A Clue in the Stew (A Soup Lover's Mystery) by Connie Archer Page A

“Well, enjoy the soups. They really are wonderful. Barbara or Ginny will be back to pick up your tray in a short while.”
    Ms. Stone nodded dismissively. Lucky left the room without another word. When she reached the top of the stairway, she breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath.

Chapter 19

    L UCKY CLIMBED OUT of the bathtub and pulled the plug from the drain. The sudsy water gurgled and swirled as the tub emptied. Wrapping a large bath towel around herself, she padded to the bedroom, leaving damp footprints on the wood floor. She slipped on a nightie and a terry cloth robe, so grateful to be in her small apartment and away from the annoyances and crowds of the day. She had a new appreciation for popular writers after watching Hilary Stone sign her name for hours and smile at every fan. What stamina the woman had!
    Meg’s gift sat on the kitchen table. Curiosity got the better of her. She picked it up and carried it to the living room. Snuggling on the sofa near the floor lamp, she cracked it open. The dedication page read, “
To Lucky . . . Hilary Stone
.” Lucky appreciated the thought behind the gift but felt guilty that Meg had spent her hard-earned money. She turned the page and began to read:
    Rebecca Mayfield was lost in thought as she sat on the subway bench waiting for her train to arrive. The murderer had targeted women alone at night, in dark alleys and city streets. Each victim had complained of mysterious phone calls for three consecutive days before their deaths. All young women in the prime of their lives.
What sort of monster would violate the innocent?
she thought. She knew she was onto something, but her editor had threatened to pull the story unless she came up with something solid, something the police hadn’t yet discovered.
    The bench began to vibrate beneath her. She heard the roar of the incoming train. Gathering her purse, she stood and approached the edge of the platform. She glanced down. Her heart almost stopped. On the tracks below lay another victim of the killer, a thin plastic cord wrapped around her neck. Rebecca’s screams were drowned by the roaring sound. She couldn’t possibly halt the train in time. She covered her eyes as the brakes began to squeal.
    Lucky heard a firm knock at her door and nearly jumped out of her skin. She took a deep breath and hurried down the hall. “Who is it?” she called out. Only Sophie or Elias would ever come to her door unannounced this late in the evening.
    “House call,” Elias replied.
    Lucky laughed and opened the door. “I didn’t expect you.”
    “What have you been up to?”
    “Oh, I was just starting to read
Murder Comes Calling.
Meg bought me a copy.”
    “Not you too! Are you turning into a crazed fan?”
    “I hope not. But it did make me jump when I heard you knock.”
    He smiled and enveloped her in a hug. “I just got back from the hospital in Lincoln Falls and didn’t want to spend the night alone.” He pulled back to take a better look at her. “You’re all pink.”
    “I just got out of the tub.”
    “Hmmm, I don’t know about that. It might be caused by a rare disease. I think you need a doctor’s attention—stat.” He grinned from ear to ear.
    “I certainly could use some attention and some tender loving care, but how ’bout a glass of wine first.”
    “I can manage that,” he replied, following Lucky back to the kitchen. She pulled two wineglasses from the cupboard and a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator.
    “You can do the honors,” she said, handing him a wine cork remover. “I’m terrible at this.”
    Elias deftly released the cork. “What is this?”
    “Something Sage recommended. Should be good.”
    Elias poured a small amount into one of the wineglasses and held the glass to his nose. “Mmmm, Sage has good taste.” He poured some into Lucky’s glass and more into his own. “How was your day? Oh, I just remembered . . . you had the