“Whew,” Elizabeth said when Cordelia was a good fifty feet away. “That woman.” She shook her head.
“What was all that about the Daughters of the American Revolution?”
Elizabeth groaned. “Cordelia Cooper Rank is a DAR and she never ever lets anyone forget it. Her husband, Norman, is from a very old, wealthy family. Although why all that is so important, I have no idea. Half the people in this town can point to ancestors that go back just as far. So what? What’s important is how you behave in the twenty-first century, if you ask me. And that woman needs to learn some manners.”
“Well, I certainly know her husband. He’s our landlord at the Spoonful. All the same, I don’t know how you do it.” Lucky marveled. “How you handle the politics, the budget, the town council, the voters and the personalities. I stand in awe.”
“Not at all. I’ve just lived a long time and I can smell the lawn fertilizer a mile away. And now that I’m an old lady . . .”
“You’re hardly old.”
“I’ll be sixty in a couple of years and I’ve earned the right to say what I please and talk like a longshoreman. Maybe I should learn some good old Navy cuss words from Jack, even if I can’t tell time to suit him.”
Lucky laughed. “Why don’t you take a break? Come on back with me. We have a fabulous celery and green onion soup that Sage serves cold. Just the thing for a hot day.”
“All right, I will. Thanks, Lucky. But after that, I’ll have to get back to the office. I just know that Cordelia Cooper Rank, DAR extraordinaire, will have left several messages to torture me further.”
Chapter 7
THE SPOONFUL WAS noisy and packed with customers by the time Lucky and Elizabeth arrived. The room was bright with afternoon sunshine, but the ceiling fans kept the cool air circulating. The aroma of soups and breads filled the room, and Jack’s favorite CD with a clarinet solo played in the background, softening the clatter of dishes and trays. A large group of demonstrators had descended on the Spoonful. They were elated that the discovery of a body had put an end, however temporary, to construction. Judging by some of the conversations Lucky overheard, the group was planning its next onslaught against Richard Rowland’s construction project.
She glanced around the restaurant searching for a quiet table for Elizabeth. Elizabeth touched her arm. “I’ll just grab a stool at the counter. I can’t stay very long anyway. You’ll be busy with this crowd. We can catch up later.”
Lucky hurried down the corridor and pulled an apron from the shelf. She slipped behind the counter to relieve Meg. Janie and Meg were both just out of high school. Janie was tall and thin with an electric energy. She moved quickly, whisking away dishes, resetting the tables and taking orders. Meg’s movements were slower and calmer, yet she almost never made a mistake.
The day’s specials were cream of asparagus soup and a celery and green onion soup served chilled. Sage had agreed that adding salads for the summer was a good idea, so in addition to sandwiches, the Spoonful was offering a walnut apple salad with crumbled bleu cheese, a roasted vegetable salad with a peanut dressing and a thinly sliced beef salad with vinaigrette dressing. Elizabeth ordered the chilled celery and green onion soup with a serving of crispy flatbread baked with feta cheese. As soon as she finished her lunch, Elizabeth blew a kiss in Lucky’s direction and headed for her office. The next two hours flew by, and once the rush was over, Lucky poured a glass of iced tea and joined the men at their table.
“I thought he was with us,” Barry grumbled. He had tucked his napkin in under his chin, and now pulled it off and dabbed at his mouth. The buttons on his plaid shirt were still holding firm.
Hank looked across the table, peering over his glasses. “He is with us. He’s in complete agreement. Why would you think otherwise?”
“Because he didn’t even show up today.” Barry shook his head. “Harry’s the one who organized everyone and he couldn’t find a few minutes to turn up on the first day? And at the last meeting, he seemed kind of . . . I don’t know . . . held back, like maybe he was having second thoughts.”
“Hmm.” Hank rubbed his chin. “He was quiet. But I know he agrees with us. Maybe he got stuck at the shop—maybe somebody needed a tow.”
Barry grumbled. “I can’t put my finger on it, but it seems like more than that.”
Jack spoke up. “Don’t worry about Harry. He’ll turn up next time. And speaking of Harry, I’ve gotta pick up my car. I put it in the shop for an oil change but I need to get over to Lincoln Falls tomorrow to get supplies.”
The bell over the door rang as Rod Thibeault stepped inside. Lucky had noticed him speaking with Nate’s deputy, Bradley, at the construction site after the demonstration broke up, but hadn’t seen him since. He smiled in their direction and headed for the large table to join them. Rod’s hair was carrot red and his face was sprinkled with freckles. Lucky had a hard time believing he was old enough to have graduated law school and been in practice for several years. He wiped his brow. “Nice and cool in here. Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all, Rod. Have a seat.” Barry slid his chair closer to Lucky to make room for the attorney. “Thanks for coming out with us today.”
Rod grabbed a chair from another table and slid it over. “Quite a surprise.” He laughed. “Of all the things that could have happened today.” He shook his head.
“The good news is it threw a monkey wrench into Rowland’s plans.”
Rod nodded. “And no doubt will crank up his lawyer’s fees. Couldn’t wish it on a better fellow.”
“Yeah, well, the law didn’t do much for us, did it?” Hank remarked.
Rod’s face fell but Hank immediately rushed to apologize. “Not your fault, Rod. You did a good job. That guy just had the damn town council on his side.”
“And maybe the judge too, for all I know,” Rod said. “Except for Edward Embry—more power to him.”
Lucky rose and started to gather up some of the dishes. “Would you like something cold, Rod? An iced tea?”
“That sounds great. Thanks, Lucky.”
Lucky returned to the counter and slid the dishes and glassware into a plastic bin. The front door opened and she looked up to see Elias. He smiled and headed for the counter.
“You must be starving. You didn’t get any lunch, did you?”
“You got that right. What a day!” Elias sighed, collapsing on a stool at the counter.
“What would you like?”
“Some time with you.” He smiled.
Lucky blushed. “Shhh, big ears are in the room.” She couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.
“I’ll behave myself. I promise. Anything is fine.”
“Hang on for a sec.” She filled two tall glasses with ice and poured the iced tea, adding a lemon wedge. One she passed to Elias and the other she carried to Rod at the table. She headed for the kitchen where Sage was chopping vegetables.
“Hey, Lucky, need anything?”
“I’ll take care of it.” She enjoyed the fact that Sage now always called her by her name. When she had first come home from Madison and taken over the restaurant he’d consistently kept his distance, calling her “boss.” Whether that was because he worried she wouldn’t keep him on, or perhaps due to resentment at taking orders from someone slightly younger, she never knew. But since her efforts last winter resulted in his release from jail, their relationship was on solid footing. Now he always called her by her name.
She brought Elias a large bowl of the chilled celery and green onion soup and a cream cheese, red onion and watercress sandwich on dark rye. His schedule had been far too busy and pressured. Even with an assistant, a nurse, a records clerk and two receptionists at the Clinic, he was still the only doctor in town and had to travel to Lincoln Falls when his patients were admitted to the hospital. The schedule was taking its toll on him. They managed to get together at least twice a week and saw each other, if not every day, close to it, but she knew he was overworked and needed a vacation.
“Sounds lovely. Any luck finding a new doctor?” She felt a twinge of guilt, or perhaps responsibility. Because of her, Elias had lost his partner at the Clinic. When it came to light that his partner’s wife was guilty of murder, the man was compelled to leave town. Lucky still had nightmares about the events of the previous winter.
Elias looked up at her. “Don’t go there. I know you’re feeling responsible, but it’s not your fault.”
“I know that,” she replied. “If only . . .”
“If only, what? It had to happen the way it happened. The truth had to come out. What would you rather? That Sage go to jail for the rest of his life?”
Lucky glanced through the hatch at Sage, busy at work in the kitchen. “Of course not,” she said vehemently.
Elias reached across the counter and squeezed her hand. “There’s nothing nice about emotions that would drive a normally decent person to murder. But you did nothing wrong, just remember that.”
Lucky looked into Elias’s eyes and her heart melted. She finally smiled.
“That’s better,” he said. Lucky reached out and touched the dimple on his chin.
“I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds,” Barry announced, heading for the counter and grabbing the stool next to Elias. Lucky blushed furiously and pulled her hand away. “Tell me something, Elias. How could those bones still be preserved if they’re so old?”
Elias wiped his chin and turned to face Barry. “It has a lot to do with the pH of the soil. Generally speaking, soil with neutral acidity, or even alkalinity, will preserve bone. With the right pH balance, bones can last for hundreds of years—even longer. On the other side of the argument, there are scientists who don’t agree that soil conditions have that much to do with preservation. You’ve heard of bog bodies, of course?”
“Oh yes. Pretty amazing.”
“Those bodies were buried in acidic sphagnum bogs, mostly in northern Europe. The skin is severely tanned, but it’s preserved. Even facial features are obvious. That happens because of the high acidity, low temperature and lack of oxygen. However, the bones in that type of soil aren’t preserved very well at all because the acid in the peat dissolves the calcium phosphate in the bone tissue, while the skin and internal organs remain intact. I’m sure the anthropologists will want to take measurements of the pH of that soil. As I said, some experts claim pH is irrelevant, while others swear by it.”
“To think some poor soul was lying under the ground near the Village Green all these years. I can’t wait to hear what the University people have to say.”
“Hopefully, most of the skeleton can be retrieved. They should be able to figure out if this individual was male or female and its age at the time of death fairly quickly. Any other tests will take a little longer.”
Lucky cleared the dishes away as Barry returned to his chair at the big table. Elias looked up and squeezed her hand. “Sorry. I have to rush off.”
Lucky nodded, disappointed he was leaving, but at least they had made a plan to have dinner together this week.
Chapter 8
ELIZABETH RINSED OFF her breakfast dishes and placed them in the strainer. Cordelia Rank’s remarks still haunted her. She had taken offense at Cordelia’s snobbery, but all the same, perhaps the woman had a point—not that Maggie should be locked away, but that she might very well need help. Had anyone checked on her lately? Perhaps Cordelia was right and Maggie wasn’t able to take very good care of herself. Before yesterday, when was the last time Maggie had been seen in town? And when was the last time she had received a visit from a neighbor?
Elizabeth, in her former life, had taught elementary school and remembered Maggie as she had once been—a young mother with a little boy—her son Danny. Elizabeth knew Maggie Harkins’s history and was well aware of the forces that had shaped her life. There no longer was a reason for Elizabeth to stay in touch, but what kind of a Mayor was she if she didn’t worry about the least protected of her citizens? What kind of a woman was she not to take an interest, and at least make sure that Maggie had food in her house and heat in the winter? Her conscience had bothered her no end since she had seen Maggie skulking around the Village Green.
She took a last sip of coffee and rinsed her cup in the sink, placing it neatly in the dish strainer. Charlie, her cat, brushed up against her legs in the knowledge that Elizabeth was getting ready to leave. She reached down and scratched his head. He purred in response. She checked that Charlie had enough food and water to last the day, and shut the kitty door to keep him safely in the house and out of the summer heat.
“I’m sorry, Charlie. It’s too hot today. You can go out this evening.” Charlie was older now and didn’t need to be constantly roaming. Besides, he had a big two-story house to roam in while she was at work. Taking her purse and car keys, she locked the front door and climbed into her car. It wouldn’t hurt to check on Maggie. It was just a few miles in the other direction. Then she could head to her office. Won’t take any time at all, she thought.
* * *
PASTOR EARL WILSON stood close to the head of the earthen depression, a prayer book in hand, and surveyed the group. Horace Winthorpe had made all the arrangements and now, Professor Daniel Arnold, the head of the Archaeology Department at the University, had arrived early in the morning following the discovery of the remains. With him were three graduate students in work clothes, armed with shovels, trowels and brushes. They had quickly dismantled the temporary shelter of boards and plastic and now, eager to begin their work, stared in fascination at the remains still lodged in the earth.
Pastor Wilson had insisted that no soul should be buried or dug up without prayers for the afterlife, and since this soul more than likely hadn’t been properly buried to begin with, he certainly needed some good words to speed him on his way. He had made a point of calling some of his steadfast parishioners as well as the Spoonful’s regulars to request attendance at his service. Lucky agreed to come in Jack’s place, since he had errands to run. Sophie, curious about the discovery, decided to tag along.
Lucky and Sophie, along with Hank, Barry and Horace waited for the ceremony to begin. The Professor and his three charges, and Nate Edgerton and others of the Pastor’s flock stood close by the grave. In addition, a small, curious crowd had gathered outside the fence along Water Street to watch the proceedings. Everyone waited in respectful silence.
Pastor Wilson stood, his hands clasped in front of him, and spoke. “In the presence of death, we must continue to sing the song of life. We must be able to accept death and go from its presence better able to bear our burdens and to lighten the load of others.” When he had finished, a hush fell over the small group. In all likelihood, one of their own was being exhumed. Everyone watched while the graduate students began their work, gently brushing dirt away, slowly creating pedestals of earth around each fragment—a long, slow, laborious process.
Nate Edgerton viewed the scene for several minutes and then signaled to Bradley, who waited outside the fence. Together they cut and pulled back the chain-link fence to allow easy removal of the remains later in the day. Nate returned to the sidewalk, while Bradley stood guard at the opening to keep the curious at a distance.
Horace, watching the proceedings carefully, moved closer. Something had caught his eye. “What is that?” He pointed to a dark curved shape lying slightly deeper in the earth. One student, her hair pulled back in a bun under a baseball cap, looked up.
“Not sure.” She brushed away the dirt carefully, better exposing the shape of the object. She turned back to Horace. “Looks like it might be a . . . maybe a powder horn?”
“It might have some carvings—perhaps even a name. If it does . . . and I’m assuming this person is a ‘he’ . . . we might actually be able to find out who this fellow was,” Professor Arnold offered, grinning broadly at Horace.
&
nbsp; “You’re right.” Horace nodded. “It was common for people to carve their names, sometimes even drawings of their homes, on powder horns—if that’s what it is—like scrimshaw. It’s not likely, but perhaps we might find a weapon nearby. This is terribly exciting!” Horace turned to Lucky and Sophie. “You see, not everyone could afford a rifle or other type of gun. During the Revolutionary War, small towns kept a common stock that the men, and even women, would use in case of an attack, but most men did carry their own powder horns.”
Professor Arnold spoke. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This body could be much older—pre–Revolutionary War, or even much younger. Eventually we’ll be able to date the bones.”
As the work progressed and no further finds seemed likely, people drifted away, back to their jobs and homes. There wasn’t much to interest the onlookers in the slow, tedious work taking place. Nate released Bradley from guard duty, sending him back to the station. Nate said good-bye and drove away in his cruiser. Hank and Barry lingered by the fence until the crowd had completely dispersed.
Barry turned and scanned the spectators drifting away. “I didn’t see Harry. Did you?”
Hank shook his head. “No.”
“I’m telling you, it’s strange the way he’s been acting.”
Hank replied, “Harry’s right where he should be. At his shop. Working.”
“Speaking of who wasn’t here today, I’m sure glad that Rowland character didn’t show up,” Barry said.
“Why should he? He doesn’t care about this town. If he did, he wouldn’t be building this concrete blight in the middle of it.”
Lucky checked her watch. It was time to get to the restaurant. She turned to leave and a movement across the street caught her eye. Her grandfather Jack was on the Green, stumbling toward them. His face was pale and he was in obvious distress. Before Lucky could react, Jack’s knees buckled and he collapsed on the grass.
A Broth of Betrayal Page 5
