“Just yours and Norman Rank’s fancy car. Both ready to go. That’s why Guy says Harry didn’t object to his taking some days off. It was a slow time.”
Lucky pulled her chair closer to the table. “I saw Harry the day before the demonstration. He was talking to Pastor Wilson at the church. Sophie and I had gone over there to set up for the next day.”
“Pastor Wilson, you say?”
Lucky nodded. She didn’t want to repeat the conversation she had overheard in front of the whole table. She could tell Nate her impressions later, but she was sure he’d find out from the Pastor what Harry had said in more detail.
Nate took a last swallow of his iced tea. “I’ll stop by and have a word with the Pastor before I head home. I’ll see you folks later. If you think of anything I should know, you know where to find me.”
“We will, Nate,” Jack said.
Nate shoved his chair back and stood. “Thanks for the iced tea.” Lucky followed him to the door and locked it behind him.
Everyone fell silent. Hank finally pushed his chair away from the table. “I’ll be on my way, Jack. I guess there’s not much we can do about any of this. It’s a terrible shock. Nothing like this has ever happened in Snowflake. Not that I can remember. I mean there was that winter tourist, but this is different. Harry was a local.”
“It’s gonna hit everybody real hard,” Jack replied.
Once the men were gone, Lucky moved around the room, turning off all but one of the lamps, and returned to the table to sit with Jack. “We should call it a night.”
Jack peered out the window at the darkening street. “Not so fast. We’ve got an important customer on his way.”
Lucky craned her neck to see. She smiled when she saw Elias approaching. She hopped up to open the door for him. Elias kissed her quickly on the cheek as he entered and headed for the table to join Jack. Lucky went into the kitchen and quickly fixed a sandwich for him. She was sure he had spent a good part of the day and evening dealing with Harry’s death, on top of his patients at the Clinic. She made a large wrap of tomatoes, sprouts and avocado with cubes of chicken and chopped walnuts and brought it to the table with a small serving of Sage’s potato salad with asparagus.
Elias looked drained, dark circles under his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “How are you feeling, Jack?” Elias looked at him carefully.
“I’m fine. Well, better really. Just tough—finding Harry like that.”
Elias nodded in sympathy. “You knew him a long time?”
“I guess you could say that. Ever since he’s been in business for . . . what? Maybe almost twenty-five years now.”
“How old was he?” Lucky asked.
“Don’t really know exactly. He was real young when he first opened his shop. So maybe he’s about forty-six, forty-seven . . . was . . .” Jack trailed off.
“Really? He seemed so much older.”
“Harry was always a real serious man, but something like this . . . it makes you realize maybe we didn’t know him all that well after all. He wasn’t close to anyone that I know of. Never got married or had kids. Come to think of it, maybe he was lonely, but it never seemed that way. Always seemed more like he didn’t want any company.”
Elias nodded sympathetically and took a large bite out of the wrap. A piece of tomato fell onto the tablecloth. “Sorry. I’m eating like I haven’t seen food in a day or so. Come to think of it, maybe I haven’t.”
“We’re all out of sorts,” Jack replied. “Now that Elias is here, I’m gonna head home. It’s just gone three bells.”
“Would you like a ride?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “It’s a beautiful night. I feel like walking.”
Lucky reached over and grasped his hand. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’ll be fine. You two stay. Enjoy the evening. I’ll swab the deck in the morning.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “See you tomorrow.”
“’Night, Jack.” Lucky’s eyes followed him as he left by the front door, pulling it shut behind him.
Elias had wolfed down the rest of his food. “Let me help you close up.”
“Not much to do. We closed officially a while ago,” she said, clearing off the table. “People kept stopping in. Everyone’s in shock. It was pretty sad.” She carried the tray of dishes to the counter. “All I have to do now is take out the trash. I’ll run the dishwasher in the morning.”
Elias waited while Lucky turned off the last lamp and the blue and yellow neon sign in the window. He lifted two trash bags while Lucky grabbed her purse in the office and followed him down the corridor. She locked the door behind them and lifted the lid of the Dumpster while Elias threw the trash bags in. She took his arm as they headed down the short alleyway to Broadway. In the shadows, he pulled her close and kissed her tenderly. She felt the heat of his body through the thin cloth of her summer dress.
“Can you come home with me tonight?”
She reluctantly pulled herself away and took a deep breath. “I’d love to, believe me, but I’m so exhausted for some reason. And so are you. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I am, you’re right. But I’m walking you home. Until we know what really happened to Harry, I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”
Chapter 11
THE FIRST SENSATION that came to Elizabeth was the smell of damp and musty earth. Her head throbbed. Her mouth was dry. Her neck was so stiff she could barely turn her head. She knew her eyes were wide open but still there wasn’t any light. It must be evening. Her wrists were bound behind the chair on which she was seated. She barely had feeling in her arms. The binding was thin and smooth, like electrical wire or telephone cord. When she shifted her weight on the wooden chair, it creaked and wriggled, as if about to collapse. Her ankles were tied together with cord just as tight. She was in the cellar—Maggie’s cellar. A wave of panic swelled in her chest. What had happened to her? She had been on her way to the office and instead had driven to Maggie’s farmhouse. She remembered walking slowly down the wooden stairs. Strong hands had held a pungent cloth to her face. She struggled as long as she could but finally her limbs would not obey. That was her last memory. How long had she been unconscious? It was morning when she had arrived. Had she lost a few hours or a day? Panic rose again.
She had called out to Maggie. A quavering voice had responded. Had it really been Maggie who answered? She had been frightened that Maggie might have been hurt, might have fallen down the cellar stairs and been unable to get up. She cast her mind back. At that moment, she had been sure it was Maggie’s voice calling. But perhaps it wasn’t. She hadn’t actually spoken to Maggie in many years. Had someone else been here, pretending to be Maggie? Had someone hurt the woman? She hated to think how isolated the farmhouse was. If Maggie had been in trouble, no one would have known. No one would have checked on her. Maggie would never have done this. She could think of no earthly reason why Maggie would wish to hurt her.
The throbbing behind her eyes was terrible. She made a conscious effort to sharpen her senses. She took a deep breath. The chair squeaked loudly. She prayed it wouldn’t collapse and send her sprawling to the floor with the dirt and the spiders. The joists of the house creaked slightly as someone walked above her. Footsteps! She tried to call out, but managed only a croaking sound. She licked her lips and tried again. “Maggie . . .” she cried. Her voice was weak. Even if Maggie were above her, she’d never be able to hear this pathetic sound. Elizabeth stifled a sob. She had been so foolish to come here alone. Worse yet, she hadn’t let anyone know her plan. Surely if she didn’t turn up at the office, someone would worry—her secretary or Lucky, someone would sound the alarm. Her car was parked in front of Maggie’s house, but the house was well off the road up a lengthy dirt drive. How long would it take anyone to realize she was gone? She breathed deeply to quell the rising anxiety and called out again, stronger this time. “Maggie!” She waited. The footsteps stopped, but no one an
swered.
Elizabeth forced herself to take deep breaths. She knew it was the only way to control her fear. It was imperative she maintain her sensibilities. She would need all her wits to comprehend what was happening and to escape. Her clothes, so fresh the morning she had left for work, were grimy and wrinkled. If only she hadn’t decided to take a detour. What had possessed her to check on Maggie after all these years? Cordelia! It was Cordelia Rank who had ignited the worry that led her here to this lonely house.
It must be possible to try to reason with Maggie. If she could only understand the woman’s motives, then perhaps she could talk to her, convince Maggie to let her go free. What possible delusion had caused Maggie to attack her and keep her locked in the cellar? Or was it really Maggie who had pressed that cloth against her face? If so, her slight frame gave no hint of such strength. The hands that had grasped her head and held a cloth to her face were large and strong. And there was something else. A whiff of . . . aftershave? Someone other than Maggie had waited for her to descend the cellar stairs. Had something happened to the woman? Had someone hurt her? Or did Maggie harbor anger toward her from the past? Anger perhaps that Elizabeth hadn’t stayed in touch all these years or made sure she was doing well? Had Maggie dropped out of society so far that she had lost normal human connections? Was she insane?
Elizabeth gritted her teeth to keep from screaming in frustration. She knew where she was, but she didn’t know who was keeping her prisoner, or why. She cast her mind back as far as she could remember. Years before, Elizabeth had spent many days and hours with Maggie when Maggie had lost her son. It was true that as time goes by, people fall away, lose connections, but Elizabeth had done more to stay close to Maggie than anyone else in town. She couldn’t imagine why Maggie would bear her any animosity. Her behavior made no sense.
The door at the top of the stairs creaked loudly. Then footsteps, cautious ones as though of someone afraid to trip and fall. Elizabeth listened carefully and finally the door to the small room swung open. Maggie stood in the doorway holding a wooden tray. A light shone behind her. She placed the tray carefully on the dusty floor just inside the door. The aroma of warm vegetables filled the room. Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled loudly. When had she last eaten? She was ravenously hungry. Maggie moved closer to the chair where Elizabeth was bound. She reached up and pulled a string that hung from the ceiling. A weak overhead light flickered on. Hardly enough to dispel the gloom. Maggie turned back without looking at her and started to close the door. Elizabeth wriggled her wrists and pulled against the cord in an attempt to free her hands. Surely Maggie wouldn’t place tempting food so close and yet leave her like this, bound to a chair?
“Maggie. Please. Let me go,” Elizabeth croaked. Her throat was so dry.
Maggie halted, but said nothing. She shut the door behind her and Elizabeth heard her footsteps as she climbed the stairs. Elizabeth felt a sob rise in her throat. She fought against the tears that threatened. She was helpless, bound and terrified. She pulled at the cord that cut painfully into her skin. Perhaps if she kept working at it, it might give and she could at least free her hands. She gritted her teeth against the pain.
The footsteps were returning. The door swung open. Maggie held a jug of water in one hand and a large bundle under her arm. A sleeping bag. She placed the water jug on the floor, then spread the sleeping bag near the wall. She reached into a pocket of her faded sundress and extracted a sharp kitchen knife. She approached Elizabeth slowly, knife in hand. Elizabeth stopped breathing. Maggie wouldn’t stab her, would she? But then why was she keeping her here in the first place? And if she intended to kill her, why had she brought food and water and a sleeping bag?
Elizabeth could barely form the words. “Maggie. Talk to me, please. Why are you doing this?”
Maggie cocked her head to the side and stared into Elizabeth’s eyes. Elizabeth remembered those striking blue eyes. The tears she had shed when she learned her son Danny had died in a car wreck. As she stared into Maggie’s eyes, something changed. A dullness came over them. Whatever spark had been there was gone now. Maggie shuffled behind her and stood at the back of the chair. Elizabeth held her breath, waiting, terrified that Maggie might plunge the knife into her. She felt the cold blade against her wrist. With one quick slash, Maggie sliced through the cord binding Elizabeth’s wrists.
Elizabeth let her breath escape. She tried to turn her head to look at Maggie. “Are you letting me go?” she asked hopefully.
Maggie stared back at her wordlessly. Did she still have the power of speech? Had she not spoken to another soul all these years? Elizabeth recalled seeing Maggie at the construction site. At a distance, she seemed to be muttering to herself. Perhaps that was it—her ability to speak normally had atrophied.
Maggie shuffled to the door and turned back. She looked like a frightened animal. “You have to stay. He won’t hurt me then.” She mumbled quickly.
Elizabeth stared, unable to speak at first. Finally, she managed to croak, “Who? Who’ll hurt you?”
The door closed. Elizabeth heard the boards creak once again as Maggie climbed the cellar stairs.
“Maggie!” she called desperately. The door slammed at the top of the stairs. Elizabeth’s head dropped to her chest as she sobbed quietly.
Chapter 12
LUCKY DIALED ELIZABETH’S number for the second time that morning. She knew the number by heart and her fingers quickly hit the buttons. She had left one message already and still Elizabeth hadn’t returned her call. Maybe she had gone to her office earlier than usual? She’d try the office number later in the day. Right now, she just wanted to hear Elizabeth’s voice. Like everyone else in town, she couldn’t seem to think about anything except the discovery of Harry’s body the day before. She was anxious to hear Elizabeth’s thoughts and was more than surprised that Elizabeth hadn’t called her already. She waited impatiently while the phone rang four times. Finally, the answering machine clicked on and the outgoing message played. Lucky left another quick message, promising to try to reach Elizabeth at her office later in the day.
The Spoonful was crowded with people grabbing a bite before the dress rehearsal of the Reenactment. Hank, Barry and Horace were at one table, dressed for their roles, as were many other men and women. Hank wore garments of linen in varying shades of brown with a vest the color of butternut squash and a large floppy hat. Barry was decked out as an Indian, with, fortunately, a long tunic over his protruding belly. War paint was streaked on his face, and his outfit was topped with a braided wig, bandanna and feather. Jack was assisting with props in the Reenactment, but not playing a role, and Horace looked quite impressive as a Hessian in white breeches, a long blue coat with gold buttons and a small hat with a brass insignia.
“Horace, your outfit is striking. But I thought Hessians wore those funny tall conical hats?”
“Oh, some did. But most Hessians wore tricorn hats or a small cap like this. The tall, pointy caps were developed so they could throw their grenades and sling their muskets without knocking off a floppy hat. The conical hats also had the added benefit of terrifying the enemy, and since most battles were fought close-up with bayonets, you might frighten a rebel soldier into running away before you even engaged him. The battle would be quickly won.”
“Ah, ha. Well, you look terrific, and thankfully not terrifying,” she said as she headed back to the counter. Horace bowed and smiled shyly.
Barry took a last bite of his cream cheese and red onion sandwich on dark rye. “I guess we’ll just have to keep our spirits up today and do our best. I’m certainly not in a festive mood.”
“I’m with you.” Hank sighed. “There’s nothing we can do for poor Harry now.”
The bell over the door rang and Hank raised his hand to catch Rod Thibeault’s eye. The young lawyer waved in return and joined the motley crew. “Great outfits, guys.”
“You’re not gonna take part, Rod?”
“Can’t.” He shook his head. “Got too many cas
es to handle right now, and I have to get back to Lincoln Falls. I’ve got court appearances all week. Wish I could stay and watch the dress rehearsal though.”
“Well, come on over on the sixteenth—that’s the big day. You don’t want to miss that.”
“I’ll definitely try. I drove over to Snowflake ’cause Nate wanted to ask me some questions about . . . you know.” The men nodded sadly in response.
Meg approached their table to take Rod’s order. He smiled up at her. “I’ll have a roasted vegetable salad with the vinaigrette dressing.” Meg scribbled his order and returned to the hatch where she placed her slip.
Marjorie and Cecily bustled in and surveyed the crowd. All the counter seats were taken. Cecily waved to the men at the table and pushed her more reserved sister in their direction.
“My, look at all of you. I can’t wait to see the real show,” Cecily gushed.
Horace stood and offered his chair to Cecily. He reached across to another table and pulled up a chair for Marjorie.
“Thank you, Horace,” Marjorie replied. “You’re a real gentleman, even if you are a Hessian.”
Horace smiled. “On your way to the shop?”
“Yes. We just stopped in for our tea and croissants. We’ve been very busy this summer. Seems like we have more tourists here every year.” She leaned closer to the group. “Any news about Harry?”
Barry shook his head. “No. We saw Nate yesterday. Stopped in here to ask us all when we had last seen him.”
“It’s just terrible,” Cecily said, shaking her napkin onto her lap. “I don’t even know what to say. It had to be a robbery. So many strangers in town.”
“Nate doesn’t think so. Said there was plenty of cash left untouched.”
“Really?” Marjorie’s eyebrows shot up. “Then it must have been personal, although I can’t imagine why. Everyone got along fine with Harry. Now that he’s gone, what are we going to do? Will his business be sold?”
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