Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4)

by Connie Archer

  She was definitely worried. If he were home, he’d answer his phone. And if he hadn’t been at the restaurant all afternoon, where had he gone? It wasn’t like Jack to leave them like this and not make sure everything was secure for the night.

  Lucky was the last to leave. She hauled the last trash bag out to the Dumpster and climbed into her car. When she turned the key in the ignition, the engine coughed and died. She tried again to no avail. In frustration, she banged the steering wheel. “Not now. This is all I need.” In her daily routine, she had no real need of a car. Her apartment building was on Maple Street, just around the corner. She could easily walk back and forth every day. In fact, most of the places she visited in town were within walking distance. But over the next two weeks she’d be busy helping Sophie with her wedding plans. She’d need transportation if she had to drive to Lincoln Falls to pick up flowers or supplies or anything else. She sighed and rested her head against the steering wheel.

  Jack sat motionless at the kitchen table. Outside it had grown dark and only a small bulb over the kitchen sink offered relief from the night. His eyes were closed, hands held over his face, as he replayed in his mind the steps he had taken that day in the woods. He was sure he could find that same place again, the spot where he had found the woodruff. It was along a path that led past the meadow toward the small pond, a shady, water-fed spot, a perfect place for woodruff to grow. He saw himself walking, searching, then kneeling and trimming the plant. Had he made a mistake? Had there been something else growing there that he hadn’t seen? His eyesight wasn’t what it once was, he knew, but surely he would have spotted anything strange, something that didn’t belong? Other things could be growing near, that was true, but he would have recognized them. Had he been careful enough? Had he sorted through the plants on his kitchen counter? Yes, he had. He was sure it was only woodruff he had picked. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Could he trust his own memory? It sometimes failed him; there were times he could recognize a face and knew the name, but couldn’t bring it all the way into his mind. Had something like that happened? Had he been careless? Had someone died because of him?

  Lucky tried to start the car again. Again the engine coughed and refused to turn over. She groaned. It was too late to call Guy Bessette at the Auto Shop. She’d call tomorrow, and tonight she could walk the few blocks to Jack’s house on Birch Street. She climbed out of the car and hurried down the alleyway to Broadway. It had worried her all evening that Jack hadn’t returned to the Spoonful. She knew he’d be concerned about Nate’s questions, but she was positive that whatever had happened to Agnes Warner in the woods the night before had nothing to do with the plants he had provided.

  The first evening of May promised delicious warm days. Fragrant lilacs would bloom soon, but the evenings were still chilly. She wrapped her sweater tighter around her and turned the corner on Birch Street. She climbed the steps to Jack’s house and peeked through the window in the front door. A light was burning at the back of the house. Jack was still awake. She knocked on the front door and waited. No answer. She retraced her steps and walked down the driveway. Jack’s car was there, parked in front of the garage. She continued along the side of his house and stood on tiptoe to peer through the kitchen window. Jack sat at the table, his head in his hands. She tapped on the glass.

  “Jack. It’s me.”

  He looked up, an anxious expression on his face.

  “Can you let me in?”

  Jack rose slowly and walked to the back door. He unlocked it and held it open for her.

  “Lucky, my girl. Did you walk over? You shouldn’t have bothered.” His complexion was drained, as if he had aged in the few hours since that morning.

  “I was worried about you. You didn’t come back.”

  “I just couldn’t face anybody—especially if they’re all thinking I caused . . . you know.”

  “You’re taking too much on.” Lucky sighed. “I don’t think you made a mistake. I’m sure whatever plants you gave them were fine. Besides, I’ve never heard of anyone having an allergic reaction to woodruff. It’s used all the time as a flavoring ingredient.”

  “I just can’t get it out of my head—that maybe I did something wrong. Wasn’t careful enough.”

  “Oh, Jack. You’ve got to stop thinking like that. For all we know, the poor woman had a stroke. Please. Don’t let this gnaw away at you. Let’s find out the facts before we jump to any conclusions.” She reached across the scarred wooden table and squeezed his hand.

  He took a deep breath. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m a worrywart. I know I am.”

  “We’ll find out exactly what happened to her in a few days. Until then, stop blaming yourself for things you had no control over, okay?” Lucky realized she had to add to Jack’s worries. She’d rather he heard from her than from someone else. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you what happened this afternoon.”

  Jack’s eyebrows rose as she filled him in on the discovery of the body in the creek.

  “You shoulda called me.”

  “Well, I called the Spoonful and spoke to Sage, but you might have already gone home. Besides, there was no need for you to be worrying about me. We were fine. Nate and Bradley got there right away. And then Elias. We talked to Nate for a bit and then we drove back.” She looked at him carefully. “Anyway, you need to get some rest. What have you been doing all afternoon? Sitting here worrying?”

  “Nah,” Jack denied. “Look, can you come and have a peek at the herb garden? I went out there earlier to check, but I couldn’t see anything wrong.”

  “Okay. If it makes you feel better.”

  Jack grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen counter. Lucky wondered how many trips he had made to the backyard this afternoon to check on his plants.

  They trudged silently across the lawn. The yard was shaded by a maple tree and tall lilac bushes along both sides of the wooden fence. Jack’s small vegetable and herb garden was laid out in short, neat rows behind low hedges at the rear of his property where the plants would get the best sunlight. He shone his flashlight on a section planted with tomatoes, carrots, potatoes and Swiss chard. There were plants of sage, mint, parsley, thyme and oregano. The next row was basil and strawberry plants and a large borage plant for the bees. “I’ve checked for any weeds that might have come up, but I just weeded a few days ago and didn’t see anything.”

  “That’s ’cause there’s nothing to see. This garden is immaculate. Nothing’s growing here that shouldn’t be. If that woman was poisoned, it’s more likely they decided to experiment with their wine and added something she was allergic to. Now will you stop worrying?”

  “I guess you’re right. I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  She tucked her arm through his and led him gently back into the house. “I’ll say good night. Will you promise me you’ll go straight to bed? Sleep in tomorrow if you like. No need to be at the restaurant early.”

  Jack smiled for the first time since the morning. “Oh, I don’t sleep very much anymore, my girl. I’ll be there bright and early.”

  “Well, all right, then. If not, I’ll tell Flo you’re feeling bad and might need some help.” She chuckled.

  Jack stopped in his tracks and stared at her. “You wouldn’t do that to your defenseless old grandfather, now, would you?”

  “Wanna bet?” She laughed and blew him a kiss as he shut the door behind her. Lucky tested the knob to make sure it was locked. The light in the kitchen was extinguished, plunging the driveway into darkness. She headed for the street and continued on through the still night, not meeting another soul. When she reached her apartment building, she climbed the stairs and locked the door behind her, so grateful to fall into bed after a long, strange day.

  Chapter 8

  SOPHIE SAT AT the counter sipping a mug of coffee. It was a few minutes before opening time. Jack had arrived
early as promised and now sat at a front table reading his newspaper.

  “Sure you don’t want something to eat?” Lucky asked.

  Sophie shook her head. “Nah. I just walked over with Sage. I have a few errands to run today. I’ll come back later to help you out if you need me.” Lucky was grateful for Sophie’s loose spring and summer schedule. She was always willing to lend a hand if things got busy. Lucky had offered to pay her for her time, but Sophie adamantly refused payment, saying she enjoyed being able to hang out with everyone at the restaurant.

  Lucky glanced toward a stack of CDs at the counter. “What should we play this morning?”

  “Hmm.” Sophie picked through the CDs. “How about this one?” She pushed the plastic container toward Lucky. “I used to love to listen to this in high school.” Sophie had chosen a collection of classic rock songs.

  “That’s great. It’ll wake everybody up. And I can really use the help. I’m waiting for Guy Bessette to come by.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Hopefully nothing expensive. My car just wouldn’t start last night.”

  “If Guy has to tow yours in, just take mine. I can always use Sage’s.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, no problem.” Sophie reached down and hauled her purse onto her lap. “Here,” she said, passing the keys across the counter to Lucky. “It’s parked in the back next to yours.”

  “Thanks, Sophie. I do have to drive out to Horace’s later. He has some boxes of my mother’s in the attic and I know one of them is full of sewing supplies. Oh, and there’s something I should mention to you.” Lucky cringed, fearful of Sophie’s reaction.

  “What’s that?”

  “Did you invite Flo Sullivan to your wedding?”

  “Huh?” Sophie looked blank. “Are you kidding me?”

  “She told me to give you a nudge because she hadn’t received her invitation. I thought it was odd because you said you wanted your ceremony to be very private.”

  “What did you say to her?”

  “I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say. I told her I’d remind you.”

  Sophie groaned and rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe this. Why in heaven’s name would Flo get the idea she was invited to a private wedding? I have nothing against her—I mean, she’s a weird character—but we’re not close friends or anything.”

  Lucky shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she figures it’s such a small town everyone is invited?”

  “Don’t even say that.” Sophie looked panic-stricken. “What do I do?” she squeaked.

  “Don’t worry about it for now. Flo will probably forget all about it in a day or two. But please remember, we have to do some final fittings for your dress. We’re getting close.” Lucky was referring to Sophie’s wedding dress, which she had volunteered to sew.

  Sophie groaned. “Oh, right.” She glanced up. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I can’t thank you enough for doing all that work—it’s just that I feel so awkward in a dress. I don’t think I even own another one. Where would I wear them?”

  Lucky laughed. “Well, I’m not much better when it comes to that stuff, but this is your absolutely special day. I want everything to be perfect for you. You’re beautiful and you should look amazing on your wedding day.”

  “It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “You have no interest in fashion, yet you’re such a perfectionist with dressmaking.”

  “True, but my mother always said sewing has more to do with patience than skill. And I do think your dress will be stunning.” Lucky had chosen a pattern with an empire waist, a sweetheart bodice and elbow-length sleeves. The skirt was cut on the bias and would flow gently to the floor. The material was an eggshell white with a matte finish and would set off Sophie’s coloring and dark curly hair. Sophie had nixed the idea of lace or anything fussy.

  “I just have to hem the dress, but if I can’t find the notions I need, I’ll have to make piping from the leftover material for a lacing at the back. That’ll take me at least another night.”

  “Thanks, Lucky. Not just for the dress but for everything else.” Sophie was referring to Lucky’s efforts over a year ago in freeing Sage from a possible jail sentence. “If it hadn’t been for you . . .” Sophie trailed off.

  Lucky poured a little more coffee into Sophie’s mug. She blushed in response to Sophie’s praise. “It was nothin’.”

  Sophie balled up a paper napkin and threw it at her head. “Don’t even say that. All this . . .” She waved her arm in the air, indicating the restaurant, Jack’s health, Sage and herself. “None of this would be here if it weren’t for you.”

  Lucky looked up when she heard a knock on the front door. Nate was on the threshold. “I’ll get it, Jack,” she called out. She unlocked the front door and opened it for Nate. She reached up to flip the sign over to read OPEN.

  Nate grasped her hand before she could turn the sign. He looked her straight in the eyes. “Hold off, Lucky.”

  Lucky’s eyes widened.

  “You’ll need to wait a bit.” He glanced around the restaurant, realizing that only she, Jack, Sage and Sophie were there. Sage peered through the hatch from the kitchen. Nate nodded to him, indicating Sage should join them in the front.

  Sophie had turned on her stool, gazing curiously. When she saw Nate beckon Sage to the front of the restaurant, she frowned.

  Nate approached Sophie and took her hand. “Let’s sit over here,” he said, leading Sophie to Jack’s table. Sage and Lucky joined them as Jack, aware that something was wrong, folded up his newspaper and put it to the side. Nate turned his chair toward Sophie and took both her hands in his. “The man you discovered yesterday . . .”

  Sophie gulped and nodded.

  “We think he could be your brother.”

  Chapter 9

  SOPHIE’S FACE WAS blank, uncomprehending.

  “What?” She shook her head as though she were unable to hear Nate’s words.

  Nate glanced around, taking in all of them. “We didn’t find any identification on the body—nothing. But there was a small pen in one of the inside pockets of the jacket. It had the logo of the Snowflake Resort on it. You know, one of those pens they leave in the rooms for guests to use.”

  Sophie continued to stare at Nate. Sage moved closer to her and placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

  Nate continued. “We checked with the Resort. They don’t have a lot of bookings right now so it wasn’t too hard to figure it out. Everyone’s accounted for except one room hasn’t been slept in for at least a couple of days.” He watched Sophie’s face carefully. “It was reserved under the name of Richard Colgan. Sophie, we think it could be him. Your brother.”

  Sophie seemed to sink in upon herself. “Rick? Rick was here?” She spoke in a barely audible whisper. “How can you be sure it was Rick?”

  Nate heaved a sigh. “We can run a DNA test, with your permission. That would clinch it. Other than that, did he have any identifying marks? Birthmarks? Tattoos? Anything like that you might remember?”

  Sophie shrugged, still unable to take in all that Nate was saying. “I . . . I really don’t know my brother all that well. He’s been gone since I was . . . what, eleven, I think. And I’ve only seen him once in all these years. He came back when we buried Mom. If he had any birthmarks or anything, I never saw them.”

  “And there was nothing about that body you found that made you think it might be your brother?”

  Sophie shook her head.

  “What’s he been doing all this time?” Nate asked.

  Sophie shrugged. “I don’t really know. I don’t even have an address for him. Just an e-mail. He wrote once and said he was working for a private investigator. Doing some process service work in New York—somewhere near Utica, I think. I had the impressi
on he was thinking of getting his own license.”

  “Hmm. Interesting,” Nate said. “Then, if that’s the case, it should be easy to trace him if he’s licensed with New York State.”

  Lucky and Jack had remained silent, watching their exchange.

  Nate hesitated. “We can’t be absolutely sure at this point, Sophie, but it’s definitely pointing in that direction. I’ll check out what I can with New York. If it turns out there’s no one who can identify him, I’d like to set up an appointment for a DNA collection in Lincoln Falls. It’ll just take a minute. A swab is all they’ll need.”

  Sophie sniffed and nodded silently.

  “I’m sorry, Sophie. Sorry I had to come to you with this.” Nate stood and walked to the door. “I’ll be in touch.” Nate exited without looking back.

  Sage followed Nate and locked the door behind him, making sure the CLOSED sign was still turned toward the outside of the glass. He returned to the table and sat, taking Sophie’s hand in his. All three were quiet, watching Sophie carefully.

  She looked around the table at them. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not really feeling anything right now.”

  “That’s understandable,” Lucky replied. “I guess he was a stranger to you . . . really.”

  “He was. But still . . . my only flesh and blood in the world. I feel like I should feel something.”

  Jack reached across and touched her shoulder. “If it really is your brother they found up there, you’ll come to grips with it. You’ll sort out your feelings.”

  Sage leaned closer. “Look, if you’re upset or want to postpone the wedding, we can. We’d all understand.”