“No!” Sophie’s response was vehement. “No. I can’t sort it out, but I don’t want to be putting our lives on hold. I didn’t even know my brother and he’s been gone for a long, long time. If that was him, I’m real sorry, but putting off the wedding won’t help a bit. It’s a terrible accident but there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Silence fell over the table. No one wanted to suggest there might be more to this death than an accident.
Chapter 10
“MAYBE I SHOULD take you home?” Sage offered.
Sophie shook her head. “No. No, I’m fine.” She leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You have work to do and Lucky needs to open. I’ll be okay. I have to get a few things done and I’ll come back later. I refuse to be upset. Especially since we don’t know for sure who that man in the creek was. No one could possibly identify him from his face anyway.”
Sage seemed to accept Sophie’s decision. “All right. As long as you promise to call me if you’re not feeling well.”
“I promise.” Sophie stood. “By the way”—she turned to Sage—“I need to use your car. Lucky’s going to borrow mine till she can have hers looked at.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Sage asked Lucky.
“Just wouldn’t start last night. Guy’s coming by soon to see what he can do. I can wait until he gives me an opinion, if borrowing Sophie’s car is inconvenient.”
“No. It’s fine. Go right ahead. Let me know if you need any help with that.”
“Thanks, Sage.”
Sophie slung her purse over her shoulder. “Thanks, Lucky . . . Jack. I appreciate your concern with all this. I really do. But I don’t want you worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”
Lucky smiled her encouragement and waved as Sophie headed through the swinging door to the corridor. A minute or so later, they watched as she pulled out of the alleyway in Sage’s car and turned onto Broadway.
Jack sighed. “Keep an eye on her, you two. This could hit her real hard if it turns out Nate’s right.”
Sage rose and, turning over the sign at the door, headed back to the kitchen. He hadn’t said a word. Lucky knew he’d worry about Sophie all day. She just hoped there would be no need for their concern. She craned her neck to look out the window. “Time to open up. I see Hank and Barry coming down the street.”
The two men entered the restaurant and called out their greetings. Jack leaned over and whispered to Lucky, “Do you think we should say something to them? About Sophie?”
Lucky shook her head. “No. Not yet. Not until we absolutely know for certain.”
“Hey, Jack,” Hank called out. He sat at the corner table, his pince-nez glasses on his nose. Hank had always reminded her of a friendly scarecrow. He was tall and thin and his glasses gave him the look of a bookish professor. Barry was his foil, short and stocky with a protruding belly that threatened to break through the buttons on his plaid shirt.
“Coffee?” she asked the men as she returned to the counter.
“Thanks, Lucky,” Barry replied.
Lucky carried two mugs filled with coffee on a tray to their corner table. “Here you go.”
Barry leaned closer and whispered, “Lucky, we were just wondering”—he glanced toward the kitchen hatch, as if concerned that Sage might overhear—“what kind of presents do you think we could get the newlyweds?”
“Oh, I’m sure they don’t expect anyone to buy them presents.” She wondered whether Barry and Hank were under the impression they were invited guests too. Neither of them had exactly said that, but she wondered if the question of presents was an indication they planned to attend the ceremony.
Hank spoke up. “That’s not right. We come in every day and eat delicious food thanks to Sage. We’d just like to show our appreciation. It’s the least we can do.”
Lucky nodded. “Well, that’s very thoughtful of you both. I’ll try to find out if there’s anything they could use. How’s that?”
“Great,” Barry responded. “Just let us know.”
The bell over the door rang as Lucky returned to the counter. Marjorie Winters entered alone. Generally she and her sister arrived together every morning and ordered in duplicate. Whenever one was alone, it usually indicated a rift between the two. Marjorie slid onto a stool. She was neatly dressed, and her blonde hair was perfectly in place.
“The usual, Marjorie?” Lucky asked.
“Yes, dear. Thank you.”
“Cecily’s not coming?”
Marjorie pursed her lips. Too late, Lucky realized she had put her foot in her mouth.
“No,” Marjorie replied curtly. “She’s at home reflecting on the error of her ways.”
Lucky poured Marjorie’s tea and brought her a cup. “Ah. I see,” she replied neutrally.
“It’s just so embarrassing that my sister would become involved with that mad crew. Celebrating spring rites! For heaven’s sake. Running around in the woods with robes and flowers in their hair worshipping the earth goddess. Did you ever hear of anything so daft?”
Lucky wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well, I think a few people in town might share that opinion.”
Marjorie sighed heavily. “And to have witnessed Agnes Warner dying like that.”
Lucky cringed, hoping Jack hadn’t overheard that last remark. She glanced quickly across the room where Jack sat reading the morning paper. If he had heard, he gave no indication.
“I really hope this teaches them all a lesson. And for Cordelia Rank to have organized it . . . She’s always on about how important she is to the town. Has she taken leave of her senses?” Marjorie’s voice had risen. She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly realizing everyone’s attention was on her. Fortunately, only the Spoonful’s crew and two of their regulars were in attendance.
“Sorry, dear. I don’t mean to go on at you about this. But it’s just appalling. I don’t think Cecily even wants to show her face in town at this point. She’s home, under the covers, pretending to be sick—like a six-year-old!”
Lucky reached for Marjorie’s order. It was ready and waiting on the hatch. She delivered it to the counter. “How many people were there in the woods the other night? Do you know?”
Marjorie sniffed. “I gather there were seven, including my sister and Cordelia, the high priestess—of all things to call herself!” Marjorie was clearly fuming about the gathering and her sister’s involvement.
“I had heard something about a women’s group at the library or a study group of goddess-based religions. But I had no idea they planned a . . . What would you call it? A gathering, I guess?”
“Some sort of ceremony.” Marjorie shook her head. “Practically turned into a sacrifice. According to Cecily, their interest was piqued by the travelers who were here last fall and all that talk about the Stones outside of town being sacred to them. Pagan nonsense.” Marjorie was referring to the Neolithic stone structure that stood on a hill above Snowflake. Marjorie took a bite of her croissant. “One woman lives up in Lincoln Heights—a newcomer—and another one lives out of town.” Lincoln Heights was the name given to a newer development in town, filled mostly with executives of the Snowflake Resort and their families.
“Frustrated, aging hippie women, if you ask me. And Emily Rathbone, our librarian, attended as well. Thought she had more sense!”
“She has a helper now, doesn’t she? A volunteer. She came by to leave flyers for the library.”
“Oh yes, that nervous little thing. What’s her name? Greta?”
“I believe so. Is she part of the group?”
“Cecily never mentioned her. I don’t know. Maybe the woman has too much sense to be involved with all that crazy nonsense.” Marjorie finished the last bite of her croissant and wiped her lips with a napkin. “Well, dear, I’ll be on my way to open the shop. Hopefully my darling sister will see fit to get over her shock
and come to work.”
Lucky nodded. “See you tomorrow, Marjorie. I do hope she’s feeling better. It must have been a terrible shock.”
“Hmph! I’ll give her a shock if she doesn’t develop a bit more sense.” Marjorie slipped off her stool. “Oh, before I forget. What type of outfit do you think would be appropriate for the big day?”
Lucky hesitated. “The big day?”
Marjorie’s eyes widened. “The wedding, of course! This is so exciting. Snowflake hasn’t had a wedding in years.”
“Uh . . .” Lucky couldn’t think of a quick response. Was she to tell anyone who asked that Sophie and Sage’s wedding was a private affair? She had no idea what to say.
“I think something soft and feminine would be right. Nothing too formal. Don’t you agree, dear?”
Lucky nodded her head a few times. “Perfect. That sounds perfect.” She’d have to have another word with Sophie. It seemed that everyone in town knew about Sophie’s wedding and everyone assumed they were invited.
Marjorie reached the door as Horace was about to enter. He held the door for her.
“Thank you, Horace,” she said, reaching down to pat Cicero’s head. Cicero wagged his tail happily. Marjorie turned and strode purposefully down the sidewalk to her shop.
Horace said hello to Jack as he came through the door, and raised a hand in greeting to Hank and Barry. He took a stool at the counter. “Is Marjorie all right?” he asked Lucky.
Lucky poured a mug of coffee for Horace. “She’s just a little upset about her sister’s involvement with the group that Cordelia Rank organized.” Lucky heard the phone ringing in the kitchen. It stopped after two rings. Sage must have answered.
“Hey, Lucky,” Sage called out. “It’s Guy Bessette . . . about your car.”
“Oh!” She turned back to Horace. “Give me a second, Horace. I need to talk to Guy.”
“Car trouble?” he asked.
“’Fraid so.” Lucky wiped her hands and pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. She grabbed the phone. “Hello, Guy.”
“Hi, Lucky. Some good news and bad news, I’m afraid.”
Lucky groaned inwardly. “Okay,” she replied hesitantly.
“Your starter’s gone, but that can be replaced. The bad news is the timing belt is bad and it’s gonna take me a while to find one. It’s an older car, not so easy to find parts.”
“What’s the good news?”
“Your battery’s in good shape. No need to replace that.”
“How long will this take, Guy?”
“With luck, maybe six, seven days.”
“Why so long?” she squeaked.
“Like I said, I have to hunt up a new belt. Not something I keep around. But I’ll keep you posted. You have something you can use for now?” he asked.
“I’m okay. Sophie’s loaned me her car. Thanks, Guy, for calling.”
“I’ll get it done as soon as I can.” He rang off.
Lucky returned to the counter.
“Uh-oh. Bad news?” Horace asked.
“Well, not horrible. It’s just going to take some time for Guy to find the parts he needs.”
“Ah.” Horace nodded in commiseration.
“More coffee?” Lucky asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Horace offered his cup as Lucky refilled it. “What were you saying before . . . about Cordelia? That Cordelia had organized the gathering in the woods? I thought Emily Rathbone was the driving force behind that thing. Sadly, this might not do her library drive any good. People are always happy to donate books, but this may have created a mini-scandal in town, and now with Agnes Warner dying like that . . .” Horace trailed off. “People do get very worked up about these things. Although it’s a movement that has many adherents in the world right now.”
“You mean paganism?”
Horace furrowed his brow. “No, not paganism, per se, but reclaiming women’s role in religion, as in early Christianity. I think the women’s movement has had a lot to say about male-dominated religions.” Horace chuckled. “Pastor Wilson is beside himself right now. ‘Apoplectic’ might be a better word. I saw him on my way over this morning and he really wanted to bend my ear about it. I wonder if he secretly thinks Agnes’s death was God’s punishment on wayward souls, although I’m sure he would never come right out and say that.”
“I should hope not,” Lucky answered. A small plate appeared on the hatch with Horace’s muffin, butter and jam.
“So tell me.” Horace leaned forward. “How are the wedding preparations coming?”
“Oh, I’m so glad you reminded me. Would it be all right if I stopped by to take those last few boxes of my mother’s that are in the attic?” When Lucky had inherited her parents’ home, she realized she couldn’t possibly afford to pay the mortgage on their house. Horace had arrived in town and was looking for a place to rent long-term to work on his book about the Revolutionary War years in Vermont. He fell in love with the house, and Lucky was relieved she wouldn’t be forced to sell it at what would have been a loss.
“Of course. Anytime. Those boxes are no bother to me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not that. I’m looking for buttons and things to finish Sophie’s wedding gown and I’m pretty sure one of those boxes has tons of my mother’s sewing supplies.”
“Ah, yes, for Sophie’s wedding. I wanted to talk to you about that. What do you think they’d like as a wedding present?”
Lucky smiled. “You’re planning to come, then?” Wait till Sophie hears this, she thought.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world! I understand there hasn’t been a wedding in Snowflake for a long time. And this is the perfect month to hold it.”
Lucky sighed. There was no escaping this. “Well, everything’s organized. We’ve hired a harpist to play for the ceremony. Sage wants to do the food himself. It’ll be buffet style but they plan on wine and champagne. Sophie’s dress is almost ready. Jack has a gazebo in his garden that we’ll decorate with tulle and flowers. And I guess that’s it. Hopefully, everything will go very smoothly, no glitches.”
Lucky looked up as the bell at the door jingled. Elias stepped in and joined Horace at the counter. Lucky dropped a slice of bread into the toaster and poured a cup of coffee for him. Elias smiled at Lucky.
“So, Elias, any news?” Horace asked.
Elias raised his eyebrows. Lucky could tell Elias wasn’t quite sure which body Horace was referring to. News of both discoveries had spread throughout town, but Lucky was sure no one else had been taken into Nate’s confidence about the possible identity of the dead man.
Elias shook his head. “Too soon to tell. Autopsy results on both should, with luck, come back in a few days. Nate’s asked them to expedite, if possible. That’s all I can say for now.”
Horace nodded. “I understand.” He was aware that Elias undoubtedly knew more than he could speak about. He looked down at Cicero. “Ready for your walk?” he asked the dog. Cicero made a yearning sound in his throat and wagged his tail happily.
“Oh, wait,” Lucky said. She leaned into the kitchen hatch and asked Sage for a hunk of chicken meat. He passed it through and she handed it to Horace for his dog. Cicero inhaled the meat quickly and continued to wag his tail. Horace picked up the leash and headed for the door, waving good-bye to Hank and Barry.
The bread popped out of the toaster and Lucky quickly buttered it. She carried the plate to the counter and brought a pot of jam for Elias. He reached across the counter and grasped her hand. She blushed, grateful that no other customers were seated there. “Dinner tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Sure. Love to. You cooking?”
“Of course. I was thinking a small pork roast with a plum wine sauce and mashed potatoes.”
“Mmm. Sounds heavenly. Yes, ply me with food.” Lucky, who se
rved food all day, had no desire to cook when her day was done. For Elias, cooking was a relaxing enterprise that broke his routine of seeing patients. He was still alone at the Snowflake Clinic since his last hire had left town under suspicious circumstances, a woman who had sent Lucky into paroxysms of jealousy. Before that, his medical partner had left town after a scandal involving his wife. It meant that Elias’s schedule was still extremely hectic, as was hers, so the time they spent together was extra precious.
“With anything I can,” he said, smiling seductively.
Lucky blushed furiously. Their romance had been back on track for the past several months. Not simply on track, but growing deeper every day. She rubbed her cheeks hoping the flush would disappear before anyone noticed.
Chapter 11
SOPHIE WAS BALANCED on a small stool while Lucky knelt on the carpet on her living room floor. She held a pin between her teeth and placed the pincushion within reaching distance.
“Hold still,” she ordered through gritted teeth.
Sophie sighed. “It’s perfect, Lucky. There’s no need to fuss over the hem this way.”
Lucky removed the pin from her mouth and stuck it in the pincushion. “I know you think it’s perfect, but it’s not. This material slides around and you want it to show only the very front of your shoes as you walk. Trust me. It’s worth it to take the time.”
“If you say so. I love you, and I love that you’re going to all this work for me, but we just want this to be a small, informal ceremony—with lilacs all around us.”
“Uh . . . about that . . .”
Sophie looked down at her with a suspicious eye. “What?”
“I told you about Flo Sullivan.”
“Yeees,” Sophie replied cautiously.
“Well, Marjorie asked me what type of dress would be appropriate and Horace wanted to know what you’d like for a wedding present. Uh . . . and so did Hank and Barry.”
“I can’t believe this!” Sophie tried to turn around. The stool wobbled and she quickly returned to her pose. “We just wanted you and Elias and Jack and Sage’s brother Remy and maybe my two work friends. Isn’t it possible to do anything in this town and not have everybody get involved?” Her voice was rising.
Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4) Page 5
