“They do. And no, I don’t know. I’d just be guessing, but maybe they have four or five on-site. I think they have two small passenger vans, a flatbed truck and two SUVs. This one Lurch is driving may be one of them, but I don’t know for sure.”
“So it’s possible our guy here would have access to those the Resort owns?”
“I guess. He’s the Head of Security. I’d think he would.”
“When I get back to the station, I can look into it.”
Sophie fidgeted in her seat. “Don’t lose him, Nate. If he lives around here somewhere I’d love to know.”
“Be patient. And don’t you go thinking you’re gonna confront this guy. We have no evidence at all. We’re just checkin’ him out right now. For all we know he’s an upstanding citizen.”
“And a spy for the corporation, don’t forget that.”
“I haven’t. When it comes to labor disputes, all bets are off—on both sides.”
“Look!” Sophie pointed. “He just turned up that road.”
“That’s the entrance to the park and the pond.”
“Can we follow him in there?”
“Don’t see why not. It’s public property. It’s a beautiful day, probably lots of people come up here to get away.” Nate pulled to the side of the road. “We’ll just give him five or ten minutes, though. No point in letting him know he’s being tailed.”
Sophie heaved an impatient sigh. The minutes dragged by. Finally, Nate turned back onto the road and drove into the entrance of the small park. The road dipped down and curved to the right where a lot provided approximately twenty parking spaces. Six other cars besides the black SUV were parked there. Sophie pressed the button to lower her window. She heard the shouts of children from the play area. Glancing to her right, she could make out a jungle gym, a slide and a set of swings through the trees. Midday sunshine sparkled on the surface of the pond.
“This is nice,” Nate said, gazing longingly at the tiny strip of sand that edged the water. A few brightly colored towels punctuated the view where visitors were stretched out enjoying the warm air. “Susanna and I need to get out and relax more. I always forget about this little place.”
Sophie wiggled her foot in impatience. “Where is he?”
“Let’s take a walk. Real casual, now, let’s just chat about small stuff.” He climbed out of the car and came around to open Sophie’s door.
“Anybody in town sees us here, they’ll think we’re up to something illicit.”
Nate guffawed. “Let ’em. I only care what Susanna thinks. Can’t worry about every nosy body.”
They strolled across the grass and stood under a spreading elm tree, gazing at the water.
“You see him?” Nate spoke quietly.
“Not yet. Where did he get off to?”
“Never mind. I got him.”
“Where?” Sophie spun her head around.
“Hey! What did I tell you? Look casual, I said.”
“Right. Okay.” Sophie took a deep breath.
“He’s at a picnic table to your right.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Right now, he’s taking a last bite of a sandwich. Now he’s wrapping up his lunch.” Nate paused a moment. “Now he’s being a good citizen. He just walked over to the trash can and threw the paper bag in. Keep looking at me.” Nate glanced over her shoulder in the distance. “He’s walking down to the water.”
“And?”
“He’s pulling a small . . . looks like a brown paper bag from his jacket pocket.”
“Maybe he’s going to throw a gun into the pond,” Sophie hissed.
Nate remained silent, but focused as he watched. “Well, what do you know?” Nate remarked.
“Whaaat?”
“And now he’s coming our way. Must be heading back to work. Come on, Sophie, let’s get back to the car.” Nate turned and walked away quickly. Sophie hurried to catch up with him. As they reached the car, she grabbed Nate’s arm.
“Nate!”
“This guy’s a regular menace to society.”
“What was he doing?”
“Feeding the ducks.” Nate smiled. “Let’s get back to town.”
Chapter 40
LUCKY PULLED TO a stop in front of a modest cottage on Cranberry Lane in Lincoln Falls. The front yard was full of rosebushes of every color and shape, all surrounded by a white picket fence. She had asked Sophie to take over for a few hours at the restaurant to cover for her while she did some errands. Sophie was curious as to where she was going but Lucky had been deliberately vague about her destination. By a happy coincidence, she had noticed an article about a local potter in the Lincoln Falls Sentinel , part of an ongoing series about local craftspeople and artists. A lightbulb went off in her brain. She was sure this was the very same potter from whom her mother had purchased the blue dishes and mugs years before. This woman’s work could be a surprise wedding gift for Sophie and Sage. Although she knew it was highly unlikely the very same pottery would be available, and unlikely that Sophie would want the same design that her mother had purchased, she hoped to find something similar.
Lucky opened the gate. It creaked slightly. She climbed the wooden steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. It chimed somewhere inside and then she heard the bark of a large dog. She waited, but no one came to the door. She hadn’t had a phone number for the woman; nor had she been able to find one in the phone directory. Coming here had been an impulse move but something had told her to take a chance. She rang the bell again and waited. Again she heard a dog bark. Maybe the sound of the dog was part of the doorbell?
She returned to the front yard and decided to walk down the driveway. In the rear of the property she spotted a large shed. She followed stepping-stones for several yards, and suddenly a huge black dog appeared in front of her. He crouched and growled deep in his throat. She could hear a rhythmic sound from the shed. Someone was home.
“Hello,” she called.
“Back here,” a voice answered. The dog growled again. “Cerberus! Enough! Let the lady in.” The dog immediately whimpered and sat on the grass, still alert.
Lucky whispered, “Good boy.”
She stepped forward carefully, not quite sure whether the dog wouldn’t change his mind.
“Come on in,” the voice said.
Lucky stood on the threshold of a spacious shed, unfinished except for shelves that lined the interior. An aroma that reminded her of gardening in soft, warm earth filled the room. The shelves were laden with finished and unfinished pottery. In the center of the room, a rail-thin, white-haired woman sat at a turning potter’s wheel, a tiny human powering a great hulking machine.
“Can’t stop now. I can talk to you in a minute.”
Lucky watched, fascinated as the woman’s arthritic hands shaped a great glob of clay, forming it into a fat vase. She had once seen glassblowers work and it struck her that this process was similar. Amorphous shapes of earth and silica crafted into beautiful objects. Finally the rhythmic noise ended as the wheel slowed and finally stopped. The tiny woman stood and walked to a corner sink to rinse her hands. Wiping them on a towel, she approached Lucky and peered up into her face.
“I knew you were okay. I could hear it in your voice. I’m Persephone, but you can call me Penny; everybody does.” She held out a damp hand.
Lucky shook her hand. “I’m Lucky. Lucky Jamieson. I’m sorry to disturb you at work. I just didn’t have a phone number to call, so I drove over from Snowflake.” Lucky heard the dog snuffling behind her and then a wet nose pressed against her leg. She sidestepped the canine curiosity.
“Stop that, Cerberus. That’s not polite,” the tiny woman chastised her dog.
“Cerberus?” Lucky asked.
“Yes.” Penny smiled. “The dog that guards the gates of Hades. You remember your eight
h-grade mythology? He was supposed to keep the ghosts of the dead from escaping the underworld. He was a three-headed dog with a serpent’s tail, a mane of snakes and lion’s claws. My mother was a student of mythology.” She laughed. “That’s how I got my name.” Penny reached down to pat the dog’s head and spoke to him. “I know you don’t have all those things, boy, but you’re still a good guard dog.” She looked up at Lucky. “I thought that was a good name for him, since he’s guarding me and I’m so old I’m almost there.”
Lucky smiled. “You hardly seem it. Looks like you work very hard.”
“That I do. Now, what can I do for you?”
Lucky reached into her carryall and pulled out a paper-wrapped object. She dropped the bag on the floor and unwrapped the blue pottery mug she had brought with her. Cerberus immediately began an olfactory investigation of the cloth bag.
“My mother bought a set of dishes and mugs from you several years ago, I believe.”
Penny nodded and reached out for the mug. “That’s mine, all right.” She turned it over. “Here’s my mark right here. See it?”
Lucky peered at the glazed bottom where she could make out the small letter P, the curving part of the letter fashioned in a triangular shape. “Ah. I see it now.”
“Are you looking to buy some more? ’Cause I don’t have any of those left right now.”
“No, actually, I have the full set of my mother’s, but my best friend is getting married in a week and I’m helping her with her wedding. I really wanted to get her a sentimental gift. She loves my mother’s set. I saw an article about you in the local newspaper and that’s what triggered my memory. I felt sure you had to be the person who made this.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Penny turned away and led Lucky to a worktable against the far wall. Her long white hair was plaited in a shining braid. Her back was bent in a dowager’s hump and the top of her head barely reached Lucky’s shoulder. “I’ve been working a lot in rust and orange colors these days. This is what I have right now.” She indicated a stack of plates in deep muted colors covered with small designs reminiscent of folk art.
Lucky picked up one of the plates. “Oh, these are beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I love these colors.” She looked hopefully at Penny. “Are these for sale?”
Penelope nodded. “They sure are. Only thing is, I’ve only made six of the plates and six mugs.”
“That’s a good-sized set.”
Penelope nodded. “Six is a good number. I always like to stop at six. It’s the number of home and hearth; did you know that?”
Lucky shook her head. “No, I didn’t. Never gave it a thought, to be honest.”
“My house number is sixty-nine. Six and nine are fifteen; one and five are six. See? You should think about that some more. Everything’s connected, numbers and colors, humans and animals. Animals always know which humans they can trust. They’re more connected than we are. Maybe I’m superstitious but I always pay attention to numbers. Never could figure out why dishes and glasses and such are sold in sets of eight.” She shuddered. “Eight’s not the right number for stuff for your home. You want to take these?”
“Oh, yes, definitely.” Lucky watched as Penelope deftly wrapped each piece in heavy paper and gently laid them in a cardboard box. When she had finished, she put a fitted lid on the box.
Lucky pulled bills out of her wallet in payment. “I’m so thrilled I found you. Thank you again.”
“You come back anytime you like. You’re from Snowflake?”
Lucky nodded. “I own the By the Spoonful Soup Shop on Broadway. Maybe you can stop by sometime. Soup’s on the house for you.”
“Well, thanks, dear. That’s real nice. I don’t drive anymore, but if I’m ever over that way, I will stop in. What’s the address?”
“It’s One-thirty-two Broadway.”
“See? One, three, two—adds up to six. Told ’ya. A good number.”
“Very interesting. You’re right. I’ll have to pay attention.” Lucky slung her bag over her shoulder and reached down to pat Cerberus’s head. He licked her hand in acknowledgment.
She waved good-bye and lugged her carton of pottery dishes and mugs to the car. She thought a moment and then decided to put the box on the floor of the backseat just to be safe. She didn’t like the thought of this box and its precious cargo shifting around in the trunk. As she drove away she recalled that Jack’s address was 42 Birch Street. She heard Penny’s voice in her head telling her that was a good number.
Chapter 41
LUCKY PULLED TO a stop in the parking lot of the Snowflake Resort. Too late for winter tourists and too early for summer visitors, the lot was virtually empty. Only a few cars were parked in the spacious area. She had decided to take a detour on her way back to the Spoonful. If she couldn’t do anything for Jack, she could at least try to help Sophie by attempting to talk to Rick once more. She was also hoping that if she applied some pressure, Rick might break down and tell her the real reason he was in Snowflake. She suspected he knew much more than he was saying about his partner’s murder, probably much more than he had told Nate at the police station.
She pushed through the revolving door, a space large enough to accommodate more than one traveler and several suitcases. A woman in her thirties in a black suit jacket and a white business shirt manned the reception counter. Lucky had planned to go directly to Rick’s room, but then it occurred to her that his room might have been changed after the discovery of the man in the creek. The clerk looked directly at her and smiled a professional, welcoming smile. Lucky didn’t recognize her. She wasn’t a resident of Snowflake—of that she was sure—but then, the Resort hired people from all over the country, people experienced in hotel work and management. The Resort had become a city unto itself. Today, there were no crowds among which she could hide herself. There was no option but to approach the front desk.
“I’m here to see Rick Colgan.” Lucky smiled. “I believe he’s in Room two-six-nine.”
The woman’s eyebrows raised. “Well, actually, you’re in luck. He’s having lunch in the Mont Blanc Room right now.” She smiled again. “You can catch him there.” The woman at the desk had managed not to deny or confirm Rick’s actual room number.
Lucky thanked her and turned away. The Mont Blanc was a high-end restaurant, with prices she could hardly afford herself. It would have rivaled the most expensive restaurant in any big city. She followed the sign to the restaurant down a short corridor and pulled the heavy carved door open. A maître d’s desk was directly in front of her. Another woman wearing a similar outfit of a black business suit looked up and smiled. Before Lucky could approach the desk, she spotted Rick at a table by a large window that overlooked a view of the mountain.
But Rick wasn’t alone. Tom Reed sat across from him and one of the attorneys who had attended the meeting with Sophie. She smiled at the hostess and apologized.
“Sorry. I was looking for someone but he seems to be busy. I’ll wait in the lobby.”
The woman nodded in acknowledgment.
Lucky retraced her steps and headed for a comfortable armchair that gave her a view of the restaurant’s entrance. As she passed a display of brochures, she picked up one that described services offered at the Snowflake Resort. She sat and opened up the brochure. In an effort to appear casual, she pretended to read it avidly. She could feel the desk clerk’s eyes on her, but studiously avoided looking up and catching the woman’s eye. After ten minutes or so, she heard voices at the end of the corridor as the door to the restaurant opened. Rick Colgan and Tom Reed stepped out and stood by the doorway for a moment or two. They were followed by the third man. All three lingered in the hallway for a few minutes more, then shook hands all around. Rick headed for the lobby while Reed and the attorney walked away in the opposite direction. Rick seemed distracted and took no notice of her sitting in the armchair.
>
He was heading straight for the exit. She hopped up and followed him. She immediately felt a twinge in her back. Her muscles were still hurting from the accident. She stopped and took a deep breath, willing her muscles to relax. Walking more slowly, she pushed through the revolving door and was just able to catch up with him as he stood under the awning of the entrance.
“Rick!” she called out as she exited from the heavy glass revolving door.
He turned, surprised. “Lucky. What are you doing here?”
“Well, actually, I was hoping to see you.”
“Ah,” he said. “Let me guess. My sister sent you.”
Lucky shook her head. “She didn’t. She doesn’t even know I’m here.” She took a deep breath. “But you must know why I wanted to see you.”
“I figured. Here, let’s grab a seat. I can’t stay long.”
“Are you working?”
“Sort of,” he replied vaguely.
“The woman you were hired to locate. What was her name? Washburn? Is she here in Snowflake?”
Rick’s jaw clenched. He avoided her question. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Well, first questions first. If you’re not interested in selling, how come you’re having lunch with Tom Reed and one of his crew?”
He smiled slowly. “’Cause they’re paying for my lunch at a very expensive restaurant. Why not string them along?”
“Look, I don’t think you’re being stubborn just to hurt Sophie. But why won’t you give her an answer about the house?”
“I wanted to see what they’re offering first.”
“And?”
“And they were decidedly lukewarm about it. In fact, they really don’t have an interest in the parcel the house is on. They want the other acreage. I was just curious to see how far they were willing to go. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m not selling. She won’t sell the house and I won’t sell the other land.”
Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4) Page 21
