“Was she there to receive it? Or did you leave it on the stairs or anything?”
“Oh no. She opened the door right away and thanked me and took it in.”
“Would there be any herbs left over, by any chance? Maybe Cordelia didn’t use them all, or maybe she saved them?”
Cecily shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She thought a minute. “No, I’m sure there wouldn’t be. I remember her saying she put them all in the wine.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think Jack had anything harmful in there at all. I think Agnes . . . Oh, it was terrible to see, Lucky. Agnes had a terrible reaction. She seemed to become dizzy and then she clutched her throat and started gasping. She couldn’t breathe, her chest was heaving and then she fell on the ground and just lay gasping like a fish out of water.” Cecily shuddered. “I really don’t want to think about that anymore.”
“I don’t mean to make you relive it, Cecily. My only motive in asking is to find out if someone could have added anything dangerous to that basket.”
“I understand, dear. But be patient. Everything will eventually come out.”
Lucky heard a crash from the front of the restaurant and a man’s raised voice. “Uh-oh. What was that?” She felt an adrenaline rush as she pushed the door open and hurried to the front of the restaurant. Cecily was right behind her.
Leonard Warner stood in the middle of the restaurant. He had pushed a table, crashing some dishes to the floor and knocking over a chair. His face was beet red. He looked enormous. He was over six feet tall and probably weighed two hundred pounds. He was shouting at Jack. “You killed her. You killed my wife.” Tears were streaming down his face. The restaurant was completely silent. No one dared to breathe. Lucky heard Sage’s footsteps as he rushed out of the kitchen in defense of Jack.
Jack’s complexion had turned a ghastly white. He stumbled to his feet behind the cash register, knocking over his stool. His mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to speak, but no words came out. He stared speechlessly at Leonard, shaking his head.
Lucky stepped in front of the cash register in an effort to protect Jack from further abuse. She had to crane her neck to look up at Leonard Warner. She spoke quietly but everyone in the restaurant could hear. “He did no such thing. He never harmed anybody in his life. You’ll have to leave. Now. Before I call the police.” Sage had moved to Jack’s side, ready to take action if needed. Hank Northcross and Barry Sanders were on their feet, also ready to rush to Jack’s aid.
Lucky felt a moment of compassion for Leonard, but her first priority was to protect Jack. “This isn’t going to bring your wife back.”
Leonard Warner seemed to collapse into himself. He raised a shaking hand and pointed at Jack. “You’ll pay for this, old man.”
Barry moved swiftly. He was next to Lucky before she realized it. “You heard the lady.” Barry stood with his legs apart. “You better get out now.”
Lucky’s face was as red as Leonard’s. The damage had been done, she knew. Jack could go into an emotional tailspin. She stabbed a finger in Leonard’s chest. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She wondered whether Leonard had received the report of the autopsy yet. Did he know as much as she had learned from Elias? “Her death had nothing to do with Jack.”
Leonard took a step backward. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
Lucky could feel her anger mounting. She moved closer to Leonard and stared directly up into his eyes. She spoke quietly. “I better never see you anywhere near my grandfather again. Never.”
Leonard stumbled through the front door, shooting a last glare in Jack’s direction. Lucky caught a glimpse of Greta on the sidewalk. She held an armful of books, a terrified expression on her face. She had been heading to the restaurant but stopped when she heard the shouting. She turned and hurried away before Leonard reached the sidewalk.
Lucky took a deep breath. She looked around the restaurant at the shocked customers. “Okay, folks. It’s over. Everything’s under control. Sorry about this.”
Janie stood in the doorway to the kitchen with a broom and dustpan in her hands. “I’ll take care of this,” she whispered to Lucky as she passed by. Lucky signaled to Meg to take over the cash register. She put her arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Come into the office for a minute.”
He nodded mutely and followed her down the corridor. She forced him into a chair and shut the door behind them. She took both his hands in hers. “Are you okay?”
Jack was shaking. She knew this had been a terrible blow, as terrible as if Leonard had physically battered him. She was afraid Jack would lose his grip on reality and think he was back in the Pacific trying to rescue screaming men from the sea.
“I . . .” He couldn’t speak.
“It’s all over now. Nothing to be afraid of, Jack.”
“I didn’t know. I must have picked the wrong things.” He looked up at her. Tears had filled his eyes. Lucky thought her heart would break.
“You did not pick the wrong things, Jack. I know you didn’t.” She clung to that belief in spite of what Elias had told her the previous evening. “You’re too knowledgeable. Leonard is just in terrible grief. He’s angry, and he wants to blame somebody. You’re a very easy scapegoat. Please trust me on this.” She said a silent prayer that she was right, that whatever might have triggered Agnes’s reaction would be discovered and if anyone had added anything toxic to the wine, that person would be revealed.
“I know you mean well, my girl, but . . .”
“But what?”
“It’s my fault.” His chest shook as he stifled a sob.
“What is?”
“It’s my fault . . . your mom and dad. If I hadn’t been . . .”
What was Jack trying to tell her? “If you hadn’t been what?” she whispered.
“That night . . . they shouldn’t have been driving.” Lucky knew he was referring to her parents’ car accident. “They were supposed to stay in Bennington ’cause the roads had iced up. I told them not to drive with the weather like that but they wouldn’t listen. I was sick with the flu, real sick, and they were worried about me. They were trying to get home because of me.”
Lucky’s heart fell. “You’re saying you’re the reason they were on the road that night?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.” Jack could barely form the word. “I’m sorry, my girl. I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, but I didn’t know how.”
“Jack, that wasn’t your fault. You didn’t cause anything. They made the decision to try to get home. You can’t blame yourself for that. They knew the dangers, and they made a terrible decision. It’s not your fault.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve told myself that? But it won’t let go of me. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about it. My only son and his wife. And you, left all alone now.”
“I’m not saying don’t grieve for them. I do. But it was an accident. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. And it was terrible for them and for you and me. But we can’t turn back the clock. And you should not be beating yourself up about it either.”
“Easier said than done. This . . . I’m sorry, my girl. This has brought it all back.” Jack rubbed his forehead as if to chase the images away. “What if they find something that proves I picked a poisonous plant? What then?”
“I don’t know, Jack. I don’t have an answer to that one. But if they do find anything, there’s got to be another explanation. We’ll have some answers soon. I know we will.” She cringed, knowing that Nate could very well be on his way with the news of the autopsy findings.
Jack nodded and took a deep breath. “It’s only three bells, but I think I might call it a day, if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine. This has been pretty upsetting, and I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve this. Want me to walk with
you?”
Jack rose to his feet. “No. You’re needed here. I’ll be all right.” Jack stood slowly. He opened the office door and headed down the hallway to the back entrance. Lucky watched him from the doorway. His shoulders had slumped. His head was downcast. She hated to see him leave the Spoonful in such a state, but she couldn’t think what more she could say to erase the scene that had just transpired.
Chapter 26
LUCKY HEARD HER name called as she walked toward Elm Street and the library. Pastor Wilson from the Congregational Church was hurrying toward her. His thin sandy hair, blown by the wind, stood at attention. He wore a faded corduroy jacket with patches on the elbows and carried a stack of books.
He was breathless as he caught up. “Lucky! How are you? Are you on your way to the library, by any chance?”
“Yes. I’m taking a quick break from the restaurant. Are you headed there too?”
Pastor Wilson always had the air of having forgotten something essential and being on the verge of remembering what it was. He reached up and plastered his thinning hair over his head. The breeze immediately blew it up again.
“Could I ask a favor of you? I’m late for an appointment with a parishioner but I wanted to bring these books over to the library for their drive.”
“I’m on my way to see Emily, but I’m happy to take them.”
“Phew. That’s a relief. Thank you, my dear.” He lifted the stack into Lucky’s arms. “They’re heavy, I’m afraid.”
“No problem at all.”
“I’m not myself these days. Not after hearing about those women in the woods. A terrible thing! I don’t know what they were thinking. It’s not right. It’s just not right that they—and Cordelia of all people—should be dabbling in paganism. I was horrified when I heard about it! It’s an insult to organized religion! It’s downright . . .” Pastor Wilson looked as if he were about to splutter, becoming more agitated the more he spoke of it. “Barbaric. That’s what it is. Don’t you agree?” He looked intently at Lucky.
“Well, I think they were inspired by the travelers who were here last fall. I don’t think any of them were thinking of undermining anything.”
“Hmm. Well, I plan to have a word with Cordelia Rank in the very near future.” He drew himself up to his full height. Lucky tried to imagine Pastor Wilson arguing with the formidable Cordelia Rank. Unless she had underestimated his agitation on the subject, she didn’t think he’d stand a chance against Cordelia.
“Sorry, Lucky. I didn’t mean to bend your ear. I’ve just been so upset about all this. I do have to run, though.” He started to turn away and then turned back. “Oh, one other thing . . . Please remind Sophie and Sage they shouldn’t wait until the last minute to book my time. I need to arrange my schedule in advance, you know.”
“Oh.” Lucky sighed. Pastor Wilson must be certain he would be asked to perform Sophie and Sage’s wedding ceremony. She didn’t have the heart to tell him Sophie had arranged for a justice of the peace from Lincoln Falls. It had never occurred to Lucky, but now that she thought about it, Pastor Wilson would be devastated he hadn’t been asked to officiate. “I’ll mention it to both of them as soon as I can.”
“Thank you. Thank you. Must run.” He turned away and half walked, half ran down the street, his jacket flapping behind him. Lucky watched his loping stride until he turned the corner.
She shook her head, imagining Sophie’s reaction to this conversation. Why did weddings have to get so complicated? Shifting the stack of books in her arms, she turned around and walked the length of the block to the Snowflake Library. The small cottage home had been left to the town by its former inhabitants. Emily Rathbone, a retired teacher, manned the library most days with the help of various volunteers, the industrious Greta Dorn being the most recent of Emily’s helpers.
She entered and spotted stacks of gently used books on the long table in the front hallway. She called out, “Emily?”
“Back here,” came an answering voice.
Lucky followed the hallway to a rear room, once a bedroom, used now as a storeroom and mending workshop. Emily was seated at a table with glasses halfway down her nose, working on a torn binding under a strong light. She looked up quickly.
“Oh, Lucky! Hello. Good to see you.” Emily smiled.
“You look busy.”
“Not a problem. Come on in and have a seat. Just struggling with gluing this binding together.” She waved a hand in front of her nose. “So pungent, this glue. What can I do for you? Are those donations you have?”
“Yes. These are from Pastor Wilson. I ran into him on my way over. He was running late and had to head back.”
“Wonderful! Just give me a second and I’ll take them off your hands.”
“I actually came by because I was hoping you could spare a few minutes to talk about the other night in the woods.”
“Ugh.” Emily grunted. “Not that again.” She looked up. “I’m sorry. That’s not aimed at you. It’s just that I’ve gone over it and over it several times with Nate. And it was such a shock, I can tell you.”
“I can imagine.” Lucky heard a footstep behind her and turned to see who had come into the room. Greta stood on the threshold.
“Hi, Greta,” Lucky said. “I haven’t forgotten the drive. I’ve gone through some boxes in my closet and I’ll bring over some books you might be able to use.” Lucky stood. “These are from Pastor Wilson.”
“Oh, thank you,” she breathed. “That’s very generous of you.” She hesitated. “Anything else I can do today, Emily?”
“No. Thanks so much for organizing all that stuff. I’ll be around for a few hours, so you go on ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Greta seemed to waver in the doorway as though unsure she could trust Emily’s decision. Finally, she said, “All right. Tomorrow, then.” She turned away, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. The front door closed behind her.
“She’s such a big help. This library drive has been a lot of work, but we’ve added to our inventory. People have been wonderful about donating. Greta’s done most of the work. Trudging around town with flyers and picking up books.” Emily secured the book she was working on with a clamp. “There. That should do it. Lovely binding. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“It’s not just idle curiosity, Emily. My grandfather has been very worried that he might have made a mistake, giving Cecily the wrong plant that could have caused Agnes’s reaction. I’m positive he didn’t, but he’s been torturing himself with the thought. I just wanted to ask you if you know how the wine was brewed.”
Emily sighed. “Nate’s been asking the very same thing. You see, this was all Cordelia’s idea, really. And it did seem like something novel and fun to do. She had found a recipe for May wine which is used in May Day celebrations and she wanted to pass that around during our festivities.” Emily shot a quick look at Lucky. “Nothing really pagan, mind you—no bonfires or orgies—just rather a women’s gathering. We’ve been meeting here and reading up on goddess-based religions, so that’s sort of how the idea started. I think we were all inspired by the travelers and all the stories about the ancient stones.”
Lucky sat down on the chair by the worktable. “Did it seem as though Agnes was reacting to an allergen or poison of some sort?”
Emily stared off in the distance. “At first, I did think so. Her behavior seemed to have the earmarks of some sudden reaction. But then, I know stroke victims sometimes suffer vomiting. I’m not a scientist, so I really can’t say. I don’t even think the police or coroner knew for sure, although they were suspicious of it.”
“They’re analyzing the wine, aren’t they?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure they are.”
“How was it made, do you know?”
“Cordelia took care of that. She soaked the herbs in the wine overnight and then brought it with her t
o our . . . ritual. No one else, just Cordelia. I think the police took what was left of the wine that night. Cordelia’s very upset about this, as you can imagine.”
“But Cordelia . . . Wouldn’t she have been the first to drink?”
“No. I can’t remember the order we were supposed to be in. I was after Cecily and before Willa.”
“Willa?”
“Willa Persley. You might not know her. She lives up in Lincoln Heights.” Emily continued, “Anyway, we were all assigned our places so the cup would move clockwise. Cordelia decided she should be the”—Emily blushed slightly—“high priestess. This all sounds rather silly when I actually put it into words, but at the time, it seemed to fit the occasion.”
“So Agnes was the first to drink the mulled wine?”
“Yes. But, Lucky, no one could have planned to hurt Agnes. We were all prepared to drink the wine. Whatever plants Cecily brought were what Cordelia put in the wine to flavor it.”
Lucky sighed. This was getting her nowhere. Every question she asked seemed to get her right back to square one. No one but Cecily and Cordelia had access to Jack’s herbs, and she was sure neither woman would wish to harm Agnes Warner. She rose from her chair. “Thanks, Emily.”
Emily looked at her sympathetically. “I wish I could give you a better answer. Jack shouldn’t take this upon himself. It’s much more likely she had a reaction to some medication.”
Lucky turned to go and hesitated. She turned back. “One more question, Emily.”
“Yes?”
“Who were the other women there that night?” Lucky was afraid she was straining the librarian’s patience.
“I gave all the names to Nate.” Emily sighed. “Let me get you our roster. I guess there’s no harm in giving you one of these. All the women got one. This has all our names and addresses and phone numbers. Cordelia originally wanted twelve women plus herself to make thirteen, but unfortunately, we couldn’t get enough women interested in the group. So, it was only myself, Cordelia, uh, Cecily and the other four.” Emily turned and opened a side drawer in her desk and pointed to the names.
Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4) Page 13