A Broth of Betrayal

by Connie Archer

  Hugging the fragrant mug of coffee, she dragged her chair closer to the window. She pushed the window halfway up, pressing her knees against the windowsill. She had a clear view of the Victory Garden that abutted the fence behind her apartment building. Next door, early risers were already tending their rows of vegetables. It was Elizabeth who had been instrumental in making sure the small plots in the Garden were safeguarded and not bulldozed by a developer. Those fortunate enough to have a few rows of vegetables could keep what they grew. But if they harvested food in excess, they would deposit it in baskets by the gate at the end of each day for anyone in town who might need a few fresh vegetables. If only Elizabeth had been in a position to control Richard Rowland’s ambitions. Now that he had been murdered, she wondered what would happen to his construction project. Hopefully it would be abandoned and forgotten. At least one major problem for the town would be solved.

  The toasted bread popped up and Lucky grabbed the slice, dropping it onto a small plate. She broke off a corner of the bread and sprinkled crumbs on her windowsill. She sat back and waited, until finally the two gray doves approached. They were her favorites. She held her breath. Staying completely still, she watched them as they pecked at the crumbs. The larger dove she was sure was the male. He displayed bluish coloring on the top of his head. The other bird was female, her coloring more delicate, a soft grayish brown and tan. The male dove raised his head and scanned her sideways, his beady eye watching carefully for any threat or sign of danger. When he was sure that he and his mate were safe, he returned to his pickings. When the two birds had eaten most of the crumbs, they flew away, heading for a large maple tree on the other side of the Victory Garden. Doves mated for life, Lucky knew, as did many kinds of birds. Was that what Elias wanted? A mate for life? What did she want and why did she find the thought of a lifetime with someone frightening? Her parents had been childhood sweethearts and lived a full and happy life. Were they blessed to have died together? Never having to continue on in life without their mate? She smiled fondly, thinking of Elizabeth—Elizabeth Dove—a woman who had never married. She was sure Elizabeth must have had many opportunities throughout her life. Had she regretted turning suitors away? She’d have to ask Elizabeth about that. But first she’d have to find her.

  She mulled over Elias’s information from the night before. It made perfect sense that Harry might seek counseling or feel the need to confess a secret he had held. It seemed to fit. If he knew he was ill and close to death, did he need to confess to a sin, or perhaps just a terrible secret? She half remembered her dream of the night before. She was stumbling desperately through the woods when a flash of light hit her eyes. It was the sun glinting off a metallic object, a car bumper. Twigs struck at her face as she tried to push through the woods to reach the car. In her dream she was sure it was Elizabeth’s car. When she reached it, she knew with an overwhelming sense of dread that something terrible was inside the car. She walked step by step, frightened to look but unable to turn away. As she reached the window to peer inside, she awoke in a cold sweat, her heart pounding.

  She glanced at the clock again. She had told Jack she might be late this morning and not to worry, but still, she wanted to reach the Spoonful before the first heavy rush of customers. She slid the screen closed and left the window open for fresh air. She downed the rest of her coffee and rinsed out her cup. After her shower she dressed quickly in a summer skirt and top, brushing her long fair hair into a ponytail. She glanced in the mirror over the bureau and hesitated. She decided on a light lipstick and a touch of eye pencil to accentuate her eyes. A year ago, it wouldn’t have occurred to her to wear makeup, but now she was far more conscious of her appearance since Elias was in her life.

  As a kid, she would often come home with bruises and covered with dirt. She had far more interest in capturing spiders and eels than playing with dolls. Her parents had assumed their little girl would be feminine. She knew her mother had been terribly disappointed when she refused to wear dresses with ruffles and little socks with embroidery around the edges. She hadn’t understood but had handled it gracefully and with love. Even when she insisted on being called Lucky, her mother went along with it and only used Letitia when she was in trouble. In college, her long-suffering roommate had insisted she take an interest in fashion and makeup. She twisted Lucky’s arm until she agreed to go on shopping excursions and regaled her with pictures from fashion magazines. She felt as if she were being forced to learn a foreign language. She was still a tomboy at heart, but at least now she could dress herself better and apply makeup without looking like a circus freak.

  She grabbed her purse and keys and touched the nose of her folk art witch for good luck. Elizabeth had given her the New England kitchen witch, carved of wood with a black hat and straw dress, as a housewarming present when she moved into the apartment—in an apartment building owned by Elizabeth herself. Everything that had gone right for her had come from Elizabeth—an apartment, odds and ends of furniture, even a car. If it hadn’t been for her mother’s best friend, things would have been so much harder, if not impossible, when she had returned to Snowflake. She closed her eyes and said a prayer that Elizabeth, wherever she was, would soon be found. She didn’t know what else she could possibly do except to nag Nate, continue to search for Elizabeth’s car and take good care of Charlie.

  She rushed down the stairs and out to Maple Street, passing by the Snowflake Clinic where Elias was seeing patients this morning. She glanced through the glass door as she passed and saw Rosemary, the receptionist, at the front desk with a room full of waiting patients. She waved to Rosemary through the glass and Rosemary returned the greeting. Elias was managing to handle the patient load, but his days were difficult. He had been casting about for another doctor to join the practice and take some of the load off his shoulders, but so far, either no one wanted to practice in such a small community, or many of the applicants hadn’t been qualified. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too much longer for him to find someone. Her reasons were partly selfish. If Elias were able to free up his schedule they could definitely have more time together.

  She took the side alley to the Spoonful and entered through the back door. She dumped her purse in the office and grabbed a fresh apron from the closet. “Hi, Sage,” she called as she passed the kitchen. Sage smiled and held up a slotted spoon in response. Jack was at the cash register organizing the drawer for the day. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

  “How are you, Jack?”

  “Couldn’t be better.” He slammed the drawer shut. “Been quiet and easy so far.”

  The sun was shining through the checkered café curtains, bathing the whole room in a golden glow. Lucky loved this room with its photographs of ski slopes and local residents, its polished wide pine floors and now in the summer, hanging plants by the windows.

  “That’s good. Sorry I’m late. I just had to get a bit more sleep.”

  “I hear you. It’s taken its toll on everyone. We just all have to keep going and volunteer as much time as we can manage.”

  Something in the kitchen smelled absolutely wonderful. Janie was at the counter. Lucky joined her. “What am I smelling?”

  “Sage won’t tell me, but I think it smells like peanut butter, don’t you? He wants us to sample it later.”

  “Ah, he’s been working on that one. I’ll take over here, Janie. Can you set the tables?” Janie nodded and bustled off with a stack of woven place mats, napkins and silverware.

  Jack moved to the counter and, grumbling, held up the front page of the Snowflake Gazette. “Have you seen this?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Such nonsense. You’d think this town was on the FBI’s most wanted list. Good thing I told her I couldn’t talk to her.”

  “Rowena’s article?”

  “She should be writing soap operas if you ask me.”

  “Don’t let it upset you. She’s just doing her best to be sensational.”

  “Hmph,” Jack
responded. “Bad enough what’s happened, but advertising it like this isn’t very good for business,” he complained, returning to his stool behind the cash register.

  The bell over the door announced the arrival of three groups of customers. Lucky grabbed a tray and poured several glasses of water. Janie took the tray and quickly dispensed water and menus at each table. She passed an order slip to Lucky for drinks, and Lucky filled orders for three glasses of iced tea, four coffees and two glasses of orange juice for the new customers. Janie continued setting each table and then returned to the first table to take orders.

  Hank and Barry stepped in and waved to Jack and Lucky, nabbing their favorite corner. Lucky poured two cups of coffee, adding a small pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar to a tray that she carried to Hank and Barry.

  “Thanks, Lucky. We’ll order in a little bit. We’re gonna go out at noon with another search party.”

  “Have they found anything? Anything at all?” Lucky struggled to keep the quaver out of her voice.

  Hank shook his head. “Nothing at all. I heard you and Sophie have been searching the roads. You think you might find Elizabeth’s car?”

  “It’s a long shot but that’s what we’ve been hoping. I’d join the ground search if I had more time away from the restaurant, but at least searching for her car is something I can do that no one else seems to be doing.”

  “Manpower’s always a problem with these things, but I gotta say, everyone’s been terrific, donating their time. Not easy to do, especially with this heat.”

  Barry started to line up chess pieces on the board. “Jack’s getting pretty good at this game. Maybe I can teach him some more opening moves if he has a minute.”

  “I’ll tell him.” She returned to the counter, wiped off the tray and slipped it onto a shelf.

  The bell over the door rang again. Marjorie and Cecily bustled in. Cecily waved to her and hurried over to the counter.

  “How are you doing, dear? You don’t look like you’re sleeping at all.”

  “I am, just not very well.”

  “I understand. I went out yesterday with Nate and his deputy. And Marjorie’s going tomorrow. We can spell each other at the shop, but I know it’s hard for you with the restaurant and all.”

  “It’s unbelievable,” Marjorie said. “That someone can just disappear into thin air. This has been a terrible summer for Snowflake. First Harry, then that dreadful developer man and now worst of all—Elizabeth.”

  Lucky didn’t trust herself to speak. She quickly prepared the croissants with jam and two cups of tea for the sisters.

  Janie approached. “Lucky, have you seen my watch anywhere? I can’t find it.”

  “Haven’t. Where was the last place you remember it?”

  “The night we were at the church—at the meeting. I took if off to wash my hands, I think. At least that’s the last place I remember seeing it.”

  “Tell you what, when the lunch rush has finished, I’ll zip over there. I’ll see if I can find it.”

  “Would you?” Janie breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m lost without it.”

  “No worries. I’m sure it’s still there.” What better excuse did she need to try to talk to Pastor Wilson about Harry?

  Chapter 32

  WHEN THE LAST of their lunchtime customers had paid and gone, Lucky pulled off her apron and hung it on a hook in the kitchen. “Sage, I’m taking a break. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

  She headed up Broadway and cut across the Village Green, entering the front door of the white-steepled church. Cutting across the pews, she headed for the large meeting room and kitchen. She pushed open the swinging door and flicked on the light switch. She checked all the counters and the windowsills. She opened drawers and peeked inside. She was just about to give up the search for Janie’s watch when something on a tall shelf above the sink caught her eye. There it was. She slipped the watch into the pocket of her skirt, flicked off the light and closed the door to the kitchen. She walked back along the corridor to the main part of the church. The door to Pastor Wilson’s office was closed but she heard stirrings inside. She knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” the familiar voice called out. Lucky opened the door and stepped into a slightly messy but comfortable chamber. Bookshelves lined the walls and piles of papers were littered across the desk. She breathed deeply, soaking up the residual aroma of mothballs, a comforting, homey smell, even if only for her.

  Pastor Wilson looked up. “Hello, Lucky. Good to see you. What can I do for you?”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Not at all, just struggling with next Sunday’s sermon. I thought something along the lines of guilt and the wages of sin might be appropriate, given all that’s been going on in town.”

  “I hope the right person hears it.”

  “Please, sit down.” He waved a hand in the direction of one of the high-backed leather wing chairs.

  Lucky looked down. An unstable stack of books and folders was piled on the seat.

  “Oh, so sorry, let me give you a hand.” Pastor Wilson rose from his chair and moved around the side of his desk. “Sorry. I haven’t had a chance to straighten up for a while.” He picked up the stack of files and books and turned in a circle, hunting for a place to deposit them. He finally dropped them on the floor behind his chair. “Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Harry Hodges.” Lucky knew she had never known Harry very well. Now, given all that she had heard, she wondered if anyone in town did. In the years she had lived with her parents, she had met Harry a few times. Each time she had been with her father when he needed to discuss a car repair. It seemed that no matter how many years went by, Harry never aged. He always appeared the same grumpy, grizzled man she remembered when she was younger. What was strange about overhearing his conversation with Pastor Wilson at the church was that Harry had never struck her as someone who doubted his place in the world or someone tortured by uncertainty.

  “Oh.” Pastor Wilson pushed his glasses up on his head. “Poor Harry. Yes. What about him?”

  “The day before the demonstration, you remember, Sophie and I were here unloading drinks. I came down the hall to see you, just as Harry Hodges was leaving your office.”

  “That’s right. Yes,” he replied slowly.

  “I didn’t mean to, but as Harry was leaving . . . And I’m very sorry, I didn’t intend to eavesdrop but I couldn’t help but hear you talking and it sounded as if Harry was discussing something very serious.”

  Pastor Wilson took off his glasses and polished them carefully before putting them back on. “Well, I don’t know if it would be quite proper for me to talk about that. It’s not as though we have confession in our religious practice, but all the same, it would still be private.”

  “Pastor.” Lucky leaned toward the desk. “Two people have been murdered. Elizabeth Dove is missing.”

  The Pastor cleared his throat. “Yes. Of course. My word. What’s happening here? This is all too much.” Pastor Wilson heaved a deep sigh.

  “That’s what I’d like to know. I’m asking you about this because Elizabeth disappeared right around the same time Harry was murdered. I am frantic with worry. Something has happened to her, and I’m terrified it might be connected with these two murders.”

  Pastor Wilson scratched his head, disturbing the few sandy hairs he had combed over his almost bald pate. “You really should talk to the police—to Nate Edgerton.”

  “I talk to Nate almost every day. I’ve told him about the conversation I overheard between you and Harry, and I’m sure he’s spoken to you about that by now. There’s nothing anyone can do for Harry, or for Richard Rowland, but we have to do everything possible to find Elizabeth.”

  “I agree and I appreciate how you feel, but to be honest, Harry really didn’t say very much.” He stared at the papers on his desk for a moment and finally heaved a sigh. “I guess nothing I say can hurt Harry any longer.” Pastor Wilson leaned
his elbows on his desk and wove his fingers together, his index fingers pointing heavenward. It reminded Lucky of the game children played with their hands. Here’s the church and here’s the steeple—then, opening their hands with fingers still entwined—Open the doors and see all the people.

  “Harry came to me because he had made a decision. He told me he had kept a secret and that secret had burdened him his entire life. But he didn’t tell me what it was. He was simply asking my advice in a very general way. But . . . he said there was something he needed to do first, someone who would be affected. Someone he needed to talk to.” Pastor Wilson pulled his eyeglasses off his forehead and wiped them carefully once more. “I’m sorry, Lucky. That’s all I know. I have spoken to Nate about this. He had no idea what Harry could have been talking about, nor do I. I know it’s not very enlightening, but that’s all I know.”

  Lucky leaned back in the large armchair, listening closely. Nothing in Pastor Wilson’s response indicated he had any knowledge of Harry’s failing health. He was either a very good liar, which she doubted, or he really had no idea Harry was terminally ill. “I’m grasping at straws, I guess. I just don’t know what else to do. Tell me, did you feel it was something Harry had done or something he knew?”

  “That’s a good question, but I couldn’t say.” Pastor Wilson shook his head. “I have been praying for Elizabeth Dove’s safe return and I sincerely hope it has nothing to do with this terrible business.”

  “Thanks for your time.”

  “Not at all.” Pastor Wilson rose from his chair and walked to the door of his office with her. “I’m here anytime you’d like to come by.”

  “Thank you.” Dejected, Lucky left the church and walked back across the Village Green. The sun had disappeared behind murky cloud cover, the air heavy and stifling. She mentally reviewed what she was certain of. Harry was dying. He had made a will leaving everything to Guy Bessette. Pastor Wilson more than likely knew nothing of Harry’s illness, but he did confirm that Harry had been burdened by a secret of some sort. He had come to a decision, but that decision affected someone else. Who was that someone else? And had that someone murdered Harry to prevent him from talking? Was Rowland the person he needed to speak to? Or had he confided in Rowland? And now Rowland was dead.