The Missing Ingredient

by Diane Noble

  There was a moment of dead silence, then Susannah said, “What does that have to do with Newt Keller’s disappearance?”

  “I may be jumping off a gangplank in my thinking, but something tells me the hauntings might be connected to Newt’s disappearance.”

  “Gangplank?” Susannah chuckled at last.

  Kate laughed with her. “I’ll stop by later.”

  “I’d like nothing better,” Susannah said. “You’ll notice when you drive in that there’s an agent posted at the front door.”

  “What in the world for?”

  “I’m assuming it’s to make sure I don’t escape.” She laughed. “So maybe you’d better not bring the file in the cake after all.”

  Moments after ending the call, Kate let herself in the front door of the newspaper office. The Chronicle building was a decades-old house that had been converted into offices. The room that served both as foyer and reception area had a river-rock fireplace, and on that chilly morning, a fire crackled and popped.

  Down a central hall, Kate could see the smaller offices of Jennifer McCarthy, who did most of the reporting, and Lucy Mae Briddle was at the front desk.

  Lucy Mae looked up and smiled as Kate approached the front desk. “Kate, it’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you too,” Kate said. “I read your article about the high-school band concert last week. It was wonderfully written; I could almost see the wave of the music-teacher’s baton and hear that trombone solo.”

  “Well, thank you.” Lucy Mae’s smile widened. Her hair was dark with a few streaks of gray, and she wore it in a feminine but no-nonsense short style. Her most striking feature was the color of her eyes—a lustrous gray—under perfectly shaped eyebrows. Silver hoop earrings graced her ears.

  “What can I do for you, Kate?”

  “I’m doing some research on the alleged haunting at the Hamilton Springs Hotel.”

  “Ah yes, the Precious McFie case.”

  “That’s the one.”

  Lucy Mae nodded. “It’s truly been the buzz around town since the Joel St. Nicklaus book was published. We’re running an ad for his book as well as the signing at the library. Will you and Pastor Hanlon be attending?”

  “We haven’t decided yet, but I would like to hear what the author has to say about his research.”

  Lucy Mae picked up a notepad and pencil. “Speaking of research, how can we help with the McFie story?”

  “I checked the library, and their microfiche collection doesn’t go back far enough. I’m looking for local accounts of her death.”

  “You realize the Chronicle wasn’t in existence at that time.”

  “Yes, but I understand that the Copper Mill Bugle was very much alive and well. I’m hoping some enterprising reporter covered the tragic circumstances of her death.” She sighed. “Honestly, I’m looking for anything that will give me a glimpse into the young girl’s life and provide some background for what’s going on now.”

  Lucy Mae frowned. “The Bugle was printed on a single sheet of paper, maybe fifteen inches wide and yea tall.” She blocked off a rough measurement of about two feet with her hands. “Several years ago at the Copper Mill centennial celebration, someone found some of the old editions up in the attic and made copies to sell. Because our offices are located in what was once a home, and the home was originally owned by the publisher of the Bugle, the attic has been a treasure trove of resources from the past.”

  Kate leaned forward. “Did those old editions contain anything about the Hamilton Springs Hotel, or as it was known back then, the Copper Creek Hotel? Or Precious McFie?”

  “To be honest, I have no idea. But I’ll be happy to pull them out for you. Those that were found for the centennial celebration are stored in one of the back offices. Getting to the rest takes a little more courage.”

  “Courage?”

  She raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Follow me.”

  They went up a flight of stairs and started down a hall. Halfway down the hall, Lucy Mae stopped and looked up at the ceiling, where the attic stairs were concealed. A cord with a wooden spool hung down from one end of the pull-down lid.

  Kate gaped. “Up there?”

  “That’s the place. It’s dusty, musty, and covered with spiderwebs. We avoid it at all costs.”

  At the thought of spiderwebs, Kate squirmed. “Still, if it’s the treasure trove you say it is, I really would like to take a look.” She glanced at her watch. Paul wasn’t expecting her home for lunch, and she had until four to meet Susannah. “Just give me a broom and a flashlight. You won’t even know I’m there.”

  “And some bug spray,” said a voice from behind her.

  Kate turned. Jennifer McCarthy had come out of her office and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “You must really want to take a look at those old Bugles.”

  “It’s a long shot,” Kate admitted. “But I’ve got to get to the bottom of this haunted-hotel business.”

  “You think it’s connected to Keller’s disappearance?”

  “Don’t quote me, but it’s gone through my mind.”

  Jennifer nodded but didn’t comment. “If you discover something, could you let us know?”

  “Of course.”

  Jennifer walked closer. “More media poured into town this morning—all big city or national. Hard to elbow my way in for any interviews.”

  “If this turns out as I’m hoping it will, I promise I’ll try to get my friend Susannah Applebaum to grant you an exclusive.”

  “I hear she’s the top suspect based on circumstantial evidence,” Jennifer said. “Can you give a comment on that at this time?”

  “No, it’s too early.”

  Kate looked up at the attic opening, then back to Lucy Mae.

  “Well?” she said with a grin. “Lead me to your broom, a flashlight, and bug spray.”

  Ten minutes later, Kate sat down in the dim light of the attic window and glanced nervously about for crawling critters. She’d swept a small area free of cobwebs, then sprayed the perimeter with insect repellent. Soon she was flipping through storage boxes of old newspapers. Many were brittle and musty, and several editions were stuck together from years of moisture.

  It was past noon when Kate paused to glance at her watch. Her head was aching from eye strain, and her stomach was complaining that it had been too long since breakfast.

  She gazed at the stacks of papers and boxes, feeling disappointment setting in. She had pinned high hopes on this search, even though she didn’t really know what she was looking for.

  She had one box to go. Ignoring the ache that was radiating from the small of her back down her right leg, she pulled the box over to the window, lifted the lid, and peered into its musty depths.

  Then she saw the date on the file, and her breath caught. “Oh my,” she whispered, then shouted, “Oh my!” She pulled out the November 22, 1929, special edition of the Bugle and held it up to the beam of her flashlight.

  Thirty seconds later, Jennifer and Lucy Mae clambered up the stairs, obviously responding to her triumphant shout. Kate smiled to herself. Journalistic curiosity had taken precedence over their aversion to spiders, cobwebs, and dust. She gave them a triumphant grin as they entered the attic and stooped to avoid hitting their heads on the open beams. “I’ve found just what I needed! But you have to promise me you won’t publish anything about it until I flush out our prime suspect—and believe me, it isn’t Susannah Applebaum.”

  Jennifer exchanged glances with Lucy Mae, then nodded. “Not a difficult promise. We’re a weekly, remember?”

  Ten minutes later, Kate opened the door of her Honda, scooted in, and put the key in the ignition. She was dusty, grimy, and kept imagining she felt a stray cobweb—or worse, the maker of the cobweb—brushing against her face. Even so, she couldn’t stop smiling as she drove home.

  Her cell phone rang just as she walked into the kitchen. She checked the caller ID. It was Susannah.

  “Wait
till you hear what I found out,” Kate said, dropping her handbag on the counter.

  Susannah’s voice was somber, and she sounded scared. “It will have to wait, Katie. I’m afraid I need to cancel our tea.”

  “Oh dear. I’m sorry—”

  “I’m being taken in for more questioning, this time by the FBI.”

  “Oh no!” Kate’s heart skipped a beat, and she sank into a chair. “I’ll be right there; I’ll go with you.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure they wouldn’t let you stay with me during the questioning. I’ll call as soon as he’s finished. I just hope it won’t take long.”

  She paused, and when she continued, her voice was stronger. “The Bible verse Paul read last Sunday keeps going through my mind. It’s all that’s bolstering my courage right now. ‘When you go through deep waters and great trouble, I will be with you.’ I keep repeating those last five words, and somehow, Kate, they’re giving me strength.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Livvy called that afternoon and asked Kate if she could stop by and vent after she left the library. When Kate opened the front door, Livvy grinned at her from beneath her parka’s faux-fur hood.

  Kate quickly invited her in out of the cold.

  “I heard we might get snow later tonight,” Livvy said as she warmed her hands by the fire.

  “It feels like snow,” Kate said. “I just hope our guys are home before the storm sets in.”

  Paul and Danny were at the church for an emergency board meeting about the ghost issue—instigated by Renee Lambert.

  “How about some coffee or tea?” Kate asked.

  “Tea sounds great.”

  Livvy slipped off her coat. Kate took it with her on the way to the kitchen and hung it on the coat tree in the entry.

  Kate put on the teakettle, then returned to the living room. She stoked the fire and closed the screen, then sat down at the opposite end of the sofa from Livvy, curling her legs beneath her. They chatted for a bit about the latest developments—Susannah being taken in for questioning, the involvement of the FBI and Newt’s ex-wife, the photo of Newt and Nicolette, and the discoveries Kate had made at the Chronicle office.

  Livvy’s eyes narrowed when Kate told her that she was still puzzling over the pocket knife she’d found jammed into the Hummer’s CD player.

  “What significance do you think it has?”

  “I’m still not sure. It doesn’t make sense. If it’s the weapon the abductor used to force Newt out of the vehicle, why would he—or she—tuck it into the CD?”

  “To get rid of it in a hurry?” Livvy suggested.

  “If the perpetrator wanted to do that, he or she would maybe put it in a pocket or maybe throw it into the creek.” Kate paused. “I’m thinking the only one who would want to hang onto it would be Newt himself.”

  Livvy leaned forward. “You mean there’s a scuffle, he gets the knife back, then hides it in the CD player? Why would he do that?”

  “Maybe he wanted to leave a clue,” Kate said quietly, then shrugged.

  “This is a complicated case.” She shook her head slowly.

  Kate treasured Livvy’s input when she was puzzling out a mystery—or, as in this case, two or three mysteries, strangely intertwined. But that evening, Livvy seemed distracted.

  Kate suddenly felt sorry she had spent so much time talking about the case. She touched Livvy’s hand. “It’s your turn,” she said. “You said you needed to vent.”

  “After hearing about Susannah, I hate to bring up my worries,” Livvy said. “They seem trivial in comparison. But the truth is, I’m about ready to tear out my hair.” As if on cue, she tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

  Kate raised an eyebrow. “The book signing?”

  Livvy nodded.

  “It’s gotten that bad?”

  “Remember how I worried this whole thing would become a circus?”

  “It’s hit the three-ring stage?”

  “Clowns and all.” Livvy laughed lightly, shaking her head. “Only they’re dressed like ghosts. I’m trying to get things to calm down before Joel St. Nicklaus arrives. Maybe I’m expecting too much, but I’d rather Copper Mill put forward a more sophisticated front. Instead, we’ve got the Caspers and the Ghostbusters holding their respective signs.” She shook her head. “Lucy Mae Briddle heard about it and stopped by to interview people on both sides. I’m sure the article will be in Thursday’s paper, complete with photos.”

  The teakettle sang out, and Kate hurried to the kitchen to pour their tea. She soon returned with a small tray that held their cups of tea, a sugar bowl, teaspoons, and a small plate of brownies. She placed the tray on the coffee table and handed Livvy a teacup and saucer. She took the other cup for herself. They each took a brownie from the small plate on the tray.

  She sat down again, facing Livvy, and sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Paul and I have been talking about this a lot. About the possibility of ghosts, I mean.”

  “From a spiritual, or biblical, perspective, you mean?”

  Kate nodded. “Some people believe there’s a real world of spirits, and that it’s completely scriptural. Others don’t. Still others are confused and don’t know what they believe. That may be why local pastors are getting so many calls about this.”

  Livvy sighed. “Just one of many things in the Bible we can’t understand now, but will someday.”

  “Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity,” Kate quoted.

  “That verse has always been a comfort to me,” Livvy said. “There’s so much we don’t—and can’t—understand.” She took a sip of her tea. “Are you and Paul going to come to the signing?”

  “We don’t want to do anything to fan the flames. It’s our intent to remain neutral.”

  Livvy quirked a brow and gave Kate a half smile. “I bet I can get you to change your mind.”

  “What have you got up your sleeve?”

  “Remember the professional storyteller I mentioned?”

  Kate nodded.

  “You’ll never guess who she is.” Livvy took another sip of tea and watched Kate over the rim of her teacup. “Give up?”

  “I can’t imagine...” Then a light began to dawn. What would be the one story that would make her change her mind? She grinned. “Wait, don’t tell me. It’s someone who’s going to tell the story of Precious McFie?”

  “Better than that. A grandniece of Precious McFie herself. It just so happens she’s a professional storyteller, and this story is part of her repertoire.”

  “Oh my!” Kate’s hand flew to her mouth. “You’re right. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  IT WAS STILL DARK when Kate awoke. She quickly swung her legs out of bed and grabbed her robe. A light snow had begun falling the previous night when she and Paul had turned out the lights and gone to bed. There was something about a fresh snow that made her feel like a little girl on Christmas morning—she couldn’t wait to get up and have a look before it began to melt.

  That morning was no different. She went straight to the living room and opened the drapes. The sight that greeted her made her catch her breath. A thin powdered-sugar coating of snow covered the backyard, outlining every tree branch and shrub.

  The sky was turning a pearl gray, creating just enough light to give the snowy landscape the look of a fairyland. A bright red cardinal landed on the maple just outside the window and hopped onto the birdfeeder. He was soon followed by another cardinal and then a titmouse and a handful of sparrows. Their fluttering caused the powdery snow to spill from the branches above them as if from a flour sifter.

  In spite of her worries about Susannah and the mysteries she was having trouble solving, the beauty of the morning lifted Kate’s heart.

  Sometimes God gave her little gifts like this to remind her that he was still in charge. Who else but the Creator could create such artistry?

  Lightly humming “His Eye Is on the Sparrow
,” she headed to the kitchen to start the coffee. Leaving it to brew, she went into the living room and flicked on the gas lighter in the fireplace. Then she gathered her Bible, her notebook, and a pen and sat down in her rocker.

  She purposely pushed the myriad thoughts about the case from her mind so she could spend some much-needed time resting in God’s presence. She opened her Bible to reread the passage in Isaiah that had meant so much to Susannah. As she thumbed through the pages, Isaiah 40:31 caught her eye.

  Those who wait on the Lord will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.

  She read the passage again, thinking about Susannah and her trials. Then she bowed her head and prayed her friend would find new strength and courage in the Lord to see her through, no matter what was ahead.

  Susannah had called after her questioning the night before. She sounded shaken but thankful she hadn’t been charged with anything. She’d been warned again, however, not to leave Copper Mill.

  Kate spent a few more minutes in the silence of early morning, covering her family and friends, Faith Briar, and the little town of Copper Mill with prayer. Then she asked for safekeeping for her day and discernment and creativity in her thinking...Creativity? It had been a while since she’d prayed for that particular grace. She smiled and added, “Especially the latter, Lord. I need it today in abundance.”

  Kate drove into the hotel parking lot at a quarter to nine for Nicolette Pascal’s taping. She came to an immediate halt. There wasn’t a parking space to be had. Satellite dishes had sprouted like mushrooms after a soaking rain. The term media frenzy didn’t even begin to cover the sight before her.

  She sat for a moment, gaping, before swinging a U-turn and heading back out of the lot to park on the street. Directly across from the parking lot, in an empty field, sat a helicopter, its blades at rest.

  A few minutes later, she twined her way through the knots of people—Taste Network cast and crew, hotel employees, curious citizenry of all ages, national and local TV and newspaper reporters, and their camera and sound crews.