A Broth of Betrayal (15 page)

“You just found this tonight?”

“Yes. On the floor under the mail slot. It must have come in the post today.”

“Is there a contact person or number on that letter?”

“It’s signed by a Sarah Atkinson, Case Manager. Her number is . . .” Lucky glanced
at the top of the letter and recited the telephone number to Nate.

“I’ll call that woman first thing tomorrow and find out what kind of difficulty Rod
is in. More importantly, how does this concern Elizabeth?”

“That’s what I’m wondering too.”

“When you go, just leave it on the desk. I’ll stop over tomorrow and pick it up.”

“Okay. Just be careful not to let Charlie out.”

“Will do,” Nate grumbled.

Lucky clicked the button and dialed Sophie’s cell phone next.

“Where are you?”

“At Elizabeth’s. Taking care of Charlie and just checking around. Found something
kind of interesting. I’ll fill you in later. Did you have any luck with the neighbors?”

“Not much. A woman two houses away thought she saw Elizabeth four or five days ago,
driving away. She couldn’t remember the exact day. That was about eight thirty in
the morning. It could have been the morning of the demonstration but she’s not entirely
sure. Elizabeth must have been on her way to the office.”

“I saw her next-door neighbor as I was coming down the drive—Enid. She says she saw
Elizabeth pull out of the driveway the morning she didn’t arrive at the office.”

“Oh yes. I spoke to her too. She was sure Elizabeth was alone. She didn’t see anybody
with her, or anybody in her car.”

“She never got there, Sophie. And her office is less than five minutes away. What
could have possibly happened between here and there?”

“Maybe she wasn’t going there right away. She must have taken a detour to do an errand.”

“I’ve thought about that, but where could she have been going that early in the morning?”

“Maybe she stopped at the market to pick up groceries, or the pharmacy?”

“The market’s right in the center of town. Somebody would have seen her. And Flagg’s
Pharmacy doesn’t open till nine thirty anyway.”

“Listen, is there anything I can do tonight? I’m at Sage’s, soaking my feet. I’ve
been walking the woods with a group of searchers, but we can come over to your place
if you’d like some company.”

“No, that’s all right. I’m stopping over at Horace’s next. He wants to show me his
finds. I’m just hanging out a little while to keep poor Charlie company.”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything at all. Sage and I can take turns with Charlie
too. I’m sure Elizabeth wouldn’t mind if we were at her house.”

“She wouldn’t at all. Especially if you’re taking care of Charlie. He’s her baby.”

She clicked off the call and sat for a moment petting Charlie. She pushed away the
thought that Elizabeth might be beyond caring about her house or her cat.

Chapter 24

H
ALF AN HOUR
later, Lucky pulled into the driveway of her parents’ home, Horace’s home now, only
a half mile from Elizabeth’s. She turned off the engine and listened to the chirping
of crickets. A car engine came to life somewhere on the road. She breathed in the
cool, humid night air. Several lights were on inside the house. She grabbed the bottle
of wine she had brought along for the visit and rang the front doorbell. A strange
feeling to be a visitor in the home she had always known, once so familiar, and now
no longer hers.

Horace had fallen in love with the house the minute he had seen it. In a former life,
it had been a barn, and was still painted deep red. A center peak and high window
betrayed its origins, and the wings of the house extended from either side. After
her parents’ death, she wasn’t able to return there to live. The shock had been too
great and too many fresh memories haunted her. Besides which, living here had been
out of the question. She couldn’t afford it, not with the Spoonful being hit hard
financially, and she couldn’t have sold the house for what it would have taken to
pay the mortgages. When Horace came to town and wanted to rent it on a long-term lease
she was thrilled. The house had found the right person.

She rang the bell once again but didn’t hear Horace’s footsteps approaching. She knocked
loudly and waited. No one came. Strange, she thought. Horace had specifically said
this evening and she had agreed. It wasn’t like him to forget. She turned away and
walked to the side of the house. Stepping carefully in the dark, she peeked in a few
of the windows but couldn’t see Horace. Could he have stepped out for a few minutes?
But where would he go? His car was parked outside. Surely he wouldn’t have gone into
the woods after dark. She continued to the rear of the house. She reached a window
that allowed her a view of the spare room next to the kitchen. Horace had converted
this space to an office. She couldn’t see the desk from where she stood, but papers
were strewn all over the floor. That wasn’t like Horace. He was obsessively neat and
organized when he worked.

She stepped away from the window and looked behind her. The familiar woods now loomed
dark and foreboding. At the back, the light over the door was lit, as was the kitchen
light. She peeked through the window of the door. The kitchen was deserted. She was
certain Horace wasn’t inside. She left the bottle of wine on a back stair and walked
to the edge of the grass nearest the trees. She called Horace’s name, her voice carrying
on the warm night air, and peered into the woods. Either her eyes were playing tricks
or there was a flicker of light deep within the trees. Something was very wrong.

She called Horace’s name again and slipped through the trees heading to the spot where
the light shone. Twigs and dry leaves crunched under her sandals. Her foot caught
on a tree root and she almost stumbled. She reached a small clearing that she knew
well and found the source of the light. A flashlight lay on the ground, its beam aimed
at a tree trunk. She picked it up and turned slowly, aiming at the dark spaces, afraid
that someone could be lurking in the shadows. The moon was only a thin sliver in the
sky. Inside the trees it was pitch-dark. She shivered, suddenly aware of how alone
she was. An owl hooted in the distance and a small creature scampered through the
undergrowth. She whipped around, aiming the flashlight at the sound. Her eye caught
something out of place. She moved closer. It was cloth, a dark cloth, and something
brighter. She aimed the flashlight. Plaid material—a shirt. Horace’s shirt. He was
behind a large pine tree, splayed on the dead leaves and pine needles. Her heart leaped
to her throat. The image of Harry Hodges lying in a pool of blood flashed before her
eyes.

Lucky knelt and placed a hand on his neck. His skin was warm. She shook his shoulder
gently. “Horace.”

He groaned and his eyes fluttered open.

“Horace, what happened?’

“I . . .” He tried to roll to his side but winced in pain. Lucky dropped the flashlight
and guided him slowly into a sitting position.

“I don’t know. Someone was calling . . .” He touched his head and winced in pain again.
“I went to see what was wrong.”

“Let’s get you back to the house. Can you stand up?”

“I think so.” He struggled to his feet and reached out to a tree trunk for balance.

Lucky took his arm to guide him, shining the flashlight on the path before them. When
they reached the house, she picked up the bottle of wine she had left on the step
and led Horace inside to a kitchen chair. She locked the kitchen door. “Let’s have
a look at you.”

Horace held a hand to the back of his head.

“Does that hurt?”

He nodded. “Yes. A bit.”

“Did you fall and hit your head?”

“I think I must have. I tripped over a tree root and went flying.”

“Horace, what were you thinking to go into the woods at night?” she asked gently.

Horace took a deep, shaky breath. “I heard someone calling. It was faint but it sounded
like a woman. I’m not sure now but I thought she was saying, ‘
Help me, help me
.’”
Horace looked up. “Lucky, I didn’t imagine it.”

“The song of the siren.” Lucky shivered. “No, I don’t think you imagined it. Too many
weird things have been happening lately. But all the same, if you ever need anything
or you’re worried about anything, just call me or call Jack. We’d come out immediately
to help you.”

“You’re right. I guess it was foolish. But I thought someone was in trouble.”

Lucky nodded. “After what happened to Harry, I think we should report this to Nate.”

“Oh,” Horace groaned. “I really don’t want to bother Nate. He has enough to deal with.”

“Horace, listen to me. What if this is connected to Harry’s murder?”

Horace’s eyes widened. She was getting through to him. “I see what you mean. All right.
If you insist, I’ll call Nate tomorrow—first thing.”

“Let’s call him right now. If we don’t, we’ll have to listen to a lecture about not
calling him immediately.”

Horace sighed and nodded slowly. “You’re probably right.”

Lucky picked up the phone on the kitchen wall and dialed Nate’s cell phone. He answered
on the first ring. She quickly filled him in on Horace’s condition.

“You did the right thing. I’ll be there in twenty,” Nate replied and hung up. In the
background, she heard Susanna Edgerton, Nate’s wife, questioning him about the call.
She was sure Susanna, like everyone else in town, was on edge.

“I don’t think you should be alone out here, Horace. Not after this. If it’s okay
with you, I’d like to stay here tonight. I can sleep on the sofa, or even better,
you could stay at Jack’s. He wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, he’d enjoy the company.”

“Oh, there’s no need to put your grandfather out. I’ll be fine. You’re certainly welcome
to stay if you like but there’s no need to worry about me. Maybe it was just kids
fooling around in the woods.”

“I hope that’s all it was.” Lucky doubted the explanation was that simple. This house
was a mile outside of town. All the years that she had lived in her parents’ home,
she had felt isolated from the teenage hangouts in town until she was allowed to drive.
Now Horace was here all alone. “I’d feel better if you had a dog.”

“Me? A dog?”

“Sure. Why not? They’re wonderful company and a dog would be sure to alert you if
someone was prowling around. Sit still. I’m going to check your scalp.” Lucky carefully
examined Horace’s head but could find no blood. The skin wasn’t broken but a large
egg was starting to form on the back of his head. “Can you look up? I just want to
check your pupils.” Flashlight in hand, she aimed the light at Horace’s eyes, first
right and then left. “Try not to blink.” Horace obediently complied. “Okay, your pupils
are normal. But since that’s the extent of my nursing skills, you might still have
a concussion. Ask Elias to check you tomorrow.”

She found a dish towel in the drawer and soaked it in cold water. Then she broke open
a tray of ice cubes, wrapped them inside the towel and banged the bundle against the
old porcelain sink until the cubes were smashed. “Here, hold this at the back of your
head. It will help. And I’ll pour us some wine.” She uncorked the wine and poured
a small glass for herself and a much larger one for Horace.

“Thank you, my dear. If you hadn’t found me . . .” he trailed off.

“You most likely would have come to and found your way back, but all the same, I’m
so glad I happened to come by. I think you need to have a look around as soon as you
can. I peeked through the window and someone’s made a big mess in your office.”

“What? Oh no. All my work.” Horace stood quickly and swayed a bit. He grabbed onto
the back of the chair for balance. Spotting Lucky’s concerned look, he managed a smile.
“I’m all right. Really I am.”

“I think the goal was to lure you away from the house.”

“Oh my. I hadn’t thought of that. But why? I don’t have any valuables, and only a
little bit of cash in the house. I can’t imagine why I would be a target.”

He walked somewhat unsteadily toward the office. Lucky followed, watching him carefully
for any sign of imbalance.

“Look at this!” Horace surveyed the disarray. “Why would anybody do this?” He started
to bend down to reach papers on the floor and stopped midway.

Lucky took his arm and led him to an armchair. “You sit here. Keep holding the ice
to your head. It must be throbbing.”

He followed her direction and watched as Lucky moved around the room, picking up books
and papers and laying them in neat piles on the desk. One of the desk drawers was
slightly open. “Horace, what do you keep in here?”

“Why, nothing, just supplies. Except . . .” Horace’s face turned gray. He stood and
moved quickly to the desk. He opened a deep drawer on the left side of the desk and
pulled out a cardboard box. He lifted the lid and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank
heavens this is safe.”

Lucky looked over his shoulder. Horace very carefully picked up the bundle of cloth
inside. He gently laid the contents on top of his desk and unwrapped the covering
to reveal a powder horn, the one found with the skeletal remains. “Look at this. Isn’t
it amazing? It has some damage but you can see the beautiful, smooth patina. They
very carefully cleaned this at the University. See? Here is Nathanael’s name and the
carving of his family’s home.” Horace’s finger traced the pattern in the air above
the horn. “This one is about eleven inches in length and its base is just under three
inches. It would have held perhaps three quarters of a pound of black powder. Here
is Nathanael’s prayer—‘
may this powder kepe saf my home.
’”

“So sad, to think these men died so young.”

“What’s sad is that nothing at all has changed. Young men and women are still dying.
We can’t seem to keep peace on our planet.” Horace sat down heavily in the desk chair.
“But . . .” He smiled broadly. “Here’s the really interesting bit—the one that so
upset Cordelia Rank.” Horace pulled the center drawer open and retrieved a small box.
A delicate velvet box that a jeweler might use. He placed it next to the powder horn
and looked up at Lucky. “Wait till you see this.” He gently pulled the lid open. Lucky
stared at Horace’s stricken face.

The lead ball was gone.