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

by Connie Archer

  “I know I’d never mistake hemlock. I was warned about that when I was a kid. I didn’t really notice it that day, to tell you the truth. But I’m sure I was real careful when I picked the woodruff leaves.”

  Professor Hightower pulled a pair of pruning shears from her jacket and snipped off a section of the hemlock plant. She pulled a tissue from another pocket and dropped the clipping into a plastic bag, careful not to touch the sample.

  “I’m sure you were, Jack.” Nate patted the older man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that now. We just wanted to see where you found the woodruff. Come on—I’ll drive you back to town.”

  Jack nodded. He wiped perspiration from his brow. He could feel his heart beating rapidly. Had he made a terrible mistake?

  Chapter 13

  THE OFF BROADWAY Ladies’ Clothing Shop carried women’s clothing almost exclusively, but often Marjorie and Cecily kept the odd bolt of fabric, buttons and various accessories in stock. Lucky had finished the final touches on Sophie’s wedding dress but she wanted to embellish it further—some pearl beading, she thought, perhaps along the top of the bodice and the neckline. She wasn’t sure, but she felt she’d recognize the exact thing that would make the dress come to life. She hadn’t consulted Sophie in this matter, since Sophie would more than likely have nixed the idea, but she could picture the finished dress in her mind and how lovely it could look. She was sure Sophie would be happy with her efforts.

  She pushed through the front door. Marjorie was behind the counter and Cecily stood at the other side of an L-shaped glass display case. She was arranging blouses on hangers. Cecily smiled and waved.

  “Hello, Lucky,” Marjorie called out. “What can we do for you?”

  “I was just wondering if you had any netting or beading on hand, or anything like that?” Lucky asked.

  “Hmm,” Marjorie replied. “We have a few things—in the back storeroom. Cecily can show you.” She smiled broadly. “Is this for Sophie’s wedding dress?”

  “Yes. It’s almost finished. I’d like to add some embellishment and I need to find something that would work for a veil.”

  “Oh, we might have just the thing,” Cecily replied.

  Lucky heard the door to the street open behind her. She turned to see Greta carrying a tote bag full of books. She wore the same brown dress and sweater she had worn the first day Lucky had seen her at the Spoonful.

  “Greta, hi,” Cecily said. Greta nodded shyly in return. “You’re here for the books?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Hang on just a second, Lucky.” Cecily hurried into the storeroom and returned with a stack of five hardbound and three paperback books. “Can you manage these in your tote bag?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes. Just put them all in here.” Greta held the heavy cloth satchel open while Cecily slid the books into it.

  “Lucky, have you met Greta yet?” Marjorie asked. “She’s doing a lot of volunteer work for the library.”

  “Yes. We met at the Spoonful.” Lucky smiled. “And we share the same apartment building. Nice to see you again.”

  “Hello again.” Greta nodded and attempted a wan smile.

  Lucky wished there were some way she could put the woman at her ease. She always appeared so nervous. “By the way, Greta, I have a lot of books that moved back to Snowflake with me. I’ll go through them and donate them if you think you can use them for the library.”

  “That would be wonderful. Our drive has been very successful so far. We appreciate anything you’d like to give.” She turned back to the sisters. “Thank you so much for these, Cecily . . . Marjorie.” She ducked quickly out the front door.

  “Well, that was quick,” Marjorie remarked. “She skittered away so fast you’d think she was afraid of us.”

  “I know,” Cecily said. “I’ve seen her at the library. She’s afraid of her own shadow, poor thing.” She shivered. “She makes me nervous.” She smiled quickly, dismissing the feeling. “Come on back, Lucky,” she added, indicating Lucky should follow her into the rear of the store.

  “We do have some things—a small supply we keep just in case. No point getting rid of it; it’s all useful for something.” Cecily opened the door to the small storeroom in the rear of the shop. A long table took up most of one wall. On the other side was a sewing machine with a rack of spools of thread hanging on the wall above. Next to that, a bureau with deep drawers. On the far wall were shelves and several bolts of fabric carefully protected in plastic.

  “Is the dress white?” Cecily asked.

  “More of an eggshell color, if you know what I mean. Very simple and flowing. It’ll look beautiful on her with her dark hair. I need some soft netting material for a veil and maybe some beading for the dress.”

  “Oh, how romantic,” Cecily breathed. “I can’t wait to see her on her wedding day!”

  Lucky realized she’d reached a point at which she’d need to keep a list for Sophie and Sage.

  Cecily pulled down one of the bolts and laid it on the long table. She carefully slid the plastic covering away from the fabric. “This is lovely stuff. Hard to find, you know.”

  Lucky picked up an end of the soft material. There was no stiffness to it. When she lifted the cloth, it hung easily. “This is perfect. Right color . . . gorgeous.”

  “What are you using for the headdress?”

  “Haven’t quite decided yet. I was thinking of going over to the big fabric store in Lincoln Falls to see what they have.”

  “Hang on, dear. We might have something.” Cecily hurried to the bureau and opened the top drawer. Inside were hat and shoe accessories in plastic cases, bags of buttons, hem binding and zippers. Cecily rummaged some more and retrieved a large plastic bag of small pearls, already prepared with tiny holes for sewing. “How’s this?” She held the bag up to show Lucky the contents.

  “Oh,” Lucky breathed. “These are perfect, Cecily. Thank you!”

  “And,” Cecily announced triumphantly. “Look at this!” She turned back with a circlet of clustered pearls in her hand. “We did a June bride display a few years ago. These are the things that didn’t sell, but they’re in perfect shape. You could use this to secure Sophie’s veil.”

  Lucky took it from Cecily’s hand. “It seems a little big,” she remarked.

  “Not really. You see, it fits over the forehead, like this,” she said, slipping it on. “I like the look, actually: a little medieval and romantic.”

  “I see what you mean. It’s different but lovely, and I can attach the veil to it with little stitches. I think she’ll like this. Can you cut me three yards of the netting?”

  “Sure thing,” Cecily said, flipping the bolt over a few times on the table and lining the material up with the yardstick attached to the front edge. “Do you really need three yards for her veil?” she asked.

  “Just in case. Two would be enough, but an extra in case I make a mistake or anything.”

  “Okay,” Cecily replied.

  Lucky hesitated to broach the subject, especially since Cecily and her sister seemed to be on good terms today, but curiosity got the better of her. She sat on a stool next to the table and leaned her chin on her hand as Cecily lined up the netting. “How are you holding up, Cecily?”

  Cecily glanced at her sharply. “You mean since . . .” She trailed off.

  “Since your meeting.”

  Cecily smiled. “That’s a nice way to put it—our meeting.” She shook her head. “My sister was so upset with me that I was involved with them—but it just sounded like so much fun!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t see anything wrong with it. I still don’t. And if Cordelia Rank wanted to run herself ragged organizing it, I thought, well, why not?”

  “I didn’t hear what happened until the next day. Elizabeth told me first and then Flo Sullivan showed up first thing in the morning at the Spoonful an
d went on and on about it. It must have been horrible.”

  “Oh, it was.” She sighed. “Believe me, it was. But I still don’t think there was anything wrong with that wine. I’m sure when they figure things out, they’ll realize poor Agnes had some condition or something.”

  “Cecily, Nate questioned Jack about the herbs he provided. And Jack has been really disturbed about it, thinking he might have made a mistake.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. He certainly knows what he’s doing. He’s been gardening for a long time.”

  “I understand you picked up the basket from him?”

  “Yes. I did.” Cecily had finished neatly cutting the edge of the material and folded it into a large square.

  “And you took it straight to Cordelia’s house?”

  “That’s right.” Cecily turned to look at her. “Lucky, you’re not thinking that it sat around in the open somewhere and someone could have tampered with it?”

  “It did cross my mind.”

  Cecily shook her head. “Nothing like that happened, believe me. I put the basket in my car and drove it straight to Cordelia’s. She was making the May wine and, knowing her, I’m sure no one else was allowed in the kitchen.”

  “Did Cordelia ask you to bring anything else?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  Lucky nodded. “Good to know. I’m sure you’re right. It couldn’t have anything to do with Jack’s herbs, but I guess we’ll have to wait till the results of the autopsy come in.”

  “Will one bag of these pearls be enough, do you think?”

  Lucky was jolted out of her reverie. “Uh, yes. Yes, I’m sure that’ll be plenty.”

  Cecily folded each item into tissue paper and then placed the netting, pearls and circlet into a plastic bag. “There you go, dear. You can pay Marjorie at the counter.”

  “Thanks again, Cecily. I’m sorry to bring it all up. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that Jack has been worried about this since he heard about it. I am curious, though . . .” Lucky hesitated. “There’s something else, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Of course not. What is it?”

  “Who else was there in the woods?”

  “Well, besides myself, there was Cordelia, Emily Rathbone from the library, Agnes Warner, of course, and Greta. Let’s see, that’s five. One woman who lives up in Lincoln Heights—I forget her name—and another woman who came over from Lincoln Falls. I didn’t know those two before, actually. Cordelia wanted to have a group of thirteen, but she couldn’t talk anyone else into it. She finally decided to settle on the seven of us.” Cecily shook her head. “I can’t imagine anyone deliberately wanting to hurt Agnes. She was such a harmless woman. She was so quiet. Struck me as a somewhat oppressed creature, if you know what I mean. I’d rather think that Cordelia—our high priestess—would be a much more likely murder victim.” Cecily chuckled.

  “Oppressed? That’s an odd word to use.”

  “Yes. Well. You see, Agnes’s husband always dropped her off and picked her up. She was always so concerned that we’d finish late and he’d be kept waiting. I didn’t care too much for him. He was polite enough but I always felt he was one of those men who rules the household with an iron hand.”

  Lucky heard footsteps in the corridor. Cecily looked alarmed. “Shh! I don’t want Marjorie to hear me talking about this.”

  Lucky nodded in acknowledgment.

  The footsteps came closer. “Here you go, Lucky,” Cecily said in a slightly louder voice. “Marjorie will ring you up. And I just can’t wait to see the bride on her wedding day!”

  Lucky made a mental note to add one more person to the guest list.

  Chapter 14

  LUCKY WALKED SLOWLY up the brick path to Elias’s restored Victorian on Hampstead Street. He had purchased the house several years before and renovated it himself. She had always admired this house, but had to admit it had been in need of some tender loving care before Elias bought it. The three-story Victorian was topped with a peaked roof over a half-moon-shaped window. A round window of stained glass shed light on an interior staircase. The house had been repainted its original white but now the shutters were a soft lavender color that matched the lilacs just beginning to bloom along the side of the property. She breathed deeply. Even though the buds were still forming, the scent was intoxicating. She loved to come to Elias’s beautiful house at any time, but particularly when he was in the mood to cook.

  She peeked through the etched glass windows at the double front door. Dinner aromas assailed her nose. Suddenly she was ravenously hungry. She rang the bell and saw Elias’s shadow in the doorway to the kitchen. He hurried down the hall and opened the front door a moment later. With a dish towel draped over his arm, he bowed. “Enter, madame—uh, excuse me, mademoiselle. Dinner is served . . . almost.”

  Lucky laughed and reached up to his face where a small leaf of parsley clung to his cheek. “I think some of our dinner is clinging to you.”

  Elias grinned and wiped his cheek. She crossed the threshold and he enveloped her in a hug. “Missed you,” he said.

  “Missed you too,” she replied.

  He kissed her quickly. “Hurry. I don’t want anything to burn.”

  She dropped her small purse on the hallway table and followed him into the kitchen. The table was set and two candles were lit in holders in the center. Elias pulled out a chair for her as she sat.

  “Tonight we are serving a pork roast with figs and a plum wine sauce, mashed potatoes and asparagus.” Without asking, he poured white wine into two glasses and handed one to her. “A toast—to more relaxed evenings like this.”

  “I’ll second that,” Lucky said as they clinked their glasses together. She took a sip. The wine was delicious, a slight woodsy taste and not too dry. “This is wonderful. What is it?” she asked, reaching for the bottle.

  “A German wine that I really like.”

  Lucky knew Elias was getting a small section of his basement organized to create space for his collection. He had remodeled the entire house, pretty much on his own, except for some expertise from electricians and plumbers, and the wine storage in the basement was his last touch. It wasn’t exactly a wine cellar—more of a wine closet—but Elias was excited about finishing it and adding to his collection.

  “I wish I knew more about wine,” she replied.

  “Somehow this seemed like the right one to serve tonight, given that it’s springtime and all.”

  Lucky looked up at him quickly. “Oh! Are you saying this is May wine?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “Don’t remind me. No shop talk tonight.” He turned back to the stove and slid a roasting pan out of the oven. He transferred the roast to a large plate and then delivered it to the table with bowls of mashed potatoes and asparagus.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving. I only nibbled at the Spoonful today. I wanted a big appetite for what you’re cooking.”

  “Eat up, my lovely.” He sat across the table and draped a linen napkin onto his lap.

  There had been many nights over the past year or so that Lucky’s appetite had abandoned her. When she and Elias first began to see each other, it was soon after the sudden death of her parents. She knew Elias enjoyed cooking, but on those occasions, she felt guilty that she hadn’t been able to enjoy his meals. Now that life had become more settled, their dinners were wonderful events she always looked forward to. She took another sip of wine.

  “This really is a nice wine. There’s something to it, a slight under taste.”

  “See, you’re learning. I hate to say this, but it actually is what is called a May wine.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You mean like the drink that Cordelia brewed in her cauldron?”

  “Not quite. This one won’t make you sick.”

  Lucky frowned. “Elias, you don’t think Jack gave them th
e wrong herbs, do you?”

  He could see the worried expression on her face and was suddenly serious. “I don’t know what he donated from his garden. Nate never told me.”

  “He said they asked him for sweet woodruff and strawberries.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Woodruff could possibly make someone sick, but they’d have to eat a huge amount of it. And I think, added to alcohol, it’s harmless. That’s what you taste in the wine tonight. It’s a flavoring used in certain white wines. It couldn’t cause anyone’s death. Unless . . .” He trailed off.

  “Unless what?”

  “Well, I was going to say unless they had an extreme allergic reaction. I suppose that’s possible, but I would think it highly unlikely. I’ve never heard of anyone having that type of thing with woodruff, but I’m not an allergist or a poison expert.”

  “What do you think that woman died of, then?” she asked.

  He stared off into the distance. “I can’t say for sure. And in any case, only the pathologist who’s going to do the autopsy could hazard an opinion. Just on a cursory examination, I’m inclined to think it could be some form of reaction because of the symptoms that the women observed and the vomiting and sudden gasping for air. But . . . those observations are thirdhand . . . Those symptoms could be indicative of a lot of things.”

  Lucky listened carefully. “Jack’s very worked up about it. He’s really worried that he gave them something bad or poisonous.”

  “Ah. Well, Jack worries too much. If those plants came from his garden, I’m sure they were fine.” He looked across the table. “Where did he get the woodruff?”

  “He said he picked it near the edge of the woods. I’m not sure where.”

  “I know it grows all over the place.” He smiled. “I thought we weren’t going to talk shop. More potatoes?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine. They’re delicious.” Lucky realized she was so hungry she was wolfing down her food. “How would they go about identifying the stomach contents to see what she could have ingested?”