A Broth of Betrayal

by Connie Archer

  Lucky smiled. “I think you look quite dashing.”

  Horace did his best to smile. “I was so looking forward to taking part in the Battle until . . .” he trailed off.

  “Until last night,” Lucky stated.

  “Yes. I just don’t know what I’m going to do or how I’ll break this loss to the people at the University. They trusted me and I let them down.”

  “Horace, you didn’t let anybody down. You were robbed.”

  Elias watched the exchange quietly, but Lucky could tell he was paying particular attention. “What happened last night?”

  “Oh, sorry, Elias. I haven’t had a chance to tell you.” Lucky gave him a summation of the events of the previous evening.

  Elias shook his head. “There’s only one person I can think of who had an interest in that piece of lead, and she’s sitting right up there.” Elias nodded in the direction of the roped-off special section where Cordelia Rank sat.

  “I follow your logic,” Horace replied, “but somehow I can’t imagine Mrs. Rank hiding in the woods in the middle of the night. I’d be more inclined to suspect a summer visitor who collects Revolutionary weapons and artifacts.” Horace turned to Lucky, a concerned look on his face. “You look rather worn-out. It’s all my fault, embroiling you in my little drama last night.”

  “It’s certainly not your fault, Horace, and it was no little drama. I’m just glad I was there. If I look tired it’s just that Sophie and I were out early this morning to search the roads for Elizabeth’s car.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Horace responded. “What happened to me pales in comparison to recent events.”

  A bugle blew on the other side of the Green. “Oh, my cue! I must get back in place or I’ll be fighting on the wrong side.” He wiped his dripping brow with a handkerchief. “Wish me luck.”

  “Break a leg, Horace, as they say in the theatre,” Elias called after him. Horace hurried off and Lucky saw several other men scurrying away from family and friends to be in place for the commencement of the Battle.

  A festive feeling was in the air. The temperature was soaring and the Village Green was awash in color—banners, balloons and masses of yellow and gold marigolds swarming with bees were everywhere, in flower beds and planters and around the perimeter of the Green. Other vendors had set up barbeque grills at the corner of Broadway and Spruce, blocked off for the event. They were roasting beef, chicken, hot dogs and hamburgers for a crowd that would be very hungry soon. The sizzling aroma wafted their way on the breeze. Lucky took a deep breath to savor the smells of grilled food and freshly cut grass—the smells of summer.

  Elias shook his head. “I can’t think of anyone who’d wish Harry or Horace or Elizabeth any harm. They’re the last people in the world you’d figure had any enemies. Hey, before all the commotion starts, and before I forget, are you free for dinner tonight?”

  Lucky nodded affirmatively and graced him with a huge smile. “I’d love that, but I warn you, I may fall asleep over my dinner plate.”

  “I’ll forgive you.” He squeezed her shoulder tighter. “See you at eight?”

  Lucky nodded. “Anything I can bring?”

  “Nope, just yourself.” He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  A bugle blew again. The British—that is, townsmen playing British soldiers in the Reenactment—were waiting up the hill on the other side of the Green for their cue to begin their march on Snowflake. With them were a large group of actors dressed as loyalist colonials, Canadians, Hessians and Native Americans. A muted and steady drumbeat caused the onlookers to become still as the “militiamen” in small groups converged on the Green from all directions. They carried their weapons, most of which were made of wood. A few men, collectors of artifacts, carried the genuine article—unloaded per the town rules. A sound system nearby had been set up to mimic gunfire at the time of the attack. Its operator waited patiently for his cue. The militiamen carried thick branches and crouched on the Green, holding their foliage in front of them to represent the forest that would conceal them from the approaching British troops.

  Lucky was very familiar with the details of the Battle thanks to a former teacher who was a history buff. The actual battle, she knew, took place not in Vermont, but in New York State approximately ten miles northwest of Bennington. British General John Burgoyne had ordered a detachment of troops consisting of Hessians, French, Loyalists, Canadians and Native Americans under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Friedrich Baum, a Hessian, to move south, ahead of Burgoyne’s main army. Burgoyne was in desperate need of food for his army, and Baum was ordered to take what was needed from the colonists. Baum’s ultimate mission was to reach the supply depot at Bennington and confiscate the guns and ammunition the colonists had managed to accumulate. Burgoyne held a very low opinion of the colonial militia, and since the stores at Bennington were guarded by a small contingent, he was sure Baum would be successful in his mission.

  Vermont’s Council of Safety, well aware of Baum’s approach, sent to New Hampshire for aid. The local rebels were joined by General John Stark, commanding fifteen hundred militiamen. It was Stark who made the decision to attack Baum’s troops before they could reach Bennington. When the attack began on the afternoon of August 16, 1777, Baum’s less disciplined allies fled, abandoning him. The Hessians fought bravely but were outnumbered. Baum was mortally wounded and soon his troops surrendered. As the battle finished, and the militia celebrated, Lieutenant Colonel Heinrich von Breymann, another Hessian, arrived with a second unit of Burgoyne’s army. The battle began again. The militiamen were exhausted from their earlier struggle and might have been vanquished if it were not for Seth Warner and his Green Mountain Boys, who arrived in the nick of time and joined the fighting. The scales were tipped once again in the colonists’ favor.

  The decision to intercept and attack Baum’s raiding party was a brilliant maneuver. Not only did Burgoyne lose almost a thousand men, he was abandoned by the Indian tribes who had previously supported him. The colonists’ victory helped to galvanize support for the independence movement. Denied his needed supplies and food, Burgoyne surrendered in New York a mere two months later, on October 17, 1777.

  The British contingent began a ragged march down the hill and onto the Green. The drumbeat continued, louder now and more insistent. When the British line was completely in view, the drumbeats became more rapid. The militiamen shouted, dropping their branches, and began to fire. The Hessians and loyalists struggled to load their muskets and fire back. Many of the British troops fell “dead” on the Green. Over the soundtrack of muskets and rifles, the militiamen shouted war cries and attacked the enemy from all sides while the Hessians regrouped and moved to another corner of the Green, hunkering down in a defensive position. The crowd began to cheer and clap in unison with the rhythm of the drums.

  Next, the militiamen fired upon the Hessians in their leafy redoubt, and slowly, one by one, they fell and died. The effect was nearly deafening—the loud cracks of the gunshots, the wailing cries of the wounded and the battle cries of the colonists, sensing victory. An enormous roar erupted from the crowd. One young boy beat out a victory rhythm on his drum. The soundtrack began to fade as the cheering subsided and was replaced by another young boy playing a victory march on his flute. The battle had been won.

  As the drumming ceased and the flutist finished his tune, a scream sliced through the air. Not the scream or war cry of an actor, but a chilling blade of sound that cut through the hot summer atmosphere. It came from the construction site beyond the Village Green.

  Lucky had been aware of the heavy odor of smoke but assumed it came from the outdoor grills at the edge of the Green. She realized with a shock it was the smell of real smoke and fire. A hush ran through the crowd. People stood and looked around, not sure from which direction the cry had come. Slowly everyone realized that something terrible was happening. More shouts came from the construction site and several men ran across the road.


  Elias squeezed her hand. “Something’s wrong. I’m going over there.” He took off running and Lucky followed him. When they reached the chain-link fence, flames were licking the sides of the construction trailer. Nate and two other men rushed to the trailer door where a metal bar had been jammed through the handle. Edward Embry was on the site as well. He had located a fire extinguisher and aimed it at the door handle while another man attempted to break a window in the trailer with a heavy wrench.

  Lucky spotted Jack standing next to Nate. Jack tried to grasp the end of the bar lodged in the trailer door but quickly pulled his hand away. Nate pulled him back and slipped off his jacket.. Wrapping it around his hand, he was able to dislodge the metal piece that was keeping the door secured. Another man had broken through the glass of the high window, but as soon as he did, flames shot out and the man jumped back. Nate yanked open the door of the trailer and, spraying the contents of a fire extinguisher in front of him, attempted to enter the trailer. He was driven back by the heat and flames. Two of the construction workers carried a heavy hose and another brought a larger extinguisher to the blaze. Working furiously, they finally managed to control the inferno. Elias had rushed through the break in the chain-link fence and, following Nate, entered the trailer. They retreated immediately and Lucky saw Nate shaking his head. They were too late to save Richard Rowland.

  Chapter 27

  LUCKY, JACK AND Elias sat quietly at a table by the window. The Spoonful was closed and all but one of the lamps had been turned off. Elias had spent the day arranging for the transport of Rowland’s body to the morgue in Lincoln Falls and was forced to juggle several appointments at the Clinic. He smiled apologetically when he arrived at the Spoonful, but Lucky assured him it wasn’t too late to eat. Their dinner date would not happen tonight. She prepared a sandwich for Elias and two bowls of soup, one for herself and one for Jack.

  Jack muttered to himself as he struggled to use a spoon with his left hand.

  Elias looked at Jack. “I hope that’s not too painful.”

  “Nah, I’ll live. Just awkward. Thanks for fixing me up though.”

  Lucky shook a napkin out on her lap. “I hope this is enough. Sage has gone home and we just finished putting everything away.”

  “It’s great and thank you. I didn’t have a chance to eat at all today. Never expected to be sending anyone else to the morgue.”

  “I doubt anyone in town woulda had much sympathy for Rowland, but doing that to him . . .” Jack shook his head. “Just damn gruesome. Burning to death like that—with the whole town right there.”

  “I’m sure he was gone before we got the door open—smoke inhalation, which in a way is a blessing. It would be very doubtful he would have pulled through anyway.”

  Lucky shivered. “Let’s not talk about that anymore. I’m losing my appetite.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I apologize.”

  “Hard to push it out of your mind though. Whatever happened to Harry was bad enough. He was one of us. But this . . .” Jack trailed off.

  “Nate’s sure it was premeditated. An accelerant was used. Everyone disliked Rowland and his car wash, but to kill him like that?” Elias shook his head.

  Lucky took a sip of her soup. “I do know Norman Rank threatened him at the town meeting. And Edward Embry had a nasty exchange with him at the construction site too, but maybe that was because Embry was the one person on the town council to buck him. It’s strange that two men have been killed within days of each other, but I can’t imagine what the connection between them could be, or if there even is one. The only link I can think of was the dispute over the car wash. And now, with Horace being robbed and Elizabeth missing . . . are all these events related in some way? I’ve had Elizabeth on my mind so much, I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”

  “Still no word from Nate?” Jack asked.

  Lucky pushed her bowl away. The thought of Elizabeth still missing had killed her appetite. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I wasted a lot of time this morning talking to Rod Thibeault.”

  “Where did you see Rod?” Elias asked.

  “I found a dirt track into the woods about three miles out of town. I pulled in. I could tell a truck had driven through recently, so I followed the tracks.”

  Jack’s face darkened. “You be careful. I don’t like that one bit. You’re a slip of a thing and you’re out there all alone. You don’t know what you could run into.”

  “Jack, believe me, I thought of that. If it hadn’t been Rod, I don’t think I would have approached. He was coming out of a cabin with a large bundle.”

  “Whose cabin?”

  “His, apparently—or his Dad’s. He says they use it to go fishing. When I saw it was Rod, I walked down to the cabin. We had a bit of a . . . misunderstanding.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Elias asked.

  “He was dumping a huge bundle in the back of his truck. I made him pull off the tarp. I had this awful thought . . .”

  “That he was dumping a body?” Jack’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I didn’t really think so, but I had to confront him. I didn’t want him to drive off with that thought in my mind, especially after . . .”

  “After what?” Elias stopped with his fork in midair.

  “I picked up some mail at Elizabeth’s house yesterday. There was a letter from the State Bar addressed to Elizabeth. I saw what might have been a case number—or maybe a bar number. I don’t know what it was, but it was some kind of code typed in the corner, and the first six letters of Rod’s name—THIBEA. So I opened it. The police had told us to let them know if we found anything suspicious or different or out of place. I shouldn’t have opened Elizabeth’s mail, but curiosity got the better of me.”

  “Elizabeth wouldn’t mind. Not under the circumstances,” Elias remarked.

  “Turns out Rod has to go before a disciplinary board and Elizabeth has been called as a witness.”

  Jack whistled in response. “That’s not sounding good.”

  “I think Rod realized that I might have found out about it, so he insisted on telling me his side of the story. He said he got into an argument with a witness he thought had lied on the stand. It got out of control and turned into a shoving match. Rod claims he lost his temper because he knew the witness was lying.”

  “Can’t say I blame him.” Jack was listening closely.

  “Well, he certainly wouldn’t be allowed to talk to someone else’s witness, much less accuse him of anything. He claims it just got out of control—at least that’s Rod’s side of the story. He said Elizabeth just happened to be there at the time. She saw the whole thing and that’s why she’s been called in as a witness.”

  “Before the State Bar?” Elias asked. “That sounds serious. I wonder if that would be enough of a motive for him to want Elizabeth out of the way.”

  “He claims Elizabeth had offered to be a character witness for him and he wants Elizabeth found as much as we do.”

  “I’m sure she wasn’t the only witness. There could have been a lot of people milling about who saw the argument or fight or whatever it was,” Elias said.

  “Yes, but Elizabeth, as Mayor, would be an extremely credible witness.”

  “What was in the back of his truck?” Jack asked.

  “Camping gear. Just a huge bundle of camping gear.”

  “Funny day for him to be out fishing, don’t ya think?”

  “I thought so too. He said he just likes to get away sometimes. I asked him about the court hearing that he claimed to have. He said the hearing was in the afternoon and he had the morning off.”

  “Well, if he likes Elizabeth so much, he shoulda been volunteering with the police, not thinking about fishing!” Jack declared angrily. “But you two—you and Sophie—oughta stick together, not go traipsing all over hell on your own. There’s safety in numbers. Today you ran into Rod, but who knows what’s out there. I don’t want you to go missing too. It’s no time to be foolish—no
t now.”

  Lucky shivered. “You have a point, Jack. Maybe we should do this together. I tried to call Sophie when I spotted that truck through the trees, but I couldn’t get a signal.”

  “Jack’s right,” Elias said. “Don’t go out searching on your own. That’s exactly why the police organize these things in groups—groups that stick together, I might add.”

  “I’ve been browsing the websites that Sophie listed on the flyers.” Lucky sighed. “It’s so frightening. Do you have any idea how many people go missing in this country?”

  “It’s not something I’ve ever given much thought to.” Elias reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “But I’m sure quite a lot of people are found, and maybe many go missing voluntarily.”

  “Why would someone do that?” Lucky asked.

  “Who knows? Pressures they can’t handle. Desire to change their lives, but they don’t know how. Temporary insanity.” Elias shrugged his shoulders. “But that doesn’t minimize one bit the people who are kidnapped or harmed or worse.”

  “Something awful’s happened, I can feel it.” Lucky bit her lip to hold back the tears, frightened that one more connection would be taken from her, terrified that Elizabeth could be lying in a ditch needing help or, worse yet, dead, like her parents, and there was no one there who could help her. Jack quietly passed her a paper napkin. She sniffed back the tears and angrily swiped her nose.

  “We need to stay calm, my girl. Something has happened but we don’t know what. The smoking lamp is out for now but we’ll know more soon.” Jack ate the last spoonful of his soup. “It’s Harry’s death that bothers me most. Rowland—I can understand somewhat—not the way he died, I don’t mean that; we were all pretty disgusted with him. We all wanted him and his project out of town. But Harry . . . who the hell would want to hurt poor Harry?” Jack shook his head.

  Lucky tucked her damp napkin into a pocket. “I overheard Barry and a couple of men making comments about Harry when he wasn’t at the demonstration—along the lines of wondering if he was really committed—and then I think somebody said they’d seen him talking to Rowland, which struck them as strange.”