A Broth of Betrayal

by Connie Archer

  Chapter 9

  LUCKY RUSHED THROUGH the fence and raced across the street to reach Jack. Her heart was in her throat. Was he ill or having a flashback to his days in the war? Sophie ran to catch up with her. When they reached Jack, Lucky grasped his arm gently and helped him to his feet.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked. Jack shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to form any words. He looked helplessly at Lucky.

  She took his hands in hers. “Take a deep breath. Tell me what happened.” Together, Lucky and Sophie led him slowly to a nearby bench. Sophie sat next to Jack holding his hand, and Lucky knelt on the grass to get a better look at his face. He swallowed with difficulty and raised his arm, pointing toward Spruce Street.

  Sophie looked questioningly at Lucky. In answer to her silent question, Lucky said, “He was heading for Harry’s Auto Shop to pick up his car.” She turned to Jack. “Did something happen there?”

  Jack covered his face with his hands, leaving a smear of blood on his cheek. “Harry’s gone.”

  Hank and Barry, also realizing that something was terribly wrong, had rushed across the street. “Jack, what’s happened?” Hank asked, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

  Lucky looked up at them and said softly, “He said, ‘Harry’s gone.’ Can you find Nate and ask him to get to Harry’s right away?”

  Hank and Barry looked up and down the street, half hoping that Nate would magically appear. Hank patted his pockets. “I don’t have my phone with me.”

  Barry pulled his cell out of his pocket. “I do. I’ll call the station. Bradley can reach Nate quicker than we can.”

  Jack’s breathing was starting to return to normal. Lucky watched him carefully. “Do you want to go to the Clinic?”

  “No,” Jack grumbled. “I’m fine now. Almost. Just the shock . . . the blood. I just want to go back to the Spoonful.” Lucky knew that certain things set off Jack’s reaction, particularly the sight of blood. It carried with it nightmares of his time in the Pacific attempting to rescue men at sea attacked by sharks. Even though his flashbacks had decreased in their occurrence and severity now that his health had improved, she knew it could still be very difficult for him to hold on to reality and not let the past flood his mind.

  Lucky caught Sophie’s eye. “Sophie’s going that way. She’ll walk back with you.” Sophie nodded affirmatively.

  Jack squeezed her hand. He seemed a bit more in control. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble, Jack,” Sophie offered. “I have to go that way anyway. My car’s there.”

  Jack looked at Lucky. “I’m sorry. I’m a useless old man.”

  “Oh, Jack.” Lucky reached up to give him a hug. “Don’t say that. It’s not true. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  Jack stood and took a deep breath. He started to walk slowly across the Green. Lucky edged closer to Sophie and whispered, “It could be Harry’s had an accident. If you walk back to the Spoonful with Jack, I’ll go check.” If Harry were hurt and unable to reach help, she didn’t want to wait until a message reached Nate. Who knew how long it would take for Nate to get there? Jack might just have overreacted at the sight of blood. Harry might need an ambulance, in which case she could call Elias at the Clinic and he could arrange one.

  Sophie hurried to catch up with Jack. Lucky watched them until they crossed the street and turned the corner on Broadway. She left Hank and Barry, still waiting to speak to Nate, by the park bench and hurried across the Green, turning down Spruce Street. She ran the three blocks to the end and came to a quick halt on the sidewalk in front of the Auto Shop. The bay doors were closed. They were never closed except on Sundays. When Harry was there, they were always open. She tried the side door. Locked. Could Harry be inside? Unconscious? She banged on the door. Perhaps if he were hurt, he could call out. She waited a moment, her ear pressed against the wooden door, but heard nothing. In frustration, she ran down the alleyway at the side of the old brick building, which had once housed a bakery. At the rear, a window at street level was wide open. She peered into the interior, but the brightness of the sun and the dimness inside made it impossible to see anything. Had Jack climbed through this window with the same thought?

  She clambered over the windowsill and jumped a foot to the concrete floor. She called out again. No answer. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the high, dusty windows. She could just see her way across the garage without tripping on any of the hoses lying about on the floor. The large, empty space was completely still. She moved toward the front of the shop and pushed open the door of the office where Harry worked. A terrible odor assailed her nostrils. Her foot touched something soft. She looked down and gasped. Harry lay on his side, his eyes staring sightlessly at the legs of a chair. Part of his skull was caved in and a pool of now-congealed blood surrounded his head.

  Lucky covered her mouth, trying not to scream, but a low gurgle came from her throat. Jack was right. Harry was gone. She felt blood rushing through her ears. The room was spinning around. She heard a shout. It was Nate. She backed out of the office leaving the door ajar and managed to call to him.

  “In here, Nate. I climbed through the window.”

  She heard Nate mutter as he scrambled over the windowsill, his heavy shoes hitting the concrete floor. “In the office.” Her voice trembled.

  Nate moved past her and gently pushed the door of the office open. He stared for a long moment at the body of Harry Hodges. He backed across the threshold and gave her a studied look. “Jack just found him?”

  Lucky nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak. “He came over to pick up his car. He couldn’t talk at first. He said Harry was gone. I ran over in case he was just hurt and needed help.”

  “You should have called me first.”

  “I would have but I didn’t have my phone. Barry promised to find you.”

  “Well, that’s it, then. Just what Snowflake didn’t need—another murder.”

  “Can you be sure? Could he have been hurt under the lift?”

  “He could have, but I doubt he could have walked into the office with that head wound. I’m no expert, but I really don’t think so. Looks like somebody bashed his head in right here. But you listen to me, young lady. I don’t want you involved—not like before. I want you as far away from this as possible. You hear me?”

  Lucky gulped. “Fine with me. You’re in charge.”

  “Glad you agree,” Nate replied sarcastically. “Now, can I take you home or back to the restaurant? There’s nothing we can do for Harry now.”

  “No. I’ll be okay. I just want to get to the Spoonful to see how Jack’s doing. Sophie walked back with him. I only meant to go to Pastor Wilson’s ceremony and then get to work.”

  Nate pulled his cell phone out. “I’ll start with a call to Elias and go from there. You sure you’re all right?”

  Lucky nodded. Nate led her to the door that gave access to the street. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and carefully turned the lock, holding the door open for her. She stumbled out into the hot summer morning, blinded at first by the bright sunlight. Soon everyone would know about Harry—another murder in their midst.

  Chapter 10

  ELIZABETH CLIMBED THE steps of Maggie’s house carefully, fearful that the damaged wood might give way beneath her feet. She held tightly to the shaky railing. One or two boards had nearly rotted away leaving only a jagged edge still nailed to its support. The house was in terrible repair. So much paint had peeled from the clapboards that layers of brown and gray were exposed. This wasn’t the cheerful cottage Elizabeth remembered from years ago. No one had cared for or maintained this place for a long time.

  When Elizabeth was still teaching, and both she and Maggie were young women, the house had been yellow, with white shutters. Now several of those shutters had fallen away. The window boxes were still in place, but the white paint had worn off, eroded by harsh weather. Any semblance of
plant life had long since disappeared. She hated to think it, but Cordelia might be correct. Maggie really shouldn’t be on her own.

  She reached the front door and took a deep breath. Fearful of what she might find inside, she knocked. The door swung slowly open. It was unlatched. Elizabeth stood quietly, looking into the entry hall of the cottage. She called Maggie’s name, hesitant to enter without permission. There was no response.

  She called again. “Maggie? Are you here?” She stepped across the threshold. The door listed slightly, as though not hung properly on its frame. She wondered if it shut tight during the long winters. Then she wondered if Maggie had any source of heat. She looked through an archway into the small parlor. The floor was bare. A couch was pushed against the wall, several springs sticking up from one of the cushions. There was no other furniture in the room—no bookcases or small end tables. Surprisingly, there was no dust. Every surface appeared clean. A stairway to the right led to a second story where Elizabeth knew there were three small bedrooms. Many of the rungs in the banister were missing. Had Maggie been burning interior wood to keep warm in winter? The thought horrified her. She needed to make sure someone was delivering oil for the furnace. Elizabeth walked slowly into the living room and called out again.

  “Maggie? It’s Elizabeth. I was just driving past and thought I’d stop in.” She waited. There was a stillness in the air, but the house didn’t feel empty. It felt as if someone were watching and waiting, holding their breath. “Maggie, are you here?” Finally, Elizabeth heard a quavering voice. It came from the entry hall.

  Elizabeth returned to the hallway and approached the cellar door tucked under the stairway. She pulled the door open. Was Maggie down there? She heard rustling sounds at the bottom of the stairs. A breeze of damp and moldy air arose. “Maggie, are you down in the cellar? Where are you?”

  “Help.” The voice was weak.

  Elizabeth shuddered. The poor woman must have fallen down the stairs. “I’m coming,” she answered. Elizabeth grasped a splintered wooden railing and descended the narrow stairs carefully. A spiderweb brushed her cheek. The stairwell was dark but a tiny amount of light filtered through an opening high in the wall of the cellar. “Maggie, where are you? I can’t see a thing. Is there a light switch?”

  She heard no further sound. Elizabeth descended the rest of the way very slowly, still clinging to the railing. There had to be a light source down here. She felt along the wall and reached up to see if a hanging string might turn on a light. She stopped and stood still for a moment, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. A thin sliver of daylight was visible at the other end of the cellar. It was the opening of a hatch to the backyard. Next to that she could make out the shape of a rough workbench.

  “Maggie. Please. Where are you?” She took the last step and reached the bottom. The air moved near her cheek. Instinctively she knew someone was close by. Elizabeth turned her head. A cloth was pressed forcefully against her face. She struggled to breathe. Terrified, her heart racing, she lashed out to free herself from the firm hands gripping her. She was falling. Her brain was going numb. She felt her body weaken and collapse as she finally lost consciousness.

  * * *

  THE NEWS OF Harry’s death had spread like wildfire throughout Snowflake. It seemed appropriate that everyone, not just those involved with Harry and the demonstration, but all the restaurant’s regulars and concerned citizens, should gather at the Spoonful throughout the day. Unlike the anger and excitement of the demonstration, this was a quiet group, shocked and numb, confused that anyone could have wanted to hurt Harry Hodges.

  Barry and Hank, both very upset, had held court all day, as townspeople stopped by, stayed for a time then quietly left. Jack joined them occasionally, while Lucky, Janie and Meg handled customers. As far as Lucky could tell, the summer visitors appeared oblivious to what had happened in their midst. From experience, she knew this wouldn’t last long.

  Finally she decided to close the Spoonful an hour earlier than usual and sent Janie and Meg home. Hank and Barry remained at their table. Jack seemed to be stronger now, but she thought that giving him an excuse to go home early and get some rest after his shock was the best thing to do. She had riffled through a stack of CDs and found a harp instrumental. She plugged it in hoping it might soothe their spirits.

  A loud knock came at the front door and everyone turned. Nate Edgerton stood outside on the threshold. Lucky walked over and unlocked the door for him. Nate entered without a word and sat at the table with the men. Without asking, Lucky poured an iced tea with a slice of lemon and brought it over to Nate.

  He looked up. “You read my mind. Thanks.”

  Everyone at the table looked expectantly at Nate as if he could explain Harry’s death to them. Nate shook his head. “There’s not much I can tell any of you. In fact, I’m here to ask a few questions myself.”

  “Now, Jack.” Nate pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. “I’m sorry to put you through this.” Nate was being very gentle with Jack. He had always looked up to the older man. “I’m just hoping there might be some little detail that would help me out.”

  “Not much to tell.” Jack shrugged. “I went over to see if my car was ready—that was right around one bell.”

  Nate paused with his pen over the notebook and looked at Lucky.

  “He means eight thirty,” Lucky offered.

  “The place was locked up, which was strange, ’cause Harry starts his day early. I banged on the door, thinking he might be in the office, but nobody came. So then I went down the alley. I figured I’d take my car and leave Harry a note. Maybe he had just stepped out for a minute. I knew he wouldn’t mind if I paid him later.”

  “Was that back window unlocked?”

  “Closed, but not locked. I wouldn’t have gone in like that, through the window, but I needed my car to drive over to Lincoln Falls. Had to get some supplies for the Spoonful.” Jack rubbed his forehead and took a shaky breath. “Harry had told me the car would be ready. I thought I could just grab my keys and catch up with him later to pay him.”

  “When did you talk to him?”

  “Oh, let’s see . . . musta been the day before the demonstration.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Right about four bells.”

  Nate sighed and looked across the table at Lucky.

  “Two o’clock,” she answered.

  “Did you notice anything else? Anything strange or out of place?”

  Jack shook his head slowly. “If I did, I’d never remember. It was seeing all that blood. I started to . . . you know . . . it always brings back things.” Nate nodded sympathetically. “I could feel one of my spells coming on, but I knew I had to . . . I think I knew it was too late, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I . . . that’s when I got the blood on me.” Jack closed his eyes. “It was real bad.”

  Lucky interjected, “Nate, any idea when this might have happened?”

  Nate shook his head. “Not sure. Elias thinks he might have been dead more than a day. It’s hard to say. The weather’s been hot, but the interior of that shop stays pretty cool. The techs from Lincoln Falls are working there now. They’ll go over everything and then arrange an autopsy. We’ll know more then.”

  “I feel just awful.” Barry spoke. “I’ve been criticizing Harry for not showing up, accusing him of flaking out on the demonstration. And all the time . . .” Barry trailed off, unable to complete his thought.

  Hank reached over and patted Barry on the shoulder. “How could you have ever known? You couldn’t.” Hank looked at Nate. “I don’t understand why someone didn’t find him right away. Where was Guy Bessette? Didn’t he show up for work this morning?”

  “I’ve already talked to Guy. They had just finished a couple of big jobs and Harry said he’d be fine on his own for the rest of the week. Guy wanted a few days off for the rehearsals and the Reenactment. He’s pretty broken up right now. If you have a chance to talk to him, make sure he knows it w
asn’t his fault. Right now, he’s thinking that if he hadn’t taken time off, Harry might still be alive.”

  “What do you think, Nate?” Hank asked.

  Nate was silent for a moment, staring off into space. “I doubt it. The place was locked up. The lamp on Harry’s desk was still on. Looks to me, at least on the surface, like whatever happened, happened at night, well after Guy would have quit work for the day. But, Guy was probably the last one to see Harry alive . . . that we know of. And that was the night before last. There were a few messages on the answering machine from yesterday. I think if Harry were still alive then he would have hit the button and listened to ’em, even if he didn’t return the calls right away.”

  “You think someone came to the shop at night then? Maybe somebody Harry knew?” Jack asked.

  “Looks that way.”

  “Any money missing? Was it a robbery, you think?” Barry said.

  “Nope. Plenty of cash on hand.” Nate shrugged. “But I gotta ask you. Can you tell me when you last saw Harry?”

  Barry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I guess it had to be the day before the demonstration. I mean, I didn’t see him. I talked to him on the phone and gave him the names of a few more people who had promised to show up. He seemed fine.”

  “Anybody know of anything going on in his life that might have brought this about?”

  Jack heaved a sigh. “Harry . . . well, you know how Harry was. If you didn’t know him, you’d call him cranky. He wasn’t a man who talked about himself or his feelings. Pretty much a loner. But I can’t imagine anybody who would have wanted to hurt him.”

  “Taciturn might be a better way to describe Harry,” Hank volunteered. “He was a good man, real straight arrow, hardworking, but Jack’s right. Harry never talked about himself at all.”

  “I told him my car was no hurry. It wasn’t till I needed to pick up some supplies that I went over there to get it.” Jack shuddered. “Were there any other cars there being worked on?”