Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4) (19 page)

L
UCKY WOKE TO
the sounds of birds fluttering and chirping in the trees outside her bedroom window. The flowered curtains billowed softly in the early-morning breeze. It promised to be a perfect spring day, warm at midday and cool at night. Winter was banished and every tree and bush was covered with pale green buds.

All the worries of the preceding week came back in a rush. If only there was something she could do to allay Jack’s fears. The only thing that offered any promise was to learn more about Agnes Warner. Lucky held a growing certainty that the cause of Agnes’s death, whether by poisoning or cardiac crisis, lay in the woman’s past. Lucky’s own mother was no one’s fool and she had been focused on Agnes and her family five years earlier. What had her mother thought? What had she known or suspected? If only she had left a note in a time capsule that Lucky could retrieve in present day.

She heaved a sigh and swung her legs out of bed. She padded out to the kitchen in her nightgown and put the kettle on to boil for coffee. On her way, she rubbed the nose of her folk-art kitchen witch for luck. The witch, with its black hat and carved face and skirt of straw, had been a present from Elizabeth Dove when she first moved into her apartment. Elizabeth had told her it would bring her luck and she was right. In more ways than she could count, it had. Now it was Jack who needed a little luck.

She pushed up the window in the kitchen. When the coffee was ready, she set her mug on the windowsill and looked down at the back garden behind her building. The rosebushes were just sprouting their first swollen pink buds, soon to erupt in fragrant blossoms. Beyond her fenced-in yard she had a clear view of the Victory Garden where Snowflake’s fortunate residents were marking out plots and tilling the soil for spring plantings.

She drank the last of her coffee and headed for the bathroom to shower. A loud knock at the front door stopped her in her tracks. Before she could respond, a second knock came, this one even louder. She ran back to the bedroom and grabbed a bathrobe from the closet. She tiptoed down the hall. Who would be knocking at her door this early in the morning? Jack or Elias would have called out to her. So would Sophie.

“Who’s there?” she said.

“Rick. Rick Colgan,” a deep voice replied.

Wrapping her robe around her, she undid the lock and opened the door. Rick’s face seemed even more strained than the day before when she had seen him at the police station. She couldn’t imagine why he was on her doorstep.

“Come on in, Rick.” She led him down the hall to the kitchen. “Coffee?” she asked.

“No. No, thanks. I apologize for showing up this early. I just wanted to talk to you in private—away from Sophie.”

“How did you know where I live?” she asked.

Rick shrugged, as if to say it wasn’t hard to find out. “I saw Sophie and Sage leaving your apartment the other night.”

“So that was you that Sage spotted on the street?”

Rick nodded. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone. Just wanted to get the lay of the land. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”

“Okay,” Lucky replied hesitantly. “What did you want to talk about?” She sat on a kitchen chair, wondering what was on Rick’s mind and how long this conversation would take. She needed to get moving and get to the restaurant. “Have a seat, Rick.”

He nodded but didn’t sit. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket and began to pace back and forth in front of the stove. “You’ve gotta get Sophie off this kick about selling any land to the Resort.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

Rick opened his mouth as if to speak and hesitated a moment. Finally, he said, “It’s just not a good idea.”

“She just wants the house and the land around it. That’s all she really wants, and she and Sage are prepared to buy you out. It hasn’t been easy for either one of them to save all that money.”

“I know that. At least, I figured that.”

“Then what’s the problem? Do you want the house for yourself?”

A dark look flashed across his face. “Good God, no. I don’t give a crap about that house or the land it’s on.”

“So . . .” Lucky felt like her head was spinning.

“I just want to make sure Sophie doesn’t sell her interest in the other acreage to the Resort.”

Lucky remembered that possibility had been raised by the attorneys for the Resort and that she and Sophie had discussed it. “What’s to stop her doing that? You just keep saying you won’t sell, but maybe they figure they can buy out her interest and eventually wear you down until you agree.”

His face darkened. “Or until I’m dead.”

Lucky looked up at him quickly. “What are you saying?”

“Come on, Lucky. Don’t be dense. Why do you think my partner was floating in the creek with his face bashed in?”

She didn’t want to admit it, but the thought had occurred to her and to Sophie. For Sophie’s sake, she hadn’t wanted to explore that suspicion.

“They thought it was me.”

“They?”

“Those thugs at the Resort.” He laughed bitterly. “Especially the ones that wear suits. When they saw my partner check in, they thought the same thing the cops did. That he was me. They figured I—I mean Eddie—was up there to check out the property . . . And he was, but I had already told them I wasn’t interested in selling the land they want for the ski run.”

Lucky took a deep breath. Tom Reed had always given her a bad feeling. Was that because he harbored a grudge toward her since the day she had asked him whether he was having an affair with a murder victim? Or was it because he truly was a man with bad intentions? Could Rick be right? Was his partner killed because of mistaken identity? “That’s an incredible accusation, Rick. They may be anxious to get that land, but you’re accusing Reed and his lawyers of murder.”

“What other reason could there be? Eddie didn’t know a soul here. He had no connection to the Resort or to the town.”

“So Eddie came here just to help you out?”

“That’s right.”

The full impact of what Rick was telling her hit. “But you’re saying Sophie could be in danger if she
isn’t
willing to sell.”

“Maybe. But I’m warning you. She can’t sell. She can have the damn house, but she can’t sell her interest in those other parcels. If she holds firm, we’re both safe. And I’m asking you to make sure she does hold firm.”

“What do you mean
safe
?” Lucky had no idea what this conversation was really about. “And how am I supposed to do that?” She was frustrated. What was it that Rick wasn’t telling her? “Rick, what are you really doing here if you have no interest in selling? You didn’t need to come to Snowflake to check out that property. And even if you were thinking about selling, you could have called any Realtor and gotten an idea.”

Rick stared at her but didn’t respond.

“Did you come here because you were on a job? Were you hired to find someone?” She waited for him to respond but he said nothing. “Was that someone Agnes Warner, by any chance?”

His jaw tightened. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Maybe Eddie’s murder had nothing to do with the land. Maybe it had something to do with the job you were working on.”

“I doubt that.”

“Then who were you hired to locate?”

“Look.” Rick heaved a sigh. “We were hired to locate a woman named Alice Washburn. That’s all you need to know. It’s really not any of your business.”

“So, that’s the real reason you’re here now? Did you locate her?”

“In a way, yeah.”

“Then tell me who hired you and your partner.”

Rick had stopped pacing. “I can’t tell you that either.”

“Well, if it’s all so secret, why would you assume the only reason your partner was killed was because the Resort wants that land? Surely there could be another reason. Why won’t you tell me everything?”

He glared at her. “Just make sure Sophie doesn’t cave.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll stop her any way I can.” He turned and stormed down the hallway. Lucky heard the door slam as he left the apartment.

Lucky poured a second cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table. She rubbed her temples. Her conversation with Rick Colgan had left her with a pounding headache. What was it all about? He said he wanted no part of the house, and that Sophie could have it, yet he wouldn’t give his own sister a definite answer. Why couldn’t he tell that to Sophie himself? He had been hired to locate a woman named Alice Washburn. The name meant nothing to her and he wouldn’t reveal the name of his client. And he was convinced his partner had been killed by unknown people employed by the Resort. Anything was possible if a greedy corporation wanted land. Who knew what sort of dirty tricks they might stoop to if a land grab was involved, but murder? She sighed and finished her coffee. She had to get moving or she’d really be late. She rinsed out her cup in the sink and headed down the hall to the bathroom. She heard a light knock at her front door.
What now?
she thought. Puzzled, she walked the length of the hall to the door again, hoping it wasn’t Rick Colgan returning.

“Who is it?” she called out.

“Hello. It’s me . . . Greta.”

Lucky opened the door. “Oh, hi, Greta. You surprised me.”

Greta’s carryall hung from her wrist. “I heard you walking around. I thought maybe I could pick up the books you mentioned. I’m on my way to the library now. I didn’t want to bother you at the restaurant.”

In the commotion of the past days, Lucky had completely forgotten she had promised to deliver the books to Greta. “I’m so sorry. It slipped my mind. Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Greta smiled.

Lucky led Greta into the living room. “Here they are. This box is kind of heavy. Would you like me to carry it downstairs?”

Greta stood next to the coffee table. She held one of the photos in her hand and was staring at it intently. “What’s this?” she asked.

The night before, Lucky had spread the photos out on the coffee table and stared at them as if they would offer some new inspiration. She kicked herself for not putting them away from prying eyes. She certainly didn’t want to explain her thoughts or theories to a stranger. “Oh, just some of my mother’s photos from years ago. She always used to like to take pictures of our customers.”

“Ah. I’ve noticed some of the pictures around the restaurant. I’ll have to have a closer look one of these days.” Greta reached out for the box Lucky held in her hands. “I’ll take that.” Greta was a very slight woman; Lucky wondered whether she was strong enough to handle the heavy box.

“You’re sure you can manage?”

Greta nodded. “Oh yes. Not a problem. Thanks again. Sorry if I came at a bad time.”

“No. It was perfect.”

Lucky closed and locked the door after watching Greta descend the stairway, carefully lugging the heavy box. She returned to the living room, mentally kicking herself again for not putting the enlargements away. She really didn’t want just anyone looking at them. She picked them up one by one and slid them into the envelope. Something was different. There had been ten photos. She was sure of it. She opened the envelope and counted them again to make sure. Now there were only nine. She glanced around the room and checked under the sofa and coffee table. She checked each one. There was definitely one missing. The one of Agnes, her face turned away from the camera, holding the little boy, his face not visible, his head snuggled against Agnes’s shoulder. She was sure of it. She shivered. Had Greta taken it? But why? Lucky rushed out to the corridor and leaned out the hallway window. She saw a glimpse of Greta’s brown skirt as she turned the corner on Spruce.

“
I
CAN’T BELIEVE
he did that!” Sophie exclaimed. She shook her head. “What is wrong with him? And why is he so adamant about not selling those parcels? And how come he won’t name his price for the house? I’m ready to scream!”

It was a few minutes before opening time and Lucky and Sophie sat in the office. Lucky had taken her aside to tell her about Rick’s visit. “I don’t know why Rick wouldn’t know that I’d tell you about his visit straightaway.”

“I know,” Sophie agreed. “And even if I had made up my mind, what were you supposed to do about it? Talk me out of it? For no reason at all?”

“You have any idea what’s behind it all?”

“None whatsoever. Granted, Rick doesn’t know me at all, not really, but if he did, he should know it would only make me dig my heels in deeper and do it in spite of what he wants.”

Lucky leaned across the desk. “My advice? Don’t pick a fight with him over something you don’t care about. Focus on what you do want—getting him to agree to sell you and Sage the house.”

“What did he have to say about that?” She laughed mirthlessly. “I love it that he’ll talk to you about it, but won’t get back in touch with me.”

“He was very clear he wanted no part of the house and never wanted to be in Snowflake longer than he had to.”

Sophie looked up, her face flushed. “Well, then, what’s he doing here? He’s had time to talk to the lawyers at the Resort. He’s identified his partner’s body. As long as he gives Nate a way to get in touch with him, he doesn’t have to be here at all. He can go back to New York or wherever he’s been all these years, for all I care.”

Lucky shook her head. “I don’t know, but he did tell me one thing. The woman he was hired to find was someone named Alice Washburn. That name mean anything to you?”

Sophie’s face took on a blank expression. “Never heard it.”

“There’s something else. Greta turned up right after Rick left.”

“The library volunteer?”

Lucky nodded. “I forgot to put the photos away. They were on the coffee table and she was staring at one of them.”

“So?”

“After she left, I picked them up to put them back in the envelope. Sophie, I could swear there’s one missing.”

Sophie looked at her dubiously. “You must have counted wrong.”

Lucky shook her head. “I really don’t think so.” She glanced at the clock. “Oh, look at the time. I need to get out there and open. But, Sophie, just so you know, I intend to keep sniffing around. I’m not willing to accept that Jack could have caused anyone’s death.”

*   *   *

L
UCKY PRESSED THE
doorbell. Somewhere inside the house, it chimed. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and waited. Nothing. She pressed the doorbell again. This time she heard footsteps approaching and the door was flung open.

Cordelia Rank stood in the doorway. “Yes?” she asked, as if Lucky were a total stranger. Cordelia was dressed in a matching green blouse and light wool skirt. Lucky immediately felt self-conscious in her wrinkled cotton slacks and T-shirt. Cordelia was always perfectly turned out even on a day at home. She suspected Cordelia still harbored anger toward her from the year before when Lucky had been a witness to Cordelia’s humiliation. Cordelia, a proud member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, had stolen a Colonial-era lead ball, fired by a rifle, that would have proven her ancestor to be a traitor to the Revolution. Under duress, Cordelia had been forced to admit her theft and return the artifact.

“I wonder if I could talk to you for a minute?” Lucky asked.

Cordelia made a show of checking her watch. “I have a minute.” She did not offer to invite Lucky in.

Lucky felt a wave of irritation rise, but quickly pushed it down. “It’s about the herbs that Jack picked.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Not that again.”

Lucky gritted her teeth. “Yes. That again. Perhaps you don’t think it’s important that someone died in the woods the other night—”

“How dare you, you impudent—”

Lucky forged ahead, ignoring Cordelia’s threatened rant. “But I happen to think it’s terribly important. I’m sure Nate Edgerton has asked you all about this, but I’m here because of my grandfather.”

Cordelia’s nostrils flared slightly. “Fine. What is it you want to know?” she said with thinly veiled irritation.

“What exactly did you do with the basket of herbs that Cecily Winters brought you?”

Cordelia’s back straightened. “I certainly hope you’re not accusing me of anything!”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m merely asking, Cordelia. What happened after Cecily delivered the basket to you?”

Cordelia heaved a sigh, demonstrating her impatience, and spoke slowly as if to a mentally challenged child. “I washed all the leaves and added them to a large pot to which I then added white wine. Jack had picked a bit more than we asked for, but I used them all. The wine was purchased at a local market and I opened the bottles myself. The mix steeped overnight, and I transferred it to a large, tightly lidded container and, with a small cauldron and bowls I washed myself, transported it to our . . . meeting.” Cordelia’s mouth twitched slightly.

“Did anyone else have a chance to touch it or add anything?”

Cordelia pursed her lips. “I know what you’re getting at. But no. No one laid a hand on it before we started or after. And I certainly didn’t add anything harmful to the wine, so the only possible conclusion is that your grandfather is getting senile and my only mistake was in trusting him to do something right.”

Lucky felt another surge of anger rise in her chest but she kept her voice level. “Cordelia, don’t you
dare
accuse my grandfather. He knew what he was doing when he picked those herbs. Somebody had to have tampered with it. I know that’s the only explanation.”

A slow smile spread across Cordelia’s face. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Why don’t you tell that to Nate Edgerton? See what he has to say? Your grandfather is obviously dotty and you’ll just simply have to accept that.”

“Look . . .” Lucky did her best to quell an angry retort. “Jack is anything but—”

“If that’s all, then, I’m very busy . . .”

“No, Cordelia. It’s not all.” Lucky edged her foot over the threshold. “I didn’t drive over here to be treated rudely or have a door slammed in my face. Under the circumstances, I would think you’d have the common courtesy to at least talk to me.”

Cordelia had the good grace to blush slightly. She took a deep breath. “Fine. What is it you’d like to know?”

Lucky struggled to marshal her thoughts. Her reaction to Cordelia had caused logic to fly to the winds. “Was Agnes friendly with anyone in your group?”

“Not particularly.”

“Did she know any of the women before the group formed?”

“I would have no idea.” Cordelia pursed her lips.

“Did she have any disagreements with anyone there?”

“Certainly no . . .” Cordelia hesitated. Lucky was sure she had hit upon something.

“Yes?” She waited.

Cordelia pulled herself up to her full height, standing straighter if such a thing were possible. “There was something. I don’t know if it was an argument. I wouldn’t say that, but there seemed to be a bit of distance, or discomfort, if you will, between Agnes and one of the women. I have no idea what it was about.”

“Which woman?”

Cordelia looked as if she’d love to deny Lucky an answer but must have finally decided the sooner she answered, the sooner Lucky would leave her alone. “It was Willa. Willa Persley.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Cordelia made no pretense of courtesy. She stepped back. Lucky managed to move her foot a second before Cordelia slammed the door firmly.

“I’ll show you who’s dotty,” she muttered to the closed door. She gave it a swift kick before she turned away and headed down the stairs.