A Spoonful of Murder (24 page)

“I have a surprise for you.”

“For me?” Jack raised one eyebrow.

“Close your eyes.” Lucky smiled.

Jack looked surprised but did as he was told. Lucky reached under the counter and lifted up the CD player. She placed the disc of big band music on top of the player.

“Okay. Open your eyes.”

Jack stared at the player in front of him. “Whoa! Where did you get this?”

“At Mom’s house. I forgot it was there, and I found the CD at the pharmacy. I thought it would come in handy here.”

Jack picked up the disc and studied the song list. “I remember some of these. But you’ll have to show me how to use that thing.”

“It’s really easy.” Lucky plugged the player in and ripped the covering off the CD case. “Just press this button right here. The top pops up, then press the disc down like this,” she said, illustrating. “Then close the top and hit the play button, right here.”

Jack nodded. “I can do that. Although I may need my glasses to see the little symbols.” A second later, a saxophone solo swelled at the start of the first song and filled the restaurant with a mellow sound.

“Beautiful,” Jack replied. His eyes took on a far-off look. “We should have had music playing here a long time ago. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before.”

Remy called from the kitchen. “Wow. That sounds great—nice to have music while you work.”

Lucky leaned on the counter, leafing through the pages of the cookbook. “What do you want to try first?”

“You pick. I’m game for anything.”

Lucky studied the recipes, trying to choose something she was in the mood for and also something for which they had the ingredients. “Here’s a recipe for potato leek soup with watercress. Do we have any watercress?”

“Nope. But we can use parsley or maybe some chives on top.”

“Come on in the kitchen. Let’s get started. I need to start the dishwasher too. Should have done it last night. But I’ll peel the potatoes and you can be the soup master for today.”

Jack pulled a pot out from the cabinet and dribbled a few drops of walnut oil in the pan. “I think we should experiment. This might be too strong a flavor, but it might work.” He added the leeks and shallots that Lucky had chopped to the oil and let them soften. When Lucky had finished peeling
and chopping the potatoes and a few sticks of celery, Jack added those to the pot with water and chicken stock.

“No onions?” he asked. “Never heard of making soup without onions.”

“Well, leeks and shallots are their first cousins, so I’m sure it’s fine,” she answered.

“Here we go, my girl.” Jack stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon. A slight nutty fragrance assailed her nostrils as the broth simmered. Jack turned down the gas and covered the pot. “Smells good, so far. Sage would be proud of us.”

“Maybe I can get him to write down some of his recipes when I see him next. That is, if he doesn’t consider them his intellectual property.”

Jack laughed. “Tell him we won’t feed him until he…” Jack stopped in midsentence. The dishwasher was making deep grinding noises.

Lucky bit back her reply when she heard the noise. Jack dropped his spoon and moved closer to the dishwasher, cocking one ear to listen to the sound it was making. Suddenly the dishwasher came to a grinding halt and the kitchen was silent.

Remy had stopped scrubbing and climbed down the ladder. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Lucky groaned. “We don’t need this now.” She heard the phone ringing in the office. “Hang on, Jack. I better grab this.” She hurried down the corridor to the office and caught the phone on the third ring. It was the Spoonful’s landlord, Norman Rank.

“Hello, Lucky. I just wanted to remind you, it’s the first today. I hope you’ll be getting your check to me before the end of the day.”

Lucky felt her face grow hot. She knew it was the first of the month, but with all that had happened, it had slipped her mind to stop by Mr. Rank’s house with her check. How could she forget? If she hadn’t been so busy sniffing around Patricia Honeywell’s life, she would have been taking better care of her own. She recovered quickly. “Of course, I’ll be
there within the hour. I hadn’t forgotten.” She added, “I’m heading to the bank first to make deposits, and then I’ll come see you.”

Norman Rank cleared his throat. “I heard about the trouble down there. I hope it hasn’t affected business.” Lucky could visualize his fussy demeanor without having to see the expression on his face. “You know, your parents always stopped by with their rent check before it was due.”

She gritted her teeth at the judgmental remark rather than respond in anger. His implication being, of course, that she was unqualified or incompetent in some fashion to take over and run the business successfully.

“Yes, I’m sure they did.”
And since your rent check is due today, you’ll receive it right on time,
she thought, but bit back the words. “See you very soon.”

As soon as she hung up, she pulled the ledger out of the drawer. Their account was almost completely drained, and they were short of the rent by several hundred dollars. A feeling of exhaustion came over her. The only way she could pay the rent and all the rest of the bills this month would be to transfer the last of her earnings from her former job into the restaurant’s account. Had her parents had this much trouble? Her impression had always been that the restaurant was booming and her parents had no financial difficulties, even though she knew they worked very hard. It must have been tough for them nonetheless.

She took a deep, shaky breath. Now the dishwasher had given up the ghost. Even if, by some miracle, Sage were released, would their business return to normal? Maybe there was a cloud over the Spoonful that nothing could dispel. Maybe it was her. Maybe she was the jinx. She made a notation in the ledger for the amount she would transfer and then deducted the rent, writing a check payable to Norman Rank who owned most of the commercial spaces in town, inherited from one of Snowflake’s original families. She thought if she ever achieved any financial success, she’d buy the building herself and never have to pay rent again.

She returned to the kitchen to find Jack half lying on the
floor and the dishwasher pulled out from the wall. The soup still simmered on the stove. He had spread newspapers on the floor and was busy removing the back covering of the machine. Remy knelt by the toolbox and searched for a screwdriver.

“Is it fixable?”

Jack peered up at her. “Possibly. Think it blew its transmission. But if I can’t figure it out, we’ll have to call someone. Any money left in the account?”

“Sure.” Lucky decided she wouldn’t tell Jack just how low they were. He didn’t need to worry. “We’ll be okay. I’m heading over to Norman’s to pay the rent. I almost forgot today’s the first, and…” An idea had formed in her head. “I have another errand to run but I’ll be back later.”

“You go ahead. Remy and I can hold the fort.”

O
NCE LUCKY HAD
transferred the last of her funds into the restaurant account and driven to Norman Rank’s house to drop off the rent check, she returned to her apartment to change her clothes. She dressed in her black skirt and boots and long coat. She wanted to look her best if she had any hope of gaining access to the corporate offices of the Resort. She drove up the hill toward the Snowflake Resort. When she reached the top, she entered through the drive marked by stone pillars. She headed for the building that Tom Reed had entered just two days ago, passing by the spot where he had parked his car. There it was—a silver Saab. Nice looking, undoubtedly with all the bells and whistles. Was this the car Josh had seen at the house on Bear Path Lane? She hit the brakes and stared at the bumper. No blue and white sticker; not even a residue of glue where a sticker might have been. She scanned the parking area, but all the spaces were marked
RESERVED
. She’d have to park in the next lot and walk back.

She wasn’t at all sure what she planned to do here. She couldn’t very well go to Nate and tell him she had searched
his evidence box. She also couldn’t tell him she had rummaged through the house on Bear Path Lane where she had found Reed’s home address. Reed owed Honeywell or her corporation a great deal of money, and perhaps he was in a position to repay that money on the due date, but perhaps he was not. Perhaps, and she realized this was all speculation, he had borrowed from the corporation in order to invest in the limited partnership that owned and ran the Resort. If so, that investment earned him a share of the profits, and a very nice living for himself and his family. If he couldn’t repay the money on time, Honeywell could have brought a lawsuit against him, uncovering his shaky finances. Surely he had a hefty share of the profits here, but was it enough to pay back $5 million on demand? And then there were his political aspirations. It wouldn’t help his campaign to be sued for nonpayment of a promissory note while he was running for the state senate.

She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to Reed, but she knew she wanted to meet him, no matter what wheels she might set in motion. She had been accused of opening her mouth and putting her foot in it often enough, and she knew it was a fair assessment, but the time had come to upset a few applecarts. Tom Reed wasn’t above suspicion. After all, she justified, she was doing what Nate should be doing. Reed might have an office at the top of the mountain, but he and his family still had to get along in Snowflake.

She pushed through the door and entered a reception area. A slender young girl with very long red nails sat at the console. She was reading a fashion magazine and reluctantly pulled herself away from an ad for the latest colors in lip gloss.

“Can I help you?” She looked up, eyes rather glassy, as though bored and waiting for her day to end.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Reed.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I just had a minute and wanted to stop by. We’re old…we have a friend in common. I’m sure he’d like to speak with me.”

“Your name?” she asked.

“Lucky Jamieson.” Lucky smiled back at her with what she hoped was a confident smile.

The girl’s lips twitched ever so slightly as if to say,
I doubt it
, but she reached for her telephone and hit an intercom button, repeating Lucky’s message.

The girl nodded and finally put down the phone. “Step through that archway and turn to the right. Mr. Reed’s office is the third on the left.”

“Thank you.” Lucky turned and headed farther into the building. As she rounded the corner, she spotted the man she had followed standing in the corridor looking out for her. He smiled smoothly as she approached. The kind of smile a used car salesman first gives you when you walk on the lot, as if to say,
I’m your best friend and you’re going to be so happy with the deal I’m about to offer you.

He held out his hand as she neared him. “Ms. Jamieson, is it? Please step inside.”

“Thank you.”

He held the door open and followed her into a large modern office.

“Please—have a seat. Now, how can I help you?” His eyes gave her a quick perusal, wondering if she were selling something, or if there were something he could sell to her. “We might have a friend in common, did you say?” Never one to pass up a business opportunity.

“Friend might not be the best way to put it.”

“Oh?” he replied, rearranging the pens on top of his desk.

“But I believe we both have a connection of sorts with Patricia Honeywell.” Was it her imagination or did his facial muscles tighten slightly?

He hesitated a moment too long. Lucky could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes—eyes that had grown rather hard in the last few seconds.

“Patricia Honeywell, did you say? Hmm.” His breath drew out as if trying to remember who that might be. “And what would your connection to Ms. Honeywell be?”

“It’s because of her that my business is in a bit of trouble,
to put it mildly. Her body was found behind our restaurant and our chef has been arrested for murder.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “Oh,” he repeated. “Well, that’s too bad. I’m just not…I’m not sure what this could have to do with me. I don’t quite remember her, that is if I ever knew her.”

She crossed her fingers and dove in. “I doubt you could have forgotten the large sum you owed her—or still owe her estate.”

There was no doubt about it now; his complexion paled. “How did you…Who are you?” he demanded.

“Exactly who I’ve told you. I just wanted to meet you in person and talk to you.”

“Why? What do you want?” The eyes had turned a steely gray and his jaw was clenched.

“I don’t wish you any harm. I only want the guilty party punished.”

“And you think?” he blustered. “Are you implying that
I
had something to do with a murder? How dare you!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t you just say your…what was it…cook was arrested for her murder? Why are you here—in my office?”

“Chef. ‘Chef’ was the word I used. He may have been arrested, but I doubt he did it. I think somebody else—somebody with a very strong motive—killed her. I just wanted to talk to you about the money you owed her.”