Elaine Whitcomb sat on the edge of the love seat and avoided eye contact with anyone. She shifted in her seat and fidgeted her hands. She and Peaches had one thing in common. They both had difficulty making friends. Though it looked like Peaches did make a deadly enemy.
Hope’s sister stood with her arms crossed over her chest and her brow furrowed deeply.
Her focus was on the garden. She hadn’t moved since they were shuffled outside, other than to complain that the police officer had the nerve to take down her birthdate. It was common for her to shave a few years off her age, and she probably would have preferred to confess to murder than to actually say her birth year.
Maretta Kingston sat alone at the long dining table. The middle-aged woman sat very straight with her hands clasped on the table. Her gaze was fixed on the lawn, and she hadn’t uttered a word since she squawked about being detained and that the mayor would hear about the police’s abuse of power.
The remaining guests were scattered throughout the patio. Audrey had created the perfect entertaining space, and Hope bet her friend never expected the space to be used for witness detention. The police had requested they not discuss any part of the investigation. Hope wondered if the police knew they were up against a difficult crowd. The gossip chain was alive and well in Jefferson, with many of its active participants right there on the patio.
One of the French doors swung open and Drew stepped onto the patio. The fact he was the only reporter on the scene allowed him limited access to the investigation. This advantage gave him what he’d been dying for—an exclusive. He made a beeline for Hope and leaned in close.
“Peaches was texting when she was murdered,” he whispered into Hope’s ear.
She looked at him and mouthed, “What?”
He grabbed her by the arm and they moved onto the lawn to continue their conversation without having to use sign language.
“How do you know that? The police told you?” Hope asked.
“While you were busy calling the police, I took a look around and found her phone. You must have missed it.”
Having never found a dead body before, Hope had been too distracted to search the study. “Someone had to call for help. Did you read the message?”
Drew nodded. “She didn’t complete the message before she died.”
“What did it say?”
“It was to someone named Matt and she confirmed their meeting tomorrow.”
Hope shrugged. “Probably just a client.”
“I don’t think so. She texted that she didn’t find what they needed.”
“What was she looking for?”
“Don’t know.”
“So that’s why she came here today. Not for the tour but to search Harrison’s study.”
“Maybe she thought with everyone busy with the tour and the book signing, no one would notice that she had slipped away to search the room.”
Hope took a sweeping look across the patio. “Maybe Jane was right. Maybe this garden tour was destined to end with murder.”
* * *
“I just have a few questions for you, Ms. Early,” Detective Sam Reid said.
“I understand.” Hope seated herself across from him at the dining-room table.
The detective wasn’t a physically imposing man. His slight, thin build didn’t hint at the fact he’d been a police officer for over ten years. His thick eyebrows cast a shadow over his dark, narrow eyes that seemed capable of pinpointing deception a mile away with precision.
“You were cleaning up when you discovered Ms. McCoy’s body, is that correct, Ms. Early?”
Hope nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“Didn’t Mrs. Bloom hire people to do that?”
Hope nodded again. “Yes. I was just helping. You know what they say, many hands make light work.” She paused because she was on the verge of rambling.
Reid studied her for a moment. The brief instant of silence was deafening for Hope. What was he thinking? Did he think she killed Peaches? That was ridiculous. But one of the guests had to be the killer.
“What did you see when you entered the room?”
Hope filled him in on what happened from the moment she entered the study to the moment she found Peaches’ body. How many more times would she have to tell the tale?
“Prior to the incident, had you spoken with the deceased?”
“Briefly when she came into the kitchen. She had a coffee stain on her sweater, and I tried to pre-treat it for her so she’d be able to get the stain out later, but she didn’t want to be bothered doing that. She said she had ‘a life.’ ” Hope realized what she’d just said in her rambling. “Oh, guess she was wrong.”
Detective Reid jotted down some notes. “To your knowledge, Ms. McCoy wasn’t invited to today’s event?”
“No, she wasn’t.”
“Did Ms. McCoy indicate why she showed up today?”
“Not to me.”
“Do you know if she spoke to anyone today?”
Hope shrugged. “I didn’t notice. I was busy.”
“Helping out?”
Hope nodded.
“Why would Ms. McCoy not have been invited today?”
“You’ll have to ask Audrey. This was her event. And she made the decision on the guest list.”
“Your sister, Claire Dixon, wasn’t on the guest list. She also showed up uninvited.”
“She came as my guest.”
“Why wasn’t your sister invited?”
“She’s not a gardener.”
Reid frowned. “She’s a real estate agent who is pro-development in town. Which Mrs. Bloom is fighting against, so it makes sense she wouldn’t be invited to a social event hosted by Mrs. Bloom.”
Hope shifted in her seat. Why was he asking about Claire? He needed to focus on finding the killer. She locked in on his steely gaze, and a pit formed in her stomach. Detective Reid was focusing on finding the killer by asking about Claire.
“Your sister and Ms. McCoy worked at the same real estate agency, and by nature real estate agents are competitive.”
“Claire is a smart businesswoman.”
“I’m sure she is. Is it true Ms. McCoy was chosen as the listing agent for Lionel Whitcomb’s new development over your sister?”
“Why are you asking? Do you think my sister had something to do with the murder?”
“I’m just asking a few questions, trying to gather the facts.”
“Well, let me save you some time. Claire isn’t your murderer. From what I know, Peaches didn’t have many friends here in Jefferson. Perhaps you should be asking some other questions.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need assistance with my time management.”
“Are we finished? I’d like to go home.”
“Yes, we’re finished . . . for now. Everyone will be permitted to leave shortly. We do apologize for the inconvenience.”
Hope stood to walk away. Her feet speed walked toward the closed door. She wanted to put a lot of distance between herself and the detective. She didn’t like the questions he asked about her sister and her relationship with Peaches.
“Oh, one more thing, Ms. Early.”
Hope cringed. She wasn’t fast enough. She stopped and turned to face the detective, bracing herself.
“The fact that you are a close, personal friend with the chief won’t keep me from doing my job.”
Hope stiffened. Personal? The way he said the word made her relationship with Ethan sound dirty, almost bad. Was she supposed to feel ashamed for being friends with him, caring about him or for thinking of him as sweet and delicious? Okay, the last part might be a little embarrassing to admit out loud. But who was Detective Reid to cast judgment on their relationship, whatever it was?
“I wouldn’t expect that it would. Now, if there’s nothing else, it’s been a long day, as you know.” Hope walked out of the dining room, closing the door behind her. For a moment she stood motionless as her frayed nerves settled. She should have neve
r agreed to bring Claire with her to the garden tour because now she was a murder suspect.
Chapter Five
Hope knocked on Audrey’s bedroom door and waited for a response. Audrey had been allowed to go to her room to pack a bag for herself and Harrison since the police informed them the house was a crime scene and they couldn’t stay there. An officer permitted Hope to go upstairs and help Audrey. Hope knocked on the door again.
“Audrey, it’s me.” Hope tried to gather her thoughts. What did you say to a friend whose house was a crime scene because of a murder? Everything that came to mind was just lame. It was probably best to listen. Yes, she’d give Audrey a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on, if necessary.
Footsteps approached the other side of the door, and the door opened slowly. Audrey gestured for her to enter.
“I’m so glad it’s you. This is just awful.” Audrey turned and walked back to her chaise lounge, where there were two large overnight bags surrounded by neatly folded clothing.
Hope entered the elegant room, where antique and reproduction furnishings mixed together effortlessly. Placed in the center of the room was a four-poster bed piled high with luxury pillows. Between two windows, which offered magnificent views of the garden, a skirted vanity stood. Beloved objects were grouped together on top of a mirrored tray. Among them was Audrey’s most treasured possession, her grandmother’s jewelry box. Her life seemed as manicured as her perfect gardens.
Except on that day. There was a corpse in her study.
Hope closed the door behind her. “How are you holding up?”
“This doesn’t make sense. Why did she even come here today?” Audrey looked at Hope, her red, swollen eyes searching for an answer. She’d removed her makeup, leaving her face pale and tired. Her image of fine living had disappeared and was replaced by exhaustion and fear. Audrey had every right to be fearful. A woman she despised was murdered under her roof.
“What could she have wanted? For God’s sake, why did she have to die here?”
“I doubt she planned to die,” Hope said.
“Well, if she hadn’t come here, she wouldn’t be dead downstairs.” Tears streamed down Audrey’s face. She tried in vain to wipe them away with her hands.
Hope snatched a tissue from the vanity and handed it to her friend. She returned to the vanity and sat on the petite chair. For a brief moment, she felt like a princess. A princess caught in a murder.
“Could she have come here hoping to use the tour as a distraction to look for something? The desk looked like it had been searched,” Hope said.
“That’s impossible. What on earth could she have been looking for?” Audrey had wiped away her tears and began packing both bags. The police had said they should have their investigation within the house completed by tomorrow and the Blooms could return home.
“What does Harrison keep in his study? In his desk?”
“Financial papers, work documents. I’m not sure. When he gets home I’m sure he’ll tell the police.” Audrey zipped one bag and then walked into her closet and came out with a pair of jeans she placed into her bag.
As Audrey continued packing, Hope tried to figure out what Peaches had been looking for and who she would have been sharing that information with. Harrison worked for Northwest CT Bank, which had branches throughout the state. Most likely any work documents he had were kept on his computer and not in a desk drawer. A knock at the door pulled Hope out of her thoughts.
“Mrs. Bloom, it’s Chief Cahill.”
Hope’s head swung around. Ethan’s deep, steady voice was exactly what she needed to hear. She needed the reassurance that everything was going to be okay. She glanced back at Audrey, who gestured for her to open the door for Ethan.
Hope crossed the room and opened the door. In uniform, there was no mistaking Ethan Cahill’s solid broadness, which slipped by her earlier in the morning because she’d been distracted by the pastry bag. What she would have given to be back at her kitchen table eating cinnamon buns with Ethan.
His strong hands rested on his hips and a flash of annoyance flickered in his dark espresso eyes. Maybe that could have been due to the fact that everyone was supposed to have remained outside and she knew the newbie officer had made an exception for her by allowing her upstairs.
“I’d like a word with you,” Ethan said.
Uh-oh. Hope faintly smiled at Audrey “I’ll be right back.” Unless she got escorted off the property or arrested for interfering in a police investigation. Either way, it wouldn’t be good. Still, she closed the door behind her as she stepped out into the hall.
“What can I do for you?” she asked softly.
The flicker of annoyance in Ethan’s eyes deepened and his jaw tightened. “You can tell me what you’re doing up here. This house is a crime scene now.”
Even though he was clearly displeased with Hope at the moment, his nearness calmed her. He was her rock. An angry rock at the moment, though.
“I wanted to check on Audrey. Help her pack since Harrison isn’t home so she could get out of the house faster, leaving your officers free to do their jobs without anyone interfering.” Her ex-producer, Corey Lucas, would have been proud of the spin she put on disobeying a police directive.
“I spoke with Harrison a little while ago. He’s on his way home.” With his hand, Ethan guided Hope away from the bedroom door.
His touch on the small of her back sparked a surprising sensation of warmth through her body. She tried to focus on what Ethan had just said and not the tingling in her body, at what was the most inappropriate time.
“You’d think he’d be here by now, considering what has happened.”
“I talked with Reid. You said you only spoke with Ms. McCoy once today.” Ethan pulled out a pen and a small pad from his jacket pocket.
“Briefly. She came into the kitchen and I tried to remove a coffee stain from her sweater.”
Ethan grinned. “Of course you did.”
Hope chose to ignore his little dig, even though it was all in good fun. “She was only in the kitchen for a few minutes.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much. She didn’t say why she was here, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A slamming door interrupted them. Hope suspected Harrison had arrived home. She was right. Heavy footsteps ascended the staircase and she caught a glimpse of his silver hair.
“Chief Cahill.” Harrison reached the top of the landing.
Ethan crammed his notepad into his jacket pocket and said to Hope, “Excuse me.”
Hope couldn’t miss the stern look on Harrison’s face, his mouth drawn tight and his forehead furrowed. She thanked her stars she didn’t have to deal with him. The two men exchanged words and neither looked pleased with the other.
“This is my house . . .” Harrison’s voice boomed in the hall. “I want your people gone.” Not waiting for a response, he brushed past Ethan and headed toward his bedroom.
Hope braced herself. She wouldn’t be able to get out of his way fast enough. His stride was long and it took only seconds, really nanoseconds, before he reached her.
She’d never seen him look so angry. At six feet, he towered over her. His nostrils flared and his steel blue eyes bore down on her. He was beyond angry. He was furious.
“You look terrible. You should go home and get some rest.” He opened his bedroom door and closed it behind him.
“He’s right.” Ethan approached Hope.
Her brows arched. “That I look terrible?”
“That you should go home and get some rest.”
“Do you have any suspects?”
“You know I can’t comment.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Rest assured we will complete a thorough investigation. This is a police matter. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” What Hope understood was that Detective Reid was interested in Claire and, considering his job was to arrest someone for murder, that wasn’t a good thing.<
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Two doors down, Maretta appeared from the hall bathroom. “Chief Cahill, may we leave now?”
“Has everyone disregarded police instructions?” Ethan asked.
“If you must know, I needed to use the facilities and the one downstairs was occupied and you have seen fit to block off access to the kitchen, so I couldn’t use the one in that area of the house. What was I supposed to do, go in the woods?”
Hope shot Ethan a “glad you asked?” look.
He cleared his throat. “We’re doing the best we can, given the circumstances.”
“If you didn’t realize, the library is setting up for its annual bake sale and it takes many hands to do that. May I leave or am I still under house arrest or patio arrest? Really, keeping us outside like pet dogs. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
The bake sale. Hope cringed. She’d forgotten, but Maretta hadn’t. While she saw Peaches death as a tragedy, Maretta viewed it as an inconvenience.
“You haven’t been under house arrest, Mrs. Kingston,” Ethan corrected her.
“That’s your perspective.” Maretta directed her gaze to Hope. “I saw you signed up to volunteer after several years of not participating.”
Maretta would expect Hope to drop everything in her life while living in New York City to come back to Jefferson to sell cookies at the library.
“I’m baking extra cookies this year, too,” Hope said. Maybe that would appease the older woman.
Maretta stiffened. “I see.”
No appeasement.
With a huff, Maretta turned and walked to the staircase. Her bony hand held tightly onto the banister as if she needed help with her balance. She descended the carpeted stairs slowly.
“Shall we?” Ethan stepped aside to allow Hope to follow Maretta down the stairs.
“Everyone can go home now. And I mean go home.”
* * *
The early afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the foyer and backlit Jane Merrifield as she opened the hall closet.
“Do you need any help?” Hope offered as she came off the last step of the staircase. Apparently the guests were allowed back into the entry hall to gather their personal belongings as an officer stood watch.
Jane pulled her coat out of the closet and slipped it on. “Today has been dreadful. You know, a cup of chamomile tea will make you feel better,” she advised.
The Uninvited Corpse Page 4