Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4) (8 page)

L
UCKY WALKED SLOWLY
up the brick path to Elias’s restored Victorian on Hampstead Street. He had purchased the house several years before and renovated it himself. She had always admired this house, but had to admit it had been in need of some tender loving care before Elias bought it. The three-story Victorian was topped with a peaked roof over a half-moon-shaped window. A round window of stained glass shed light on an interior staircase. The house had been repainted its original white but now the shutters were a soft lavender color that matched the lilacs just beginning to bloom along the side of the property. She breathed deeply. Even though the buds were still forming, the scent was intoxicating. She loved to come to Elias’s beautiful house at any time, but particularly when he was in the mood to cook.

She peeked through the etched glass windows at the double front door. Dinner aromas assailed her nose. Suddenly she was ravenously hungry. She rang the bell and saw Elias’s shadow in the doorway to the kitchen. He hurried down the hall and opened the front door a moment later. With a dish towel draped over his arm, he bowed. “Enter, madame—uh, excuse me, mademoiselle. Dinner is served . . . almost.”

Lucky laughed and reached up to his face where a small leaf of parsley clung to his cheek. “I think some of our dinner is clinging to you.”

Elias grinned and wiped his cheek. She crossed the threshold and he enveloped her in a hug. “Missed you,” he said.

“Missed you too,” she replied.

He kissed her quickly. “Hurry. I don’t want anything to burn.”

She dropped her small purse on the hallway table and followed him into the kitchen. The table was set and two candles were lit in holders in the center. Elias pulled out a chair for her as she sat.

“Tonight we are serving a pork roast with figs and a plum wine sauce, mashed potatoes and asparagus.” Without asking, he poured white wine into two glasses and handed one to her. “A toast—to more relaxed evenings like this.”

“I’ll second that,” Lucky said as they clinked their glasses together. She took a sip. The wine was delicious, a slight woodsy taste and not too dry. “This is wonderful. What is it?” she asked, reaching for the bottle.

“A German wine that I really like.”

Lucky knew Elias was getting a small section of his basement organized to create space for his collection. He had remodeled the entire house, pretty much on his own, except for some expertise from electricians and plumbers, and the wine storage in the basement was his last touch. It wasn’t exactly a wine cellar—more of a wine closet—but Elias was excited about finishing it and adding to his collection.

“I wish I knew more about wine,” she replied.

“Somehow this seemed like the right one to serve tonight, given that it’s springtime and all.”

Lucky looked up at him quickly. “Oh! Are you saying this is May wine?” she asked.

He grimaced. “Don’t remind me. No shop talk tonight.” He turned back to the stove and slid a roasting pan out of the oven. He transferred the roast to a large plate and then delivered it to the table with bowls of mashed potatoes and asparagus.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving. I only nibbled at the Spoonful today. I wanted a big appetite for what you’re cooking.”

“Eat up, my lovely.” He sat across the table and draped a linen napkin onto his lap.

There had been many nights over the past year or so that Lucky’s appetite had abandoned her. When she and Elias first began to see each other, it was soon after the sudden death of her parents. She knew Elias enjoyed cooking, but on those occasions, she felt guilty that she hadn’t been able to enjoy his meals. Now that life had become more settled, their dinners were wonderful events she always looked forward to. She took another sip of wine.

“This really is a nice wine. There’s something to it, a slight under taste.”

“See, you’re learning. I hate to say this, but it actually is what is called a May wine.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You mean like the drink that Cordelia brewed in her cauldron?”

“Not quite. This one won’t make you sick.”

Lucky frowned. “Elias, you don’t think Jack gave them the wrong herbs, do you?”

He could see the worried expression on her face and was suddenly serious. “I don’t know what he donated from his garden. Nate never told me.”

“He said they asked him for sweet woodruff and strawberries.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Woodruff could possibly make someone sick, but they’d have to eat a huge amount of it. And I think, added to alcohol, it’s harmless. That’s what you taste in the wine tonight. It’s a flavoring used in certain white wines. It couldn’t cause anyone’s death. Unless . . .” He trailed off.

“Unless what?”

“Well, I was going to say unless they had an extreme allergic reaction. I suppose that’s possible, but I would think it highly unlikely. I’ve never heard of anyone having that type of thing with woodruff, but I’m not an allergist or a poison expert.”

“What do you think that woman died of, then?” she asked.

He stared off into the distance. “I can’t say for sure. And in any case, only the pathologist who’s going to do the autopsy could hazard an opinion. Just on a cursory examination, I’m inclined to think it could be some form of reaction because of the symptoms that the women observed and the vomiting and sudden gasping for air. But . . . those observations are thirdhand . . . Those symptoms could be indicative of a lot of things.”

Lucky listened carefully. “Jack’s very worked up about it. He’s really worried that he gave them something bad or poisonous.”

“Ah. Well, Jack worries too much. If those plants came from his garden, I’m sure they were fine.” He looked across the table. “Where did he get the woodruff?”

“He said he picked it near the edge of the woods. I’m not sure where.”

“I know it grows all over the place.” He smiled. “I thought we weren’t going to talk shop. More potatoes?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine. They’re delicious.” Lucky realized she was so hungry she was wolfing down her food. “How would they go about identifying the stomach contents to see what she could have ingested?”

Elias groaned in mock displeasure. “You just can’t help yourself, can you? Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Sure. I have a strong stomach.”

“All right. You were warned, though. I have a general idea how it’s done but my knowledge might not be up-to-date. The lab would use some sort of solvent to isolate elements of the sample. Then they’d probably use a gas chromatography method. Different compounds move differently through an inert gas and can be identified that way. They also move at different speeds and it’s recorded and printed on a graph. Often that’s enough. If it isn’t, mass spectroscopy is another way to go, either in addition to or in conjunction with. They’d be able to pinpoint exactly what the chemical makeup is. Of course, if they have an idea before they start, I suppose they could look at the sample with that in mind. That might speed up the process.”

“Okay, you’ve lost me, but I won’t ask for further explanation.”

Elias smiled across the table. “Speaking of stomach contents, you have a very healthy appetite tonight.”

She laughed, her mouth full of potatoes. “Umm, sorry.” She swallowed quickly. “My compliments to the chef.”

“As long as we’re talking shop, how’s Sophie doing? I talked to Nate and he told me what he suspected. That the body you discovered in the creek could be Sophie’s brother.”

Lucky sighed. “She seems fine, but I’m worried about her. It’s as if . . .”

“What?”

“As if she doesn’t believe that could possibly have been her brother in the creek. As if she doesn’t
want
to believe it.”

“That’s understandable. Maybe she’s just having a very practical reaction. She’s not going to get upset, or wonder if she
is
upset, until the body is identified. Why do you think that’s weird?”

“I don’t know. If it were me, I guess, I’d be worried. I guess I’d feel something. I just worry that Sophie’s not really taking it in.”

“You told me she didn’t know her brother very well. Plus, she hadn’t seen him for years, really didn’t have any kind of relationship with him. Seems to me it’s understandable she might not have a big reaction.”

Lucky nodded. “It all sounds perfectly reasonable when you lay it out that way. I hope that man we found
wasn’t
Rick Colgan and I hope you’re right. She’s getting married in a little over two weeks. I don’t want anything to spoil that for her. I don’t want her to fall apart at a time she should be happiest.” Lucky laid down her fork. “And speaking of the man we found in the creek.”

“Yeees?” Elias drew out the question.

Lucky smiled across the table at him. “You know I’m curious! Can you talk about it?”

Elias sighed. “Here we go again . . .”

“I just want to know what you think, Elias.”

“About what?”

Exasperated, Lucky knew he was baiting her. “How he died, for heaven’s sake!”

“Oh, that.” Elias popped an asparagus spear into his mouth. “Well, since Nate really doesn’t know who he is, maybe I’m not breaking any oaths here. But please don’t repeat this anywhere.”

“I won’t.”

“What I think is this—if he fell into the creek farther up where the water is moving very quickly, and even if he landed on his face, which is unlikely—”

“Why?” Lucky interrupted. “Why is it unlikely?”

“Because if he were conscious, his first instinct would be to hold out his hands, break his fall and protect his head, his face. But to continue before I was so rudely interrupted . . .” He smiled impishly at her. “I just don’t think that even if he was knocked unconscious, that amount of damage could have been done to his face. He had a severe blow to the back of his head, but it didn’t look—and this is just cursory; the autopsy will have the final result—it didn’t look like the type of injury you’d get from hitting your head on a rock. Hard to say, but it seemed like he suffered a blow to his head from a small object, something like the head of a hammer. And I don’t believe he would have sustained such damage to his face. I think that was done deliberately to make identification extremely difficult.”

“What you’re saying is . . . he was murdered.”

L
UCKY SHIFTED HER
weight on the hard oak bench in the waiting room of the police station. Sophie, still as a mannequin, sat next to her, silent the entire time they waited to see Nate. She knew Nate was hoping, as was she, that the body in the creek was not that of Rick Colgan. Lucky only hoped the technician from Lincoln Falls was ready to meet with Sophie and wouldn’t take a great deal of time.

They had been waiting for several minutes and Lucky was growing impatient. Someone was with Nate in his office, and Bradley was insistent that Nate not be disturbed. Now Bradley sat at the front counter, shuffling paperwork from place to place, doing his best to appear busy and important.

Sophie stood. “Bradley.” She approached the counter. “Any idea how much longer Nate will be?”

“Sorry, Sophie, not really. But I don’t think it’ll be too much longer.”

“Who’s in there with him?”

Bradley hesitated but finally offered the information. “He’s with Leonard Warner and the boy.”

Sophie looked blankly at Bradley for a moment and then recognition dawned on her face. “Oh!”

“Yes. Oh,” Bradley replied.

“Agnes’s husband and son?”

“Husband and grandson.”

“Got it,” she replied. “Okay, you’re right. Those poor people. We can wait.” She returned to the long oak bench and sat heavily, then turned to Lucky. “I can’t help it. I just feel like this is such a waste of time. All I want to do is get ready for the wedding and go over my to-do list. Does that sound horrible?”

Lucky shook her head. “No. It doesn’t, Sophie.” She grasped her friend’s hand. “It must seem totally unreal to you.”

“‘Unreal’ isn’t the word. I can’t believe it,” she said. “I won’t believe it until Nate has some definite proof.” She fell silent for a moment, then turned back to her friend. “Lucky, what if it really is? Really Rick, I mean?”

For the first time, Lucky heard a frisson of panic in Sophie’s voice. “If it is, we’ll deal with it. We’ll all help you deal with it.”

“The thought scares me at some level, but I don’t feel . . . I mean, I don’t think I’d feel any grief.” Sophie leaned back against the bench. “Maybe I would. I guess I just don’t know.”

“It’d be pretty weird, I imagine. And it would be hard to feel grief-stricken about someone you really didn’t know very well. The fact that you’re related by blood might not make any difference.”

“The only thing that comes up sometimes is anger.”

Lucky looked at her friend quizzically.

“This is really going to sound horrible.” Sophie leaned closer and whispered so low that Lucky could barely make out her words. “And if it weren’t you I was talking to, I’d never say this, but I’ve just found myself getting angry at the thought that this could mess up our wedding day. What right did Rick have to show up here, not even respond to my e-mail, and die. Why now of all times?”

They looked up quickly as Nate’s door opened. He stepped out of his office and held the door for a tall older man with short-cropped white hair. The man wore a red-and-blue-checked cotton shirt and the young boy, his grandson, was dressed in a denim jacket and jeans. Holding on to his grandson’s hand, Leonard Warner strode silently past the bench where Lucky and Sophie sat.

When he reached the front door, he turned and stared at Lucky. He took a few steps toward her, still staring, but said nothing. His gaze made Lucky uncomfortable. She knew who he was but couldn’t imagine why he was looking at her.

Finally, he spoke. “Your Jack Jamieson’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Lucky stood and held out her hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Leonard stiffened and frowned at Lucky’s outstretched hand. She let her arm drop when she realized he would not take it. He seemed to be struggling with a powerful emotion. Anger? Grief? She wasn’t sure how to respond to him.

“You should talk to your grandfather.”

“Sorry?” Sophie stood and moved closer to Lucky.

“I think he needs to admit what he’s done.”

Lucky was speechless for a moment. “What? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying your grandfather is responsible for my wife’s death. For this little boy’s . . .” He glanced down at the young boy next to him. “I think Jack Jamieson needs to step up and take responsibility for what he’s done.”

Lucky felt a hot flush rise to her face. “I think you’re mistaken. I know what you’re going through is terrible, but my grandfather didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t make a mistake. He wouldn’t.”

Leonard nodded slowly. “You’ll come around.”

Lucky could feel her temper rising. “No.” She did her best not to explode in anger. “I don’t think I will. And I think you need to be very careful what you say about my grandfather.”

Leonard didn’t answer. His eyes had taken on a glazed look. He turned suddenly and pushed through the front door, grasping the little boy’s hand.

Lucky continued to stare at the door Leonard Warner had just exited.

“Whew.” Sophie let out a rush of air. “That was weird. Are you okay?” She placed a hand on Lucky’s shoulder.

Lucky shook herself, returning to reality. “I’m fine. But I could feel my blood boiling. I don’t like what he’s saying, and I better not find out he’s spreading any rumors about Jack in town, either.” She turned back to Sophie. “I just put it together.”

“What?”

“Who he is.”

“We know who he is.”

“I know, but I didn’t really connect. When I first heard about it, the name Agnes Warner didn’t mean anything to me. At least, I didn’t remember who she was. But I remember her now, seeing her husband. From years ago. They used to come into the Spoonful. I’d see them whenever I came home to visit. But I haven’t seen them since I’ve been back in town.”

“You mean they stopped coming?”

“I guess so.”

“Maybe they moved away—or at least moved farther out of town.”

Lucky nodded. “Possibly. Just strange that I didn’t really connect the names with the faces until now.”

Lucky heard Nate call Sophie’s name. He beckoned both of them over. They rose and followed him into his office. Nate stood in the doorway. “Our tech is in the back room grabbing a coffee, waiting until I was finished.” He turned back to the front desk. “Bradley—go let the lady know we’re ready if she can join us.”

Nate entered and sat heavily in the armchair behind the desk. “How are you doing, Sophie?”

“I’m okay, Nate.”

Nate looked at her dubiously.

“Really, I am,” she replied. “Just . . . none of this seems real to me.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “I can understand that. I just want to cover all the bases here. Just need to make sure. There’s something I should tell you, though. If your brother is a private investigator, I don’t think he’s licensed—at least not in New York State.”

“Really?” Sophie looked puzzled. “Well, maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he never got his license.”

“Could be,” Nate replied.

At that moment, they heard a tap on the door. “Come on in,” Nate called.

A young woman in her thirties, wearing jeans and a blazer, entered the office. Her bangs reached her eyebrows, and her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. Lucky was reminded of a kindergarten teacher she had liked very much. The technician smiled at them. “Are we ready?” she asked.

“Sophie?” Nate raised his eyebrows.

“I’m ready. What do you need?” she asked the technician.

The woman put on a pair of latex gloves, opened her case and pulled out a white pouch. She removed the covering to reveal what looked like a flat white plastic stick. She slid her thumb along the middle, revealing a covered section of the device. “With your permission, I’ll just take a swab from the inside of your cheek. Nothing invasive. Won’t hurt at all.”

Sophie nodded and dutifully opened her mouth.

The technician was quick. She moved the end of the device across the inside of Sophie’s cheek, slid the covering in place and then dropped it into a white collection pouch. She sealed the top with a self-adhesive strip.

“All done. That was easy, wasn’t it?”

“That just looks like a paper pouch,” Sophie remarked.

“You’re right. It’s for short-term transport with a desiccant inside. It’ll keep the sample safe. The adhesive strip prevents anyone from licking the pouch closed and maybe contaminating the sample. It’s very secure.”

“Thank you,” Sophie replied. She turned to Nate. “How long will this take?”

Nate looked up at the technician. She replied, “A few days. We send it to a larger lab. We’ll have results then, and I’ll give Chief Edgerton a call.”

“Thanks for coming over.” Nate stood.

“Not a problem.” The tech smiled.

“Have all the paperwork you need?”

“Yes. Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” The technician left the office without another remark.

“Well. That’s that,” Nate said. “Thanks for coming by, Sophie. Glad this worked out. Didn’t want you to trudge over to Lincoln Falls if you didn’t need to.”

“I appreciate that, Nate.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I just hope you’re wrong.”

“I hope so too, believe me.”

Lucky followed Sophie through the waiting area. When they reached the front door, she heard Bradley call her name. She turned back. Bradley was waving her back to the front desk.

“What does he want?” Sophie asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll find out. You go ahead. I’ll be out in a sec.” Lucky walked back to the counter.

Bradley leaned across. “Lucky, would it be all right if I brought a guest, do you think?”

“A guest?” Was Bradley talking about the wedding? She cringed, imagining Sophie’s reaction. “Uh, let me ask Sophie, if you don’t mind.” If Sophie agreed, at this rate they’d have to expand the party to Jack’s next-door neighbor’s garden.

Sophie was sitting in the passenger seat when Lucky finally emerged from the police station. She climbed behind the wheel. “Sure you don’t want to drive?” Lucky asked.

Sophie shook her head. “No, you go ahead.”

“I appreciate this, Sophie. I’m sorry the repairs are taking so long. Guy’s had trouble getting some of the parts.”

“Not a problem. You can use the car as long as you need it. Sage and I are fine with the one car.” Sophie fastened her seat belt. “What did Bradley want?”

“He asked if he could bring a guest.” Lucky glanced at her friend, as she revved the engine.

Sophie’s eyes crossed. She groaned. “I can’t think about that right now.” She turned to stare out the window as Lucky drove down Green Street. Her jaw was clenched. “I have this terrible feeling that Nate might be right.” She turned to Lucky. “But wouldn’t I have recognized
something
about that man if it really was Rick? Something? The shape of his head or the color of his hair? Something . . .” She trailed off.

“How? How would you have recognized him? He was completely clothed and . . . Sophie, his face was gone. There was nothing to recognize.” Lucky turned to face her friend. “I have an idea if you feel up to it.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s do a little investigating on our own.”

Sophie smiled. “Okay. I’m game.”