A Spoonful of Murder (18 page)

Lucky nodded. “You’re right, of course. I’m just throwing out ideas and getting your reaction.”

“Do you want me to bring this to Nate’s attention? Perhaps I should in any event.”

“I can’t stop you, of course, but if you don’t mind, can you hold off a bit? I’d like a chance to see what I can learn before you do that.”

“I don’t like this, Lucky. I don’t like this one bit—that you’re involving yourself with this murder.”

“I’m involved whether I like it or not just by virtue of the fact that her body was found behind our restaurant. We’re now down our only chef and many, many customers. I have to do something.” Lucky was annoyed that her voice sounded petulant to her ears.

“I’m wondering why Nate didn’t remove that calendar or datebook or whatever it was from the house. That sounds very sloppy to me,” Elizabeth offered.

“It’s possible he may have glanced at it and didn’t find anything remarkable in it. There wasn’t much to it at all; maybe that’s why it was left behind. She had made a few notations for events later on—events she’ll never be attending. There was a note about the start of the lease and Eleanor Jensen’s office number—that type of thing.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes. Has he spoken to you about Sage’s arrest?”

“No. Nor should he, really. It’s not my place to second-guess the Chief of Police. I could maybe speak to him and ask him what evidence he has—in confidence—and he might tell me. But then again, he might just tell me to mind my own business.”

“Oh, I forgot to mention…I ran into Flo Sullivan at the
house. She does light cleaning for the realty office, and she told me Honeywell was frightened of someone.”

“Flo Sullivan? Oh, my word, Lucky, she’s the worst gossip in town. She doesn’t mean any harm, but you can’t believe a word that comes out of that woman’s mouth. She’d spout any nonsense to get attention.”

Lucky slumped back in the chair and fell silent, discouraged that all her efforts might come to nothing.

“I understand how you feel, dear. I love you like a daughter and I want you to promise me you’ll be very, very careful. You don’t know what you’re doing, and you could stir up a dangerous hornet’s nest.”

Lucky heaved a frustrated sigh. “I promise you I’ll be very careful, but like it or not, I have to do something. Whatever was going on in Patricia Honeywell’s life got her killed. We won’t get the Spoonful back on track until the real killer is found.”

“T
HANKS FOR STOPPING
by. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted a chance to talk to you about Jack.”

Lucky sat in a patient chair in Elias’s office at the Clinic the following morning after Jack’s appointment. She had felt a sense of dread since Elias had called her at home to say he wanted to talk to her about Jack’s examination. He had particularly asked if she could stop in early before patients started to arrive.

“Have you noticed anything about his behavior or memory lately? Any cognitive problems?” he asked.

Lucky took a deep breath to quell the fear. “Yes, I have. I didn’t want to mention anything until he had a complete checkup. He had an episode after we discovered the body behind the Spoonful. I’m guessing it’s some form of post-traumatic stress disorder. It brought back a terrible episode from his time in the service. But he knew what was happening to him. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t in touch with reality.”

“Anything else you’ve noticed?” Elias glanced at Lucky’s hands. Her fingers were twisting nervously. It was obvious she was terribly worried about Jack.

“A few days ago…he thought his wife—my grandmother—was coming to pick him up at the Spoonful. It took a few moments before he came back to reality.”

Elias nodded. “I noticed the hula girl tattoo on his arm—I asked him about it just to make conversation.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, very seriously, that she was his wife—I thought he was joking, but then I realized he wasn’t.”

“Oh, God, Elias, what’s going on with him?”

“We need to run some tests. I can set them up for him at the hospital in Lincoln Falls. There’s no need to panic. I just want to rule out as many things as possible.”

“Tell me the truth…do you think it’s Alzheimer’s?”

“I am not going to jump to that conclusion. The fact is there is no clinical test for that condition, but there are other tests that can diagnose problems other than Alzheimer’s that could be causing his symptoms—tomography, MRI. Any number of things can cause dementia—and not just in elderly people. Many elderly people do often suffer from certain forms of dementia—mild ones, such as forgetfulness, inability to do certain tasks—and that can be caused by something as simple as decreased blood flow to the brain. One thing is important, though—he needs to stay connected. He needs to feel he’s needed and wanted, and have tasks to do each day. Anything that will keep him active and busy—a job, social connections, all of that is very important.”

“Like the Spoonful?”

“Yes. Exactly like the Spoonful.” Any hope she once had of extricating herself from the Spoonful was out of the question. A few days before, she had felt guilty about keeping Jack hanging on her decision, but now the tables had turned. Jack needed the Spoonful if he were to continue his life with any sense of meaning. Everything had conspired to bring her back to Snowflake, to enmesh her in her parents’ business and to shoulder the burden of care for her grandfather. Was that what fate was? Not a lightning bolt from the sky, but a series of small things that led to an unavoidable conclusion.
There was a phrase she had once read—“turning to meet one’s fate.” She had turned to meet her fate. She looked at Elias and thought about his warmth and his strong hands resting on the desk. Perhaps, with luck, one’s fate might not be a bad thing at all.

“Elias, you remember I asked you if Patricia Honeywell was a patient here? Have you had a chance to check your roster?”

Elias looked at her blankly across the desk. “I’m sorry. You did ask and it slipped my mind. What makes you think she might have been a patient?”

“She had a business card from the Clinic.”

“Really? How do you know that?” Elias asked, a puzzled frown on his face.

Lucky was reluctant to admit to her search of the house on Bear Path Lane. “I…uh, it fell out of her wallet one day at the restaurant. I was at the cash register and I happened to notice.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire,
she thought, hoping her face wasn’t turning red.

“Lucky, look, I understand your concern for Sage, but what you’re asking me to do, strictly speaking, I shouldn’t.”

“Anything you tell me won’t go any further. And I’m sure if you did discover anything, you’d tell Nate right away, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would.” Elias heaved a sigh. “I’ll have a look in the database. That should be up-to-date. But I’m sure our records clerk would have checked already, because we arranged for the autopsy. Let’s see…let me get down to the H’s.” He clicked on the mouse until he reached the correct list and stared at the screen for a moment, scrolling down. “No. She’s not here.”

“If she just came in for something as simple as a flu shot, would she be listed in your patient records?”

“Yes, definitely. Even if she never came here again. We have to keep accurate records and histories.” Elias turned away from the monitor. “Sorry, I guess this wasn’t much help. What were you hoping to learn?”

“Nothing…I don’t know…just information gathering.
Trying to learn anything I can about her, hoping I turn up something that helps get Sage out of jail.”

Elias smiled wryly. “I wish you luck with that one. I can’t imagine why he would murder her, or anyone else for that matter. But maybe there’s some deep, dark story behind their relationship.”

Lucky thought of Janie and Meg’s witnessing Honeywell following Sage down the street and accosting him. Elias was right. There was a whole lot more to that story that she didn’t know.

They heard a light knock. The office door opened and Lucky looked up to see a tall man in a white lab coat. A stethoscope dangled from his pocket. Somewhere in his midfifties, he was ruggedly handsome with dark hair graying at the temples.

“Oh, sorry, Elias, didn’t realize you were with a patient.”

“That’s quite all right, Jon. I’d like you to meet Lucky Jamieson. She runs the By the Spoonful Soup Shop.”

“Oh, really? I’ve heard good things about your place. I’ll have to get there soon.” Jon smiled and reached out to shake her hand. “Very happy to meet you.” He was one of those people, she realized, with the ability to put others at their ease instantly.

“I just popped in because Abigail reminded me to ask you about the tickets.”

“Oh, right. Thanks. Please put me down for two.”

“Will do.” Jon smiled and, with a wave in Lucky’s direction, shut the door behind him.

“I’m glad he stopped in. Now that I have you alone again, would you like to attend a concert on Friday evening?”

“Here? In Snowflake?”

“There’s a local choral group, and they sing sometimes with a string trio—harp, cello and violin. Jon’s wife sings with them. They’re really wonderful. Some are retired professionals from New York. They’ve formed a group and do several programs a year. I’d think you’d really enjoy it.”

“I’m musically ignorant, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Great.” Elias smiled broadly. “I’ll pick you up at seven—it’s
at St. Genesius, by the way. Wonderful acoustics and a beautiful setting.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Elias walked Lucky to the front door and unlocked it for her. Her heart lifted at the thought of another evening with him. For a moment, she had forgotten her worries about Jack. What was it about him that seemed to chase away all her cares?

S
AGE PICKED AT
the remnants of breakfast that Bradley had passed through the hatch on a tray. He was grateful for the hot coffee, but his appetite had abandoned him. This couldn’t hold a candle to the coffee at the Spoonful, but it was better than nothing—probably better than anything he’d be able to get for a good, long while. Bradley had been more than happy to explain exactly what would happen to him if the judge didn’t allow bail. And since he wasn’t in any position to post bail, thinking about getting out was a moot point.

He took a bite of toast and forced himself to swallow it. Looking back, maybe it was inevitable that things had turned out this way. He always swore he’d never be like his old man and make a mess of everything. Yet here he was. The old man had been a drunk who kicked at everything in his path, angry he couldn’t escape from a run-down farm up in Maine. Remy took after the old man, not in cruelty but in his lack of responsibility. The nightmares still came sometimes, the old man screaming at him and Remy, telling them how worthless they were, the constant rage and beatings.
Remy was just a little kid, and when he cried, Sage would always try to comfort him. When the old man’s temper grew more brutal, he wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t give the old bastard the satisfaction. Nursing a silent and growing hatred for the old man, he kept his own counsel.

After their mother died, it got worse. He was drunk most every day—but never drunk enough to pass out and leave him and Remy in peace. For entertainment, he used to drag them into the barn and rip their worn shirts off. He’d pull off his belt and beat them till they bled, red welts crisscrossing their backs. He was too big to take on—even drunk. Sage did his best to protect Remy, but that only made the old man madder. When he was done, he’d lock them in the barn for the night. Sage always did his best to clean Remy’s wounds, covering him with his shirt and an old blanket. They’d sleep in a pile of hay, Remy curled up on his arm like a baby. One night he made a decision. He had to get out. Remy cried but Sage promised he’d come back for him. He wouldn’t forget. He told Remy to hang on until he could set something up for the both of them. He left the next day. He hiked out to the road and hitched a ride to a nearby town where he found his first job, trimming bushes for an elderly woman. When she found out he couldn’t go home, she gave him a room to sleep in above her garage and some clothes that had once belonged to her husband. That was the first step in his journey to remake his life.