A Spoonful of Murder (6 page)

“Good plan. I’ll call you in a day or two, or stop by my office whenever you have a chance.”

“I will. I need to get back to the Spoonful right now and relieve Jack, but I’ll keep chipping away at clearing the house out.”

Eleanor turned at the front door and took one last look around. “I have to say, it’s very, very charming. I love the built-in bookshelves and the stone fireplace. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe someone will come along and fall in love with it. You never know,” she said in a tone that didn’t sound very encouraging. Eleanor banged through the front door and hurried to her car without further comment.

Lucky checked through the house one more time, making sure the kitchen faucet was dripping slowly and all the lights were off. She slipped on her jacket and hauled several boxes to her car—a second car of Elizabeth’s that she had loaned to Lucky. She said a quick prayer of thanks for Elizabeth’s presence and generosity. She had no idea how she’d have been able to deal with everything otherwise.

Lucky turned on the car heater as soon as the engine fired. She could smell the change in the air—a heavy wetness. She knew from her years in New England this wouldn’t be a gentle snowfall. When Arctic air rushed down from the north, it was brutal, if not deadly. Thankfully, the stove in her kitchen apartment was gas. Even if the town lost electric power she’d be able to stay warm.

By the time she reached the Spoonful, the sun had dipped behind the mountains, its last rays blotted out by roiling black clouds. A few customers still lingered, one lone man and a couple. All of the locals and most of the tourists had hunkered down. Only die-hard skiers would be happy about this storm.

“Jack. Let’s close up early if you have no objection.”

“None whatsoever, my girl. Time to batten down the hatches.”

“I’ll send Janie and Meg home. I don’t like the idea of their being on the road if the storm hits early.” Lucky flashed on the image of her parents dead by the side of the road in a similar storm not that long ago.

“I can swab the deck tomorrow morning. No reason it has to be done tonight.” Lucky smiled at Jack’s vocabulary. The floor was always the deck and the walls were the bulkhead.

She stuck her head through the hatch. “Hey, Sage. We’re gonna close. I’ll lock up as soon as these people leave.”

“Okay,” he called back. “Not much point in staying open tonight. I’ll put everything away.”

Janie and Meg were obviously relieved to be let off early. “You girls go ahead. I know your families will be worried if you’re not in early tonight.”

“Thanks, Lucky.” They smiled with relief. “We can stay and help you clean up if you need us.”

“No worries. You go ahead. Jack and I can handle it. We can run the dishwasher in the morning.” Without another word, the two girls pushed through the swinging door into the corridor and headed for the coat closet.

Ten minutes later, Sage had cleaned up the kitchen and stacked the dishes in the washer. “I’m finished now. I’ll be on my way.”

“’Night,” Lucky called after him.

The couple at the far table settled their bill and left. The lone man rose from his chair and paid his bill at the cash register. “Good night. Drive safe,” Jack called after him.

Lucky locked the front door and turned off the neon light. “Jack, before you go, I’d like to talk to you about something.” Lucky grabbed a stool at the counter as Jack sat next to her.

“What is it, Lucky? You look worried.”

“It’s just…everything right now, but I’m wondering if you have any idea about all the people who haven’t been paying their bills here.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, I know about that.”

“You knew? You haven’t said anything! Jack—we’re talking
about a lot of money. There isn’t much in the savings account—not enough to cover any kind of emergency.”

“Lucky, your Mom and Dad…how can I put this…they cared more about their neighbors and friends who were down on their luck than they did about their profits. People here have lost their jobs, their homes, some can’t even afford to feed their families. Your parents told them they were welcome here anytime, and if they couldn’t pay, well then they could settle up later when they had a new job or some money coming in.”

“Jack, those receipts—there must be several thousand dollars.”

“I know. But what can any of us do about it?”

“We should ask them to pay, don’t you think?”

“We could ask, but most, if not all of them, wouldn’t be able to. And then they wouldn’t feel free to come here anymore. And, mark my words, in the long run, that generosity shown in a hard time will always reap rewards in the future.”

“That’s great, Jack, and I don’t really disagree in theory, but if we don’t manage to stay in business, we won’t be feeding anybody—ourselves or anyone else.” Lucky realized with a shock she had spoken as if she had already made the decision to keep the business.

“Lucky, I love you with all my heart, but I am not going to ask any of these people for money. We know every single one of them, and I can guarantee you that they will eventually settle up. I can’t stop you, but if you take my advice, you won’t be sorry.” Jack rose from the stool and shrugged into his jacket. “Why don’t you stay at my place tonight. If this storm wipes out the power, we can light a fire.”

Lucky looked up. “Thanks. I appreciate that, but I’ll be fine. Anyway, I’ve got some boxes in the car I have to bring home.”

“I’ll give you a hand.” True to his word, Jack followed Lucky to her apartment and parked his truck in front of her building. Together, they lugged all the boxes up the stairs and stacked them in the hallway closet.

Jack enveloped her in a bear hug. “Don’t worry, my girl.
Everything will work out fine, you’ll see.” Lucky managed a grin in response, hoping against hope he was right.

Once Jack had gone, she shed her jacket, boots and gloves and, carrying the box she had marked with a K, headed for the kitchen. Inside were her mother’s dishes that Elizabeth had packed so carefully that very afternoon. Lucky lifted the plates out of the box and unwrapped them. She stacked them on the kitchen counter. She loved the handmade pottery her mother had used for years, their hues set off beautifully against the pumpkin-colored walls of the kitchen. All that was needed here were curtains. When she was young, her mother had insisted she learn how to sew. It was the one domestic skill she urged Lucky to learn, reminding her how valuable it was to not have to rely on what the stores had in stock. She could search for just the right fabric and create the curtains herself on her mother’s sewing machine. They would be something unique that would make this apartment her own.

She turned off the kitchen light and stripped off her clothes in the bedroom, pulling on her warmest pair of flannel pajamas. The wind buffeted the building, rattling the windows in their frames and shrieking as the storm grew in intensity. She lit a candle next to the bed and snuggled under the covers as the storm began in earnest.

R
EMY DUBOIS SLOUCHED
in his chair at the corner table normally occupied by Hank Northcross and Barry Sanders. The two regulars had yet to arrive. Lucky was sure they’d be busy all morning shoveling fresh snowfall from their cars and walkways. Remy, coffee at his elbow, was doing his best to hold court. His boots jutted into Janie’s path as she moved from table to table, arranging tablecloths, napkins and salt and pepper shakers. Remy had tried several times to strike up a conversation, but Janie, for her part, merely nodded occasionally without much effort to be polite. Lucky overheard Remy extolling his exploits on the slopes, and in hopes of impressing Janie, offered to show her some moves. Sage caught the drift of the conversation and, through the kitchen hatch, shot his brother a disgusted look. Janie, unimpressed, returned to the counter and began to fold fresh napkins.

The first customers finally arrived, winter visitors, brave souls who had managed to navigate through the as yet unplowed streets and sidewalks. Janie placed their orders on the clip at the kitchen hatch while Lucky manned the counter
and the cash register. Jack sat at a table by the window catching up with last Sunday’s newspaper. It was a slow morning.

Sage called out, “Boss, I’ll be right back. This trash needs to go.”

Lucky heard the back door slam as Sage headed for the Dumpster. The first customers paid for their food and left, as two more came through the door. The special today was a new tomato-based soup with carrots and spinach served over jumbo pasta shells and flavored with basil, oregano and grated cheese. Their new customers were eager to try it. Remy slouched out of his chair and returned his coffee cup and saucer to the front counter, hoping to catch Janie’s eye.

“Bye,” he said. “Catch you later.”

“Thanks, Remy.” Lucky dumped the used dishware in a plastic container under the counter. “See you later.”

He shot a sideways glance at Janie, who was too busy contemplating her new green nail polish to reply.

Meg took another order from one of the new customers and clipped it above the kitchen hatch. She hesitated and turned back, rising on tiptoes to look for Sage. He hadn’t returned. “Hey, Lucky, where’d Sage go?”

Lucky looked through the hatch. “He’s still out back. I’ll fill those.” She headed into the kitchen and, quickly slicing bread, put the new orders together on a tray and carried them out to Meg. She checked the kitchen again.
What was taking him so long?
She waved to Janie to stay by the cash register and headed down the corridor. Sage was squatting by the door, his back to the wall, taking deep breaths.

“Sage!” Lucky rushed to his side. “Are you sick?”

Sage shook his head. He pointed wordlessly to the back door.

“What is it?”

He rose and took Lucky’s hand, leading her out the door to the Dumpster behind the building. He pointed to a mound of snow and ice. piled next to it. Lucky stared, unsure what she was supposed to see. A tuft of blonde hair stuck incongruously
out of the snow. A chill ran through her. She was staring at a death mask—a death mask of ice. It was the face of their customer, the tall, elegant blonde woman. Dark clotted blood had frozen on the side of her head. A single jeweled earring dangling from one ear flashed in the thin winter light. The rest of her was buried under three feet of snow.

L
UCKY LOOKED UP
to see Jack standing in the doorway. “What’s wrong?” he called, joining them. They stared at him wordlessly, unable to speak. Finally, Lucky pointed to the frozen head rising from the snow.

“Jack, please call the police,” Lucky asked. Jack nodded once and rushed away.

Lucky shivered violently, not sure whether from fear or cold. Had the storm lasted longer, the body might have been completely buried. It could have been days or weeks before it was discovered. “Sage, can you grab my jacket? I’ll stay here till the police arrive.”

“I will, but then I’m staying here with you. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Do you think there’s a chance this was an accident?”

Sage continued to stare at the icy mask. “Not a chance.”

Ten minutes later, Chief of Police Nate Edgerton, in one of the two Snowflake police cruisers, pulled up at the other end of the alley on Elm Street. He parked, blocking the alleyway, and trudged through the snow to reach them. The curious were already starting to gather around the police car.

Nate stared at the frozen, seemingly disembodied head and then turned to Lucky and Sage. “This is just great,” he muttered sarcastically. “Anybody know who she is?”

“She’s a tourist, that much I know,” Lucky volunteered. “I forget her name—Patricia something. It escapes me now. She comes in almost every day.”

Nate shook his head. “This is bad. This is real bad. Was she staying up at the Lodge?”

Lucky thought a moment. “The hotel at the Resort? No. Somebody mentioned it. Marjorie, maybe. I think she was staying in a house up on Bear Path Lane.”

Nate turned to Sage. “You know her?”

Sage shook his head. “No. Like Lucky said, she was a customer here a lot. Always ordered pretty much the same thing.” Lucky stared at Sage, remembering the way he had stopped in his tracks when he spotted the blonde in the restaurant. Was he lying? Did he know more that he wasn’t willing to tell?