Donna stared off to her garden for a few moments before answering. “The only person I can think of is Hans Vogel. He was very upset at the last meeting. Lily did overstep her bounds by lecturing him, and he didn’t take it well.”
“That was unusual for her, wasn’t it?” Drew asked.
“Yes, but she had her reasons.”
Drew set his glass down. “And they were?”
Donna refilled her glass and offered to top off her guests’ glasses, but Hope and Drew both declined. “Lily grew up in the house next door to Hans’s. She told me she remembered the Vogels and how Mrs. Vogel always maintained a neat and tidy home and yard. Mrs. Vogel loved black-eyed Susans and planted a row of them one spring. Then when Mrs. Vogel passed, Hans let the property go to pot. He let junk pile up and didn’t take care of the house. I think Lily felt it was disrespectful to Mrs. Vogel.”
“I can understand that. I heard Lionel Whitcomb didn’t receive the go-ahead to break ground for his medical office development,” Hope said.
“We just want more information before we make a decision.”
“In the past he’s gotten the green light right away for his projects. How did he take the delay imposed upon him for this new development?” Drew asked.
“He was upset. Why are you two asking these questions?” Donna asked.
“I’m just curious.” Hope took a sip of lemonade.
“Have you received any threats since those hearings?” Drew pulled out his phone and tapped on the power button.
“Drew.” Hope leaned forward. “I don’t think this is the time.”
Drew didn’t make eye contact with Hope. He kept his gaze locked on Donna. “I’d like your permission to record the rest of this conversation.” Drew was waiting to press the on button.
“Record? Why? No!” Donna’s blue eyes clouded with confusion. “What’s going on? Do you think our work on the board caused Lily’s death? Do you think we’re in danger?”
“Oh . . . he didn’t say that.” Hope cast a second death glare at Drew.
“But you think that? That’s why you’re here.” Donna looked ready to leap into defense mode. “You hear stories about this kind of thing, but you never think it’ll happen where you live.”
“Donna, please. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I was just curious. If you haven’t received any threats, then I think Lily’s death wasn’t related to the P&Z Commission.” Hope reached out her hand and covered Donna’s hand. “You haven’t received any threats, right?”
Donna exhaled a deep breath. “No.” But worry still filled her eyes. “Drew, you’re not going to quote me for an article, are you?”
He frowned and tapped his phone again. “No. If that’s what you prefer.”
“That’s what I prefer. Thank you for stopping by to visit. It was good to see you both.”
Hope took her cue to leave and jerked her head for Drew to follow suit. They both stood and thanked Donna again for the lemonade. They stepped off the deck and walked in silence along the grass to the driveway. Hope’s pace was faster than Drew’s, primarily powered by her annoyance at him. He’d spooked Donna. Even though she’d said she hadn’t been threatened, there was a chance she could have told them more.
“Hope! Wait up. Let me explain!”
She ignored him. Though she couldn’t ignore the familiar car parked in the driveway or its driver, who was leaning against the hood.
“What are you doing here, Norrie? Are you following me?” For the second time in as many days, Norrie had shown up where Hope was. Was it a mere coincidence?
“Is this how you’re getting your stories, Drew? You tag along with your friend?” Norrie asked, smirking.
Drew’s eyes widened with outrage. “I don’t tag along with anybody. How I get my stories is none of your business.”
Hope considered telling him to fact-check that statement because he did kind of tag along, even though he got to Donna’s house first. But she wasn’t about say that in front of Norrie, no matter how miffed she was at Drew.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Hope said.
Norrie shrugged her shoulders. “I’m here to talk to Mrs. Wilcox, not the two of you.”
“What for?”
“You’ll find out when you read my article.” Norrie pushed off from the car and started to walk up Donna’s gravel driveway. “It’ll be on the front page so you can’t miss it.”
“You see what I’m dealing with?” Drew asked in a whisper.
“You’ll figure something out. I’m going home to work on my blog because that’s what I am, a blogger.” She walked to her car and pulled the driver’s door open. She slid in behind the steering wheel.
Drew threw his arms up in the air. “I didn’t mean it that way!”
Hope closed the door and started the ignition. She backed out of the driveway. A quick glance up to the rearview mirror showed Drew standing in the driveway alone. Good. Let him think about what he’d done. It wasn’t the first time he put a story ahead of their friendship. But she didn’t want to focus her energy on Drew. There was a killer still on the loose and that needed all of her attention. The one good thing she’d learned from the visit with Donna was that it appeared no one else on the P&Z Commission was in danger.
The killer was only after Lily, and Hope concluded Peggy was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That should have been some comfort for Hope, but it wasn’t. If she’d called Meg right away then either Peggy would have been removed from the house or Meg would have either stayed or hired someone and most likely Lily’s body would have been discovered.
Hope flicked on her turn signal. Where was Lily’s body hidden in the house? Had she been dead the whole time? If so, how come there wasn’t any odor? Hope certainly didn’t smell anything other than the burnt peppers and onions when she was in the house the last time. If Lily was alive, was she tied up somewhere? If so, the killer had to have been taking care of her. But Peggy didn’t mention seeing anyone else in her house. Just when she thought she’d gotten some answers, more questions popped up.
* * *
The timer dinged, signaling the baking was done. Hope grabbed two pot holders and prepared to be amazed. She loved her job. Food blogging was more than just writing five hundred words and adding a recipe at the bottom of the post. Every post she wrote came from her heart and soul. Food blogging was the documentation of countless trips down memory lane with her family, where food was shared to celebrate or to comfort. Food blogging was where she journaled the adventure of creating recipes, successes and failures. In a nutshell, her blog was where she shared her joy of serving meals to the people she loved.
With the pot holders in hand she pulled three cake pans from the oven and set them on cooling racks. Her eyes fluttered closed as she inhaled the heavenly aroma of hot-out-of-the-oven chocolate cake. She loved her job.
She really loved her job.
“Knock! Knock!” Jane called out as she entered through the mudroom. She bustled in with her big purse, with Drew behind her. “I smell chocolate cake.”
“Good grief. There goes my waistline.” Drew dropped his messenger bag on a chair at the table. He approached Hope with the saddest puppy dog eyes she’d ever seen. Even his pout was sadder than usual. “Hope, I’m truly sorry for what I said about you being only a blogger. I didn’t mean it.”
Hope set the pot holders on the island, then rested one hand on her hip and glowered at Drew.
“What is going on between the two of you?” Jane asked. “What on earth did you say about Hope?”
“I went to visit Donna Wilcox,” Drew said.
Jane’s pale blue eyes narrowed as her confusion was starting to clear up. “I thought we all agreed Hope would speak with her first.”
“We did. But I really need something to wow my editor. Right now, I’m barely showing up below the fold.” Drew’s cocky attitude from earlier had faded. “I can’t lose my job. I don’t have the kind of résumé a big city newspaper is looking f
or and, besides, Jefferson is my home. I can’t leave.”
Jane studied Drew for a few moments and then turned to Hope. “He’s truly remorseful. Go on, forgive the poor boy.”
Hope’s hand dropped from her hip. “Fine. I forgive you.”
Drew’s face brightened and he ran to her and wrapped her in the biggest hug ever. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
Hope’s arms were pinned to her side. “You’re welcome . . . I can’t breathe.”
“Oh, sorry.” Drew let go of Hope. “I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken and wild rice casserole.” Hope glanced at the lower oven. During her drive home, she’d run through a list of dinner ideas. She craved comfort food. Spending part of her day in a dead woman’s closet selecting a dress for her to wear had overwhelmed Hope, and it wasn’t until she pulled into her driveway that the grief slammed into her. A heaping bowl of mac ’n’ cheese or a thick slab of meat loaf would hit the spot. Short on time, she opted for her tried-and-true chicken casserole. The dish was easy and fast.
“One of my favorite dishes you make.” Jane sat at the table just as Bigelow ran into the kitchen at full speed, coming to an abrupt stop at Jane’s feet. “What a cutie pie.” Jane patted the dog’s head.
Hope rested a hand on her hip. Where was that dog-training book? Chapter three covered running inside and she needed to reread it. “He has to learn not to run in the house.”
“He’s just energetic. Give him time to mature,” Jane assured Hope.
Bigelow settled by Jane’s chair and lowered his head onto his front paws.
Hope raised an eyebrow to Jane’s statement. Bigelow had boundless energy and showed little sign of maturing anytime soon. When the oven timer buzzed, Hope grabbed the pot holders and pulled out the Le Creuset skillet. She set the hot dish on a trivet and covered it with a sheet of aluminum foil. “This needs to rest for a few minutes. Drew, could you slice the ciabatta bread while I set the table?”
“Sure.” Drew slid out a serrated knife from the block on the counter and sliced the long loaf of bread. “So, how did the rest of your day go? Tell me you have something I can use for the paper.”
“Cal texted me and asked me to come over. I was at his house before I showed up at Donna’s.” Hope folded three cloth napkins and set them next to each place setting.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Drew carried the basket of sliced bread to the table and sat.
“Excuse me?” After the stunt Drew pulled at Donna’s house, she wasn’t sure she’d be updating him with her whereabouts anytime soon.
Drew offered a half-shrug. “Sorry. What did he want?”
“He asked me to select a dress for Lily.” Hope returned to the island and checked their dinner. It needed a few more minutes and then she could serve her guests. She secretly hoped they weren’t too hungry because she loved the leftovers of the casserole.
Jane lowered her head. “Tsk. Tsk. Such a tragic situation.”
“While I was in her closet, I accidentally knocked down a couple of her purses and this fell out of one of them.” Hope snatched the notebook off the island and brought it to the table. “There’s only one thing written in this notebook.”
“What? What did you find?” Drew reached across the table and tried to snatch the notebook out of Hope’s hand, but she pulled it close to her chest. “Come on!”
“It’s an address in Westport.” Hope flipped open the book and showed the page to Jane and Drew.
“How mysterious,” Jane commented, and stood. She went to the refrigerator, took out a pitcher of water, and then returned to the table.
“Nothing else?” Drew slouched back into his chair.
“This could be important. Now, I took the notebook, but I didn’t tell Cal about this. I probably should tell Ethan. Though, the police must’ve searched the residence when she disappeared, so either they missed it or they didn’t think it was important.”
“My guess is a thorough search wasn’t done,” Jane offered.
“Or, someone hid the notebook in there after Lily disappeared,” Drew speculated. “I can track down this address. I’ll get back to you on this. If we’re lucky, it’s a lead. Or it could be a dead end, like every other angle I’ve tried.” Drew typed the address into his phone and then stood. “I’m going to wash up before supper.” He trudged out of the kitchen.
Bigelow’s head swung up and then he popped up and trotted after Drew.
“Poor Drew. That Norrie girl has him doubting his own abilities.” Jane helped herself to a slice of bread.
“I think a little competition with Norrie is a good thing for Drew.” Hope moved to the counter and removed the aluminum foil from the casserole. With pot holders, she carried the skillet to the table.
“I suppose you’re right. It’s never good to get too comfortable. We must always be reaching for a new goal. Like the cookbook you’re contributing to. It’s very exciting. Who knows, it may lead to your own cookbook one day.” Jane’s eyes beamed at the golden dish of chicken and wild rice topped with sliced almonds and loaded with melted Swiss cheese.
“I have to admit, it is a little exciting. And a lot nerve-racking.” Hope spooned a large portion onto Jane’s plate.
“The address you found is very curious.”
“There’s more.” Hope filled Jane in on her weird encounter with Brenda as she scooped out servings for Drew and herself.
“She sounds like she’s in love with Cal and sees you as a threat. Love can easily turn to murder.” Jane bit into a forkful of the casserole.
Hope stared at Jane as chills skittered along her arms. Had Hope just been alone, face-to-face with the killer?
Chapter Fifteen
Hope entered the lobby of the Jefferson Country Club. The automatic door slid closed behind her. Kent Wilder, the real estate agent who had desperately wanted to represent Lionel Whitcomb, was somewhere in the club. It was amazing how eager Kent’s secretary had been to share his whereabouts after Hope produced a box of Lemon Ricotta Cookies. Extras were always a good thing to have handy.
She scanned the club. Members passed by her, busy chatting and hurrying off to their golf carts or to the tennis courts. A comfortable seating area was off to her left and included a towering stone fireplace. To her right, the dining room’s waitstaff were busily preparing for the lunch crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Kent walking in her direction from a hallway. He looked crisp in a pink and white polo shirt paired with khaki trousers. As he approached, he adjusted the white visor he wore.
“Hope? What are you doing here? Thinking of joining?” He flashed his trademark smile. The same smile he had when he showed Hope a house for sale that was a total money pit. He played her emotions like a violinist on a Stradivarius, all the while knowing she’d go broke trying to make the house livable. But it did have charm. Claire had intervened just in time and talked Hope out of the purchase. The house was later condemned.
“Maybe. You’ve been a member for a while. How do you like it?”
“It’s adequate. But for a real golf experience, there’s an awesome club down in Florida. Though, for a beginner like yourself, this place is good enough.”
“Thanks for the tip. I think learning to play will help me relax. It’s been stressful these past days with everything happening in town. You must feel the same way.” She’d hoped he’d agree and she could then guide their conversation to the direction of Lionel Whitcomb.
Kent’s gaze shifted to over Hope’s shoulder and she turned her head to see what had caught his attention. Three men, all dressed for a day of golf and carrying gym bags, were approaching. So much for guiding him into a conversation. “Yeah, good idea. I hate to rush off, but I’m meeting people.” He hurried past her to join the three men. A few slaps on the back and the four of them headed to the lounge area.
“Wait!” The loudness of her voice surprised her, but it did get Kent’s attention. He stopped and looked over his shoulder
. With her voice a little lower, she asked, “Is it true you’re trying to get the listing for Lionel Whitcomb’s new commercial development?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Someone who wants the listing and its sales commission may be willing to do anything to make sure it was approved for development.”
Kent stalked back to her. His trademark smile was gone and in its place was a hardened look that made her question her decision to confront Kent. He stood ramrod straight and towered over Hope. A slight curl to his hips indicated his height advantage over her bolstered his ego. “Do you have any idea of what you’re implying?”
She swallowed. She wouldn’t be intimidated by Kent. “Yes.”
“Good. Then if I hear you’ve repeated this to anyone, I will sue you for slander. Do you understand me?”
“Come on, Kent!” one of the three men called out.
Kent looked over his shoulder and nodded. Before he broke away to join his friends, he looked back at Hope and stared at her for a long moment. She fortified her stance and met his gaze. He gave a curt nod and then stepped away, back to his buddies.
Kent went from uninterested to infuriated in a matter of minutes. Quick to temper. Now she was even more curious about how far he would have gone to secure the listing. The chances of him talking to her anymore were slim, actually slimmer than slim, and he’d probably call his attorney if she approached him with more questions. Her work there was done.
She spun around and started for the exit but was intercepted by a young man wearing a baggy, dark navy blazer with the club’s logo embroidered on the breast pocket.
“Miss Early, so good to see you.” He held out his hand for Hope to shake. “I am Eli Wheeler. Would you be here for a tour? There are many amenities available to members, including privacy, something a celebrity like yourself may be interested in.”
Celebrity? Hope’s fifteen minutes of fame was over a long time ago, but she guessed once in the spotlight, always in the spotlight. Of course, the club representative must have associated celebrity status with wealth. Eli would be disappointed to learn Hope’s brief stint on television didn’t pad her bank account. She received a meager runner-up check. Her divorce drained most of her savings and her home was mortgaged to the hilt. She was far from wealthy.
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