Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4) (22 page)

“
I
S THAT THE
guy?” Nate turned to Sophie, who sat in the passenger seat of Nate’s car.

Sophie nodded. “That’s him. Brenda told me he always takes off for lunch the same time every day.”

“Okay, don’t stare at him.” Nate had driven his own car and parked in a public lot near the curving exit of the Snowflake Lodge. “Just turn toward me and act like we’re two friends sitting here shootin’ the breeze.” Nate had put on sunglasses and wore a casual shirt and a jacket.

Sophie shifted in her seat to look directly at Nate. Nate kept his eyes on the exit as the black SUV coasted down the incline. He focused on getting a good look at the license plate of the vehicle. Once it had passed, he quickly jotted the number down on a small notepad that sat near the gearshift. Then he turned the key in the ignition and the engine came to life. “Put your seat belt on.”

The SUV turned right at the bottom of the road. Nate backed out of the parking space and drove very slowly following the same path. Nate came to a full stop at the exit and counted to ten, allowing the SUV to gain some distance. Then he turned right to follow. Sophie remained quiet as they followed the road to the top of the hill where Crestline intersected. Nate stopped again and waited, waving to a crossing car to go through the intersection. “This is a narrow two-lane road; let’s keep back a little,” Nate said.

“Good idea.”

“Have a look at this license.” Nate passed the small notebook over to Sophie. “These match those three numbers Lucky was able to catch?”

Sophie studied the scrap of paper and shook her head. “No. They don’t match at all. Besides, that was a flatbed truck we saw that night.”

“Hmm.” He thought a moment. “I know the Resort owns their own vehicles. Do you happen to know offhand how many?” he asked.

“They do. And no, I don’t know. I’d just be guessing, but maybe they have four or five on-site. I think they have two small passenger vans, a flatbed truck and two SUVs. This one Lurch is driving may be one of them, but I don’t know for sure.”

“So it’s possible our guy here would have access to those the Resort owns?”

“I guess. He’s the Head of Security. I’d think he would.”

“When I get back to the station, I can look into it.”

Sophie fidgeted in her seat. “Don’t lose him, Nate. If he lives around here somewhere I’d love to know.”

“Be patient. And don’t you go thinking you’re gonna confront this guy. We have no evidence at all. We’re just checkin’ him out right now. For all we know he’s an upstanding citizen.”

“And a spy for the corporation, don’t forget that.”

“I haven’t. When it comes to labor disputes, all bets are off—on both sides.”

“Look!” Sophie pointed. “He just turned up that road.”

“That’s the entrance to the park and the pond.”

“Can we follow him in there?”

“Don’t see why not. It’s public property. It’s a beautiful day, probably lots of people come up here to get away.” Nate pulled to the side of the road. “We’ll just give him five or ten minutes, though. No point in letting him know he’s being tailed.”

Sophie heaved an impatient sigh. The minutes dragged by. Finally, Nate turned back onto the road and drove into the entrance of the small park. The road dipped down and curved to the right where a lot provided approximately twenty parking spaces. Six other cars besides the black SUV were parked there. Sophie pressed the button to lower her window. She heard the shouts of children from the play area. Glancing to her right, she could make out a jungle gym, a slide and a set of swings through the trees. Midday sunshine sparkled on the surface of the pond.

“This is nice,” Nate said, gazing longingly at the tiny strip of sand that edged the water. A few brightly colored towels punctuated the view where visitors were stretched out enjoying the warm air. “Susanna and I need to get out and relax more. I always forget about this little place.”

Sophie wiggled her foot in impatience. “Where is he?”

“Let’s take a walk. Real casual, now, let’s just chat about small stuff.” He climbed out of the car and came around to open Sophie’s door.

“Anybody in town sees us here, they’ll think we’re up to something illicit.”

Nate guffawed. “Let ’em. I only care what Susanna thinks. Can’t worry about every nosy body.”

They strolled across the grass and stood under a spreading elm tree, gazing at the water.

“You see him?” Nate spoke quietly.

“Not yet. Where did he get off to?”

“Never mind. I got him.”

“Where?” Sophie spun her head around.

“Hey! What did I tell you? Look casual, I said.”

“Right. Okay.” Sophie took a deep breath.

“He’s at a picnic table to your right.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Right now, he’s taking a last bite of a sandwich. Now he’s wrapping up his lunch.” Nate paused a moment. “Now he’s being a good citizen. He just walked over to the trash can and threw the paper bag in. Keep looking at me.” Nate glanced over her shoulder in the distance. “He’s walking down to the water.”

“And?”

“He’s pulling a small . . . looks like a brown paper bag from his jacket pocket.”

“Maybe he’s going to throw a gun into the pond,” Sophie hissed.

Nate remained silent, but focused as he watched. “Well, what do you know?” Nate remarked.

“Whaaat?”

“And now he’s coming our way. Must be heading back to work. Come on, Sophie, let’s get back to the car.” Nate turned and walked away quickly. Sophie hurried to catch up with him. As they reached the car, she grabbed Nate’s arm.

“Nate!”

“This guy’s a regular menace to society.”

“What was he doing?”

“Feeding the ducks.” Nate smiled. “Let’s get back to town.”

L
UCKY PULLED TO
a stop in front of a modest cottage on Cranberry Lane in Lincoln Falls. The front yard was full of rosebushes of every color and shape, all surrounded by a white picket fence. She had asked Sophie to take over for a few hours at the restaurant to cover for her while she did some errands. Sophie was curious as to where she was going but Lucky had been deliberately vague about her destination. By a happy coincidence, she had noticed an article about a local potter in the
Lincoln Falls Sentinel
, part of an ongoing series about local craftspeople and artists. A lightbulb went off in her brain. She was sure this was the very same potter from whom her mother had purchased the blue dishes and mugs years before. This woman’s work could be a surprise wedding gift for Sophie and Sage. Although she knew it was highly unlikely the very same pottery would be available, and unlikely that Sophie would want the same design that her mother had purchased, she hoped to find something similar.

Lucky opened the gate. It creaked slightly. She climbed the wooden steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. It chimed somewhere inside and then she heard the bark of a large dog. She waited, but no one came to the door. She hadn’t had a phone number for the woman; nor had she been able to find one in the phone directory. Coming here had been an impulse move but something had told her to take a chance. She rang the bell again and waited. Again she heard a dog bark. Maybe the sound of the dog was part of the doorbell?

She returned to the front yard and decided to walk down the driveway. In the rear of the property she spotted a large shed. She followed stepping-stones for several yards, and suddenly a huge black dog appeared in front of her. He crouched and growled deep in his throat. She could hear a rhythmic sound from the shed. Someone was home.

“Hello,” she called.

“Back here,” a voice answered. The dog growled again. “Cerberus! Enough! Let the lady in.” The dog immediately whimpered and sat on the grass, still alert.

Lucky whispered, “Good boy.”

She stepped forward carefully, not quite sure whether the dog wouldn’t change his mind.

“Come on in,” the voice said.

Lucky stood on the threshold of a spacious shed, unfinished except for shelves that lined the interior. An aroma that reminded her of gardening in soft, warm earth filled the room. The shelves were laden with finished and unfinished pottery. In the center of the room, a rail-thin, white-haired woman sat at a turning potter’s wheel, a tiny human powering a great hulking machine.

“Can’t stop now. I can talk to you in a minute.”

Lucky watched, fascinated as the woman’s arthritic hands shaped a great glob of clay, forming it into a fat vase. She had once seen glassblowers work and it struck her that this process was similar. Amorphous shapes of earth and silica crafted into beautiful objects. Finally the rhythmic noise ended as the wheel slowed and finally stopped. The tiny woman stood and walked to a corner sink to rinse her hands. Wiping them on a towel, she approached Lucky and peered up into her face.

“I knew you were okay. I could hear it in your voice. I’m Persephone, but you can call me Penny; everybody does.” She held out a damp hand.

Lucky shook her hand. “I’m Lucky. Lucky Jamieson. I’m sorry to disturb you at work. I just didn’t have a phone number to call, so I drove over from Snowflake.” Lucky heard the dog snuffling behind her and then a wet nose pressed against her leg. She sidestepped the canine curiosity.

“Stop that, Cerberus. That’s not polite,” the tiny woman chastised her dog.

“Cerberus?” Lucky asked.

“Yes.” Penny smiled. “The dog that guards the gates of Hades. You remember your eighth-grade mythology? He was supposed to keep the ghosts of the dead from escaping the underworld. He was a three-headed dog with a serpent’s tail, a mane of snakes and lion’s claws. My mother was a student of mythology.” She laughed. “That’s how I got my name.” Penny reached down to pat the dog’s head and spoke to him. “I know you don’t have all those things, boy, but you’re still a good guard dog.” She looked up at Lucky. “I thought that was a good name for him, since he’s guarding me and I’m so old I’m almost there.”

Lucky smiled. “You hardly seem it. Looks like you work very hard.”

“That I do. Now, what can I do for you?”

Lucky reached into her carryall and pulled out a paper-wrapped object. She dropped the bag on the floor and unwrapped the blue pottery mug she had brought with her. Cerberus immediately began an olfactory investigation of the cloth bag.

“My mother bought a set of dishes and mugs from you several years ago, I believe.”

Penny nodded and reached out for the mug. “That’s mine, all right.” She turned it over. “Here’s my mark right here. See it?”

Lucky peered at the glazed bottom where she could make out the small letter P, the curving part of the letter fashioned in a triangular shape. “Ah. I see it now.”

“Are you looking to buy some more? ’Cause I don’t have any of those left right now.”

“No, actually, I have the full set of my mother’s, but my best friend is getting married in a week and I’m helping her with her wedding. I really wanted to get her a sentimental gift. She loves my mother’s set. I saw an article about you in the local newspaper and that’s what triggered my memory. I felt sure you had to be the person who made this.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Penny turned away and led Lucky to a worktable against the far wall. Her long white hair was plaited in a shining braid. Her back was bent in a dowager’s hump and the top of her head barely reached Lucky’s shoulder. “I’ve been working a lot in rust and orange colors these days. This is what I have right now.” She indicated a stack of plates in deep muted colors covered with small designs reminiscent of folk art.

Lucky picked up one of the plates. “Oh, these are beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I love these colors.” She looked hopefully at Penny. “Are these for sale?”

Penelope nodded. “They sure are. Only thing is, I’ve only made six of the plates and six mugs.”

“That’s a good-sized set.”

Penelope nodded. “Six is a good number. I always like to stop at six. It’s the number of home and hearth; did you know that?”

Lucky shook her head. “No, I didn’t. Never gave it a thought, to be honest.”

“My house number is sixty-nine. Six and nine are fifteen; one and five are six. See? You should think about that some more. Everything’s connected, numbers and colors, humans and animals. Animals always know which humans they can trust. They’re more connected than we are. Maybe I’m superstitious but I always pay attention to numbers. Never could figure out why dishes and glasses and such are sold in sets of eight.” She shuddered. “Eight’s not the right number for stuff for your home. You want to take these?”

“Oh, yes, definitely.” Lucky watched as Penelope deftly wrapped each piece in heavy paper and gently laid them in a cardboard box. When she had finished, she put a fitted lid on the box.

Lucky pulled bills out of her wallet in payment. “I’m so thrilled I found you. Thank you again.”

“You come back anytime you like. You’re from Snowflake?”

Lucky nodded. “I own the By the Spoonful Soup Shop on Broadway. Maybe you can stop by sometime. Soup’s on the house for you.”

“Well, thanks, dear. That’s real nice. I don’t drive anymore, but if I’m ever over that way, I will stop in. What’s the address?”

“It’s One-thirty-two Broadway.”

“See? One, three, two—adds up to six. Told ’ya. A good number.”

“Very interesting. You’re right. I’ll have to pay attention.” Lucky slung her bag over her shoulder and reached down to pat Cerberus’s head. He licked her hand in acknowledgment.

She waved good-bye and lugged her carton of pottery dishes and mugs to the car. She thought a moment and then decided to put the box on the floor of the backseat just to be safe. She didn’t like the thought of this box and its precious cargo shifting around in the trunk. As she drove away she recalled that Jack’s address was 42 Birch Street. She heard Penny’s voice in her head telling her that was a good number.