“Yes, I’ve known Audrey a very long time, and I know there’s no way she’s capable of murder, but I don’t feel comfortable with what you’re proposing.”
“I see.” Calista pushed her mug away and shook her head. “I clearly have wasted your time.”
“No, you haven’t. I’ll think about it. I promise.”
“Don’t think too long. We don’t have a large window of time before Audrey’s career crashes and burns. You know how that feels, right?” Calista stood. “I’ll show myself out.”
“You do that.” Hope swiped Calista’s mug off the counter and dumped it into the sink. She would do anything for a friend, but before she made a decision, she needed to talk to Audrey.
* * *
Night settled over Jefferson with a deft hand. After Calista left, Claire remained and Hope prepared a light supper for them. Neither had much of an appetite. All afternoon Hope saw flashes of Peaches’ body, bloodied and lifeless on the floor of Harrison’s study. She hadn’t realized it was possible to have nightmares during the day. Then Reid’s insinuations that Claire could have had a motive for murder fired her up. How could anyone think her sister could be a cold-blooded killer? Sure, Claire was a shark when it came to business, but she was also a loving sister, wife, and mother.
She’d hoped making dinner would ease her anxiety. Some people meditated, Hope cooked. The slicing of vegetables and sizzle of chicken cutlets on the grill pan should have calmed her and eased the tension in her neck, but instead, she found herself chopping the carrots a little too hard.
Claire left just after they finished dinner because she had to pick up her son, Logan, from baseball practice. She hesitated, not wanting to leave her sister to clean up by herself, but Hope insisted she’d be fine. Some quiet time would be good. Before she took care of the dishes, Hope packed up all the cookies for the bake sale the next day. With the cookies taken care of, she turned her attention to the kitchen, and when she looked at the clock, it was only seven thirty.
She knew from experience she’d have a difficult time falling asleep. She desperately needed something to exhaust her physically or else her mind would keep her tossing and turning until morning. A run. The sun had set and she wasn’t a fan of night running, but she didn’t have a choice.
It took only a few minutes for her to change into her running clothes, and out the door she went for a quick, intense run. She made her way down her driveway, past the hedge of boxwoods that lined her property, and onto the sidewalk. She’d head to the center of town, loop around and, she hoped, by then be tired enough to get a few hours of sleep.
Hope quickened her pace. Her sneakers slapped the asphalt as her arms pumped and she began to get into the zone. The night air was cold and still. The silence settled her nerves, which she didn’t realize were on edge. She slowed as she approached Gilbert Madison’s colonial house and saw Gilbert approaching his property with his golden retriever, Buddy.
“Kinda late for a run.” Gilbert came to a halt, Buddy joining him.
Hope stopped and reached down to Buddy to pet him. “It probably is too late, but I needed to run.” She straightened and caught sight of the For Sale sign on his front lawn.
“Peaches put the sign up today. And now she’s dead. Terrible thing.” Gilbert shook his head. Nearing seventy, he was a small man with thin white hair and sparkling blue eyes. But that night, his eyes were somber and his normally big smile was missing.
“Where are you planning on going?” Hope asked.
“A retirement community, Cobb Hill Estates. It’s not far. This place is too big for us to take care of.” He glanced over his shoulder.
“You must have just signed the contract with Peaches.”
Gilbert nodded. “Yesterday afternoon. She told me the house would sell fast. These days, fast is important. I’m not a kid anymore, I can’t wait around for things to happen.”
“Is that why you went with her? Because she told you she could sell your house fast?”
Gilbert’s head dipped slightly. Maybe he felt guilty for not signing with Claire. “You’re not upset I didn’t hire your sister, are you?”
“No, no, of course not.” Hope waved away the silly thought. He had every right to choose the agent he wanted to work with.
“Good. Because having one of you angry at me is enough.”
“Claire’s angry with you?”
“That would be an understatement. I spoke with her about listing the house, but then Peaches showed up the next day with a detailed marketing plan. I made tea, and she told me how she planned on selling my house. I must admit, she is . . . was . . . a pretty girl. Not that Claire isn’t. Peaches was charming. I have a feeling she got men to do a lot of things for her. But, boy, was Claire upset. You know she showed up at my house demanding to know why I chose Peaches.”
“I doubt Claire was that upset.” Hope prayed Gilbert would revisit his statement. The last thing Claire needed was for him to repeat that to the police.
“You know how she gets. There was no reasoning with her. She just stormed off. But I guess now I’ll list with her. I need someone to sell this place. Your sister is quick to anger, but she’s good at what she does.”
Buddy whined and nudged Gilbert’s thigh with his snout.
Gilbert looked down and patted Buddy on the head. “I better get inside. There’s a show on barn pickers in a few minutes. It’s amazing what great finds they turn up in barns that are barely standing. Have a good night.” Gilbert turned, tugged on Buddy’s leash, and headed to his front door.
Hope dragged in a deep breath. So much for a relaxing run. There was no way she’d be sleeping through the night. Not with her sister becoming more and more the primary person of interest in a murder.
Chapter Seven
Hope didn’t know what was worse—the incessant beep of the alarm clock or the nasal voice punctuated with drama at five thirty in the morning.
“What is going on up there in Mayberry? Murder?” Corey Lucas demanded over the telephone from his New York City loft. The reality television producer had kept her number and used it at the most inconvenient times. A creature of his morning ritual, Corey was on his treadmill, which was situated between a mega-screen TV and a wall of windows that looked out to the city skyline. No surprise he chose the TV for his view. The sound of a news anchor filtered through the line. “What happened? Did you see the body? Are you doing interviews?” Her ex-producer’s rapid succession of questions snapped Hope out of her sleep fog.
Wide awake and irritated, she knew the only way to get off the phone was to give him a recap of yesterday’s events. After ten minutes, she managed to get him off the phone and she got out of bed. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, caused by nightmare after nightmare. She flung off her covers and dragged her reluctant, exhausted body off her ultra-comfortable featherbed to start her day.
She plunged into her normal morning routine in hopes of keeping her mind off of the day before. She headed out to the barn to feed the chickens and collect their eggs. After a quick cleanup and with the basket filled, she twisted the knob on the back door and padded through the mudroom to the kitchen and found someone in her kitchen.
“You should lock your doors.” Ethan looked up from his plate of chocolate chip cookies. “See you held some from the bake sale.”
Hope set the basket of colorful eggs from her Araucana hens and speckled eggs from her Guinea hens on the countertop. She liked using the brown eggs for her baking because of their rich yolk.
“They were a part of my recipe testing.” She shrugged off her barn jacket. The mornings, like the evenings, were still cool, and she didn’t expect any significant warmth until mid-May, so having a jacket at the back door was a must.
“You need a recipe for chocolate chip cookies?”
Hope laughed as she moved closer to him. “Of course you do. There are different types of chocolate chip cookies.”
“Is that so?” Ethan held up a cookie and in
spected it.
“Yes, that’s so.” She turned and rested her hand on her hip. “I prefer the soft, chewy chocolate chip cookie. Logan prefers a cakey chocolate chip cookie and you, Ethan Cahill . . .” She studied him.
His dark eyes were fixed on her, a glint of playfulness flicked and a slight grin tugged at his lips.
“What do I prefer?” His voice deepened as he inched forward.
Hope cleared her throat. They were still talking about chocolate chip cookies, right? “You . . . you like crispier chocolate chip cookies.”
He smiled broadly. “You do know me.”
A zing of warmth shot through her. She liked knowing what he liked and she liked that he knew that. She gave herself a mental shake because she was reading too much into their conversation about a cookie.
“I should. I’ve known you since high school.”
Ethan’s younger sister was one of her closest friends, and she spent countless afternoons after school and weekends at the Cahill house.
Ethan was like the big brother she’d never had but always wanted. He played football, drove a Camaro, and dated a cheerleader. Yeah, Ethan was way cool back then. Too cool for a Goody Two-shoes like Hope Early, who spent her free time baking for any fund-raiser, discussing murder mysteries at the library, and running for school government offices. Not much had changed over the years. Hope was still baking, she still enjoyed a good book, and she was focused entirely on her career while Ethan chased after bad guys and carried a gun. Yeah, he was still too cool for her.
“I see you made coffee. I can use two or three cups,” she said.
“Rough night, huh?” Ethan finished the last cookie and set the plate in the sink. He slipped by her and walked to the table with his mug of coffee, then sat at the table. Hope walked over to the coffeemaker and opened the upper cabinet. She pushed aside her The Sweet Taste of Success mug, a souvenir from a time in her life she still couldn’t decide if she should regret or not, and reached for her oversized FAVORITE AUNT mug. For a birthday, Logan filled the mug with a bag of coffee beans and slapped a bow on it. A simple, thoughtful gift she appreciated very much at that moment. She filled the mug to the rim, leaving very little room for milk.
“Corey called first thing this morning.” She took a long drink of the hot beverage. Perfection. Ethan had brewed a pot of coffee just as good as she did. The man had many talents.
“What did he want?”
She shrugged. “He probably wants to develop a reality show based on the murder.” She’d met the twenty-something producer through his life partner, Wilson, who worked with Hope at the cooking magazine, Meals in Minutes. Corey was casting a baking competition show and Wilson thought it would be a great opportunity for Hope. And so did she. After an introduction to Corey and an audition tape, Hope was selected as a competitor. She was naïve to think the show was all about baking skill because her producer couldn’t have cared less about the perfect crème brûlée. He wanted high ratings, and pitting competitor against competitor created conflict and drove ratings. By the end of the first week, she realized what she’d signed up for was a repeat of high school. Mean girls, jocks, and geeks all rolled into one hour of prime time with a side of brownies.
Hope pulled out a mixing bowl and then the flour canister. “While I make pancakes, you can tell me what I owe this visit to.”
Ethan grinned. “I’m just checking up on you.”
She smiled. “Why?”
“It’s my sworn duty to protect all of the citizens of Jefferson.”
“Is that what I am to you? Another job duty?” She arched an eyebrow and waited for his response.
Ethan shifted in his seat and before he could answer, the back door swung open and Drew rushed in, coming to a halt when he saw Ethan. A part of her was relieved Ethan wouldn’t be answering the question because she wasn’t sure what she wanted to be to him.
“My sources tell me there were no fingerprints found on the murder weapon.” Drew shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair at the table. He wasn’t wasting any time getting to the point.
“Your sources? Whom might they be?” Ethan asked.
Drew cocked his head sideways. “I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to reveal them. Coffee?” He turned to Hope.
“Help yourself.” She gestured to the coffeepot.
As Drew poured his coffee, she glanced at the clock on the wall ovens.
“Need to be somewhere?” Ethan asked.
“No. Vanessa was supposed to be here by now. She’s never late.” Hope crossed the kitchen to the seating area and dug through her purse for her cell phone. There were a dozen text messages and one was from Vanessa. “Oh, she’s not coming in today. I guess it’s understandable.” She barely got out of bed herself, and if it weren’t for her hens, she probably would have stayed under the covers.
“Are you whipping up pancakes?” Drew peered into the mixing bowl.
“Yes.” Hope returned to her mixing bowl and shoved him out of her way with a smile.
“So, either the killer wore gloves or the rock was wiped off after striking Peaches on the back of the head, but since there was still blood on the rock, it seems unlikely the killer wiped it,” Drew speculated.
“No comment.” When it came to work, Ethan was tight-lipped and Drew knew that.
But that didn’t stop Drew from digging, so Hope just watched them do their little dance of police procedure versus the people’s right to know.
“Either it was premediated or we have a murderer who had enough presence of mind to remove his or her fingerprints,” Drew said as he joined Ethan at the table. “Which do you think it is, Ethan?”
“No comment.”
“Peaches and Audrey had a tumultuous relationship, and she had access to garden gloves at her house. It’s all very tidy, isn’t it?” Drew grinned, clearly pleased with his deductive reasoning.
“I should be going.” Ethan stood.
“No comment for the press?” Drew asked.
“No.”
“You can’t stonewall me.”
“I’m not trying to. Just make sure you get your facts straight.” Ethan turned to Hope. “I’ll see you later.” He grabbed his uniform jacket off the back of the chair and paused. “It wasn’t because of my sworn duty,” he said to Hope in a low, husky voice.
The unexpected comment took Hope’s breath away. “Okay,” she barely managed to say.
“Any time.” Ethan nodded then exited through the mudroom.
Okay?
What kind of answer was that? He just told her he came to check on her because he cared for her, not because it was his duty. Whoa. They were friends. Of course he’d check on her. She found a dead body yesterday. She shouldn’t go reading more into it than there was.
Drew’s head swung around so he had Hope in full view. “What was that all about?”
Hope shrugged before she ladled pancake batter onto the grill pan. The sizzle confirmed the buttered pan was the right temperature and within minutes she’d have a stack of golden buttermilk pancakes.
“That!” Drew gestured in the direction of the back door. “I’m not blind. What just happened?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hope wanted to avoid the impending discussion because she knew exactly what Drew was talking about. Ethan had been spending more time at her house and they’d shared more meals together. It was a reasonable conclusion to make that their friendship was developing into something more, something bigger.
“Did he spend the night?”
“No.” She flipped the six pancakes and smiled with satisfaction. Perfectly golden brown.
“Just asking.” Drew took a drink of his coffee. “You could do a lot worse.”
“We don’t have that kind of relationship.”
“Too bad,” Drew said with a frown.
Hope had had enough. Now wasn’t the time in her life to pursue a romantic relationship. A distraction was needed to get Drew off of Hope’s nonexistent
love life. She clicked on the television, which was tucked into a corner, and switched to the local morning news channel. As she returned to the pancakes, a Barbie clone read the morning headlines.
“There was a murder in Jefferson yesterday during the book signing of gardening book author Audrey Bloom.”
Hope’s head jerked up just in time to see Audrey’s headshot from her publicity packet. That wasn’t the distraction she was looking for. “Good grief.”
“Following a tour of Ms. Bloom’s garden to promote her new book, the body of local real estate agent Peaches McCoy was found. The cause of death has not been released.”
“She got her head bashed in,” Drew said to the television in a tone that mimicked a five-year-old who knew something the adults didn’t.
Hope moved closer to the television, holding a spatula, ignoring Drew.
“The police and Ms. Bloom had no comment. Also in attendance at the event was Hope Early, Connecticut’s own season-one finalist on the reality show The Sweet Taste of Success and blogger. She hasn’t been reached for comment.”
“That’s the way I want to keep it.” She pointed her spatula at the television screen. “I’m surprised they released her name already. Has her family been notified?”
Drew shook his head. “She doesn’t have any. Her dad died when she was a baby and her mother was killed eleven years ago by a hit-and-run driver.”
“She had no one.” Hope’s heart ached for the dead woman. She couldn’t imagine not having a family, no one to notify if anything happened to her.
Hope turned her attention back to the pancakes. Perfectly golden and ready to be served. She stacked them onto a plate and set it on the table.
“You make the best pancakes.” Drew smothered them with butter and maple syrup then took a bite. “I finally have an exclusive. I thought that would never happen here in Dullsville.”
The Uninvited Corpse Page 6