A Clue in the Stew (A Soup Lover's Mystery) (9 page)

Chapter 22

“H
OW DID YOU
find out?” Marjorie asked breathlessly.

Lucky carried the sisters’ cups of hot tea to the counter. “Well, I rushed over there early this morning to pick up my containers and dishes. Nate had been there all night and everyone was still running around. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known.”

“Why were your dishes there?” Cecily asked.

“Last night after the book signing, they called and asked if I’d bring over some soups for Ms. Stone. She had heard how good our chef was.”

“I just can’t believe it. I was just chatting with her last night when she signed my book and now she’s gone! And what about the next book she was working on? I suppose that will never happen now,” Marjorie groaned.

Meg slipped behind the counter and joined the conversation. “You know, it might be finished already. Authors generally have their books ready way ahead of time. Her next book could be done and the publisher might still release it. I hope so anyway.” Meg had the good grace to blush. “I mean . . . I’m sorry she’s dead and all, but . . .” Meg looked at Lucky. “Did Nate tell you anything? Do you know how she was killed?”

Marjorie listened wide-eyed. Cecily groaned in response.

Lucky shivered. She wasn’t about to pass on what Elias had told her on the landing. She shook her head. “Nate didn’t tell me anything.” At least that wasn’t a lie, she thought. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

“You don’t suppose she was strangled with a telephone cord?” Meg asked. She turned to Marjorie, “Like in
Murder Comes Calling
?”

“That’s right!” Marjorie exclaimed. “Oh, do you think Hilary Stone was killed by the same method?”

“Wouldn’t that be exciting?” Meg’s face was flushed.

“Hey, you two,” Lucky interjected. “Stop that. This isn’t a book. This is a real murder. That poor woman is dead.”

Meg’s face fell. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just get so excited about mysteries.”

“Don’t feel bad, Meg,” Marjorie said. “I do too. Too easy to forget this is real life. But . . .” She smiled impishly. “In
Murder Comes Calling
, the culprit is . . .” She glanced around. “I don’t want to tell you a spoiler.”

Cecily spoke up. “We don’t really care, Marjorie. I’m sure I’ll never read it.”

“Well,” Marjorie huffed, “you just might learn something if you did.”

“About what?” Cecily replied snarkily.

“About decomposition and time of death and how to tell strangulation from suffocation and all that.”

“I’m sure that would come in quite handy in my world,” Cecily remarked, catching Lucky’s eye.

“As I was saying . . .” Marjorie drew herself up straighter. “Since no one other than Meg and myself have read
Murder Comes Calling
, much less
cares
”—she shot a glance at her sister—“the suspect was her ex-husband.” Marjorie’s brow furrowed. “Although he was innocent in the end. The real killer was the estranged daughter who had changed her name. That’s why the police couldn’t find her.”

“Ah,” Lucky remarked. “Sounds like an interesting story,” she replied diplomatically.

“Well, I’m glad there’s at least one person here with an open mind.” She cast a dark look at her sister.

The bell at the front door jingled. Horace stepped inside, leading Cicero on his leash.

“Hello, Horace,” Cecily called out. “Come and join us. Maybe we can talk about something other than bodily decomposition.”

Marjorie closed her eyes in annoyance.

“Hello, ladies.” He sat on the stool next to Cecily. “Am I correct in thinking you are all chatting about the demise of Ms. Hilary Stone?”

“That’s right,” Meg said. “How did you hear, Horace?”

“Oh, my! Three people stopped me as I walked over from the Village Green. It seems it’s all anyone can talk about.” He shook his head, “It’s driven the other murder out of everyone’s minds. Terrible thing to happen in our village of all places.”

Lucky smiled at Horace’s reference to “our” village. Horace no longer thought of himself as an outsider. He had been living in her parents’ home for more than two years now, still working on his book about the Revolutionary War years in Vermont. She was positive Horace would never want to leave Snowflake.

A few more customers arrived. They looked vaguely familiar. Lucky thought perhaps they had attended the book-signing event the evening before. Meg pulled her order pad out of her apron and headed for their table. The bell jingled once more. Barry stepped inside and looked around the room. He was alone. He approached the counter.

“Good morning, Barry,” Horace said.

“Uh . . .” Barry seemed distracted. “Lucky, is your grandfather here?”

“Yes.”

“Could I talk to him for a minute?”

“Sure, grab a seat. I’ll tell him you’re here.” Jack, she knew, was in the office counting the cash register receipts from the night before. With the book signing and all, he hadn’t been able to follow his usual routine. She glanced over the counter to make sure everyone was set and then hurried down the hall. She pushed the door open. In the office, piles of cash were sitting in stacks on top of the desk. Jack was seated in her father’s worn leather chair behind the desk with a pen and a pad of paper in his hand while Nanette was counting the stacks of bills.

Lucky’s immediate reaction was one of alarm. Why was Nanette here? Only she and Jack were allowed to handle the restaurant receipts. “Nanette! What are you doing?”

Nanette looked up and smiled widely. “Ah was just helpin’ Jack. He seemed to have so much to do.”

“Hmm. Well, maybe you could give Meg a hand.”
Doing the job you were hired to do
, she thought, but didn’t say it. “She’s getting busy out there.”

“Happy to,” Nanette replied sharply, replacing the cash on the desk. “I can help you anytime, Jack. You just let me know.” Nanette wiggled her shoulders as she stood and passed by Lucky without a word.

Lucky sat in the chair that Nanette had vacated. “Jack?” Her grandfather looked up. “Look, I don’t mean to criticize, but I don’t really feel comfortable having Nanette in the office or her counting the register.”

Jack looked up at her. “She was just trying to be helpful,” he replied.

Lucky decided to bite her tongue. “I realize that, Jack, but we don’t know her at all. She just walked in off the street. I think we have to be careful until we know we can trust her.”

“Listen, my girl, she’s a very nice woman.” He smiled. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh with her?”

Lucky took a deep breath. “No, actually, I don’t. And that reminds me, she was supposed to bring in her driver’s license and social security card. I’ll have to remind her.”

“Oh, she told me about that. She just moved and she’s having a little trouble finding all her papers.”

“Oh really?” Lucky replied, but the sarcasm was lost on Jack. Once again, Lucky’s suspicions were aroused. Why was Nanette so focused on a man decades older? It was obvious Jack was smitten with this woman. Lucky worried he was being played for a fool and that he’d be terribly hurt. “I almost forgot why I came in. Barry’s out front. He says he needs to talk to you.”

“Okay.” Jack replied, bundling the stacks of cash with rubber bands. “Tell him to come on in. I’ll just lock this in the drawer until I can get to the bank.”

Lucky once again thought it was high time the restaurant had some sort of safe, preferably a hidden one. There were too many days when cash piled up and neither she nor Jack could get to the bank on a daily basis. “Thanks, Jack.” Lucky hesitated in the doorway and turned back. “Jack. I love you very much. I only have your best interests at heart. You know that, don’t you?”

Jack looked up, surprised. “Of course I do, my girl. I never doubt that for a second.”

“Just please be careful who you trust.”

•   •   •

W
HEN LUCKY RETURNED
to the counter, Marjorie and Cecily had already left to open their shop. Meg was busy with a new table and Nanette was taking orders from another group.

Horace leaned across the counter. “Barry looked upset, didn’t he? Is everything all right?”

Lucky shrugged. “I don’t know. I know he and Hank always come in together. He mentioned Hank wasn’t feeling well but that was a few days ago. I hope nothing’s really wrong.” Lucky swept away a used coffee cup. “What can I get you, Horace?”

Horace’s face brightened. “I really want to try that new chicken almond soup that Sage came up with. Maybe with some French bread if you have that?”

“Sure. Coming right up.”

A few minutes later, Barry pushed through the swinging door from the corridor. He walked through the restaurant and exited by the front door without a word. Jack returned to the front room and took the stool next to Horace while Meg covered the cash register.

Horace turned to watch Barry’s retreat, then turned back to Jack. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Ah, Barry’s worried about Hank. He’s been calling, but Hank hasn’t picked up. I told him not to worry, maybe Hank had to do an errand in Lincoln Falls or something. But Barry swears Hank would have mentioned it, or at least called him. Then he was telling me he went by the house late last night just to check on him, make sure Hank wasn’t sick or anything, but he still wasn’t back, and his car’s still gone.”

“That is odd,” Horace remarked. “Doesn’t sound like Hank at all. He knows Barry meets him every morning and comes down to the Spoonful. You’d think he would’ve mentioned something to his friend if he had to go out of town.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Jack agreed. He checked his watch. “I better get busy. It’s just gone four bells.” He hurried over to the cash register to relieve Meg.

Lucky filled coffee cups for two new arrivals, then took their orders and placed the slips on the hatch. She returned to Horace’s spot. “You have a funny look on your face, Horace,” she remarked.

“How long has Hank been missing in action?” he asked.

“Since . . .” Lucky hesitated. “Well, what day is this? Thursday? I guess it was Monday that Barry first mentioned Hank wasn’t feeling well. But Barry did talk to him on the phone that first day. Why do you ask?”

Horace sighed. “That is strange. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Jack or anyone, but I saw Hank last night when I drove into town to take Cicero for a walk.”

“Where did you see him?” Lucky asked.

“He was just leaving the Drake House.”

“Last night? What time?”

“Oh, it was late. It must have been about . . . after ten o’clock.”

“The night of the murder?” A chill ran up Lucky’s spine. What could Hank possibly have been doing at the Drake House?

Chapter 23

N
ATE REGARDED
THE tall man carefully. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Stone.”

Derek Stone nodded and wiped his forehead. “Thank you. This is a terrible shock. Who would have wanted to hurt poor Hilary?”

“Can you tell me your whereabouts last evening, Mr. Stone?” Nate flipped open his notebook.

Stone cleared his throat. “I was at a dinner in Manhattan all evening. A retirement dinner.”

“And what time was that?”

“It . . . uh, well, we gathered for cocktails at six thirty. And the dinner began around eight. I left about ten thirty, almost eleven, and my driver took me home. There was a phone message from my son when I arrived.”

“I see.” Nate jotted a few lines in the notebook. “And you’ll be able to give me the names of some people who can vouch for you?”

Stone looked up quickly. He drew himself up in the chair. “What are you implying? That I . . . that I had something to do with Hilary’s death?”

Nate responded patiently, “This is a murder investigation, Mr. Stone. Everyone’s whereabouts need to be verified.” Nate realized that if Stone’s story checked out, he could eliminate the man from any suspicion.

Stone sighed heavily. “Yes, yes. You’re right. I can give you several names.”

“That’s good.” Nate stared at the man for a moment. “How was your marriage?”

“What? My marriage?” Nate waited. “We . . . uh, we, Hilary and I . . .we’ve been on good terms. We live rather separate lives, really. Some people may not see us as close, but we get along. We had no problems.”

“Can you tell me the terms of your wife’s estate?”

“All of Hilary’s assets will go to Derek. That’s what we decided. In the event of my death, my estate would be . . . would have been divided equally between Hilary and my son, except for the business. Hilary would have inherited that.” He sighed. “I just can’t . . .” He trailed off. “This shouldn’t have happened. I feel just terrible. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t pressured her for a sequel to
Murder Comes Calling.
She never would have been here . . .”

“We don’t know that, Mr. Stone. We won’t know that until this crime is solved.”

“There’s something else,” he hesitated. “I suppose I should mention it.”

“Oh?” Nate’s ears perked up.

“Hilary had spoken to me about changing the terms of her will. She, well, we both were, very upset about Derek’s marriage. I don’t know if she ever got around to it. But I think she was talking to our attorney about setting up her trust in a way that Sylvia, Derek’s wife, would not have access to any of the funds. We wanted Derek to inherit but hoped to protect his assets in some way. But again, I don’t know if Hilary had actually done that.”

“I see.”
Well, that’s interesting
, Nate thought to himself. “Please make sure you leave your attorney’s contact information with me. How long are you staying?”

“I’ll visit with my son and then I will probably go back to the city later today. That’s if you have no objection,” Stone answered. “I doubt there’s anything more I can do here now.”

“Please leave a list of contacts who can verify your movements with my deputy before you go.”

“I will.” Stone stood and, heaving a great sigh, left the room.