A Broth of Betrayal (13 page)

Chapter 22

E
LIZABETH GRASPED THE
handle of the door that imprisoned her. It opened outward from the small room. The
doorknob turned, but when she pushed against it, it refused to budge. It was held
solidly in place. But by what? Was it barred? There was no lock on the doorknob itself.
With all her strength, she pushed against the door to no avail. She pounded on the
wood with her fists, shouting Maggie’s name until her voice was hoarse. No one answered.

Elizabeth collapsed on the sleeping bag and reached for the jug of water. At this
rate, the water wouldn’t last long. Fear had made her thirsty. She needed to fight
the panic and think. Surely there was a way to escape. She had hoped when Maggie returned
to the cellar and opened the door, she might be able to overpower her. Elizabeth wasn’t
a big woman, but she was strong. That hope had been dashed once her wrists had been
untied. Now Maggie never opened the door. She would only shove a small plate of food
through the ragged hole at the bottom, just large enough to allow a dinner plate,
but not large enough to reach out to whatever lock was on the outside of the door.

Unless Maggie grew careless, the window was now the only possible hope of escape.
Elizabeth dragged the chair to the wall under the window and climbed up. She could
reach the narrow window. It was locked with only a small catch and opened inward.
Chicken wire mesh was nailed to the outer frame, no doubt to keep small creatures
out of the cellar. And on the exterior of the house, two planks nailed across the
opening allowed a thin sliver of light to filter through. Elizabeth reached up and,
bruising her fingers, managed to turn the latch a quarter inch. She pulled at the
window frame, but it refused to open. Peering closely she could see that thick eightpenny
nails had been driven through the framing to secure the window. If she had a crowbar
or heavy hammer, she might be able to release the frame. She sighed in frustration,
staring at the window. She might not be able to open it, but nothing prevented her
from breaking the glass.

She climbed down from the chair and picked her cardigan up from the sleeping bag.
She wrapped it carefully around her elbow. She didn’t want Maggie to hear the sound
of glass breaking. Who knew what she might do. She had been so frightened when she
saw the kitchen knife in Maggie’s hands. If she were truly insane what might she be
capable of? Once the sweater was wound tightly around her elbow, she climbed on the
chair and stood on her tiptoes. The chair creaked suddenly and threatened to collapse.
She grasped the edge of the window frame to keep her balance and made a quick, sharp
blow to the glass with her elbow. It cracked and a large chunk of glass fell between
the frame and the outer planks. She stopped and listened carefully for a minute but
heard no footsteps approaching. A breath of fresh, warm summer air caressed her face
as she stood balanced on the chair. She breathed in deeply. A bird sang in a nearby
tree. Her current situation seemed all the more painful. Outside this house the world
continued, people went about their business, and even if her friends and loved ones
realized she was missing, how would they ever know where to look? Tears came to her
eyes and she quickly brushed them away. Mental discipline was essential. If she broke
down, she could never hope to be free. There had to be a way out of this cellar.

She carefully picked a few small shards of glass from her sweater and, wrapping it
tightly around her elbow again, made another jab at the window glass. Half of the
glass fell away. With two fingers, she gingerly moved aside the larger pieces and
reached out to the planks covering the outside of the window. These boards were relatively
new. She pushed hard against them. They were nailed in solidly. If only she had some
kind of tool, but there was nothing in the room she could use. She remembered the
sliver of light when she had first descended the stairs. It was the opening of a wooden
hatch that would lead outside. There had been a workbench next to the hatch. If she
could escape from this room, the workbench might hold tools she could use. In the
meantime, the only possibility was this one window. Her shoe. Perhaps her shoe was
strong enough to dislodge the boards. She reached down and slipped off one shoe. Using
the heel, she struck a solid blow against the lower board. She didn’t care any longer
if Maggie heard her. If Maggie returned and opened the door, she would shove her way
out, even if Maggie held a knife in her hand. She was desperate. She was no longer
concerned about the consequences of being heard. Her one goal was to escape. Angry
now, she banged steadily away at one of the planks. If she had a ladder she could
gain more leverage and make better progress. Reaching up from the rickety chair didn’t
give her much purchase. Using all her strength, she hammered at the board, ignoring
the creaking chair. She was sure one corner of the plank had moved slightly. Hopeful,
she landed one more powerful blow against the plank. As she did so, the chair gave
a loud squeak and collapsed under her. She fell to the floor, and cried out in pain
as her ankle twisted under her.

* * * 

T
HE LUNCH RUSH
was over by the time Lucky reached the Spoonful. Janie and Meg were taking a break
at a corner table. Sage was laying out utensils on his work space in the kitchen,
and Jack was counting out bills from the cash register. It was a lull in what would
later be a busy afternoon and evening. The flyers Sophie had prepared were displayed
in several spots in the large front window where they would be seen by passersby.
Jack had refreshed the stack next to the cash register. Lucky slipped on an apron
and went out to the front room to talk to him. He looked up expectantly.

She indicated the front window. “I see you’ve put them up.”

“Yep. Some of the tourists have taken an interest too. A few told me they’d volunteer
with the State Police.”

“Really? That’s awfully good of them.”

“Something will break. Just wait and see.” Jack put his arm around her shoulder and
gave her an encouraging hug. “What have you been up to?”

“We were at Elizabeth’s with Sergeant Woczinski. The police were just finishing their
search of the house. Sophie and I went through Elizabeth’s files and drawers just
to be thorough and leave no stone unturned, but no luck. We decided to focus on searching
for Elizabeth’s car. We’ll check all the roads in and out of town and paths into the
woods,” Lucky continued. “Then whenever I can get away from the Spoonful, I’ll volunteer
for a walking search—Sophie will too.”

“That’ll be a tough schedule.”

“That’s all right. I’d rather be up at the crack of dawn doing something than wandering
around in a state of anxiety.”

“I’m joining a search tomorrow morning. They’re gonna start around seven bells. You
think you can manage with me gone for a few hours?”

“We’ll be fine. You feel up to it?”

“I feel the same way you do. I’d rather be doing something than nothing. I’m sorry
about the other night, my girl.”

“The other night? What do you mean?” Lucky was confused.

“You were worried about Elizabeth that night and I joked about it. I should have listened
to you. I don’t blame you for being worried sick, especially after Harry being . . .”
He trailed off and shook his head. “Who would do such a thing? Harry never bothered
a soul. He wasn’t the friendliest cuss, but he was all right.”

Lucky squeezed his hand. “Nate’s got help in that quarter now. They’ll figure it out.”

Jack shot her a quick look.

Lucky blushed. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I didn’t mean to sound cavalier
about Harry, not at all, but he’s gone. There’s nothing we can do about that. Elizabeth
could still be alive.”

“Of course she’s alive. I feel it in my bones.”

A family approached with their bill in hand. Jack smiled at them and rang up their
charges. Lucky went to the counter and glanced at the blackboard where Sage had listed
his specials for the day. There were three different soups, one hot and two chilled,
in deference to the heat. Her favorite salad was on the menu today too—romaine with
thinly sliced red onions, small cubes of sweet potato and apple with caramelized walnuts,
served with a sun-dried tomato vinaigrette dressing. Her stomach growled in response.

Jack must have read her mind. He called over to her, “Have you eaten anything today?”

Lucky had to think a minute before she replied. “Just a piece of toast this morning,
I guess.”

“And to think you try to baby me! Sit right over there at the counter. I’ll bring
you one of those salads.”

Janie finished her break and took over the cash register while Jack put together a
salad for Lucky. He served it to her at the counter with a flourish and slipped another
CD into the player. It was soothing music, a new age kind of synthesizer. She dove
into the salad, eating ravenously. Jack returned to his seat by the cash register
and Janie slipped onto the stool next to Lucky.

“I’m going on one of the search parties tomorrow, as soon as Jack’s back. No news?”

Lucky shook her head. “Charlie’s been taken care of. Flyers are posted everywhere.
It’s on the web. The news media is picking it up. Sophie and I are starting very early
tomorrow by car. We’re going to search every street, road, dirt path and byway we
can find for Elizabeth’s car. And we’ll just keep searching. I can’t think what else
to do.”

“You’re right. But try to stay calm. We’re all on edge now after what happened to
Harry. I just want Nate to catch whoever did that to him.” Janie placed a comforting
hand on Lucky’s shoulder and rose from her stool. She walked around the room, checking
each table to make sure everything was set for the next wave of customers.

Lucky picked up her dishes and carried them into the kitchen, rinsed them off and
put them in the dishwasher. The bell over the front door rang. She peeked through
the hatch. She groaned when she saw the bright strawberry blonde hair—Rowena.

“Hey, Lucky!” Rowena waved at her through the opening. “Hi, Jack,” she called out
and grabbed a stool at the counter.

Lucky returned to the counter. “What can I get you, Rowena?” Rowena had been devastated
and close to tears a few days ago when Lucky had run into her at the rehearsal. Today,
Rowena was fully recovered and bursting with energy.

“I heard there’s a new chilled cherry soup with cream. Is it good?”

“Fantastic. I’ll get you a bowl.” Lucky placed the order on the hatch and a minute
later Sage had filled it.

She carried the bowl to Rowena. “Anything to drink?”

“Love some iced coffee. Thanks, Lucky.”

Lucky placed the tall glass and a small pitcher of cream at the side of the place
mat and started to turn away. The bell jingled again. Guy Bessette walked in. Like
an imprinted duck, he headed straight to the counter. He only had eyes for Rowena.

Rowena leaned closer over the counter. “Lucky, you know I had no luck with that developer.
But . . .” Rowena trailed off. Lucky had a sneaky suspicion what Rowena was leading
up to and kept silent. “Maybe I could talk to Jack about the discovery of Harry’s
body. A real crime story.”

“Hi, Rowena. How are you?” Rowena turned and stared at Guy as if an insect had just
appeared in her soup. “Oh, hi,” she said flatly.

Lucky suppressed a grimace at Rowena’s treatment of Guy. “You’re welcome to ask Jack
yourself. He’s right there.”

Guy remained silent, listening to the back-and-forth conversation. He was screwing
his courage to the sticking point and finally said, “Rowena, maybe we could . . .
uh . . . get together some night.”

Rowena stared coldly at him for a long moment. “Get together?”

“Uh . . . yeah, you know, maybe we could have dinner or go out somewhere.”

Rowena regarded him blankly and said, “I don’t think so, Guy.”

“Oh.” Guy’s face fell. He looked down at the counter, blushing bright red. Lucky had
watched the exchange, cringing at Guy’s embarrassment.

Rowena turned back to her. “You don’t mind if I talk to Jack?”

“I don’t mind. I can’t say he’ll talk to you, but why don’t you ask him?”

Jack was close enough that he had caught the drift of the conversation, but ignored
it. Rowena finished her soup and trotted over to the cash register. As she paid for
her lunch, she said, “Jack, I wonder if I could interview you?”

Jack pretended to look surprised. “Me? Why would you want to interview me?” Lucky
turned away. She didn’t want Rowena to see her grinning.

“I’d like to write a piece—kinda human interest about how you found the body.”

“Rowena, how can you ask that? It isn’t something I can talk about. Besides, Nate’s
warned me not to speak about anything I saw there.”

“What?” Rowena’s voice went a few decibels higher.

“Just what I said. I was warned not to talk about anything,” he replied innocently.

Lucky poured an iced coffee for Guy and leaned closer. “Don’t feel too bad, Guy,”
she said. What she wanted to say and didn’t was that Rowena was a self-absorbed twit
and he wasn’t missing a thing.