The Uninvited Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  “I’m okay,” Hope lied.

  Jane was a worrier, a nurturer, and wouldn’t think twice about taking over Hope’s home to care for her. She’d show up with her box of teas, her cure-all chicken soup, and her knitting.

  “Who would have thought there would have been a murder here in Jefferson?” Jane motioned for Hope to move closer to her. “I admit it’s all very exciting.” Her eyes sparkled. “You’ve got yourself quite a mystery.”

  “I have?”

  “Yes, dear. You were my most enthusiastic Mystery Book Club member. You always figured out who did it before anyone else.”

  The Mystery Book Club. When she was a teenager, Hope joined a handful of other kids once a month to read and discuss mystery novels. Jane was the group leader and chief sleuth. Together they worked through the puzzles and discussed the whys and hows of murder. Hope’s mother thought it unseemly for her teenage daughter to be discussing murder as an extracurricular activity. But Hope found it fascinating and never missed a meeting. She often fantasized about being one of the sleuths finding the victim and solving the crime. A chill snaked through her as Peaches’ bloodied body flashed in her mind. Most fantasies didn’t live up to their expectations.

  “They were books. And I’m not a police detective.”

  The older woman waved away the objection. “Neither was Barbara Neal. But that never stopped her.”

  Great. Hope was being compared to Jane’s fictional college coed sleuth.

  “The obvious suspects are Audrey and Harrison. She would be my first choice. She and Peaches were divided on the future of this town. Audrey is very passionate about keeping Jefferson the way it is, and sometimes passion can lead to a deadly mistake.”

  “I can’t believe Audrey would do such a thing, not even in the heat of the moment.”

  Jane nodded. “I know, dear. You see, what I realized is the French doors in the study lead out onto the garden and anyone could have entered through them while we were walking around the property.”

  Hope hadn’t thought of that. Someone who wasn’t attending the event could have entered the house. Could Peaches have been looking for the powder room and mistakenly entered the study? Was it possible Peaches was killed simply because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time?

  “Did you happen to notice if the doors were unlocked or damaged from someone breaking in?”

  Hope shook her head. “I didn’t notice.”

  “Tsk. Tsk. But no need to worry, dear.” Jane patted Hope’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll have another opportunity to look around the crime scene.”

  Hope didn’t have the heart or energy to tell Jane she had no desire to ever enter that room again. “I’m sure the police will do a thorough job investigating Peaches’ death.”

  “They’ll do their best, dear. But they’ll need some help. They always do.”

  Chapter Six

  “Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow?” Hope glanced over to Claire, who was seated in the passenger seat of her SUV.

  Claire let out a dramatic, exasperated sigh. “Are you kidding? This is the break I’ve been waiting for. Do you know how big Whitcomb’s business is? He’s putting developments up and down the East Coast.”

  “A woman was just murdered.” Hope’s gaze shifted back to the road. Winding, narrow roads made up the majority of the northwest hills of Connecticut and it was common to have squirrels or chipmunks dart out in the blink of an eye. In a few hours, as the sun set, deer would be added to that list.

  “It wasn’t me and besides, I didn’t like the woman, so I’m not going to waste time fake mourning for her.”

  “Fake mourning?” Hope shook her head. Her foot eased off the accelerator pedal as she approached a stop sign. What on earth was Claire talking about?

  “You know, when you say all nice things about someone who just died or you cancel a social event out of respect or sign a condolence card with some sappy one-liner.”

  “Sappy one-liner?”

  “Like ‘I’m sorry for your loss, you’re in my prayers.’ Seriously, who really does that?”

  “Someone who is polite.”

  “Well, then they wouldn’t be fake mourning.” Claire didn’t say it, but the implied “duh” was very clear.

  Hope shook her head. She opted not to continue with that conversation thread and to continue through the intersection. When the police had released all of the guests, Hope found Claire on her cell phone arranging a meeting at the real estate office with her boss, Alfred Kingston, and developer Lionel Whitcomb.

  “Look, it’s horrible she was murdered and that it happened on Audrey’s big day, but I have a business to run, a mortgage to pay, and two kids to put through college. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll wear black tomorrow.”

  “This isn’t about me.”

  “Then who is this about? Me?”

  “Yes. Taking over her listing just hours after her murder could shine an unfavorable light on you.”

  “What the heck are you talking about?”

  Hope flicked on her turn signal and made a left onto Main Street. The Jefferson Town Real Estate office was just ahead. “You could have a motive for murder.”

  “Says who?”

  “Detective Reid.”

  “He said that?”

  “Well, not in so many words. He implied it.”

  “Ridiculous. I didn’t murder anyone.”

  “I know.” Hope pulled into a space outside the row of brick buildings. The center one was where Claire worked. The window was cluttered with printouts of available homes in town and the surrounding area.

  “Then why are we talking about this?”

  Hope let out a deep sigh. To continue the conversation was pointless. Claire had no intention of canceling the meeting. Being the big sister, she always knew what was right. Well, at least she liked to think she did. “Here we are. Go to your meeting.”

  “Thanks for the lift. I’ll have someone give me a ride home afterwards.”

  “Good. I wasn’t planning on coming back for you.”

  Claire flashed a grin. “Love you, too, Sis.” She eased out of the car and closed the door behind her.

  Hope watched her sister enter the building. When the door closed behind Claire, Hope saw Wallace Green approach her car. He owned a landscaping business in town and knew most of the residents either from his mowing services or his award-winning hardscape design work. He’d been on Hope’s list of calls to make since she bought her house. He had a deep frown etched on his face. He’d heard already and, by dinnertime, the news would be all over Jefferson. She pressed the button to lower the passenger-side window.

  “Is it true?” Wallace leaned in after removing his baseball cap that had the logo of his company embroidered on it. He ran his fingers through his thinning brown hair. “Peaches was murdered?”

  Hope nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “My word, how is this possible? Murdered in Audrey’s house? I can’t wrap my brain around it.”

  “Tell me about it. Seeing her there . . .” Hope’s words trailed off as her throat tightened. Peaches’ body flashed in her mind.

  “You saw her?”

  Hope nodded again because she couldn’t form the simple word yes.

  “That must have been horrible.”

  Wallace’s devastated look forced Hope to pull herself together. Everybody in town was going to feel awful, whether they liked Peaches or not. Hope couldn’t think of one person who wouldn’t be saddened or horrified by a murder. Her friend was grieving and she needed to be strong for him. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Do the police have any idea of who did it?”

  “No one was arrested. I don’t know what kind of leads they have.”

  “I hope they catch the killer and throw away the key.”

  “Did you know Peaches?”

  “No, not really. Only met her a few times. She was a client. We mowed her lawn. Are you playing detective, Hope? Did Jane Merrifield put you up to
this?”

  “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

  Wallace grinned. “You were the shining star in our mystery reading group. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that. You always figured out who did it before anyone else. You probably should have become a cop instead of a blogger. I better get back to the office. I’ll call you later.” Wallace pushed off of the car door and walked to the curb, then crossed when there was no traffic. If she was a cop, Hope would have given Wallace a ticket for jaywalking. He was right, she was a blogger, not a sleuth, and besides, she didn’t have time to go digging into a murder investigation. She had full confidence in Ethan’s police department to conduct a thorough investigation that would prove Claire had no part in the murder. Claire was innocent.

  * * *

  The back door of Hope’s kitchen swung open and Claire burst in, waving the North Country Gazette, the daily newspaper serving Litchfield County.

  “Peaches McCoy is dead.” Claire slammed the door shut.

  Good thing Hope was baking cookies and not a soufflé.

  “We already know that. And it made the paper already?” Hope continued scooping spoonfuls of oatmeal cookie dough onto prepared baking sheets.

  “No! But there was an article on Whitcomb’s development on the front page.” Claire’s voice held a hint of mirth.

  Hope shook her head. After she returned home from the garden tour, she’d spent a couple of hours in a funk. She wasn’t sure what to do first. E-mails, barn chores, bake cookies, or just collapse on the sofa and watch mindless television. She chose to put on her apron and bake.

  The soothing hum of the stand mixer, the productive whizzing of the food processor, and the satisfying tick of the timer put everything right in Hope’s world. At least for a little while.

  “I’m certain Peaches manipulated, lied, and probably seduced Lionel Whitcomb to get the listing for the Hunting Hills development.”

  With one subdivision under way and another ambitious one just approved, developer Lionel Whitcomb’s name was on everyone’s lips those days. Though what usually followed wasn’t very flattering, at least from those opposed to new building in Jefferson.

  “Ah,” Hope acknowledged, with careful neutrality. “Is that what you plan to do?”

  “God, no! I can’t imagine how she could have slept with that slob. Obviously, she didn’t have standards. Besides, I’m married.” Claire tossed the newspaper on the island countertop.

  Hope didn’t want to discuss anyone’s sex life. The day had been too brutal, and she hadn’t had enough coffee. “What happened to talking about the weather?”

  “The weather? My career is going down the toilet and you want to talk about the weather? Well, maybe not completely down the toilet. With Miz Pits gone, Whitcomb is seriously considering me to be the exclusive agent for Hunting Hills. I impressed him at our meeting, and I just happen to be the agency’s number one agent now, since Miz Pits bit the dust.”

  “Stop it! You do realize you just admitted you have a motive for killing her? You don’t want to repeat any of what you just said to anyone. Got it?”

  Claire nodded, and Hope prayed she understood the gravity of her words. “Okay, I get it. I just need a listing like this.”

  “Hunting Hills won’t be the last subdivision in town. Unfortunately.”

  “Not you, too? For goodness sakes, wake up and smell the dollar per square foot. That land is a desirable location. How could it not be developed?” Claire reached for a cookie and broke it in half.

  Hope sighed. “Desirable location? You know how much I hate that phrase.” She looked out the window over her soapstone sink and scanned the towering trees that rose out of the thawing ground. Nearly every day she saw glimpses of deer grazing, wild rabbits hopping about, or that big old woodchuck ambling across her property. In her heart, that was what made property valuable.

  “It’s a fact of life.”

  “It’s a curse.”

  “Oh, please. You’re starting to sound like some tree hugger.”

  Hope looked sharply over her shoulder. “Maybe I should become more active in the fight to protect and preserve my hometown. Lord knows you won’t.”

  Claire began to open her cookie-filled mouth to protest, but Hope raised her hand and continued, “I don’t have time to debate the pros and cons of development.”

  “Good, because that’s not why I’m here.”

  “I have a ton of things to do. And on top of everything else, I’m working the bake sale.” She shouldn’t have volunteered, but she wanted to be a part of the community again. All she’d been doing since trading New York City for Jefferson was working. Her days were filled with writing content for her blog, promoting her blog through social media, and settling into her newly purchased home. But she loved every hardworking minute of it.

  Hope picked up one of the chocolate chip cookies off the rack and bit into it. The warm, dark morsels melted and swirled together with the comforting richness of butter and fresh eggs from her hens. She’d found heaven again, despite the not-so-angelic blonde sitting in her kitchen.

  She slid a couple of cookie sheets into the bottom oven of her two wall ovens and set the timer. “Can we please talk about something other than Peaches McCoy and the deadly garden tour?” Hope had planned on keeping busy to distract her from thinking about the gruesome day. What she hadn’t planned on was her sister revisiting it.

  Claire cocked her head sideways. “Okay. How’s the dating going? Seeing anybody?”

  Hope should have been clearer. Conversations about Peaches, the state of the economy, or her nonexistent love life were off limits. Every few weeks her sister brought up the topic of her not dating, which was followed by Drew and then by everyone else in her life. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought her family and friends had rotations scheduled.

  “Ethan’s been hanging around a lot more lately. Has he spent the night yet?”

  The doorbell chimed, interrupting Claire’s inquiring, much to Hope’s delight. She was too confused by her feelings to explain them to someone else. Even her sister.

  “I’m not expecting anyone,” Hope said.

  “I’ll go see.” Claire hurried out of the kitchen and moments later returned. “You have a visitor.”

  Hope looked up from her baking sheet of cookies. Calista Davenport was standing next to her sister. She was the last person she’d expected to show up, since she wasn’t the drop-by-for-a-quick-visit kind of woman. Calista’s life, scheduled down to the minute, was managed by a calendar app on her smartphone, and Hope doubted she was a to-do item on that calendar. Calista’s gait was long as she made her way across the wide pumpkin pine floorboards. She glanced at the spots where the flooring creaked.

  “It’s over a hundred years old.” Hope found the salvage flooring in Vermont. Since buying her house, she’d gone on hunts for doorknobs to floors to light fixtures. Some of the excursions resulted in fantastic finds like the pumpkin pine floorboards while others were busts, but she and Drew had some fun road trips.

  Calista smiled. “How charming.”

  Hope had heard that compliment often, and was very proud of the home she loved. The kitchen and family room of the farmhouse seamed together into one large space, creating the keeping room. Without question, it was her favorite part of the house. A cooking hearth, original to the house, stood solid at the end of the room. Twelve over twelve paned windows lined the south side of the room and looked out over her expansive gardens and her classic red barn.

  “I wasn’t expecting a visit from you.” Hope cleaned her hands on a towel.

  “I apologize for just dropping by, but I’d like to speak with you.” Calista glanced over to Claire. “Privately.”

  “Oh, I see. Okay. I’ll check my messages.” Taking her cue, Claire turned and walked out of the kitchen.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “You can help me try and save what’s left of Audrey’s career.”

  “W
hat are you talking about? I thought the book had good pre-orders and she mentioned she got good merchandising in all of the retailers.”

  “Yes, but that was before today. What happened at her house is all over the Web.”

  “Oh, I see. Would you like a cup of coffee?” Hope moved over to the coffeemaker and grabbed two mugs from a cabinet.

  “Yes, thank you.” Calista stepped to the island and sat on a stool. “We should have stopped Audrey from getting involved with the development battle in town. We thought the controversy would be good for her brand, which is home and hearth, and her taking on a big developer and the town government to protect her town . . . well, that was good PR.”

  “Until it wasn’t.” Hope pulled out a milk carton from the refrigerator.

  Calista took a long drink of her coffee. “Correct. The woman who was murdered is the woman Audrey went head-to-head with at the town council meeting. From what I heard, they got into a nasty argument.”

  “Don’t scandals sell books?”

  “In some cases. And believe me, this isn’t one of those cases. My boss isn’t happy.”

  “You said you want me to help. How can I do that?”

  “You have a very prominent social media presence. You’re an influencer. I need you to pledge your support for Audrey. She had the misfortune of being tangentially involved with a tragic death.”

  Hope swung her head up, almost choking on her sip of coffee. Calista Davenport, editor of countless bestselling books and maker of dozens of authors’ careers, was asking for her help. She wanted Hope to use her small piece of the Internet to preempt the negative publicity that would swell due to the murder. She set her mug down on the soapstone countertop.

  “Your publishing house has a publicity department. Can’t they do what you’re asking?”

  “Of course they can, but it won’t mean anything because it’s coming from her publisher. You, on the other hand, are a friend, longtime friend, right? You’ve known Audrey since high school. You knew her parents and her grandmother. You know how hard she’s worked and what she’s sacrificed to get where she is today. Your followers will know whatever you say about her comes from the heart and not from a profit-and-loss statement. Which means they’ll click on the share button and share with their friends and so on.”