through the crush of people to reach the spot where the fence was loose. He carefully bent down and struggled to get through the opening. Lucky watched him as he approached the group inside the site.
She heard a woman’s raised voice. It was Elizabeth, standing at the
edge of the crowd. Lucky turned and spotted her silvery white bob. “Everyone, please. Move away from the fence and let the police do their job.”
Several people called out. “What’s going on? What did they find?”
Elizabeth answered, “We’re not exactly sure just yet. But as soon as we find out, you’ll know too. Now, I suggest that under the circumstances, everyone should go home. This will have to be investigated. I’ve asked Nate to shut down construction for the time being until this is sorted out.”
“Too bad you didn’t shut the site down permanently,” one angry man yelled out. The crowd had lost interest in the discovery and was straggling in Elizabeth’s direction, surrounding her.
A woman hollered, “You should have done something about this!”
“This was not within my power. You all know that. It was voted on by the town council. I didn’t approve of it, but it wasn’t my decision to make. You’ll have to take it up with them.”
“We have. They won’t listen to us,” the same woman called out.
“Then I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. But I can tell you the work on this site will stop for the time being until we look into this.” Elizabeth’s words didn’t seem to calm the demonstrators. In fact, they were getting angrier. Lucky could tell from Elizabeth’s expression she was becoming worried by the energy of the crowd. Lucky had clung to the chain-link fence to keep her balance in the jostling mass of people, but now she moved away from the fence and pushed through the mob to stand next to Elizabeth.
She shouted, “Back off everyone. She’s already told you there’s nothing she can do. Go home.” Lucky blocked several people from coming closer to Elizabeth and put a protective arm around the older woman’s shoulders. A few people glared at her, but they backed away.
“Thanks, Lucky,” Elizabeth whispered, breathing a sigh of relief. “I know everyone’s very upset about this. I am too. I wish this were being built somewhere else, but my hands are tied.”
A Broth of Betrayal Page 3
