Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4) (26 page)

I
T WAS CLOSE
to eleven o’clock by the time Lucky climbed the stairs to her apartment. She wanted nothing more than to lock her door, climb into a hot bubble bath and grab a good night’s sleep.

She shut the front door behind her and walked down the short hallway to the kitchen. She slipped out of her sweater and hung her purse on a chair. Then she kicked off her shoes and went to the bathroom to turn on the faucets. She hadn’t even had a chance to talk to Elias all day. He had been seeing patients in Lincoln Falls today. He would have heard about the search for the body. She glanced at the clock wondering whether it was too late to call him. Eleven thirty now. Too late. She didn’t want to wake him if he was already asleep.

When the tub was full, she turned the faucets off. Suddenly, she remembered that she hadn’t told Jack that Sophie was home. Knowing that he sometimes didn’t go to bed until late and often didn’t sleep through the night, she reached for the phone and dialed his number.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said when she heard her grandfather’s voice.

“Oh, no. You know me. I’m a night owl.”

“I was just about to soak in the tub but I wanted to let you know I found Sophie. She was hiding out at her mother’s house.”

“Poor kid. That’s a bad shock. You just get in?”

“A few minutes ago. Sorry to call you so late.”

“That’s no problem. I’ve been going through some stuff in the garage and found some more books I can donate. When I gave Cecily my books last week—”

“You mean Greta.”

“Huh?”

“You said Cecily. You mean Greta. Greta picked up your books.”

“Did I? Oh, that’s right.”

A sudden chill ran up Lucky’s spine. “Jack? What day did Greta pick up your books?”

“Well . . . I guess it was . . .”

“Was it the same day Cecily picked up the basket of herbs?”

“I . . . I think so. I had the books in the kitchen. When she came to the door . . .”

“Where was the basket for Cecily?”

“It was . . . Why, it was on the hallway table, I think. That’s right. That’s where I left it so I’d have it handy.”

Lucky was suddenly wide-awake. “Jack, do you remember who arrived first that day?”

“Of course I remember. I’m not brain-dead, my girl. It was Greta. I had a box of books on the kitchen table, all ready to go.”

“So . . . Greta knocked on your door and you opened it? And then what?”

“I went to the kitchen and carried the box out to her.”

“Jack, I think we should mention this to Nate.”

“You’re sayin’ Greta was standing there by the basket and she could have put something in it?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. It would have only taken a second or two. And she would have known about it. She was privy to everything that went on at the library. She would have known Cecily would be picking it up from you. She only had to make sure she got there before Cecily.”

Jack was silent.

“I’m going to call Nate first thing tomorrow. We should talk about this some more then. Don’t worry about it for now, Jack. I didn’t want to bring up the whole thing again.”

“I . . . Why would that shy little woman want to hurt anybody?”

“I have some ideas about that, but it’s the first thing that points to the fact that the basket
was
available to somebody besides Cecily or Cordelia.”

“If you say so.”

Lucky could visualize Jack shaking his head. “Get some sleep, Jack.”

“I will. Good night, my girl.”

“’Night, Jack.”

Lucky pulled her address book from her purse and looked up Nate’s home number. It was too late to call him tonight, but she’d call early tomorrow before he left for the station. She left the address book open on the coffee table and stood. She took a deep breath. This could explain how someone, Greta, could have added something to Jack’s herbs. And if Greta was supposed to be the first to drink, then how did she get Agnes to take her place? She turned off the lamp in the living room. That was when she heard the floorboards creak. Someone else was in the apartment.

S
HE HELD VERY
still in the darkened room, not daring to take a breath. A shadow moved in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light. Lucky stared, willing her eyes to adjust to the dark. A flashlight clicked on. Greta held it under her chin, illuminating her face, now ghoulish in the harsh light. She pointed the flashlight in Lucky’s eyes. Momentarily blinded, Lucky took a step to move away. She felt a searing pain. She had cracked her shin on the coffee table. She struggled to keep her balance.

Greta moved with lightning speed, grasping her arm. She pushed Lucky down onto the sofa cushions. Lucky struggled to break free.

Greta placed her hand over Lucky’s mouth and hissed in her ear. “Stay quiet. He’s coming.”

Lucky continued to struggle but Greta’s grip was like iron. She felt Greta’s breath on her cheek.

“Be quiet and stay here. Leonard’s coming for you.” Greta shoved her back.

The sound of glass breaking came from the kitchen. Lucky was sure it was the pane of glass in her back door. Greta released her grip and stepped into the hallway, moving quietly toward the kitchen. Lucky struggled to her feet. Heavy footsteps came through the kitchen and stopped at the entrance to the hallway.

“Lucky’s not here,” Greta said. “It’s me you want.”

Lucky heard a deep howl as Leonard thundered down the hallway. A thump and then a strangled cry came from Greta. She heard grunting sounds and heavy breathing. Lucky’s mind raced. She needed a weapon. There wasn’t time to wonder why Greta had been in her apartment. No time to ask what Leonard was doing. She and Greta were both in danger. The table leg. She prayed the glue hadn’t held. It never had before. She kicked over the table and, leaning down, wrenched at the stubborn leg. It wouldn’t budge. In frustration, she kicked down in an effort to dislodge it. It came loose with a crack. She grasped the wooden leg in her hand and ran down the hallway. Leonard’s back was turned. He held Greta by the throat, lifting her against the wall. Greta’s feet kicked wildly under her. Her hands clawed at Leonard’s wrists helplessly. There was no time to hesitate. Lucky took aim and placed the heaviest blow she could muster against Leonard’s temple. He grunted. His hands came loose and Greta slumped to the floor, gasping for air. Leonard, still on his feet, turned toward her. He swayed but didn’t fall. Lucky took one last swing at his head. His eyes rolled upward and his knees buckled underneath him. She stepped backward quickly as Leonard crashed forward.

Greta was on her hands and knees, crawling toward the kitchen, desperate to move away from Leonard. Lucky stepped over Leonard’s body and helped Greta to her feet, guiding her to a kitchen chair. She had to find a way to restrain Leonard. He was splayed on the hallway floor, but he was a big man. If he regained consciousness, she and Greta together could not hope to overpower him. Panicking, she opened one kitchen drawer after another, desperately searching for the length of clothesline she knew was in one of the drawers. She found it. With the clothesline in her hands, she hurried down the hall and quickly tied Leonard’s ankles together, then his wrists behind his back. For good measure, she rolled out the end of the long cord and wrapped it around the claw foot of the bathtub. Leonard hadn’t regained consciousness. She felt for the beating pulse in his neck. He was warm and alive.

She rushed into the living room and grabbed her phone book from the floor. She dialed Nate’s home number with shaking fingers. When he answered, she said, “It’s Lucky. Come to my place right away. It’s urgent.” She hung up before he could ask any questions. Then she returned to the kitchen and carried a glass of water to Greta. She knelt and held it to Greta’s lips, urging her to take a sip. Greta hadn’t spoken but looked at her gratefully. Bruises were starting to form around her neck.

“Don’t talk. Nate will be here in a few minutes.” Next she dialed Elias’s number. “You better come over.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ll see when you get here.” She hung up the phone.

Elias arrived two minutes later.

L
UCKY SAT ON
the sofa sipping a cup of hot tea that Elias had prepared. He put a protective arm around her shoulders.

Greta was bundled up in a quilt from Lucky’s bed, holding her mug of tea. Nate sat across from her in the armchair, asking questions and jotting notes. Leonard had regained consciousness a few moments after Nate arrived. Nate had cuffed him to a radiator in the outside hallway pending the arrival of the state police.

“How did you get into Lucky’s apartment, Greta?”

“I discovered I had a master key to every apartment. I didn’t realize it at first. The cleaning crew who had gotten my apartment ready just before I moved in had given me the wrong key. I planned to return it but I decided I’d keep it awhile just in case.”

“How did you know Leonard was coming after Lucky?”

“That’s what Lionel would do. That’s his real name, by the way. Lionel Washburn. Agnes, his wife, is . . . was Alice Washburn.” She looked over at Lucky. “When I heard about your accident, I knew then you were next. Just like he killed that poor man in the creek. You had been asking too many questions.”

“So his murder had nothing to do with the Resort or the land?”

“I don’t know anything about the Resort, but when I found out the dead man was Eddie Fowler, I knew Leonard had killed him.” She glanced at Nate. “I should probably start at the beginning. “My name is Greta Dorn. At least, that was my maiden name. I was married to Leonard’s son, Matthew—Matthew Washburn. Matthew was a gentle man, but terribly damaged by his father. Lionel is a manipulative bully who thinks he should be able to dictate everyone’s life. My husband, Matthew, had a drug problem he could never control. He kept falling back into that life. What I didn’t know was that Matthew was selling drugs to support his habit. When he died of an overdose, the drugs were found in our home, hidden in the garage. I was arrested and charged. The police refused to believe I didn’t know or that I wasn’t involved.”

All the pieces had clicked into place. Lucky realized that Greta had hired Rick Colgan and Eddie Fowler to locate Alice Washburn. Greta Dorn was the Margaret Washburn she had read about, in the flesh, sitting in her living room.

“Lionel and Alice . . . at first they seemed to be very supportive of me. They convinced me that my son, Michael, was better off being cared for by them rather than in a foster home. There was nothing I could do about my conviction but I was so frightened about what could happen to Michael. He was only six months old, an infant, when my husband died. I didn’t know what else to do. I never totally trusted Lionel but I knew Alice would take good care of the baby. I agreed to give them temporary guardianship until I was released. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”

Greta took a deep breath and continued. “Lionel’s a very powerful man. He’s always been determined to get his own way. Eventually I realized he needed to believe his son wasn’t to blame for what happened. He needed to believe Matthew could do no wrong and that I must have been the cause of all the trouble. He kept his true feelings under wraps because he was determined to get Michael away from me and keep him. I think he figured it was fair payment for, in his twisted mind, what he believed I had taken from him.” Greta paused for breath.

“So I signed the papers. What a mistake that was. Once I was sent away, Lionel refused to bring Michael to see me. And when I got out, Lionel did everything possible to keep Michael from me. I was able to see him, but Lionel refused to relinquish custody. That broke my heart. I wanted to tell my son how much I loved him and how I couldn’t wait to be with him. In jail, I had written letters to Michael but I’m sure Lionel destroyed them. It didn’t matter to me what Lionel did. I was determined not to let Michael go without a fight—not to let him be raised by that man. My husband was such a kind, gentle man who had been so damaged by his own father. And Alice was completely cowed by him. She had given up whatever autonomy she might have had. She was completely under his thumb.”

Greta took a deep breath and continued. “It took me a while after my release, but eventually I was able to hire a lawyer, and I filed a petition in court for custody of Michael. Evidence had come to light in another case that could help vindicate me, and my attorney was sure that under the circumstances I’d be able to regain custody of my son. Lionel knew then he would lose. The day we were all to appear before the judge, none of them arrived. They had taken Michael and disappeared. Lionel had cashed out his home equity line, took every dime of savings and disappeared with Alice and Michael.” Greta paused again. “I’m sure he was inconsolable after Matthew’s death, but he’s a vengeful man. He needed to see me punished. He refused to forgive me for Matthew’s death. And punished, I was.” Her voice shook. “I lost my husband and my son and five years of my life. I went out of my mind with grief.”

“Was this in October of that year?” Lucky asked.

Greta nodded. “That’s right. It was October. The date of our court hearing was the tenth of October.”

“That explains why my mother was trying to capture pictures of them. She must have read something or seen something, had some inkling. The story was all over the news.” Lucky glanced at Nate, sure that he felt a twinge of guilt for not taking her suspicions seriously.

Greta continued. “I’m sorry I stole that photo from you. I intended to return it. It’s just . . . when I saw that picture of my son, I thought I would collapse. You see, it took me several years, but I was able to work and save my money. I wasted a lot of time and money going to different private investigators to track them, but they had no more luck than the police did. Everyone had just vanished. Lionel must have operated only with cash, so there was no credit card or paper trail.”

“Is that when you hired Rick and his partner?” Lucky asked.

“Yes.” Greta nodded. “I happened to run into a friend I had made in jail, another woman. She told me about Rick and Eddie. That they would do things for cash that other investigators wouldn’t touch.” She glanced at Nate. “I was desperate. I know what they did was probably illegal but I didn’t care. I had to find my son. It was the only thing keeping me alive.”

“So Eddie was afraid you’d find the Washburns and take some sort of revenge on them for taking your son away?”

“I suppose. You see, I’m ashamed of this, but I lied to him. I was afraid they might turn me down because of my conviction. I suspect some of the other investigators I had tried to hire were suspicious of me. They didn’t say as much, but that’s what I think. Some even refused to look into the case and told me the police were my best bet. I felt this was my last, best chance. Years had gone by and I was desperate. I told him I was searching for my sister who was in an abusive relationship. He gave me the information that Alice and Lionel were living outside of Snowflake. Something that a licensed investigator never would have done, not without notifying them and asking permission. Later, he figured out my story was false and found out I was Margaret Washburn. He realized his mistake and must have become concerned I’d do something drastic. I think he went to the Washburns, to warn them. That was a fatal mistake because Lionel knew then he had been discovered. He had to get rid of the man. He must have thought that would solve the problem.”

“Once you had their location, why didn’t you go to the police?” Nate asked.

“I was afraid that would give them a chance to run again. They had legal custody. They had a court order. And I’m an ex-convict now. Who would believe me without a court hearing, and that would take time.”

“How did Rick and Eddie locate them?”

“I gave them the names of every family member, every friend of theirs that I knew of. Everything I could think of. In the end it was very simple. A year before my husband’s death, Alice learned she had inherited the house outside of Snowflake from a distant cousin. A cousin named Leonard Warner. The real Leonard Warner had been in a home for years and no one in town really knew him. It was the perfect way for them to hide out. Rick and Eddie discovered the cousin’s death and put two and two together. Something the police had overlooked.”

Greta took a deep breath. “I changed my appearance as much as possible when I came here. I thought it might buy me some time to figure out the lay of the land. I returned to my maiden name. I couldn’t bear the thought of having the same name as Lionel. Greta Dorn was a fresh start. Greta Dorn had no record of a criminal conviction. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but I thought appealing to whatever human feeling was left in Alice might work. I wanted to take Michael home and then go back to court. After Lionel took Michael and disappeared the way he did, I thought the courts might be able to press charges against him. That’s when Agnes first saw me at the library. She almost fainted. She recognized me right away. I managed to get her aside and I begged her. I begged her to bring Michael to me. I even told her she should come away with us and leave Lionel.”

“It didn’t work?”

Greta shook her head. “No. Alice was lost. Maybe she was lost a long time ago. She had no will of her own. She told Lionel I was here and looking for Michael. He must have been terrified he would be convicted. He hatched a plan to be rid of me once and for all.”

“And that was?” Nate asked.

“I think he convinced Alice that I had to die or they would both be sent to jail and Michael would have no one. I knew Agnes had a bad heart but that night in the woods . . . I was convinced she had ingested something awful and that’s what caused her heart attack. It took me completely by surprise. You may not believe this, but it never occurred to me that Lionel would try to kill me. He must have coerced Agnes into adding something poisonous to the wine.”

Nate shook his head. “The results are back from the lab. The wine was untainted. But a residue of yellowish sap was found in the bowl that Agnes drank from. Sap from the root of water hemlock. Deadly.”

“Oh.” Greta seemed to cave in upon herself. “That makes perfect sense. Agnes prepared the altar. She must have added it to the bowl we were to drink from.”

“But who was supposed to be the first to drink?”

“Me,” Greta answered simply. “I was.”

“But . . .” Lucky started.

“Agnes stepped forward suddenly and took the bowl before Cordelia realized we were out of order. I could tell Agnes was on her last nerve. She was torn between obeying Lionel and doing what was right. That drink was meant for me. As Cordelia was filling the bowl, Agnes leaned over and whispered to me. She said”—Greta paused, fighting back tears—“she said, ‘
Please forgive me
.’ Then she took the bowl and drank the poison herself.”

“You mean . . .” Nate trailed off.

“Yes.” Tears sprang to Greta’s eyes. “She drank the poison rather than harm me.” Greta covered her face with her hands for a moment. Finally, she gathered her strength and looked up. “I cried for her that night. Maybe you think that’s crazy, given how she aided and abetted Lionel, but I still cried. Her life could have been so different if she had been able to escape him. There’s no doubt in my mind Alice’s death was a suicide. At that critical moment, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t cause my death. She must have felt that suicide was the only way out of what she had helped to create.”

“Unbelievable,” Elias replied.

Greta turned to Lucky. “I am so sorry for any trouble your grandfather has suffered. He never did anything wrong. But I didn’t know who I could trust or who would believe me. I couldn’t tell anyone what I was doing here. I had to focus on getting Michael back.”

“I can understand that but what I don’t understand is why Leonard . . . Lionel went to such lengths to torture and accuse Jack,” Lucky asked.

Greta sighed. “I think Lionel is slightly mad, maybe even insane. He’s a man who has always blamed others for his troubles. I can tell you that he will never be willing to believe Agnes committed suicide. He blamed me for his son’s addiction and death. In his mind, if I was at fault, it justified his stealing my child. I’m sure it served him to throw suspicion on your grandfather and perhaps he half believed it because he wanted to. He knew full well he was guilty of attempted murder, but at the same time, he couldn’t understand why it had gone so wrong. He’s just not rational in a way that you or I could understand.”

Elias leaned forward in his chair. “Was it Lionel, then, who tampered with Sophie’s car?”

“I’m sure of it,” Greta answered. “I didn’t know whose car it was, but I heard about Lucky’s accident and I knew she was asking questions. That’s when I knew Lucky was next.” Greta turned a hopeful face to Nate. “When can I see my son?”

“Soon.” Nate glanced at his watch. “I’ve sent my deputy to the house to pick Michael up. He’ll be with the state police and a social worker by now. We can help you find legal counsel. I don’t know if you’ll apply to the Vermont courts or New York or both. But I’m sure you can get an emergency hearing in Bournmouth and I’ll appear on your behalf.”

“Thank you.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “It’s been a long journey. I can’t wait to hold my son in my arms.” She swiped at her eyes. “I just hope he still remembers me.”