The Uninvited Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  “What do you have so far?” Hope retrieved her mug then sat down at the table across from Drew.

  “Well, I discovered the body.”

  “We,” Hope corrected.

  Drew shrugged at the minor detail. “Whatever. I have a partial text message to an unknown person. I also have photos of the crime scene.”

  “Photos? You took photos?”

  “I did. While you were calling the police, I snapped a few photos with my phone. Wanna see?”

  “What do you think? Show me.”

  Drew pulled out his phone and tapped on the photo app. He handed her the phone, and Hope swiped through the photos. She cringed at the bloody scene. She’d hoped she would forget what Peaches looked like at that moment. Now she’d have to start all over again.

  “It looks like Peaches was searching for something. A couple of the desk drawers were pulled open and the file cabinet in the credenza was opened. It doesn’t look like a very precise search. It looks like Peaches had no idea of where to look.”

  “What were all those papers?” Hope asked.

  “Personal and household papers. None of it seemed important.” Drew took another mouthful of pancakes.

  Hope handed Drew his phone back. “I doubt Harrison kept business files in his home office. Everything is on a tablet or computer or a flash drive nowadays.”

  “When you spoke with Audrey before we left, did you ask her why Peaches showed up?”

  Hope nodded. “She said she had no idea.”

  “So she shows up uninvited and then is murdered. Who did it?” Drew asked.

  Hope helped herself to the two remaining pancakes and drizzled maple syrup over them, then took a bite. As she chewed, she ran a mental list of who was in attendance yesterday. She never thought she’d be making up a list of possible murder suspects from the people who lived in her hometown. The names belonged on a Christmas card list, not a most-likely-to-commit-murder list. But remembering her interview with Detective Reid yesterday afternoon, any hesitation she had vanished. Of all the guests, Claire had been the most vocal about her dislike for Peaches. Hope wasn’t going to let her sister get railroaded for a crime she didn’t commit.

  “Maretta was there yesterday. What motive could she have had? Maybe since Peaches didn’t volunteer at the bake sale.”

  “Or, how about if she felt her marriage was threatened?” Drew asked.

  “What? Alfred and Peaches?” Hope couldn’t hold back her laughter. The sixty-plus balding Realtor had hairy ears and a belly that hung over his increasing belt size. Not quite stud material. “Are you serious? He’s as sexy as an elf.”

  Drew gave her a sideways glance. “What do you have against elves?”

  Hope shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “Sally was also there.”

  “No. If Elaine had been the victim, then I would consider her a suspect. Sally only cared about the garden club. She didn’t have anything against Peaches. Unlike Audrey,” Hope said.

  “What about Elaine?”

  Hope shrugged. “She does come across as a woman who could be jealous of other women who are around her husband. Lionel and Peaches had to have spent a lot of time together.”

  “Jealousy. Yes. A rage like that could have been enough to make her pick up a rock and smash it into Peaches’ head.”

  Hope shivered at the visual. Discussing a cold-blooded murder over pancakes seemed surreal. Who had conversations like that? Ethan, since he was a cop. Jane, since she was a mystery writer years ago. But not Hope. She was a blogger.

  “Or Claire.”

  “Drew!”

  “I’m sorry, hon. I’m a journalist and I need to remain objective.”

  “Why does everyone think Claire killed Peaches?”

  “Well, duh, she wanted the new subdivision listing, the one Audrey was fighting against, right? It would have been a nice commission check for her. With Peaches out of the way, she’d have no opposition.”

  That was exactly what Claire had said yesterday. And probably what Detective Reid thought. Hope chewed on her lower lip. In a matter of twenty-four hours, she went from baking cookies to finding a woman dead to friends and family becoming murder suspects.

  “So, what you are you going to do? You know you have to do something,” Drew said.

  “Why me?”

  “You were Jane’s most enthusiastic member of the mystery reading group when we were kids. You always knew who the killer was before any of us. You realize, you were very annoying back then.” Drew grinned. He liked teasing Hope.

  Hope smiled. She remembered all those weekly meetings at the library. Jane led the discussions while Sally kept an eye on all of them to make sure the library’s rules were being enforced. The two sisters-in-laws couldn’t have been more different. Hope kept a black-and-white composition notebook for each book they read, and she made meticulous notes, which allowed her to solve the mysteries before anyone else in the reading group. And much to her dismay, Drew had a point. She couldn’t very well stand by and do nothing. Besides, what harm could asking a few questions do?

  Chapter Eight

  By noon business was brisk at the bake sale. Patrons and volunteers filled the Jefferson Public Library’s community room. The large space hadn’t changed since Hope was a little girl. Paintings from local artists hung on the walls, a tall bookcase held editions of books authored by local writers, including Jane Merrifield’s handful of novels, and opposite the bookcase was a fireplace that was used solely for ambiance. Dozens of people milled around, checking out all the treats for sale, sampling and buying until their pastry boxes were stuffed. Tucked in a back corner, there were cloth-covered round tables where customers could sit and enjoy their baked goods. Hope had to give Maretta credit. It was a genius idea. They ate what they’d purchased and then had to buy more to take home.

  Hope stood behind her assigned table. She was selling out fast. She’d baked dozens of three varieties and provided her own stainless-steel trays, along with pastel napkins. Tucked under her table were the containers she’d transported the cookies in. Like always, they’d go home empty. She’d almost sold out when Meg stopped by to check in with her.

  “Oh, my, you don’t have many cookies left.” Meg surveyed the table. “I think you’ll be the first one to be officially sold out.”

  “Well, this isn’t a competition.” Hope waved away Meg’s comment.

  Meg tilted her head, and she smiled a little too sweetly. “Too bad, you’d win this one.”

  Hope forced a smile because she’d learned, since being on the Sweet Taste of Success, there were three types of people. The first group was impressed by her fifteen minutes of fame. The second group was jealous of her fifteen minutes of fame. The final group had no idea she’d had fifteen minutes of fame, and once they found out, they didn’t care. Meg fell into the second group. Hope realized early those people just weren’t worth her effort of engaging with them. She simply smiled, stepped away, and carried on with her life. But she couldn’t step away at the moment because she had cookies to sell.

  “Hope should have won The Sweet Taste of Success. She was the best baker on that show.” Jane came to Hope’s defense.

  “Of course she was. I absolutely adore her cookies.” Meg swept back her bangs. Her pixie haircut complemented her round face, though her smile looked frozen and about to crack.

  “Thank you.” Hope dipped down and reappeared with a stack of smaller trays. She swiftly moved the remaining cookies onto the trays while Meg and Jane looked on curiously. “Oh, downsizing the platters make the cookies look more abundant and that way more appealing.” She discarded the larger trays and then tidied up the cookies.

  “These look absolutely delicious.” A woman approached the table. “I’ll take a half dozen of each.” She handed Hope a pastry box.

  “Half dozen it is.” Hope filled up the box and then accepted the payment. The happy customer walked away, making her way along the long line of tables.

 
“Very nice, dear.” Jane handed Hope a dollar and snatched two chocolate chip cookies. “Keep the change. Have either one of you spoken with Audrey yet?”

  “No,” Meg answered.

  “Same here. I’ve left a couple of voice mails for her.”

  “Where did she go last night?”

  “To a hotel. She and Harrison are going to stay there a couple of days,” Hope said.

  “Smart move. What happened yesterday was all over the news this morning. I can’t imagine being in Audrey’s situation right now. Leave it to Peaches McCoy to get herself killed in a place she wasn’t supposed to be in the first place.” Meg looked away quickly.

  Hope wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed by what she’d just said or if she was surveying the bake sale. She was one of the volunteer coordinators and she answered to Maretta, so Hope didn’t have any doubt Meg wanted everything to go perfectly.

  “I doubt that was her plan for yesterday,” Hope said.

  “Though it does raise the question as to why Peaches was there. Had someone invited her? Why?” Jane asked.

  “I didn’t understand the woman when she was alive, and I have no interest in understanding her now that she’s dead. I have to get back to work.” Meg walked away.

  Meg stopped at several tables before disappearing into the back room, which normally served as a storeroom and was turned into command central for the bake sale. Since early the day before, boxes and trays of desserts had been dropped off, as well as the supplies for the sale. Every now and then Hope saw one of Maretta’s inner-circle volunteers scurry back there to replenish supplies. At the opposite end of the community room, near the elevator, a beverage table was set up. Coffee, tea, or a tall glass of milk were available for a nominal fee. Maretta knew how to squeeze every penny from the supporters of the library. But nobody seemed to mind because traffic had been steady since the doors opened at ten.

  “Now that she’s gone, tell me everything you know so far.” Jane leaned over the table.

  “I don’t know anything more than I did yesterday.” Hope took a sip from her bottled water. With business being brisk, she hadn’t taken a break. She was thirsty, hungry, and her feet hurt, even though she’d had the foresight to wear very sensible shoes. It would be a long day, so the right footwear was important. She’d pulled her long, brunette hair up into a loose ponytail to keep it off her face as she sold dozens of cookies.

  Jane waved her hand, dismissing Hope’s response. “You mean you haven’t spoken with Ethan since yesterday at Audrey’s house?”

  “Yes, I have, but he hasn’t shared anything about the murder.”

  Jane straightened up and joined Hope behind the table. “I guess that’s to be expected. We need to review everything we know up to this point.”

  “It’s not going to be much.” All Hope had was conjecture from her breakfast with Drew. She had no concrete evidence that pointed to anyone and as much as she hated to admit it, Claire was the only person with a strong motive to kill Peaches.

  Her stomach knotted at the discomfiting truth.

  “Tsk. Tsk.” Jane wagged her index finger in Hope’s direction. “I know this is difficult, having your own flesh and blood a murder suspect, but you must remain strong. At this time, it appears no one had more of a motive than Claire.”

  Hope put up her palm, signaling to Jane to stop talking. She’d already heard that from Drew earlier and didn’t want to hear it again. It could be some kind of bad karma thing. Say something enough times and it comes true.

  “It’s no surprise the police are focused on her.” Jane ignored Hope’s obvious signal to stop talking. “That’s why we will find the killer.”

  “We?”

  Jane patted Hope on the forearm. “Perhaps we can have dinner this evening and identify others who would have had a motive for murdering Peaches.”

  Hope took another swig of her water while Jane added a few more cookies to her box. She didn’t have any plans for dinner so she might as well work on the murder. Her cell phone rang and she pulled it out of her purse. Her nephew’s name came up on the display. No doubt he wanted a box full of cookies. Glancing at the table, she’d have to pack him up the leftover cookies she had at home.

  “Logan, what’s up?” She stepped back from the table as a familiar woman approached with two little girls.

  “That police detective took Mom to the police station. He said it was for questioning.”

  “What?” The question came out louder than she expected, and the woman and the little girls looked up, startled. Hope mouthed “sorry” to her customers and stepped farther away from the table to continue the conversation with Logan. “Where are you?” She stomped down the panic rising. She needed a clear head to talk to the twelve-year-old. He might have considered himself the man of the house since his dad was away on business, but he was only a kid and no doubt scared his mom left with a police officer. Heck, she was scared.

  “Home. Evelyn was still here and she told Mom she’d stay until she got home.”

  Hope was relieved Claire’s housekeeper had remained at the house. Logan and his younger sister, Hannah, were taken care of, so she could head over to the police station and find out what was going on.”

  “Good. You and Hannah stay home and listen to Evelyn. I’m going to see your mom. Everything is going to be okay.”

  “Sure it is. It’s kinda cool the police hauled Mom away.” Logan chuckled.

  “No, it’s not cool. I have to go. Love you.” Hope clicked off her phone and looked up to see Jane making change for the woman with the little girls. She was grateful Jane stepped in and covered for her. She couldn’t possibly impose on Jane to stay for the remainder of the bake sale, though. Could she?

  “What’s happened?”

  “Detective Reid took Claire in for questioning. She’s at the police station now.” This was not good. The knot in her stomach constricted.

  Without saying another word, Jane placed her hand on her arm and squeezed gently. “Go. I’ll man the table until closing time. I don’t have to be at the Inn today.”

  “Are you sure? Thank you.” Hope gathered up her purse and cardigan. Before Jane could change her mind, Hope was already at the top of the flight of stairs and on her way out of the library.

  As she made her away through a crowd of people climbing the stairs to the library’s front entrance, Hope’s cell phone buzzed again. Smiling to neighbors and friends, she pulled the phone out of her purse and saw Corey Lucas’s name.

  “Now’s not a good time.” She reached the bottom of the brick stairs that descended from the front entrance of the library. She headed in the direction of the police department.

  “There’s never a bad time for a great opportunity,” he said.

  “Not interested.”

  “You will be. I’m pitching this afternoon. Food blogger solves murder mysteries. This is perfect for you. Those culinary, cozy mystery novels or whatever they’re called, are hot, and this reality show will make you a household name. You’ll be at the top of reality TV.”

  Hope came to a stop. “Corey, a woman is dead. I’m not going to become a household name by stepping over dead bodies.” Rather, she’d work hard to build her brand through her blog.

  “Just finding them seems to be working fine.”

  “This conversation is over.” She clicked off her phone and shoved it back into her purse. Not only hadn’t she won The Sweet Taste of Success, she was stuck with the producer who believed he could make her a star. She wasn’t sure how to get Corey out of her life. He didn’t take “no” for an answer and she wasn’t about to go onto another reality show.

  And at that moment, reality was all too scary. Claire was in the police station because Detective Reid suspected she was a killer. Her pace quickened, her heart pumped with anticipation, and the shops she passed on Main Street were a blur because her eyes were watering. Terror seized her and every possible scenario played out in just the few minutes it took her to walk from the li
brary to the police station. Claire could be arrested. She could be convicted of murder. She could be sent to prison. What would happen to her children? What would happen to Hope without her big sister?

  Hope wiped away the tears that streamed down her cheeks. No, she wouldn’t let any of that happen. She pushed away those thoughts because they would distract her from what needed to be done.

  Hope arrived at the Jefferson Police Department, a one-story brick building on the border of the historical section of Main Street with simple landscaping and a wide concrete path that led to the glass doors. She passed a curved granite bench anchored on either side by potted flowers. The flowers were bright and cheery. Too bad her mood hadn’t let her enjoy the sight of them. She pulled open one of the doors and entered the building. Behind protective glass, she was greeted by the dispatcher, but before she could ask to see Ethan, she was intercepted.

  “Ms. Early, what brings you here?” Detective Reid approached.

  She squared her shoulders. “I came to see Ethan and bring my sister home.”

  “The chief is busy right now.”

  “I’ll wait.” Hope headed to a row of plastic chairs lined up against a wall. She’d sit and wait as long as it took to see Ethan and her sister.

  “Well, while you wait, why don’t we have a talk?”

  Chapter Nine

  An interrogation room?

  “Have a seat, Ms. Early.” Detective Reid seated himself across the table from Hope.

  She did as requested and then took a moment to regroup. They were probably in the nondescript room because he didn’t have a private office. Just because it looked something like an interrogation room she’d seen on numerous television shows didn’t mean he was about to interrogate her. The explanation seemed logical. Right? Besides, the room seemed brighter and cleaner than the ones in those fictional police stations.

  The detective rested his hands on the table and laced his thin fingers. “I know from personal experience that sisters are very close. So close, they’d do anything for each other.”

  Hope tilted her head sideways. “You want to talk to me about sisters?” While he looked very much at ease, her spine felt so rigid she feared it would snap into pieces if she tried to unwind.