Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4) (27 page)

“
I
T’S ALL OVER
now, Jack.” Lucky watched her grandfather closely, thrilled that she could deliver good news to him.

He nodded slowly and looked at her with a cautious glint in his eye. “You’re sure about that, my girl?”

She smiled widely and hugged him. “Absolutely. It never occurred to me that Greta might have been at the center of the whole matter. She had done a good job of fading into the background, making herself almost invisible.”

“What a terrible story. What that poor woman has suffered. And to think Leonard Warner lived in our midst and we had no idea who he really was. Your mother did, though. Or at least she must have suspected.”

“She did. Greta told me her court hearing was October tenth. When it became a kidnapping matter, it hit the news services big-time. Maybe mom didn’t suspect them immediately, but when they were so resistant to being photographed, she started to wonder. That’s why she kept those pictures. She had been trying to get a shot of the little boy and compare it to the picture in the news, but wasn’t able to. Greta never caused anyone any harm. She was wrongly convicted. She was Lionel’s victim as much as her husband, Matthew, was. Lionel is a delusional man. He had to believe his son was blameless and Greta was at fault. And he had to believe you were to blame for Agnes’s death. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to accept that Agnes drank the poison willingly. Or maybe he was hoping his accusations would draw suspicion away from him.” Lucky thought a moment. “I just wish I could have put the pieces together sooner. I had begun to think that both deaths might be connected, but it wasn’t until Rick questioned me about Agnes Warner that I realized she was Alice Washburn, the woman they had been hired to locate. That’s when I started to put it together. Then Greta stealing the photo—I realized she must be Margaret, but with all the worry about Sophie, it had to go on the back burner. The one thing I was sure about was that you hadn’t made a mistake with those plants.”

“Well, you’re a loyal following of one. I doubted it myself, to be honest.” Jack finally smiled. “I’m an old man and I forget things or get ’em mixed up sometimes, but I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I had caused someone’s death.”

Lucky hadn’t had a chance to flip over the sign at the front door to open the Spoonful for the day. She heard a banging on the glass. Sophie was outside, knocking and jumping up and down. Lucky hurried over, unlocked the door and turned the sign around.

“Why didn’t you call me last night?” Sophie shrieked.

Lucky groaned. “It was so late by the time Nate left, and then Elias stayed with me. He wouldn’t go home after what happened, but I was glad he stayed. I certainly didn’t want to wake you and Sage up in the middle of the night. How did you hear so soon?”

“Are you kidding? Nate contacted Elizabeth, since Greta was her tenant, and then Bradley called Rowena at the
Snowflake Gazette
trying to make it look like he had apprehended Leonard, or whatever his name is, with no help from you or Greta, and Rowena called several of her friends and it filtered through to us. Sage got a call from his brother, who heard it from . . . I can’t remember right now.”

“Never mind.” Lucky laughed. “It’s good to know the grapevine is working just fine.”

Sophie turned to Jack and wrapped her arms around him. “See? Lucky was right. It had nothing to do with you!”

Jack laughed. “She’s the best, isn’t she?”

“Yup.”

“And so are you, Jack. I haven’t had a chance to thank you properly for hosting our wedding. We’ll make sure everything’s straightened out and cleaned up after the party.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Lucky said. “Elias and Jack and I are taking care of everything. You’re leaving for your honeymoon at the lake. We don’t want to hear from either one of you for at least two weeks.”

Sophie leaned closer. “Sage is really worried you guys won’t be okay while he’s gone.”

“He’s irreplaceable, I agree, but really, we’ll be fine. We have plenty in the freezer, and believe it or not, I can cook. You both deserve a great vacation, so just enjoy the time.”

L
UCKY AND
J
ACK
sat in the two wooden armchairs facing Nate across the desk. He had prepared statements for them but wanted them to read the documents over carefully.

“Make sure you read them all the way through. Lucky will probably have to be a witness at trial, but they might want to call you in too, Jack. I want to have all the T’s crossed and the I’s dotted.”

Lucky’s eyes scanned the text, which consisted of a bare statement of the facts of the discovery of Eddie’s body in the creek, her conversations with Emily, Cordelia, Cecily and Willa, and finally, the witnessing of Lionel’s attempted murder of Greta and her efforts to subdue Lionel.

Nate shook his head. “I never suspected a little woman who ran all over town picking up library books was at the heart of this thing.”

“It must have broken her heart to have her son taken away from her. I can’t even imagine what she’s suffered,” Lucky replied. “What happens now, Nate?”

“I’ve notified all the appropriate federal and state authorities. They’ll be pressing charges against Leon . . . Lionel Washburn. Whether they have enough hard evidence to charge him in the death of Eddie Fowler, I don’t know, but we got lucky and found a partial print on the hubcap from your accident, and the attempt on Greta’s life needs to stick. That’s why your statement’s so important.” Nate pushed his chair back from the desk.

“I can’t believe this kidnapping got dropped and not followed up on. Don’t the federal authorities keep a case like that active?”

“Technically, the Washburns had custody of the boy and planned to legally adopt him. But once they failed to show up on the hearing date, they were in contempt of court. So, I can’t say if everyone considered it a true kidnapping in that sense. The authorities did their best to locate them at the time, but had no luck. The case grew cold, but these things are always on the books. There’s just so many, there isn’t the manpower to keep looking.” Nate continued, “Greta should have no trouble getting permanent custody of her son. She may have to petition the New York court where the original hearing was supposed to be held, but she’s decided to stay here in Snowflake and raise her boy in the village.”

“How is Michael coping? Did he remember his mother?” Lucky asked.

Nate smiled. “He sure did. I was with them when they met in Bournmouth. Greta had taken off her glasses and let down her hair so she looked as much like she used to look as possible. Michael hesitated a moment; then his face lit up and he ran into her arms.”

“That’s the best news of all,” Lucky offered.

“I suspect the little kid knew something was very off. Lionel and his wife treated him okay, but he knew something was wrong. He said he kept asking for his mother and they kept trying to tell him his mother was dead, but he said he never believed it.”

“How could they do that to a child?”

Nate shook his head. “A real sick man. Poor kid didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I just have one question,” Lucky said. “If Rick was able to locate the Washburns, why couldn’t the police?”

“Slipped between the cracks. No communication between states, for one thing. Overworked officers everywhere. Like I said, they never close the books on something like this, but maybe because the Washburns had legal custody, it put a different spin on it. Lionel was using the driver’s license of his wife’s dead cousin and just kept renewing it every year. Pretty hard to survive without credit cards or other identification, but they managed it for several years. These weren’t people who’d have had any kind of access to false identification without taking an even bigger risk. Sooner or later, somebody would’ve got wise. What were they gonna do when the kid got old enough to get a job and needed a Social Security number? Maybe they planned to wait until he started working, or tell him some story and let him use his own Social Security number if he already had one.”

Nate pushed back his chair. “Oh, one last thing. Peter Manko’s been picked up and shipped over to Bournmouth. Sophie and everybody else up at the Resort won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Picked up for what?”

“There was a Florida warrant for assault. Seems Manko was hired to do security at a hotel there and he put somebody into a coma. Apparently, the Resort wasn’t too fussy about who they hired.” Nate continued, “Funny how it happened, though. Somebody e-mailed me a copy of the warrant.”

“Who?”

“I have my suspicions.”

Lucky was sure Nate referred to Rick Colgan. “Are the people at the Resort claiming they knew nothing about this warrant?”

Nate smiled. “You got it. I wouldn’t have expected any less. They’re, quote, ‘shocked and surprised at this turn of events,’ unquote.”

“What about the man whose house burned down? The one Brenda told us about?”

“Faulty propane tank. Talked to the inspector myself. By the way, any idea where Rick Colgan might have gone? Can’t seem to locate him either.”

“No. And I’m sure Sophie doesn’t either. He’s probably just gone underground. If you find him, do you think he’ll be charged with being an accessory to his father’s death?”

“Might be. Again, I doubt he’d be prosecuted as long as he didn’t do it himself and if what he told Sophie was true. He was a kid then himself under extraordinary circumstances.”

L
UCKY C
LEARED THE
leaves and a few sprouting weeds from the flower bed at her parents’ gravestone. Her visits to their grave site were regular, but over the past few months she had been too busy to get there as often. The first year had been the most difficult. That milestone had passed last December. She hadn’t let snow or cold deter her. The holidays had been the worst time of all. Not only did last December mark the one-year anniversary of their death, but it was at Christmas that she most missed her mother. Martha Jamieson was one of those women who lived for the holidays and loved to cook and decorate. Without fail, a ten-foot tree filled their living room decorated with boxes and boxes of ornaments, some dating back forty years or more, some of them, the ones her mother most cherished, Lucky herself had made in grade school. She had always groaned with embarrassment when her mother would hang them on the tree and point them out to her. She had begged her mother to throw them away, but there wasn’t a chance that would ever happen. Martha Jamieson treasured those more than the most expensive ornament she possessed.

Lucky always looked forward to coming to the cemetery. It was the one spot where she could be completely alone, close her eyes, without ringing phones, rushing off to the restaurant, or friends dropping by her apartment. The purple phlox had blossomed again now that spring had come. She had worried they might not survive the winter but they seemed to have done just fine. When she was done weeding, she sat on the ground under the large maple tree nearby and held imaginary conversations with her parents.

This time she talked about Jack. How he admitted to blaming himself for their deaths. She could imagine both of them shaking their heads, saying, “
Oh, no. Tell Jack that’s nonsense. It was our time, dear. That’s all. It was our time to go
.”
She knew they’d be happy that Jack was clear of any suspicions, now that Greta had convinced everyone Agnes had chosen suicide.

Most of all, she thanked her mother for the clues she had left behind. Clues about the Warners. She had been in Madison at the time those photos were taken. If only she had been here, in Snowflake, she was sure her mother would have confided her suspicions about the family.
I’m so sorry, Mom
, she thought.
If I could have a do-over, I’d turn the clock back and be here with you, those years after college. I was such an idiot to stay away. Life continued in Snowflake and I wasn’t any part of it. I wish I had been here
, she thought,
to be your confidante when you needed one. I hope you can forgive me
.

She could imagine how delighted her mother would have been to see Sophie’s wedding. And how proud she would have been to see the dress that Lucky had sewn for her friend. Her mother loved weddings. “Mom, if you’re up there somewhere, I hope you can see us all tomorrow, the big day. You will not be forgotten,” she whispered.