Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4)
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Praise for
A Roux of Revenge
“A good read from beginning to end. The mystery kept me glued to the pages and the writing style had an easy flow that made it hard to put down . . . I can’t wait to see what happens next in this delightfully charming series.”
—Dru’s Book Musings
“This book is rich in stories about relationships . . . I highly recommend this series to anyone who loves culinary cozies!”
—Melissa’s Mochas, Mysteries & Meows
“The third Soup Lover’s Mystery builds nicely as clues and key characters fall into place.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A great series based on one of my favorite things: soup. Connie Archer gives readers a likable heroine and a great mystery in A Roux of Revenge that keep them guessing all the way to the end.”
—Debbie’s Book Bag
A Broth of Betrayal
“Murder in the past, murder in the present, and an assortment of interesting characters in a small town, rife with secrets mixed together to serve up a soup du jour of mystery that cozy lovers are sure to enjoy.”
—MyShelf.com
“An action-packed page-turner with memorable characters I look forward to revisiting again and again!”
—Melissa’s Mochas, Mysteries & Meows
“This book is full of wonderful mysteries, a skeleton discovered, a missing person, and a murder. The pages flew by. Archer has created such lively characters. Lucky is a strong protagonist who doesn’t mind finding herself ‘in the soup’ as she tries to save her friend or catch a killer.”
—Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book
A Spoonful of Murder
“Snow in Vermont, soup, and murder. What could be more cozy? . . . A charming new amateur-sleuth series.”
—Julie Hyzy, New York Times bestselling author of the White House Chef Mysteries
“An engaging amateur sleuth due to the troubled heroine and the delightful Vermont location.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Plenty of small-town New England charm.”
—The Mystery Reader
“A ‘souper’ idea for a cozy mystery series! . . . [Archer] has set a great foundation for this series. We have met the star and recurring characters and they have been left with plenty of room to grow. The setting is ideal.”
—Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book
“The way cozies should be written. A small town with lovable characters and a plot that leaves you satisfied at the end.”
—Girl Lost in a Book
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Connie Archer
A SPOONFUL OF MURDER
A BROTH OF BETRAYAL
A ROUX OF REVENGE
LADLE TO THE GRAVE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China
penguin.com
A Penguin Random House Company
LADLE TO THE GRAVE
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2015 by Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-14873-4
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / March 2015
Cover illustration by Cathy Gendron.
Cover design by Diana Kolsky.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
Version_1
For the girls—
You know who you are.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Paige Wheeler of Creative Media Agency, Inc., for her hard work, good advice and expertise, to my terrific editor, Faith Black, whose insights have made each book all the better, to Valle Hansen, thank you for catching all my errors, and to Danielle Dill for her enthusiasm and support of the Soup Lover’s Mysteries. Huge thanks go to everyone at Berkley Prime Crime who contributed their talent and energy in bringing this series to life.
Special thanks as well to the writers’ group—Cheryl Brughelli, Don Fedosiuk, Paula Freedman, R.B. Lodge and Marguerite Summers—for their criticism and encouragement. And a very special thank-you to Elise Varey who can take credit for inventing a last name for Meg! Meg thanks you and she is thrilled to know she’ll be playing a much larger role from now on.
Last, but certainly not least, thanks to my family and my wonderful husband for their tolerance in living with a woman who is constantly thinking about ways to kill people.
CONNIE ARCHER
CONNIEARCHERMYSTERIES.COM
FACEBOOK.COM/CONNIEARCHERMYSTERIES
TWITTER: @SNOWFLAKEVT
Contents
Praise for Titles by Connie Archer
Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Connie Archer
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Recipes
Chapter 1
THE WOMEN MOVED slowly, shuffling into the clearing in the woods, careful not to trip on the long white robes they had been instructed to wear. A few stole surreptitious glances at one or another of their group as they formed a loose semicircle before the slab of stone in the clearing. A chill wind blew through the trees, and the sound of beating wings came from above.
Cordelia Rank took her place at the designated altar. Behind her, a brazier flamed on the ancient rock. She surveyed the gathering critically. “Sisters, please! You can do better. Form a semicircle!” she ordered, indicating her wishes with a sweep of her arm. Each woman glanced to her left and right and, stepping carefully over the pine needles and damp earth, shifted position to form a more uniform shape.
Cecily Winters took a deep breath, wondering, not for the first time, whether joining the Snowflake Coven was such a good idea. Her sister, Marjorie, certainly hadn’t been happy about it. It had sounded just so wonderful when she had first heard of the plan. Beltane Eve, April 30, a night to celebrate the coming of spring and the first buds of May with a bonfire, feasting, candlelight and song. Their small iron container would have to do. A bonfire in the woods at midnight could be dangerous. Cecily shuddered involuntarily. The crackling flames formed eerie shadows in the night, flickering against the tree trunks. If only Cordelia hadn’t appointed herself high priestess, she thought, insufferable woman, it might have been fun.
At a nod from Cordelia, one of the group, holding a candle cupped in her hand, moved within the inner circumference of their small circle and lit the candles clutched in the hands of the other women. When all the candles were lit, Cordelia nodded.
“Now we begin,” she announced. She turned back to the stone altar and, raising her arms, spoke in ringing tones. “Mother Earth, we have gathered together here, in this wood, to honor you, to celebrate the light of coming spring. Beltane is a time for love and the union of souls, the union of minds and the union of bodies.”
Cecily looked up quickly. This was the first she had heard of the union of bodies. She glanced around the circle to see whether anyone else had noticed the phrase.
“We have been called to replenish the earth,” Cordelia continued. “Our fire and our candles will light the sacred union of fertility, as our pagan ancestors have done for centuries. We will assist in bringing the sun’s light to earth, so that the earth may awaken from its long winter sleep. Our bodies, our minds and our spirits will alight with joy. We are ready to cast away all the doubts and fears of the winter. Our dream will be of hope and harmony.”
Cecily’s nose was itching. The band of flowers in the headdress she wore was slipping down over her forehead. She needed to scratch, but holding the candle and her too-long robe together, she had no free hand. She moved her shoulder up and turned her head, rubbing her nose on her arm. Cordelia glared at her from the stone altar. Cecily dropped her arm but before she could stifle it, she erupted with a thunderous sneeze.
Cordelia sighed her disappointment. Addressing the women, she said, “We now dedicate our herbs to the glory of Mother Earth. Each of us shall drink of our May wine.” She turned to the woman on her left. “You, Sister, shall be the first to drink of our draught tonight.” Cordelia filled a shallow bowl from a cauldron that sat next to the fire. “With these herbs of sweet woodruff, strawberry and honey, you shall partake.”
One woman stepped forward and doused her candle on the stone altar. She grasped the bowl in both hands. Cordelia paused, about to speak, but before she could utter a word, the woman drank the brew in its entirety. Cordelia stared at her, then filled the bowl again as a second woman stepped forward.
A strangled sound came from the lips of the first woman to drink. She gasped, clutching her throat. Her eyes grew large in panic as she tried to speak. Her chest heaved with the effort to breathe. She dropped to the ground as her legs crumpled beneath her. The others watched helplessly as the woman lay before them, retching and gasping for air.
“Agnes!” Emily cried out.
“What’s wrong?” Cecily asked.
Someone replied in alarm. “She can’t breathe. Help her!”
“Let me through. I know CPR.” Emily Rathbone pushed the women aside. They stepped back and stared as Agnes continued to gasp. Emily struggled to lift Agnes’s head and open her jaw while Agnes writhed violently.
“Help me hold her,” Emily shouted. Two of the women knelt. One held Agnes’s arms and the other, her legs. Emily tilted Agnes’s head and checked her throat. “There’s nothing there. Nothing’s interfering with her breathing. Maybe it’s an allergic reaction.” She deftly rolled Agnes to her side. Agnes’s head fell forward, her movements still violent. She retched again and whispered, “Help me.” Then her body went limp.
Complete stillness filled the clearing. No one spoke. Someone finally whispered, “Is she breathing?”
Emily felt for a pulse while the women watched in silence. She looked up at their concerned faces. “Agnes is gone.”
Chapter 2
LUCKY JAMIESON PUSHED the button on the CD player behind the counter, and a quiet guitar instrumental filled the restaurant. She heard a tap on the glass of the front door. Elizabeth Dove stood outside and waved. Lucky hurried over to let her in.
“I guess I’m too early,” Elizabeth said.
“Not at all. Come on in. Just getting ready to open.” Elizabeth followed Lucky to the counter. “What can I get you?”
“Just a cup of coffee. I’ve already had breakfast.” Lucky was always happy to see Elizabeth, especially when they had a few moments to chat. Elizabeth had been a dear friend of her family. Since Lucky’s parents’ sudden death in a car accident, Elizabeth had been a surrogate mother to her—renting her an apartment and giving her a car to drive. Returning home to Snowflake and the By the Spoonful Soup Shop would have been so much harder without Elizabeth’s love and support. Retired now from teaching, Elizabeth had been elected Mayor of Snowflake, Vermont, and consequently had little time to herself.
“Hello, Sage.” Elizabeth called out to Sage, the Spoonful’s chef, already hard at work in the kitchen. Sage peeked through the hatch and smiled a greeting.
Lucky set a place mat, napkin and silverware on the counter for Elizabeth and poured a mug of coffee. “A little cream?”
“Yes, thank you, dear.” Elizabeth stirred the cream into her mug. “Where’s your grandfather?”
“Jack’s gone to Lincoln Falls to pick up some supplies. He’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Oh.”
Lucky looked at her quizzically. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, I’m the bearer of some bad news, I’m afraid. You know that women’s group that Cordelia Rank formed?”
“Not really. I heard there were some meetings at the library—something like that.”
“Well, apparently Cordelia organized a May Day celebration in the woods last night. I gather it morphed into something that . . . Well, some people have dubbed it a coven, with Cordelia officiating. But last night . . . one of the women died suddenly.”
“Oh no! Who?”
“A woman named Agnes Warner. I didn’t really know her. She lived outside of town with her husband.”
Lucky thought for a moment. “I think I know who she is but I haven’t seen her in years. My parents might have known her.” She leaned over the counter on her elbows. “That’s terrible. How did it happen?”
“Well . . . that’s what I wante
d to talk to you about. Nate Edgerton called me early this morning to let me know. The women brewed some wine with herbs that Jack had picked for them and they’re suspecting—mind you, just suspecting—that Agnes might have . . . Well, I guess they’re thinking she had a bad reaction to the herbs.”
“What are you saying? That Jack’s herbs had something to do with this?”
“No, not necessarily. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about this. She could have had a reaction to medication, or a stroke or heart attack . . . anything . . .” Elizabeth continued. “But Nate will probably want to talk to Jack at some point.”
Lucky sighed. “Well, I can’t imagine that anything Jack gave them caused any harm, but I appreciate your telling me.”
Lucky heard a knock at the front door. “Oh, I forgot to unlock.” She hurried to the entrance, flipped over the OPEN sign and opened the door. A slight woman dressed in a long brown skirt and sweater entered. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore thick eyeglasses and carried a small bundle of flyers.
Elizabeth swiveled on her stool. “Hello, Greta!” she called out.
Greta smiled nervously and approached the counter.
Elizabeth turned back. “Lucky, have you met Greta?”
Lucky shook her head.
“Greta Dorn . . . Lucky Jamieson.” Elizabeth turned to Lucky. “You and she are neighbors in your building now.”
“Oh, how nice.” Lucky’s apartment was just around the corner on Maple Street in a four-unit building that Elizabeth owned.
Lucky smiled. “Nice to meet you, Greta. Welcome to the building.” Lucky offered her hand across the counter. She realized upon looking closer that the woman was much younger than she had first appeared, perhaps late thirties or early forties. “Can I get you something? Coffee?”
Greta accepted the handshake, shifting the bundle of flyers to her other arm. “Oh, no. Thank you. I just stopped in to see if I could leave some of our flyers for the library drive with you.”
“Of course. I’ll put one in the window and we can offer them to people when they pay at the cash register. Are you volunteering at the library?”