A Broth of Betrayal (7 page)

Elias looked drained, dark circles under his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing
her hand. “How are you feeling, Jack?” Elias looked at him carefully.

“I’m fine. Well, better really. Just tough—finding Harry like that.”

Elias nodded in sympathy. “You knew him a long time?”

“I guess you could say that. Ever since he’s been in business for . . . what? Maybe
almost twenty-five years now.”

“How old was he?” Lucky asked.

“Don’t really know exactly. He was real young when he first opened his shop. So maybe
he’s about forty-six, forty-seven . . . was . . .” Jack trailed off.

“Really? He seemed so much older.”

“Harry was always a real serious man, but something like this . . . it makes you realize
maybe we didn’t know him all that well after all. He wasn’t close to anyone that I
know of. Never got married or had kids. Come to think of it, maybe he was lonely,
but it never seemed that way. Always seemed more like he didn’t want any company.”

Elias nodded sympathetically and took a large bite out of the wrap. A piece of tomato
fell onto the tablecloth. “Sorry. I’m eating like I haven’t seen food in a day or
so. Come to think of it, maybe I haven’t.”

“We’re all out of sorts,” Jack replied. “Now that Elias is here, I’m gonna head home.
It’s just gone three bells.”

“Would you like a ride?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “It’s a beautiful night. I feel like walking.”

Lucky reached over and grasped his hand. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’ll be fine. You two stay. Enjoy the evening. I’ll swab the deck in the morning.”
He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “See you tomorrow.”

“’Night, Jack.” Lucky’s eyes followed him as he left by the front door, pulling it
shut behind him.

Elias had wolfed down the rest of his food. “Let me help you close up.”

“Not much to do. We closed officially a while ago,” she said, clearing off the table.
“People kept stopping in. Everyone’s in shock. It was pretty sad.” She carried the
tray of dishes to the counter. “All I have to do now is take out the trash. I’ll run
the dishwasher in the morning.”

Elias waited while Lucky turned off the last lamp and the blue and yellow neon sign
in the window. He lifted two trash bags while Lucky grabbed her purse in the office
and followed him down the corridor. She locked the door behind them and lifted the
lid of the Dumpster while Elias threw the trash bags in. She took his arm as they
headed down the short alleyway to Broadway. In the shadows, he pulled her close and
kissed her tenderly. She felt the heat of his body through the thin cloth of her summer
dress.

“Can you come home with me tonight?”

She reluctantly pulled herself away and took a deep breath. “I’d love to, believe
me, but I’m so exhausted for some reason. And so are you. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I am, you’re right. But I’m walking you home. Until we know what really happened
to Harry, I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

Chapter 11

T
HE FIRST SENSATION
that came to Elizabeth was the smell of damp and musty earth. Her head throbbed.
Her mouth was dry. Her neck was so stiff she could barely turn her head. She knew
her eyes were wide open but still there wasn’t any light. It must be evening. Her
wrists were bound behind the chair on which she was seated. She barely had feeling
in her arms. The binding was thin and smooth, like electrical wire or telephone cord.
When she shifted her weight on the wooden chair, it creaked and wriggled, as if about
to collapse. Her ankles were tied together with cord just as tight. She was in the
cellar—Maggie’s cellar. A wave of panic swelled in her chest. What had happened to
her? She had been on her way to the office and instead had driven to Maggie’s farmhouse.
She remembered walking slowly down the wooden stairs. Strong hands had held a pungent
cloth to her face. She struggled as long as she could but finally her limbs would
not obey. That was her last memory. How long had she been unconscious? It was morning
when she had arrived. Had she lost a few hours or a day? Panic rose again.

She had called out to Maggie. A quavering voice had responded. Had it really been
Maggie who answered? She had been frightened that Maggie might have been hurt, might
have fallen down the cellar stairs and been unable to get up. She cast her mind back.
At that moment, she had been sure it was Maggie’s voice calling. But perhaps it wasn’t.
She hadn’t actually spoken to Maggie in many years. Had someone else been here, pretending
to be Maggie? Had someone hurt the woman? She hated to think how isolated the farmhouse
was. If Maggie had been in trouble, no one would have known. No one would have checked
on her. Maggie would never have done this. She could think of no earthly reason why
Maggie would wish to hurt her.

The throbbing behind her eyes was terrible. She made a conscious effort to sharpen
her senses. She took a deep breath. The chair squeaked loudly. She prayed it wouldn’t
collapse and send her sprawling to the floor with the dirt and the spiders. The joists
of the house creaked slightly as someone walked above her. Footsteps! She tried to
call out, but managed only a croaking sound. She licked her lips and tried again.
“Maggie . . .” she cried. Her voice was weak. Even if Maggie were above her, she’d
never be able to hear this pathetic sound. Elizabeth stifled a sob. She had been so
foolish to come here alone. Worse yet, she hadn’t let anyone know her plan. Surely
if she didn’t turn up at the office, someone would worry—her secretary or Lucky, someone
would sound the alarm. Her car was parked in front of Maggie’s house, but the house
was well off the road up a lengthy dirt drive. How long would it take anyone to realize
she was gone? She breathed deeply to quell the rising anxiety and called out again,
stronger this time. “Maggie!” She waited. The footsteps stopped, but no one answered.

Elizabeth forced herself to take deep breaths. She knew it was the only way to control
her fear. It was imperative she maintain her sensibilities. She would need all her
wits to comprehend what was happening and to escape. Her clothes, so fresh the morning
she had left for work, were grimy and wrinkled. If only she hadn’t decided to take
a detour. What had possessed her to check on Maggie after all these years? Cordelia!
It was Cordelia Rank who had ignited the worry that led her here to this lonely house.

It must be possible to try to reason with Maggie. If she could only understand the
woman’s motives, then perhaps she could talk to her, convince Maggie to let her go
free. What possible delusion had caused Maggie to attack her and keep her locked in
the cellar? Or was it really Maggie who had pressed that cloth against her face? If
so, her slight frame gave no hint of such strength. The hands that had grasped her
head and held a cloth to her face were large and strong. And there was something else.
A whiff of . . . aftershave? Someone other than Maggie had waited for her to descend
the cellar stairs. Had something happened to the woman? Had someone hurt her? Or did
Maggie harbor anger toward her from the past? Anger perhaps that Elizabeth hadn’t
stayed in touch all these years or made sure she was doing well? Had Maggie dropped
out of society so far that she had lost normal human connections? Was she insane?

Elizabeth gritted her teeth to keep from screaming in frustration. She knew where
she was, but she didn’t know who was keeping her prisoner, or why. She cast her mind
back as far as she could remember. Years before, Elizabeth had spent many days and
hours with Maggie when Maggie had lost her son. It was true that as time goes by,
people fall away, lose connections, but Elizabeth had done more to stay close to Maggie
than anyone else in town. She couldn’t imagine why Maggie would bear her any animosity.
Her behavior made no sense.

The door at the top of the stairs creaked loudly. Then footsteps, cautious ones as
though of someone afraid to trip and fall. Elizabeth listened carefully and finally
the door to the small room swung open. Maggie stood in the doorway holding a wooden
tray. A light shone behind her. She placed the tray carefully on the dusty floor just
inside the door. The aroma of warm vegetables filled the room. Elizabeth’s stomach
rumbled loudly. When had she last eaten? She was ravenously hungry. Maggie moved closer
to the chair where Elizabeth was bound. She reached up and pulled a string that hung
from the ceiling. A weak overhead light flickered on. Hardly enough to dispel the
gloom. Maggie turned back without looking at her and started to close the door. Elizabeth
wriggled her wrists and pulled against the cord in an attempt to free her hands. Surely
Maggie wouldn’t place tempting food so close and yet leave her like this, bound to
a chair?

“Maggie. Please. Let me go,” Elizabeth croaked. Her throat was so dry.

Maggie halted, but said nothing. She shut the door behind her and Elizabeth heard
her footsteps as she climbed the stairs. Elizabeth felt a sob rise in her throat.
She fought against the tears that threatened. She was helpless, bound and terrified.
She pulled at the cord that cut painfully into her skin. Perhaps if she kept working
at it, it might give and she could at least free her hands. She gritted her teeth
against the pain.

The footsteps were returning. The door swung open. Maggie held a jug of water in one
hand and a large bundle under her arm. A sleeping bag. She placed the water jug on
the floor, then spread the sleeping bag near the wall. She reached into a pocket of
her faded sundress and extracted a sharp kitchen knife. She approached Elizabeth slowly,
knife in hand. Elizabeth stopped breathing. Maggie wouldn’t stab her, would she? But
then why was she keeping her here in the first place? And if she intended to kill
her, why had she brought food and water and a sleeping bag?

Elizabeth could barely form the words. “Maggie. Talk to me, please. Why are you doing
this?”

Maggie cocked her head to the side and stared into Elizabeth’s eyes. Elizabeth remembered
those striking blue eyes. The tears she had shed when she learned her son Danny had
died in a car wreck. As she stared into Maggie’s eyes, something changed. A dullness
came over them. Whatever spark had been there was gone now. Maggie shuffled behind
her and stood at the back of the chair. Elizabeth held her breath, waiting, terrified
that Maggie might plunge the knife into her. She felt the cold blade against her wrist.
With one quick slash, Maggie sliced through the cord binding Elizabeth’s wrists.

Elizabeth let her breath escape. She tried to turn her head to look at Maggie. “Are
you letting me go?” she asked hopefully.

Maggie stared back at her wordlessly. Did she still have the power of speech? Had
she not spoken to another soul all these years? Elizabeth recalled seeing Maggie at
the construction site. At a distance, she seemed to be muttering to herself. Perhaps
that was it—her ability to speak normally had atrophied.

Maggie shuffled to the door and turned back. She looked like a frightened animal.
“You have to stay. He won’t hurt me then.” She mumbled quickly.

Elizabeth stared, unable to speak at first. Finally, she managed to croak, “Who? Who’ll
hurt you?”

The door closed. Elizabeth heard the boards creak once again as Maggie climbed the
cellar stairs.

“Maggie!” she called desperately. The door slammed at the top of the stairs. Elizabeth’s
head dropped to her chest as she sobbed quietly.

Chapter 12

L
UCKY DIALED ELIZABETH’S
number for the second time that morning. She knew the number by heart and her fingers
quickly hit the buttons. She had left one message already and still Elizabeth hadn’t
returned her call. Maybe she had gone to her office earlier than usual? She’d try
the office number later in the day. Right now, she just wanted to hear Elizabeth’s
voice. Like everyone else in town, she couldn’t seem to think about anything except
the discovery of Harry’s body the day before. She was anxious to hear Elizabeth’s
thoughts and was more than surprised that Elizabeth hadn’t called her already. She
waited impatiently while the phone rang four times. Finally, the answering machine
clicked on and the outgoing message played. Lucky left another quick message, promising
to try to reach Elizabeth at her office later in the day.

The Spoonful was crowded with people grabbing a bite before the dress rehearsal of
the Reenactment. Hank, Barry and Horace were at one table, dressed for their roles,
as were many other men and women. Hank wore garments of linen in varying shades of
brown with a vest the color of butternut squash and a large floppy hat. Barry was
decked out as an Indian, with, fortunately, a long tunic over his protruding belly.
War paint was streaked on his face, and his outfit was topped with a braided wig,
bandanna and feather. Jack was assisting with props in the Reenactment, but not playing
a role, and Horace looked quite impressive as a Hessian in white breeches, a long
blue coat with gold buttons and a small hat with a brass insignia.

“Horace, your outfit is striking. But I thought Hessians wore those funny tall conical
hats?”

“Oh, some did. But most Hessians wore tricorn hats or a small cap like this. The tall,
pointy caps were developed so they could throw their grenades and sling their muskets
without knocking off a floppy hat. The conical hats also had the added benefit of
terrifying the enemy, and since most battles were fought close-up with bayonets, you
might frighten a rebel soldier into running away before you even engaged him. The
battle would be quickly won.”

“Ah, ha. Well, you look terrific, and thankfully not terrifying,” she said as she
headed back to the counter. Horace bowed and smiled shyly.

Barry took a last bite of his cream cheese and red onion sandwich on dark rye. “I
guess we’ll just have to keep our spirits up today and do our best. I’m certainly
not in a festive mood.”

“I’m with you.” Hank sighed. “There’s nothing we can do for poor Harry now.”

The bell over the door rang and Hank raised his hand to catch Rod Thibeault’s eye.
The young lawyer waved in return and joined the motley crew. “Great outfits, guys.”

“You’re not gonna take part, Rod?”

“Can’t.” He shook his head. “Got too many cases to handle right now, and I have to
get back to Lincoln Falls. I’ve got court appearances all week. Wish I could stay
and watch the dress rehearsal though.”

“Well, come on over on the sixteenth—that’s the big day. You don’t want to miss that.”

“I’ll definitely try. I drove over to Snowflake ’cause Nate wanted to ask me some
questions about . . . you know.” The men nodded sadly in response.

Meg approached their table to take Rod’s order. He smiled up at her. “I’ll have a
roasted vegetable salad with the vinaigrette dressing.” Meg scribbled his order and
returned to the hatch where she placed her slip.

Marjorie and Cecily bustled in and surveyed the crowd. All the counter seats were
taken. Cecily waved to the men at the table and pushed her more reserved sister in
their direction.

“My, look at all of you. I can’t wait to see the real show,” Cecily gushed.

Horace stood and offered his chair to Cecily. He reached across to another table and
pulled up a chair for Marjorie.

“Thank you, Horace,” Marjorie replied. “You’re a real gentleman, even if you are a
Hessian.”

Horace smiled. “On your way to the shop?”

“Yes. We just stopped in for our tea and croissants. We’ve been very busy this summer.
Seems like we have more tourists here every year.” She leaned closer to the group.
“Any news about Harry?”

Barry shook his head. “No. We saw Nate yesterday. Stopped in here to ask us all when
we had last seen him.”

“It’s just terrible,” Cecily said, shaking her napkin onto her lap. “I don’t even
know what to say. It had to be a robbery. So many strangers in town.”

“Nate doesn’t think so. Said there was plenty of cash left untouched.”

“Really?” Marjorie’s eyebrows shot up. “Then it must have been personal, although
I can’t imagine why. Everyone got along fine with Harry. Now that he’s gone, what
are we going to do? Will his business be sold?”

“I doubt anyone knows.” Barry took a sip of his coffee. “Harry didn’t have anybody.
We all liked him just fine, but if you asked me who his closest friend was, I couldn’t
tell you.”

“I didn’t really know him at all. We just connected over the demonstration and the
lawsuit,” Rod offered. “I’m sure there must have been someone in town he was close
to. After all, he lived here his whole life.” He looked around the table. Everyone
stared blankly at Rod, realizing the import of his words.

“That’s just awful,” Marjorie said. “I never really thought much about it, about Harry’s
personal life, I mean. If he spent his whole life in Snowflake and was never really
close to anyone, I find that very hard to believe. But you men would probably know
him better than I.”

Meg arrived with Rod’s order and buttered croissants with jelly and a pot of tea for
the sisters.

Barry checked his watch. “Sorry to cut this short, but we should go. It’s time.” The
men rose from the table. If they had been real soldiers preparing for battle, their
expressions couldn’t have been more serious.

Jack called to Lucky at the counter. “We’ll be back later, my girl—around six bells
for sure.”

Lucky waved to him. Jack would return at three o’clock. “See you then.” The bell rang
as the door slammed shut behind the men. Lucky left the counter and moved to the big
glass window to watch their progress as they headed toward the Village Green. Several
summer tourists stopped to point and stare at the men in their costumes. An older
couple asked the three of them to pose for a picture. Hank and Barry struck a pose
on either side of Horace while Jack moved out of the frame. Lucky smiled. She had
always enjoyed the Reenactment. Not only was it fun for everyone in town, but it attracted
tourists and lots of business. She had been looking up Broadway toward the Village
Green and hadn’t seen Elias approach from the direction of the Clinic. She turned
when she heard the bell over the door jingle.

“Hey, Lucky.” He stood close to her at the window. “What’s so interesting?”

She laughed. “Just watching Hank, Barry and Horace ham it up for the tourists. They
really look great.”

Elias followed her back to the counter and grabbed a recently vacated stool. “I’ve
promised myself a whole hour for lunch today. What do you say I grab a bite and we
walk over to watch the rehearsal?”

“Love to. I can take a break in a little while. What would you like to eat?”

“Hmmm. Let me try the cream of asparagus soup and the mushroom feta wrap with an iced
tea.”

“Coming right up.” Lucky placed the order slip on the hatch and Sage grabbed it quickly.
She was thankful for one thing—she no longer blushed horribly when Elias was around,
or when asked about their relationship. Well, not all the time. She had always been
attracted to him, even when she was very young. But now, it was hard to hide the powerful
effect he had on her.

The lunch rush finally died down, and just in time. Lucky slipped into the corridor
and hung her apron on a hook inside the closet door. She pulled the elastic out of
her hair and brushed it quickly, adding a little touch of lipstick. Always a tomboy,
she had had to learn things that came easily to most young women—like using lipstick
and a little eye shadow or blush occasionally. She had never had an interest in fashion
or makeup, but it seemed that everyone in her life—Elizabeth, Sophie, even Jack—urged
her to be a little more aware of her appearance. When she returned to the restaurant,
Elias had settled his bill. Only a few customers remained. She leaned over the cash
register and told Janie she’d be back in an hour and headed up Broadway with Elias.

The Village Green was a shifting tableau of controlled chaos. Not everyone was in
costume as yet, but volunteers had been sorted into groups—the men playing British
soldiers, Hessians, loyalist colonials and Indians were on one side. The townspeople
playing militiamen were on the other. Cordelia Rank, using her bullhorn, shouted instructions
about movement and blocking to the players who would move onto the Green. She reminded
them of the signal for the militiamen to attack the incoming column of troops.

Vermont’s battles were not as well-known as the celebrations in Concord and Lexington
on Patriots’ Day in Massachusetts, but true Vermonters never forgot the part their
ancestors had played in the birth of America. Even though the actual battle occurred
a few miles from Bennington in what was then and is now New York State, it was still
an event in which Vermonters took great pride.

Lucky stood on tiptoe and spotted Hank and Barry. Barry stood among the Indians and
Hank at the other end of the Green with the group that would play militiamen. She
couldn’t see her grandfather in the crush of people. Many of the actors milled around
in a confused fashion, ignoring Cordelia’s bellowed instructions. Women would also
take part, most of them pretending to reload prop rifles and pass ammunition. No one
would carry a weapon with a live round, not even blanks, for safety’s sake, but a
volunteer with sound equipment would provide the effects of gunfire. Another volunteer
would operate a smoke machine.

Lucky spotted the top of Sophie’s head, as she pushed through the crowd to join them.
“Hey, Lucky. Hi, Elias.”

“Sophie—good to see you. Are you off for the summer?” Elias asked.

“Part-time. I’m teaching swimming classes up at the Resort, but it’s not a heavy schedule
at all. I’m enjoying some free time.” She turned to watch the rehearsal. “I feel sorry
for those guys having to wear heavy outfits on such a hot day.” She nodded in the
direction of the local actors.

“Lucky!” Lucky heard her name shouted and saw Rowena’s strawberry blonde head bobbing
through the crowd.

“I think you’re being paged,” Sophie muttered under her breath. “She must know what
a pain she is.”

Lucky was sympathetic to Sophie’s feelings but hoped her animosity didn’t create a
scene. Sophie came from a large family—too poor to afford stylish clothing and other
accessories that teenagers felt so important. Rowena in her school days had been the
leader of a tight clique that looked down their collective noses at those less fortunate.
Lucky always stood up for Sophie at school, but Sophie had borne the brunt of that
disdain. As Rowena drew near, Sophie indicated an invisible watch on her wrist. “Well,
nice seeing you. My! Look at the time.” Sophie ducked through the crowd just as Rowena
reached Lucky and Elias.

“Oh, Lucky, I’m so glad I ran into you.” Rowena’s face was blotchy. She was on the
verge of tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“That developer guy, Rowland. I just saw him go into his trailer on the site, so I
thought, hey, maybe I could talk to him. He completely ignored me the other day. So
I climbed through the hole in the fence hoping he’d talk to me then and there. He
agreed to give me an interview. I explained how the editor wanted to lay the article
out. You know, run some old town pictures with the article—kind of a ‘local boy makes
good’ theme. After all, Richard Rowland has been so successful, he could probably
buy this whole town. But when I told him that, he just clammed right up. He couldn’t
get me out of there fast enough—as soon as I mentioned the pictures. He was downright
nasty and then he told one of the workmen to throw me out!” Rowena stifled a sob.
“Can you imagine? I don’t know what I’m gonna do now. I had my heart set on that article.
There’s not much I can say about the skeleton they discovered—not yet anyway, and
Nate won’t let me write anything about Harry.”

“I’m sorry, Rowena. Maybe something better will come up.”

Lucky spotted Guy Bessette as he peered over the heads of the milling crowd. He pushed
his way through several people to join them. Lucky wasn’t surprised. Guy could usually
be found somewhere in the vicinity of Rowena, hoping she would notice him. He was
dressed in rough homespun pants and coat with a large floppy hat.

“Hi, Rowena.” Rowena glanced haughtily at him without acknowledging his greeting.
Guy’s fascination with Rowena was painfully obvious. Rowena, on her part, was either
oblivious or disinterested. Guy’s face fell and Lucky felt terribly embarrassed for
him.