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

by Connie Archer

  In the stillness of the waiting room, the slapping of glossy magazine pages seemed unnaturally loud. Once or twice the heavily made-up receptionist glanced over at them irritably.

  “How much longer are we supposed to wait?” Sophie hissed in a stage whisper.

  “I don’t know. Just be patient.”

  “If they’re trying to make us nervous, they’re succeeding.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “Of course not. You don’t have to talk to them.”

  “Sophie.” Lucky reached over to still her friend’s hand. “There’s nothing to be anxious about. We’re just going to listen to what they have to say, what they’re offering, and you can always say you’ll give it some thought for a day or two, and then leave. It’s not a firing squad.”

  Lucky looked up. It was the man Sophie called Lurch. The same man who had been watching them in the corridor of the Resort, the same man who had delivered the letter to Sophie, stood at the entrance to the waiting room. He locked eyes with Lucky but made no effort to approach. Lucky regarded him carefully. She noted his square jaw and small eyes in a tanned, rough face. Today he wore black jeans, work boots and a black T-shirt under a casual jacket. He turned his head and gave a slight nod to someone in the corridor behind him, someone out of sight. Then he returned the way he came. A moment later, a man in a dark gray business suit entered the waiting room and approached the reception desk. He spoke a few inaudible words to the receptionist and then turned and walked toward them. Lucky recognized Tom Reed, a man she had had an unfortunate exchange with a year or more before. She groaned inwardly.

  “Ms. Colgan?” He smiled and held out his hand.

  “Yes.” Sophie stood, tossing the magazine on the table.

  “Thank you for meeting with us today.” He smiled, but slid a sideways glance at Lucky. She was certain he vividly remembered her last visit to his office.

  Sophie caught his look and turned. “This is my friend Lucky Jamieson. I’ve asked her to come along.”

  “Oh yes?” he replied.

  “Hello.” Lucky quelled her own anxiety. She hoped any ill will he harbored toward her would not be directed at Sophie. “I believe we’ve met before.”

  “Oh?” Reed’s face took on an uncomprehending look.

  He was putting on a very good act. Obviously, he wanted nothing to interfere with this meeting. Sophie’s parcels must be quite important to their development plans. “It’s not relevant.” She smiled.

  “Let me take you to the conference room.” As an afterthought, he asked, “Would you like a coffee or tea?”

  “No, thanks,” Sophie replied.

  Reed didn’t wait for an answer from Lucky. He turned back to the archway he had just passed through and led them down a corridor to the end. They followed him in silence. He turned to the left where a glass wall separated the corridor from a spacious conference room. Inside was a large round table at which two men and a woman, all in black business suits, were seated. One of the men was focused on an open laptop as they entered.

  “Ms. Colgan . . .”

  “Call me Sophie, please.”

  “Sophie. I’d like you to meet Paul Rudnick, Gary Mercer and Pamela Kittridge. This is Sophie Colgan.”

  The two men rose and reached across the table to shake Sophie’s hand. The woman, a severe-looking blonde, nodded. Something akin to a smile almost made her lips move.

  “These gentlemen and Ms. Kittridge are attorneys with the firm of Leahy and Robertson in New York. Their firm represents the business interests of the Snowflake Resort.” He pulled a padded chair away from the conference table and held it for Sophie. She sat, a stony expression on her face. Reed made no move to offer Lucky a seat. She sat on a duplicate padded chair next to Sophie.

  One of the attorneys cleared his throat. Lucky tried to remember his name. Was he Paul or Gary? Already it had fallen from her mind.

  “Ms. Colgan . . . Sophie, you may not be aware of this, but the Resort is interested in extending the ski run on the east side of the mountain. We hope to create a black diamond run there. I don’t know if you’re familiar with all the runs the Resort offers . . .”

  Sophie tried to speak. “I’m very familiar—”

  Tom Reed interrupted quickly. “Ms. Colgan works for the Resort as a ski instructor. She’s an excellent athlete and very familiar with all the trails.”

  “Oh. Oh, thank you, Tom. I wasn’t aware of that history.” He gave a twinkling smile to Sophie. “Well, then, you can understand how popular the Resort has become and how necessary it is for us to offer more to our guests. I’m sure you’d appreciate a new run.”

  Lucky noticed Sophie’s jaw clenching. These people were getting under her skin. “Could we get to the point?” Sophie asked abruptly.

  Paul—or was it Gary?—sat back in his chair. “Of course. Of course.” He rifled through a few of the papers that were on the table in front of him. “The Resort is interested in making you an offer for several acres of land that are currently in the name of Marguerite Colgan, your mother, I believe. And you are, of course, one of her heirs.”

  “I have a brother who inherits as well,” Sophie replied.

  “Yes . . . uh . . . Yes, we are aware of that. Richard Colgan is your brother; is that correct?”

  Sophie nodded wordlessly.

  “We plan to meet with him as well.”

  “I see,” Sophie responded grimly. She flicked a glance in Lucky’s direction.

  “The Resort is willing to make you an offer for all of the parcels now in your mother’s name. However, the company is particularly interested in the acreage on the east side of the rise. If we were to be able to purchase that, we could extend runs in that area.”

  “I’m not interested in selling the land the house is on. Not at all.”

  “But you would be open to selling the acreage on the other side of the hill?”

  “Possibly,” Sophie answered, squirming a bit.

  The man looked over at his two colleagues and quickly glanced at Tom Reed. “In that case, we could offer you and your brother . . .” He named a sum that caused Lucky to gasp inwardly.

  Sophie’s chin drew back. “Have you already spoken with my brother?”

  “Uh . . . no, not as yet. We’ll be meeting with him . . . Tom.” He glanced at Reed. “I believe you’re meeting with him initially?” he asked.

  Reed nodded but said nothing.

  “I see.” The attorney turned back to Sophie. “Why don’t we get together again, in that case, after we’ve spoken with your brother? You can take your time deciding. Consider it a standing offer.”

  “And if my brother isn’t interested in selling?”

  “Well . . .” He trailed off. “We might consider purchasing your half interest in any event. But I’m sure your brother will be pleased with our offer.”

  “We’ll see, then,” Sophie said and stood.

  The two men rose to their feet. One of them passed a business card across the conference table. “Give us a call at any time if you have any questions or concerns. We’ll be here at the Resort for the next few days, but our office can conference any of us in if you should call.”

  Sophie nodded. “Thank you.” She turned and left the room, Lucky following in her wake. Neither of them spoke a word as they retraced their steps to the waiting room and stepped out into the parking lot.

  Sophie gripped Lucky’s arm. “Did you hear that? I thought I would collapse right then and there.”

  “I heard it. It’s a complete windfall, Sophie. The only problem is . . .”

  “My brother. I know. Sophie linked her arm through Lucky’s as they walked slowly back to Sophie’s car. “Like where is he? Why hasn’t he answered my e-mails? And do we even know if he’s alive?”

  They had reached the car. “Can you drive back?” Sophie a
sked.

  “Sure. What’s wrong?”

  Sophie laughed. “Believe it or not, my legs are wobbly.”

  Lucky smiled. “No problem.” She took the keys from Sophie’s hand. “Just remember, you can sell it if you want to. My question is why are they willing to fork over money without a guarantee that a second party will sell?”

  “It does seem strange.” Sophie climbed into the passenger seat. “Maybe they figure if he’s not interested now, they can eventually whittle down his resistance. They must want that land awfully bad, Lucky.” Sophie stared out the window. “I still can’t get over how much they’re offering. They’ve made it very hard to say no.”

  A chill ran up Lucky’s spine. She wondered whether the lawyers knew that Rick could already be out of the equation. “Sophie, we need to know who that man was in the creek. That could change everything.”

  Chapter 22

  LUCKY FLIPPED THE sign over on the front door. The Spoonful was closed for the night. Jack sat at a table by the window, staring out into the darkening evening. Lucky slid a harp instrumental into the CD player. She heard the murmur of conversation from the kitchen as Sophie helped Sage clean up for the night. Finally, the whir of the dishwasher.

  “Jack,” she called to her grandfather.

  “Huh?” He looked up quickly, as though caught in a reverie.

  “Would you like a beer?”

  He nodded. “Sounds good, my girl.”

  “Hang on,” she said as she headed for the kitchen. The Spoonful never served alcohol, but Lucky and Sage always made sure there was a supply in the refrigerator for nights like this—nights when the work was done and everyone needed to relax.

  “You having a beer?” Sophie asked when she saw Lucky open the refrigerator.

  “No. Just getting one for Jack. How ’bout you and Sage?”

  Sophie glanced over at Sage as he washed his hands at the sink. “Sure. One for both of us.”

  “You got it,” Lucky replied. She grabbed a small tray and loaded three tall chilled glasses from the freezer and three bottles of beer.

  “You’re not having one?” Sage asked.

  She smiled. “No. Wine’s my drink of choice. Just never liked beer particularly.”

  “You know, in the time I’ve known you, I guess I never noticed that,” Sage said, walking over to the large refrigerator. “Hang on. I’ve got a few bottles of white wine stashed in the back here. I’ve been saving them in case I wanted to try them out in some recipes. I’ll open one.”

  “Just for me?” she asked.

  “Sure. If we’re all having something, you can’t be odd man out.”

  Sophie had carried the tray out to Jack’s table. Sage poured a glass for Lucky and handed it to her with a flourish.

  “Thank you, kind sir.” She laughed. “Let’s join the others. I think Jack needs a little cheering up.”

  Sage nodded but said nothing. He followed her out to the front of the restaurant and sat at the table with Jack. Lucky moved around the room and turned off all the lamps but one. It cast a pool of light over their table and the blue and yellow neon sign in the shape of a bowl of soup glowed in the window.

  “Best time of the day,” Sage said, breathing a long sigh and rubbing the back of his neck.

  Sophie turned to them. “I was just reminding Jack that no results are in yet and he shouldn’t be worrying about anything.”

  “She’s right, Jack,” Sage added. “We don’t have any answers about anything.” He looked at Sophie. “Anything—not even about Sophie’s brother.”

  “You’re right,” Jack said. “Here I am worrying myself to death about those herbs, and you’re up against something big. I’ve been a self-centered old man.”

  “You couldn’t be self-centered if you tried,” Sophie answered. “Besides, if that was Rick in the water . . .” She shuddered involuntarily. “If that was Rick, I would have known . . . Wouldn’t I?” Sophie looked around the table.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Lucky said. “I think there should have been something about that man’s body that at least struck you, or reminded you of your brother. His hairline, his hands, something.”

  “Well,” Sophie replied ruefully, “to be honest, I didn’t look too hard. I was so repelled when I realized it was a human, I couldn’t take everything in.”

  “That’s understandable,” Jack said. “The eyes and the brain can only take in so much before everything shuts down in shock. I’m a living example of that. If I’d seen that . . .” Jack trailed off. They all knew Jack was referring to his occasional bouts of PTSD from his wartime service in the Pacific. Jack called those times his “spells.” He took a sip of his beer. “Not sure I can finish this. I think I’ll take off. Can you kids batten down the hatches?”

  “We’ll take care of everything.” Lucky followed him to the front door and gave him a hug. She locked the door behind him and watched him through the glass as he turned in the direction of Birch Street and home. She returned to the table and sipped her wine.

  “You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Sophie asked.

  “I am, yes. He’s been so distracted and down since this thing happened. I don’t know why but he’s taken it all upon himself. And I just can’t believe he made a mistake that caused a death.” Lucky watched her friends carefully. “There’s another possibility.”

  Sophie looked across the table at her friend. “What’s that?”

  “Something I’ve been thinking about.” She hesitated. “Maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Maybe it was deliberate. Maybe somebody wanted Agnes dead.”

  “You mean somebody messed around with that basket that Jack gave Cecily?” Sage asked.

  Sophie had a doubtful expression on her face. “Agnes Warner? Why would anyone want to kill a harmless woman like that? Besides, how would they know Agnes would be the first one to drink the wine?”

  “That was Jack’s point too. But what if one of them knew she was terribly allergic to something? Maybe what she drank wasn’t deadly, but harmful enough that it could have caused her to have a heart attack or something.”

  “Possible.” Sophie turned that thought over in her mind.

  “It’s a theory, Lucky,” Sage offered. “But have they analyzed the wine or what’s left in any of the containers or bowls or done the autopsy yet? If not, there’s nothing to back it up.”

  Lucky was about to respond when Sage turned his head. “Did you hear that?”

  The two women looked at him. Lucky was just about to say she hadn’t heard a thing when a loud rap came from the rear corridor.

  “You expecting anyone?” he asked.

  “No,” Lucky replied. “I’ll go see who it is.”

  “Uh-uh. You two stay here. I’ll see who’s there.” Sage rose from his chair and went through the swinging door to the corridor.

  They heard a low murmur of voices and then Sage reappeared at the doorway. Lucky and Sophie turned to look at him.

  “It’s someone for you, Sophie,” Sage said.

  “For me? Who?”

  “He says he’s your brother.”

  Chapter 23

  SAGE STEPPED ASIDE and held the door open. A rugged-looking man in his midforties with a weather-beaten complexion and a few days’ growth of beard stepped into the restaurant.

  “Hi, Sis. I was told I’d find you here.”

  Sophie stared, her eyes wide. She didn’t utter a word.

  The man took long strides toward the table. He wore work boots, jeans and a green khaki jacket. His hair was dark and curly, like Sophie’s, and something about the shape of his forehead and eyes struck Lucky. The family resemblance was visible.

  “You don’t seem very happy to see me.”

  Sophie stood, almost knocking over her chair. “Rick!” she cried. “They told us you were dead.”


  He raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t informed.” He laughed. “What are you talking about?”

  Sophie walked to him and reached out to hug her brother. He returned the affection but each of them stood slightly awkwardly, as though not sure how to respond to each other.

  Sophie, remembering Sage, who stood nearby, said, “Rick, this is Sage—Sage DuBois—my fiancé. Sage, my brother Rick.” She turned and indicated Lucky. “And Lucky. You remember her, don’t you?”

  Rick turned, then nodded to Lucky and shook Sage’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” He gave Sage an appraising look. “And congratulations.” Rick nodded to Lucky. “I do remember you, Lucky. Nice to see you.” He took a seat at the table.

  “Would you like a beer?” Sage asked.

  “That’d be great. Thanks,” Rick answered. “So, Sis. What’s going on? What do you mean you thought I was dead?”

  Sophie took a deep breath. “Actually, I really didn’t believe it myself. Lucky and I went up to have a look at Mom’s house and down in the creek we found . . . we found a dead guy floating in the water.”

  Rick’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed. “When was this?”

  “I think . . . five days ago.”

  “Did you call the cops?”

  Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Of course we did.”

  “Do they know who he is?”

  She shrugged. “No. The police came. Nate Edgerton’s the Chief of Police now; did you know that? He told us there was no identification on the body. The only thing they found on him was one of those ballpoint pens they leave in the rooms at the Resort. So they checked up there.”

  “What did he look like?” Rick was completely alert now. Sage returned with a bottle of beer and a chilled glass and placed it on the table for their guest.

  “That’s just it,” Lucky said. She had remained quiet until now, sizing up a man she hadn’t seen since she and Sophie were children. “His face was gone.”