A Spoonful of Murder (16 page)

“How did you get to meet Honeywell?” Lucky asked.

Sophie’s lips twisted. “Patsy Honeywell—that woman was a witch! She ran a number on me about how she admired my technique and could she hire me for some privates and so on—money was no issue. The first lesson, I realize now, was a setup. She pretended to be having trouble with certain moves. The second time we got together it was obvious she didn’t need any coaching. She was an expert skier. She only hired me ’cause she had some ax to grind with Sage. She really wanted to cause trouble between us. Whatever was behind it, I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me, but she made it obvious she was thrilled to run into him again—like whatever was going on before could be going on now. I was furious. And she enjoyed watching me squirm. I would have been happy to do her in myself!”

“What did Sage say when you asked him?”

“He swore up and down he hated her and he’d just as soon see her dead.”

L
UCKY FLIPPED THROUGH
a three-year-old magazine about early childhood parenting. Considering the wealth of information about the care of infants, she decided that keeping a failing business going was far less complicated than caring for an infant. No wonder she never liked playing with dolls. Jack shifted uncomfortably in the vinyl chair next to hers. He was bundled up in his jacket and refused to take it off.

Rosemary, the receptionist at the Clinic, put down the phone and smiled at them. “Shouldn’t be much longer. Dr. Scott will be ready for you soon.” Lucky was temporarily taken aback to hear Elias referred to so formally—“Dr. Scott” had such an impressive sound.

She had questioned Jack about his medical care and learned he hadn’t seen a doctor in almost ten years. He looked a little sheepish admitting that, but immediately countered with the remark that he was as strong as an ox and better off staying away from doctors. It took some convincing, but he finally agreed to have a wellness checkup when Lucky insisted. She was fortunate to be able to get him in first thing on Monday morning, usually a very busy day at
the Clinic. Jack wasn’t happy about any of it, and she was there with him to make sure he kept his appointment.

He shifted around in his chair and leaned over to whisper, “Lucky, my girl, none of this is necessary. I’m as healthy as the proverbial horse.”

“Thought it was an ox.”

“Ox then, Miss Smarty Pants,” he grumbled. Rosemary looked up from her counter and smiled in their direction. Jack nodded to her.

“I know you are. I just want you to have an annual physical—have everything checked out. It’s important.”

“I’m not sick, Lucky—I just get confused sometimes. It’s my nerves—that’s all it is.”

Lucky put down her magazine and reached over to squeeze his hand. “I know, Jack. Just humor me, okay? You’re all the family I have now, and I want to make sure you have an annual checkup and a doctor who knows your history.”

A buzzer rang on Rosemary’s desk. She picked up the phone and said, “Okay, thanks.” She looked over at Jack. “The nurse is on her way now.” Jack, impatient, heaved a sigh and rose from his chair.

Lucky tossed the magazine back in the rack. “I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

A smiling woman in a pink uniform, her brown gray hair pulled back in a bun, pushed open the door and spotted Jack. “Mr. Jamieson? Hello. Please come right this way.” Jack glanced back at Lucky. He looked as if he were heading to a gallows. Lucky gave him an encouraging smile.

The waiting room was empty now. Rosemary had watched their exchange with a sympathetic look. “He’ll be fine. They’ll take his weight and blood pressure, and draw blood for a CBC. Then he can talk to the doctor.”

Lucky nodded in response. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Elias since their dinner last Friday night, and deliberately hadn’t said much about Jack’s “spells,” as she thought of them. She didn’t want to influence any opinion Elias might form. When the results were back, she’d find a private
moment when she could hopefully talk to Elias about her fears.

Rosemary continued to stare at Lucky. “You’re Lucky Jamieson, aren’t you?”

Lucky nodded and smiled in return.

“My friend Janie works for you. We went all through high school together. She’s really my best friend. She told me about you—how you went off to college and lived in Madison. That’s so great. I hope I can save enough money to do that too. It must be so exciting to be anywhere but here.”

Lucky smiled ruefully. “Sometimes. Yes. But there’s no getting away from yourself, and after a while, it’s just the same as if you never left.”

“Oh, don’t say that! It’s all I dream about.”

Lucky remembered her own yearnings when she was younger, sure that greener pastures awaited her. She didn’t want to disillusion Rosemary at her tender age, or stomp on her dreams. “And once you’ve been away, then sometimes coming home is wonderful too.”

Rosemary shrugged. “I guess. Wouldn’t mind finding out.”

The door on the far side of the room opened. It was marked with a sign that said
NO ENTRANCE
. A plump woman in a long beige coat with a fur collar stepped into the waiting area. She smiled and nodded to Rosemary and walked out through the front door. Rosemary sat up slightly straighter in her chair and returned a tight smile.

Lucky raised an eyebrow and looked questioningly at Rosemary. Rosemary turned to her. “That’s Mrs. Starkfield, Dr. Starkfield’s wife. She stops in a lot.”

Lucky spoke very quietly. “Do I detect a teensy bit of dislike?”

Rosemary dropped her professional air and leaned closer. “Oh, she’s all right—she means well. It’s just…” Rosemary’s voice trailed off.

“Just what?”

“Actually, I feel a little sorry for her. I think she’s kinda
lonely. She and Dr. Starkfield never had any kids, and she tries to keep herself busy. She comes into the Clinic to help out with whatever we need. It’s just—she’s the boss’s wife, you know. You feel like you don’t want to make a mistake or say the wrong thing in front of her.”

“And the other staff people don’t mind?”

“No. Not at all. She and Dr. Starkfield are so cute together—he’s very tall and she’s so short. He adores her and we all love him. She volunteers a lot of time at St. Genesius too. She’s head of the Ladies’ Auxiliary. I’m sure she pretty much runs the show—has a lot to say about which minister gets hired, who’s allowed to plan their wedding there, that kind of stuff. And besides, Elias is really the more senior doctor, even if he’s younger. And Dr. Starkfield’s real nice. We all like him a lot.” Rosemary beamed.

Lucky smiled to herself, wondering if the women here had the same crush on Elias as she had always had. She picked up her magazine and managed to read two long articles, something she usually never had time to do. Finally, she heard voices approaching from the corridor. The same nurse in the pink uniform opened the door and held it as Jack returned to the waiting area. Elias followed behind him. Elias shook Jack’s hand and said, “It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Mr. Jamieson.”

“Call me Jack, please.” He was smiling. Lucky breathed a sigh of relief.

Lucky rose and joined him as he headed for the front door. She smiled and waved to Elias.

He called out, “Lucky, give me a call when you have a minute. Let’s talk about next weekend.” Jack was slipping on his coat, and while his back was turned, Elias winked. Lucky realized Rosemary was staring unabashedly and felt her cheeks flaming. She did her best to avoid Rosemary’s gaze.

Elias turned and reentered the corridor to the examining rooms. Lucky held the door for Jack, and as it closed behind them, she gave Rosemary a quick wave. When they had
walked a few steps away from the Clinic entrance, Lucky asked, “Well, how did it go?”

“Fine, I guess. The nurse said they’d call if there was any question about the results. So I guess I’ll have a clean bill of health.”

“Good,” Lucky replied. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Jack shrugged. “Those docs always make me nervous. But that young man wasn’t bad at all. He a friend of yours?”

“Mmm, yes. I guess he is.”

Jack stared straight ahead as they walked. “That’s good. We all need friends.” Lucky glanced at him quickly to see if he was teasing her, but his expression remained neutral. Jack never missed much.

As they turned the corner to Broadway, Lucky said, “Jack, I have a quick errand to run. Can I meet you at the Spoonful in a half an hour?”

“Of course, my girl. You go ahead. Janie’s gonna be there—her mother’s calmed down. We’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Jack smiled and turned away, heading down the street to Broadway. Lucky stood in the bright sunlight watching him walk away. He moved slower, she noticed, his posture more stooped than she remembered. She felt a sudden pang in her chest, frightened that something could take him away. She had to make sure that didn’t happen soon. Without him, what real connections would she have—not just in Snowflake, but anywhere?

She turned away and headed back to her apartment building where her car was parked. She dug her keys out of her purse and climbed in. Inside the car it was much colder. She shivered and turned on the engine, hoping it wouldn’t take too long to warm up. She rummaged in the side pocket of her purse and found the slip of paper with the address she had discovered in Patricia Honeywell’s datebook.

She turned back to Broadway and drove north out of the town center. Near the end of the road, she made a left before it continued to the highway. Mohawk Trail wound slowly up
the hill, the homes becoming larger as she approached the top. This section of Snowflake had been built more than fifty years before, but by Snowflake standards, the neighborhood was new. It was an enclave of the wealthier residents of town, including those employed at the higher end of the corporate structure of the Resort. The house at 201 Brewster sat elevated up from the street, a two-story colonial with a brick front, its peaked roof covered in snow.

Lucky leaned over the passenger seat as she drove past, curious to get a better look. She reached the top of the hill where a small park had been carved out and then turned and drove slowly down the hill again, stopping one house before she reached number 201 on the opposite side of the street. She pulled over to the side and turned off her engine. The interior of the car was warm now, but it wouldn’t last very long without the heater running. Curiosity drove her, but now that she was here, she had no idea what to do. An address in a murder victim’s calendar—jotted down quickly in a margin. How had Nate overlooked Honeywell’s datebook, or missed this address? What significance did it have, if any?

Perhaps Honeywell had known the residents of this home? Had they been her friends? For all anyone knew, the dead woman could have had friends—maybe even relatives—who lived in the area. That alone could be the reason she was in Snowflake. Cold started to seep through the floorboards. Lucky turned the key in the ignition and cranked the heater on full blast, shifting the dial so the rush of warm air hit her feet. What should she do? Could she simply walk up the stairs, ring the bell and ask whoever answered if they knew Patricia Honeywell? Was it possible whoever lived here had not heard of the murder? Lucky thought,
Unlikely.
And of course they might deny knowing the victim for fear they’d be entangled in a murder investigation.

Just as she had finally come to the decision to ring the bell and see who answered, the front door opened, and a woman and a young girl of perhaps ten came out. The girl
was carrying a knapsack with a pink design that looked like an elongated cat. The woman wore slacks and a heavy jacket with a hood. She hurried to an SUV parked in the driveway and unlocked the doors. The young girl climbed in the passenger seat, and the woman leaned over to make sure the girl’s seat belt was secure. The car backed slowly down the incline to the street and headed down the hill. Lucky put her car in gear, half wanting to follow them, but before she could, the garage door slowly rose and a white sedan pulled out on the drive. The car also backed down the steep driveway, as the garage door closed. The driver executed a turn and, following the path of the SUV, headed down the hill. On impulse, Lucky slipped the car into gear, following at a discreet distance. The white car headed down Mohawk Trail to the bottom of the hill. The SUV turned left toward the highway. The woman gave a quick toot on the horn as she made the turn. The white sedan, driven by the lone man, turned in the opposite direction, heading south on Broadway. Lucky followed several car lengths behind, passing the Spoonful and the shops on Broadway. When the driver reached Spruce, he turned right and drove up the hill toward Ridgeline. This was the route to the Snowflake Resort.

The driver didn’t appear to be rushed. He moved smoothly up the hill, turning in at the stone-pillared entrance to the Resort and its attendant businesses. Driving to the very end of the main parking lot where the administrative buildings were housed, he parked in a spot near the front door. Lucky passed his car slowly, watching as he climbed out and headed for the entrance to the business offices of the Resort. These were housed in a building erected to resemble a small Swiss chalet, continuing the theme of the other buildings. He wore a long black coat over slacks and a sports jacket, a dark shirt with no tie and a plaid scarf around his neck. His hair was short and fair. He was somewhere in his midforties and carried a leather briefcase. The man appeared intently focused, a severe expression on his face as though he was about to reprimand his secretary or any other employee he found in his path.