Ladle to the Grave (A Soup Lover's Mystery Book 4) by Connie Archer Read Free Book Online Page B

the sign at the door, headed back to the kitchen. He hadn’t said a word. Lucky knew he’d worry about Sophie all day. She just hoped there would be no need for their concern. She craned her neck to look out the window. “Time to open up. I see Hank and Barry coming down the street.”
    The two men entered the restaurant and called out their greetings. Jack leaned over and whispered to Lucky, “Do you think we should say something to them? About Sophie?”
    Lucky shook her head. “No. Not yet. Not until we absolutely know for certain.”
    “Hey, Jack,” Hank called out. He sat at the corner table, his pince-nez glasses on his nose. Hank had always reminded her of a friendly scarecrow. He was tall and thin and his glasses gave him the look of a bookish professor. Barry was his foil, short and stocky with a protruding belly that threatened to break through the buttons on his plaid shirt.
    “Coffee?” she asked the men as she returned to the counter.
    “Thanks, Lucky,” Barry replied.
    Lucky carried two mugs filled with coffee on a tray to their corner table. “Here you go.”
    Barry leaned closer and whispered, “Lucky, we were just wondering”—he glanced toward the kitchen hatch, as if concerned that Sage might overhear—“what kind of presents do you think we could get the newlyweds?”
    “Oh, I’m sure they don’t expect anyone to buy them presents.” She wondered whether Barry and Hank were under the impression they were invited guests too. Neither of them had exactly said that, but she wondered if the question of presents was an indication they planned to attend the ceremony.
    Hank spoke up. “That’s not right. We come in every day and eat delicious food thanks to Sage. We’d just like to show our appreciation. It’s the least we can do.”
    Lucky nodded. “Well, that’s very thoughtful of you both. I’ll try to find out if there’s anything they could use. How’s that?”
    “Great,” Barry responded. “Just let us know.”
    The bell over the door rang as Lucky returned to the counter. Marjorie Winters entered alone. Generally she and her sister arrived together every morning and ordered in duplicate. Whenever one was alone, it usually indicated a rift between the two. Marjorie slid onto a stool. She was neatly dressed, and her blonde hair was perfectly in place.
    “The usual, Marjorie?” Lucky asked.
    “Yes, dear. Thank you.”
    “Cecily’s not coming?”
    Marjorie pursed her lips. Too late, Lucky realized she had put her foot in her mouth.
    “No,” Marjorie replied curtly. “She’s at home reflecting on the error of her ways.”
    Lucky poured Marjorie’s tea and brought her a cup. “Ah. I see,” she replied neutrally.
    “It’s just so embarrassing that my sister would become involved with that mad crew. Celebrating spring rites! For heaven’s sake. Running around in the woods with robes and flowers in their hair worshipping the earth goddess. Did you ever hear of anything so daft?”
    Lucky wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well, I think a few people in town might share that opinion.”
    Marjorie sighed heavily. “And to have witnessed Agnes Warner dying like that.”
    Lucky cringed, hoping Jack hadn’t overheard that last remark. She glanced quickly across the room where Jack sat reading the morning paper. If he had heard, he gave no indication.
    “I really hope this teaches them all a lesson. And for Cordelia Rank to have organized it . . . She’s always on about how important she is to the town. Has she taken leave of her senses?” Marjorie’s voice had risen. She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly realizing everyone’s attention was on her. Fortunately, only the Spoonful’s crew and two of their regulars were in attendance.
    “Sorry, dear. I don’t mean to go on at you about this. But it’s just appalling. I don’t think Cecily even wants to show her face in town at this point. She’s home, under the covers, pretending to be sick—like a