A Clue in the Stew (A Soup Lover's Mystery) (8 page)

Chapter 19

L
UCKY CLIMBED OUT
of the bathtub and pulled the plug from the drain. The sudsy water gurgled and swirled as the tub emptied. Wrapping a large bath towel around herself, she padded to the bedroom, leaving damp footprints on the wood floor. She slipped on a nightie and a terry cloth robe, so grateful to be in her small apartment and away from the annoyances and crowds of the day. She had a new appreciation for popular writers after watching Hilary Stone sign her name for hours and smile at every fan. What stamina the woman had!

Meg’s gift sat on the kitchen table. Curiosity got the better of her. She picked it up and carried it to the living room. Snuggling on the sofa near the floor lamp, she cracked it open. The dedication page read, “
To Lucky . . . Hilary Stone
.” Lucky appreciated the thought behind the gift but felt guilty that Meg had spent her hard-earned money. She turned the page and began to read:

Rebecca Mayfield was lost in thought as she sat on the subway bench waiting for her train to arrive. The murderer had targeted women alone at night, in dark alleys and city streets. Each victim had complained of mysterious phone calls for three consecutive days before their deaths. All young women in the prime of their lives.
What sort of monster would violate the innocent?
she thought. She knew she was onto something, but her editor had threatened to pull the story unless she came up with something solid, something the police hadn’t yet discovered.

The bench began to vibrate beneath her. She heard the roar of the incoming train. Gathering her purse, she stood and approached the edge of the platform. She glanced down. Her heart almost stopped. On the tracks below lay another victim of the killer, a thin plastic cord wrapped around her neck. Rebecca’s screams were drowned by the roaring sound. She couldn’t possibly halt the train in time. She covered her eyes as the brakes began to squeal.

Lucky heard a firm knock at her door and nearly jumped out of her skin. She took a deep breath and hurried down the hall. “Who is it?” she called out. Only Sophie or Elias would ever come to her door unannounced this late in the evening.

“House call,” Elias replied.

Lucky laughed and opened the door. “I didn’t expect you.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Oh, I was just starting to read
Murder Comes Calling.
Meg bought me a copy.”

“Not you too! Are you turning into a crazed fan?”

“I hope not. But it did make me jump when I heard you knock.”

He smiled and enveloped her in a hug. “I just got back from the hospital in Lincoln Falls and didn’t want to spend the night alone.” He pulled back to take a better look at her. “You’re all pink.”

“I just got out of the tub.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know about that. It might be caused by a rare disease. I think you need a doctor’s attention—stat.” He grinned from ear to ear.

“I certainly could use some attention and some tender loving care, but how ’bout a glass of wine first.”

“I can manage that,” he replied, following Lucky back to the kitchen. She pulled two wineglasses from the cupboard and a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator.

“You can do the honors,” she said, handing him a wine cork remover. “I’m terrible at this.”

Elias deftly released the cork. “What is this?”

“Something Sage recommended. Should be good.”

Elias poured a small amount into one of the wineglasses and held the glass to his nose. “Mmmm, Sage has good taste.” He poured some into Lucky’s glass and more into his own. “How was your day? Oh, I just remembered . . . you had the book signing tonight! How did it go?”

“Fine, I think. It was a bit stressful dealing with all the personalities. They’re quite a bunch, but Hilary Stone seems like an interesting woman and she certainly has her fans. The street was packed with people. It went on for hours and unfortunately a lot of them weren’t able to get their books signed after waiting in line for a long time.”

“That’s too bad.”

“But . . . I have to hand it to her. She talked for a few minutes and then people asked questions, so she kept up the signing for close to two and a half hours.”

“Commendable.” Elias reached across the table and grasped her hand. “You have a funny look on your face. What’s wrong?”

“Oh.” Lucky shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing.”

“Not likely. What is it?”

“It’s Jack. I’m concerned about him.”

“What’s going on?”

“This woman . . . this Nanette. It’s revolting, Elias. She flirts with him and rubs his arm, and every time I turn around, she’s at the cash register with Jack for any excuse whatsoever.”

“Look, maybe she just likes him. Jack is very likable.”

“Of course he is, but he is completely smitten with this woman. He watches her all day long with this adoring look in his eye. And she’s got to be ages younger. I love Jack but I find it hard to believe she’s really attracted to him. I’m just worried that she has some other agenda. And then, she’s sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong and telling Sage to change his recipes.”

Elias coughed as a sip of wine went down his throat the wrong way. “Whaaa? Telling Sage how to cook?”

“Yes!” Lucky exclaimed. “Can you believe that! I caught her telling him he should change his recipes because they’re boring. Unbelievable! The latest is she’s decided the aprons should be changed. The ones my mother designed. Over my dead body. And she’s got Jack to agree with her.”

“I can see why you’re upset. I don’t know what to say . . . maybe give her a little time to settle in and learn how things really work at the Spoonful.”

“I guess. I’m really trying hard to be patient. I can’t afford to lose Meg.”

“Speaking of patient . . . how ’bout that doctor’s care I mentioned?” He smiled as he pulled her toward him and held her close. “You
are
very pink. The doctor is concerned.”

Chapter 20

B
ARRY SANDERS APPROACHED
his friend’s house. He had walked down the hill from his own home on Crestline after spending the last day or so concerned about Hank. He stood, staring at the darkened house and the empty driveway. Wherever Hank had gone, he hadn’t bothered to inform anyone, not even his best friend. And Barry had no doubt that he was Hank’s best friend. He knew it was hard for other people to understand, but this behavior was so out of character for Hank and so out of the normal routine the two men had kept up in retirement.

Barry admired Hank greatly, his education, his work experience as a newspaper writer. Barry, on the other hand, was a barely educated electrician in his working life, yet he had done well financially and was able to enjoy his retirement. But he had to admit there were things about Hank that he had never dared approach. Some dark corner of his previous life that Hank would never talk about. Barry wasn’t sure exactly what it was, or what it involved. He suspected something might have gone wrong in his career, something he might still be bitter about. But Hank had never offered to explain further and Barry was too polite to pry. Perhaps he had been dismissed from his job, or some shadow or ill luck had befallen him. Perhaps he had been impolitic and stepped on the wrong toes. Barry had no idea what it was exactly, but he could sense it. There was always some reticence when Hank would talk about his earlier life. Ultimately every conversation would end with Hank remarking that it was all water under the bridge.

What if Hank’s car was in the shop and he hadn’t gone out of town? What if Hank were really sick and couldn’t reach a telephone? Maybe he should just check things out. Barry walked softly down the driveway and climbed the front steps. He peered through the glass of the door. The house was completely dark. If Hank were home, certainly the lamp in his living room would be lit. He pretty much left it burning day and night anyway, whether he was home or not. The living room itself didn’t get much direct light on this side of the house and Hank never liked the dark. Barry rang the bell and heard it chime inside. No response. He sighed and retraced his steps, doing his best, in spite of his short stature, to peek into the side windows. He couldn’t see very much. He pulled a flashlight out of his back pocket and pressed it against the glass. Nothing looked amiss. Neat as always. Next he peered into the back window of the kitchen. Not a cup or a spoon out of place. It was as if Hank had carefully put every loose item away, climbed in his car and driven off.

But to where?
Barry wondered.

•   •   •

G
INNY TAPPED LIGHTLY
on the door to the suite. “Ms. Stone?” She waited, but heard no response. She knocked louder. Still no answer. She sighed and checked her watch. Ten fifty-five. She was due to go home in five more minutes. Twenty minutes earlier, she had approached the door but had heard raised voices. It sounded like their guest was arguing with someone—a man? Her son? She had thought better of knocking and finally decided to come back later. But now it
was
later. It was almost eleven o’clock. She was exhausted. It had been a very long day, and if it weren’t for Hilary Stone and all the people who had come to town with the author, she would have been free to go home two hours ago. She decided to take a chance.

Ginny tapped one more time on the door and cracked it open. The room appeared to be empty.
Good
, she thought. She hurried to the table and loaded the empty dishes and used napkins on the tray. She turned back to the door and halted in her tracks. A stockinged foot peeked out from under the far side of the bed. Ginny forced herself to approach. Hilary Stone lay on the floor, between the bed and the wall, fully clothed, except for one shoe, a telephone cord wrapped around her neck. Her tongue, swollen and blue, protruded from her mouth. Ginny felt the tray slip from her fingers. She began to scream.

Chapter 21

L
UCKY SNUGGLED INTO
her heavy cardigan and turned the key in the ignition. She’d just have time to retrieve the dishes from the Drake House and get back to the Spoonful before opening. She rolled down the window and breathed deeply as she drove down Broadway. The morning air was cool but it promised to be a lush spring day. The storms and ice of winter had finally ended and soon everything would be in bloom. Forsythia bushes were everywhere now, brilliant sprays of bright yellow, but soon the lilacs would bloom. She smiled, thinking of Sophie’s wedding last year. Sophie had carried lilacs and lavender. Lucky sighed, recalling what a happy day that had been.

There were several cars in the distance. She recognized the coroner’s van from Lincoln Falls. She slowed and hit the brakes. Nate’s cruiser was in the drive and one of the cars was Elias’s silver sedan. Something was very wrong. Elias had left her apartment early that morning, before dawn. Had Nate called him to come to the Drake House? She pulled to the opposite side of the road and parked. What could have possibly happened since she had been here the night before? She hurried across the road and up the path to the front door. The door swung open before she reached it. Barbara had seen her approaching.

“Oh, Lucky!” she cried.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s so terrible.” Barbara burst into tears. “It’s Hilary Stone. She’s dead. She’s been murdered.”

Lucky gasped. “How? I mean, when did this happen?” The woman had been fine the night before when she had delivered the food.

“We don’t know. We’ve been up all night. Ginny found her just before she was due to go off duty. She went in to get the dishes and things to wash them for you and found her. Ginny’s a wreck.”

Barbara fell into her arms, more for support than affection. Lucky wrapped her arms around Barbara’s thin shoulders. Ginny appeared in the doorway to the dining room, her face a ghostly white. It was obvious neither woman had slept a wink all night.

“Come on, you need to sit down. Better yet, you need to lie down. I can stay for a while to help out. They can cover for me for a bit at the restaurant.”

Ginny stepped forward. “I can help too, Barbara.”

“I appreciate that, dear. But you should go home as soon as Nate releases you. He may want to talk to you again, I’m sure, but after that, go home and rest. Besides, Ralph and Dolores will be here any minute.” Barbara referred to the husband-and-wife team, the Partridges, who cooked and served food for the bed-and-breakfast.

Ginny nodded. “Okay. I’ll be back this afternoon. I just hope I’ll be able to sleep.” She turned away and headed for the rear of the house.

Lucky heard footsteps on the landing above her and the grunts of men struggling with a gurney. “Let’s go in the kitchen,” she said to Barbara, hoping the woman would not have to deal with the sight of a body being removed from her premises.

Barbara turned and saw the burden being carried down her winding staircase. “Oh!” she exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth.

“Come on.” Lucky led her gently toward the entryway to the kitchen. Barbara allowed herself to be led to a chair. “Sit down and I’ll fix you some tea.”

“Make that coffee, Lucky. I can’t sleep now. All my guests are in an uproar and they’re confined to their rooms for the time being. I know there’ll be an exodus and I can’t blame them,” she sobbed. “Who would want to stay in a place where there’s been a murder?” Barbara rubbed her temples. “I need some aspirin.”

Lucky opened a cabinet to search for a coffee mug. A fresh pot of brewed coffee sat on the machine. She pulled down a mug and filled it.

“Thanks,” Barbara replied. “Could you be a dear and get me a glass of water. The aspirin is in that last cabinet on your left.”

“Sure,” Lucky replied, fulfilling Barbara’s request.

“I can’t believe this is happening. Why did that woman have to come to Snowflake and get herself murdered? And why here? At my bed-and-breakfast?” Barbara moaned.

“I don’t know,” Lucky sighed. “But stay here out of the way. I’ll see if I can find that tray . . .”

“Everything’s on the floor in the hallway right now. I’m afraid Ginny dropped the tray when she discovered the body.” Barbara looked up ruefully. “One of the bowls broke. I’m sorry, I’ll pay you for them.”

“Don’t be silly. Don’t worry about it.”

“They told me they dusted everything for fingerprints. I don’t know what they think they can find. Everyone’s been in and out of her room for the last few days anyway.”

Lucky slipped out of the kitchen and walked quietly up the stairs. She looked up. Elias was coming down the stairs. They met on the landing. He put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her lightly. “What are you doing here?”

“I came back to get the dishes I delivered last night.”

“After the book signing?”

Lucky nodded. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Strangled, as far as I can tell. They’ll have a full autopsy done over at Lincoln Falls. They’ll make sure that’s what happened.”

Nate’s heavy tread hit the stairway. “Lucky! What are you doing here?”

“I was just telling Elias. I came over to pick up my dishes before I went to the Spoonful.”

“Ah.” Nate sighed. “We saw the tray. What time were you here?”

“Um, well, it must have been about nine thirty, maybe nine forty-five. Her publicist called the restaurant. Ms. Stone decided she was hungry and only the Spoonful’s food would do.”

“That was nice of you, especially after hosting the book signing.”

Lucky shrugged. “The answer would have been no if it had been any other situation. I really just did it for Barbara’s sake.”

Elias squeezed Lucky’s shoulder. “I need to get going. I’ll call you later.” Lucky nodded in response as Elias bounded down the stairway.

“Excuse me.” It was Derek Stone who spoke. He stood at the top of the stairway. His face was a ghastly gray and his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.

“Yes.” Nate turned to him.

“Where are they taking my mother?”

Nate climbed the stairs and rested his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Derek remained silent, staring at Nate. “We’re transporting her to Lincoln Falls, where there’ll be a complete examination. I’ll need everyone to remain here for a few days, but I’ll let you know when you can make arrangements.”

Derek’s chest heaved. He looked as if he was about to burst into tears again.

“I’ll be asking more questions later, but can you tell me when you last saw your mother alive?”

Derek’s lip quivered. “Last night. I . . . I just popped in to say good night.”

“And what time was that?”

“I don’t know exactly. Maybe ten-ish, I guess. I was very tired and just wanted to get to sleep. Mother was getting ready for bed too. There was a tray on the desk. I guess she had had a bite to eat.” He glanced at Lucky. “This lady had delivered it. Mother hadn’t been hungry before the book event last night.”

“How long were you with her?”

Derek shook his head, looking confused. “Not long. She asked me to help her with the clasp on her necklace. And then we said good night.”

“Some of the guests claim they heard raised voices—they said it sounded like a man’s voice. An argument. Did you hear anything like that?”

Derek looked mystified. “No. I didn’t. Are you saying someone broke into my mother’s room and . . .” He trailed off. “I didn’t hear anything. Our room is at the end of the hallway. Phoebe, her assistant, is in the room next to her.”

“I see,” Nate replied. “I’ll be talking to everyone again. Why don’t you try to get some rest now.”

“Derek!” A booming voice reached them from the downstairs lobby. Derek jumped involuntarily.

Lucky glanced down to where a distinguished-looking man with silver hair stood in the doorway of the Drake House. He spotted the group on the landing and strode up the stairs.

“Dad!” Derek said.

“I came as soon as I heard. Who’s in charge here?” he demanded of Nate.

“I am,” Nate replied. “Nate Edgerton. Chief of police. And you are?”

“Derek Stone,
Senior
.” He reached out and forcefully shook Nate’s hand.

“Why don’t we go upstairs where we can talk privately,” Nate requested.

“Glad to. This is just terrible news.” He charged past Nate, patting his son on the shoulder. “Keep it together, Derek,” he muttered.

Derek nodded and turned away, stumbling slightly as he walked down the hall. He held a hand to the wall as if to orient himself.

“Nate,” Lucky said. “I’m sorry to barge in like this. I’ll just pick up the tray and what’s left of the dishes and get back to the restaurant.”

“You do that. We’re done with those. Tell Jack I’ll stop in later.” He turned away and climbed the stairs. The two men entered the sitting room and closed the door behind them.

Lucky retrieved the tray from the hallway table. She returned downstairs. When she reached the kitchen, Ralph and Dolores were already there, bustling about. They seemed to have breakfast well in hand. “Do you need any help, you two?” Lucky asked.

“Oh, no,” Dolores replied. “We’ll take care of everything.” She turned to her employer. “Don’t worry about a thing.” Dolores was a plump, cheerful woman with a knot of gray hair pulled up on her head. She took the tray from Lucky’s hands and quickly rinsed off the undamaged bowl. She dried it and slipped it into a paper bag with last night’s plastic containers. “Here you go, dear.” She shook her head and turned back to the stove. “This is a terrible thing to happen,” she declared, slamming a heavy cast iron skillet on the stove. “Why couldn’t these people stay where they belong?”