“Let’s split it up. I’ll get a map and we’ll divide the whole area into sections. I know Nate’s had Bradley try to do that, but they’re not gonna have the time, especially with Harry’s murder investigation. Let’s start tomorrow. You up for that?”
“Absolutely,” Sophie agreed. “I guess it’s something we can do until we have a better idea.”
Lucky and Sophie waded patiently through every folder in Elizabeth’s filing cabinet, every drawer in the desk and every drawer in the bedroom bureau. Time had passed and nothing remarkable had been found. “Well, that’s it,” Lucky said as she gently closed the last bureau drawer. “All this time wasted. We could have been searching with one of the groups for the past two hours.”
Sophie heaved a sigh, replacing the last of the folders. She gave a rub to Charlie’s stomach. “Does he have enough food?” she asked as they headed down the stairs.
“He’s fine. I’ll check on him tomorrow on a break.”
“Set your alarm. I’ll be at your apartment door at five o’clock tomorrow morning with maps. Take pity on me and have some coffee ready. We can easily get in a few hours’ searching.”
Lucky locked the kitchen door behind them and returned the key to its hiding place in the garage. They walked slowly down the driveway. When they reached the sidewalk, Lucky looked up and down the street. “I know you and the police have already done it, but do you think it’s worth talking to some of the neighbors again?”
“You need to get back to the Spoonful. Why don’t I do that? I can just say I’m checking back with them and I can pass out flyers. They may remember something they didn’t think to tell the police. They may not know what they know.”
“Thank you, Sophie. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t thank me. I just want Elizabeth back. I can’t bear to see you in this state.”
Chapter 22
ELIZABETH GRASPED THE handle of the door that imprisoned her. It opened outward from the small room. The doorknob turned, but when she pushed against it, it refused to budge. It was held solidly in place. But by what? Was it barred? There was no lock on the doorknob itself. With all her strength, she pushed against the door to no avail. She pounded on the wood with her fists, shouting Maggie’s name until her voice was hoarse. No one answered.
Elizabeth collapsed on the sleeping bag and reached for the jug of water. At this rate, the water wouldn’t last long. Fear had made her thirsty. She needed to fight the panic and think. Surely there was a way to escape. She had hoped when Maggie returned to the cellar and opened the door, she might be able to overpower her. Elizabeth wasn’t a big woman, but she was strong. That hope had been dashed once her wrists had been untied. Now Maggie never opened the door. She would only shove a small plate of food through the ragged hole at the bottom, just large enough to allow a dinner plate, but not large enough to reach out to whatever lock was on the outside of the door.
Unless Maggie grew careless, the window was now the only possible hope of escape. Elizabeth dragged the chair to the wall under the window and climbed up. She could reach the narrow window. It was locked with only a small catch and opened inward. Chicken wire mesh was nailed to the outer frame, no doubt to keep small creatures out of the cellar. And on the exterior of the house, two planks nailed across the opening allowed a thin sliver of light to filter through. Elizabeth reached up and, bruising her fingers, managed to turn the latch a quarter inch. She pulled at the window frame, but it refused to open. Peering closely she could see that thick eightpenny nails had been driven through the framing to secure the window. If she had a crowbar or heavy hammer, she might be able to release the frame. She sighed in frustration, staring at the window. She might not be able to open it, but nothing prevented her from breaking the glass.
She climbed down from the chair and picked her cardigan up from the sleeping bag. She wrapped it carefully around her elbow. She didn’t want Maggie to hear the sound of glass breaking. Who knew what she might do. She had been so frightened when she saw the kitchen knife in Maggie’s hands. If she were truly insane what might she be capable of? Once the sweater was wound tightly around her elbow, she climbed on the chair and stood on her tiptoes. The chair creaked suddenly and threatened to collapse. She grasped the edge of the window frame to keep her balance and made a quick, sharp blow to the glass with her elbow. It cracked and a large chunk of glass fell between the frame and the outer planks. She stopped and listened carefully for a minute but heard no footsteps approaching. A breath of fresh, warm summer air caressed her face as she stood balanced on the chair. She breathed in deeply. A bird sang in a nearby tree. Her current situation seemed all the more painful. Outside this house the world continued, people went about their business, and even if her friends and loved ones realized she was missing, how would they ever know where to look? Tears came to her eyes and she quickly brushed them away. Mental discipline was essential. If she broke down, she could never hope to be free. There had to be a way out of this cellar.
She carefully picked a few small shards of glass from her sweater and, wrapping it tightly around her elbow again, made another jab at the window glass. Half of the glass fell away. With two fingers, she gingerly moved aside the larger pieces and reached out to the planks covering the outside of the window. These boards were relatively new. She pushed hard against them. They were nailed in solidly. If only she had some kind of tool, but there was nothing in the room she could use. She remembered the sliver of light when she had first descended the stairs. It was the opening of a wooden hatch that would lead outside. There had been a workbench next to the hatch. If she could escape from this room, the workbench might hold tools she could use. In the meantime, the only possibility was this one window. Her shoe. Perhaps her shoe was strong enough to dislodge the boards. She reached down and slipped off one shoe. Using the heel, she struck a solid blow against the lower board. She didn’t care any longer if Maggie heard her. If Maggie returned and opened the door, she would shove her way out, even if Maggie held a knife in her hand. She was desperate. She was no longer concerned about the consequences of being heard. Her one goal was to escape. Angry now, she banged steadily away at one of the planks. If she had a ladder she could gain more leverage and make better progress. Reaching up from the rickety chair didn’t give her much purchase. Using all her strength, she hammered at the board, ignoring the creaking chair. She was sure one corner of the plank had moved slightly. Hopeful, she landed one more powerful blow against the plank. As she did so, the chair gave a loud squeak and collapsed under her. She fell to the floor, and cried out in pain as her ankle twisted under her.
* * *
THE LUNCH RUSH was over by the time Lucky reached the Spoonful. Janie and Meg were taking a break at a corner table. Sage was laying out utensils on his work space in the kitchen, and Jack was counting out bills from the cash register. It was a lull in what would later be a busy afternoon and evening. The flyers Sophie had prepared were displayed in several spots in the large front window where they would be seen by passersby. Jack had refreshed the stack next to the cash register. Lucky slipped on an apron and went out to the front room to talk to him. He looked up expectantly.
She indicated the front window. “I see you’ve put them up.”
“Yep. Some of the tourists have taken an interest too. A few told me they’d volunteer with the State Police.”
“Really? That’s awfully good of them.”
“Something will break. Just wait and see.” Jack put his arm around her shoulder and gave her an encouraging hug. “What have you been up to?”
“We were at Elizabeth’s with Sergeant Woczinski. The police were just finishing their search of the house. Sophie and I went through Elizabeth’s files and drawers just to be thorough and leave no stone unturned, but no luck. We decided to focus on searching for Elizabeth’s car. We’ll check all the roads in and out of town and paths into the woods,” Lucky continued. “Then whenever I can get away from the Spoonful, I’ll volunteer for
a walking search—Sophie will too.”
“That’ll be a tough schedule.”
“That’s all right. I’d rather be up at the crack of dawn doing something than wandering around in a state of anxiety.”
“I’m joining a search tomorrow morning. They’re gonna start around seven bells. You think you can manage with me gone for a few hours?”
“We’ll be fine. You feel up to it?”
“I feel the same way you do. I’d rather be doing something than nothing. I’m sorry about the other night, my girl.”
“The other night? What do you mean?” Lucky was confused.
“You were worried about Elizabeth that night and I joked about it. I should have listened to you. I don’t blame you for being worried sick, especially after Harry being . . .” He trailed off and shook his head. “Who would do such a thing? Harry never bothered a soul. He wasn’t the friendliest cuss, but he was all right.”
Lucky squeezed his hand. “Nate’s got help in that quarter now. They’ll figure it out.”
Jack shot her a quick look.
Lucky blushed. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I didn’t mean to sound cavalier about Harry, not at all, but he’s gone. There’s nothing we can do about that. Elizabeth could still be alive.”
“Of course she’s alive. I feel it in my bones.”
A family approached with their bill in hand. Jack smiled at them and rang up their charges. Lucky went to the counter and glanced at the blackboard where Sage had listed his specials for the day. There were three different soups, one hot and two chilled, in deference to the heat. Her favorite salad was on the menu today too—romaine with thinly sliced red onions, small cubes of sweet potato and apple with caramelized walnuts, served with a sun-dried tomato vinaigrette dressing. Her stomach growled in response.
Jack must have read her mind. He called over to her, “Have you eaten anything today?”
Lucky had to think a minute before she replied. “Just a piece of toast this morning, I guess.”
“And to think you try to baby me! Sit right over there at the counter. I’ll bring you one of those salads.”
Janie finished her break and took over the cash register while Jack put together a salad for Lucky. He served it to her at the counter with a flourish and slipped another CD into the player. It was soothing music, a new age kind of synthesizer. She dove into the salad, eating ravenously. Jack returned to his seat by the cash register and Janie slipped onto the stool next to Lucky.
“I’m going on one of the search parties tomorrow, as soon as Jack’s back. No news?”
Lucky shook her head. “Charlie’s been taken care of. Flyers are posted everywhere. It’s on the web. The news media is picking it up. Sophie and I are starting very early tomorrow by car. We’re going to search every street, road, dirt path and byway we can find for Elizabeth’s car. And we’ll just keep searching. I can’t think what else to do.”
“You’re right. But try to stay calm. We’re all on edge now after what happened to Harry. I just want Nate to catch whoever did that to him.” Janie placed a comforting hand on Lucky’s shoulder and rose from her stool. She walked around the room, checking each table to make sure everything was set for the next wave of customers.
Lucky picked up her dishes and carried them into the kitchen, rinsed them off and put them in the dishwasher. The bell over the front door rang. She peeked through the hatch. She groaned when she saw the bright strawberry blonde hair—Rowena.
“Hey, Lucky!” Rowena waved at her through the opening. “Hi, Jack,” she called out and grabbed a stool at the counter.
Lucky returned to the counter. “What can I get you, Rowena?” Rowena had been devastated and close to tears a few days ago when Lucky had run into her at the rehearsal. Today, Rowena was fully recovered and bursting with energy.
“I heard there’s a new chilled cherry soup with cream. Is it good?”
“Fantastic. I’ll get you a bowl.” Lucky placed the order on the hatch and a minute later Sage had filled it.
She carried the bowl to Rowena. “Anything to drink?”
“Love some iced coffee. Thanks, Lucky.”
Lucky placed the tall glass and a small pitcher of cream at the side of the place mat and started to turn away. The bell jingled again. Guy Bessette walked in. Like an imprinted duck, he headed straight to the counter. He only had eyes for Rowena.
Rowena leaned closer over the counter. “Lucky, you know I had no luck with that developer. But . . .” Rowena trailed off. Lucky had a sneaky suspicion what Rowena was leading up to and kept silent. “Maybe I could talk to Jack about the discovery of Harry’s body. A real crime story.”
“Hi, Rowena. How are you?” Rowena turned and stared at Guy as if an insect had just appeared in her soup. “Oh, hi,” she said flatly.
Lucky suppressed a grimace at Rowena’s treatment of Guy. “You’re welcome to ask Jack yourself. He’s right there.”
Guy remained silent, listening to the back-and-forth conversation. He was screwing his courage to the sticking point and finally said, “Rowena, maybe we could . . . uh . . . get together some night.”
Rowena stared coldly at him for a long moment. “Get together?”
“Uh . . . yeah, you know, maybe we could have dinner or go out somewhere.”
Rowena regarded him blankly and said, “I don’t think so, Guy.”
“Oh.” Guy’s face fell. He looked down at the counter, blushing bright red. Lucky had watched the exchange, cringing at Guy’s embarrassment.
Rowena turned back to her. “You don’t mind if I talk to Jack?”
“I don’t mind. I can’t say he’ll talk to you, but why don’t you ask him?”
Jack was close enough that he had caught the drift of the conversation, but ignored it. Rowena finished her soup and trotted over to the cash register. As she paid for her lunch, she said, “Jack, I wonder if I could interview you?”
Jack pretended to look surprised. “Me? Why would you want to interview me?” Lucky turned away. She didn’t want Rowena to see her grinning.
“I’d like to write a piece—kinda human interest about how you found the body.”
“Rowena, how can you ask that? It isn’t something I can talk about. Besides, Nate’s warned me not to speak about anything I saw there.”
“What?” Rowena’s voice went a few decibels higher.
“Just what I said. I was warned not to talk about anything,” he replied innocently.
Lucky poured an iced coffee for Guy and leaned closer. “Don’t feel too bad, Guy,” she said. What she wanted to say and didn’t was that Rowena was a self-absorbed twit and he wasn’t missing a thing.
“I’ve been trying to work up my nerve for a long time, hoping she’d give me the time of day, but I guess I don’t stand a chance.”
“When the right person comes along, she’ll really appreciate you.”
“Maybe,” Guy said uncertainly. “Listen, Lucky, can I talk to you about something?”
“Sure.” Lucky laid a stack of place mats on the counter and moved closer.
“The night Harry died . . .” Guy took a deep breath. “Norman Rank had called and said he was gonna pick up his car later that evening. Harry said he’d wait there for Norman. So Norman had to have been the last person who saw Harry alive.”
“I do remember seeing two cars in the shop when I was there, right after Jack. One car I know was Jack’s. You say the other was Norman’s? Maybe Norman didn’t stop by that night after all. You told this to Nate, didn’t you?”
“I did. But all the same. I don’t want Nate to think that Norman might have hurt Harry? I don’t want Norman to be mad at me about telling Nate.”
“Don’t worry about all that. Nate would have figured out pretty quick that it was Norman’s car. And I’m sure Nate’s already talked to him by now.”
“There’s something else.” Guy leaned closer and whispered, “I got a call this morning from a lawyer over in Lincoln Falls. He
told me . . .” Guy struggled to find the words. “He told me Harry made a will.” Guy paused and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one could overhear their conversation. He turned back to Lucky and whispered, “Harry left everything to me.” Guy looked more frightened than excited about his news.
“Really! Why, Guy, that’s wonderful. He must have thought the world of you to do that.”
“I just can’t believe it. I can’t get my head around it. Why would he do that? Make a will, I mean? He wasn’t that old. He left me his house, the business, some money too . . .” Guy shook his head in disbelief. “But I’m really worried.”
“Worried? Why?”
“What if people think I had something to do with Harry’s murder? I’m really scared about that.”
Lucky heaved a sigh. “Guy, please don’t worry. Anybody that knows you knows how hard you worked for Harry, how much he liked you. Besides, who was Harry going to leave anything to anyway? He had no relatives and no children and who else could run that business besides you?”
“Lucky, you’re the only person I’ve told. I just don’t know who I can talk to.”
Lucky was taken aback. Guy was so terribly shy and quiet. It surprised her that he valued her opinion and that he had no one else to talk to. She leaned closer to him. “Listen to me—if you want my advice, keep this under your hat for now. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve told me. Other than Nate. You can tell Nate. Eventually, the lawyer will sort things out and it will be public knowledge, but I’m sure by that time, Nate will know who was responsible for what happened to Harry. Just keep quiet about all this for now and don’t let your business become part of the rumor mill around town. You deserve this and obviously Harry wanted you to have it.”
Guy nodded shakily. “You think?”
“Yes, I do. The smartest thing for you to do is keep quiet until the dust settles. After that, it doesn’t matter what envious people might say.”
“Okay. Okay.” Guy swallowed nervously. “Thanks, Lucky. I feel better already. It’s good advice.”
A Broth of Betrayal Page 13
