A Spoonful of Murder (4 page)

She reached for another thick accordion file and pulled it out of the cabinet, patiently riffling through receipts for the past two years. She found no large expenditures—no new freezer units, stoves or dishwashers. The restaurant equipment wasn’t the latest design, but it was practical and serviceable. The Jamiesons had no vices and certainly didn’t indulge in any luxuries. They had always been hardworking, thrifty people. They counted their pennies, Lucky knew,
remembering how hard they had worked to help her through college. So why didn’t the numbers jibe?

She took another sip of tea from the mug on the desk and pulled a thick envelope from the back of the drawer. This was full of cash register receipts bundled by date. On the reverse side of each was a scribbled name. She groaned and leaned back in the chair. She finally understood what she was looking at. These were IOUs and they were uncollected. If these had been paid, Lucky was sure her Mom or Dad would have returned the receipts to their customers or at the very least, made a check mark over the name when a customer finally paid. Lucky flipped through the slips of paper, recognizing quite a few of the scrawled signatures—all local people and all longtime customers. Her parents had been carrying them for the last couple of years, too compassionate to demand payment, and wanting to allow them their pride. Her Mom and Dad had undoubtedly told them they could pay when things eased up.

Times had been tough in recent years, not just in Snowflake but in other towns as well. Many had lost promising jobs when the biofuel plant in a nearby town closed down. Other small businesses had suffered a similar fate, if not closing then compelled to reduce their workforce. Some residents had lost their homes to foreclosure. Her parents had been feeding people who couldn’t pay. It was the only explanation. The restaurant was filled to capacity almost every day. Even allowing for expenses and perishable food, there should have been a much greater profit.

She heaved a sigh and slumped down in the cracked leather desk chair, large enough for her Dad’s frame. She had a big heart, but the Spoonful needed more of a cushion. One unforeseen plumbing emergency or equipment malfunction and they’d be underwater. Lucky cringed at the thought of pressuring customers for money owed, yet this was no way to run a business. There had to be a limit. Several people owed more than a thousand dollars. Was there a discreet way to remind them to pay their IOUs? She had no wish to embarrass anyone, but it galled her to think
how her parents struggled after being so generous to others who were down on their luck. Perhaps a friendly reminder through the mail? But that would necessitate hours of going through these receipts, deciphering names and sorting out who owed how much. Perhaps the best thing would be to do nothing, but put a stop to the practice. She’d have to talk with Jack to make sure this didn’t continue.

Lucky bundled up the receipts in rubber bands and returned the envelope to the file drawer. Perhaps Jack could tell her why her parents had made no effort to collect these debts. A low level of anxiety fluttered in her stomach. She hadn’t had a chance to delve into her parents’ personal finances, but she’d have to do so soon. The value of their house would have fallen, but surely it would still have a great deal of equity—they had bought it more than twenty years before. She’d find out soon enough when she talked to their accountant and the Realtor. Hopefully, they hadn’t borrowed against their home to keep the business afloat. She leaned over, laid her forehead on her hands and closed her eyes for a moment. It all seemed overwhelming. She quelled the fear and reminded herself to take one step at a time.

Heavy footsteps reverberated down the corridor, past the office door. Then two male voices, one loud, the other quiet but insistent. The commotion brought her back to the present. She couldn’t make out the words, but from the tone, an argument was taking place. One man was doing his best to keep the other quiet. It wasn’t Jack—she would have recognized his voice. She pushed herself out of the chair and, opening the door quietly, stepped into the corridor. Sage was at the kitchen door with a stranger who wore a down parka that had seen better days. Realizing they were no longer alone, Sage quickly shoved a small roll of cash into the stranger’s hand. The man in the ragged parka looked over his shoulder. His face was wolflike, his expression angry.

“Hi, boss,” Sage responded to her curious look.

“Everything all right?”

“Oh, sure. My brother just stopped by. Remy, this is my boss, Lucky Jamieson.” Remy’s face instantly shifted to a disarming smile. The resemblance to Sage was striking, but this was an unkempt, rakish version of Sage. Lucky was sure they’d been arguing about money and Sage had been pressured to provide some.

“Nice to meet you, Remy.”

“Likewise.” When he smiled, his face lit up, the earlier anger vanishing.

Charming,
Lucky thought.
Charming but completely slippery
was the phrase that occurred to her.

Lucky scooted past them and headed down the corridor to the restaurant. Jack was closing out the cash register and slipping bills into a zippered bag for deposit at the bank. Janie and Meg had their coats on and were giggling over a tube of lipstick in front of the mirror near the door. Jack looked up when he had finished counting. “I can stay and lock up if you want to head home.”

“No, I’m fine, Jack. You go. You’ve had a long day. I just needed some time to concentrate on the books. By the way, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“What’s that, my girl?”

Lucky looked at Jack closely. His face was pale and his shoulders were stooped. He seemed exhausted. “You know what, it’s not an emergency. We can catch up tomorrow.” Lucky kissed Jack on the cheek and watched him as he headed down the corridor to the coat closet. Janie and Meg were whispering heatedly between themselves. When they noticed Lucky watching them, they scooted into the corridor and stood by the kitchen door.

“Hey, Sage. Need some help?” Janie called out. Meg hung back, a slow flush creeping up her cheeks.

Sage muttered from the kitchen, “Nah, I’m fine.”

Lucky closed the cash register, locked the door and turned off the lamps and neon sign. She returned to the
office and stuffed the cash bag into her purse. Sage waved good night to her as he passed by her door, Janie and Meg following in his wake. As the girls walked through the door to the parking lot, following Sage, Janie gave Meg a shove in his direction.

Lucky smiled and shook her head.
Somebody has a big crush,
she thought.
But I’m hardly one to poke fun. When I see Elias, I can barely string a sentence together.

L
UCKY DIPPED HER
roller into the paint tray and carefully spread the last coat over the remaining wall. When she finished, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. What a difference some color made. Outside, the wind blew in short, angry gusts and ice crystals formed a thick layer of frost on the windows. But inside, the pumpkin-colored walls made it easy to forget the harsh winter. She pulled off the soggy roller and tossed it in the wastebasket, washed out the paint tray and stripped off her gloves. It was finally finished. Lucky had worked every night after coming home from the restaurant, one wall at a time. She gathered up the plastic on the floor and pulled the protective tape off the wainscoting.

When all the mess was disposed of, she collapsed in a kitchen chair, imagining her pictures and her mother’s dishes and pots and pans here. If only her mother could be here to see her new place. She could picture her reaction but quickly pushed the image away. Too painful. Too fresh. She had considered moving into her parents’ home, but feeling overwhelmed with the business, it seemed impossible to take over a house with all its chores, not to mention a mortgage.
Selling was the best thing to do. Maybe she’d keep some larger pieces of furniture, and her mother’s delightful blue handmade pottery dishes, but the rest she could happily donate to charity. Very soon she’d have to go through their house and make those decisions, but she’d wait until she felt a bit more stable.

Lucky touched the nose of her kitchen witch for good luck and headed to the bedroom, stripping off her painting clothes. She slipped into her pajamas and climbed under the covers. Mentally, she reviewed the next day’s chores as she started to drift off to sleep. The first thing was to get to the bank to deposit the cash. A jolt ran up her spine. The cash! Where was it? Dear Lord, she had left the cash bag on the desk in the office. How could she be so forgetful? She’d have to return to the Spoonful and get it. It wouldn’t be safe to leave it lying in the open like that. Then she thought,
Why not leave it?
Only she, Jack and Sage had keys. It wasn’t as if crime in the little town of Snowflake was a problem, but what if…

She groaned and rose from the bed, dressing again for the outdoors. If she hurried, she could get to the restaurant and back to her bed in half an hour. She put her jacket on over her pajamas, slipped on boots and gloves and pulled a cap over her head.

The streets were deserted. It was almost midnight, and given the freezing temperatures, most everyone was in bed. She turned the corner on Broadway and heard laughter and music from the Snowflake Pub as she passed by. Streetlights were swaying in the wind. She hunched deeper into her coat and kept going, not anxious to run into anyone while she was wearing pajamas. When she approached the Spoonful, she ducked down the narrow alley leading to the back. She unlocked the door and hurried into the office, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw the cash bag sitting on the desk. How could she be so careless? Losing this money would hurt them terribly.

Lucky stuffed the bag into her purse and locked the back door as she left. She retraced her steps, but this time as she
approached the Pub she noticed two dark figures in a doorway ahead of her. Was someone lying in wait? Conscious of the large amount of cash in her purse, she hesitated and came to a halt. Perhaps she should cross the street and avoid whoever was in her way. Before she could make a decision, the shadows moved, revealing two figures. A woman’s voice carried clearly in the chill night air.

“What did she mean?”

A man replied. “I have no idea! I swear.”

“Then why would she say that about you?”

“I told you—she has it in for me. I told you…”

“Yeah—your version…”

The voices were familiar. They were crystal clear, even though the two figures were at the end of the block. It was Sophie and Sage. They must have come from the Pub. She couldn’t imagine where else—every other business was long closed. They still hadn’t seen her. She didn’t want Sophie to know she had overheard her argument with Sage. Sophie would not take it well. Before she could cross to the other side of the street, the figures turned toward her, walking briskly in her direction. She had hesitated too long. If she crossed now, it would be obvious she was trying to avoid them. Sophie recognized her first. Her head cocked, as if unsure how much Lucky had heard.

“Here you are again! You seem to be everywhere these days, Lucky. Always lurking.”

Sage’s hand was on Sophie’s shoulder. Lucky noticed that he squeezed it slightly, as if to silence her. Sophie wriggled her shoulder free from Sage’s grasp. His expression was tight and closed down.

“Hello, Sophie—Sage.”

“Hey, boss,” Sage replied.

Sophie skirted around Lucky, dragging Sage by the hand. “See you around,” she shot over her shoulder at Lucky. They continued walking toward an SUV parked at the corner. Lucky turned away and hurried back to Maple Street and her apartment, chagrined that she hadn’t managed to avoid yet another confrontation with Sophie.

What were they arguing about? Who was the “she” Sophie had mentioned? What was it Sage said?
She had it in for me?
Could he have been talking about her—Lucky? No, that couldn’t be. They must be talking about someone else, because Sophie had replied,
Why would she say that about you?
Lucky had certainly never spoken about Sage to Sophie.

Lucky breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the entrance to her building. Sophie’s friendship had been so important to her when they were young. An only child, she had never felt able to fit in with other kids. She envied her classmates who lived in big, noisy families. It was Sophie, outgoing and brash, who befriended her and made her feel one of the crowd. Sophie’s behavior now didn’t surprise her at all. There was nothing new about it, but it was disheartening to be away for so many years and return to find that Sophie still harbored the same old animosity toward her. Was it so terrible that she had yearned for something different and taken a chance? She shrugged off the feeling. If Sophie couldn’t let go, so be it. She had every right to be walking the streets at midnight if she felt like it—even in her pajamas. It was just that Sophie—and Sage too—could be so intimidating. She suspected neither of them liked her very much at all.