A Broth of Betrayal

by Connie Archer

  Elizabeth chuckled. “You mean he’s attached to you because you fed him.”

  “That about sums it up,” Lucky agreed.

  Jack and Nate sat together at the picnic table with beers in their hands, while Sage grilled steaks and hamburgers on Elizabeth’s backyard barbeque. Corn on the cob lay on the rack, cooked and charred. Sophie was next to Sage at a utility table slicing vegetables and brushing them with olive oil.

  “That smells so good. I’m starving,” Susanna called out.

  “Be ready in just a minute.” Sage brushed the steaks with a ladle of marinade and let them sizzle a few more seconds. Sophie scooped the vegetables into a large platter with the corn and delivered it to the table. No one needed an invitation. They all headed to the picnic table immediately and grabbed seats. Lucky rose from her chair and Charlie leaped off her lap, protesting. Sage moved around the table, depositing a steak on every plate. He returned to the grill and brought a platter of burgers to the table. When everyone was settled, Elizabeth raised her wineglass.

  “To good friends. Without all of you . . .” Her eyes filled with tears. “Well, I don’t know where I’d be.”

  Candles flickered around the picnic table, lighting the faces of Elizabeth’s friends and loved ones. Lucky spoke first. “To Elizabeth.” She raised her glass and everyone followed suit.

  “To Elizabeth,” echoed in the night.

  Later, as the evening became cooler, and the cleanup was finished, the guests moved into the living room for more drinks and dessert. Lucky had carried the lighted candles into the house, placing them on the coffee table and around the room. Charlie had now taken his rightful place on Elizabeth’s lap.

  “You see, Edward and I, years ago, maybe twenty-five years ago now, I guess, we became close. It might have become . . . an important relationship. I don’t know for certain, but at the time, I felt it could have. Edward had been truly devastated and grief stricken years before. To lose his son like that and then his wife. If she had been stronger, better able to cope with the loss of Johnny, then perhaps they could have had another child. Things might have turned out very differently.”

  “You never said how she died,” Sophie said.

  Elizabeth glanced at Nate. He met her gaze as though encouraging her to tell the story. “She hanged herself. She committed suicide after . . . after Johnny’s death. We all did our best to support Edward through several difficult years. That’s when he and I started seeing each other. He seemed to be doing well, but then, in an unguarded moment, I saw what was still inside him. Understandable, surely, but I knew then he might never move on. His need to take revenge consumed him. He could not forgive what had been done to his family.”

  She looked around the room at the faces of her guests. “I cannot judge him, in spite of what he did—not just to Danny Harkins and Rowland. And to me and Maggie. I cannot even begin to conceive of the crushing weight of his life. I only wish . . . he could have found a way to forgive and recover.”

  “None of us saw it,” Nate spoke. “He was quiet and kept to himself. Perhaps if Richard Rowland had never returned, he wouldn’t have acted on those impulses.”

  “Rowland’s return was a catalyst,” Elizabeth said. “But don’t forget what he did to Danny Harkins years before when he had the chance. That day in the woods when he held a gun pointed at me and Lucky, he didn’t appear to have any remorse. He had given up the struggle, I think. When Rowland—that slick, amoral man—returned, it overwhelmed him.”

  “I had heard of the old history, but I never put it together,” Nate said. “Rowland had an alibi for the night Harry was killed. He claimed to be in Lincoln Falls at a business meeting. But it was shaky at best. He could have come back to town at any time and knocked on Harry’s door. And if I were just looking for a motive, I’d have to have a good look at Guy Bessette.”

  “Guy?” Sage furrowed his brow. “Why Guy?”

  “Oh.” Nate cleared his throat. “I guess everyone will know soon enough. Harry knew he was dying. He drew up a will with a lawyer in Lincoln Falls and left everything he had to Guy Bessette, including the business.”

  “Why that’s wonderful!” Sophie exclaimed. “Not to mention that we’ll still have an auto shop in town.” Lucky didn’t tell them that Guy had already confided in her. She was glad she had given Guy the advice she had that day at the Spoonful—to keep his mouth shut until Harry’s murder was cleared up.

  “Now we just have to keep Rowena away from him,” Sophie said.

  Jack laughed. “Maybe I’ll have a word with Guy next time I see him—man-to-man.”

  Elizabeth stroked Charlie’s fur, lost in thought. “I do think if Maggie hadn’t been so terrorized, she would have let me go. I never felt she intended to harm me. At least I couldn’t think of any earthly reason why she would. Edward must have played on her fear and her guilt. She must have felt like a social pariah. The loneliness and isolation . . .” Elizabeth shook her head. “All those emotions must have festered inside her for years. She wanted to believe that Edward wouldn’t kill her. And she must have believed there was no one who would come to her aid.”

  “Perhaps Edward would have killed her sooner, but you turned up,” Lucky said. “He needed her alive to hold you hostage.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I’d like to think he didn’t intend for me to die in that fire, but in his mind, he must have seen no other alternative.”

  “Are we sure it was Rowland who killed Harry?” Susanna asked, looking around the room at their faces.

  Nate cleared his throat. “We can’t be absolutely sure. There’s no hard proof that we could go into court with—that is, if the man were still alive—but I’d bet my last dollar on it.”

  “I think Nate’s right,” Lucky said. “After overhearing that conversation outside Pastor Wilson’s office, I did feel Harry had held a terrible secret for a long time. I’m convinced it was Rowland he needed to give fair warning to. Rowland must have panicked. If he were charged with . . . what would it be? Manslaughter? Second-degree murder? He saw his reputation and his life going down the tubes. He struck out at Harry before Harry could talk about what happened when they were young boys. He wasn’t going to let that happen. Not after all this time.”

  “That makes sense,” Nate volunteered. “A couple of people saw Harry talking to Rowland on the Green the day before Harry was murdered. They noticed it because they thought Harry might be in cahoots with Rowland about the car wash.”

  Sophie spoke up. “We kept trying to imagine what Harry Hodges and Richard Rowland could have had in common. You couldn’t find such different men, and yet their murders, coming so close together, just couldn’t be a coincidence.” Sophie looked across the room. “Elizabeth, what do you think? Do you think they deliberately locked Embry’s son in that house? Did they mean to kill him?”

  “Maybe it was just a prank that got out of hand,” Sage said. “Maybe they were just trying to scare Johnny for following them around.”

  “I remember them so well,” Elizabeth said. “As if it were yesterday. Teachers and parents aren’t supposed to have favorites, but there are just some kids you like and some you don’t, as if you can see the kind of person they’ll grow into. Richard Rowland was like that. I never could take to that boy. You could tell he had a mean streak a mile wide. And for whatever reason, he was able to compel other kids to follow in his wake. He was a nasty little boy, and definitely the ringleader of their small group. Harry and Danny were his followers. They’d do whatever Rowland told them to do. I do not believe that Harry Hodges or Danny Harkins could have deliberately hurt anyone else, especially a younger boy, without Richard Rowland egging them on. But I also don’t think any of them were innocent, even though they claimed to be nowhere near that house that day. It’s possible it was a game that got out of hand. And maybe they tried to put out the fire, but couldn’t. It was too late. Too late to save Johnny Embry.”

  Elizabeth was quiet for a moment, her eyes taking on a far-off
look. “Whatever really happened, all their lives were irrevocably damaged. Harry was a lonely man who never got close to anyone. Even if Danny had lived longer, he might have drunk himself to death. And Richard Rowland—what a hardened, unhappy man he turned out to be. Or perhaps he was simply born that way. I can’t even begin to comprehend the emotions that ate at Edward all these years, losing his son and then his wife. All those lives ruined by one reckless event—if recklessness it was, and not premeditation. Did they lock Johnny in that house and play at setting it on fire? Or did Johnny just become trapped and they were unable to do anything about it and, terrified, decided to live a lie for the rest of their lives?”

  The candles sputtered as everyone fell silent. The night had grown cool, but inside Elizabeth’s home, it was warm and comforting, a universe away from the horror they contemplated. Lucky leaned against Elias’s shoulder. Life could be snuffed out at any moment, any age, she thought. It was a shame to waste time in fear. What difference did it make if their relationship caused gossip? What was important was that she and Elias move forward with their lives, that every day be lived to the fullest.

  Jack broke the silence. “Guess we’ll never know for sure what happened that day in the woods. And maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Amen,” Elizabeth said. “There’s no one who cares anymore except the people in this room.” Charlie purred contentedly as Elizabeth stroked his fur.

  Recipes

  SAGE’S PEANUT BUTTER SOUP

  (Serves 4)

  1 small onion, finely chopped

  2 tablespoons butter or margarine

  3 cups chicken broth

  1 cup cubed chicken (cooked or uncooked)

  ¼ teaspoon red pepper

  ½ cup chopped celery

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  ½ cup peanut butter

  Melt butter or margarine in soup pot, add chopped onion and sauté on low heat for two minutes, until onion is softened, but not browned.

  Add chicken stock, chicken pieces, celery, salt, red pepper and peanut butter.

  Cover and cook on medium heat for 15 minutes until celery is softened and chicken pieces are completely cooked.

  In a separate small pan, on low heat, whisk the flour and water together until the flour is dissolved, adding milk to the mixture.

  Add the flour, water and milk mixture to the soup pot, and cook on high for 10 minutes until the broth has slightly thickened.

  Sprinkle chopped peanuts over each serving.

  CHERRY SOUP (CHILLED)

  (Serves 6)

  2 lbs. fresh, frozen or canned sour cherries (pitted)

  1 cup water

  1 cup sugar

  1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

  ¼ teaspoon nutmeg

  3 cups dry red wine

  1 teaspoon almond extract

  1 cup light cream

  1 cup sour cream or crème fraiche

  Add cherries, water, sugar, cinnamon and red wine to pot. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 20-30 minutes until cherries are tender. Remove from heat and stir in almond extract.

  In a mixing bowl, slowly stir light cream into the sour cream or crème fraiche until the mixture is smooth. Add the cream mixture to the pot. Stir gently until evenly mixed. Chill until ready to serve.

  CUCUMBER YOGURT AND WALNUT SOUP (CHILLED)

  (Serves 4)

  1 cucumber

  ½ garlic clove

  ½ teaspoon salt

  1 ½ cups coarsely chopped walnuts

  1 cup cooked white rice

  1 teaspoon walnut or sunflower oil

  2 cups plain yogurt

  1 cup cold water

  2 teaspoons lemon juice

  Fresh dill sprigs

  Cut cucumber in half lengthwise, and remove peel from one half.

  Dice both the peeled cucumber flesh and the unpeeled cucumber and set aside.

  Blend garlic and salt together in a food processor.

  Add cooked rice, peeled diced cucumber and 1 cup of chopped walnuts to food processor and blend again.

  Transfer the mixture to a large bowl. Slowly add the walnut or sunflower oil, stir, then mix in yogurt and diced (unpeeled) one-half of cucumber. Add cold water and lemon juice to the mixture.

  Pour the soup into chilled soup bowls to serve.

  Garnish with remainder of chopped walnuts and sprigs of dill. Serve immediately.

  CHICKEN APRICOT ALMOND SALAD

  (Serves 2)

  1 ½ cups cooked, chopped, skinless chicken breast

  ½ cup chopped dried apricots

  2 stalks of celery, chopped

  3 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro

  1 cup plain yogurt

  2 tablespoons spicy mustard

  2 teaspoons honey

  2 teaspoons orange zest

  10 large leaves romaine lettuce (washed and chopped)

  ½ cup sliced almonds

  In a large bowl, mix chicken pieces, dried apricots, celery and cilantro together.

  In a separate small bowl, mix yogurt, mustard, honey and orange zest, adding it to the chicken mixture. Then add chopped romaine leaves. Mix all ingredients thoroughly and garnish with sliced almonds.

  WATERMELON BASIL FETA SALAD

  (Serves 2)

  2 cups chopped watermelon cubes

  ½ cup chopped red onions

  ½ cup crumbled feta cheese

  ½ cup chopped fresh basil leaves

  8 leaves romaine lettuce (washed and chopped)

  Mix all ingredients in a large bowl.

  Serve with a sprinkle of balsamic vinegar.

  Turn the page for a preview of Connie Archer's next Soup Lover's Mystery . . .

  A Roux of Revenge

  Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime!

  Chapter 1

  NATE EDGERTON, SNOWFLAKE’S Chief of Police, reached over and flipped off the siren and flashing light. He pulled his cruiser to the side of the road, slowing and coming to a stop behind a bright blue sports car. Two people, a young couple, sat on the rear bumper of the car. Nate could tell from their expressions there was no need to hurry.

  He turned to his deputy. “Cancel the ambulance.”

  Nate heaved a sigh and climbed out. He already knew what he’d find in the ditch—a mangled body or bodies trapped in an equally crushed vehicle. Not how he wanted his day to go. His spirits had been high when he left home this morning. He had impulsively hugged his wife and kissed her quickly on the cheek. It was a golden October day. Summer had lingered over the countryside and a brilliant glow of crimson and orange covered the trees, leaves unwilling to submit to the coming winter.

  He turned back to the cruiser and leaned into the driver’s window. “And get ahold of somebody in Lincoln Falls for a coroner’s van.”

  Bradley nodded, and following Nate’s orders, began to make the calls. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to see any blood today.

  “And after you’ve done that, talk to those two.” Nate indicated the young couple by the sports car. “Get their information and don’t let ’em leave just yet.” Nate straightened up slowly, holding a hand against his stiff back and approached the pair. “You the folks who called this in?”

  The man nodded. His arm hung around the shoulder of the woman who sat next to him. Her face was pale and pinched.

  “My deputy will get your information and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  On the off chance the couple was mistaken and the victim still alive, Nate walked to the edge of the road. He gauged the distance to a white van that was tilted forward into the soft earth at a twenty-five degree angle. He grasped onto a sapling that clung to the side of the ditch, and doing his best not to slip or tumble, stepped sideways down the slope. As careful as he was, he barely stopped himself from sliding the rest of the way down into the gully.

  The windshield of the van had shattered from the impact. Probably from the driver’s head, he guessed. Nate peered through the open window. The body of a ma
n dressed in casual work clothes was splayed over the steering wheel. His face, pressed into the shattered windshield, was striped with rivulets of blood. Sightless eyes were open, fixed at a place well beyond the ditch in which he lay.

  Nate sighed and shook his head. Why won’t they ever wear their seat belts?

  He wrenched the door open and stood back to let gravity do the hard work. The man’s sleeve and shirtfront were soaked in blood. Nate scanned the interior of the van searching for broken glass or a sharp object to explain the blood loss on the man’s body but found nothing. He pulled a pen from his pocket and very carefully lifted the sleeve of the man’s shirt. Humming tunelessly to himself, he replaced his pen and climbed around the van, carefully checking all sides. Then he returned to the back of the vehicle and leaned closer to the bumper for a better look.

  “Bradley,” he bellowed.

  Nate looked to the top of the rise. Bradley’s face peeked over the edge.

  “Bring the camera down here.” Nate knew the crime scene techs would take plenty of pictures but whenever possible he preferred to document the scene himself—too easy for a key piece of evidence to disappear or be overlooked.

  Bradley appeared a few moments later, a camera bag slung over his shoulder. He slid down a lot more gracefully than the older man had done. When he reached bottom, he passed the camera to Nate, carefully keeping his gaze averted from the front seat of the van.

  “Come on over here.” Nate scrambled around to the driver’s door. “What do you see?”

  Bradley followed his boss dutifully. He looked as if he was about to retch. “A lot of blood.”

  “What else do you see?”

  “Well, he didn’t have a seat belt on. Went straight into the windshield.”

  “Anything else?”

  Bradley shrugged his shoulders. “He bled all over himself.”

  “What do you think caused all this?” Nate asked.

  Bradley, his face white, shrugged his shoulders.