“I’ll put on extra patrols and I’ll be back.” Ethan stood and shoved his notepad and pen back into his shirt pocket. He walked to Hope and squeezed her arm gently. “Keep the doors locked.”
“That’s it?” Claire’s voice was edged with worry. She crossed her arms over her chest and her stance indicated the arrangements Ethan was setting up weren’t satisfactory.
“For now. Let me get back to work. The sooner we close this case, the better it will be for all of us.” He pulled his hand off of Hope’s arm and left the house.
Hope stood there, suddenly feeling alone.
“Now, do you want to tell me what you’ve done to receive a threat?” Claire whispered.
Hope jumped, startled. She’d been so focused on Ethan and his leaving that she didn’t hear Claire approach from behind.
“Nothing really. I’ve just asked a few questions. And I searched Lily’s closet.” Hope darted around Claire and dashed back to the island.
“What?!”
“Cal asked me to select a dress for Lily—”
“Wait. You saw Cal?”
“Yes. He called and asked me to come over to his house.”
“Don’t you read the newspapers? Nine out of ten times the husband is the murderer when a wife is killed.”
“Nine out of ten times? Where did you get that number from?”
“Never mind.” Claire sighed. “What I’m trying to say is you shouldn’t be involved with him.”
“I’m not involved with him. He just needed someone to talk to. Claire, his wife was murdered. He’s devastated.”
“It could be an act.” Claire approached the island.
Hope shook her head. She didn’t believe the grief she saw in Cal’s eyes was fake. He was hurting, she had no doubt. “He asked me to select a dress for Lily. He couldn’t do it himself.”
“He placed the burden on you? You barely know him or Lily.”
“It wasn’t a burden. Anyway, while I was looking through her closet, I accidentally knocked down a purse and a notebook fell out. There was only one thing written in the notebook. It was an address for a spa in Westport.”
“You looked through her private belongings? You’re getting as bad as Jane.” Claire nibbled on a piece of cheese.
“I picked it up. I was curious, okay? I admit it. I flipped through the pages, but there was only one thing written in the notebook. The address in Westport. Odd, right?”
“You’re asking me to agree with your snooping?”
Hope heaved a sigh. “You wouldn’t have done the same thing?”
“No, because I wouldn’t have been in Lily’s closet because I wouldn’t have gone running over there because Cal could’ve killed his wife.” She popped another cube of cheese into her mouth and chewed.
Hope hated when Claire sounded logical. “Fine. I see your point. Now, let’s move on to the address.”
“And who writes things down in notebooks these days. My cell phone has a notes app.”
“Not everyone is digital only. You still use a paper planner.”
Claire shrugged. “So, the address was the spa you went to?”
“The spa is owned by Pamela Hutchinson. Did you know she opened a spa?”
“No. Why did she open her business in Westport?”
“She said for the clientele.”
“When did you see her?”
“On my way out. She didn’t look that happy to see me.”
“Imagine that?”
“Ha-ha.” Hope topped a cracker with a cube of cheese and devoured it. She was starving and needed something more than just an appetizer. “I’m going to start dinner.”
“What are you making? The kids are out and Andy is working late.”
It looked like Hope was going to have a dinner companion. “Chicken quesadillas. I have some leftover chicken from recipe testing.”
“Sounds good. No cheese on mine. This is enough.” Claire finished the piece of cheese she’d just snatched off the plate.
“Of course.” Hope grabbed an apron and began preparing their dinner while Claire pulled out her organizer and reviewed the to-do list for Maretta’s tea party, which was tomorrow.
Hope half-listened as her sister prattled off the list of to-do tasks while the day’s event played through her mind. While she didn’t want to admit it to Claire or Ethan, she was a little scared. If the person who left the note was the person who abducted Lily and then set the fire to Peggy’s house, he or she had gotten too close to Hope’s home for her comfort.
Had she stumbled upon something that could direct the police to the killer? Had she spoken to the killer?
Chapter Nineteen
Hope yawned while her hens vocalized their desire for some free-range time, with Helga the loudest. The four-pound Hamburg hen didn’t like confinement. She preferred roaming in the yard. Hope chuckled at the chick’s independent streak. She admired it. After the water bottles and feed bowls were filled, she opened the door from the barn stall to the enclosed space outside. The hens could come and go as they pleased and still be protected. But, the chickens liked to free-range and Hope believed she benefited from better eggs when they did so. She opened the door of the pen to allow the chickens to venture out to the yard.
In her research, she learned having a dog on the property would deter predators, but it could take months of training the dog not to be a predator himself before he could be left alone with the chickens. However, when Bigelow came to live with Hope, he took to the chickens right away, never once chasing them. Now, if she could get him to take to his obedience training as well as the chickens, she’d be happy.
Another yawn escaped as the last of the hens darted through the doorway and out to the bright, sunny morning. Too bad she didn’t feel as bright and sunny or energetic as her hens. She’d been up past midnight working on her neglected blog and baking scones for Maretta’s tea party. When her alarm went off, she considered hitting the snooze button, but reality hit—she didn’t have time to snooze.
While the White Chocolate Chip Scones and the Lemon Blueberry Scones were made the night before, she still had two more varieties of muffins to bake. Once out of bed, getting dressed was a mad dash. She grabbed a pair of torn jeans and a plaid shirt and slipped into her barn boots before heading out to the chickens. On her way to the barn, she tied her hair into a sloppy ponytail and was grateful no one was around to see her.
When the last hen was out of the coop, she exited the stall and deposited her feed bucket by the grain bin. She took off her work gloves and grabbed the water bottle she brought out with her. She took a drink and as she turned to walk out of the barn, she caught the silhouette of someone standing at the barn doors. Startled, she dropped the water bottle and splashed water over her boots. The silhouetted person came rushing forward and Hope instinctively stepped back, raising her hands. Just when she was about to yell, she recognized the person.
“Brenda? What are you doing here?” Hope bent down to pick up the water bottle and tipped it so the remaining water drained out. Jane’s cautionary words about how Brenda could see Hope as a threat echoed in her ears. She wasn’t about to let down her guard until she found out the reason for Brenda’s surprise visit.
“I’m here to find out what you’re up to.” Brenda waved a rolled-up newspaper in her hand. “What exactly do you want from Cal?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Like you don’t know? You haven’t seen the newspaper this morning?”
“No, I haven’t.” She usually read the newspaper after finishing the barn chores. Hope stepped forward and held out her hand. “May I?”
Brenda gave her the newspaper and waited while Hope unfolded the newspaper and scanned the front page. She gasped at the photograph of her and Cal hugging. Her mind searched for when the photograph could have been taken and recognized it was on the second day of class when she stayed for coffee. Cal had walked her out to her car and they hugged good-bye. Her eyes darted to the byline. Norrie Jenning
s. How on earth did Norrie get the photograph? Arrgh! Her grip on the newspaper tightened.
“Care to explain?”
“Explain?” Hope was taken aback by Brenda’s nerve to show up at her house uninvited and demand an explanation. As Hope explained to Norrie the day before, she didn’t owe anyone an explanation about her life, much less Cal’s assistant. However, alienating the woman wouldn’t help Hope get the answers she desperately needed in order to find the person responsible for Lily’s and Peggy’s deaths.
“It’s not what you think. It was completely innocent. I assure you I have no romantic feelings for Cal. None. We’re just friends.” She wasn’t even sure if they were friends, but she knew what they weren’t, and they weren’t lovers.
Brenda’s lower lip quivered and tears filled her eyes. Her body began to crumble. She was on the verge of a breakdown.
Hope lunged forward and wrapped an arm around Brenda’s midsection. “I have coffee and tea, whichever you prefer. We can talk. Okay?”
Brenda nodded and Hope led her out of the barn. Once they were inside Hope’s kitchen, she settled Brenda at the table and went to heat the teakettle. She snatched a Lemon Blueberry Scone off a tray she’d assembled and plopped it on a plate for Brenda. She’d have to rearrange the tray later since now there was one missing scone. Great, one more thing to do. She shooed Bigelow away from Brenda’s side by tossing him a chew toy to keep him occupied.
“Are you having a party?” Brenda broke off a piece of scone and popped it into her mouth.
“Yes. It’s an English tea party for Maretta Kingston.” The kettle whistled and Hope dropped a tea bag into a mug and then added the hot water. She carried the mug over to Brenda and set it in front of her. She then took a seat opposite Brenda and glanced at the Gazette. She unfolded the paper. While Brenda sipped her tea and composed herself, Hope read the highlights of the article, which recounted the events of the fire, Hope’s visit to the P&Z Commission members, and how she was instrumental in solving a previous murder in early spring. She had to admit, Norrie did a thorough job writing the article.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you the way I did. I saw the photograph and I saw red.”
Hope studied the assistant. Brenda wasn’t young. She was closer to forty than twenty. Her appearance was meek. A drab hair color that didn’t highlight her olive complexion, and shapeless clothing that didn’t show off her figure. Brenda was one of those women you didn’t notice when they entered or left a room.
“How long have you been in love with Cal?”
“From the first day I met him. Foolish, huh? He’s a really good man.” Brenda lifted her chin. “He loved Lily, even though there have been other women.”
Brenda had confirmed what Calista told Hope yesterday. “Sounds like they had a complicated marriage.”
Brenda let out a mirthless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
Hope caught a glimpse of the wall clock in the family room. She was running out of time to finish preparing for her guests. There was a strong chance she’d be hosting in her torn jeans and plaid shirt. “Did any member of the P&Z Commission ever come to the house?”
Brenda looked perplexed by the shift in conversation. From adultery to zoning.
“It’s important, Brenda,” Hope urged.
“Not when I was there. But I did overhear a brief part of a telephone conversation a few weeks ago.”
“What did you hear?” Hope didn’t have time to frame the question in a more tactful way. Her guests would be arriving soon, and she was behind schedule and there was a murderer on the loose.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Lily said she was concerned about the project and couldn’t vote for it in good faith.”
“Did she mention which project?”
Brenda shook her head. “No.”
“Did she ever mention a spa in Westport?”
“Not really. Though, the day before she disappeared, she told me she may be late coming home because she was going to Westport.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No. And she was late getting home that evening.” Brenda pushed the teacup away. “Hope, I’m truly sorry for coming here this morning the way I did. I was completely out of line.”
“Thank you for your apology.”
Brenda sounded sincere and a small part of Hope felt sorry for Brenda. It must’ve been hard being in love with your boss while he was married and dating other women. Not only did Cal have a complicated marriage, he had a complicated life. And it was going to get more complicated once Norrie Jennings got a whiff of his infidelities.
“I guess I shouldn’t let the article get the better of me.” Brenda broke eye contact and her gaze lowered.
Hope’s gaze also lowered and landed back on the article. Norrie had crossed the line, flinging allegations and innuendo sprinkled with just enough facts to get it by her editor so they could sell more copies of the newspaper. She searched deep inside for an inkling of forgiveness toward Norrie, but none was forthcoming.
Brenda stayed a little longer to finish her tea and scone. While they talked, Hope baked the four dozen muffins she needed for the tea party. As she mixed the batter and filled the muffin tins, she did her best to give Brenda a pep talk and encouraged her to spread her wings and find a new job in a new town. The suggestion was well received, and Brenda said she’d consider it after Lily’s funeral. By the time the muffins were cooling, Brenda was at the door saying good-bye and then Hope dashed upstairs to shower and dress for the tea party, with just a few moments to spare before the guests arrived. For the past few days, whenever she thought about the tea party, images of the Mad Hatter and a rabbit flashed in her mind. Not good.
Showered and changed for her guests, Hope surveyed the setup. Along the wall of windows in the family room, tables were arranged for the food, teapots, and pitchers of juice. A mix of heights of the serving pieces added interest to the buffet. She used cake pedestals and square bowls turned upside down to hold large white porcelain platters. She arranged the scones and muffins on the cake pedestals and platters, while freshly cut fruit was artfully arranged on a large tray. Two crystal bowls sat next to each other on the table. Greek yogurt in one, homemade granola in the other.
She stepped back and took in the whole setup. She’d chosen a delicate floral tablecloth for the buffet and tucked vases with tulips between the trays and bowls.
Perfect.
Until she noticed a few of the Lemon Blueberry Scones sat slightly askew. She leaned forward and gently rearranged the scones.
Now it was perfect.
“Quit fussing. It looks beautiful.” Claire approached the buffet with a cup of coffee. “Where did you find all of these?” She pointed to the collection of mismatched teacups with silver spoons nestled together.
“Tag sales mostly.” She’d also set out a stack of plates purchased at a flea market a few weeks ago, along with cloth napkins she snagged at an estate sale in Roxbury.
“Why can’t you shop at a store like normal people?”
“I love the hunt.” Hope scanned the buffet again. Good thing she did because the symmetry was off on the tray of apple cinnamon muffins. She adjusted the spacing of the muffins. She could tweak all day, but her to-do list was already too long. She needed to stop obsessing over the buffet. “We have to talk before people start to arrive.” She glanced at her watch. The guests would be arriving within just a few minutes, so she didn’t have much time to fill Claire in on the front page story in the Gazette. Before she could get the newspaper, the doorbell rang.
“Don’t move. It’s important that we talk.” Hope hurried out of the family room to the front door. She didn’t have to worry about her rambunctious dog as the ladies arrived. She’d arranged a playdate for Bigelow with Buddy at the Madisons’ house. She pulled open the door and found the first arrival was the guest of honor herself, Maretta Kingston.
“You’re the first one here. Please come in.” She held t
he door for Maretta to enter the foyer. “Claire is in the family room.”
“Good. We need to talk.” Maretta looked at Hope. Deep-set lines between her overly plucked eyebrows accentuated the scowl on her drawn face. Her grayish hair was dull but nicely cut into an age-appropriate style. Without another word, she headed for the family room. The full skirt of her polka-dot dress swooshed as her sensible shoes barely made a sound as they marched across the antique wood floor.
Hope shut the door and went after Maretta. Images of the Mad Hatter flashed in her mind. She had a sinking feeling the tea party was doomed.
“Good morning, Maretta.” Claire set her coffee mug on the island. “Hope has everything ready for the guests.”
“Your sister has been a busy bee.” Maretta’s voice was laced with accusation.
“What are you talking about?” Claire asked as Hope reached Maretta’s side.
Maretta gave Hope the once-over. “I saw the newspaper this morning.”
“The Gazette? What about it?” Claire looked to Hope with bewilderment.
Hope stalked over to the magazine basket on the hearth and pulled out the newspaper. She handed it to her sister.
Claire unfolded the newspaper and gasped when she saw the front-page story. “What did you do?”
Hope put up her hands in surrender mode. “Nothing. I swear.”
Maretta wagged her finger at the newspaper. “Scandalous. It’s not fitting for the next mayor of Jefferson to have her sister involved with a suspected killer.”
“Hold on, Maretta. First, Cal and I aren’t involved. And second, he’s not a suspected killer.”
From Maretta’s response to the article, Hope had no doubt the knot forming in her stomach was going to get tighter as the day progressed. She was confident others would have the same reaction. She predicted a lot of explaining on her part.
“It’s always the husband,” Maretta said with conviction.
“I can’t believe this. Do you know how this looks?” Claire let out a loud, exasperated sigh. She folded the newspaper and shoved it into Hope’s hands. “As much as it pains me to say, I have no choice but to agree with Maretta. This is scandalous.”
The Hidden Corpse Page 18