A Spoonful of Murder (19 page)

He worked at any odd job he could find, eventually earning enough money to take him south to New York. There, nobody knew him, nobody knew what he came from and what he was trying so hard to escape. He found a mentor, a restaurant owner where he washed dishes, who helped him get into a well-respected chef’s school. There weren’t a lot of avenues for a kid without an education, but Sage discovered he loved the craft of creating food. He was an artist of sorts, if one could be called an artist arranging sprigs of herbs and dribbles of chocolate. People were willing to pay good money for what he could do with a hunk of meat and some vegetables and spices. Most of all, he loved that it was a never-ending learning process, always evolving, fed by
exotic foodstuffs from around the world. He nurtured himself while he fed others. He gave himself back the childhood he had been denied. More importantly, he could do that for his brother.

When the restaurant owner died, he returned to New England, but not to Maine, never Maine. He went to Boston first. As soon as he could, he sent for Remy. He berated himself for not taking Remy with him when he first left home, but that would have been impossible. It was hard enough to survive on his own through those years; it would have been impossible with a younger brother to care for. Was Remy’s spirit already broken even before he took off? He’d promised Remy he’d never forget and would come back for him. He told him to have courage and survive as best he could. Maybe it had taken too long; maybe the old man had destroyed his sense of self-respect, of worth. In one way or another he’d been taking care of Remy for years, and somehow Remy never seemed to be able to stand on his own two feet. Now he’d be truly alone and on his own.

He could hear the bells of St. Genesius ringing just a few blocks away. Maybe praying would help, though he doubted it. The clanging of the bells sounded like a death knell. He held his hands over his ears and stifled a sob. He had been so careful all those years. Looking back, the false step was the job in Boston. That had been the turning point. If only he had recognized it at the time. Is that what it was all about? We struggle to escape what we come from only to end up back where we didn’t want to ever be? Here he was—in a jail cell. If he had it to do over again, maybe he could have made different choices, but it was too late now. You can’t turn the clock back. Everything his old man had cursed him with had come true.

He heard the outer door clang and then Bradley’s footsteps. He looked up. Lucky, following the deputy, was balancing a covered tray of food. What was she doing here again? He told her not to come back. He was grateful they were willing to feed him, but Jack could have brought it just the same.

Lucky took a step back as Bradley unlocked the grated hatch and passed the tray through to Sage. “Bradley let me use the microwave in the kitchen to warm this up.”

“I thought Jack would be coming,” Sage said.

“I’m trying to take some of the load off him. He hasn’t been feeling very well. I was at the Clinic this morning to talk to Elias.”

Sage looked up quickly. “What kind of problems?”

“I’ll fill you in when we know more. Right now, you’re the one I’m worried about. Eat up.”

Sage refused to meet her eyes as he lifted the tray. “Thanks, boss. I guess I shouldn’t call you that anymore. I don’t have a job now. I don’t have anything anymore.”

Lucky shot a look at Bradley, who took the hint and retreated. She pulled a stool over and sat down. “If you really want to know, I consider this a temporary leave of absence until they find the guilty party.”

Sage looked up quickly. “I asked you not to come back here.”

“Guess I don’t listen very well.” Lucky waited until Bradley had shut and locked the outer door. “I haven’t been able to talk to Nate yet, so I don’t have any information. And I haven’t heard anything that would convince me—or Jack—that you’ve killed anyone. So maybe you can tell me why you’re sitting here. What don’t I know?”

Sage was silent for several minutes, but Lucky waited, not filling the silence. He finally spoke. “You’d never believe me.” Something released in his chest, as if a fist uncurled from his heart. He had kept it inside for so long. Sage leaned forward, his head in his hands. “That woman…”

“You knew her from somewhere, didn’t you?” Lucky waited.

“Boston. I used to work for her…and her husband. I was a live-in private chef. They had a big town house on Commonwealth, then…” Sage trailed off, lost in thought.

“And something happened?” Lucky prompted.

Sage nodded. “Yes. Garson—her husband—was pretty
fed up. It was obvious that marriage wasn’t going to last much longer. She made a play for me. Big-time.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. I swear. I wasn’t into any games like that. I needed my job but not enough to…you know. It just made me sick.” Sage looked imploringly at Lucky. “The other night, when Sophie and I were arguing, when we bumped into you on Broadway, it was about her—Patsy Honeywell.”

“Sophie was jealous?” Lucky didn’t want to let on that Sophie had already filled her in. She wanted to hear the story directly from Sage.

“Yeah, she was, I guess. More than that—maybe angry. Sophie agreed to give Patsy private lessons up on one of the tougher slopes. Funny thing was, Sophie said she didn’t need instruction. She thought Patsy was a very competent skier. Anyway, Patsy must have gotten under Sophie’s skin—about me—in a way that implied something had happened between us and maybe was even still going on. Sophie was pretty upset. None of it was true, but it didn’t surprise me at all. I know what kind of hateful stuff she’s…she
was
capable of.”

“So when you wouldn’t play along, were you fired?” It was obvious to anyone who saw him that Sage was a handsome man. Almost too good-looking, Lucky thought. She could certainly see why women would make him a target. Strangely enough, his looks belied his reserved nature.

Sage shook his head. “If only. I wasn’t fired. It was far worse than that.” He fell silent. Lucky didn’t speak, afraid to break his mood. He lifted his head and looked through the bars of the cell. “I did a year in Walpole.”

“What did you say?” Lucky struggled to understand.

“I have a prison record.” Sage heaved a sigh. “I’m an ex-con.”

It suddenly all made sense, why Sage had stayed at the Spoonful as long as he had, why he hadn’t tried to get work at the Snowflake Resort. A company like the Resort would have run a background check. His prison record would have
turned up. He’d never be hired. Never in a million years would her parents have thought of doing that. They would have liked Sage on sight and operated on trust.

“I still don’t understand.”

“Patsy kept trying. I did my best to be a gentleman about it and let her know in a nice way that it wasn’t on, but she wouldn’t give up. Finally, I had to physically push her away and tell her in no uncertain terms. It got ugly. She flew into a rage…she was spitting mad. I thought for sure she’d fire me then and there, or have her husband do it. It would have been a relief. So…I packed up most of my things and waited for the ax to fall. Looking back on it now, I should have left right away, as fast as I could get out of that house. I went to bed that night, planning to take off in the morning. Next thing I knew, the cops were waking me up and I was charged with theft.”

Sage took a deep breath and looked at Lucky. “You’ve gotta believe me. I never did it. I never touched anything that wasn’t mine in my life. When I was working in the kitchen that night, she went into my quarters and stashed a diamond necklace and a few other expensive pieces behind the cover of the heating duct. There was no way I could defend myself. She turned the whole thing around and said I did it because
she
had rejected
my
advances.”

“When I came up here I thought I could finally put all that behind me. How do you think I felt when I realized she was in town for the winter? It all came crashing in on me. And then she was messing with Sophie, leading her to believe there had been something between us once and maybe there still was. I just hope Sophie believes me.”

“So, because of that, Nate thinks you had a motive to murder her.”

“There were times I wanted to, but believe me, I didn’t do this.”

“How could she have done something like that to you? That prison sentence would mark you for life.”

“That’s the kind of woman she was. But I know I couldn’t have been her only enemy. She was vicious. It’s no wonder
somebody bashed her head in.” Sage took a sip of his coffee and pushed the tray away. “So, that’s my story. Nate ran a check on me. And you know the rest.”

“Okay, so maybe you had a motive—a reason to hate her. That doesn’t mean you killed her.”

“Nobody’s gonna believe that.”

“I believe you. Besides, I have a selfish motive. I want you back at the Spoonful. And as soon as Nate finds out who really killed her, you will be.”

Sage stared at her bleakly. “I appreciate that, I really do, but don’t get your hopes up. Nate and his tech took a DNA swab from me. This really doesn’t look good.”

“If you didn’t go near her, what’s that going to prove?”

“That night, the night she was murdered, she followed me down the street.” Lucky recalled Janie and Meg’s account of watching Sage. “She…I don’t know what she was trying to do, but she scratched me. I jumped away from her, but I wasn’t quick enough.” He stretched his neck to reveal a partially healed gash above his collar. “If they find anything under her nails…well, they’d be able to prove we fought. I wasn’t thinking of that at the time; I just wanted to get away from her and I took off down the street.”

Lucky realized that one contact with the murdered woman could be enough to convict him, short of any other evidence or an alibi. “Sage, you’ve got to keep your spirits up. There must be a solution to all this. In the meantime, Jack or I can maybe talk to a lawyer about defending you.” She cringed inwardly as the words came out of her mouth. In her mind’s eye, she pictured the bank statement and its dwindling total. How would she scrape together any money to be able to hire a lawyer for Sage?

“Where were you that night?”

“Home. I went straight to my place. I needed to calm down after seeing her on the street.”

“Wasn’t Sophie with you?”

“No. She had pulled a muscle that day and said she wanted to crash early.”

“Anyone else see you that night?”

“No one. Went home. Stayed there and watched the snow.”

Lucky felt a tight panic gripping her stomach. A past history—a very bad one at that. No alibi, no witnesses and a possible DNA match. No wonder Sage felt so hopeless. “Thanks for being honest with me, Sage.”

He looked warily at her.

“I mean that. I don’t care if you spent a year in jail. We want you back—Jack and I. I’ll see you soon and Jack’ll be by later to bring you dinner.”

“Thanks, boss—Lucky.” The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. It wasn’t a smile, but at least he was talking.

B
RADLEY WAS ON
the phone whispering quietly into the receiver as she closed the door to the cell area. Lucky wondered why the secrecy. Nate wasn’t around and surely she wouldn’t care if he were making a personal call. Bradley realized she was leaning against the counter, waiting to get his attention. He straightened up and said, “Uh…I understand, ma’am. Chief Edgerton’s out in the field right now, but I’ll have him call you as soon as he returns.” He quickly hung up the phone and stood. Lucky was fairly certain he was relaying every incident regarding the murder to one of his pals. Perhaps it was Bradley they could thank for the visit from WVMT, the local television station.

“Emergency?” Lucky asked.

“Uh, no. Nothing that can’t wait. Just taking a message for the Chief.”

“I see,” she replied. “Well, I was hoping to have a chance to talk to Nate. Will he be back soon?” Lucky’s eyes wandered to the counter directly behind Bradley. A large cardboard box, the size that would hold reams of paper, was sitting on the desk below the countertop. The name Honeywell was scrawled in a black marker on the outside. Bradley caught her look and turned to follow her line of sight. He moved slightly, blocking her view of the box.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have him call you, how would that be?”

“That’s fine, Bradley. Jack will come by later and either Jack or I—one of us—will be back tomorrow to bring more food.”

“All right. Thanks,” he replied.

She moved slightly to the side and pointed to the cardboard box. “What’s in the box, Bradley?”

“That’s evidence. You can’t touch that.”

“Oh.” Lucky hesitated. “Is that stuff Nate found at the house on Bear Path Lane?”

“Ms. Jamieson…Lucky…you know I can’t tell you anything. This is an ongoing investigation.”

Lucky almost burst out laughing, certain Bradley had learned that phrase from a television script. She struggled to keep a straight face. “Well, in that case, tell Nate I came by, will you?”

“Will do.”

Lucky walked to the front door. She could feel Bradley’s eyes watching her. She was certain he’d be reporting her visit to anyone who would listen. If Nate caught him blabbing, he’d have his job. She pushed the door open and stepped out onto the top stair. She hesitated. Where was that box being stored? She turned back and reentered the station. Bradley had opened a lower cabinet under the counter and was maneuvering the large cardboard box into it.

“Bradley,” she called out, “I think I forgot my gloves. Did I leave them on the counter?”

Bradley slammed the cabinet door and locked it with a key from a large ring of keys. “I don’t think so.”

Lucky reached the counter as Bradley hung the keys on a hook under the desk. “Oh, wait,” she said, rummaging in her purse. “Here they are. Sorry. I’d forget my head…See you tomorrow.” She waved and exited once more. She’d give anything to have a look inside that box, certain it contained information relevant to Patricia Honeywell’s murder—undoubtedly her laptop and perhaps even her cell phone. But if the murderer had lured her to the Spoonful, or to another
location by phone, then Flo Sullivan, the cleaning lady, was absolutely right. That cell phone would be in a thousand broken pieces somewhere. Maybe Nate had located the missing rental car by now. Snowflake was so small, someone must have seen it and reported it to the police.