A Spoonful of Murder (8 page)

L
UCKY STOOD BEHIND
the counter staring disconsolately at an empty restaurant. Janie’s mother had called that morning to say that Janie would not be returning—at least for the time being. Meg had turned up, but against her family’s wishes. Lucky was sure her crush on Sage had been the driving force.

Sage, realizing very quickly that they wouldn’t be overwhelmed with customers this morning, had prepared only smaller batches of soup in three Crock-Pots. One lone bakery loaf was warming in the oven. A layer of ice had formed on the sidewalk overnight. Jack had patiently scraped it away, then returned to his newspaper and the warmth of the restaurant.

To Lucky’s dismay, not one customer arrived. Obviously, the discovery of Patricia Honeywell’s body was the talk of the town and news of it had reached the winter visitors. It wasn’t a surprise that tourists might stay away, but where were Barry and Hank or Marjorie and Cecily at least?

Through the steamy windows Lucky spotted a figure in a long red scarf approaching the front door. Her spirits
lifted—perhaps a customer to break the spell. The front door banged open and Janie rushed in.

“Oh, Lucky, I’m so sorry. I can’t work right now. My mother had a fit, but I wanted to stop by anyway.”

Lucky shrugged. “I understand. You can’t really blame her. She must be frightened out of her wits. I’d feel the same if I were her.”

“She’s just so stubborn,” Janie grumbled. “She wouldn’t even listen to me. I know this had nothing to do with the Spoonful.”

“I agree. It couldn’t have anything to do with us. Unfortunately, it’s landed on our doorstep, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

“Is it okay if I hang out and talk to Meg?”

“Go right ahead. We’re anything but busy.”

The girls grabbed the corner table usually occupied by Hank and Barry and began a whispered conversation.

Lucky returned to scrubbing the work space behind the counter. This was a good opportunity to catch up on chores if nothing else. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Nate’s police cruiser had pulled up in front of the Spoonful. If Nate and Bradley wanted coffee or breakfast, she had no objection, but she couldn’t help but wish they had parked somewhere else. A police car at the front door wouldn’t help their image one bit. Lucky watched as Nate heaved himself out of the passenger seat and headed for their front door, Bradley bringing up the rear. The bell over the door rang as they entered.

Nate approached the counter. “Hello, Lucky.”

“Nate. Any news for us?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Is Sage here now?”

“Sage? Yes, he’s in the kitchen.”

“Lucky, I want you to know, I’m real sorry about this.” Nate turned away and headed toward the doorway to the kitchen with Bradley following behind him. Sage stopped his work at the counter and looked over at Nate looming in the doorway.

Nate cleared his throat. “Mr. DuBois, you are under arrest for the murder of Patricia Honeywell. You have the
right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. Anything you say can and will be used in evidence against you…”

Lucky dropped the silverware she was holding. It clattered on the counter, half of it falling to the floor. She turned to Jack in astonishment, unable to believe her ears. Jack bolted out of his chair and rushed into the kitchen. “Nate, this can’t be right. You’re making a mistake.”

Janie and Meg sat in shocked silence and watched. Meg’s face had turned a ghastly white. Janie jumped up and attempted to follow Jack. Lucky held up a hand to halt her and peeked through the hatch into the kitchen. Sage’s shoulders slumped. He dropped the utensil he was holding and stood, hands at his side, his expression blank. He made no protest. He didn’t even look surprised. Lucky had the strange impression he had been waiting for this. Silently, he turned and pulled his coat off the peg on the wall and slipped it on. Bradley led the way through the restaurant with Nate following after Sage. Sage kept his gaze lowered, never meeting anyone’s eyes.

Jack stepped around them to block their path. “Nate, what’s this all about?”

“Jack, I’m sorry. Please step aside. There’s just nothing I can tell you at this point.” With no word of explanation, the three men exited through the front door of the Spoonful. Once outside, Bradley held open the back door of the cruiser and waited while Sage climbed in. Nate returned to the passenger seat and Bradley climbed in behind the steering wheel.

Janie and Meg pressed up against the frosty window watching as the cruiser drove away. Lucky reached for Jack’s hand. He squeezed it to acknowledge her. No one had spoken a word. The girls turned to Lucky as if she could explain what had just happened, but she was as stunned as they were.

“Oh God, it’s all my fault,” Meg wailed and burst into tears.

“What are you talking about?” Lucky asked. Jack stared at the young girl in complete confusion.

“It’s all my fault!” Meg cried again.

“Come sit down and tell me what you’re talking about.” Lucky caught Jack’s eye and made a slight gesture to indicate this would be girl talk and he should make himself invisible. Janie threw an arm around Meg and led her back to the counter. She pushed her gently down onto a stool and sat next to her. Jack returned to his newspaper at a corner table, discreetly feigning a lack of interest in their conversation.

They had Lucky’s full attention. Janie spoke first. “The other night…we left with Sage.”

“Yes, I remember,” Lucky replied.

Janie reached out and put her hand protectively over Meg’s. Meg was trying hard to regain control. “…Sage said he had to come back to the Spoonful. He had forgotten his keys.”

Meg took a deep breath and stifled another sob. “He doesn’t know it, but we followed him.” Lucky nodded sympathetically and waited for Meg to spill out the rest of her story. Meg looked up, her face stained with tears. “Lucky, he was lying, because he didn’t go back inside the Spoonful. He hung around outside, like he was waiting for someone.”

“What night was this? The night of the storm?”

“No. A few nights before. I’m not sure exactly. It was the night you were working in the office.”

“Did you see him meet anyone?”

“No. We waited as long as we could. We didn’t want him to know we had followed him, but nobody else turned up.”

“That’s hardly incriminating. I’m sure Nate wouldn’t jump to any conclusions based on that.”

“That’s not all,” Janie offered. “The night we closed early—the night of the storm—I usually give Meg a ride home—but instead we parked down the street and waited for Sage to leave.”

Lucky marveled at the craftiness of young love. “Did you hope to talk to him and hang out?” Meg nodded sheepishly, her face bright red. “What happened then?”

“We saw him come out to Broadway. He started walking away from us toward Maple,” Janie responded.

“I’m sure he was just walking home. He only lives a few blocks away.”

“Maybe he was, but then a red Jeep passed by and pulled up next to him. The driver must have called out to him, because Sage stopped and looked at the car. First, we thought somebody was asking him directions. But then Sage turned away and started walking faster.”

Meg, more excited than upset now, said, “It was really weird. The red car started up, passed him and pulled over ahead of him. That woman jumped out. She left the car running in the street and got right in his face.”

“You mean Patricia Honeywell?”

“Yes.”

“Really!” Lucky wondered once again what the connection between Sage and the blonde woman could be. There had to be some history. “What did Sage do then?”

“They were kinda far away by then. We started the car and drove real slow to catch up. We wanted to see what was going on, but we were trying not to be obvious. Sage said something to her—we couldn’t hear—and then it looked like her hand came up, like she was reaching for him. He backed away quick and held up his hands, like ‘Don’t touch me.’ Something like that—at least that’s what it looked like, and then he took off really fast.”

“What happened after that?” Lucky asked.

“Nothing. That woman got back in her car and drove away,” Janie said.

Lucky shook her head. “Weird. I wonder what that was all about,” she said more to herself than to the girls. Where was Patricia Honeywell heading when she spotted Sage? And why had she felt it necessary to accost him like that in the street? Could there have been a later altercation that night? The night of her death? No—Lucky shook her head. Whatever was behind that confrontation, it sounded like Sage would have done anything to avoid running into the blonde woman.

“There’s more, Lucky,” Meg spoke softly. “We saw him with the dead woman before—up at the Lodge. We help out there sometimes. She was at the bar with one of the ski instructors—I think it was Josh. It was so disgusting. He was mooning all over her…Josh I mean, but then she spotted Sage and she told Josh to get lost. She walked right over to Sage as if she knew him.”

“What was Sage doing up at the Lodge?” Lucky asked.

Janie dug through her purse and passed a wad of tissues to Meg. Meg took off her glasses and wiped them carefully. Her round face looked doughy and forlorn. “Don’t know. Maybe he was there to meet that Sophie—she’s such a cow! Or maybe he was meeting his brother. Remy sometimes does odd jobs up there.”

“Janie…Meg…even if he knew this woman—Patricia Honeywell—even if there’s some story behind all this, it might not mean anything at all.” Lucky remembered Sage’s reaction at the restaurant when he saw the blonde woman at the counter. It certainly did appear as if they knew each other, or at least Sage recognized her, but she cautiously decided it was best not to offer any more information to the girls.

Red blotches covered Meg’s face. “I shouldn’t have told the police any of that stuff. I got so scared when Nate started asking me questions, it just all came out. If I had just kept my mouth shut, they never would have arrested him.”

Janie put an arm around Meg’s shoulder in an effort to console her. “Lucky, can Meg go home now? There’s nothing for her to do here anyway.”

“Sure. Go ahead—both of you. We might as well close for the day. Again, no one’s turned up and now Sage is gone. There’s not much we can do for him right now, but I intend to find out just why Nate’s arrested him.”

L
UCKY WAITED IMPATIENTLY
at the counter, shifting from one foot to the other, as Bradley rummaged through file drawers.

“I know that form is in one of these folders. I’ll find it in just a minute, Ms. Jamieson.”

Lucky heaved a sigh. “Bradley, it’s me. Just call me Lucky, okay? You know me. Why do I need to fill out a form to visit a prisoner?”

“It’s required, Ms. Jamieson…Lucky. It’s Department of Corrections Policy No. 327 and the Administrative Procedure Act, Rule No. 79.26, commonly known as the APA rules. ‘Each visitor shall, upon entry, register his name, address and relationship to the resident.’ I am entitled to ask you to submit to a search, but since it’s you, I won’t insist.”

Lucky bit her tongue. “I appreciate that, Bradley.” If he dared to lay a hand on her, she’d slug him. “I just want a chance to talk to Sage. He works for me. I’m concerned about him.”

“Found it.” Bradley triumphantly held up a one-page form, slightly wrinkled at the corners, and carried it to the
long counter. “It’s just…well, we haven’t had a prisoner for a long time. Actually, I can’t remember when we last had one…except for old Arnie Hicks. He gets drunk and disorderly once a year on his birthday. But we just lock him up so he won’t hurt himself. He’s sober by the next morning.”

Lucky reached for the form and pulled it from Bradley’s fingers. She thought he looked quite pleased that his jail cell was actually accommodating an alleged criminal.

“Where do I sign?” Lucky scanned the form.

“I’ll have to see some ID.” Bradley drew himself up to his full height of five feet seven inches. “All visitors must identify themselves and state their relationship to the prisoner.”

“Bradley! That is ridiculous.”

“Sorry, it’s just APA rule 79.26.”

“I thought it was rule 327.”