The Body from the Past

by Judi Lynn

“After I listened to them all blabbing together? All they talked about were boys, hair, and makeup. They drove me nuts.”

  She laughed. “And your conversations were a lot more meaningful?”

  He gave a lopsided grin. “Guess not. We talked about sports, girls, and cars.”

  Jerod grabbed another sandwich and more chips. “None of my friends were very intellectual in high school. I never could understand the kids who joined political groups or took up causes. How did they get so serious, so fast?”

  “Some kids are born that way, I think.” She thought about her friend Leesa. “Leesa was in Future Teachers of America and did canned good drives to feed the homeless.”

  “I can see that,” Ansel said. “She’s the brainy type. Probably always loved school and got good grades.”

  Jazzi frowned. “I loved school and got good grades. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Jaz never spent time in detention with me,” Jerod said.

  “How did she end up slumming, flipping houses with us?” Ansel asked.

  Smiling, Jerod started cleaning up after himself. “She couldn’t sit at a desk for eight hours a day. That made it easy for me to talk her into slinging a hammer instead of fussing over a computer.”

  “You’re forgetting my work environment.” She stood to put things away. “How could a girl pass up two such good-looking and charming coworkers?”

  They laughed as they trudged back upstairs to hopefully finish the bathroom before they left. But they ended up working later than usual to do it. By the time they left the house, they were ready to head home. No stops on the way. That proved a blessing when she and Ansel walked inside their roomy, cozy cottage, because Leesa pulled into their driveway before they even made it upstairs to shower.

  Ansel went to clean up and change while Leesa and Jazzi holed up in the living room to talk about everything Jazzi had learned so far.

  “You’re making progress,” Leesa told her when she got up to leave.

  “Slow progress, but a little,” Jazzi agreed. “Did Damian say much about Jessica’s brother, Alwin?”

  “Only that the poor guy wanted to be liked but had no social skills. He tried to fit in, but his dad pretty much warped him. Damian kept telling him not to sweat it, he’d grow into himself. He’d get better with age.”

  “Did he?” Jazzi asked.

  “Who knows? The family moved right after Jessica died.”

  Once Leesa had gone, Ansel grilled two smoked pork chops, and Jazzi made rice and a quick broccoli salad. Ansel loved anything broccoli.

  Jazzi didn’t open any journals in the evening but stretched on her sofa opposite Ansel’s. They watched The Great British Baking Show—his choice—until calling it a night. As she climbed the stairs to bed, she realized that even complicated pastry recipes didn’t seem as difficult as keeping track of possible suspects in Jessica’s murder.

  Chapter 32

  Jazzi and Ansel sipped their morning coffee at the kitchen island as he poised a pen over a grocery list.

  “We need to decide what food to make for the party on Sunday.”

  She blew out a long breath. “You wanted to keep it fun, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “I was thinking things like popcorn balls and caramel apples.”

  “People are going to be hungry. The party’s in place of the Sunday meal. We have to have something for adults, too.” She chewed her bottom lip, a bad habit when she was thinking. “I could make meatballs in marinara sauce. I saw a recipe once where the cook put round slices of mozzarella on top of each meatball with a sliced olive with pimentos in the center so they’d look like eyeballs floating in blood.”

  “I like that.” Ansel wrote it down.

  “Mummy hot dog? You wrap the hot dog in strips of Crescent rolls.”

  That went on the list, too.

  She didn’t think Mom and Gran would enjoy meatball eyeballs and mummy hot dogs as much as Ansel and the kids. “I think I’ll make pumpkin soup and pumpkin bread, too. Olivia loves brie wrapped in puff pastry. Maybe I could make that look a little like a mummy wrapping, too.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Mulled cider and plain cider for the kids?”

  He put down his pen, satisfied for the moment. Then they packed up everything to drive to work. He carried George to the van, and she carried the cooler. When they stepped through the French doors to the patio, the wind about knocked them off their feet. They had to lean into it to fight their way to the garage.

  Once in the van, Jazzi cranked up the heater. “You know, a covered walkway won’t protect us from the wind. We passed a house a few days ago with a portico off its side door. If we built one of those, we could park the van under it, and the house would protect us a little.”

  “But we’d still have to walk to the garage and back,” he argued.

  “True, but we could unload groceries and supplies without getting wet. And it would be a straight shot to build a covered walkway from the portico to the garage.”

  His blue eyes lit up, a sure sign he liked the idea. “That would be a lot easier than building a whole new garage and deciding what to do with the old one.”

  They reached the “Welcome to Merlot” sign and passed a few shops before turning on the street to their fixer-upper. As they pulled in the driveway, Jerod pulled in behind them, and they all entered the house together. Ruth Goggins was outside, near the stone wall, working on her flower beds but turned her head to avoid them. Thank heavens for small favors.

  Jerod glanced at the cooler Jazzi put on the kitchen counter. “Must be sandwiches today.”

  “’Fraid so,” she told him. And they were, but not the ordinary kind. She’d loaded hoagie buns with all sorts of cold meats and toppings to make Italian grinders.

  “The cold weather isn’t inspiring you to cook enough,” he told her. “You usually go all domestic goddess this time of year.”

  She laughed. “Maybe after the Halloween party.”

  They climbed the steps to start work on the second bathroom. It was nearly as big as the master. They were only installing a regular tub and shower enclosure, along with a double vanity, and a toilet. No fancy tiles in the shower. But first things first. They dropped to their knees to lay a light gray, plank-style porcelain tile that looked like weathered wood.

  Tomorrow, when they worked on the last upstairs bathroom, it would be even easier. They’d do a combined bathtub and shower, a sink, and a toilet. They stopped a little before noon for a lunch break, and when they walked down the steps to the kitchen, Gaff was tapping on the front door and stepping inside.

  He grinned when he saw them. “I was on the southwest side of River Bluffs anyway, so I decided to drive here to give you the news.”

  They settled around the card table in the kitchen. “Anything exciting?” Jazzi asked.

  “Not yet, but it sure is interesting.” He took a bite of the grinder she’d given him. “Mmm, this is good.”

  Jerod nodded in agreement. “Sorry I doubted you, cuz.”

  She shrugged. “It’s not hot. Next week, I’ll have to find my soup and stew groove.”

  He grinned at the mention of two of his favorites, then glanced at Gaff. “So, what’s up?”

  “I called the police department in Carolina where the Hodgkills live and asked them to verify Mr. Hodgkill’s alibi for the morning Darcie died.”

  “And?” Ansel went for a cup of coffee and brought her back one, too.

  “A detective went to Hodgkill’s place of business and asked around to see if he was there that morning. Seems he missed a meeting and didn’t get in until late afternoon that day.”

  “Is that enough time to have driven here and killed Darcie?” Jazzi asked.

  “It’s possible,” Gaff told her.

  Ansel frowned. “But wouldn’t his wife hav
e noticed he wasn’t home the night before and didn’t leave for work in the morning?”

  Gaff’s lips curved in a satisfied smile. “Seems the two have separate bedrooms, and Mrs. Hodgkill fell asleep before her husband returned home after a late business meeting that night. When she went down to the kitchen in the morning, she found a note propped on the table that said he’d gone into work early.”

  Jazzi pressed her lips together in a tight line, reluctant to ask, “And Mrs. Hodgkill? Did she have an alibi?”

  Gaff shook his head. “She was alone all night and all the next morning.”

  Ansel sent her a meaningful look. “No one ever mentions her, and no one seems to know where she was when Jessica fell.”

  Gaff reached for his notebook. “None of the reports include any information on her. She must be easy to overlook.”

  Jazzi jumped to her defense. Jessica was too close to her mother for her to be a suspect. “She was probably busy, going back and forth, cooking and refilling food and drinks.”

  Jerod gave her a look. “Jessica’s dad was grilling, Jaz. All the food was out, buffet style. If she’d been bustling around, someone would have mentioned it.”

  “Or else they didn’t think about it. I’ll start asking people directly.”

  The men let the subject drop. It was obviously troubling her. But they were right. She should find out where Lorraine was and put an x on the spot to rule her out. Jazzi returned to Jessica’s father. “Did the detective question Mr. Hodgkill? Did he tell him where he was when Darcie died?”

  Gaff finished his lunch and glanced at his watch. “The man’s so confident of himself, all he’d tell them is that he couldn’t remember.”

  Ansel blinked. “They questioned him the next day, didn’t they?”

  “Right after I called them. They’re easy to work with, I’ll say that. But the details slipped Mr. Hodgkill’s mind. His memory keeps proving to be very selective.”

  Jerod finished his second sandwich and leaned back in his chair. “Do you think that means he killed Darcie? That he’s the one who killed Jessica?”

  Gaff shrugged. “Too soon to tell. But something’s going on there. It doesn’t mean he murdered someone, though.” He pushed to his feet. “When I hear more, I’ll tell you. You do the same.”

  Jazzi nodded, and Gaff left. They cleaned up their lunch things, then went back to working on the bathroom. They were assuming this one would probably be shared by kids, so they made it brighter and more fun. They painted the vanity base a bright blue, and the overhead mirrors had blue frames. They installed towel hooks shaped like seahorses lower and hung a shower curtain decorated with seashells. They normally kept things as neutral as possible, but they thought one room should be a little more fun.

  They finished on time for the day. Again, as they locked up and left, Ruth Goggins turned her head, snubbing them. Jazzi hoped she’d snub them for the rest of the job.

  “Maybe it’s more,” Jerod said, keeping his voice low. “Maybe she’s afraid if she makes eye contact, you’ll ask her where she was when Jessica fell and if anyone can vouch for her.”

  Jazzi turned to look at her, and Ruth caught her at it. Abruptly, she turned on her heel and hurried into the house. Was Jerod right? Was Ruth worried Jazzi would ask her about Jessica’s party? Or maybe she didn’t have an alibi for the night Darcie died. Jazzi made a note to check into that, too.

  On the ride home, she realized that the longer they looked into Jessica’s death, the more questions and fewer answers they had. But she meant to at least assure herself that Mrs. Hodgkill shouldn’t be on the suspect list. So once they walked inside their home, and after they’d fed and played with their pets, she called Jillian Hendricks while Ansel showered.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Jazzi said, “but I’ve never thought to ask anyone about Jessica’s mother. Did you see her during Jessica’s party?”

  “We all did,” Jillian told her. “She was on the back patio, chatting to everyone and making them feel welcome.”

  “Was she there when Jessica fell?”

  There was a slight pause. “No. I glanced out the window and saw her walking down the driveway to the front of the house. Her sister’s car had pulled up to the curb, and she went to get the graduation present she’d brought. Aunt Lydia never came to visit when Mr. Hodgkill was home, so she just dropped it off.”

  Jazzi couldn’t keep the relief out of her voice. “So her mom had a solid alibi?”

  “I can vouch for her,” Jillian said, her tone amused. “I wouldn’t want it to be her either.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Any time. I mean that,” Jillian said. “When we heard the scream, Jessica’s mom rushed to the back patio. We all did. Her mom threw herself over Jessica’s body and began to wail. I’ve never heard anything so desperate, so sad. I’ll never forget that either.”

  “Who called the police? Do you know?”

  “Molly did. She was always the practical one in our group. They got there really fast, roped off the patio and her body, then started asking questions. All of that’s pretty much a blur for me. I think we were all in shock. I just felt numb, like the fall couldn’t have happened. It didn’t feel real.”

  “I understand. Thanks again.”

  When they hung up, Jazzi climbed the steps to shower and change, too. “Jessica’s mom didn’t do it,” she told Ansel and explained.

  He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a gentle hug. “Good. You can cross that worry off your list.”

  She shook her head. “At least Mrs. Hodgkill didn’t have to watch Jessica fall. She was walking toward the car when it happened.”

  “I’m glad she’s not a suspect anymore.” He kissed the top of her head and left her to go downstairs.

  She stood under the shower for a long time, letting the hot water soothe her emotions and her muscles. She shampooed her hair extra-hard, as if washing away the parts of Jessica’s death that bothered her. By the time she slipped into her PJs and went to join Ansel in the kitchen, she was in a better mood.

  He looked at her and grinned. “You have that look.”

  When she wanted to push everything out of her mind, she cooked. “Are you in the mood to make some soups and freeze a few for later?”

  “I vote for a few desserts, too.” He walked to the kitchen pantry and pulled out a box of brownie mix.

  George sat up, watching her take ingredients out of the refrigerator for serious cooking. His stub of a tail wagged. Even the cats stayed close.

  “I need wine,” she decided. She liked to sip between chopping and stirring. She reached for her old, tattered soup cookbook. The pages were frayed, with spills wiped off them. She had to use a giant paper clip to hold it together.

  Ansel poured her a glass of Riesling and they got started. By eight, they had a pot of sausage and cabbage soup, a beef stew, old-fashioned vegetable soup, and chicken with wild rice, along with brownies, cherry-coconut bars, and blondies.

  They’d nibbled on everything as they went, so neither of them wanted a supper. Neither did George.

  At the end of the day, they finally sagged onto their favorite sofas and turned on the TV. Ansel surprised her by asking to watch In the Kitchen with David on the QVC channel.

  She scowled. “We don’t need any more kitchen gadgets.”

  “I saw a chopper advertised on there. After dicing all the vegetables we needed tonight, I’m all for buying one.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. They’d chopped and diced a large amount of onions, celery, and carrots. And that was just for starters. Ansel was in luck. The chopper was featured on the show that night. By the time they climbed the stairs to bed, they would soon be the proud owners of a square glass dish with a chopping unit they could attach like a lid.

  Better yet, she hadn’t thought of Jessica or suspects or gossip once, and
she pushed away the thoughts now. They could keep until morning.

  Chapter 33

  The three of them stood, huddled together, staring at the tight space of the third bathroom. Jerod finally shook his head. “There’s no way all three of us can work in here.” He raised his eyebrows at Jazzi. “Would you mind painting ceilings today instead?”

  “It’s either that or me in back with a great view of both of your fannies while we lay tiles.”

  Ansel looked offended. “I thought you liked my backside.”

  “Yours is fine.” She rolled her eyes toward her cousin.

  Jerod laughed. “I’d be worried if mine turned you on. But really, you’re okay painting?”

  “No problem.” She left them and began laying drop cloths over the master bedroom’s wooden floor. She didn’t mind painting ceilings so much since they bought extra-long handles for their rollers. She went to the kitchen, where she’d left the scarf she used to cover her hair and wrapped it up as best she could. Then she opened the can of white paint and got busy. First, she used the ladder to paint around the ceiling’s edges. It was a big room. It took a long time. It took her until Jerod called for a lunch break to finish it. She had four more to go.

  She glanced at the kitchen clock when she got downstairs. Only eleven thirty. “You called off work early.” She frowned at her cousin.

  He winked. “I saw the slow cooker and knew you’d brought soup. That made me hungry. Then Ansel said it was beef stew and brownies, and I couldn’t stand it.”

  She rolled her eyes. Men and their stomachs. She waited her turn at the sink to wash up, removing her head scarf. It was covered with splatters. Better the scarf than her head. As her hair tumbled down over her shoulders, Ansel shot her a hot glance. Her Norseman loved long, unruly blond hair.

  “No time for that.” Jerod shook his head at them, bringing his bowl to the counter. “I’m ready to dish up.”

  Jazzi shared a suggestive glance with her hubby when Jerod’s back was turned. George got excited every time he smelled beef, so he planted himself beside Ansel’s chair. They’d just sat down when a tap sounded at the back door, and Gaff walked in. He saw the stew and went for a bowl to join them. Once he was settled, he looked at Jazzi. “You’ve caused a firestorm in Carolina.”