A Clue in the Stew (A Soup Lover's Mystery) (17 page)

Lucky immediately pictured Nate in her mind’s eye. “From Snowflake?”

“Yes. His name was . . .” Fern glanced around as if Nate’s card would be available. “It’s on my desk . . .”

“Nate Edgerton.”

“Yes, that’s it. He’s been here a couple of times. The first time after they found Cynthia.” Fern shivered. “I still can’t get over that. That Cynthia’s gone. I’ve been crying my eyes out ever since. She’s the only reason I’ve stayed here as long as I have. I could have retired several years ago, but I stayed because of her.”

“You said ‘a couple of times’?” Sophie interrupted.

“Yes. He was asking about your famous writer too. If there had been a connection between Cynthia and her. I told him there wasn’t. I had the names of all her patients over the years and I had never heard that name. He insisted I check and I did, but my answer was still the same. Of course, I’d no way of knowing that the writer woman had a daughter she had given up for adoption.”

“It was only through a fluke that we found out about the child and the adoption.” Lucky looked over at Sophie. “I think we’ll have to find a way to tell Nate.”

Sophie nodded once.

“And then there was that other man who came by. I told the policeman about him.”

“Another man? Who was it?” Lucky asked.

“Said he was an investigator, hired by some attorney in New York. He came by a couple of times. The first time, Dr. Cynthia wasn’t here and he tried to get me talking about Ms. Ellers, he called her. I told him where to get off. He came again after they discovered Cynthia in the woods . . .” Fern’s voice caught and tears sprang to her eyes. She waved her hand in front of her face, “Sorry. It just comes up and grabs me sometimes. I wouldn’t talk to him. Told him to get lost.”

“Who was he working for? Did he say?”

“Oh, I guess he did, but I don’t remember now. He told me the name of the attorney, but he wouldn’t say who had hired this attorney.” Fern laughed. “Ha! Confidential, he said. I didn’t like his attitude. I told him our records were confidential too and he could contact the police if it was so important.” Fern gathered up the empty mugs and placed them in the sink. “Maybe he did. I’d have no way of knowing.” She turned back to them. “You have to understand. Cynthia never talked about her patients, she was very ethical that way. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of her. But . . . sometimes she’d ask me what I thought. Maybe because I’m an old lady and I’ve lived a long time. She’d lay out a hypothetical situation and get my reaction.” Fern smiled. “But I could read between the lines. This woman . . .”

“Georgina Ellers?”

Fern looked up quickly, “Yes, that’s right. She had always wanted to know why her mother had given her up. She wanted to know who her father was and”—Fern shrugged—“how she came to be on the planet, I guess. But . . . something had happened recently. I don’t know what it was. You see, Cynthia herself? She wasn’t adopted, but she had no family at all. That much I knew. Maybe she was an only child, or maybe her parents were dead, but I think she had a special . . . concern for her patient because of that. She connected with her in a certain way that might not have been really healthy for Cynthia.” Fern continued, “But I did notice that one day Cynthia was disturbed. It was the next day after Georgina had come in. What I think Cynthia was trying to tell me was that Georgina had found her mother. Either she had gotten access to the adoption records, maybe years before, but still couldn’t find her mother, or somehow she had recently found her mother. Something had changed and I knew Cynthia was worried about her.”

“How could she do that? How could she find out who her mother really was?” Lucky interjected.

“Well, an adopted child does have the right to inquire, especially if the mother didn’t require nondisclosure of information. And even then, there are ways around that.” Fern took a deep breath. “Apparently, I got the impression Georgina was much worse in recent months. I don’t know what she told Dr. Cynthia in her sessions. Cynthia would never give me details about her patients, but I had access to the notes. I . . . I was worried about Cynthia and I took it upon myself to make sure I read her notes about these sessions. I was afraid Cynthia was getting too involved. She didn’t tell me as much, but I think that’s why she took a leave. When Georgina stopped showing up for her weekly session, I think Cynthia went looking for her.”

“Where would she begin to look?”

“I don’t know for sure, but to hazard a guess, I’d say New York. And maybe that’s where Cynthia went too, but I don’t know it for a fact. Cynthia was going way beyond the bounds in checking up on her patient, but like I said, she was getting too involved in trying to help this woman. I think she was afraid of what trauma this could cause to her patient, or maybe she was afraid of what Georgina might do once she found her mother.”

Fern’s voice choked and tears flooded her eyes. “I tried to talk to her before she left . . . Cynthia, that is. She was such a wonderful woman and a good doctor. She certainly didn’t deserve to die like that, alone and murdered in the woods and left like a poor dead animal. Sometimes I can’t stop crying.”

“Did you think Georgina could be violent?” Lucky asked.

“I really have no idea.”

“What did she look like, Georgina? Could you describe her?”

“Oh.” Fern’s eyes opened wide. “I never met her.”

“What?” Sophie exclaimed.

“I never set eyes on her. She always came in for her sessions in the evenings after I left for home. She did manage to keep a job and she always paid her portion in cash, so I never even had to send a bill.” Fern smiled. “They’re too cheap to pay overtime here, so I certainly wasn’t going to stay. I’m not running any charities. If Cynthia had asked me to stay late, I would have done it in a flash, but she was too considerate. She always made sure I went home on time.” Fern continued, “I know what I know because I could see Cynthia’s concern and I read her notes.”

“Do you think we could have a peek at those?” Sophie asked hesitantly.

Fern sat back in her chair. “Oh, no. Sorry, dear. I couldn’t. I draw the line at that. Besides, even if I were so inclined, I don’t have those files anymore. They’ve all been shipped to the Records Department.”

“I understand,” Lucky said. She thought a moment. “You said she had a job. Did you ever know where she worked? Was it here in Bournmouth?”

“Oh, I’m sure she lived locally and probably worked here too. I don’t know where, but I think . . . I think Cynthia once mentioned something about her being a waitress, if I’m not mistaken.”

Lucky and Sophie exchanged a look. There was no need of words. They both immediately thought of Nanette. Lucky spoke first. “We really appreciate your time. We really do. I think maybe locating this daughter will be up to the police. I don’t know if there’s anything else we can possibly do.”

“Well, frankly . . . my advice? I’d stop looking if I were you. Lord knows, it didn’t do Cynthia any good.”

Chapter 39

L
UCKY FILLED THE
dishwasher with the last load of dishes from the evening. Sophie had returned to the Spoonful with her and had stayed on to help. Nanette had gone for the day and Jack was in the office counting receipts. She could overhear Sophie filling Sage in on the details of their excursion to Bournmouth that afternoon.

Meg finished straightening the chairs at all the tables. “Need anything else, Lucky?”

“No, we’re fine, Meg. You can take off if you like.”

“Okay,” Meg replied.

Lucky looked up. There was an odd tone to her voice. “Everything okay, Meg?”

“Fine,” the girl answered abruptly and pushed through the swinging door into the corridor.

What now?
Lucky thought. It felt as if all sorts of negative energy had been swirling around the restaurant all evening. Even Jack had been uncharacteristically silent since she had returned.

Jack poked his head through the doorway. “Good night, my girl. I’m takin’ off.”

“So soon, Jack?”

“Well, it’s three bells already.”

“Oh, I thought I’d fill you in on what happened today, if you were going to stick around and have a beer.”

“Uh, can’t do that tonight. I’ve got plans.”

“Plans?” Lucky’s eyebrows raised.

He grinned. “Yup. I have a date.”

“A date?” Lucky almost dropped the mug in her hand.

“What’s wrong with that? You think no lady would want to step out with me?”

“Uh . . . Jack, that’s not what I meant. You just took me by surprise.” She hesitated. “Can I ask with whom?”

“Why, Nan, of course. That’s what I call her. Nan. Pretty name.” Jack waved as he returned down the corridor. Lucky heard the back door slam.

Sophie peeked out through the kitchen hatch. “Did I just hear right?”

“Unfortunately, you did.”

Sage, standing at the worktable, shook his head.

“Sophie, I have to figure a way to get rid of that woman before Jack gets hurt. I don’t like any of this one bit. I just can’t figure out what she’s up to.” It hadn’t been that long ago that Jack’s health was in jeopardy. He still suffered from a wartime post-traumatic stress disorder, but he had been on an even keel for some time and Lucky didn’t want to see him lose ground because of emotional upheaval.

A rap came at the front door. Barry stood outside. Lucky walked to the door and unlocked it. Normally only Horace stopped by at closing time, usually because he was taking Cicero for a walk. Lucky was surprised to see Barry at this hour.

“Come on in, Barry. Are you okay?”

Barry nodded. “Oh, I’m all right. Just wanted a chance to talk to you alone. Have you been able to find anything out?”

“A few things. Grab a seat.”

“Where’s Jack?”

“He’s gone already. Believe it or not, he has a date with the infamous Nanette.”

“Oh?” Barry’s eyes widened. “Old codger. Who’d a thunk it?”

“Don’t let him hear you call him old.”

Barry laughed. “Well, there certainly seems to be a lot more spring in his step these days.”

“Hey, Barry,” Sophie called from the kitchen. “We’ve got some stuff to tell you.” Sophie pushed through the door with a tray, three chilled glasses and three bottles of beer. “Sage’ll be right out.” She placed the tray on the table. “Lucky, I know you don’t like beer. Sage has some nice white wine. I’ll get you a glass.”

“Thanks,” Lucky replied gratefully.

When Barry had been brought up to speed with the events of the afternoon, he sat quietly for a few minutes. “This doesn’t sound too good, Lucky. Maybe you should give it up. Might be better if you didn’t locate this woman.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Sophie said, taking a sip of her beer.

“I don’t know.” Lucky sighed. “I haven’t really decided what to do. What is interesting is that Nate was looking for a connection between Dr. Cranleigh, the psychiatrist, and Hilary Stone. They were both killed in Snowflake and in the same manner. We have an advantage because we know the connection is Hilary’s daughter. I think we’re going to have to tell Nate.”

“Please, Lucky,” Barry begged. “Please don’t tell Nate where Hank is, not yet at least. I promised him I wouldn’t breathe a word and you promised him too.”

“Well then, you’ve got to talk to Hank. He’s got to come back to town and tell Nate what he knows. I could be totally wrong. The daughter, Georgina, might not be the connection between these two women, but she
must
be. It’s way too much of a coincidence.”

Sage had joined them and now the four were huddled conspiratorially around the front table. All the lights except for one lamp had been turned off. They all jumped when a sharp rap came at the door. Nate stood outside.

“Uh-oh,” Barry said. “Why do I have a bad feeling?”

Lucky froze for a moment. They she rose and opened the door. “Hi, Nate. Come on in.”

Nate shot a dark look at the group. “Where’s Jack?”

“He left already.”

“I see. Well, in that case, I won’t stay. But I just want to warn you”—he looked at Lucky, and then glanced at Barry—“I won’t be happy if I find out there’s a parallel investigation going on here. Especially if anyone in this group”—his look took in the whole table—“is withholding information.”

Sage suddenly found the contents of his glass worth studying. Sophie glanced at Barry.

“We wouldn’t do that.” Barry’s voice betrayed his nervousness.

“I would certainly hope not. You know . . . I could have sworn I saw the two of you driving through Bournmouth yesterday afternoon.”

“Uh . . .” Barry faltered.

Lucky immediately felt a hot wave of guilt wash over her, but she thought quickly. “I had an errand to do. Barry offered to help me with it.”

“Hmm. Awfully nice of you, Barry.” Nate didn’t look convinced. “Anyone heard from Hank?” Nate was greeted with silence.

“Okay. Here’s how it’s gonna go. If I don’t hear from Hank Northcross in the next twenty-four hours . . . if he doesn’t show up in Snowflake, I’m issuing a warrant for his arrest. Hank was present at the scene. His eyeglasses were found shattered in Hilary Stone’s room. He had the means and the opportunity, and with a little more investigation, I’m sure I’ll figure out what his motive could have been. You can pass that on . . . just in case anyone happens, just
happens
, to be talking to him.” Nate turned and walked out without another word, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Sophie was the first to speak. “Whew. Nate’s a wee bit upset, I think. And you,” she said, turning to Lucky, “you out and out
lied
to him.”

“What was I going to say?” Lucky squeaked. “I was sworn to secrecy. I couldn’t tell him Barry and I met with Hank yesterday.”

“Did you hear what Nate just said? Hank’s eyeglasses were found in that woman’s room! This is awful,” Barry groaned. “I’ve gotta call him. He has to come back. We have to tell Nate everything. About the daughter, about Hank’s book. Everything. This is getting crazy.”

“Look, we know Hank was at the Drake House that night,” Lucky replied. “Horace saw him. Other people could have seen him and I think we can assume he was there to see Hilary Stone.”

“Yes,” Sophie interjected, “but Nate said the glasses were broken. That doesn’t sound good. That sounds like maybe there was a struggle.”

“Or maybe Hank just dropped them and accidentally stepped on them,” Barry argued. “Or maybe they’re not Hank’s, but Nate thinks they are.”

“I just remembered.” Lucky caught Barry’s eye. “Hank mentioned he couldn’t find his glasses the other day. Remember?”

“Did he?” Barry asked. “I don’t remember that.”

“He did.”

“So. That doesn’t mean a thing,” Sophie said. “It sounds more like he thinks he lost them. Wouldn’t he remember if they dropped in the middle of a heated argument with his ex-wife?”

“Let’s not speculate,” Lucky said. “The bottom line is that Nate is getting upset about Hank’s disappearance. It’s so foolish that he won’t come home.” Lucky jumped involuntarily when she spotted a face at the front window. Meg’s face was pressed against the glass. She was staring at the group. Lucky rose and unlocked the door. “Forget something, Meg?”

Meg stood with her arms crossed. “No,” she answered angrily. “I did not forget anything. I can see what’s going on here and I want in.”

“What do you mean?” Lucky asked as Meg stormed past her.

“I’m always kept out of all the excitement that goes on around town. Everybody just overlooks me, like I’m invisible, and I’m sick of it. I want to be part of the murder investigation, ’cause I can see that’s what you’re all doing.”

Looks were exchanged around the table.

“See? I know what you’re thinking. What could Meg possibly have to offer? You all think I’m just a dumb waitress.”

“Nobody’s calling you dumb, Meg,” Sage answered. “You’re young, that’s all. We don’t want you to get in any trouble with the cops or anything.”

“Really? Well, I happen to be the only one here who’s actually read
Murder Comes Calling.
Helloooo!” She stood with her hands on her hips. “In fact, I probably know more about detecting than all of you put together. And even I can see there’s a connection between these two murders.”

Barry stood and pulled over another chair. “Welcome to the newly formed Murder Investigation Club, Meg.”