Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4) (5 page)

S
OPHIE SAT AT
the counter sipping a mug of coffee. It was a few minutes before opening time. Jack had arrived early as promised and now sat at a front table reading his newspaper.

“Sure you don’t want something to eat?” Lucky asked.

Sophie shook her head. “Nah. I just walked over with Sage. I have a few errands to run today. I’ll come back later to help you out if you need me.” Lucky was grateful for Sophie’s loose spring and summer schedule. She was always willing to lend a hand if things got busy. Lucky had offered to pay her for her time, but Sophie adamantly refused payment, saying she enjoyed being able to hang out with everyone at the restaurant.

Lucky glanced toward a stack of CDs at the counter. “What should we play this morning?”

“Hmm.” Sophie picked through the CDs. “How about this one?” She pushed the plastic container toward Lucky. “I used to love to listen to this in high school.” Sophie had chosen a collection of classic rock songs.

“That’s great. It’ll wake everybody up. And I can really use the help. I’m waiting for Guy Bessette to come by.”

“Something wrong?”

“Hopefully nothing expensive. My car just wouldn’t start last night.”

“If Guy has to tow yours in, just take mine. I can always use Sage’s.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, no problem.” Sophie reached down and hauled her purse onto her lap. “Here,” she said, passing the keys across the counter to Lucky. “It’s parked in the back next to yours.”

“Thanks, Sophie. I do have to drive out to Horace’s later. He has some boxes of my mother’s in the attic and I know one of them is full of sewing supplies. Oh, and there’s something I should mention to you.” Lucky cringed, fearful of Sophie’s reaction.

“What’s that?”

“Did you invite Flo Sullivan to your wedding?”

“Huh?” Sophie looked blank. “Are you kidding me?”

“She told me to give you a nudge because she hadn’t received her invitation. I thought it was odd because you said you wanted your ceremony to be very private.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say. I told her I’d remind you.”

Sophie groaned and rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe this. Why in heaven’s name would Flo get the idea she was invited to a private wedding? I have nothing against her—I mean, she’s a weird character—but we’re not close friends or anything.”

Lucky shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she figures it’s such a small town everyone is invited?”

“Don’t even say that.” Sophie looked panic-stricken. “What do I do?” she squeaked.

“Don’t worry about it for now. Flo will probably forget all about it in a day or two. But please remember, we have to do some final fittings for your dress. We’re getting close.” Lucky was referring to Sophie’s wedding dress, which she had volunteered to sew.

Sophie groaned. “Oh, right.” She glanced up. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I can’t thank you enough for doing all that work—it’s just that I feel so awkward in a dress. I don’t think I even own another one. Where would I wear them?”

Lucky laughed. “Well, I’m not much better when it comes to that stuff, but this is your absolutely special day. I want everything to be perfect for you. You’re beautiful and you should look amazing on your wedding day.”

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You have no interest in fashion, yet you’re such a perfectionist with dressmaking.”

“True, but my mother always said sewing has more to do with patience than skill. And I do think your dress will be stunning.” Lucky had chosen a pattern with an empire waist, a sweetheart bodice and elbow-length sleeves. The skirt was cut on the bias and would flow gently to the floor. The material was an eggshell white with a matte finish and would set off Sophie’s coloring and dark curly hair. Sophie had nixed the idea of lace or anything fussy.

“I just have to hem the dress, but if I can’t find the notions I need, I’ll have to make piping from the leftover material for a lacing at the back. That’ll take me at least another night.”

“Thanks, Lucky. Not just for the dress but for everything else.” Sophie was referring to Lucky’s efforts over a year ago in freeing Sage from a possible jail sentence. “If it hadn’t been for you . . .” Sophie trailed off.

Lucky poured a little more coffee into Sophie’s mug. She blushed in response to Sophie’s praise. “It was nothin’.”

Sophie balled up a paper napkin and threw it at her head. “Don’t even say that. All this . . .” She waved her arm in the air, indicating the restaurant, Jack’s health, Sage and herself. “None of this would be here if it weren’t for you.”

Lucky looked up when she heard a knock on the front door. Nate was on the threshold. “I’ll get it, Jack,” she called out. She unlocked the front door and opened it for Nate. She reached up to flip the sign over to read
OPEN
.

Nate grasped her hand before she could turn the sign. He looked her straight in the eyes. “Hold off, Lucky.”

Lucky’s eyes widened.

“You’ll need to wait a bit.” He glanced around the restaurant, realizing that only she, Jack, Sage and Sophie were there. Sage peered through the hatch from the kitchen. Nate nodded to him, indicating Sage should join them in the front.

Sophie had turned on her stool, gazing curiously. When she saw Nate beckon Sage to the front of the restaurant, she frowned.

Nate approached Sophie and took her hand. “Let’s sit over here,” he said, leading Sophie to Jack’s table. Sage and Lucky joined them as Jack, aware that something was wrong, folded up his newspaper and put it to the side. Nate turned his chair toward Sophie and took both her hands in his. “The man you discovered yesterday . . .”

Sophie gulped and nodded.

“We think he could be your brother.”

S
OPHIE
’S FACE WAS
blank, uncomprehending.

“What?” She shook her head as though she were unable to hear Nate’s words.

Nate glanced around, taking in all of them. “We didn’t find any identification on the body—nothing. But there was a small pen in one of the inside pockets of the jacket. It had the logo of the Snowflake Resort on it. You know, one of those pens they leave in the rooms for guests to use.”

Sophie continued to stare at Nate. Sage moved closer to her and placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

Nate continued. “We checked with the Resort. They don’t have a lot of bookings right now so it wasn’t too hard to figure it out. Everyone’s accounted for except one room hasn’t been slept in for at least a couple of days.” He watched Sophie’s face carefully. “It was reserved under the name of Richard Colgan. Sophie, we think it could be him. Your brother.”

Sophie seemed to sink in upon herself. “Rick? Rick was here?” She spoke in a barely audible whisper. “How can you be sure it was Rick?”

Nate heaved a sigh. “We can run a DNA test, with your permission. That would clinch it. Other than that, did he have any identifying marks? Birthmarks? Tattoos? Anything like that you might remember?”

Sophie shrugged, still unable to take in all that Nate was saying. “I . . . I really don’t know my brother all that well. He’s been gone since I was . . . what, eleven, I think. And I’ve only seen him once in all these years. He came back when we buried Mom. If he had any birthmarks or anything, I never saw them.”

“And there was nothing about that body you found that made you think it might be your brother?”

Sophie shook her head.

“What’s he been doing all this time?” Nate asked.

Sophie shrugged. “I don’t really know. I don’t even have an address for him. Just an e-mail. He wrote once and said he was working for a private investigator. Doing some process service work in New York—somewhere near Utica, I think. I had the impression he was thinking of getting his own license.”

“Hmm. Interesting,” Nate said. “Then, if that’s the case, it should be easy to trace him if he’s licensed with New York State.”

Lucky and Jack had remained silent, watching their exchange.

Nate hesitated. “We can’t be absolutely sure at this point, Sophie, but it’s definitely pointing in that direction. I’ll check out what I can with New York. If it turns out there’s no one who can identify him, I’d like to set up an appointment for a DNA collection in Lincoln Falls. It’ll just take a minute. A swab is all they’ll need.”

Sophie sniffed and nodded silently.

“I’m sorry, Sophie. Sorry I had to come to you with this.” Nate stood and walked to the door. “I’ll be in touch.” Nate exited without looking back.

Sage followed Nate and locked the door behind him, making sure the
CLOSED
sign was still turned toward the outside of the glass. He returned to the table and sat, taking Sophie’s hand in his. All three were quiet, watching Sophie carefully.

She looked around the table at them. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not really
feeling
anything right now.”

“That’s understandable,” Lucky replied. “I guess he was a stranger to you . . . really.”

“He was. But still . . . my only flesh and blood in the world. I feel like I should feel something.”

Jack reached across and touched her shoulder. “If it really is your brother they found up there, you’ll come to grips with it. You’ll sort out your feelings.”

Sage leaned closer. “Look, if you’re upset or want to postpone the wedding, we can. We’d all understand.”

“No!” Sophie’s response was vehement. “No. I can’t sort it out, but I don’t want to be putting our lives on hold. I didn’t even know my brother and he’s been gone for a long, long time. If that was him, I’m real sorry, but putting off the wedding won’t help a bit. It’s a terrible accident but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Silence fell over the table. No one wanted to suggest there might be more to this death than an accident.

“
M
AYBE
I
SHOULD
take you home?” Sage offered.

Sophie shook her head. “No. No, I’m fine.” She leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You have work to do and Lucky needs to open. I’ll be okay. I have to get a few things done and I’ll come back later. I refuse to be upset. Especially since we don’t know for sure who that man in the creek was. No one could possibly identify him from his face anyway.”

Sage seemed to accept Sophie’s decision. “All right. As long as you promise to call me if you’re not feeling well.”

“I promise.” Sophie stood. “By the way”—she turned to Sage—“I need to use your car. Lucky’s going to borrow mine till she can have hers looked at.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Sage asked Lucky.

“Just wouldn’t start last night. Guy’s coming by soon to see what he can do. I can wait until he gives me an opinion, if borrowing Sophie’s car is inconvenient.”

“No. It’s fine. Go right ahead. Let me know if you need any help with that.”

“Thanks, Sage.”

Sophie slung her purse over her shoulder. “Thanks, Lucky . . . Jack. I appreciate your concern with all this. I really do. But I don’t want you worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”

Lucky smiled her encouragement and waved as Sophie headed through the swinging door to the corridor. A minute or so later, they watched as she pulled out of the alleyway in Sage’s car and turned onto Broadway.

Jack sighed. “Keep an eye on her, you two. This could hit her real hard if it turns out Nate’s right.”

Sage rose and, turning over the sign at the door, headed back to the kitchen. He hadn’t said a word. Lucky knew he’d worry about Sophie all day. She just hoped there would be no need for their concern. She craned her neck to look out the window. “Time to open up. I see Hank and Barry coming down the street.”

The two men entered the restaurant and called out their greetings. Jack leaned over and whispered to Lucky, “Do you think we should say something to them? About Sophie?”

Lucky shook her head. “No. Not yet. Not until we absolutely know for certain.”

“Hey, Jack,” Hank called out. He sat at the corner table, his pince-nez glasses on his nose. Hank had always reminded her of a friendly scarecrow. He was tall and thin and his glasses gave him the look of a bookish professor. Barry was his foil, short and stocky with a protruding belly that threatened to break through the buttons on his plaid shirt.

“Coffee?” she asked the men as she returned to the counter.

“Thanks, Lucky,” Barry replied.

Lucky carried two mugs filled with coffee on a tray to their corner table. “Here you go.”

Barry leaned closer and whispered, “Lucky, we were just wondering”—he glanced toward the kitchen hatch, as if concerned that Sage might overhear—“what kind of presents do you think we could get the newlyweds?”

“Oh, I’m sure they don’t expect anyone to buy them presents.” She wondered whether Barry and Hank were under the impression they were invited guests too. Neither of them had exactly said that, but she wondered if the question of presents was an indication they planned to attend the ceremony.

Hank spoke up. “That’s not right. We come in every day and eat delicious food thanks to Sage. We’d just like to show our appreciation. It’s the least we can do.”

Lucky nodded. “Well, that’s very thoughtful of you both. I’ll try to find out if there’s anything they could use. How’s that?”

“Great,” Barry responded. “Just let us know.”

The bell over the door rang as Lucky returned to the counter. Marjorie Winters entered alone. Generally she and her sister arrived together every morning and ordered in duplicate. Whenever one was alone, it usually indicated a rift between the two. Marjorie slid onto a stool. She was neatly dressed, and her blonde hair was perfectly in place.

“The usual, Marjorie?” Lucky asked.

“Yes, dear. Thank you.”

“Cecily’s not coming?”

Marjorie pursed her lips. Too late, Lucky realized she had put her foot in her mouth.

“No,” Marjorie replied curtly. “She’s at home reflecting on the error of her ways.”

Lucky poured Marjorie’s tea and brought her a cup. “Ah. I see,” she replied neutrally.

“It’s just so embarrassing that my sister would become involved with that mad crew. Celebrating spring rites! For heaven’s sake. Running around in the woods with robes and flowers in their hair worshipping the earth goddess. Did you ever hear of anything so daft?”

Lucky wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well, I think a few people in town might share that opinion.”

Marjorie sighed heavily. “And to have witnessed Agnes Warner dying like that.”

Lucky cringed, hoping Jack hadn’t overheard that last remark. She glanced quickly across the room where Jack sat reading the morning paper. If he had heard, he gave no indication.

“I really hope this teaches them all a lesson. And for Cordelia Rank to have organized it . . . She’s always on about how important she is to the town. Has she taken leave of her senses?” Marjorie’s voice had risen. She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly realizing everyone’s attention was on her. Fortunately, only the Spoonful’s crew and two of their regulars were in attendance.

“Sorry, dear. I don’t mean to go on at you about this. But it’s just appalling. I don’t think Cecily even wants to show her face in town at this point. She’s home, under the covers, pretending to be sick—like a six-year-old!”

Lucky reached for Marjorie’s order. It was ready and waiting on the hatch. She delivered it to the counter. “How many people were there in the woods the other night? Do you know?”

Marjorie sniffed. “I gather there were seven, including my sister and Cordelia, the
high priestess
—of all things to call herself!” Marjorie was clearly fuming about the gathering and her sister’s involvement.

“I had heard something about a women’s group at the library or a study group of goddess-based religions. But I had no idea they planned a . . . What would you call it? A gathering, I guess?”

“Some sort of ceremony.” Marjorie shook her head. “Practically turned into a sacrifice. According to Cecily, their interest was piqued by the travelers who were here last fall and all that talk about the Stones outside of town being sacred to them. Pagan nonsense.” Marjorie was referring to the Neolithic stone structure that stood on a hill above Snowflake. Marjorie took a bite of her croissant. “One woman lives up in Lincoln Heights—a newcomer—and another one lives out of town.” Lincoln Heights was the name given to a newer development in town, filled mostly with executives of the Snowflake Resort and their families.

“Frustrated, aging hippie women, if you ask me. And Emily Rathbone, our librarian, attended as well. Thought she had more sense!”

“She has a helper now, doesn’t she? A volunteer. She came by to leave flyers for the library.”

“Oh yes, that nervous little thing. What’s her name? Greta?”

“I believe so. Is she part of the group?”

“Cecily never mentioned her. I don’t know. Maybe the woman has too much sense to be involved with all that crazy nonsense.” Marjorie finished the last bite of her croissant and wiped her lips with a napkin. “Well, dear, I’ll be on my way to open the shop. Hopefully my darling sister will see fit to get over her shock and come to work.”

Lucky nodded. “See you tomorrow, Marjorie. I do hope she’s feeling better. It must have been a terrible shock.”

“Hmph! I’ll give her a shock if she doesn’t develop a bit more sense.” Marjorie slipped off her stool. “Oh, before I forget. What type of outfit do you think would be appropriate for the big day?”

Lucky hesitated. “The big day?”

Marjorie’s eyes widened. “The wedding, of course! This is so exciting. Snowflake hasn’t had a wedding in years.”

“Uh . . .” Lucky couldn’t think of a quick response. Was she to tell anyone who asked that Sophie and Sage’s wedding was a private affair? She had no idea what to say.

“I think something soft and feminine would be right. Nothing too formal. Don’t you agree, dear?”

Lucky nodded her head a few times. “Perfect. That sounds perfect.” She’d have to have another word with Sophie. It seemed that everyone in town knew about Sophie’s wedding and everyone assumed they were invited.

Marjorie reached the door as Horace was about to enter. He held the door for her.

“Thank you, Horace,” she said, reaching down to pat Cicero’s head. Cicero wagged his tail happily. Marjorie turned and strode purposefully down the sidewalk to her shop.

Horace said hello to Jack as he came through the door, and raised a hand in greeting to Hank and Barry. He took a stool at the counter. “Is Marjorie all right?” he asked Lucky.

Lucky poured a mug of coffee for Horace. “She’s just a little upset about her sister’s involvement with the group that Cordelia Rank organized.” Lucky heard the phone ringing in the kitchen. It stopped after two rings. Sage must have answered.

“Hey, Lucky,” Sage called out. “It’s Guy Bessette . . . about your car.”

“Oh!” She turned back to Horace. “Give me a second, Horace. I need to talk to Guy.”

“Car trouble?” he asked.

“’Fraid so.” Lucky wiped her hands and pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. She grabbed the phone. “Hello, Guy.”

“Hi, Lucky. Some good news and bad news, I’m afraid.”

Lucky groaned inwardly. “Okay,” she replied hesitantly.

“Your starter’s gone, but that can be replaced. The bad news is the timing belt is bad and it’s gonna take me a while to find one. It’s an older car, not so easy to find parts.”

“What’s the good news?”

“Your battery’s in good shape. No need to replace that.”

“How long will this take, Guy?”

“With luck, maybe six, seven days.”

“Why so long?” she squeaked.

“Like I said, I have to hunt up a new belt. Not something I keep around. But I’ll keep you posted. You have something you can use for now?” he asked.

“I’m okay. Sophie’s loaned me her car. Thanks, Guy, for calling.”

“I’ll get it done as soon as I can.” He rang off.

Lucky returned to the counter.

“Uh-oh. Bad news?” Horace asked.

“Well, not horrible. It’s just going to take some time for Guy to find the parts he needs.”

“Ah.” Horace nodded in commiseration.

“More coffee?” Lucky asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Horace offered his cup as Lucky refilled it. “What were you saying before . . . about Cordelia? That Cordelia had organized the gathering in the woods? I thought Emily Rathbone was the driving force behind that thing. Sadly, this might not do her library drive any good. People are always happy to donate books, but this may have created a mini-scandal in town, and now with Agnes Warner dying like that . . .” Horace trailed off. “People do get very worked up about these things. Although it’s a movement that has many adherents in the world right now.”

“You mean paganism?”

Horace furrowed his brow. “No, not paganism, per se, but reclaiming women’s role in religion, as in early Christianity. I think the women’s movement has had a lot to say about male-dominated religions.” Horace chuckled. “Pastor Wilson is beside himself right now. ‘Apoplectic’ might be a better word. I saw him on my way over this morning and he really wanted to bend my ear about it. I wonder if he secretly thinks Agnes’s death was God’s punishment on wayward souls, although I’m sure he would never come right out and say that.”

“I should hope not,” Lucky answered. A small plate appeared on the hatch with Horace’s muffin, butter and jam.

“So tell me.” Horace leaned forward. “How are the wedding preparations coming?”

“Oh, I’m so glad you reminded me. Would it be all right if I stopped by to take those last few boxes of my mother’s that are in the attic?” When Lucky had inherited her parents’ home, she realized she couldn’t possibly afford to pay the mortgage on their house. Horace had arrived in town and was looking for a place to rent long-term to work on his book about the Revolutionary War years in Vermont. He fell in love with the house, and Lucky was relieved she wouldn’t be forced to sell it at what would have been a loss.

“Of course. Anytime. Those boxes are no bother to me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not that. I’m looking for buttons and things to finish Sophie’s wedding gown and I’m pretty sure one of those boxes has tons of my mother’s sewing supplies.”

“Ah, yes, for Sophie’s wedding. I wanted to talk to you about that. What do you think they’d like as a wedding present?”

Lucky smiled. “You’re planning to come, then?”
Wait till Sophie hears this
, she thought.

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world! I understand there hasn’t been a wedding in Snowflake for a long time. And this is the perfect month to hold it.”

Lucky sighed. There was no escaping this. “Well, everything’s organized. We’ve hired a harpist to play for the ceremony. Sage wants to do the food himself. It’ll be buffet style but they plan on wine and champagne. Sophie’s dress is almost ready. Jack has a gazebo in his garden that we’ll decorate with tulle and flowers. And I guess that’s it. Hopefully, everything will go very smoothly, no glitches.”